Running Jayhawk - Now with IRON!

Multitalented.

2012-01-24T10:17:00.000-06:00

Back in the days of Ironman training, I was one of those folks who had a mental block about peeing on the bike. Have never been able to do it.

Let's just say...controlling my bladder should no longer be an issue. Mostly because I have relinquished all control of it. It's quite humbling, actually. Being pregnant with this little lady ~~sitting on my~~ jumping on bladder like it's a trampoline has left me running to the bathroom with more frequency than an FM radio throughout the day.

Not only do I always feel like I need to pee, but I can pee freely and at will. And, of course, accidentally.

Clearly it can only mean one thing.

I'm multitalented.

Kind of like walking and chewing gum...or patting my head and rubbing my belly at the same time.

I laugh. I pee. Hormones take over and I cry over a Home Depot commercial. There's a strong possibility I'll pee. And when I'm hugging zee toilet because I'm one of the lucky 6% that gets to be sick THE WHOLE NINE MONTHS [I'm just that special]...there is a high probability that I'll pee mid-hurl.

Let's just say that wasn't exactly my finest moment. I totally glamorous!
[At least I can laugh about it now, so that has to count for something, right?]

Perhaps I should just packing a few extra pairs of pants during the day?

No doubt that moving forward, I'll be able to save valuable time in long course triathlon by peeing on the bike. Let's just hope it doesn't require the accompaniment of hysterics, laughter or vomiting to make an appearance.

See? Pregnancy isn't so different than Ironman training, afterall!

And by my calculations, if Ironman and Pregnancy are so similar...at 34 weeks and 3 days, I'm nearing the end of my final build. Although those tapering nerves have already started to rear its ugly head.

Making Room for Baby

2012-01-17T22:56:00.000-06:00

When you are the master of your domain, and your domain just so happens to be a whopping 960 sq ft [including a dog-cage style storage space in your basement and postage stamp-sized balcony], fitting two grown adults and a dog can be a bit of a challenge. Add a baby into the mix and it gets to be downright humorous.

Making room for baby has been quite a challenge for us. We're getting creative with where we store her things...and our things...and the dog's things. This mostly involves us purging our worldly possessions...

...and by purging I mean us hiding the last decade of our belongings in nooks, crevices and hidden spaces at my mother-in-law's house...let's just hope she doesn't go upstairs anytime soon or she may fall over with a heart attack at the amount of ~~crap~~ things we can't bear to throw away that we've stored there unbeknownst to her...

But let's just keep that our little secret. Mmmk?

The plan is to move. Eventually.

Actually...the plan was to move from our condo a good 3-4 years ago. But the market tanked and you all know how that song and dance plays out.

So here we stay a little while longer. At least until Baby Jay is mobile and taking over our tiny living quarters. Until then, all of her stuff is taking over our tiny living quarters. How could someone so small have SO MUCH STUFF?! And she's not even here.

Sigh.

...and this is only the beginning. The very beginning. There are more pieces to assemble and clothes to wash and fold and toys to organize and things to buy [like car seats and carriers and safety nick knacks and baby mattresses and monitors] and not to mention all the classes we still have to take. And seriously...why are these classes all so stupidly expensive!?

And one day, perhaps we'll have our adult bedroom back. [Oh? Did I not tell you the kiddo is shacking up with us in our bedroom since again, we live in the smallest one bedroom condo in all of Chicagoland?! Because she is. We'll see just how long this arrangement lasts...I give it all of 2 weeks before a sleep-deprived momma runs off and checks herself into a ~~mental institution~~ hotel for a bit of shut eye.] But until then, her things are slowly taking over.

Like this shelf here. When empty, it seems rather unassuming and a rather nice fit with our home decor. But add diapering necessities, a ceramic bunny, a jar of oversized flowery headbands, and baskets upon baskets of blankets and sleepers and bibs and first aid thingies like nail clippers, thermometers, and bizarrely disgusting snot suckers, and our bedroom suddenly morphs into babyland central. And the crib isn't even in there yet!

But anyway...the aforementioned shelf...

"B" It's not just for baby.

And where exactly we plan on putting her wardrobe? I'm not quite sure. But since my life is apparently relegated to high-waisted, tapered mom jeans and yoga pants for a while, no doubt I'll be cleaning out my closet for her adorable attire. Afterall, she's already more fashionable than me [thanks in large part to Katrina].


The best part about having a girl? All the ridiculously awesome clothes that come with it. Here's a small sample of some of the clothes my sister's friend sent us. And yes....Girls do indeed Rule!

The dresser that was put together with the tiniest of allen wrenches and a truckload of willpower! And 3.5 hours later, we finally had a complete dresser. Here's to hoping the crib doesn't take as long...

And now for the BEST! THING! EVER! [After a cute little baby girl, of course...]

And quite possibly my most favorite baby item yet! If only there was a baby for me to take running...soon enough!!

But we are down to a mere 47 days. And 47 days is not nearly enough to get all of our poop in a group.

...and no joke, the other half just said "Not to scare you, but did you know we have about a month and a half left?!"

33 Weeks...where did the time go?

Oh good sweet grilled cheezus, what have we gotten ourselves into? And how can we make our tiny little abode miraculously turn into 1200+ sq ft overnight?

Turning a New Year...

2011-12-31T22:20:00.001-06:00

Well. The year is just about over {save for a few sweet hours left} and it doesn't make sense to reflect on what was. {Or in my case...what wasn't...}

It wasn't the year of the run. Or the tri. Or the Ironman.

As you know...

It was the year of making-and baking-a baby. Lots of blessings in unexpected places.

Good times, really.
Especially the trying part of baby-making...that was exceptionally fun.
{Except for now my dad totally knows that I have sex. Not sure how I feel about that...unless you think he'd go for the whole immaculate conception thing?}

But yes. Good times all around.
{With the exception of her not having nearly enough room in there right now.}

And in two {TWO!!!!!! WTF?!} short little months, this whole pregnancy ordeal will be over and this dark haired, dark eyed, little person we've created will enter this world and start raising some hell. No doubt, she'll be a hell-raiser. Any child of ours will be ready to make a statement from day one.

I've already been doing a bit of nesting...lots of purging 'round these parts to make way for the little one. The crib and changing tables are in, they just need to be put together. And we've been slowly but surely stocking up on basics like onesies and blankets. Even a few other fun, ridiculous little things like swim suits {for a St. Thomas trip in June} and over-sized flower headbands.

Apparently I'm girlier than I ever gave myself credit for, because there is quite an abundance of pink in my possession now. Pictures to come, naturally.

And I've even been trying my hand at becoming more domestic.

Trust me. I wouldn't normally try to make my own goldfish crackers from scratch. {And yes, they were beyond delicious.}

Perhaps motherhood is slowly making me more like Betty Crocker? Who knows.

But I've been giving some good thought on what I'm hoping to achieve in 2012. And while clearly the first and foremost goal is to become a kick ass mom and save the world before bedtime, I'm not *quite* ready to divulge my running goals for the year.

Yes. Running goals.

Not tri.

But a valiant {and triumphant} return to the run.

And it's arguably a bit more aggressive than I was once considering.

Okay.
More aggressive...
than I ever...
...freakin'...
...imagined.

But I've been assured by the other half and the sassiest piece of southern ass I know, that with their help it'll be attainable and I'll surprise the pants off of myself.

It looks like I'll have some attention mano-a-mano from a pretty spectacular coach, so I'm pretty excited.

Now...it's just a matter of figuring out just when exactly I'll get cleared to start moving and shaking after baby girl's arrival.

Cheers to a most excellent 2012 and achieving all of your athletic and personal goals!

You know, assuming the Mayan's aren't right about that little calendar issue and muck everything up for us all.

Ironman. It takes 9 months to train for.

2011-12-21T09:41:00.004-06:00

Weird. It's been over a year since I've posted on here. I didn't think it had been that long. But a year, nonetheless. I tend to think of things in Ironman time. When I did IMAZ in 2009, I trained nearly every day for 9 months. Mike trained for IMoo for nearly 9 months year only to compete with a freshly broken arm and not have the day he had anticipated. And all those hours of him racing in pain felt like a 9 month wait to get him to the finish line.

Nine months is a long time to wait.

And rightfully so, I suppose...considering there hasn't been much of any running going on lately. Just a long 9-10 months of trying to get knocked up. Trying, being the key word.

Note to all those aspiring to have little marathon runners and little triathletes out there...sometimes it takes time. A lot more time than you ever could anticipate...you spend so many years of your life trying to not get pregnant and you really just don't grasp how ridiculously challenging and precise the timing actually is. It's like running 400's on the track and each time falling short of your time goal. Round and round...running in circles...finding disappointment at the end.

But then. One day in June...it just clicks. You nail the timing and things fall perfectly into place. {why didn't someone tell us which hole to use to begin with!? tmi? yah...thought so, too...just kidding, by the way}

And then June turns into July. And with summer comes fall. And flat tummies turn into ripe, round bellies and hideous stretch marks. And races run turn into cheering valiantly on the sidelines {part with happiness and part with jealousy for wanting to be out there pounding pavement with stinging lungs}. And nausea turns into tossing cookies for nearly 29 and a half weeks. And that brings you to where you are today.

...well at least me. Not necessarily you. But if it is you, too...then yay!

In about two and a half months, we will welcome Baby Jayhawk into the world. And if we've done our job right, she'll cheer for Kansas, be brilliantly smart, stunningly beautiful, run stupidly far distances, ride around on a kiddie Cervelo {yes! they make them!}, adore the gentle rocking of open water, and learn to "chick" the boys at an early age.

Or not.

She could be a ballerina {heaven help me!} or an underwater basketweaver or even captain of the boys varsity hockey team.

As long as she finds something to make her happy.

Though if it just happens to be triathlons that make her squeal with joy I will be beyond over the moon!!!

Admittedly, I'm missing the physical outlets that make me sane. I'm not saying I'm miserable. I'm just...I don't know. Missing something without being able to go out and lay down 10 miles on any given day. Some women are fortunate enough to run throughout their pregnancy. I was fortunate enough to have a baby healthy enough to make me physically on any day of the week that ended in -y.

Thanks for that one, kiddo.

In time, I'll get back there. It won't be pretty. And it'll likely be painfully slow. But with the support of great friends and some awesome coaches, my legs will return to underneath me and I'll pound the pavement once again. Build up confidence on neverending miles the bike. And find comfort in Lake Michigan.

Two and a half more months. That's all we have left until our lives are forever turned upside down and inside out and we have to find new ways to balance it all. Which means I have a little less than six months before I can bust out that jogging stroller to take my best girl out for a run along the lake. And I can start working toward a larger goal once more.

Oh, how I am truly looking forward to that day...
...and lasting all of a mile before I'm winded and over it.
But I've been waiting a long time for it. And want it so badly.

Nine months.
Nine months of prayers that they'll actually let us take our child out of the hospital in spite of my affinity for disasters and klutziness.
Nine months of emotional highs and lows and a husband who is way too tolerant for my involuntary craziness {most of the time}.

Nine months.
Not of Ironman training.
But nine months of training to be a mom.

The Nike Women's Marathon....really!? NO. No...REALLY!?

2010-10-20T11:39:00.005-06:00

I stumbled across a recent post from John Bingham about the events which took place at the end of the Nike Women's Marathon in SF this past weekend. As someone who has been in the back of the pack, I find the actions of the race staff truly infuriating, insulting and disheartening. As a result, I would not recommend this race to women in the future. A marathon finisher of any pace deserves to be celebrated and receive their medal, especially when they're completing the race within the pre-determined and announced time frame.

The below post has since been removed but has been taken from the cached site through Google.

How Not To Run A Race

Congratulations to everyone who completed the 2010 Nike Women’s Marathon and Half Marathon this weekend. It was, in many ways, a very difficult day and anyone who crossed the finish line deserves a lot of credit.
I want to give a special shout out to the nearly 4,000 Team In Training participants who, collectively, raised over 13 million dollars this weekend. The event has raised over 105 million dollars for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and has become a real anchor event. It truly is special.

Which is why what happened at the end of the race is so upsetting. I don’t want to go off on a rant, but I can’t keep silent. What I witnessed on Sunday was the single most cruel, heartless, and outrageous displays of – well, I don’t even know what to call it – inappropriate behavior by a race organizer that I have ever seen.

With 20 minutes to go before the published close of the event, a time that the announcer was counting down, some cowboy hatted jerk decided that the race was over. He turned off the sound, stopped the clock, at literally TORE the banners off the finish line structure. He looked ridiculous climbing around tearing off the banners and it would have been funny if it wasn’t so sad. Worse, those who finished after the premature closure were denied the finisher’s necklace.

I have been a participant, and staff member, a race producer, and an event owner and I can assure you that there was NO legitimate reason for what he did. The excuse given was that the road had to be opened, but there were tents, etc. that needed to be broken down as well as the finish line – which – was on wheels and could have been moved.

Shame on anyone and EVERYONE who allowed that to happen. Shame on Nike. Shame on the finish line operations crew. And same on the cowboy-hatted clown for being such a jerk.

Waddle on,
John

What are your thoughts on the matter?

You'd think they would be working extra hard on their positive media presence considering they've still got egg on their face from 2008 when the fastest running time (by 11 minutes!) wasn't declared the winner of the race. SHAME ON THEM!

tap tap tap Is this thing on?

2010-09-21T12:28:00.002-06:00

Hi there.

Remember me?

No?

Yeah well...I figured as much.

I wouldn't consider this a comeback to this ole blog by any means. But it's more of a Hi there...hello...how you doin' (in true Joey Tribbiani fashion) type of post. I feel the need to check in every once in a while or something.

You know...as if to say...I'm still kickin' it!

(Do the cool kids still say "kickin' it"?? ...no? Well then.)

Not too much has been going on in my world since the bright and glorious meltdown on the side of the road in Racine where I simply proclaimed "I DON'T WANNA!!" as if I were four years old.

And I have to admit. It's been quite nice.

I've raced exactly two races since then...and I wouldn't exactly call either of them a "race." First, the RnR half marathon. I ~~suffered through~~ survived it. Help my girl from Team Salute get out through the other side in one piece (she's amazing, by the way). Then there was the Chicago Triathlon...where I found myself doing the swim leg of a sprint relay with the ChicagoNow bloggers media team. It was mad fun. And I'm pretty sure that our trio of three awesome ladies won the whole entire race.

Okay. Not really...but we celebrated as if we did. I mean...how often do you get to race on the same team as 2009 Miss Illinois?

And who can forget my friend Emily owning Lake Michigan with the Big Shoulders 5k swim. Seriously. She owned it. And she knows how to punch cancer in the face. As if she needed more cred for her Captain Badass title. And badass, she is!

Then there was Ironman Wisconsin two Sundays ago. No...we didn't race, but it turns out we knew a whole crap load of people who were. So we did what any good triathlete would do. We volunteered. In T2. Quite arguably one of the most rewarding and most disgusting places you can volunteer during an Ironman. Good times.

You can read all about the day over here. Infinity Multisport had an incredible showing. Mad props go to my girl Elizabeth and homeboy Loehrke for bringing home the hardware.

While we were cheering on our friends late into the night, we stumbled across Whitey from Kansas City...and then were soon reunited with fellow blog reader K, from KC...who promptly requested that I start blogging again.

So K...this blog's for you.

And before you ask, no...I did not register for Ironman Wisconsin the following day. Although someone else may have...so I'd anticipate a possible revival of someone's blog in the next handful of months. I'm excited to be the support crew this time around as we've got an insanely awesome group of friends all racing together.

This past weekend I had my first brush with Cyclocross. UHMM..WHY THE HELL DIDN'T ANYONE EVER TELL ME ABOUT THIS SPORT?!!?! Seriously. It's like mountain bike racing on crack with a dash of steeplechase ending with a kiss of carnage. Who wouldn't want to redline for 30 minutes straight and avoid crashes why cycling through a gauntlet of obstacles?! I need to find a way into that mayhem. No doubt I'd have my ass handed to me, and I quite possibly wouldn't be able to stop laughing so I could actually bike in a straight line...but I am madly impressed with this tomfoolery. Mark my words...one day I'm going to give this a go!

Clearly I haven't been doing much racing of my own...I've been at so many events on the sidelines, cowbell in hand, cheering my little head off. Super specathlete, if you will. Expect the marathon to be no different.

Oh yeah...did I mention I have a bib number for that? Somehow I was selected as one of 15 folks for Team VW during the marathon. I guess I should start training...shouldn't I? Hmm. No doubt it's gonna hurt.

I'm not going to lie. Most of my time has been sucked into my ChicagoNow blog. I mean...it's profitable. Why shouldn't I spend time over there? But you're right...that doesn't mean I should neglect my "home" over here in jayhawk-land. Afterall, isn't this where it all started once upon a time?

We've got some big plans coming up in the next year...so stay tuned. You know...for the whole 2 people out there who still read this...

...until next time. And I promise it won't be a few months until I check back in.

Limbo.

2010-06-29T14:35:00.004-06:00

So I'm still wavering about the whole "to race or not to race in Racine" bit.

We spectated at the Bigfoot Triathlon over the weekend and it was bittersweet. I had that internal twinge where I really, really, really wanted to be racing and was jealous of all my friends and training mates who were out killing the course. But on the flip side, I was relieved that I wasn't out there, too. It was a very weird sensation.

But I think I have a plan that will allow me to take a bit of downtime and still be primed to race a 70.3 this season. I'm working on getting my ducks in a row, getting the hubby and coach aligned with it (note to self, talk to The Punisher) and doing a bit of soul searching to REALLY determine if it's the right move for me this season or if I should just pack up shop and spend the rest of my summer laying in the sun with a margarita and book in hand. The prospect of this new racing option makes me happy, assuming I garner the right support.

The past 2 weeks have been a bit laid back on the training front and I can't lie...it's felt good. Really good. It's nice to not be ravenously hungry all the time and feel exhausted at my desk in the afternoon. Yesterday I swam a mile in a chop that felt like I was swimming uphill through moleasses. At least it made for a quick return trip to short. Tonight will bring a quick run along the lakefront since the temps are topping out in the low 70's. I figure some more solo training days will really help me sort out all the demons in my head with this season.

I still have a half marathon in a month, so I'm working on shifting my focus to that temporarily and trust that all the pieces will fall together as they should.

Burnt out.

2010-06-19T21:04:00.006-06:00

There's no other way to say it.

I...am absolutely...and completely burnt out right now.

This morning we rode the Racine 70.3 course and tacked an hour-long run on the end. By mile 18 I may as well been cycling backwards. It took every ounce of effort to fight back the tears and hold it together. Heat, headwind and hills (I don't remember this bloody course having any climbing...what the eff is up with that?) ate me alive and I had a pity party, table for one.

When I rolled up to the aid station at mile 21, I proclaimed I was done. I had mentally checked out. I had resolved to either riding the 21 miles back, or sitting with the Chief of Pain in the middle of a corn field and crying until he drove me back to start. Gina, Sandy and crew would have none of that (thanks, by the way). So I sucked it up...fought off some demons, and did everything I could to keep turning the pedals. It wasn't pretty. And my glasses got a little fogged up from some tears. But some how I made it through.

Before the run the Punisher could tell I was in a sour spot. I really just wanted to be left alone to run it off on my own...me and the sound of my own foot falls. And it ended up being the most heinous transition run I've done in a really long time. I'm talking a 12 minute + pace. It was upwards of 90 degrees, minimal shade and paired with my bad mental attitude it all led to inevitable disaster.

The two highlights of the day? An insanely delicious burger of awesomeness from local Wisconsin treefort joint Georgie Porgie's and substituting an ice bath with a soak in the icy clear waters of Lake Michigan.

When I step back and look at it, I've spent the better part of the last 16 months training for long-course in some facet. Don't get me wrong. I love training. I usually enjoy long days (what? go spend 5 hours on a bike and throw a 10k off the back end?! Sounds like a good breakfast to me). But for some reason, I am in a massive funk right now.

It's not like the volume of work is breaking me. This 70.3 plan pales in comparison to what I did last year. I'm just mentally...not feeling it...for lack of better words.

I shouldn't have mixed feelings about this. But I do. I honestly don't know if I want to race long-course tri this season. And it's frustrating for me to have such uncertainty.

I want to be jazzed about this race. I want to go out, have a great day, post a great time, and see the rewards of my training the past few months (and the likelihood of me having a great day once I commit is high). But if my head isn't in it...should I really dish out a few hundred in a race entry? I have a hard time justifying it all right now. It's all so very fuzzy. And all I can really attribute it to is being severely burnt out...

...burnt out with less than a month to go for the planned race day.

Who knows. Maybe I'll wake up in a few days, win the lottery and be singing a different tune.

But right now in this moment, all I want to do is go for a long run and try to sort out all this nonsense.

Sigh.

Stay tuned to see what happens...

Because sometimes this are just took ridiculous not to share...Chicago Naked Bike Ride

2010-06-14T12:46:00.002-06:00

The Annual Chicago Naked Bike Ride.

A peaceful, albeit nekkid, protest against the use of crude oil and BP...all while celebrating the beauty of the human body.

But in reality...I'm not convinced that most of these folks should've been parading around with the jiggly bits in the air, but whatever. More power to 'em.

Canned Heat in my Heels...

2010-06-11T08:37:00.003-06:00

I'm going to keep this short and sweet...

For the first time ever, I ran a sub-8:20 mile last night. By some miracle, I pulled a 7:47 virtually out of no where, with a negative split, no less. And all my 400's ended up being descending...starting at 1:57 with the fastest at 1:47. Perhaps later this year I'll try and go for a new 5k PR running sub-8's? We'll see.

Absolute madness, I tell you. Let's just hope this was no accident.

But I'm still in shock. And glowing as a result.

I am just so glad I am no longer one of those people who can only run at one speed and know how to effectively do track workouts.

Ignorance is Bliss.

2010-05-29T21:09:00.003-06:00

The one thing I love about using workoutlog.com with my coaches is that I know exactly what's coming. I know that on Tuesday I have to throw down 3.5 painful miles of speedwork on the track. Wednesday is swim until your arms fall off. Thursday is a midweek bike-run craziness. There are no surprises.

Well. Usually.

Saturday morning's schedule said two things:

20 minute bike test.

15 minute transition run.

Traditionally, our bike tests are on the CompuTrainer. Watts are measured. Heart rate is logged. And all is well with the world.

But we knew this wasn't true. Earlier in the week we were told "change of plans...show up at Montrose with your bike and your running shoes and be ready for anything."

Really? REALLY? I don't bode well with the unknown.

Friday night I text the Punisher.

What do we need to bring tomorrow!?!?

To which she replied to chill out and bring stuff to bike and run...then reassures me that the workout isn't bad and that it won't take very long.

I stupidly think we're getting an easy day. I mean...it's the long weekend and all! We've got some drinking to do somewhere.

So in the morning we pull up...

Bright-eyed. Bushy-tailed. And stupidly fooled.

We start with a quick warm up on the bike.

No problem.

Then we're told we're testing outside. With hard corners. Pedestrians. Cars. Twenty minutes of balls to the wall, zone 5Z, go as hard as you can and as fast as you can without dying.

OH. DEAR. LORD.

It hurt. A lot. I nearly got hit by a car. Had a few momentum killing moments where my speeds dropped from 18...19...20...down do 12. Dodged runners. Maneuvered my way around cars trying to park. All in all...it was a nightmare.

A very painful nightmare.

After the test came a transition run.

As expected.

A light easy jaunt and Gina and I thought we were finished.

That is until we crossed paths with the Chief of Pain waiting for us. We were nowhere near done.

Our legs were fried at this point. A ridiculous hard ride with a run thrown on the back end was enough for me for one day. And yet...here we were facing one of the things I hate to do the most.

Hill Repeats.

It's not that Cricket Hill is substantially steep or long. But it's just enough to really be pesky. Especially when the Chief is relentlessly beckoning you up and down over. and over. and over again. And when the Chief yells at you, you better be peeling off a respectable clip. But my legs wanted nothing to do with it...as usual.

With a fire in our lungs, we mentally wrapped up shop....and were then informed we were doing the "lower matrix."

Say whaaaaaaa? This bloody workout STILL isn't over?!

Squats. Lunges. Jumps. Over. and over. and over again.

And by the third circuit, I was over it all.

The general consensus was that had we all known exactly what was on the calendar, we may have allowed ourselves to sleep in. Or held back during the test as to save some legs for later. I suppose ignorance really is bliss sometimes.

The legs still feel a bit wonky, but I know that come mile 68 of this 70.3 mile race, I'll be happy that I've gone through all of this nonsense. But until then, I homegirl needs some sleep.

Peace out.

I'm still standing....

2010-05-26T08:14:00.002-06:00

Hiya! I'm still here (somewhere).

Honestly? There hasn't been anything really exciting to catch you kids up on. This season feels like a little bit of a let down based on the past few seasons. I'm not sure if it's because of the lack of marathon or something on the grand scale (coughIMcough)...but it's nice to not take myself so seriously, relax and have fun. Hopefully with some hard work I'll have a new PR or two to show for it.

This past weekend we found ourselves in Galena for the annual Galena Triathlon. I elected not to race (and after seeing the new bike course and the billion hills of death, I decided it was a smart move). Instead, it was the battle of the Mikes and it was fun to watch it unfold. The duo is a pretty even match in 2 of the 3 disciplines right now, which makes for some fun spectating. Shannon, Gina and I settled in to a prime spot and cheered them all on with mimosas in hand. And in true Barb fashion, I flirted with anyone who was sweaty and in spandex just to give 'em that extra jolt of energy as they rolled into T2.

But both Mike's did well. As did Lauren, Dave, Stuart and Laura--Infinity Multisport had a solid showing all around, in fact.

My training is going solidly. We're with the Infinity Multisport 70.3 team and it's been a blast working with The Punisher on a weekly basis. We still haven't actually signed up to race. But that's on the radar (should really take care of that soon). The plan is to race Ironman Racine 70.3 in July, the Chicago RnR half marathon in August with Team Salute (more on that later), and then go for a sizable PR during the Capital City River Run half marathon on my birthday in September with a friend that can hopefully pace my to a 2:15. If I can squeeze in an olympic before the half iron, that'd be ideal. But we'll have to see how that pans out.

I know my main focus lately has been over here in the "land of awesome" as I try to build numbers and readership to moved to paid blogger status (should only be another month or so if I've played my cards right). Never fear, this neck of the woods should be receiving lots of love in the upcoming weeks as workouts get stupider, races get tougher and distances get tougher.

So yeah. That's where things are at.

Lisa posted something today that made me smile, so naturally...I wanted to share it with all of you fine folks...

Your biggest challenge isn't someone else. It's the ache in your lungs and the burning in your legs, and the voice inside that yells "CAN'T!!" but you don't listen.You just push harder. And you discover that the person you thought you were is no match for the one you really are. - Unknown

Have a great week, everyone!

Only because bodily harm was threatened if I didn't post this.

2010-04-23T14:29:00.004-06:00

I'm only posting this because some half pint was getting on my case about it [just kidding, Lauren...sorta ;) ].

Page 34.

Enjoy.

In other far more fun and interesting news...

...we test the run tomorrow morning. There is a very strong possibility this isn't going to go over very well. But after that super fantastical fun run...we get to swim. And Sunday brings my first outdoor ride of the season...in my new pedals...on hills. Lots and lots of stupidly steep hills. Let's guess how many times I'm going to fall while riding. Or better yet, who wants to place bets on whether or not I'll survive the weekend? I know what I'd place my bet on...

OH DEAR GOD THAT HURT.

2010-04-21T21:59:00.005-06:00

Good idea.

Getting back in the groove of training.

Bad idea.

Getting back in the water for the first time since a single visit to the pool in January and not seeing any sizable swim distance since November 22, 2009.

And of course, it was a dip with the training group...which can only mean one thing.

A test.

I was served up a big, fat 5x200 meter main set with the instruction to go full throttle. At this point I'm questioning if I even remember how the hell to swim...let alone be able to successfully string together a series of 200's.

I took the first set at what felt like a conservative pace. Little did i know it'd be my fastest set of the night. Of course.

By the time I finished up the second two-hundred...my arms were screaming.

By the time I was done with the third set...it took an effort to avoid vomiting.

By the time the fourth set was behind me...I wanted to rip my arms from my body and beat myself senseless to put me out of my own misery.

And then by the time that last hellacious set was finito...I wanted to cry.

After my cool down I pulled myself out of the pool and all four of my limbs were pretty much jello.

I'm still feeling the aftermath. Hours later. And no doubt I will be feeling this the next few days.

Someone put me out of my misery.

Please.

Was I always this tired?

2010-04-14T22:17:00.004-06:00

Good grief.

I am wiped out.

I don't remember feeling this sleepy when I started training for IMAZ last year.

Hmm. Maybe I was? I have no idea. But homegirl needs her bed.

Tonight marked the first day of training with Infinity Effect for this season's half ironman, Racine 70.3 (yes...I decided I really did want to race long course this year). This group is lead by the one and only "Punisher" with guest appearances down the line by The Chief of Pain, The Southern Sadist...and MP, who has yet to earn his title of destruction.

Instructions were simple. Show up at 6:45 for a team meeting and a 4 mile run.

Four miles?! Bring it. Should be a piece of cake, right?

Oh, HAILLLLLLLLLLLLLL naw.

I am more tired (and sore) tonight than I was from Sunday's half marathon. A little after mile 1, my left IT band decided to pay me a visit and irritated the shit outta me until I wrapped things up.

And now I feel like I've been tossed off the building.

The first week doesn't exactly strike me as forgiving at first glance...

...which makes me wonder...am I really ready to do this again?

Only one way to find out, I suppose. Bring on the next 14 weeks, campers...

In the meantime, let's see if I can get my body back in the swing of things without wanting to hit the hay by 8pm every night.

And for your daily dose of awesome, we've got everything from tax day deals with free massages and burlesque shows to Snuggie pub crawls and Rockstar Auctions and Fundraisers. Be sure to check it out....

We Eat Hills for Breakfast.

2010-04-12T19:28:00.005-06:00

Well...we all survived.

It was 13.1 miles of concrete, hills, sweat and sunshine. Nary a cloud in the sky and the weatherman lied--it was most definitely hotter than 65 degrees.

Mike and I ran with our friend Hurley as he set out to complete his first half marathon (no doubt, after the aches and pains subside...there will be more). He set the pace and we followed suit with smiles and encouragement abound...at least until about mile 11...then Mike and I started to exchange glances questioning who should bust out the bull whip first to get him to pick up the pace (and pick it up he did!).

Hurley did fantastic and beat the time goal he had in his head. And even had fun in the process, despite some achilles pain and the underestimation of the hills (and I don't remember a few of those being as bad as they actually were). And so, after a first breakfast of bagels at 5am. We had a second breakfast of hills for 2 hours and 52 minutes.

It was an epic day of highs and lows. And surprisingly...I felt fantastic after it was over even with the lack of training. In fact, Hurley's wife, Erin, said it didn't even look like I was sweating. I think it probably hurt more than I realized...I'm convinced that my threshold for pain is significantly altered after Ironman.

Here's a look at some of the fun we had along the way...

Congratulations, Hurley! You're a badass in my book (well, you always have been...but this just reaffirmed what we all already knew). Great job, friend.

Awesome.

2010-04-05T16:04:00.004-06:00

I've got a new adventure going on over here.

But don't worry your pretty little head off...Running Jayhawk will still be alive and kicking!

Think of this as a chance to double your dose of me--we'll keep the pursuit of all things sport right here where it belongs...and the pursuit of all things awesome one click away. :)

Hope to see you on the flip side!

Summon the Pain!

2010-04-01T13:10:00.002-06:00

So apparently I sorta kinda forgot that I'm running a half marathon next weekend.

Whoops!

I've gotten a ridiculous handful of mid-distance runs in. You know...the crucial 5-8 mile range...

...aaaaannnnd yeah.

That's about it.

A bunch of 5-8 milers, a handful of shorter 3-4 mile runs in...and that. is. all.

So this weekend I'll attempt to pull a 10-11 miler outta my ass. And hope I survive.

It should be no big deal, right?

I mean...I'm made of Iron! I went 140.6 miles (nevermind the fact that was 4+ months ago)! I should be able to throw down a half marathon in sleety rain, blind-folded, with a limp, and shoes on the opposite feet! Right!?

...and this is the part where I panic. While I've agreed to pace Hurley during the race next weekend, I'm quietly panicking over the fact that he will likely leave me crying on the side of the road around mile 10 as I writhe in pain.

(Just kidding Hurley...it'll be a lot of fun--promise!)

But somewhere, back in the bowels of my mind, my inner masochist is giggling with delight. Because I know...this shit is going to hurt.

a lot.

...and it will be awesome.

...like a chicken with its head cut off.

2010-03-25T09:24:00.004-06:00

Yep. That's me.

I've been running around like a chicken with its head cutoff. (do chickens really do this when their heads are cut off? Hmmm...)

The past 2 weeks have been nothing short of insane.

Mostly work insane.

But life insane, too, on some fronts.

I'm trying not to complain given the ad market here in Chicago. I know plenty of folks looking for work in the industry. But I digress...

Work is nothing short of crazy. Lots of late nights. And things have been falling apart in the condo. Literally. Balcony door. Kitchen phone jack. Kitchen light. Bedroom light switch. Big screen TV. Yep. If it's halfway important, it's probably broken on some level.

Slowly, but surely, we're getting things fixed. And was even able to upgrade to a new TV thanks to an extraordinarily generous birthday gift for Mike. So life, in a word, has been crazy. (but fun.)

After the awesomeness of Chiditarod (I know, I know...I still owe the full gamut of photographic evidence--let's just hope I never run for office--though we did make the honor roll with the "inappropriately appropriate" recognition and a shout out for my awesome twitpics throughout the day), I got to finally experience the awesomeness of one of my favorite bands of all time. Muse. It was epic. And better than I ever imagined. The band has solidified itself ahead of the pumpkins in my book, which is a huge and bold statement.

Then, in case you didn't know, I've joined Team Moxie...an all-women's cycling team here in Chicago. It's in its first year and it's sure to be awesome as we have an incredible group of women already. I did a baseline test on the 14th and managed to toss my cookies when I was done (though in my defense I wasn't feeling the greatest when I started). But hey--they said to go hard...and hard, I did. My numbers were right on par with where I tested during my cycling class with Infinity Multisport a few months ago, but this time I managed a negative split by about 8 watts. Good times.

Sidebard note: if any chicagoland ladies out there are reading this and are interested in joining Team Moxie, let me know--you don't have to be a crazy awesome cyclist and all levels of triathletes and cyclists are welcome!

Then this past weekend...we had the Shamrock Shuffle. it was my fifth year running this beautiful mess of an overcrowded race. And for the first time ever...I broke the 50 minute barrier.

Can I get a fist pump!? Huzzah!

I set a new 8k PR of 46:33 (previous PR was 50:28). I'm pretty pleased with myself. Here's how the mile splits break down...
Mile 1: 8:53
Mile 2: 9:07
Mile 3: 9:29
Mile 4: 9:36
Mile 5: 9:28

Clearly it took me a bit to find my groove. But I'm pleased that I was able to maintain sub-10 the entire way through. It's strange that after all of these years of running how things finally start to click in regards to speed.

I'm still training (sort of) for the St. Louis half marathon. I've missed a handful of my long-runs lately for a myriad of excuses. None of which are truly acceptable. But hey. Life happens. I'm looking forward to running the race with my good friend, Hurley, as it'll be his first half and who better to make it fun and memorable than yours truly?

The performance at the shuffle makes me confident that this year I'll be able to set a new half marathon PR at either the RnR Half in August or the Capital City River Run on my birthday in September.

I'm still trying to make up my mind on whether or not I want to go long this year. But that's a whole different blog post to ramble through. So until then...

Stay awesome, my friends...

I Survived Chiditarod.

2010-03-06T22:43:00.004-06:00

Holy smokes.

I am one tired chick...

Rushed from Chiditarod over to the LHSN trivia night...so now my body and my brains are throbbing in pain.

I'll write more tomorrow, but I wanted to go ahead and share a glimpse of the absurdity that ensued this morning.

Our friends of the awesome Team Mox (read as: the ones who got us into this mess) come dashing into the screen in short cheerleader skirts and pink Mox bike jersey's right around the 1:10 part. And yes...those are aerobars strapped to their handlebars. Clearly aerodynamics were key. They would know. They placed in the top 10. (Speedy pants.)

Right around the 1:27 mark of this video, you will see a little catholic school girl come leaping into view with a valiant fist pump. That may or may not be me. Or you could look for the nun. Or the priest. Or the school boy. Or even the other naughty school girl. But we're after the cowgirl brigade.

It all happens kind of fast. But the day is pretty much a blur at this point, so it's all very representative.

I'll be sure to write lots more tomorrow as we sabotaged. we drank. we bribed. we chitwitterodded. we cheered. we haikued. we karaoked and subsequently "touched ourselves." and yes, we even pole danced. And by "we" I mean Mike (because there's not much in life that's more ridiculously fantasmical than seeing a priest spinning round and round trying to look seductive).

It was beyond classically epic.

Beyond.

Stay tuned.

I'm Going Straight To Hell.

2010-03-01T22:17:00.002-06:00

Yes. It's true.

I'm going straight to hell. And I'm apparently dragging Mike, Tony, Gina and Chad right along with me. You see, Chiditarod is this weekend. And we have a team of all-stars put together...a team of All-Stars called...

The Holy Rollers.

(it's--well we are--going to be...

LEGEND...

...wait for it...

...ARY!!!!!!!!!!)

Yes. It's true. We are out to offend. sabotage. be politically incorrect. and possibly even sell our souls to the devil. Team Holy Rollers is nothing short of a young man's wet dream...girls in short Catholic school girl uniforms, along with a questionable priest and some altar boys. Okay, so those last two things likely don't tickle a young man's fancy (or maybe it does? I don't judge), so at least 2/5th's of the crew will be out to seduce.

...THE JUDGES PEOPLE. SEDUCE THE JUDGES. And no. Not in that way.

Somewhere, off in the distance, my mother is mortified.

(Don't worry mom, I promise I'll go to confession when all is said and done!)

As part of this whole getup, we get have to perform a karaoke ditty at one of the checkpoints. And while Madonna's "Like A Prayer" may seem like the obvious choice...we've found something a bit better. But I need to leave something for the element of surprise on "race day." So you'll have to check back sometime on Sunday to see how it all goes down.

This week we'll be putting the final details on our trusty steed (a shopping cart), collecting the last of the food (which reminds me, if you're in Chicago and would like to donate a few cans to the food drive component, let me know!), and tying on the last of the ribbons on our costumes.

I'll be sure to document the day, since "no pictures means it didn't happen" though I may freeze my buns off before all is said and done...seriously. The skirt is about 6 inches shorter than I remember it being and the projected high is 42 degrees.

Moving on...

Things have been going well in the land of sport. Saturday brought a fun group run with the awesome cast of all-stars. We covered somewhere between 6.5 and 7 miles and I am so impressed and proud of Dan's progress to date. (Seriously. Dude looks remarkable. He's such a stud.) With Sunday came an increase in weights and my arms are still feeling it today. And then tonight I found my inner zen with the wonderful, incredibly bendy, totally badass Tina over at YogaNow Chicago.

So yeah. That's pretty much it...

Oh wait...

...I guess there is one pretty awesome thing going on...

...buuuuuuuuuuuuut you'll have to check back in a few more days to get all the fun little details as I iron things out.

So until then, my friends...stay awesome.

Switch.

2010-02-24T21:54:00.004-06:00

On...

...and off.

It's as simple as that.

You flip a switch, the light goes on. Electricity flows. Things lights up. Flash. Beep. Zap. Buzz. Blare. Whatever. All systems are a go and you're revved and powered up.

It's such an easy and simple concept. (One we take for granted all too often.)

If only our bodies worked the same way. (sigh.) I'd love for nothing more than to flip a switch, and have my off day immediately turn into an on.

Take last week's CompuTrainer class at Infinity. I pulled ridiculous watts for my abilities. Pushed the threshold. Kept my cadence in the Punisher-prescribed areas...85-95...then up over 100...and pushing 120+ for the final big sections of the main set. While an obviously tough workout, it all came insanely easy. And damn, did I feel good!

And then there's last night's spin class. The switch was off. No matter how hard I tried to flip it, the light bulb was burnt out. I spun until I nearly tossed my cookies. Struggled to keep cadence consistently over 85. I finally succumbed...dropped into my middle ring and decreased my watts by 10. And even then it was a huge challenge.

At the advice of the Punisher, who told me I looked like caca and needed to back off, I pulled the plug on my CompuTrainer and waved the white flag. With little resistance on the wheel, I spun at a leisurely grandma pace for the last 15 minutes. I was humbled. And maybe even a little defeated.

We can't win every workout every day, can we?

At least my previous "on" streak was commendable across a variety of sports.

And uhmm...since when did it get to be six and a half weeks out from the St. Louis half marathon? How has my longest run been only 8 miles this year?! Where the hell has January and February gone?! Time is moving considerably too fast...

...and I'm not amused.

Ch-Ch-Changes!

2010-02-23T21:02:00.002-06:00

So I'm tinkering with a new look 'round these parts.

Still not 100% satisfied with the good ole masthead, so I'll be making tweaks in the upcoming days, weeks, whatevers...pretty much whenever I get around to it and find the photos I want to switch out. I had to go ahead and post the work in progress or else I never would've done it since I'd always want to be changing something. Heck, I may still revert back to the old Jayhawk banner, but wanted to try something new on for size.

What do ya think?

On another note, thanks for all the kind words of support on the previous post. The comments, facebook messages, twitter feedback and emails was comforting. I kid you not, I initially wrote it all in early February and continually hesitated to pull the trigger. Glad I bit the bullet and got it out there...if anything, it'll help hold me accountable. Hopefully, I'll have some good progress to report back soon.

Weighing the Issue...

2010-02-21T19:45:00.000-06:00

I've been debating a post of this nature since last July. And to be honest, I'm still a bit hesitant to pull the trigger. So who knows if I'll actually get the cahoonas to hit publish. I may publish and take it down. I may hit publish and remove it from posting to facebook. I may set this whole stupid post to private. But I feel like I need to just throw it out there in the universe and let the pieces fall where they may.

This blog has always been about the pursuit of sport. Road Races. Marathons. Triathlons. 70.3's. And even the big bad Ironman. We've even had a bit of odds and ends in the mix...stair climbing races, 200 mile relays, shopping cart derbies...met all sorts of wonderful and fabulous people along the way...all in all, there have been a lot of fun times over the past 5ish years documented here.

But the one thing that has seemingly always weighed on my mind, but I've never actually been forthright in addressing (until now), is my weight.

You'd think that in running thousands of miles, swimming until your body is pruned and biking off into the sunset would whittle me away into nothing by now. (a girl can only dream, right?) But in fact, all the years of training seem to have had the opposite effect.

It started off with a few pounds gained for my first marathon back in 2006.

Oh it's just muscle mass. I foolishly told myself.

Mmm. No. Let's be blunt. It's the cumulative effect of shit you ate because you felt like you had earned it after all those long runs. Did you earn a slice of pizza? Sure. Did you earn eating the whole damn thing by yourself? Hardly.

Over the years, a few pounds turned into ten...and then fiften...and twenty-plus...all from a series of ridiculously stupid decisions made along the way THAT WERE ENTIRELY AVOIDABLE. And then we hit an all time low point last year. The scale hovered 170. And let me tell, that was an eye-opening, mortifying and heartbreaking experience.

Last summer, we went on a family vacation with my folks and siblings. As much as I love my family, some days I feel like I really got screwed on the gene pool. I have one sister who is naturally petite. Another sister, who because of cancer, will eternally be the size of a toothpick. An athletically built brother who could probably up and run a marathon with nearly zero training (not to mention his wife who is beyond gorgeous, a former college cheerleader, and looks like she never ages).

I love my family to bits, but when we're all together, it's impossible to not feel like Andre the Giant in every sense of the name. Because of this, I absolutely loathe seeing myself in photos. A series of individuals who look perfect and tiny and fit...and then me. The blob trying to hide in the back. (As a result, I much prefer to be behind the lens.) One day we all spent the afternoon out on the lake, hanging out in the pontoon boat, zipping around on a jet ski, having fun. When we got home, my mom uploaded the photos from the day. At first I was jazzed to start looking at them. But I don't think I made it through half the images before I shut the laptop and headed down to my room to just sob for what felt like an hour.

I looked...in a word...enormous.

Is my view of myself arguably skewed?

Probably.

Am I fat?

Hardly.

But what I saw was ugly. And I hated it.

In my eyes, I looked horrible, especially in comparison to everyone else (and this tends to happen with friends and training mates, too--not just family). I know, I know...the likelihood of any of them accomplishing something like an Ironman is nearly zero. And I understand I shouldn't compare myself to others, but still...it's hard not to.

So last July was my starting point. I made a mental pact with myself that, effective immediately, I was going to start making better choices with what I was eating. The biggest challenge was keeping my calories up to sustain myself for the long workouts in Ironman Training.

Eventually, things started to level out. And by the end of my final build of IMAZ preparation I was down in the low 160's.

Since November, things have continued to slowly progress in the right direction, which is good. I'm now in the mid 150's. Pants that were once too tight are now loose or fit perfectly once more. But honestly? I still have my work cut out for me.

Point blank, I am fed up with looking in the mirror and being disgusted with my own body. And then feeling disappointed with myself for allowing things to get this bad. It's not just a weight thing, but an issue of tone as well. Sure, my body has accomplished many incredible things up to this point, but I just want to be able to look in a mirror once again and think to myself "damn, I look gooooooooood."

(Trust me. I've been taking the necessary steps to get there. And get there, I will!!)

I know that I'm not the only female out there who feels this way, and I understand that there are individuals out there feeling like they're "worse off" than I am right now. But damnit, so very few people talk about internal headcase that the scale turns us all into, so I figure I'm going to be one of the few who will try to articulate it (at least once in a while, as I refuse to let this blog turn into Barb's Weight Loss Docu-Drama). I just think people in general really underestimate just how much unhappiness with ones own body spills over into other areas of your life.

I mean...if I don't like me in my own skin, how can I expect anyone else to? And thoughts like that start the vicious wheel spinning and it's often hard to reel them back in before they get irrational and out of control.

I've come to accept the fact that sometimes I obsess over the wrong numbers too much. For the longest time it was hard not to step on a scale and feel heartbroken on some level. But the scale isn't always the number that counts. So moving forward, each month, inches will be totaled and compared to track progress. Additionally, I've been more attentive with counting calories and making sure I'm getting in enough good fats and protein. For most folks, it seems like being active is the challenge. For me, it's portion control and making sure the things that go in my mouth aren't just healthy, but are meeting my requirements for athletic fuel.

For years, I feel like my weight (at least how I perceive myself) has been a huge reason why I've held myself back when it comes to running and biking. It has been well documented that lighter people tend to go faster since they have less weight in tow and that every pound you carry translates to XX additional seconds and there's all sorts of never-ending math equations to back it all up. So I sort of accepted the fact that I was slower because I was a different build than other athletes.

What tomfoolery!

But I'm determined to change that. and not hold myself back anymore. and really try to push every fiber of my body to see what I've got. I can't sit here and wait to be rescued from allowing myself to feel this way. The only person who can save me, is me.

So I'm doing what I can with what I've got.

There is no gym membership involved sadly (though if someone wants to pick the monthly tab for this I will certainly let them). No enlisting in WW or Jenny Craig. Just trying to be smart(er) and dial in on the things I can change--eating fresh, cutting out crap, incorporating strength training, keeping up the mileage and making this whole process fun. Figuring out a way to enjoy that six-pack of beer without sacrificing six-pack abs (not technically, but you know what I mean). So if you've got any secrets on how to accomplish this, by all means...don't hold back...let me hear it!

And in the meantime, stay tuned for landmark milestones as numbers continue to drop over the next few months...

Keep on Keepin' on...

2010-02-07T19:33:00.004-06:00

So word on the street is there's a football game going on right now.

And I'm pretty sure that I'm one of the few people out there who isn't watching it. Which is especially tragic considering I work in advertising and this is supposed to be the best! night! ever! for our industry. Looks like I'm guilty of one of the cardinal sins in Ad Land.

Oh well! Shame on me.

Today brought an 8ish mile training run on my St. Louis Half marathon plan. Wasn't too shabby. Ended up throwing down 7.94 miles at a 10:32 pace. It actually felt like I was running significantly slower than that, so I can't make any complaints on my pace. About half way through my left ankle started to make its presence known and with a bit of quick mental math I came to the harsh realization that these bad boys have somewhere between 450-500 miles on 'em. So with my next paycheck, it looks like I'll be ordering myself a new pair of Brooks Trance 9's.

Things are going well on the strength training front so far. However it's become quite evident that I need to start lifting 2-3 times a week if I want to see the results I've laid out in my head. But progress is progress, so I can't make too many complaints. The weights that I initially worked with are gradually getting easier to use. I imagine in another week or two I'll graduate to some 8's and 10's on various lifts. And I've been perusing the Women's Health Magazine website looking for inspiration and various lifts to mix things up in the weight room. Great little resource that site is.

And I think this year I'm going to make it a goal to try one new thing a month from a training/athletic/conditioning standpoint. If January was Chi Running, then February is going to be trying my hand at the Bar Method (it's a strength and conditioning class that uses the basics of ballet, pairing it with the key tenants of yoga and pilates--and having danced for more than a decade, I figure it may be right up my alley). I have a free class to test thanks to a gal at work...and from what I've read I had better be prepared to not be able to walk the following day. I'll be sure to report back with the full kit and caboodle on my experience.

There really isn't too much to report on at the moment. Starting this past week I've been closely monitoring all the crap I put in my mouth and making adjustments toward eating better--but that's a post for another day in the future. Afterall, garbage in = garbage out.

So until next time, keep on keepin' on my friends...

Don't Spill the Chi

2010-02-01T13:19:00.015-06:00

...well. I finally made it home to Chicago.

After 15ish hours of traveling from Norfolk with 2 canceled flights, being re-routed to DC, 7+ hours in a car driving through a white out (for a drive that was only 190 miles), then nearly an hour sitting on the tarmac as they de-iced the plane...I was finally home. I was relieved. And the memory of the drama that ensued was nothing short of epic. As a result, I've met my quota of snow for the year...so imagine my displeasure to wake up to white crap falling from the sky this morning. (but I digress...)

So sometime while I was up in the air, the Chief of Pain called and left me a voicemail.

Mike and I had been invited to a free Chi Running clinic that would be taped to help another coach earn their certification.

[Editor's Note: Chi Running is something that has been on our radar for years now. I've read the book. Been confused by the book. Sorta gave up on the book when I couldn't figure out the body positions. And honestly, I never wanted to spend the money on the class at the end of the day. Let's face it...it can get pricey.]

Given my exhaustion, I was on the verge of declining. I ~~wanted~~ needed a chance to sleep in and just regroup before the insanity of the work week hit (2 days in and I'm already eager for February to be over--it's that crazy). I wanted to go home and simply pop open a bottle of wine. Watch the Kansas basketball game and slip into a syrah-induced hibernation and then camp out in my jammies all day long.

...buuuuuut that little voice in the back of my head kept reminding me that it was free. And mocked me for lasting all of 20 minutes on the hamster machine at the hotel (seriously...how do people rely so heavily on the treadmill!? it's mind-numbing and makes me want to gauge my eyeballs out with a spoon!)...meaning I needed to get some running in the mix. Stat.

I decided that my participation came down to two things...

1. Is the class outside?

2. And how early does the clinic commence?

(The last thing I wanted to do was wake up with the sun and attend a running clinic for a few hours in the bitter Chicago cold.)

What's that? It's indoors and at 10am? Bring it. I owed it to myself to give it a whirl.

The clinic was insanely helpful. Nothing short of information overload. The instructor explained everything really well and I truly believe it's going to make a difference in my running this year.

The body positioning will certainly take a while before it becomes second nature...there's so much to think about. Your head angle, weight in the front foot, pushing the earth behind you, cadence, arm swing, the lean, the angles, the pendulum, maintaining a level pelvis, and of course...not spilling your chi...

Spilling your cheese?

No. Chi. And yes, you don't want to spill it. Spilling chi is bad. Very bad.

Your chi rests in your pelvis. And you have to keep it level to avoid having your chi runneth over and all onto the street. Because if that happens, you're left with nada.

Theoretically, of course.

You see...your chi, is in essence, your energy...your life source in sport, if you will. (And no, I'm not pulling this outta my ass.) See...

CHI (chē)
The vital force believed in Taoism and other Chinese thought to be inherent in all things. The unimpeded circulation of chi and a balance of its negative and positive forms in the body are held to be essential to good health in traditional Chinese medicine.

In its most basic form, Chi Running is learning to let gravity pull you along rather than forcing your body forward. By doing this, we remove the excess stress from of our body, thus helping avoid injury. Less aches and pains...looser hip flexors...minimal IT band strain. Strange as it sounds, the biomechanics of it all totally make sense.

It all goes back to your lean and all those little positional tweaks.

And when you're in mid-run...it's a lot to remember. And even when you do remember it, piecing all of it together correctly is sort of like chewing gum, patting your head, rubbing your belly, humming the star spangled banner and skipping backwards through rush our traffic all at the same time.

So last night, I bundled up and set out for my first "practicing" run. With all the craziness from the weekend, I ditched my 7 miler on Sunday afternoon...so rather than run an easy 3 as scheduled...I decided to go somewhere in the 5-6 mile range (close enough, right?!) and test out everything I had learned, leaving all the hi-tech gadgets at home.

The first few hundred yards were overwhelming. I kept running down a mental checklist, adjusting things along the way. After a while, I found it best to focus on just one thing at a time (starting with pelvic tilt) and slowly introduce the other learnings throughout the course of the run.

By some grace of God, I managed to tie most of the key tenants together correctly. Hopefully without looking too goofy.

In the end, I covered 5.6 miles...

...in 53:50...

Uhmm...hullo...that's a 9:36 pace.

Homegirl doesn't run that fast on a training run. Ever. Exception to this is laying down 1600's on the track...and it's been a while since I've done that (and even then, it hurts...).

This year all of my 4-6 mile runs have been in the 10:30-11:30 range, usually leaving me feel like I put forth a moderate effort by the time I was done. So I was beyond shocked to maintain a 9:36 pace and have it feel so! freakin'! easy! I could've cranked out 10 miles at that pace and been fine. Once I nail the body geometrics of it all, I hope to hone in on the zen-schutff that goes with it all.

If things continue to go as planned and I can keep this type of momentum in my training over the next few months, I thiiiiink I should have a pretty respectable year in regards to personal bests...

...assuming I don't spill the Chi.

F^This - Guest Blogging for the Pace of Chicago

2010-01-29T23:29:00.003-06:00

What's that? You want to see what I have to say today?

Well you're going to have to go over here.

It's a little guest blogging action for Chicago Now's "Pace of Chicago" endurance blog.

So enjoy.

...and in other news...

I am snowed-in in Norfolk. And I'm not amused. In fact, I'm so not amused that I'm actually biting my thumb at Mother Nature, United Airlines and the Norfolk Airport.

Just get me home. Please.

Airborne.

2010-01-28T12:43:00.002-06:00

Hello down there!

Yes. I am up here. As in...in the air.

(No, not George Clooney style. Sadly.)

Today’s adventures find my traveling to Virginia on business. Lovely.

I don’t recall the last time I was on a plane this small. Or this empty.

It’s slightly erie.

And it wouldn’t be an adventure without some unnecessary airport drama. So thank you to the old man in front of me in the security line who tattled to TSA, snidely alerting the staffer that “that girl behind me has a razor in her carry-on.”

Enter slight hysteria in my immediate surrounding area.

Uhmm, yeah. It’s disposable, dude. I’m not going to be causing any damage (less you include skinning my knees with the damn thing)...and the likelihood of me being on your flight is slim to none (though if you were on my flight I’d have to sit directly next to you and exchange evil plotting glares throughout the duration of the trip). Get over it and travel more often. Not my fault I know my 3-1-1 rules.

But it’s been years since I’ve been back in Virginia and it’ll be interesting to explore an area of the state that I’ve never visited. And by explore, I mean “work.”

Right?

Riiiiiiight.

Some of you new to this game may be asking just what it is that I do all day long...you know, since swimming, biking, running, yoga’ing, stretching, lifting, eating, sleeping, showering, being awesome and blogging doesn’t exactly pay the bills. Though if it did, I’d be a multi-millionaire and happily share with you fine folks. Well, some of you.

In short? I work on the commercials that you begrudgingly fast forward through on your TiVo as you eagerly try to see what ridiculous statement Simon Cowell will say to his next unsuspecting, vulnerable victim.

It’s a fun job. Keeps me on my toes. And not many people can claim that they work for a dancing blue lightbulb. Plus my job apparently sends me to the southern areas of Virginia. Though next time, I’m requesting we do focus groups in Hawaii...something tells me those Hawaiians have a pretty valuable opinion of the brand I work on and frankly, I’m quite interested to see what they have to say...

But anyways. It’s been a busy, busy week. Made no less hectic by these travel plans.

Hence, why the blog has been neglected lately. Between college hoops (thank you South Carolina and suck it, Mizzou!), craziness at work and trying (and failing) to hit all my target workouts this week, I’ve found myself with minimal sanity and a handful of late nights.

This past weekend I ran a little race calling the F*cking Freezing Frozen Lake Half Marathon & 5k...aka F^3. Naturally, I elected to run the 5k as I’m still building mileage for the St. Louis half mary. I’m currently working on a guest blog for the Pace on the race, so I’ll direct you over that-a-way once it’s all done and published.

As usual, the CompuTrainer brought the pain and the Punisher is starting to get on my case about ramping my cadence up to level out around 90-95. It’s frustrating since I’ve allowed myself to slip into a habit of pushing a little harder at a lower cadence...but I know it’ll be good for me. I can already feel my cycling improving and leaving class each week soaking in a pool of my own sweat is surprisingly rewarding.

The long runs are getting a little bit better as I dished out 6.4 miles at a 10:59 pace over the weekend. I’m still trying to find my sweet spot in regards to a training pace this season...the 10:59 felt comfortable, but I wasn’t left feeling dead--so I know I can give a little more. I’m always just nervous about blowing my mojo in the first mile or two and having a craptastical rest of the run as a result. PR’s certainly aren’t set in the first 5k of a half marathon. Somehow I need to find time to get in a 7 miler this weekend and that’ll wrap up my first month of training for the St. Louis half.

And since I clearly don’t have enough going on in my life these days, I’ve allowed ourselves to get suckered into participating in Chiditarod.

Chi-dita-wha?!

Chiditarod.

An urban iditarod.

Part food drive. Part pub crawl. Part thievery. Part hook your drunk friends to a shopping cart dog-sled style and run amuck around Chicago in crazy costumes. Part self-humiliation. But the best part? Sabotaging other teams is not only encouraged, but rewarded as well. In the end it equals total awesomeness.

I’m thinking it may require a mini-webloggy docu-drama of sorts with altar-egos to protect the innocent and a fanfare of cheesy heroic music. We’re in the process of forming a team, so stay tuned for more details on the ridiculousness that will throw down in March.

Because like so many things in my life...it certainly won’t be short of comedy.

And if I can’t laugh at myself...well then I’ve at least got you guys to laugh at me instead.

Pep Talk.

2010-01-20T21:01:00.000-06:00

Are you there, legs? It’s me. Barbara.

We need to talk.

I know you’re a little less than pleased with my behavior as of recently. Sure, I spent a solid five-six weeks giving my liver plenty of love and attention while you took a well deserved rest. But the time has come to find your rhythm once more. I understand you’re not thrilled that I’m already out pounding the pavement at arguably a speedier clip than most “standard” runs for the past 4 years. But the truth is, you’ve got plenty of speed hiding in those sturdy muscles down there, and it’s about damn time we put them to good use.

You can’t tell me you’re not happy with the 8:49 pace you held at the Hot Chocolate 5k in November. Or how comfortable and easy that 10:23 pace felt last night for those 4.4 miles and yet you felt the need to still hold back. You can hang onto a speedy clip--at least speedy by my standards--when you want to. And it’s about time we start wanting that more. This is not going to be the year where you accept that feel good participant ribbon everyone gets. It’s not about being lazy and backing off because you know you get a medal regardless of the time you cross. It’s time to start truly earning some respectable finish times. The ones you can be proud of. And working hard for them. Learning to push yourself when there's no finish line...just you getting lost to the sound of your feet hitting concrete and the tasting of the sweet winter air hitting your tongue with each stinging inhale.

Because this year, we’ve got goals to meet.

Time goals.

Especially for that half marathon distance you’ve got your eyes on this year. And you’re only going to get one, maybe two shots at it. So your ass (well...legs, the ass is fine in that non-cocky kind of way) better make it count.

Yes. It will likely hurt. Possibly bringing pain to my head and ego more than anything else. You may tremble as I’m heaving my lunch on the side of the track after laying down a sub-8:00 pace on a descending series of 400’s. And you may recoil in agony as I subject you to an ice bath worthy of a gitmo torture chamber.

The truth hurts.

And the truth is we can always go faster.

And so, we will do things, through awesomeness and through pain, to get to where we want to be. Or at least where I want us to be. With or without your cooperation, I am going to will us to a few select finish times I’ve got looming in this pretty little head of mine.

So pony up, legs. Be prepared to grab onto the heels of your speedy, gazelle-like friends and hold on for dear life. Enjoy being seduced by that evil, temptress of a foam roller for the next 16 weeks. Get ready to push some serious watts on the CompuTrainer. And suck it up in the weight room to hone in on all that untapped power and strength you’re afraid to unleash. You may not be able to walk any stairs the following day, but an extra set of squats and lunges certainly won't kill you. Plus it'll help you look more badass in a two-piece come summertime (and let's be honest...we need some help in that department).

I promise…you work with me and give me what I need to really unleash the beast and make April 11th a success, and I’ll take it easy on you for a little bit...

…well…

…at least until tri season hits full force in May.

FTP.

2010-01-14T17:00:00.004-06:00

This past Wednesday the CompuTrainer class up started at Infinity Multisport. The Chief of Pain and The Punisher (aka Mo and Lara) both had smiles on their faces bigger than a little kid on Christmas Morning. Their "baby" was finally up and running...with a completely full class to boot. I'm so excited for both of them.

And like most other CompuTrainer classes, we began with an FTP test. For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about...this is the functional threshold power test which essentially explores the maximum power you can sustain for an hour while cycling. You're basically required to cycle as strong and as hard as you can for a pre-determined period of time (most mortals don't test for a full hour, and in our class we tested for 20 minutes) in an effort to determine what your personal threshold is. That data is then used during coached rides where we will all cycle at XX% of our maximum threshold in an effort to get stronger and build endurance--essentially making our engines more efficient.

Interesting.

Right?

(only if you're a numbers geek.

...which I am most definitely not. I fall in the words geek category, in case you couldn't tell.)

Spinning balls to the wall in the basement with eleven other triathletes in training is hardly what I call an exciting use of my Wednesday night. BUT...it went well. Better than expected actually. And dare I say...fun?

With the music cranked up, legs spinning as strong as I could muster and sweat streaming down off my face and body, the Chief of Pain and The Punisher cheered us each on by name, counting down the minutes. Let me tell you...this shit burned. Testing on the heels of my first day of strength training probably wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done, especially considering I could barely carry my bike down the stairs. But getting them moving felt really, really good in that masochistic kind of way.

So while FTP may stand for Functional Threshold Power, during the course of those 20 minutes of busting my ass, I brainstormed alternative--yet equally applicable in that precise moment--definitions for the term...

Finding This Pleasant.

Flying Turning Pedals.

Freely Thinking (about) Pacebooty.

Forging Through Pain.

Firey Tiiiiiiring Piriformis.

Flooding Trickling Perspiration.

Flippin' Taking a Pause!

Finish This Please!!

F*cking Torturous Program!!!

Final Throbbing Push!!!! (can I get a that's what she said!? Woot!)
Failed Thoroughly and Pathetically. (or so I thought. sigh.)

Pushing myself that hard for that long didn't kill me (much to my amazement). Afterward, Chief pulled my aside and mentioned that he was really surprised I had that in me...and it became more than evident that I need to teach myself to drop the hammer on the bike. Because apparently, I can. I just elect not to. Which is simply ridiculous.

I'm not going to pretend that I pull some massive, huge, beautiful numbers. Because I don't. But the numbers I did post, were solid and great for me. Especially considering where I started with cycling a few years ago. During the four complimentary classes I took at Infinity 2 weeks ago, my numbers went up with each class. After so much time away from the bike, I started in the low 100's and by the 4th class peaked at around a 142 average for the ride.

During the test, I averaged 157 watts (I was fully anticipating an average in the low-mid 140's, so I was pleasantly surprised). Good. Not great. Allowing plenty of room for progress. The Punisher played the numbers game and calculated my FTP at the moment to be 146. She also mentioned that aside from the two purist roadie guys in our class (that pull some absurd wattage with ease), Mike and I had the two most consistent tests as we were able to keep our wattage level (and slowly increasing) throughout. So score one for us.

I'm really looking forward to being able to quantify my progress over the next 2 months in this class. And hopefully we'll get to do this again sometime in the future since testing your FTP is only 20 minutes of hell and really isn't all that bad...especially when you can settle on it meaning something like this...

...Future's Thoroughly Positive.

Stiff.

2010-01-14T13:57:00.006-06:00

You know that feeling you get in your legs 2-3 days after you've run a marathon?

The one where your quad muscles feel like they've been replaced with rough blistering wood, your ass is so sore and tight, you're stiffer than a dead cat in formaldehyde, and the stairs to your apartment may as well be Mount Everest...

...yeah. That feeling.

It's quite unpleasant.

And it's not a feeling I get all too often. Usually only after a race or some crazy sick speedwork prescribed by the Chief of Pain. (or so I thought.)

Somebody apparently failed to send me the memo that this feeling also becomes blatantly evident when you begin strength training.

(...and this feeling is precisely why I've never done strength training with a modicum of serious fervor before.

it hurts...

...a lot!)

Case in point...when using the ladies room at work, I like to be able to sit and stand up without any outside assistance. Today, my quads were so sore that I nearly ripped the "old lady safety bar" right out of the wall while trying to stand up. That paired with the obvious audiable strenuous effort from the acts of sitting and standing, had anyone else been in there with me they may have thought I was dropping a bomb on Hiroshima. Muscle and sinew seriously screamed at me. It wasn't pretty.

But I've really been delaying strength training for far too long.

Too long as in my entire lifetime.

I figure...why not start now? At least on a half-way serious level. Afterall, it's 2010...I'll be 30 in a little over 20 months (gulp). And I'm not going to be doing any super serious racing this year. Yes, I've got a 70.3 on the docket, but 2010 is all about having fun, zero performance pressure on myself (i say that now), and fixing those little jiggly bits on my body that disgust me so.

So what history tells us, is that me in the weight room is pretty similar to how I am in the kitchen...

...aimlessly wandering around, wondering what different tools and machines do, heeding extreme caution as to avoid cutting off any fingers. If you didn't know. I can't cook. So I usually don't. (baking on the other hand...well let's just say that's how I got all my jiggly bits. I'm an awesome baker. and griller. and grilled cheese sammich-maker. but really? that's about all I can do. just ask Mike. He's the only reason I tend to get in three meals a day.)

Back to my point. I've never really done much strength training. It never fails to intimidate the pants off of me, even on the most basic of levels. Sure it was on my calendar last year as part of the big giant "get barb ready for Ironman" ...buuuuuuuuuuut I sometimes let it fall to the wayside. And by sometimes I mean all but 3 or 4 sessions of the 30-something weeks I trained. And those 3-4 sessions I did do...well, we're not going to talk about how laughable those were.

I know this isn't a task I can handle on my own as I simply don't have the knowledge base and proper form needed to not injure myself. And since Jillian Michaels isn't readily available to assist me, I turned to the next best thing. Strong friendboy.

An evening of basic lifts (CURSE YOU SQUATS AND LUNGES!! I bite my thumb at you!!) to get me started and two days later I find myself walking about as well as a geriatric woman after a hopscotch marathon with her grandkids. How could doing so little with such light weights hurt so much!?

It all proved one thing to me: I'm weak.
(for now.)

Sure, I'm mentally tough as nails and can will my body through the torture of 140.6 miles. But in terms of strength, it's quite amusing.

I've had to remind myself that strength training, like anything else, comes with a learning curve. I'm not naturally good at it. And to get to where you want to be requires a lot of work. If I want to get stronger, I have to learn not to be afraid of the weight room. Here's an excerpt from an article I recently read that struck a chord with me...

This has many variants, like “I can’t lift weights, I’m too weak” or “I can’t do yoga, I’m not flexible enough.” It all boils down to avoiding an activity because you lack the very trait that the activity is supposed to develop. You would never hear someone say, “I can’t go to school, because I can’t read and do math.” If you want to get better at something, do the thing that is designed to make you better at it. I understand that confronting your weaknesses and flaws is humbling and tough both physically and emotionally, but we have all of us overcome adversity in our lives. We have all grown as people and developed new skills where there were none before.

Clearly, I'm volunteering myself for a lot of stiff, sore muscles in the months to come. Hopefully it comes with the added benefit of diminishing jiggly bits and a toner, stronger bod. I'm looking to make strength training a weekly habit (once a week starting out and assuming I can handle it, twice by the time spring rolls around)...and will be taking some before and after photos (of which I'm not convinced I have the cahoonas to post on here...at least not yet).

I know the soreness isn't going to last forever, and the benefits far outweigh the temporary discomfort. And who knows...maybe one day later this summer I'll find myself in a place where I'm confident enough to ditch the shirt and go for a long run in a sports bra and shorts while soaking up the sun...

...a girl can dream, can't she?

...but until then, I'll do my best not to rip the safety bar off the wall in the bathroom stall.

Yeah. It's that kind of cold.

2010-01-10T22:00:00.006-06:00

It seems like everyone across the blog-o-sphere is commenting on the weather.

Guess what?!

This one is no different.

Mother Nature is a bitch and the wench has hit Chicago pretty hard with sub-zero temps the past week and a half. The HUGE! MASSIVE! WINTER! STORM! that the meteorologists had everyone in a tizzy over was supposed to deliver anywhere from 10-16 inches of snow (with more along the lakefront). In the end, we only ended up with about 5 inches. If that. Nothing we can't handle. Though the worst of it has been this unrelenting frigidness in the air. Stupid cold temperatures abound. We're talking colder than the balls on a brass monkey.

*Awesome*

Such temps allow all of us to throw on a few extra layers and pretend we're winter warriors (an idea that is absolutely wonderful...in theory). Over the past week, I got two outdoor runs in...a 4 and a 5 miler for the St. Louis half training. Let me tell you...running outside in this nonsense is highly overrated. And after years of running, I still get a nice fat "F" for dressing appropriately when it's below 20 degrees...it's an art I have yet to master.

Last Sunday I was one of the few who braved the cold for a run. I maybe saw all of 5 or 6 other runners out there.

Perhaps this could be the reason why...

Or maybe this...in case you can't tell, there's a ladder underneath all that ice somewhere...

Overall, the run was solid, albeit cold. Sections of the lakefront begged for Kristi Yamaguchi to lace up her skates and throw a few triple axels down (...is it really too much to ask for salt around the bend by the Drake?!), but for the most part the path was clear. The few folks I crossed paths with all shared that same look of "oh my gawd, what on earth were we thinking?!?" on their face. Smiles exchanged with strangers with a firey chill in my lungs made me feel so alive. It was a very good run, indeed.

Then this morning I headed north for a run in the snow with a few good friends. I completely forgot just how challenging hoofing it through a few inches of snow can be. My knees and ankles have been sore all day.

And uh...can you say effing freezing cold!? Lauren's blonde locks turned white as they became caked in a layer of frost. David had ice crystals crusted on his eyelashes and Dan's beard was a sugary flavored syrup away from being a slushie. For the most part, I walked away unscathed...save for some frost on my face, remnants of snot rockets iced to my nostrils, and a pair of thighsicles that wouldn't de-thaw until the late afternoon after a hot shower, several layers of fleece and a nap in my Snuggie.

This week Infinity Multisport got their new computrainer studio up and running. I stopped by their complimentary classes four times this week (which was about oh...3 times too many) and I had my ass handed to me over and over and over again. Between a coached ride, a 90-something ITU World Championship Course, some stupid hilly course in Germany loaded with 8% climbs that lasted 20 minutes and finishing out the week with the Escape from Alcatraz course...I was spent. And my tush was screaming from all the time in the saddle as I had promised I'd take it easy on the bike in the months following Ironman.

Apparently I lied.

I've never had the privilege of working out on a computrainer before and HOLY COW. It was tough. And agonizingly gruesome at times. And leaves zero opportunity for cheating (not that I would ever dream of doing such a thing!!). I don't remember the last time I ended up that sweaty from a trainer session. My hair was saturated and clothes pretty much soaked by the end of the hour.

But I'm all registered for their weekly class and it feels good to be back in the saddle. We test this week so hopefully I'll be able to put up some semi-respectable watts based on how little I've been on the bike the past 2 months (and rightfully so, I reckon!) and I'm looking forward to seeing those number improve over the next 2 months.

In the meantime, I plan on keeping the outdoor runs to a minimum (and with a few extra layers) until Mother Nature pulls us out of this arctic blast. Hopefully a quick dip in the pool will make its way onto the schedule this week and perhaps another session of yoga or two. I'm just ready for a little temperature reprieve soon so I don't have to park it on the treadmill (curse you hamster wheel!!!). Though these sub-zero temps will hopefully make me more than ready for the F^3 5k at the end of the month.

Stay warm out there, campers!

Legacy.

2010-01-08T21:10:00.000-06:00

And I was thinking 'bout how
Everyone is dying…
…and maybe it is time to live?
- Eels, P.S. You Rock My World

Today I attended a beautiful memorial service for my co-worker’s father. While I never met the man, it became extremely evident where all of my teammate’s quirks and idiosyncrasies came from. He was a man who clearly impacted a countless number of friends, colleagues, family and even strangers. And this morning we gathered together in support and to celebrate his life.

Attending such services as I did today always seem to...I dunno...put me in a weird funk (for lack of a better word). Most of my day has been spent in a relatively quiet place, introverted, lost in thought, trying to focus on work and welcoming distractions via text which pretty much kept me sane.

Fortunately for me, I honestly haven’t had many people close to me pass away. I can vividly remember my grandfather’s funeral and service, and most recently a friend’s fantastically crazy grandma passed away, and another friend’s grandfather...then in one case back in high school, my friend’s little brother...and then my senior year of college, a dear friendboy’s grandma as well (which for some reason is exceptionally difficult for me to think of because of the intensity of the whole situation). There are a few others in the mix, but I wasn’t able to attend their services for one reason or another—but honestly, most of my experiences have been in the role of the supportive friend. I can only recall three or four older family members who’ve passed away in my lifetime.

Yes, it’s crazy, and borderline morbid...but every time I attend one of these events, I can’t help but think about what my memorial service will be like when I pass away and thoughts of death begin to consume me.

Who will attend?
Will it be celebratory? mournful? somber?
Will people think fondly?
Who will speak?
Will my personality be accurately reflected or will it end up being a standard run of the mill service?
How will I be remembered?
What will be my legacy?

It’s all very interesting to me. It’s something we don’t know...and won’t know until that moment. And even then, you’re not physically present to see it all throw down. The thought of life and death is just really messing with my head right now for some reason.

There’s a song by one of my favorite artists with the line "Your value only goes as far as everyone and their opinions." And while we’re taught to try to not care what other people think about us, and dish out the "eff that" attitude...I believe there is a little bit of truth to that statement (not total truth, but some). Other people’s opinions all contribute to your legacy. Their opinions and the stories they share ultimately mold how you're remembered. And let’s face it, we all want to be remembered as a nice, genuine person. Unless, of course, you’re Scrooge McDuck.

I can't help but wonder, if I were to die tomorrow crossing the street, what would my legacy be? I hope to have left a positive imprint on at least one or two people out there in this world beyond the people who are obligated to think I’m the cat’s pajamas. It doesn’t matter in what fashion it’s imprinted...it doesn’t have to be in the pursuit of sport, in fact I hope it wouldn’t be—that part I could care less about. But lingering in the back of my mind is that little thought of there being mixed opinions of me out in the world. And I’m not so much a fan of that. (Though I do have to admit, I did receive the most amazing and sincere compliment a few weeks ago that I now carry with me to refer to whenever I'm being too hard on myself--which tends to be pretty frequently, so it really means a lot to me.)

The last thing I want during my funeral would be for someone to sit back and think about what a wench I was or some mean and awful nasty things said out of spite that I’d never apologized for. That’s not much of a legacy. But if someone in their skewed perspective of the world believes you to be a terrible individual, when in fact your actions genuinely don’t back it up...well that’s where their opinion truly doesn’t impact your legacy (hence, where the aforementioned lyric doesn't exactly apply).

I do know that my legacy certainly won’t be defined in the number of miles I’ve run in a lifetime or even how many Ironmans I can complete before I’m old and gray and incapable. I won’t care if people know the number of race medals I’ve taken home or my PR times (although if you do know any of this, that’s ground for a lifetime of me haunting you...so don’t be ridiculous). So often in the realm of solo sports like running and triathlon, we get wrapped up into things that really don’t matter in the grand scheme of life (i.e. number of races, personal bests, and so on). Things that won’t impact us. Or even others. Or our legacy. It’s when we’re able to reach beyond ourselves—in sport or otherwise—and truly make a genuine impact on another that our passions become more than a drive or lifestyle, that help define who we really are.

And that's what deep down I really want my legacy to be. A positive force on someone's life. The little voice in the back of someone's head reminding them that they can do it...that hard work and perseverance pay off...and that they are capable of achieving anything they put their mind to. Whether or not that's what it will end up being remains to be determined.

But the best part is...it’s never too late to change your legacy. You don’t like where things are headed? It’s your lucky day...because you’re alive and each breath is the opportunity for you to change it. Your behavior and your actions and your reactions are all within your control. So what are you waiting for? Go out and do something that makes you happy and leave your mark on the world. What is it that you want your legacy to be?

Rancid.

2010-01-06T22:05:00.002-06:00

Something.
seriously.
foul.
has crawled into my cycling shoes.
and died.
and apparently it was an agonizing, disgusting, slow and painful death.

It's the kind of stank that lingers on your feet hours after you've taken the shoes off and showered. Thrice. And used copious amount of froo-froo girly body scrub to no avail.

I'm not going to lie. They've smelled for quite a while. Whatever is causing this funk has clearly been dead in there for about 16 months, give or take a few...but tonight, we reached horrendous, decomposing flesh levels of rancid.

The stench is overwhelmingly repugnant. and nauseating. not to mention arguably a wee bit embarrassing when a friend calls you out on it in the middle of a cycling class (thanks, punk).

In retrospect, I should've said something along these lines...

No, that's not the smell of funky shoes. That's the smell of awesomeness. And IRON! And I'm reeking of it. So take a big whiff and enjoy, suckas!!

How it really played out was more of a sheepish grin and agreeance that it was quite offensive.

(I'm pretty sure it's because I don't wear socks with my cycling shoes, and in triathlon when you're transitioning to the bike when you're soaking wet, disgustingness tends to cake itself in...but that's neither here nor there.)

But I only have another week or so of offending my training mates and friends because, these suckers are on the verge of taking a one way trip to zee dumpster!

...because MAMA'S GETTING A NEW PAIR OF SHOES!

Woot!

(somewhere off in the distance I can hear the Chief of Pain and those in my new Computrainer class cheering valiantly.)

So of course, me being a common size foot...nowhere in the Chicagoland metro area had the Louis Garneau Air Flora's in my size. Believe me. I called. Some places more than once.

Finally, upon a phone call with the fine folks at R.E.I. headquarters, they informed me that only their location in Tempe had 3 pairs IN MY SIZE in stock.

(Hmm...yeah...wasn't I just there? Pretty sure that's where the nail met the coffin for the final odor increase...maybe I should get around to dumping out that desert sand from the insole?

Naaaaah.)

So anyways. My new cycling shoes should be arriving in another 5-7 business days and I can have happy, stink-free feet once again.

But wait!!! That's not all!

Years ago when I first bought my bike, I was petrified about riding clipless. So I invested in a pair of shimano mountain bike pedals that were essentially clipless on one side, and a standard pedal on the reverse.

Read as: large. clunky. heavy.
They are the anti-traithlon pedal.
Probably at least 2 pounds of excess weight.
(kind of like those few dozen cookies I inhaled over the holiday.)

And friends, it's high about time I put on my big girl britches and moved onto the big kid pedals.

For Christmas, Mike scored me a pair of Look KEO sprints. They're oh so beautiful and light and perfect! I may or may not have been lusting over them for months.

I really have no excuse for the ridiculous amount of time it took for me to make the upgrade, but better late than never, right? Apparently it only took 140.6 miles for me to grow the cahoonas to make the switch.

One thing's for sure...

...I'll be wearing socks with my cycling shoes from now on.

Because homegirl is done hanging with the funk.

Finding my P.A.C.E. (...and how about a Free Ride?!)

2010-01-03T00:25:00.001-06:00

So I've been holding out on y'all with a fun small bit of news for a little bit. (and yes, I just tossed out a y'all. it's the southerner in me that occasionally likes to come out and play. deal with it.)

As you may (or may not) remember, last year I was accepted into the Brooks I.D. Program. I didn't really make too big of a fuss over it, but in hindsight, it was a partial sponsorship, so I suppose it sort of was a little bit of a big deal. (For those of you just now tuning in, I'm a crazy Brooks enthusiast...finally! a shoe that fits well with comfy apparel--what more could a girl ask for aside from Taylor Lautner standing 10 feet away from me, shirtless, in the rain, live in the flesh?)

...oh...what's that? We're not dabbling in my secret cougar-esque fantasies? Sorry, didn't mean to subject you to that. okay...back on target...

...anyways...

Apparently as of beginning of December, the fine folks at Brooks have elected to extend said sponsorship (note: this is before they've learned about by now public love for teen werewolves, so we'll see how long it takes 'em to revoke my I.D.-card)...but not just as a member of the I.D. program. I have actually been named one of roughly 300 influential running enthusiasts to the P.A.C.E. team.

Now what exactly is I.D. and P.A.C.E. you ask? Well...Inspire Daily...and Performance and Coaching Elite. Clearly, I think I'm more qualified for one significantly more than the other. We all know that I'm about as elite as they come...

...oh wait. What's that?!

Okay. Okay.
Stop laughing.

Really. Stop.

Honestly? I was a bit shocked (almost as much as you!) and convinced they invited the wrong Jayhawk into this selective group. But no, I was assured that I am indeed a member of the P.A.C.E. team--partly because of my passion in pursuit of constantly bettering myself for the sport, and partly because of this little blog of mine (thank you for reading, fellow friend). I do, however, promise I'll work on that "Elite" portion of the designation...at least to the best of my ability. Needless to say, Mike and my arsenal of coaches are pretty psyched.

So. What does all of this entail?

I'm not sure exactly...though I've been assured that there is much, much more information to come regarding to responsibilities. So until I get the nitty gritty, I'll keep on doing what I do. Running. Swimming. Biking. Repeating. And preaching the good gospel according to Brooks (moreso than I have in the past, because it's about time everyone realizes just how friggin' awesome their schtuff is). Perhaps I'll see if I can get some swag in the mix to give away to all my fine readers, commenters and lurkers (speak up, kids!!) out there. But with the perks, there's a bit of work that comes with the program...there's some events that I'll get (have?) to attend, races I'll be running decked in in my usual Brooks awesomeness and probably a handful of volunteering ops in the Chicagoland area that I'll get to lead the charge with some fellow local I.D. and P.A.C.E.rs. -- look for us out on the loose!

So yeah. It's a pretty sweet opportunity and I'd like to thank Steve and the find folks at Brooks for this fabulous recognition.

In other fun news...Infinity Multisport (brought to you by the Chief of Pain and Mele) is up and running and ready to rock everyone like a hurricane. They're currently offering complimentary computrainer classes this week as they iron out the kinks, so if you're in the Chicagoland area, and looking for a solid workout with two of the most fantastic coaches in the city, you should reserve your slot and come on down to Mox (the studio is in the basement). Lara's email address is on the Infinity website and on the facebook page.

Mike and I hit up a class earlier today...and well...we're not going to discuss how my bike fitness has completely diminished over the past 6 weeks of couch surfing and the pathetic watts that yours truly put out. It was tough, but awesome. And Mike has been complaining about his tender tush all night long. (He really is a hard ass, though.) And why not torture myself just when all those saddle sores have healed and gone into hibernation for the off-season!? We'll be hitting up a few more sessions this week for good measure and hope to see some of you fine folks there. Don't be shy...you know you want to experience it for yourself!

Oh...and on top of all this other awesomeness...St. Louis half marathon training has officially kicked off. My 3 mile run turned into 4 and some change. I'm already deviating from the plan...because apparently, that's how I roll. I'm using a massively modified version of Higdon's intermediate plan...and when I think about it, I don't think there's any evidence of the original plan on the page. Hmm. But it'll involve a weekly dip in the pool, death by computrainer on Wedensdays, a short run, speed work picked up from the last 3 big builds of my Ironman plan, and then a weekend long run (with a semi-option long ride). We'll see how long I'm able to stick to the plan...

...anyone want to wager a bet?
(and shut up, Mike...no commentary from the peanut gallery needed!)

Happy running (and swimming and biking and overall awesomeness), my friends!

PS...please excuse my gratuitous use of "awesome" and its derivatives in this blog.

Decade.

2009-12-31T11:32:00.000-06:00

2010.

A new decade is on the horizon.

The past ten years have been nothing short of fantastic.
and crazy.
and awesome.

I...
Went to college.
Went Greek.
Found a love for Kansas basketball.
Found a love for beer.
Found my dark side.
Relished in my sunny side.
Was coined the sunshine queen.
Discovered more about myself than I'll ever care to admit.
Went to more concerts than I'll ever care to count.
Went to the pumpkins "final show" at metro.
Subsequently found a photo of me crying in Rolling Stone magazine.
Discovered there was good music outside of the pumpkins.
Almost died in a 311 mosh pit.
Felt butterflies in the pit of my core.
Had my lung collapse.
Had my heart broken.
Broke a few hearts.
Kissed and told.
Kissed and kept quiet.
Made some bad decisions.
Stood by said bad decisions.
Regretted some decisions.
Regretted the things I didn't decide to do.
Tried new things.
Stayed in my comfort zone.
Got into a writing zone.
Got published.
Twice.
Only told about 4 people at the time.
Not even my parents.
Didn't buy the book of short stories when it came out. (idiot).
Have searched far and wide for a copy with zero luck. (stupid limited press).
Didn't make the same mistake twice.
Bought the book that published a poem of mine.
Discovered a book that changed my entire perspective on life.
Discovered I have an unrelenting curiosity for almost everything.
Especially people.
Understood life is about reaction.
Not action.
And asking the right questions.
And living into the answers.
And learning that a lot of people never ever really, truly live. (and that's sad).
Dated.
A lot.
Stayed in some relationships too long. (shame on me).
Didn't given some a fighting chance. (shame on me more).
Dished out exactly one pity date.
Dated a friend's ex. (never again).
Dated a mormon rebel.
Dated two guys at once.
Dated three different guys who all drove Camero SS's. (coincidence, I swear!).
Pretended to date a frat boy as a joke on a friend.
Joke's on us.
We got married.
Bought a condo.
Got a cat.
Got a dog.
Got a job.
Got in debt.
Jumped ship and changed my career path.
Jumped out of a plane.
Started a blog.
Started running.
Didn't stop.
Began swimming.
And biking.
Did it all in one day in 15:54:51.
Got the ink.
Learned a ridiculous amount about myself in the process.
Realized that happiness is only what you make of it.
And I deserve nothing less than that.
And that things are just that: things.
And that I'm willing to try anything once.
Sometimes twice.
And in one instance, thrice.
Learned that no matter how hard someone may try, words can't be reeled back into a mouth.
And that your behavior is a true demonstration of your character.
And that it's best to step up and own your shit rather than sweep it under the table.
Learned that the company you keep is directly proportionate to your level of happiness.
And you should do at least one thing each day to make you happy.
Watched friends have babies.
Freaked out over friends having babies.
Realized that I'm not in a place to have babies just yet. (and apparently that makes me less important to some).
Realized that I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. (but understand that whatever it is, I want to leave a positive impact on this world with at least one person).
Grew as a person.
Grew as a couple.
Grew as an athlete.
Grew as a friend.
Grew closer with some friends.
Watched strangers become friends.
And friends become strangers.
Realized that friends are the family you handpick for yourself.
And sometimes that can be just as good--if not even better--than the real thing.
Discovered that even as an adult, when you're the baby of the family you'll still get the short end of the stick occasionally.
Learned that sometimes you just have to man up and tell someone precisely where they can stick it.
And learned that sometimes you've gotta go where no one knows your name.
And that you can find comfort in strangers and friendship in fools.
Met some truly remarkable people.
And I carry a piece of each of them in my soul every moment of every day.
And that a random person on the other side of the country can impact your life more than you ever dreamed possible.
And that at any moment, at any age, you can find inspiration from the simplest of things...
...or even be that inspiration.

The past 10 years have had some pretty fabulous highs and some significantly shitty lows.
I can only hope that the next decade can match, if not trump this one.
For the most part, things seem to keep getting better with time.

Happy New Year's everyone...

...cheers!

Goals.

2009-12-23T14:35:00.003-06:00

So I've been doing a fair amount of thinking about what 2010 will bring in regards to my random feats of athleticism (or lack thereof).

December has been fun...filled with lots of late nights and exercising my liver the way I used to do in college. I consider it libations training for New Year's Eve. The last thing I want is to be that girl who's all "WOOHOO!!!!" after two drinks. Because yeah...that's pretty much where I've been at since Ironman. With my luck, I'll end up on stage singing with The Black Keys and getting kicked out of The Riv. Sweet.

But all those shenanigans will soon be slowing down (not entirely phasing out, my friends will be happy to learn!) so I can get focused on the 2010 season.

For 2009, I wrote my goals down and hung them on my desk so I read them every day at work. I never once published them here, mostly for fear of accountability (I know, shame on me). Of the five goals--I solidly accomplished 4 of the 5...with that fifth one being a weight goal of dropping 10%...I ended up dropping about 8.5%, so I figure that's close enough. The others, training and race time goals, were all hit to my amazement.

So rather than withhold my 2010 plans. Here they are.

2010 will be all about improving three things.
three weaknesses.
three s's.

1. Speed.

2. Strength.

3. Spinning.

With speed, I've already seen great strides with my run pace within the last few months, but I've got some clear work ahead of me as I try to maintain that speed over distance. And not just on the run...but picking it up in the pool and on the bike, too. If I learned anything from Ironman training it's that I can't break myself, even when I'm going hard. Rarely do I really push myself to the edge physically and I've barely tapped into what I'm truly capable of. It's time to really lay things out on the track, be fearless and go balls to the wall during speed sessions to get myself to where I want to be. I need those mid-distance runs where I just cling onto the heels of someone faster than me and hold on for dear life. I need to learn how to pull 20mph into the wind on the bike. And push the swim to a point where people want to fall into my draft. Let's pick this shit up and claw my way rightfully to the middle of the pack, kids.

Strength? Good God, I am easily one of the physically weakest people in the sport. I've been looking into programs like Physio-Slow, CrossFit and Core Fusion to try and identify the right match for me to build strength. I'll start small with the weight room in our building to get a decent base in there...and then see where it goes. Lucky for me, I've got some folks in my camp who are willing to help me out so I don't kill myself in the process. With strength comes toning. And that'll help me build speed. And if I manage to shave off another 15 pounds in the process, more power to me. Though I'm forcing myself to be realistic with my weight.

And then there's spinning. Cycling still poses the greatest opportunity for improvement for me and I'm really looking forward to working hard with the Chief of Pain and Lara at Infinity and then joining in the women's group rides through Mox when the weather warms up. I plan on riding just to ride. And riding lots. And riding hills. And flats. And into the wind. And out of the wind. And really just getting back to those childhood roots where you'd bike as hard as you can (because you can), stand on the pedals and just FLY down hills fearlessly. All those organized century rides in the Chicagoland area? I hope to go to as many as I can. And I hope to see you there.

In regards to races, I've identified a few and will be updating that handy dandy little "upcoming races" section on my blog accordingly.

I'll kick the year off with the Shamrock Shuffle. I'm not so worried about this taking a high priority on the race calendar...but it does kick off the running season here in the Windy City, and there's nothing like running 5 miles in a sea of people through downtown.

Then in April, I really, really, really want to run a new personal best at the half marathon distance. We'll be headed down to St. Louis (where my 2:33 13.1 PR currently reigns) where I'll hopefully come home with a new time in the 2:20's. It'll be interesting to run this one by myself as the last time I was there I ran with my dad, which made pacing and all that jazz significantly easier and more fun. Maybe I should pay a friend to pace me at flat 11's for this bad boy? *cough*

And as of right now, that's it for road races. I may pick up a 5k down the line and try to go sub-27. Or perhaps I'll try me hand at the RnR Chicago Half since I get free entry (oh yeah...I forgot to share that exciting bit of news...perhaps another day).

In regards to tri's...I have a few tentatively on my radar.

Mike and I will return to Galena this year, but with a few friends in tow. It's the race I love to hate and hate to love. It makes every other triathlon you do that year feel like a piece of cake. The bike course is nothing but pure pain and misery with 1700+ feet of climbing over 16 unrelenting miles. It's the only race I've ever actually walked my bike *up* a hill or two. It's brutal. But awesome. And I've got a huge bone to pick with this course this time around. It's on.

I find it a little bit funny that I've done an Ironman...but never have I actually tried my hand at the Olympic distance tri (I used to blame the fact that I hated the 10k run distance--but really, I like going long or going short...the middle-ground stuff is just irritating to me...so it's high time I got over that). So...in 2010, I will give my first shot at the Olympic Distance, most likely at the Bigfoot Triathlon or perhaps Lake Geneva.

The Trek Women's Tri will be on my radar once more...and this year I get to introduce this chick to the fabulousness of the event. If I've put in the mileage necessary, I think I can go sub-1:30 for the first time ever. I really want to just push the pace on the bike and see how it all unravels from there.

And then, depending on how everything goes the first half of the year, and how I'm feeling about racing...I MAY pick up either the Racine 70.3 distance or the Steelhead Half IM. I also wouldn't mind heading back down state for the Great Illini Half IM again. Or I may suck it up and do the Chicago Triathlon. I really don't know at this point. We'll just have to wait and see.

I'm very much looking forward to things being a bit more lax this season. If I want to go out drinking on a Friday night with friends. I will. And I won't feel guilty about it. So with the exception of an Olympic Tri and the St. Louis Half...this year will be less about racing...and more about me enjoying the training process, redefining my body and working hard as much as I'm playing hard.

Good times all around.

A Race Report. (not mine)

2009-12-17T21:50:00.001-06:00

It's funny...because it's true. Thanks for forwarding this along, Lauren!

Fitter. Happier. More Productive.

2009-12-12T12:34:00.005-06:00

Okay. So I think I've figured out what's going on with the funk.

I've discovered that I am significantly happier with a routine. rhythm. a workout to look forward to. knowing what's coming next rather than sitting around taking up professional couch surfing.

Not that there's anything wrong with that...but it's just not for me. (at least not right now.) Which is a little funny considering I've managed to secure a gold medal in the marathon portion of the event over the past few weeks. Also on the podium with me, the other half and Phog the wonder dog. and an empty 12 pack at my feet. surrounded by pizza and oreo crumbs.

What can I say? I have mastered the fine art of sloth and gluttony.
The nuns at my grade school would be so proud.

But honestly? Being sedentary is simply driving me bat shit insane.
BAT.SHIT.INSANE.

I hate it.

I need to be moving.

Swimming.
Biking.
Running.
Yogaing.
Lifting. (much to my chagrin.)
Stretching.
Insert-Favorite-Verb-here'ing.

Movement is critical to my well-being. and my sanity.

Wait. Let's back that up...

Me being in movement is critical to the well-being and sanity of my family, friends and co-workers. Because frankly, I'm pretty friggin' unbearable and borderline depressed when I can't be doing stuff. And when I say borderline depressed...I mean full out wonky depression.

The winter always seems to be rough though. The general lack of movement by society paired with the cold weather and December notoriously being a button-popper of a month has really done a number on me.

So this morning, in an effort to shake the funk, I pulled out the tights, laced up and went out for a run (I'm one of those folks who'd rather run outside in single digits for 2 hours than on the hamster wheel for 20 minutes). No gadgets or gizmos. Just me, my shoes (okay...I lied, my iPod is a gadget), and the open, icy road for four or five miles. I ran away from things...ran towards others...ignored distance....and pace...and enjoyed the stinging fire of cold air in my hot lungs. A familiar burn that makes me feel at home...in my happy place.

As a result, I've found myself in a ridiculously happy mood. (Okay...so other things may have helped, too...like the fact that Mike is making Oreo Balls...teheheee...I said balls).

So let's turn this happiness into a plan...so I can stay in a fun, funk-free mood. and stay in motion. and help keep everyone around me a little more sane.

I'm going to try and get myself back into a routine. A few light workouts here and there throughout the week so I can get back on track. So 2010 isn't starting from scratch. and so I can be more productive and a better person overall.

My body is itching to get back. I feel good. The ink has healed. And the post-Ironman recovery has gone over better than I ever imagined.

I've got some thinking to do about a routine. Nail down which days I'll do what. And then figure out for how long. And then figure out exactly what it is I hope to achieve in 2010 with my random feats of athleticism...and then, of course, surround myself with people who will support me and cheer me on in pursuit those goals. I've got a few ideas on racing looming, but I do know one thing...

...I won't be going long.

...then again. My definition of "going long" is drastically different now than what it was a few weeks ago. There may be a surprise or two in the mix. Should be interesting to sort out...

So stay tuned to see how Barbara gets her groove back.

...and hopefully the only funk you'll see from here out, is the funk oozing from my body after a long, hard workout.

Thrown back into the wild...

2009-12-06T23:14:00.007-06:00

Ever since returning home from Arizona, I can't lie...I feel like I've kind of been walking around aimlessly.

What's that? You mean I don't have to wake up early tomorrow morning and run until my blisters pop?

Needless to say, all this free time on my hands has made me a little crazy. I feel like I need to be doing something. anything!

We've decked the halls.

Okay...correction. Mike pretty much decked the halls. Those that know me well are likely scratching their head and asking if I'm sick since I pretty much LIVE for Christmas (remember my crusade last year?)...

But no.

I'm not sick.

Just in a funk.

A funky funk, at that.

Now that I'm back to "normal," I simply don't know what to do.

(and for the record, whatever this is going on with me, it's hardly normal.)

Adjusting to life after training is proving to be far more challenging than I ever anticipated. And dare I say that I actually miss doing those ridiculously long workouts? Because I do. Sorta. Just don't go and tell that to the Chief of Pain...because I'm not quite ready to start laying everything out for 2010.

So what do you do when you find yourself in a funk?

You do something permanent. and painful. and awesome.

So in true Barb Masochistic Fashion...I went with Mike and got inked on Friday night. But only after a freak out moment (I had it in my head we'd be going several days later) that consisted of a flurry of encouraging texts.

It was nauseating.

It was painful (arguably moreso than the race itself).

And it was exhilarating.

I nearly drew blood when bit my tongue since there wasn't anyone holding my hand. I focused on three-part breathing. I came close to tossing cookies. The burn reminded me that I was alive. And I found peace in the pain.

I think it looks pretty damn fabulous on me, too.

I promptly went home, opened a beer, and admired the new awesomeness in the mirror for a while. Then had to triple check to make sure it didn't wash off accidentally.

(Talk about doing something drastic!)

But I can't lie when I say it's been fun being able to peel of clothes and show off the ink to anyone who wants to see it (including a bartender--woot!).

In other news--after 10 months of minimal alcohol consumption (much to the chagrin of my husband and my friends), I've gotten wasted two consecutive weekends, including last night's small gathering of friends "throwing my back into the wild" since I hadn't seen the interior of a bar in oh, almost a year.

The hangovers hurt so good.

And my tolerance was surprisingly not too shabby all things considered.

I've done exactly one workout since IMAZ...a run mid-last week, just to test out the legs and make sure they still functioned. And to my amazement...they did. A little too well, perhaps. I decided to go out and just run until I felt like I should turn around and run home. And after three miles along the lakefront, I had to fight myself to turn around and go back. I honestly think if you asked me to throw down a solid 10-miler, I would've been able to. Easily. Instead, I was happy with the 6 I cranked out at a 11:01 pace.

I still find myself sitting around thinking "what's next," "so...," and "now what?"

I mean...how do you top a day that was so infinitely awesome? Where on earth do you go from here? Because really...the finish line was indeed its own start line...the start of arguably many things...

...but the start of exactly what? I'm not sure...

...but I can't wait to figure that part out.

Ironman Arizona Part 5: Starlight

2009-11-29T19:34:00.013-06:00

Run Time: 6:22:57

Final Ironman Time: 15:54:51

The aftermath...

I crossed the line and proceeded to collapse into the arms of Mike and my friend Robyn. My body wanted nothing more of holding its own weight.

Mike draped the medal around my neck and the

pair had me moving through the finisher's area. I don't remember much here...I know Melissa was there (and subsequently took this awesome photo--I'm pretty sure I thought I was going to get sick right here). I think Mike grabbed my finishers gear and someone commented that I wasn't looking so good. I mustered the last bit of strength that I had for my finisher photo.

Molly had stayed to watch me finish and we exchanged a quick, smelly hug from over the railing. I wish I could've talked to her more, but frankly...I needed to sit down before my legs caved out from underneath me.

I folded into a chair in the back of the finishers chute with a massive permagrin on my face despite feeling like complete crap. A medic brought me soda, water and grapes...none of which were going to sit. It all burned on the way down.

I hung out for probably 10-15 minutes and started shaking. My hands and feet turned to pins and needles. I was cold...adrenaline was flowing freely, and I felt like I was going to toss cookies. I started to freak out because I didn't understand what was happening to my body. Robyn found a different medic to evaluate me. The next thing I knew, I was in medical, draped in blankets and foil, laying on a cot next to a guy who appeared to be passed out.

After determining abnormally low blood pressure (and I traditionally have high blood pressure) and a weak pulse, an nurse knelt next to me and softly said two words that I feared most: Emergency Room.

There was absolutely no way in hell I was going to let them give me a first class ride to a hospital because I was dehydrated and felt vomitous. I'd try to walk it off before I'd go dishing out a couple hundred dollars in medical bills. After some fearful tears, they finally decided to give me an IV...

It took three stabs to find a vein (have we discussed how big of a baby I am when it comes to needles? Because I am. And the theatrics were not pretty. Neither was the colorful commentary that ensued.). The nurse was unable to draw blood from either arm, and finally an EMT (who, for the record, was quite stunning) finally had success with the needle on my right hand. Saline and anti-nausea quickly flowed into my body and in time, my body finally lay calm. The shaking subsided. The nausea slipped away. I started to feel whole again. And with a little help from Mike and a volunteer, I found my way back on my feet.

Emerging from the medical tent into the crisp night air, I hugged Lauren and saw that the beauty of the finish line was being taken down. I thought of the athletes out there still running in the black of night who didn't make the cutoff. They'd never have the chance to experience that incredible finish line in all its glory. And it was a little bit heartbreaking.

And out of one of the trucks, Muse was blaring. A song that I had never really paid much attention to until the last handful of weeks. A song that has easily become one of my favorites--Starlight.

My life

You electrify my life

Let's conspire to re-ignite

All the souls that would die

just to feel alive...

Starlight - Muse

I found it all to be very symbolic of the thoughts that consumed my mind most of the day, and reminded me of just how alive I felt out there. And it's not all that often that we, as individuals, go out and do something that truly makes us feel alive. Something that makes us ridiculously happy. We hold ourselves back--fear holds us back. For whatever reason, we sell ourselves short and stay content and comfortable. These two things, while nice, are completely different than happiness. To accomplish great things and happiness, you have to allow yourself the opportunity to push yourself out of your comfort zone in a variety of aspects in your life. Life is far too short to not do something amazing for yourself. It doesn't matter how old or how young you are...it's up to you to go out, find your unrelenting passion, and simply be fearless.

This Ironman was a renaissance of sorts. A rebirth. A chance to go through hell and come out the other side feeling anew. I won't ever be the same as a result. And I know that the race didn't change me...140.6 miles will always be 140.6 miles. But it was the internal dialog and sense of self gained throughout the course of 15 hours, 54 minutes and 51 seconds that made the experience so epic.

I have taken so much from the training and race experience...

When you want something, you have to release inhibitions, follow your instinct and go for it. There is absolutely no reason to be afraid of something you want. Don't make excuses. Everyone deserves to be happy. Go for it and trust yourself.

For me, my biggest weakness isn't any specific discipline. It's my mind. And just as we train our bodies to cover 140.6 miles, we have to train our heads to ensure that we have the confidence to go the distance. It's the mindset, not miles, that separate those who do from those who dream.

Sometimes, to get to where you want to be, you may have to be a little selfish. And that's okay. Just make sure you've surrounded yourself with people who support you and your goal and want to see you succeed.

Find something you truly love, and enjoy, and are passionate about. It doesn't matter if it's running or triathlon, your family, a friendship, coin collecting, music snobbery or underwater basket weaving. If you're passionate about it, you will inevitably find some level of happiness in the pursuit. And you'll add more value to your life and yourself as a result.

I sincerely hope that every last one of my friends, family and blog readers understands that nothing is impossible. Anyone can go out and accomplish their goal...be it getting off the couch to run their first 5k...or attempting something as crazy as an Ironman. It is not impossible. All it takes is the discipline and patience to put in the time and hard work. The preparation is the challenge. The day itself is your reward. And should be savored as such, with your accomplishment celebrated in the grandest of fanfares.

I am so thankful to have had the experience that I've had the past year. And I thank everyone who has been a part of the ride, especially Mike--without you none of this would've been possible.

Each and every person I've encountered on this journey has put the Iron in me...and now its up to you to go out find discover where you draw the line between possible and impossible...and hopefully it involves one massive eraser to remove the lines all together.

Love everything in your presence without lines.

Find happiness without lines.

Dare to live without lines.

And remember...

You got this.

Ironman Arizona Part 4: Light and Day

2009-11-29T19:33:00.006-06:00

Light...and day...is more than you'll say

because all

my feelings are more

than i can let by

or not

more than you've got

just follow the day

follow the day

and reach for the sun...

Light and Day - Polyphonic Spree

I ran out of T2 absolutely beaming with warm sunshine spilling down on my face. All of my worries about bike cutoffs had dissolved. I was an hour ahead of schedule.

And so I kept the faith and ran.

The plan for the marathon was to simply live off the land and keep moving forward. I had no idea how my body would hold up after 2.4 mile swim and 112 on the bike. There was no plan for pacing except to stay in forward motion. Each step brought me that much closer to that line in the road that was hours away. I brought along some Roctane, but other than that I was ready to raid the aid stations as they were full of chips, pretzels, chicken broth, cookies, cola, fruit, and pretty much anything else you can imagine. Some of the stops were 2 marshmallows and a fire pit away from being a camp out.

The effort in the beginning felt solid. I was running...and felt great. Passing folks on their 2nd and 3rd loops. Even passing some folks, like me, on their first loop. Through the first stop I went, grabbed some water, sucked the juice from an orange slice and continued on. And then I found myself lost in the Janus charity signs on the back side of the course...I smiled as I read them, looking for the messages from my Iron Crew. Passed through a few more aid stations, and before I knew it, I was back by my family.

Mike had missed me coming into T2 and was just as shocked as I was to be on the run--and looking, and feeling so great. I stopped for a quick hug. My eyes welted with tears as I felt so insanely proud that I had gotten myself to that point, exceeding my wildest expectations. I wanted to stay and chat, but they all pushed my along to keep on running.

...soon things would start to unravel.

Somewhere around the mile 4-5 aid station, I grabbed some chicken broth when I realized that I had gone nearly 90 minutes without any sodium. Not even 50 yards past the aid station on the Rural Street bridge...it all came back up along with some other junk looming in my stomach. I allowed myself the opportunity to walk it off and did a mental checklist of how I felt...

Feet? Great!

Legs? Barely sore. Hips slightly tight, but that's normal.

Back? Sturdy and pain-free.

Head? Totally fine. In a great place mentally, and truly happy to be alive and experiencing something so infinitely incredible.

Stomach? Hahaha...my entire digestive system wanted nothing to do with this race. Did not want to be jostled. Wanted nothing more put in it. It was going to put up a valiant protest for the next 20-something miles and refused to be ignored.

It was disheartening when I'd hit a timing mat, and realized that some friends at home would quickly be able to do the math and realize I was falling apart. I love running. And my running has come a ridiculously long way since I first started back in 2005. But I couldn't keep it together despite my best efforts.

The next 16 miles or so were reduced to running--albeit slowly--when I could...and walking a ridiculous amount to settle the stomach...fighting off some severe acid reflux...testing different foods at aid stations...and making myself worried when I realized the only thing that would stay down was water and an occasional pretzel stick. Everything else burned when I swallowed to the point of tears.

I was running on fumes. And it made me angry that my body, aside from my digestive system, was amped and wanting to rock with a steady, solid run. The awesomeness I physically felt was a testament to my training. I had done everything right. Though in retrospect, given my stomach problems that I typically encounter on a daily basis, I probably should've planned out my nutrition for the run rather than opting to live off the land. Live and learn for next time, right? (and yes...there will be a next time.)

I was determined to do the best I could with what I had to work with...

At the end of my second loop, Lisa and her daughter found me and I was able to visit with them for a few moments. It was a well-needed surprise just as I was starting to hit rock bottom. I told them that I had let go of any hope of a sub-16 finish and would probably finish shortly after the 16 hour mark. Then we started to to talk less about my race and more of Lisa's next steps in her triathlon endeavors. Talking with them seemed to get my mind off things and I found the excitement once more.

I high-fived my Iron Crew as I started that third loop...and something magical happened out there. I counted down the miles. 18 were behind me. It was no longer about how far I had left to go...but how far I had come...and not just that day, or this training season...but the progress I've seen over the course of the past 5 years...not just on a physical/athletic level...but on a very personal level. I'm not the same gal I was 5 years ago...and at that moment, I wasn't even close to the same woman I was when I started the race hours earlier. My Ironman journey had changed me down to my core...there was no denying that. And I loved what I found.

My mind wandered to everyone who has been a part of this journey. All those at ground zero with me who valiantly cheered each time I saw them...I thought about the Hurley's in St. Louis...the ladies of the Lounge...Jen in California...Shannon and Tarwater following along at home...my mom and dad and how they were completely disconnected at my grandma's and how frustrated she must be...Tony reporting on BT...I imagined all my friends and family who couldn't be there sharing that day with me in person waiting with baited breathe for the next update. And for the first time ever, I was overwhelmed with faith in myself. Countless people believed in me from day one...and finally, I began to understand what they all already knew...

I tried doing the math. I knew I could pull a 25 minute mile and still finish before midnight. Trying to calculate a sub-16 finish took some work. For those final 8 miles, I think I needed to average something like a 15:10 pace. Normally, not an issue. My standard zone 1-2 run back home for 8 miles is in the low 11's...

...but with the way my stomach was feeling at that moment in time, I knew it'd be a challenge. I was going to cut that 16 hour-mark close.

With a deep breath, I closed my eyes. Brought myself back to my lake in Chicago. my running path. with my strangers and friends. with the pace booty I've grown to know and love. The place where I learned to just let loose and run like you did when you were a child...ignore the time...and flow by how you're feeling.

The walk turned into a shuffle. And for a while, that shuffle turned into a run. An honest, solid run effort. And suddenly I found myself at mile 20...the Ford Motivational Mile. With a personal message to me lighting up the night.

A smile warmed me from within.

I felt strong. A second wind kicked in...and I found myself flying for a good mile and a half before the nausea set back in. I looked at my watch.

Pending some tragic digestive throw down on the back side of the course, I had somehow willed myself back to life and knew I had a sub-16 race solidified. Passing my Iron Crew one last time, I shouted to them that my window of arrival would be between 15:50 and 16:10 and that I'd see them soon at the finish line.

I continued on and not even a half mile later, I found myself crawling once more. My stomach had completely shut down. I was reduced to swishing water in my mouth and spitting it back out. I channeled my inner mall-powerwalker and coaxed myself to press forward. In spite of all the frustration and stomach pain, the thoughts that were once "Just hang in there for 2-3 more hours and this will all be over" were strangely replaced with "How can I almost be done?! I was just in that lake swimming a few minutes ago! Can't we start the day over, I'm having too much fun?!?"

Just as I was turning onto Rural Street bridge I spotted Molly...the first time I had seen her on the run. I cheered for her to go on and finish strong...she looked at me and replied "Barb Rodriguez...you WILL be an Ironman!"

And with that, I pulled myself together and mustered up a slow, pathetic run. It may not have been much, but at least I was running. Aid stations were skipped. I pulled within myself and just kept moving forward with whatever strength I had left inside.

Mile 25 hit and I started to tear up. I saw 15:41 and change on my watch...digging deep, I brought the walk back to a shuffle and held on for dear life. Gravity pulled all of us in the back of the pack together. We found friendship in fools. Silently exchanging smiles with that look of hope and confidence in our eyes. One by one...shuffling along...our clusters thinned out and we started to form a single file line...as if to pay respects to one another's accomplishments that day and give us each our individual moment in the limelight of the finish line. It was no longer a race about finishing faster than the person next to you...it was our chance to walk across the stage and take that bow on our own...get receive our standing ovation.

Back under Mill Avenue bridge I ran, and choked up.

A volunteer directed me left...toward the finish line...

The crowds started to thicken on the sidelines...and at this point, it wasn't so much a deafening cheer as it was hearing your friends extend congratulations for an incredible feat...

"Up ahead and to your left for the most incredible place..."

"Welcome home, Ironman..."

"You've done it, now go soak it all in..."

"You're my hero..."

"This is your moment..."

I could hear Mike Rielly's voice echoing off the lake. I heard him welcome those in front of me into the elite Ironman brotherhood.

And then it was finally my turn. The last of three moments I envisioned for the day.

It was as if my feet had wings. In that moment nothing hurt. My stomach was fine. And I was on top of the world. I ran up and around the bend to the left...and I saw it.

Blinding lights.

Filled stands jumping with spectators.

Music blaring.

Electrified air.

The finish line.

Absolutely the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. I fought back the tears and welcomed every last nanosecond of that moment with every fiber of my being.

It was a completely different kind of happiness. pride. accomplishment. and maybe even a hint of relief.

I reached out and high-fived spectators. I gave a shout out to my incredible Iron Crew, to which I owe indefinite thanks. I thought of everyone at home and on the ground with me that day...I had carried each and every one of them for 140.6 miles...and in turn they each helped pull me through my low points....

I reveled in every last inch of that finish line. I remember feeling my heartbeat in my throat and my ears. Fighting back tears. Feeling adrenaline reel me through the chute. Looking up, seeing that the clock had not struck 16...and having pride take over as my own personal life source.

I hit the mat that one final time to send a message to the world that I did it. That I was made of stern stuff. That Iron was an integral part of my DNA.

With a little hop of excitement, threw my arms in the air and heard the most incredible four words anyone can imagine...

"You Are An Ironman!!!!!"

Ironman Arizona Part 3: Don't Stop Believin'

2009-11-29T12:29:00.009-06:00

I headed out of transition, crossed the mount line and hopped on my trusty steed.

I thought about the ride, not as 112 miles, but as 6 segments. Three loops. An out and back each time. With a welcoming fanfare each loop as I passed back through town. I didn't pay any attention to the miles. I just allowed myself to get lost in my thoughts and the desert scenery and the myriad of vivid images that flooded my mind.

Molly had given me a preview of the bike course a few days prior, letting me know the best spots to drop into the small ring, where the false flats were, and where to watch for wind. It was comforting having these details in my back pocket, but at the same time I knew that no amount of information could really could justice for the exchange of first-hand experience.

I cycled out onto the main drag of town and received a hero's sendoff. Cowbells. Signs. Chalk drawings on the road by children wishing us well. Cheers and music filled the air. I smiled and got to work, dropping into aero and finding my sweet spot on the road.

I took off for my first loop. I knew I wanted to start out conservatively, so I rode the entire first segment up the Beeline in my middle chainring. I was a bit surprised to find myself greeted with a steady headwind all the way up--the forecast had said 3-4mph winds from the south (which would indicate a tailwind at this juncture). The winds were strong enough just to be annoying and drop you to a snails pace on the incline. As I reached the crest of the hill that first time, a woman passed me from behind and said "You must be one hell of a swimmer" (and I laughed at just how untrue that statement was--but thanks for the boost!).

Before I knew it, I was at the turnaround and simply flew back home. Back into the big ring, hammering down the hill, tucking tight into aero, I smiled as I watched my speed spike to the upper 20's and low 30's. It felt absolutely liberating. Like flying.

And suddenly, I was back at the start. Ready to start my second and third loops. Mike and the rest of my Iron Crew cheered me on as I went blazing through, and I'd give a holler to Molly's family and friends. I was tickled pink to find that Lisa, Duane, Melissa and Robyn had joined the party on the sidelines as well. It was a relief to see everyone. The winds changed, making the rest of the ride fairly challenging. Downhill into a headwind is always frustrating, especially when you don't reap the benefits on the uphill portion.

When Molly and I would cross paths, it became one of the highlights of that loop. We'd smile and cheer for each other...and at one point I remember her yelling something about me making it look easy. I scoffed. An Ironman is anything but easy.

The second loop wasn't so bad. A quick pit stop about halfway through and a moment at special needs to refuel on the world's best cookies (thank you, Leah!! This totally hit the spot!) provided all the energy I needed to get through that third and final loop. Although by this point, I was starting to mentally struggle. You can only handle so much brown and sand. All you can do is just keep moving forward. Mile by mile. Counting cacti as you pass them by. Picking off riders one by one, as you get picked off by more experienced cyclists in turn.

When you're riding 112 miles in the desert--at a speed as blistering as mine--you've got plenty of time to think. And think, you do. About everything. Family. Friends. Relationships. Friendships. People you see all the time. People you haven't spoken to in over a year. Things that weigh on your mind find clarity. Things that were black and white talk themselves into gray. Grayness becomes certainty. It's all very dizzying. And wonderful. And fosters growth of a different caliber. At least it did for me. I allowed myself to slip into a zone of focus I don't often visit...and it helped pass the time.

When I started that third loop, as bad as I was feeling, I was clearly ahead of schedule...and it worried me a bit. Did I go out too fast? Will I blow up on the run? Why is my right foot bothering me!? etc...etc... Then I thought about something I read before the race...

If you're ahead of schedule, don't worry -- believe. If you're behind, don't panic -- roll with it.

And with remembering these important words, Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" added itself to my internal playlist for the day...

Strangers waiting

Up and down the boulevard

Their shadows searching in the niiiiight...

Streetlight people

Living just to find emotion

Hiding, somwhere in the niiiight...

Don't stop believin'...

Hold onto that feelin'...

Don't Stop Believin' - Journey

I did the math. Calculated all the possible roll-in times. I was okay. More than okay. I was going to post a surprising bike split for my capabilities.

It's no secret that biking is my achilles heel when it comes to triathlon. I figured, the ride of my life would be right around 7:30. A normal ride would bring me right around 8 hours. And if the ride unraveled, I'd be pulling in right around 8:30 with nothing but a prayer for the rest of the race. Ever since I signed up for Ironman Arizona, that 5:30pm bike cutoff has haunted me to the point of nightmares...

When I came back in from that third loop, I found myself overwhelmed with emotion and embraced the second of three moments I'd been envisioning for more than a year. Grinning from ear to ear, I rode back into town, weaved my way into T2. Dismounted. Handed Little Red Riding Hood to a complete stranger and simply said "You can have her..."

I had done it. I had a fantastic bike and was so relieved to be out of the saddle.

Bike Time: 7:41:02 (14.6 mph)

With a new found confidence and tears streaming down my cheeks, I grabbed my T2 bag and ran into the change tent. A volunteer was quick to my side and started asking if I was okay...if I needed medical...where was I experiencing pain...apparently tears were not a normal reaction for being off the bike.

I just smiled at her and told her I made the cutoff. With more than an hour to spare. I was simply overjoyed. I was going to be running...in DAYLIGHT. Something I had not anticipated this.

She emptied the contents of my transition bag...I looked at the second set of photos Mike had snuck into my bag and read the index card I wrote to myself.

I got this.

And I knew I did...pending any major tragic throw down on the run course...I was going to become an Ironman. I did a full costume change, slipping into my favorite running shorts and top, then tied my most comfortable long sleeve shirt around my waist for when the temperatures started to fall.

I reminded myself that it was only right foot in front of left foot...repeat. The rest of this race was up to me and my two legs...I just had to keep believing...

T2 Time: 7:53

Ironman Arizona Part 2: Learn to Fly

2009-11-28T12:55:00.007-06:00

Molly slid off the dock first, and I jumped in after.

The chill filled my wetsuit, and for a quick moment, took my breath away.

Bobbing like a cork, I realized that this was the first of three moments I had been envisioning for more than a year. And the fact that I was so at peace with myself and this race, made it all the more beautiful. The soft glow of the sun was pouring over the horizon. Thousands of friends and family lined Tempe Town Lake and the surrounding bridges, saying silent prayers for everyone taking on this journey. And here I was. In the middle of it all. Soaking as much of it in as I could. Thinking of everyone who couldn't be in Arizona, but were cheering me on from afar. I could hear their positive thoughts in my mind. Willing me to the finish line. This moment from when I first entered the water and the emotion paired with it, will forever be painted vividly on my mind.

The plan, according to the Chief of Pain, was to start to the left since most of the melee would take place to the right.

A quick 200 yard swim up to the masses and I floated on my back for a few solitary moments remembering the clarity and calm that came with my recent floating experience in Chicago. Molly came swimming up behind me and we talked for what seemed like seconds, but in reality was probably closer to 10 minutes. You could hear the crowd...and Mike Reilly...and music. I remember hearing Mike Reilly proclaim "You WILL do this." I spotted woman with a "Rock Chalk Jayhawk" sign looming above me on the bridge.

A good omen.

He's right. I will do this. And I smiled.

I don't remember receiving a warning at all. The cannon simply fired. Glancing at Molly I had that look in my eyes of "Holy sh*t, we're doing an Ironman!!!" Foo Fighters "Learn to Fly" was blaring. I proclaimed that it was "time to fly" and surged forward excitedly.

Run and tell all of the angels

This could take all night

Think I need a devil to help me get things right

Learn to Fly - Foo Fighters

It was a smart decision to start to the left. But it wasn't without any damage. I was punched in the ear. Some dude's foot ended up in my mouth and I swore I thought he knocked a tooth out. I essentially took a bite out of his heel. I was bumped. jostled. grabbed. felt up. slapped. groped. swam over. and everything else in between. Limbs of neoprene went flying. You could barely see through the whitewash. Forget the buoys...just stay in forward motion.

I focused on staying calm. On counting strokes. On remembering good form. And not kicking too much.

And of course, I served the punches right back when they were deemed necessary. One guy in particular really had it coming. It was a day to be fearless, and ruthless, and aggressive. I was all that. And more.

Sighting into the sun was a challenge. I resolved that as long as I had people around me, I was headed in the right direction. I had a bit of open water. My pod of swimmers...pulled left and we were eventually steered back on course by a handful of kayakers.

Back into the washing machine we went. More of the same kicks to the gut. pulls at the feet. and bumping of bodies. I braced myself for the worst at the turn buoy.

And it wasn't a problem at all. I hugged the turn buoy, turned left...and continued on my way. A couple hundred more yards, another left turn, and I was on my return way home.

The swim was over halfway done. And if felt like I had just begun.

At one point during this stretch, I popped up in the water just to look around. At that exact same moment, another gal popped up too, and looked at me with the biggest smile on her face...to which I proclaimed "We're doing an effing IRONMAN!!!" And she replied (in her best Monica Gellar voice) "I KNOW!!" I continued to smile underwater, laughing at the exchange to myself. Maybe about 10 minutes later, I got kicked in the face and popped up to readjust my goggles. Lo and behold...she was there again and screamed "It's an IRONMAN!!!" I laughed again and kept moving forward with the masses.

Before I knew it, I was turning toward the ladders to pull myself out of the water. A volunteer yanked me up...and I stumbled to my feet.

I hit the timing mat and thought of everyone at home following my progress. Send a smile and a mental wave their direction.

Swim Time: 1:31:02

I was beyond excited to be right around 90 minutes for the swim. I figured the swim of my life would've been around 1:25. A normal swim was going to be around 1:35. And if I was having a bad day, I'd be in the 1:45 arena. My day was off to a brilliant start!

The wetsuit strippers had me down on the ground and in one swift yank, my wetsuit came flying off. And I suddenly became very aware of just how cold it was. For a moment, I wondered if my tri shorts had flown off with wetsuit...kind of like that bad dream you have where you're walking around the halls of your high school naked. A quick touch to my legs, and I realized that while I was indeed still clothed...the air was just ridiculously crisp.

I told myself Just get moving...and you'll be able to feel your legs again soon...

Coming into T1, I saw my Iron Crew, dished out some high-fives, proclaimed victory over the swim with a 1:31, and ran for my bags and into the change tent. Apparently Tempe Town Lake was so dirty, most of the athletes--myself included--were coming out of the water caked in black crap. Awesome.

Inside the tent was mass chaos. With naked ladies everywhere, I began to shiver uncontrollably. I sat down and a volunteer quickly wrapped me up like a burrito in a foil. She continued to help the girl sitting next to me and directed me to relax and try to warm up.

With shaky fingers, I pulled my T1 bag apart and emptied the contents. I smiled as I saw two photos that Mike had slipped in there...one of my cat wrigley, saying something about spandex being slimming...and a photo of me and the Chief of Pain, it simply said "Ride bitch, ride!"

After a few moments of collecting myself, the volunteer helped me get dressed and sent me on my way. A quick stop for some sunscreen, I ran off to retrieve Little Red Riding Hood and pumped myself up for 112 miles alone in the desert.

T1 Time: 11:59

Ironman Arizona Part 1: One Day Like This

2009-11-28T09:35:00.010-06:00

Drinking in the morning sun

Blinking in the morning sun
Shaking off the heavy one
Heavy like a loaded gun

So throw those curtains wide!
One day like this a year'd see me right!

One Day Like This - Elbow

I fully expected to wake up race morning and be a massive ball of nervous energy. Bad nervous energy. I knew the risk of tossing cookies was high--and on a day where you need every last calorie in your body, you tend to go to extreme measures to ensure that doesn't happen. I was anticipating calling Coach Amy in sobs from the bathroom floor. And having to be dragged out of the hotel room by Mike. In my mind, I chalked it up to be this horrendous, ugly scene.

Imagine my surprise when none of that happened.

I woke up...fairly relaxed...and went through the motions of my checklist.

Take medicine.

Mix nutrition bottles.

Shave.

Eat. (Although I could only get down half a pb&honey sandwich and a granola bar.)

Quadruple check special needs bags.

Get dressed.

Get out the door.

It was all very calculated. Not allowing too much time to let my mind wander. And allowing just enough time to get everything done that I needed to take care of. The minute I wasn't busy, was the minute I would've gotten into my own head and freaked out.

The one slight moment I did start to panic, Mike handed me a fax from the Chief of Pain. It was just what I needed. The final vote of confidence. His final, invaluable, words of advice. He, like everyone else, knew I had this.

I reminded myself that I could do this. I got this. It was a glorified training day, complete with catering and valet service, and 2500 of my best friends.

With music flooding my ears, I went into my own bubble and Mike, Lauren and I headed to the start of the race to handle the next checklist.

Get to the bike.

Fill up the bottles.

Check air pressure in tires.

Get body marked. (Hooray for Duane with his magic pen!)

Oh look! There's Jeff!!

Drop off special needs and pow wow with my Chicago Tri buddy.

Add reflective tape to T2 bag.

Find my Iron Crew.

Swap bike pump for wetsuit.

Get this show on the road.

Mike was quick to try and push me to the water. I was calm and mentally off on my own island. Lauren was just along for the ride, observing, and probably internally laughing at the bickering we exchanged. A few quick pictures and I left their side.

I went back to the rack one last time, hoping to find Molly.

No such luck.

My ears were suddenly filled with George Michael's Freedom. And for the first time, I actually listened to the lyrics...and I knew that the day was going to be a good day...

I won't let you down

I will not give you up

Gotta have some faith in the south

It's the one good thing that I've got

I won't let you down

So please don't give me up...

Think I'm gonna get me some happy

I think there's something you should know

I think it's time I told you so

There's something deep inside of me

There's someone else I've got to be...

Freedom - George Michael

Now let the record show, that I don't go around listening to George Michael very often (ok, ever). And it was an old refurbished mp3 player with an interesting mix of tunes. But somehow, that song, at that moment, was exactly what I needed. I felt good. Confident. Ready to rock the shit out of this race. I got this I told myself over and over again.

I found a friendly spectator after crossing the timing mats and handed my mp3 player off to her. My address was on the back. If I got it back, wonderful! Great karma would come to her and I'd happily reimburse her for the shipping fees. If she elected to keep it and enjoy the random array of strange music, that was fine, too. She assured me that it'd find its way back to me.

I turn around, and spotted Susie (more of a triple take wondering if that was her in neoprene and a swim cap). Then Molly finds both of us. After an exchange of nervous smiles and hugs, I finally felt like the day could start. I was ready. We were ready. A flood of memories just overwhelmed me...the thoughts of Mo calling me letting me know I was registered...months of training...long rides...cold swims...staying in on Friday nights...it all hit me. And with my friend Molly by my side, we headed to the waters edge...hugged one final hug...took a deep breath...and jumped...

15:54:51

2009-11-23T17:54:00.005-06:00

It was the greatest!day!ever!!! Had the swim and bike of my life...and a great 4 miles of the run. The rest was all about fuel burning fast on an empty tank...an amazing sub-16 finish and a nice little visit to the medical tent for an IV. Amazingly, I feel fabulous today...and wouldn't mind a short run in a day or two.

Full report to come soon.

...but for now, I'm relaxing. And enjoying a juice box full of wine by the pool in sunny Arizona. It's almost as perfect as that island in my mind. Almost.

(...but not nearly as awesome as last night.)

Last Will and Testament

2009-11-22T07:00:00.017-06:00

If I've managed to do this correctly...this little post should be surfacing sometime during the day on November 22nd.

Race day. (or !!!RACE DAY!!! as Leah would say with sheer excitement).

I've done my training. Said my prayers. Figured out my plan. And now the only thing left to do is execute. And if all goes according to plan, right about now I should be off gallivanting around the beautiful Arizona desert...swimming, biking and running.

If you're interested in keeping tabs on me....you can do so over at Ironman.com (or Ironmanlive.com). Just go to the athlete tracker and plug in my info...

I'm athlete #2240...just in case I haven't mentioned that before. And of course, don't be alarmed when slow split times show up...that's just how I roll. You should know this by now. And if you're up late and want to see me cross the finish line, there should be a link to a video feed somewhere over at Ironman.com.

Mike and Lauren will also be keeping folks updated on my progress during the day. If you have my cell (or Mike's...or Lauren's for that matter)...call or text them. They'll also be updating my twitter feed during the day...which conveniently will also update in my facebook status. So countless ways to keep yourself in-the-know.

But that's not the purpose of this post...

I'm honestly worried about getting caught up in all the Iron-hullabloo, that I'll forget to say these things. And equally worried that if race day doesn't go as planned, that I'll just hide in a cave all winter and never address these critical words of thanks. So bear with me...it's important for me to get 'em out.

In order to even attempt to do something great, you have to surround yourself with truly great people. If you're even reading this, you're one of those great people. I have been so ridiculously fortunate this training season. When I doubted myself...each and every one of you believed that I could somehow find my way to the finish line. And I am eternally thankful for your unwavering support, love and for putting up with me over the past year. I know I haven't always been the most pleasant little Jayhawk...especially when I'd get into my own head (what can I say? it's a talent!)...or when I've been so ravenously hungry and irritable...and let's not even discuss everything that went on during taper. Each and every one of you have put a little iron in me in your own way...

So...here we go...

To my Coach, Maurice, the ultimate Chief of Pain:
I'm sure you already know this, but we have a love-hate relationship. You served up some crazy ass training days this season. You made me laugh. cry. and hate training ten ways to Sunday. Your brutal program helped me realize that I'm so much tougher than I ever thought I was. You reminded me that my mood swings, grizzly-sized hunger, and self-doubt are all critical parts of this process. Thank you for doing all the thinking for me, so I could just zone out, put one foot in front of the other, and get it done. Thank you for making me do 4 rides over 100 miles...insanely long runs...and for listening to me unload about all my fears and concerns. Getting to the start line is half the battle. Today is my reward. Our reward. And I hope I can do you--and Infinity Multisport--proud and make it to the finish line vertical before midnight.

To Amy, my favorite Southern piece of Sass:

For always knowing exactly the right things to say to me. For all the texts and phone calls and hugs and advice. For hooking me up with Roctane and Mox apparel. And simply for being beyond infinitely amazing. Love you, girl!

To Beasley, Schloegel and the entire EnduraCamp Crew:
Crazy stupid bricks, while they suck in the moment, work. Thank you for helping me embrace the curvatures of the earth. And keeping me company while getting lost in St. Louis on a bike. And for pushing me way outside of my comfort zone to become a better athlete than I ever gave myself credit for. And for those bloody hill repeats. And for helping me grasp that it's more than okay to be slow...especially when you're as steady as I am.

To Molly, my virtual training partner in crime:
If only you knew how much you push me, girl. Finally meeting you is one of the things I was most looking forward to in Arizona--thank you so much for carting me around the bike course and really just calming my nerves. We've had such a parallel journey for nearly a year and you've played a huge part in making this such a positive experience. And of course, for pulling your friends along to cheer for me as well. I know you're out there on the course with me rocking it! And I hope we cross paths multiple times for some well deserved high fives...and maybe a cadbury creme egg or two. :)

To Tracy:
You were given 2 weeks to help me get through my mental issues with racing. And I think we've got this sorted out. Thank you for helping me get a better grasp on my anxiety and reminding me to just remove myself and "breathe." I'll keep you posted on the process...

To all of my friends who I haven't spent any real quality time with in months:
Especially Leah. Jason. (+ Lucy). Terri. Tarwater. Shannon. Angie. Laura. Lauren. Jill. For starters, I miss you guys. Really, really, REALLY miss you guys. Thank you for your understanding and unlimited supply of well-needed distractions and sugar cookies. The kind of training required of me meant limited free time in all other aspects of my life. It wasn't just a sacrifice for me...but one for you guys as well. I owe you all a round of beer (or bottle of wine in one particular case) assuming I get make it back home in anything but a body bag. Seriously. I'm buying you all a round. Thank you for not giving me too much crap about never going out and turning in early. I look forward to finally getting to spend more than a random moment here and there with you all. (Oh...and Leah, I hope you're enjoying your last moments of maternity! I can't wait to meet Lucy!!) ....when I get back, you'll get to witness the two beer wondergirl get carried out of a bar!

To everyone who contributed to my book of awesomeness:

I am beyond touched. From the awesome professional triathlete's with their words of wisdom, to friends I haven't talked to in a while...your kind words of love and support had me in tears. It's so wonderful knowing that I have so many people behind me. I hope I can do everyone proud and make it to the finish line...

To all my crazies from Madison...Michelle, Bridget, Brian, Veronica, Donna, Jen and #2092:
I hope I can channel your passion, smiles and spirit on race day. And of course, good hair (right Cote?!). Thank you for inspiring me in more ways than I can count.

To Waddler and Sharkie:
Our paths crossed more times than I can count this season. I am so proud of all the hard work you ladies put in to make it to the finish line at B2B. When things went wrong, you both found ways to rally up and persevere. You're both an inspiration and I really admire your hard work.

To Lore:
For being so supportive and looking out for me so history won't repeat itself. How many of those bloody long rides did we do out in the boondocks together? We saw rain. cold. wind. hills. and everything in between. You're a superstar, a wonderful friend and I can't wait to see you plot your Iron-revenge. Thank you for everything, you're the best.

To Tony:
For long rides. Stupid cold evening lake swims in the dark. Letting me puke and not making me feel bad about it. Constant encouragement. Allowing me razz on you with your outrageous stories. And your unwavering faith in my abilities, no matter how fast or slow they may be. You're the first person to actually make me realize that I've never quit. And you're right. I don't back down. The race may quit on me, but I'll never quit on a race.

To Little Lauren:
I see waaaay too much of myself in you. You are the athlete I was a few years ago...and I can't wait to keep tabs and watch you grow into your full potential. You have so many great things to come, sweetie. An infinite amount of PR's to set and I hope you know that I am one of your biggest cheerleaders. I can't wait to see you on the sidelines as I race around Tempe. Seeing you will remind me that forward is a pace and that's the best pace to have. Thank you for being here, for your little conspiracy, and for everything.

To David, the other co-conspirator:
You are a madman. Thank you for offering up your Zipps and of course, bestowing on me the honor of the Chicago Athlete of the Month. And of course, thank you for introducing me to floating (what a ridiculously awesome zen-finding experience!!).

To Team Jayhawk:
I will, without a doubt, have one of the greatest IronCrews out there on the course. Mike, Brian, Sharon, Zack, Cathy, Lauren, and of course Robyn and Lisa. Thank you all for heading out to the desert to stand in the sun for hours to scream for me as I zip by for all of 10 seconds (and of course, to those of you volunteering as well). You're the best. And seeing you out there will keep me moving forward...knowing that I'm always going to be within a handful of miles of your presence will give me something to look forward to on each loop of the bike and run courses. Thank you for taking time out of your weekend to become an invaluable and critical part of mine.

To Mom, Dad, Terri and Sam:

For filling my hotel room with the most beautiful scent of blooming flowers. It'll help hide the stink that's going to be invading this small space in a few hours time. They're truly beautiful...and a wonderful surprise. You totally made my day.

To the Ladies of the Lounge:
You know who you are. Thank you for reminding me that I can indeed do this and that when you dare to do something great, you inevitably risk falling on your face. And falling is okay...as long as you've got friends to catch you. And in the words of Natalie Sue...don't think. just shut up and do it.

To my co-workers:
I started this journey a few years earlier than I had anticipated. Thank you for humoring me with your smiles, bets on how long I'd be swimming, biking and running any given weekend, and for listening to me moan on days when I was exceptionally sore. And of course, to my teammates who were so awesome and understanding on days where I had to leave a little bit early or come in a little bit late because of a long training session.

To my Parents:
For supporting me in my craziness. I know I'm the least likely of the family to do something like this. Four years ago I remember the hint of hesitation when it came to donating some money for my first marathon with Team In Training since you weren't certain if I'd actually follow through. And now you've pretty much made it to every single one of my big important race. I know you wish you could be there on the sidelines today, but know that I'm carrying you both with me through every inch of that 140.6 miles. I'll let you make it up to me with a nice trip to St. Kitts in 2010 (I'm totally joking! sort of.). But you two are the best and I can't wait to share my war stories with you on the other side.

To Mike:
Without you, none of *this* would have been possible (in fact, dare I say this is all your fault?!). Years ago at Myndi's wedding when we were watching the Kona footage you planted the seed. Last year you took on IM Louisville and made me believe that I, too, could do something of this magnitude.

You got me excited. Motivated me. Dished out the tough love. Picked me up when I couldn't move. Screamed at me when you knew I needed to get moving. Put up with my meltdowns. anxiety attacks. never-ending appetite. constantly empty fridge. disastrous house. endless loads of smelly, sweaty laundry. And you were essentially the glue that held me together whenever I'd fall apart. There is no amount of thanks and gratitude I can express for helping me get through this year (and not divorcing me in the process). I love you...

And finally...to myself:
On so many levels, I expected race day to come and change me. So often we hear that you start the race as one person...and then you finish as a completely different individual. But the truth is...I've already changed. I am a different person...for the better. And I don't need 140.6 miles to tell me otherwise (though I'm sure there will be many other changes during the course of those 17 hours). Don't get me wrong...yes...I want that Ironman title. Yes, I want to hear Mike Reilly call my name as I cross the finish line. I want to feel that medal around my neck and the lights blaring down on me in the dark desert night with the bass of the finish line music pulsing through my veins. I want all that and more.

But what I really wanted out of this year was to get a better understanding of who I am. What makes me tick. Just how far I'll push myself. And find out what I'll pack to chase a dream and what I'll leave behind.

I've had one hell of a season. Three new personal bests this year, including a 5k time I never imagined would be possible. And I'm only beginning to scratch the surface of what I'm truly capable of. I know I'm not fast...and likely never will be the front of the pack. But I have so much more to give to this sport. So much more potential for myself. I've finally been able to stare my inner demons in the face. Give 'em the finger. And overcome them. This whole journey really hasn't been about the race at all. It's about the process. Becoming the change I've wanted to see in myself. I've pushed myself to the brink of exhaustion. And when I think there's nothing left to give...I find a way to get up and push myself some more.

This race is truly the first race of a grand caliber I've gone out and done for myself. by myself. with nobody but myself in mind. No fundraising for a charity. No handfuls of group workouts and Saturday morning team runs. And while part of me feels a little guilty...I actually feel overwhelming pride and accomplishment in this. Ironman training is lonely. And I did it on my own two feet. I can think of ONE run I did with a friend. I did maybe 4 open water swims with Tony. And about 5 rides with Lore. Everything else was me. myself. and i. From a physical standpoint, I have never been more prepared for any other race. And I did it all myself (with the help of Chief of Pain, of course). From a mental standpoint...well...let's just see how that pans out for me...

Win, lose or draw today...I have learned an infinite amount of knowledge about myself...and no finish line experience or DNF can take that away from me. I've embraced a sport that I absolutely love. And as a result, I've started to become who I really am...who I'm supposed to be according to my standards and no one else's. Not society's. Not my parents. Not Mike's. I am me. Barb. The slow. Fabulous. Back of the Packer. And I can't think of any better person to be.

Although being Barb the Ironman sure has a nice ring to it...doesn't it?

Let's rock this bitch.

Meltdown.

2009-11-21T18:15:00.005-06:00

Before I left, Coach Amy told me "When you find yourself crying on the bathroom floor...call me."

I fully expected this to happen race morning. Heck, I've even scheduled time in for a pre-race call to Amy.

So imagine my surprise this morning, when I woke up to get ready for the day's "mini tri" and suddenly found myself on the floor, leaning against the wall, sobbing. I questioned if it was too early to call.

I rationed that it was too early to call, and texted her instead.

Amy always seems to know what to say when I need to hear it most. After a handful of exchanges, I still couldn't move.

I whimpered for Mike in between sniffles.

And of course, he was dead to the world.

Tears streaming down my face, I did my breathing exercises. Did some visualization stuff. Did everything I could to collect myself.

Finally, I took a deep breath and told myself "If you don't pick yourself up off this floor, no one is going to..."

Emerging from the bathroom, I started to get ready. Mike rolled over, finally realized my distress, and offered up a hug.

A quick swim...bike...and run were on the schedule. And so we headed down to Tempe Town Lake to get wet.

The swim went swimmingly. No shoulder pain at all and acclimated quickly to the water.

After crawling out of the water, we met up with the Lovatos for a quick pep talk. I gotta tell ya, Amanda and Michael are two of the coolest, awesomest, most down to earth people in the sport. She reminded me that this is perfectly normal.

From there, a bike along the run course...and then of course, a quick little run for good measure.

When I returned, Lauren had arrived!! YAY! Shower. Lunch. Check-in. Side trip to Tempe Cyclery to get some threaded CO2 cartridges. Pick up Sleepy Sis at the airport!! YAY!! Chill in the room. Pull together special needs bags. Try not to think about tomorrow.

Most of the afternoon has been spent off my feet, fielding phone calls and texts and trying to keep myself distracted. So far...it's working pretty well.

I'm feeling okay at this point in time...pretty good, in fact. You ask me how I'm feeling in 20 minutes, and you'll get a different answer.

All that's left to do tonight is dinner, find my inner zen, and get to sleep...hopefully tomorrow won't find me on the bathroom floor...

...deep breaths...I got this...

And we'll all float on okay...

2009-11-19T20:42:00.003-06:00

Hi world!! I'm here in Arizona.

It hasn't changed much since I was here last for my first marathon back in 2006. It's still bright. warm. sunny. and brown. I'm pretty sure there are about 10,000 different shades of brown...most of which appear to be lurking down in Tempe Town Lake.

Overall, I'm in a really good place right now, aside from one minor mental freakout on the plane. (knock on wood)

We haven't seen much of the city aside from the Target, some mediocre mexican restaurant and the inside of our hotel room...but you can definitely feel the Iron Energy flowing freely in this town. Buoys are already lining the swim (and strangely, it doesn't feel as long as I thought it would...though I'll think differently while I'm in the thick of it)...signs are posted warning citizens of delays on Sunday...and there are plenty of men walking around with shaved legs like it's the norm. Good times.

Tomorrow after the practice swim, I'll get myself registered and do a little damage at the expo. Hopefully I won't have any panic attacks as I'm in the presence of hundreds of iron-clad bodies as they try to intimidate everyone else. As long as I can stay on that tropical island in my head, all should be well.

Surprisingly, I'm at peace...thanks in large part to a new and unusual experience.

Last night I did one of the weirdest, most cool things ever thanks to the recommendation of David over at Pace of Chicago.

Now, locking ones self in a 8x4x4 sci-fi coffin-esque structure full of nothing but darkness and water hardly seems like a way to spend an evening of relaxation. Sounds more like a torture chamber at Gitmo rather than one of the most peaceful experiences in existence...

...floating.

For an hour, I completely lost myself in a sensory deprivation tank.

No sight...sound...no nothing...just 10 inches of warm water. warm air. all at the temperature of my skin. 800 pounds of epsom salt. complete darkness. just me...hearing my heartbeat echo in my ears...letting my thoughts guide me for 60 minutes of relaxation and awesomeness.

With that much salt in such a small amount of water, you just let go of all the tension in your body and just float effortlessly. Everything just releases, and you're suspended...floating...like gravity doesn't exist. And after a while, you lose the feeling of where the water meets your skin and the air...and you're just floating...

It was the deepest feeling of relaxation I have ever achieved.

Yoga hasn't come close to this. And an hour-long spa massage can't even hold a candle to the feeling of the end result.

The owner knew I was racing this weekend...and could sense how nervous I was feeling. He let me float for about 75 minutes in the end.

And I swear, it felt like I wasn't in there for longer than 10 minutes.

I emerged with ridiculous clarity and calmness...revitalized...and, for the most part, it has carried over. Which is good.

So Sunday morning, when I plunge into the chilly waters of Tempe Town Lake, the plan is to swim out a bit, find my own space, and just float in the final moments...try to recapture last night's experience, and find inner peace.

Calgon, Take Me Away!

2009-11-18T10:08:00.003-06:00

I really feel like I need to be blogging about something as there is so much fluttering through my stressed out little head right now. But truth be told, I'm kind of at a loss for words right now.

The body has been holding up relatively well. The latest round of ripped saddle sores seem to be healing faster than normal. The toenail I lost a few weeks ago has slowly grown back in. In fun news, I'm down 15 pounds from this time last year...10 of which seems to have melted off the past 2-3 months alone. Still not sleeping exceptionally well, so the next night or two may be throw down thanks in large part to Tylenol PM. Last night I was up until close to 3am. And Queen's "Somebody To Love" was playing on loop in my head. Great song. But not what I want to have blaring on my internal bose system when I'm supposed to be waking up in a few short hours.

Work...what's that? My team has been wonderful the past few weeks. Right now I think my mental capacity would tap out if I were asked to count beans. Infinitely cool how understanding everyone has been...and not to mention how supportive they are. I'm really lucky.

Seriously though. My head is just overflowing with a myriad of thoughts. Some race related. Some family related. Some friend related. Some work related. Some world peace related. My brain runneth over.

My friends have been doing an amazing job keeping my head distracted with sugar cookies (made of PR's!) and Kansas basketball and positive thoughts. Mike's been doing an amazing job trying to keep my head in the game. And frankly, I've been doing a decent job trying to disconnect from it all...in my mind I'm swinging in a hammock on some remote island in the Caribbean sucking down a Miami Vice and grinning at the brain freeze it brings as I listen to the lapping of the ocean waves. It's a wonderful place, this little island in my mind.

Needless to say, I'm trying to avoid the reality of the 140.6 miles ahead of me. Yes. I know it's coming. Yes. I'm (mostly) excited about it. Yes. I'm a bit nervous, too. But ya know...there's not a whole hell of a lot I can do at this point.

I can't control the weather. So I've stopped obsessing over the direction of the wind and the high's for the day.

I can't change the murky dark chilly water of tempe town lake.

I can't change the fact I'll be running in the dark for an extended period of time.

I can't control the course. So I've put stressing about the bike leg on the back burner.

I can only control my thoughts. So why panic? It's not worth the energy at this point in time.

So if you'd like to join me on this little island of awesomeness in my mind, feel free to stop on by. Just don't forget to pack your sunscreen and show up with an extra frozen fruity drink in hand.

...mine's almost empty.

Growth.

2009-11-16T09:36:00.005-06:00

This morning I woke up to a fabulous surprise to commemorate the kickoff of Iron Week.

Mike made me a book spanning my feats of athleticism over the past 4 years...a look at the races I've done and fun I've had. It's ridiculous to take a step back and really see how much I've grown not just over the last season, but the past four years. From biting off more than I could chew with that first marathon, to marathon meltdowns, canceled races, surprising PR's and now the attempt at something truly amazing.

If you asked the Barb of 2005 "what do you think you'll be doing in 4 years?" ...never in my wildest dreams would I have said anything remotely close to doing an Ironman. Afterall, that race is relegated for crazies and people who are made of stern stuff. And let's be honest, you really have to enjoy pushing yourself and taking a beating from the hurt stick. And at the time, that really wasn't me.

But I've grown in so many ways since 2005. The girl who hadn't run since high school can now run for miles upon miles...and can run fast (for my standards)...and I'm at a point where I don't mind being on my bike for upwards of 6...7...8 hours...and I know I can get through any distance of swimming with a bit of patience, relaxation and focus in the water. I'm convinced that anyone can do something of this caliber if they simply have the patience and discipline to put in the time and wade through the training. Seriously. If I can get my ducks in a row to attempt 140.6 miles, there's absolutely no reason why you can't.

Ironman is an elephant. And how do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. And to get through the damn thing you better be hungry. I've tried to make this my mentality with training...and even racing on some levels. I can't be thinking about the bike when I'm treading water waiting for the gun to blare. Live in that moment...and make it work for you.

Honestly, the reality of it being race week hasn't really hit me just yet. I'm leaving in 3 days. Everything feels so surreal. Yesterday I woke up with a slight hint of panic as I thought to myself...this time next week, assuming I don't get pummeled in the swim, I should be on the bike right now.

Thoughts such as this have been floating around my mind for days.

Last night I couldn't sleep. I rolled over and saw 1am hit. I took a sigh of relief thinking to myself that this moment in one week...it will all be over. And it was a bittersweet feeling. Happiness and relief that it'll be done, and if all goes according to plan, I will have crossed the finish line. But sadness at the same time. This season I've actually learned to enjoy myself with training. I've done the vast majority of it alone. And I've really treasured that time by myself. While I'm looking forward to getting my life back, I'm a little bummed that I won't really be out along the lake swimming, biking and running to such an extent pushing myself in crazy ways.

The truth is...I don't like it when things end. In fact, I hate it. For years I was the girl who would read through a book and leave the last chapter unfinished because I didn't want things to come full circle with the characters. I could write their own fates in my mind. I'd rather avoid good-byes than dealing with the reality of parting ways with a friend face to face. Openendedness is good. It leaves so much room for possibility...for new chapters and stories to come.

But this novel, this race, is not going to remain unfinished.

I know there's nothing more I can do at this point to get me to the finish line. So I'm trying to focus my energies on the details. Sure, I'll have a few small workouts this week...mostly swims, a run or two to keep my legs loose, and then a ride out in Arizona...but that's about it. But it's really time just just get everything in order.

I've made lists. And lists of lists. But nothing has been packed yet.

I've thought about things I still need to buy. And do. And people to visit. And conversations to have with the Chief. And Tracy. And my favorite Southern piece of sass, Amy. And come up with that last will and testament...you know, just in case.

Busy, is good. Even if it's just mentally so. Like I said I've been taking any distractions I can get. Distractions are good. They're even better than business.

And let's not discuss the fact that I may or may not be beaming at the fact that Big Sexy posted on my last blog. Thanks, Chris...you really made my day. A more than welcomed distraction.

But amid the distractions, there's still stuff to be done. Last week, I dropped Little Red Riding Hood off with TriBike transport...I'm crossing all my crossables that she shows up in Tempe unscathed and in one piece. Saturday brought a wonderful 10 miler in some unseasonabley warm November weather. Pace booty was plentiful. And the run was actually fun. There was some pushing of the pace for miles 8 and 9 (with mile nine pretty much making me want to toss cookies). Sunday was a gathering of Chicagoans headed to IMAZ with talks of the course, special needs and all sorts of questions answered. Good stuff.

I'm headed to the pool this evening...and let's say it's been a little while since I've gone for a dip. The last few weeks I've been so focused on the other parts (running, biking, nutrition, recovery, rest, etc.) that I've definitely been neglecting the swim. I'm honestly not worried about it, but I've come to terms with the fact it won't be as strong as it could be...

So in the meantime, I'm trying to keep calm and carry on. Stay focused and have the right thoughts in my head. And of course...get packed and eat this elephant one bite at a time.

...because homegirl is starving.

The external athlete.

2009-11-10T22:49:00.003-06:00

This weekend, I met with Tracy. A woman, who is bloody brilliant. A woman, whose specialty, just so happens to be in Sports Psychology.

It's no secret that I'm pretty mental when it comes to racing. So the Chief of Pain hooked me up with Tracy to see just what we can accomplish in 2 weeks time (nevermind the fact that we probably should've gone down this road a few months ago...but hey, I'll try anything at this point). My body is ready. It feels ready. Those trashed legs are getting their spring back...the saddle sores are slowly healing...and I'm actually starting to feel strong. Physically...I'm ready for the challenge. My head, however, still has some work to do to get into the game.

So Saturday morning, Tracy and I spent an hour together with her getting to know what makes me tick, how my body and head respond to pressure and pre-race anxiety (monkey talk and vomiting! but you knew this), going over worst case scenarios, calculating times, cutoffs and everything in between.

She gave me some homework to do, which involves a handful of different exercises to get my brain in line with my body...some relaxation-focused things. some visualization things. a good mix of some tweaks to my pre-race routine that will help foster inner zen.

We discussed how I believe my problem to be getting inside my own head. Turns out, the problem isn't exactly that. I'm allowing all of these external things to get inside my brain and fuddle things up. Tuning out on things is a bit more challenging than I anticipated. For the most part, I've been doing exceptionally well keeping the zone that we work hard to achieve during Saturday's session. I'm doing my brain games. Embracing new music. I picked up a new book today. And I've been enjoying all the distractions that I can find. And of course, I've been working on writing out the pre-race ritual. So I've been working on removing myself from stressful situations that will only add to my anxiety, and just finding my inner peace.

Two weeks isn't much time to change cognitive patterns, but I am certainly giving it a shot. I mean, what have I got to lose?

I also learned that external athletes are more driven by the end result, whereas internal athletes are more process-oriented. While this is the first time I have ever truly enjoyed training, I hardly qualify as an internal athlete (and we can all agree). I won't disagree with the whole "the journey is the reward" sentiment either. And I'm so excited to be there, in each moment of those 140.6 miles, but I'm most looking forward to having that medal draped around my neck and experience those last 100 yards of the race...and being able to stay out late and hang out at bars with friends...and go to concerts! (let's not discuss the fact I've bought 3 pairs of tickets in the past few days)...and drink (I'm having DREAMS of a frosty mug with golden deliciousness sparkling inside)...and not having to stick to a schedule or worry about whether or not my lunch is going to sustain me for a 10 mile run. I'm so looking forward to life after Ironman...where I can run just to run and not have to hit zones or crank out 5 miles at tempo in the middle of 15.

I'm just sort of at a breaking point. And that's okay. Because breaking is part of the process. Mental craziness is too. And mood swings. And devouring everything in sight. And everything else that falls in between.

Because in 10ish days, it will all be over.

And life can return to normal...

...even though I can't remember what "normal" was.

More than just another number...

2009-11-09T23:29:00.003-06:00

As of this afternoon, the Jayhawk is now known as athlete #2240. And I will become so much more than that by the time this is all over.

It's on, kiddies...it's on...

Well this is an interesting development...

2009-11-07T09:12:00.002-06:00

I'm wondering how someone who barely considers themselves an athlete can possibly be the Athlete of the Month according to the Trib. Hmmm...

No added pressure or anything!!!

Thanks to all those in the conspiracy of this one.

(I'd also like to give a shout out to my girl, LeahC, with a photo cred. on the swimcap shot...you're the best!)

On a side note...best of luck to everyone in in North Carolina doing Beach 2 Battleship (especially Waddler, Sharkie and 2Googs), and of course, those duking it out at Ironman Florida! You're all an inspiration to me. :)

Complacency

2009-11-03T09:20:00.005-06:00

I'll be the first to admit that I don't push myself enough most days. I enjoy the back of the pack. We're relaxed and frankly have a ridiculous amount of fun back there. And I actually don't mind running 10...11...12 minute miles. Yes, I've been a bit complacent in my position in the pack.

But every once in a while, I'll get a fire in me to just throw really throw it all out there and see what happens.

Recently I was thrilled to have run an 8:29 mile on the track. I haven't run that fast since high school (although I've got more than a minute to shave off before I get to my high school track days). My fastest miles of the year have been done during speed workouts on the track and usually end up in the mid-8:50's range. Finally being able to push out a sub-9 mile is something that excites me greatly. And up until this weekend, I could probably could count all of my sub-9 miles since high school on two hands...okay...probably more like one hand.

So anyways...

Sunday I had the chance to run the Hot Chocolate 5k in place of a friend who ended up having to work (Thanks, Shannon!). The Chief of Pain cleared me to actually go out and race...

...wait...let me correct that.

He cleared me to run 5 miles to the race. Race the race. Then run 5 miles back home. Apparently he thinks I'm Dean Karnazes in the works (minus the ridiculous distances). He's sorely mistaken.

I knew I wanted to try and PR...and frankly, I didn't think I'd have it in me to set a PR in the middle of a mid-length run. We agreed that I could take the train up there, run around a bit to warm up, race...and then head home on foot.

Fine by me.

My legs have felt trashed and lifeless for a while now. I wasn't expecting much of a PR, if I'd even be able to set one at all. So the night before I loaded up on the worlds most delicious sugar cookies and candy and all sorts of stuff you probably shouldn't eat if you want to run a personal best the next day. I figured it didn't matter, since the likelihood of me breaking my 28:40 PR was slim as it was anyway.

The next morning I meet up with my buddy, get Shannon's bib and get settled into the corral. I lined up around the 9 minute mile group, thinking I'd go out fast, grab onto the heels of someone keeping that pace and then hang on for dear life for as long as I could or 3.1 miles...whichever came first.

First big snafu? Trying to fit 4200 runners on a 10 ft. wide running path is a really stupid idea. Especially when people are completely incapable of seeding themselves correctly. I crossed the start line in under a minute and saw folks who were already walking a quarter mile into the race. Lovely.

With all the weaving going on, the first mile came and went by in 8:59...miraculously on target.

Things started to clear up slightly after the water stop, though there were still droves and droves of people everywhere.

I looked behind me at mile 2 (done in 8:48, no less!) to see that the crowds were actually thicker behind me than in front of me. Am I toward the front of the pack? WTF is going on here? I just don't understand...

That last mile was an interesting one, it wasn't so much a hanging on for dear life feeling as it was more of a this is finally starting to feel comfortable. An extended version of New Order's 'Blue Monday' had pulled me through mile 2 at pretty quick clip for myself...so I played the song again. Mile three came and went in 8:38.

Official finishing time? 27:15.

That's an 8:47 pace in case you're wondering and nowhere near what I was expecting. I figured if I set a PR, it would've been by a seconds...not by more than a minute. That's 1:25 faster than before. Done on dead legs. With a lot of traffic. And a tummy full of sugar cookies.

Good times.

Overall: 711/4473 (top 16%)
Age Group: 69/648 (top 11%)

That's hardly complacency in the back of the pack (and I've shaved off more than 10 minutes from my 5k time in the past 4 years). I think I need to re-evaluate this whole pre-race nutrition plan for Ironman. Who needs pasta and chicken?

Pass me a plate of sugar cookies, please!

You Are Ready.

2009-10-29T08:52:00.003-06:00

I ran across this on my favorite triathlon message board and knew I needed to keep this one in the books. I'm putting it on my blog, partly so I can draw upon it whenever I need to, but also for anyone else out there who has been on this insane 140.6 journey with me. The original writer has hit the nail on the head...grab a box of tissues...I definitely needed it...

Right now you've all entered the taper. Perhaps you've been at this a few months, perhaps you've been at this a few years. For some of you this is your first IM, for others, a long-overdue welcome back to a race that few can match.

You've been following your schedule to the letter. You've been piling on the mileage, piling up the laundry, and getting a set of tan lines that will take until next year to erase. Long rides were followed by long runs, which both were preceded by long swims, all of which were followed by recovery naps that were longer than you slept for any given night during college.

You ran in the dark.
You rode in the rain.
You ran in the heat.
You ran in the cold.

You went out when others stayed home.
You rode the trainer when others pulled the covers over their heads.

You have survived the Darwinian progression that is an Ironman summer, and now the hardest days are behind you. Like a climber in the Tour de France coming over the summit of the penultimate climb on an alpine stage, you've already covered so much ground...there's just one more climb to go. You shift up, you take a drink, you zip up the jersey; the descent lies before you...and it will be a fast one.

Time that used to be filled with never-ending work will now be filling with silent muscles, taking their final, well-earned rest. While this taper is something your body desperately needs, your mind cast off to the background for so very long, will start to speak to you.

It won't be pretty.

It will bring up thoughts of doubt, pain, hunger, thirst, failure, and loss. It will give you reasons why you aren't ready. It will try and make one last stand to stop you, because your brain doesn't know what the body already does. Your body knows the truth:

You are ready.

Your brain won't believe it. It will use the taper to convince you that this is foolish - that there is too much that can go wrong.

You are ready.

Finishing an Ironman is never an accident. It's the result of dedication, focus, hard work, and belief that all the long runs in January, long rides in March, and long swims every damn weekend will be worth it. It comes from getting on the bike, day in, day out. It comes from long, solo runs. From that first long run where you wondered, "How will I ever be ready?" to the last long run where you smiled to yourself with one mile to go...knowing that you'd found the answer.

It is worth it. Now that you're at the taper, you know it will be worth it. The workload becomes less. The body winds up and prepares, and you just need to quiet your worried mind. Not easy, but you can do it.

You are ready.

You will walk into the water with 2500 other wide-open sets of eyes. You will look upon the sea of humanity, and know that you belong. You'll feel the chill of the water crawl into your wetsuit, and shiver like everyone else, but smile because the day you have waited for so VERY long is finally here.

You will tear up in your goggles. Everyone does.

The helicopters will roar overhead.
The splashing will surround you.

You'll stop thinking about Ironman, because you're now racing one.

The swim will be long - it's long for everyone, but you'll make it. You'll watch as the shoreline grows and grows, and soon you'll hear the end. You'll come up the beach and head for the wetsuit strippers. Three people will get that sucker off before you know what happening, then you’ll head for the bike.

The voices, the cowbells, and the curb-to-curb chalk giving you a hero's sendoff can't wipe the smile off your face.

You'll settle down to your race. The crowds will spread out on the road. You'll soon be on your bike, eating your food on your schedule, controlling your Ironman.

You'll start to feel that morning sun turn to afternoon sun. It's warmer now. Maybe it's hot. Maybe you're not feeling so good now. You'll keep riding. You'll keep drinking. You'll keep moving. After all, this is just a long training day with valet parking and catering, right?

You'll put on your game face, fighting the urge to feel down as you ride for what seems like hours. You reach special needs, fuel up, and head out.

By now it'll be hot. You'll be tired. Doubts will fight for your focus. Everyone struggles here. You've been on that bike for a few hours, and stopping would be nice, but you won't - not here. Not today.

You'll grind the false flats to the climb. You'll know you're almost there. You'll fight for every inch of road. The crowd will come back to you here. Let their energy push you. Let them see your eyes. Smile when they cheer for you - your body will get just that little bit lighter.

Grind.
Fight.
Suffer.
Persevere.

You'll plunge down the road, swooping from corner to corner, chaining together the turns, tucking on the straights, letting your legs recover for the run to come - soon! You'll roll back - you'll see people running out. You'll think to yourself, "Wasn't I just here?" The noise
will grow. The chalk dust will hang in the air - you're back, with only 26.2 miles to go. You'll relax a little bit, knowing that even if you get a flat tire or something breaks here, you can run the damn bike into T2.

You'll roll into transition. 100 volunteers will fight for your bike. You'll give it up and not look back. You'll have your bag handed to you, and into the tent you'll go. You'll change. You'll load up your pockets, and open the door to the last long run of your Ironman summer - the one that counts.

You'll take that first step of a thousand...and you'll smile. You'll know that the bike won't let you down now - the race is down to your own two feet. The same crowd that cheered for you in the shadows of the morning will cheer for you in the brilliant sunshine of a summer Sunday. High-five people on the way out. Smile. Enjoy it. This is what you've worked for all year long.

That first mile will feel great. So will the second. By mile 3, you probably won't feel so good.

That's okay. You knew it couldn't all be that easy. You'll settle down just like you did on the bike, and get down to your pace. You'll see the leaders coming back the other way. Some will look great - some won't. You might feel great, you might not. No matter how you feel, don't panic - this is the part of the day where whatever you're feeling, you can be sure it won't last.

You'll keep moving. You'll keep drinking. You'll keep eating. Maybe you'll be right on plan - maybe you won't. If you're ahead of schedule, don't worry - believe. If you're behind, don't panic - roll with it. Everyone comes up with a brilliant race plan for Ironman, and then everyone has to deal with the reality that planning for something like Ironman is like trying to land a man on the moon. By remote control. Blindfolded.

How you react to the changes in your plan will dictate your day. Don't waste energy worrying about things - just do what you have to when you have to, and keep moving. Keep eating. Keep drinking. Just don't sit down - don't EVER sit down.

You'll make it to the halfway point. You'll load up on special needs. Some of what you packed will look good, some won't. Eat what looks good, toss the rest. Keep moving. Start looking for people you know. Cheer for people you don't. You're headed in - they're not. They want to be
where you are, just like you wanted to be when you saw all those fast people headed into town. Share some energy - you'll get it right back.

Run if you can.
Walk if you have to.
Just keep moving.

The miles will drag on. The brilliant sunshine will yawn. You'll be coming up to those aid stations fully alive with people, music, and chicken soup. TAKE THE SOUP. Keep moving.

You'll soon only have a few miles to go. You'll start to believe that you're going to make it. You'll start to imagine how good it's going to feel when you get there. Let those feelings drive you on. When your legs just don't want to move anymore, think about what it's going to be like when someone catches you…and puts a medal over your head... all you have to do is get there.

You'll start to hear the people in town. People you can't see in the twilight will cheer for you. They'll call out your name. Smile and thank them. They were there when you left on the bike, and when you came back, and when you left on the run, and now when you've come back.

You'll enter town. You'll start to realize that the day is almost over. You'll be exhausted, wiped out, barely able to run a 10-minute mile (if you're lucky), but you'll ask yourself, "Where did the whole day go?" You'll be standing on the edge of two feelings - the desire to finally stop, and the desire to take these last moments and make them last as long as possible.

You'll hit mile 25. Your Ironman will have 1.2 miles - just 2KM left in it.

You'll run. You'll find your legs. You'll fly. You won't know how, but you will run. The lights will grow brighter, brighter, and brighter. Soon you'll be able to hear the music again. This time, it'll be for keeps.

Soon they'll see you. Soon, everyone will see you. You'll run towards the lights, between the fences, and into the night sun made just for you.

They'll say your name.
You'll keep running.
Nothing will hurt.

The moment will be yours - for one moment, the entire world will be looking at you and only you.

You'll break the tape at the finish line, 140.6 miles after starting your journey. The flash will go off.

You'll stop. You'll finally stop. Your legs will wobble their last, and suddenly...be capable of nothing more.

Someone will catch you.
You'll lean into them.

It will suddenly hit you.

YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!

You are ready.

Mental Case.

2009-10-27T08:31:00.002-06:00

Well, friends.

I survived. (barely).

The Meat Grinder weekend came. And went. And I hit about 95% of the miles I needed to cover.

An alarm clock debacle on Saturday started my 21 miler about 3 hours later than I had anticipated...which meant the time slot for open swim at the pool slipped by. So I've still got a 2 hour pool swim to make up. Note to self: In the future, quadruple check that any alarm is set for AM and not PM.

The long run went well. It was a rainy morning and it started with a trip to the Garmin flagship store since every time I hit the mode button the damn watch would turn off. Miraculously, the chick was able to fix it for me with a little bit of time and before I knew it, I was calibrated and ready to roll.

Three bad omens in a row. Oversleep. Stormy Weather. Temperamental watch.
One strike from stupid human error. One from Mother Nature. And one from the Technological Gods (I'm convinced they hate me, anyway).

I pushed it all behind me and hit the ground running. The fear of striking out shouldn't keep me from playing the game.

Now I know I'm not fast when it comes to longer distances (or heck, even short distances...though I did lay down my fastest mile split since high school on the track this week, yay for holding a sub-8:30 pace!)...but I'm at least consistent. "Steady as she goes," if you will. I was running even splits in the 12:15-12:30 range up until mile 16 or so while nailing my target heart rate. And then my IT band started protesting (extreme understatement). For a while there, I was reduced to hobbles and walks to constant stretching. Those last 3 miles required a massively huge "Rally Up B*tch" effort on my part. I'm not sure what it is about those three words, but I've recently found myself drawing into them whenever I'm hitting THE SUCK. The Rally Up sentiment somehow pulls me through. No idea why. I don't question it. I just go with it. It works.

The last 8k was pretty emotional. One minute I'd start tearing up because I was amazed at how strong I felt and how far I've come with my running over the past few seasons. Then I'd get it together. And then I'd start to welt up because the pain in my IT band would push me to the edge. Then I'd be okay. And then I'd feel so overwhelmed and proud of this entire journey and turn to mush. Then I'd remember I'm still in public and people were shooting strange glances at 'that crying girl' on the running path. And then I'd envision crossing the finish line into Mike and Robyn's arms and a sensation of relief and joy would come into my mind. These kind of head games are the ones that both drive me insane and keep me moving forward. Conflicting magnetic forces. Blah.

In the end, I ultimately covered 21.4 miles (give or take a tenth and not including the run to the Garmin store). Not bad for a day's work. Still not enough with missing the swim, but I wasn't about to beat myself up over it.

Cold bath. Chocolate milk. Foam roller. Recovery socks. And a pair of Christmas pajama pants later led to a relaxing evening of couch surfing.

All in all, Saturday was a very good day. Minus the omens. Minus the missed long swim (which I *will* get in! I promise!!). Minus all of the guilt I've been starting to feel about doing this race.

Sunday was a different story. It was the day I'd been dreading ever since I saw it on the schedule. A 120 mile bike with a 90 minute run tacked on the backside. I can't do this...can I!?!

I rolled out of bed shortly after seven after an hour of hitting snooze. Went through the motions for fueling. Dressing. Pre-workout Facebooking. You know...the normal stuff.

And then somewhere in the process my brain turned on and started doing the awful monkey talk.

The kind that just won't.shut.up.

I was drowning in self-doubt. Absolutely drowning. And I could not get moving to save my life.

I went into the bedroom and sat on the bed all teary-eyed. Mike was still passed out and tried to offer up encouragement in his drowsiness.

I moved to the couch and sobbed. In my mind I was convinced that I couldn't do it. I made myself sick over the impending brick. Tossed up some Gatorade. Nearly hyperventilated. That kind of sick. It was quite lovely, really.

I texted Molly. She reminded me that everyone feels overwhelmed when facing their toughest workouts. Finding comfort in someone who is so strong and awesome and knowing that they felt the exact same fear the week before actually helped.

And then as if someone had sent a memo over the AP Wire that I was freaking out...text messages started pouring in from my virtual cheerleaders, if you will. I started receiving happy, cheerful texts from friends, both near and far. Images of pink frosted donuts. Jokes. Happy little weather updates (it was supposed to rain all day...and I only had 5 minutes of drizzle late in the ride). Offers to keep me company while riding.

Somehow, even when I doubt myself...nobody else doubts my ability to go out and get it done. I may be slow, but I'm persistent...and don't quit.

I dried the tears and made the decision to either let fear overcome me or pull myself together and get my ass out the door.

After a few deep breaths and I convinced myself to stop thinking about it and just shut up and do it.

It was after 9am.
I allowed myself to freak out for nearly two hours.

Not good.

(We should really address this mental game I play with myself sometime between now and November 22nd. But we'll have a separate post for the Iron Toolbox during taper...)

Once on the lakefront path, I was still mentally struggling. Usually once I get moving, everything falls into place and I snap out of it. But the first two dozen miles crawled by. My legs were shot from the long run the previous day. I wasn't at mile 25...I was at a place where I still have 95 miles to bike. And it was awful. I realized that if I didn't get my poop in a group, I was going to be biking until midnight.

Slowly, but surely, I started to push out the "I Can'ts" and zoned out with a nice long rendition of 99 bottles of beer on the wall.

Somewhere around 63 bottles of beer...Tony and I cross paths. He's doing Beach to Battleship full in a few weeks and had a 3 hour ride on tap. Nevermind the fact he had a long night of drinking under his belt and was slightly hungover...or that he typically rides close in the 18-20mph range. He still came out and kept me company at my pace. Offered up heaps of encouragement to just keep pedaling, no matter how fast or slow I'd be moving...reminding me that every headwind comes with an eventual tail wind (no matter how short lived). His presence pulled me out of a massive funk with talks of Sesame Street...people we don't like from Lake Zurich...the NYT article on slow marathoners...and even a rendition of the Brady Bunch's "Sunshine Day."

By mile 65, we parted ways...and a meltdown soon ensued. When left to just me and my thoughts, I focused on the pain and negativity again. Curse the demons.

Mile 69. I called Mike hoping for a chipper cheerleader and arrangements to meet in an hour to get some bottles and fuel switched up.

I called. And tough love answered.

It wasn't pretty.

Don't get me wrong, I love my husband. But at the moment, I wanted to go home and slug him. That tough love got me angry and ultimately sparked the "Rally Up B*tch" sentiment. Paired with a tailwind, I flew back up to the north side, weaving my way through runners, tourists and idiot pedestrians alike. That's the worst part about being on the lakefront path...it's not an open road. It's a path. Full of stupid people. Stupid skateboarders. Stupid rollerbladers. Stupid bike/car rental things that fit the cast of "Eight Is Enough" as they gleefully go gallivanting along the lake. It was probably a stupid decision to attempt 120 miles on a stretch of cement that only goes on for 18.

I was finally starting to feel better but still sour on the whole. It was around mile 84-85 when I found him. A brief stop brought some much-needed relief. Seeing Mike was the recharge that I needed. Pretzel sticks and fig newtons and fresh water proved to be the elixir of champions.

And then I broke the cardinal rule of cycling. I put on my iPod to help me zone out (only one bud in my right ear). After the pow wow with Mike, we agreed that I needed to get in 100 miles on the day no matter what. If I could just make it to 100...I'd be happy with the workout.

100 miles came right as I was passing the exit to head back home. I pulled a hairpin turn and headed back north. I wanted those 120 miles deposited in the piggy bank. Those extra 20 miles may be just what I needed when it comes to making a withdrawl on race day.

The sun was starting to descend quickly and I convinced myself to just keep riding...see how far I can get before all daylight was lost.

I managed 114.5 miles before I deemed it too dangerous to ride (I didn't even think to have Mike bring me any night riding things earlier).

Not quite 120.
But more than 112.
And ensured that in the black of night I didn't crash into a pothole or, heaven forbid, ride off the ledge and into the lake.

I packed it up and went home.

I was spent. Mike welcomed me back and informed me of the awesome dinner he was making. I took a minute to collect myself, and then changed into my run clothes.

Apparently he didn't think I'd be running.

But I was feeling okay...and wanted to see what my body would give me at that moment. Sure, I was tired and was convinced there'd be no way I could make it 90 minutes...but I wanted to just see what I could give.

Mile 1 ticks off at a strong pace...10:45. Whoaaaa...

I back it off a little bit for an 11:30ish the next mile...or rather .6 miles.

Then I find myself doubled over nearly heaving Gu into the sand at Oak Street Beach.

So this is what they mean when they say low points will appear and disappear without warning...

I thought I was going to die. My stomach was revolting and was making its disdain known. Legs? Tired...but fine. Head? Finally in the game. Heart Rate? Cooperating like never before. But my stomach...wanted nothing to do with running. nothing to do with moving. nothing to do with anything but sitting on a bench, taking a few deep breaths.

I worked hard to keep my fuel in my system (though in retrospect, I may have felt better if I had just allowed myself to yak it up?), and pulled it together to just crawl. Then if I could just walk with a purpose to the next light post...the next mile marker...the next major street...then I can turn around and head home.

I didn't turn around until I hit 45 minutes...on target for a 90 minute transition "run." I scoffed at myself. I wasn't running. I was whining. And babying myself. I'd barely made it 3 miles while trying to appease my stomach...and I had started off so strong.

It was frustrating. But I started walking home. Even if I had to walk it all back in, at least I was out there for 90 minutes, I reasoned with myself.

By the time I hit the hour mark, I started feeling like Barbara again.

And I had to remind myself that this is what it will be like during Ironman.

Michelle vomited for 20 miles of the Marathon in Madison. Brian was forced to walk the majority of the run. In Louisville Mike started off rough and put on his rally cap to run a negative split. Robyn started off brilliantly with a smile and then unraveled in the middle You don't know what the day is going to give you. There will be highs...and lows...and everything in between.

This horrendous feeling, like the awful mind games on the bike earlier that day, would pass.

Before I knew it, I was shuffling...

...and then jogging...

...and then running at a relatively speedy clip (for me) again.

Sometimes I'd make it a block before my stomach caved...other times I'd feel great for 10-15 minutes straight.

In the end, my transition run ended up being 1:27 for 6.4 miles of covered distance. I was over a mile off my desired mark.

...and I didn't care. Normally, I'd be angry and hard on myself. But not today...

Because with stupid distances you have to learn to roll with the punches. Not every mile can be awesome and pain-free, puke-free and mind-f*ck-free.

You have to embrace THE SUCK and find a way to push through it. Stay in forward motion and get through to the other side. And then once you're there...enjoy every damn second of it and milk it for all it's worth because before you know it, THE SUCK will return and you'll be reduced to a crawl again.

Monday was spent with me turning pro in couch surfing. I lived in my totally awesome skull and crossbones christmas jammies (these pj pants = happiness to me). There was not enough food in the world to keep my appetite at bay. And I felt like I had been plowed down by a bulldozer...

...like my body had been pushed through a meat grinder with only blistered shreds of muscle and sinew to show for a weekend of hard work.

It was tough. I was tough.

Tough.
Not impossible.
But tough.

And to misquote one of my favorite quotes...
What do you take out of impossible to make it possible?
IM.

This weekend proved two things to me...

First, I am one big freakin' head case. Like a mental basketcase. My brain is my biggest weakness and I let it constantly overwhelm me on monster training days and race day. This isn't a good thing (thank you capitan obvious).

To my Iron Crew in Arizona next month...come with an arsenal of things to keep my mind at ease. You'll likely see it all on race morning. The culmination of git foul iron moodswings at its finest...excitement, hysterics, ill-feelings, anger, vomiting, shaking, stupidity, hate, awesomeness and every emotion and physical being in between. And that's probably before we even make it down to the race site. I'd like to apologize in advance...I'm sorry.

Secondly, I realize that I'm going to be cutting that bike cutoff RIDICULOUSLY CLOSE. Like fraction of a second close. So I need to make every moment out there count (the footage from Kona where the chick misses the bike to run cutoff by 5 seconds keeps replaying in my mind). Make every mile I've ever logged to date count. Make those hours I missed during our family vacation so I could ride my bike count. Make the 102 I rode on my birthday when I would've rather been off with friends I haven't seen in months count.

I have to make every one of those 61,200 seconds of those 17 hours count. Because let's be honest...I'm going to need each and every one of those seconds on the course.

So it is with open arms that I find myself standing on the edge, on the verge of embracing this little thing we call taper. Sure, my body may be scaling back...but this is the time where I really need to focus on fine tuning my mind. Getting myself mentally, emotionally, spiritually ready for this challenge that is practically days away.

Is this really happening in less than 4 weeks? Am I really ready for this?

Pardon me while I have that my God, what have I gotten myself into!? moment...

Ironman Training Is.

2009-10-18T18:07:00.002-06:00

Ironman training is...painful.

You get blisters. Lose toenails. Body parts that you previously didn't know existed ache, chafe, throb, swell. It's like being stuck in an ultimate cage fight with an irritable grizzly just out of hibernation each and every weekend. It chews you up, spits you out, and yet you come back a few days later and go at it again. It doesn't care how tired and hurting you are, you have to dig deep, find a way to press on, suck it up, get out of that freakin' cage fight in one piece...then line right back up to do it again. It's very much in the Thank you, sir, may I please have another? camp. It sucks. It's awesome. It hurts.

Ironman training is...for masochists.

Suffice to say, you have to enjoy pain to make it through a full Ironman training plan. Feel the high as your legs are screaming at you during the tempo run. Savor the fire in your lungs after you've completed 10x100 sprints in the pool. Smile at that God awful pain in your low back after you've put 80...90...100+ miles on the bike. The pain gets you off (no, not in that way...or maybe it does, whatever your fancy)...it lets you know you're alive. Pain pulses through your veins and you thrive on it. This shit is not for the faint of heart. If you ever sign up for one of these beasts and think it's as simple as following a plan, you are sorely mistaken. Be prepared for world of hurt. The more you sweat in training. The less you'll bleed in war. So you best be working up enough sweat to fill an olympic pool.

Ironman training is...lonely.

You really have to enjoy hanging out with yourself to win the Ironman training battle. Sure you can have training partners and riding buddies and friends who will run with you once in a while, but even when you're with them, you're still alone. Most of the time it's you, your thoughts, your demons and the open road. You'll sing songs to yourself to get you through the long ride. Perfect the fine art of snot rockets, peeing on the bike (please note: I do not do this!), and belching--you know, the kind that comes deep from your toes, repulses civilians, and impresses the pants off of runners, cyclists and triathletes alike. You have to be willing to get in your own head...get a little mental...allow yourself to cry when you don't think you can take another step...bribe yourself...know how to give yourself a pep talk when you're on the verge of throwing in the towel...celebrate tiny victories on your own because there isn't another sole in sight to share your pride. It isn't pretty...but you really find out exactly what you're made of when you're on your own for 6...7...8...or in my case 12+ hours.

Ironman training is...stupid.

Not stupid in the sense following a plan is stupid. That's actually really smart. But stupid as in you get to do a lot of stupid things. Like a bike-run-bike-run-bike-run brick from hell in 105 degree heat with 100% humidity. Or like a night-time open water swim when the water temps are topping out at 52 degrees (if you're lucky) and the air temps start with the number 4. There are all sorts of cruel and unusual punishments that come with Ironman training and being willing to embrace each one to the best of your ability is key. And just when you think you've seen it all, you look at your schedule and see that your Coach has prescribed you a weekend consisting of a 2+ mile swim, 21 mile run and a 120 mile bike with a 90 minute transition run off the back, a weekend you fondly refer to as The Meat Grinder. Stupid. Kind of like training for a late season Ironman in Chicago...where it's already starting to feel like winter. Grrrrr...but that's my own damn fault.

Ironman training is...a privilege.

I feel so incredibly lucky that my body has cooperated with me for this long. Athletes definitely take our bodies for granted. At any moment, we have the potential to have everything we've worked for come crashing to a halt. Accidents happen. Injuries happen. The fact we're even alive is a privilege. Making it to the start line prepared and in one piece is half the battle. Making every day and every workout count is exhausting. But in the end, you have to step back and remind yourself just how lucky you are to be able to run 18 miles. Not everyone can. And there are countless people who would give up everything to be in our position.

Ironman training is...

...neverending.

...too long.

...not long enough.

...for people who really like training.

...expensive.

...a test.

...necessary.

...exhausting.

...inspiring.

...hunger-inducing.

...full of whining.

...and ice baths.

...and I cant's.

...and I can's.

...and I will's.

That, my friends...is what Ironman training is.

Awesomeness surrounds itself with awesomeness: Thoughts from the Chicago Marathon (or at least 18ish miles of it)

2009-10-12T10:05:00.005-06:00

Yesterday was the Chicago marathon. Yesterday I had 18 miles to run. And it just so happened that I woke up and found a marathon bib sitting on my dining room table. Okay...less of a miracle, more of Mike electing not to run this year. You're smart...put two and two together.

But let's back it up for a moment first...

A few weeks ago, I stumbled onto a post from the Pace of Chicago mentioning that the reporter, David Wallach, was looking for a "slow marathon runner" to run with during the Chicago Marathon. My first thought was Finally! Someone giving us BOPers some love! My second thought was Shoot!! Of course this opportunity comes up the year I'm not running. But then I realized that Lauren would be beyond the perfect candidate for the job. She's spunky, genuine and all around an incredible girl. Within minutes of sending her a message, she was excited and on top of it (and I say that with intent of zero double entrendres, so get your mind outta the gutter kids!).

It came as no surprise when she told me she was picked.

That's just how awesome she is. She radiates awesomeness. And in turns, draws equally awesome people to her (okay...I'll go ahead and include myself in that group because word on the street is that I'm pretty awesome, too). David, the reporter dude? ...awesome. Her dad, Larry? The king of awesomeness who reproduced awesomeness. Jon? Naturally awesome marries awesome. You catch my drift.

Case in point. Awesome people help create an awesome experience for all. So back to the story.

I had 18 miles to run for IM training. Lauren had 26.2 miles of unfinish business to take care of from the 2007 Chicago "Fun Run" (aka, the marathon meltdown). And we both agreed that I would jump in right around mile 7.5 to give her some fresh legs when she needed it most. She wanted a PR and I promised I could push her to one with the warning that she may hate me by the time she was finished.

And so I waited by the infamous fountain at the corner of LSD and Addison for my girl. Fortunately for everyone, this year's conditions were downright blizzard-like compared to the past two years. It didn't take long for me to spot her...so I hopped on in and away we went. Lauren and her entourage of David and Barb.

Those 18 miles were wonderful. There here highs. There were lows. We laughed. We cried. It was better than Cats.

Lauren nabbed herself a new PR. David got himself a wonderful story and the revelation that 10 days is not nearly enough time to train for a marathon. And I got a fantastically fun solid training run of 18.5ish miles in.

I'm not going to to sit here and tell you her story...because this is one that is best told from Lauren's perspective. And of course, you've got the incredible recount of the 26.2 mile journey from David at Pace of Chicago. Both are worth taking the time to read.

Go ahead and read them right now. I'll wait for you here...

Done? Okay. Good.

So as you can tell, there isn't anything I could add to either of their race reports to make them any better. Except maybe amending David's to clarify that I'm not that crazy.

Since the pair of them shared their account from the day so beautifully, I'm just going to add one quick thought...

I've always sort of known it, but didn't really grasp it until yesterday...(probably because I wasn't actually participating in the marathon)...in an endurance event, the back of the pack is where the grit and determination rests. We have a ton of fun and don't over-obsess about our times. Sure, there's a fair amount of stupidity mixed in as clearly there are folks there who didn't train as much as they probably should have...but the back of the pack has an insane amount of heart. We're still out there plugging along long after the winners and BQers have packed up, gone home, showered, napped and had their post-race recovery meal and massage. It's the Bingham mentality of "I'm slow. I know. Get over it." Frankly, it's this mentality that makes me love the back of the pack.

But you have no idea how excited this notion makes me for Ironman Arizona. I am well-aware there is a strong possibility I will be that 16:59:59 finisher. I am equally aware that there's always a chance I may not finish and that it's not guaranteed. But one thing I am certain of...I cannot wait to draw upon the awesomeness of those in the back of the pack on Nov. 22nd. We're all going to be in a world of hurt together...so here's to hoping we can make it as fun and as memorable as possible in the crisp, dark desert night.

To Lauren and everyone out there at yesterday's marathon--Congratulations!

Coming Together

2009-10-01T09:56:00.002-06:00

Today I can officially say I'm doing an Ironman next month.

Uhhh...wtf?! I can't have that little time left? Can I?!?! ...I mean I just signed up for this silly little race last week...didn't I!?

And then this morning someone reminded me that the race is indeed next month and asked if I was feeling ready.

Hardly.

I mean, are we ever REALLY ready to do this from a mental, physical and emotional standpoint? 140.6 miles is an insane distance to travel in one day without the assistance of a car, train or airplane. We do everything we can to get our bodies and minds in the right place and simply hope for the best possible execution and outcome during the Big Dance. We're doing everything we can to get to the start line of that 140.6 mile day in one piece. Then we swallow our nerves, ignore that little voice in our heads that says "this is the stupidest thing you've ever done," say a prayer and stay in forward motion for up to 17 hours.

I'll admit. I'm not ready now...nowhere near ready. Mentally I've got my head wrapped around the rest of the training on tap (not the race though)...but emotionally and physically I've got a ways to go. But I'm confident that by the time November hits, I will be as ready as I'm going to be from a training perspective. I've put my trust in the Chief of Pain and paid him big bucks to do all the thinking around training for me. Which gives me my current mantra.

Don't think. Just do.

I've found that telling myself to just shut up, don't think about the work and just get it done, is the approach that I need at the moment. The emotional side of the trinity...I imagine I'll be sorting through that up until I'm treading water in Tempe Town Lake waiting for the cannon to fire.

On my long run over the weekend, I really got to thinking about how far I've come over the past 7 months of training. I went from absolutely loathing my bike, to actually enjoying being in the saddle for obscenely long periods of time. I went from keeping a 10:00 pace during speedwork to cranking out 8:30 miles...at the end of a long, evil session on the track--homegirl doesn't run that fast. Ever. And the swim...well...it is what it is. I'm relatively comfortable in open water when I find my groove...sighting has improved dramatically over the past month, although I still find myself inadvertantly pulling to the left. At least the Arizona swim is counter clockwise, so that'll help.

To date, I've done two century rides. The first, the wheels fell off around mile 61. The second, I was great until mile 81 hit. I'm hoping that this weekend's 100 miles don't start sucking until after I'm done. I never imagined that I'd be off riding hundreds of miles in any given weekend.

The next few weeks (okay...weekends, really) are going to be a wee bit on the intense side. The final build weekend is absolutely beyond anything I could have imagined myself doing. I kid you not...I saw the schedule and nearly fell out of my chair. ...I get to swim 2+ mile in Lake Michigan (shall we start wagering how freezing it'll be at that juncture?!?) and run 21 miles...and then the following day I get to bike 120 with a 90 minute transition run. I don't call Coach Mo the Chief of Pain for nothing!

It's strange that I find myself really excited of this final build. The feeling of dread with the big crazy long workouts has subsided. I'm more or less thankful that I've gotten myself to this point in training with the support of Mike, a few good friends and the Chief. Taper time will inevitably be bittersweet.

In the meantime I find myself counting down the days, and somehow wishing I could add another another month or two between now and the moment that cannon goes off on November 22nd...

Getting Unstuck

2009-09-16T14:41:00.006-06:00

Ever since we returned from volunteering at Ironman Wisconsin a little over a week ago, I've been feeling very stuck. Volunteering was beyond an incredible experience--one I won't soon forget.

I witnessed athletes on their highest of highs, and lowest of lows. Any elation or pain they felt, I felt right along with them. I experienced more emotionally than I ever bargained for.

I went into the weekend ready to volunteer in the women's T2 change tent (with the intention of taking plenty of mental notes on what people used and didn't need in transition) along with working the 8-midnight finish line catcher shift to welcome a handful of friends into the Ironman club (one I hope to be a part of in a few weeks time). It was fun hanging out with Pharmie and Erin and trying to sneak peeks into the boys tent (I'm only half-way kidding).

But like I said, it was an emotional day. The condition some of the ladies came in off the bike was downright horrifying. I tended to bloody feet, chaffed body parts, lots of tears, and I'm pretty sure I got to second or third base with at least 4 different women as I helped change them and apply vaseline to unmentionable places. And a couple of gals even required some convincing that yes, they could indeed run a marathon right now.

A few key moments stick out in my mind from being in the change tent...

Athlete #2092.
I bring her in, dump out her stuff, and we start going through everything. She's one of the earlier gals on the bike, so it's evident to me that she's looking to be fast on the day. I'm working with urgency...she just sits back and relaxes, taking a few deep breaths. She makes it very clear to me that she is in absolutely no rush whatsoever and that I needed to slow down for her.

I go through the motions of getting her changed and focused on her run and she leans over and whispers to me...

You see that chick over there in orange?
Yeah.
She keeps giving me the stink eye. She things I'm going to take her Kona slot or something. The last thing I want to do is run right now, and there's no way I'm going to place today, so I'm going to just go for a 26.2 mile stroll...
Well you've got plenty of time to get to the finish line, don't worry about her...

The conversation was actually quite hilarious as she just kept glaring at the chick in orange, muttering rivalry smack talk. I got her back on her feet and sent her out the door.

I wish I knew out to get a hold of her now...just to congratulate her on beating the girl in orange, AND winning her age group. Seriously. She took first. Glad to see that little stroll turned into an awesome run.

Lesson learned from Katie: It's okay to take your time and regroup...it'll help you kick more ass in the long run.

Michelle...my EnduraCamp homegirl.
Lisa had actually been paired to help Michelle while I was busy tending to another athlete in transition, but once I got my girl up and running...I quickly ran over to Michelle to take over.

Michelle, as fiesty and fierce as she is...was definitely in a daze. She was feeling the effects of the 2.4 mile swim and 112 miles on the relentless hills of Wisconsin. We took time chatting for a bit, while we got her in a change of costume for the run. I slapped a bunch of salve on her chaffed arms, laughed as she insisted she redo her hair "to look good," and got her moving once again. I promised to find her at the finish line that night (sadly a promise I couldn't keep as I was escorting an athlete's family to medical, but I did hear her name being called).

Lesson learned from Michelle...your hair matters. Even in Ironman, ya gotta look good! ...and be overly generous when it comes to applying salve on your body. Hopefully she's recovering well with a bottle of wine in hand!

Bridget...the one who reminds me of myself.
I'm not sure what it was about Bridget that suck out in my mind so vividly...I think it's because I saw so much of myself in her. She was so happy--and thankful--to be off of the bike. Her smile lit up the entire room and you could see the determination to keep moving forward in her eyes. I do remember that she pretty much packed a picnic in her transition bag. I have no doubt that I'll probably be doing the same thing.

After a quick break and a clean set of clothes, I sent her on her way, PB sammich in hand...I just knew I'd be seeing her again in a few hours time.

And the Friends...
It was wonderful being able to help Amy Jo and Veronica and Donna...and I even assisted the pro who ended up taking second place. Both Veronica and Donna offered up fabulously sweaty bear hugs before going out for a run and were beyond appreciative that I was able to help push them along through transition.

But the most heartwrenching moment was finding a close friend of mine (and training buddy), without a chip and in tears coming in the side door to T2. After an allergic reaction to a bee sting paired with mechanical troubles on the bike, her day ended about 50 miles too soon. My heart absolutely broke--and still breaks for her. We all know that she can do the distance, but circumstances lined up just right to foil her day. Ironman can be so ridiculously unfair. One thing is for certain, we are all looking forward to her taking revenge on the race--because she can do it.

After a stop by the medical tent, some tears and some hugs, my shift in T2 was complete. There was only a little bit of downtime before we were expected at the finish line to begin catching people, so Mike and I grabbed dinner, and took some time to gather our thoughts on the day thus far.

Lesson learned from friends: In order to get through the day of an Ironman, you need the support of friends. It doesn't matter if they're on the sidelines, virtually following you online, helping you change your bra in transition, or giving you a hug, high five or smack in the rear. You need them there just to get through the highs and the lows. I'm thankful that my list of friends that will be there in Arizona is slowly starting to get longer...I have no doubt that Lisa, Robyn and Jen will be more than happy to help give me the boost I need to stay in forward motion.

----------------------------

The finish line was definitely an interesting experience. Any pain and anguish I witnessed in T2 was washed away in the expressions of pride and glory as each athlete crossed the finish line. Sure, they were all hurting on some level at the ending of a 140.6 mile day...but that pain didn't matter. That one bittersweet moment made the months of sacrifice worth it.

I sadly missed the finishes of Veronica, Michelle and Brian. Although Mike managed to catch Veronica...and I have no idea how the heck I missed her.

The very first athlete I caught, I actually had dinner with the night before...a friend of a friend. He surprised himself on a tough day in Madison coming in sub-13.

Mike and I caught Donna...well...more like carried Donna since her legs literally collapsed out from underneath her. I'll never forget her throwing her head back, tears streaming down her face, so beyond excited to see her family and be called an Ironman.

And Bridget. Dear, sweet Bridget...running across the finish line with the biggest freakin' smile on her face. I instantly recognized her and ran to the front of the line to welcome her home. She didn't realize it was me at the time (you know, that random volunteer from T2) helping her down the finish chute, but you could see the pride in her eyes. After getting her finishers photo, I handed her off to her Iron Crew and congratulated her one last time. This one random stranger and her happy disposition inspired me in volumes that I can't even begin to explain. And though our encounters were incredibly brief, when it comes time for me to toe the line in Arizona, I hope I can channel my inner Bridget and keep a smile on my face the entire day.

And then there was Hope. I have no idea who Hope is or how Hope's husband got behind the scenes, but he did. Mike and I both caught this teeny tiny little thing of an athlete. And as we're taking her through the finish line process, her husband comes up and gives her the most monsterous hug and he just starts crying because he's so unbelivably proud of her. It may or may not have made me welt up, too (okay...I started crying like a baby).

The final finisher (at 16:56 and change) had his body give out completely as he hit the finish line and medics quickly rushed to his aid...and then we all waited.

...and waited.

...and waited.

Nobody else was coming. And yet everyone stayed.

We quickly learned there were still several athletes on the course, determined to finish even if they weren't able to officially be called an Ironman.

Everyone began cheering...making as much noise as we possibly could so they could hear us from miles away.

Slowly, but surely...the final folks trickled in shortly after midnight. I had the privilege of catching well-known blogger Mike Wimmer, it was a challenging day but he was able to get the distance done. You could tell he was happy to have made it through the 140.6 miles, but a little disappointed in missing the cutoff. He's already counting down until IMoo 2010 and I can't wait to see him come running across the finish line. You should really check out Steve's video of his finish...there were easily several hundred people waiting to welcome him home.

----------------------------

I've been battling a lot of things mentally since returning home from Madison. The mass swim start...holy.crap. Let's just say I'll be treading water in the back...counting to 500...and then beginning my swim. It's one thing to see videos and photos...but it's another to witness the melee first hand. There was even a chick who came out of the water looking like she had taken a hit to the eye from Rocky. I haven't been nervous about the mass start until now. Yowza!

The cutoffs are another things that have been plaguing me...most specifically, the bike cutoff. I've already talked with the Chief of Pain and we're going to have a handful more confidence-building century rides between now and race day...and we'll peak out my training with a 3-loop ride along the lakefront (coincidentally...the same distance as each loop at IMAZ) where I'll get to battle a near constant crosswind and practice the mind-numbing approaching to riding the same course three times in a row. I trust him and trust my training plan to get me where I need to be in order to make the bike cutoff and still be able to run successfully after.

Everything I witnessed in T2 certainly shook me up a bit. But I know that those images are not guaranteed for me. I just have to stick to the plan, and have X, Y, Z back up plans in my back pocket in case of emergency.

All the emotions from the day have made me feeling very stuck this past week. It was tough to be training with the realization of just how much uncertainty there is. It got to the point where the uncertainty simply overwhelmed every fiber of my being. But I've been wading my way through the muck. Getting my bearings back...getting my head back in the game...and getting my energy and enthusiasm for the race back into perspective. It's been a rough week to say the least. But if this mental hurdle is the worst one I'll deal with in training, then I'm in damn good shape.

The most important lesson I learned from Madison 2009...nothing in Ironman is ever guaranteed. Ever. It takes a lot of hard work and mental and physical preparation. Ironman doesn't care if I've done a half dozen century rides or can run a 4-hour marathon off the bike. Anything can happen to you out there...and you should go in expecting the worst and hopign for the best. And you better be prepared to roll with the punches of the day. Because in the end, you only reach the finish line with proper preparation, plan execution, smart gametime decisions, and a little bit of luck.

Great Illini Half IM

2009-09-08T13:28:00.007-06:00

Hey! Guess what.

I raced a half ironman about 10 days ago!

I know, I know...last post I said something along the lines of my next race being IMAZ...but after a series of random events, my parents surprising me with the entry fee, and the kindness of shacking up with a fellow Tri Club member, everything fell into place for me to race the Great Illini Half Ironman.

Yay!

I went into this race with crap nutrition and crap sleep as I had been on a night shoot for a TV commercial the days leading up to the race. Needless to say, I had very little expectations when it came to performance. With my recent "blahness" for training coupled with exhaustion and a few too many stop by the craft service table (aka the junk food station while on set), I gauged that I'd probably roll in sometime between 7:30 and 7:45. I mean, my previous Half IM time was 7:59:47...so I figured I couldn't do much worse than that, right?

As far as a race plan went, the Chief of Pain simply said "You know what you need to do to make this race challenging."

Colleen and I woke up well before the 17 alarm clocks went off in the morning, thanks in large part to the folks in the room above us doing the early-morning tri dance. We ate, got dressed, watched a little bit of Fear (thank you, HBO, for sharing Marky Mark with us so early in the morning!), packed up and headed out on the 30 minute drive to Neoga while singing in the pitch black.

Upon arrival, everything was dark. We were still a good 45 minutes from daybreak so we fuddled around and set up transition as best we could. We even serenaded our rack with a (poorly-sung) rendition of Paradise by the Dashboard Lights. Hey--anything to keep my mind off the distance at hand. Right?

But race morning I was surprisingly calm. Perhaps it was because I convinced myself it was simply a glorified training day. Or perhaps I was determined to keep relaxed and focused so I didn't freak out my new tri club friend Colleen (it was her first half and she had the jitters). Or maybe because the race didn't have the usual fanfare...paper plates noted the rack numbers and there was under 200 athletes. Nevertheless, I didn't panic, freak out, or puke. So that's good at least.

Sporting our wetsuits, we waded our way through the water and waiting for the horn. The men were off first, with the ladies wave 3 minutes behind.

The Swim? It sucked. I've heard a few folks say they thought the course was marked a little long. But it was a clockwise swim, and when you couple that with the fact I naturally pull to the left when I freestyle, I ended up at sea with the company of a kayaker a few times. My 1.2 mile swim PR is 38 minutes and some change, so you can imagine my frustration when I popped out of the water to see 47:44. Double-U. Tee. Eff.

Transition was quick with 2:13 spent here and I was off on my bike for a beautiful ride through the mostly flat, cornfield-filled, slightly windy course. Wind from the east? Really?? What's up with that Mother Nature?

My goal for the bike was to just get under 3:45. We all know that cycling is my achilles heel when it comes to triathlon and I've been working hard to overcome this huge mental hurdle I have on the road. I pushed the big ring hard when I could, dropped into aero and spun my way through the wind and sang to myself to keep my mind off the miles (remember on Saved by the Bell when the girls were the "Hot Sundaes" and had that ridiculous music video...yeah...I sang that song for about 20 minutes)...and before I knew it, Colleen from the Tri Club had caught up to me and we biked the final 2-3 miles into transition together. Bike time? 3:44:59. 14.9mph.

Apparently I like to cut my goals close. I'm not trying to make a habit out of it though. I totally could have hit 15mph avg if I just pushed myself a hair more. I really need to stop holding back and unleash the beast on the bike.

T2 was a 2:17 break, but I took my time making the footwear change and joked with Colleen for a few before heading out onto the run.

My goal for the run was just to keep moving forward. Savor the moments I felt great...and just get through the low points of the 13.1 mile jaunt through the cornfields. I used the trick of counting to 100 over and over and it actually really helped me get lost in the miles. I started off a little quick and then settled into my usual longer-distance pace until things started to hurt at mile 9. My hips had had enough at that point and I had to incorporate some walking for those final 5 miles. The pain + the sudden downpour of cold rain that completely drenched me was a bit defeating, but I quickly mentally regrouped and continued to forge on. I wanted a 2:45 run and came in at 2:45:05 (12:36 pace).

So really...I have no complaints.

I set a new HIM PR with 7:22:20.

And you want to know the funny part?

I brought home some hardware. After a little bit of thought, I decided to race the Great Illini in the Athena division. I mean...why not? And of the 6 of us who were registered to race this division...2 actually started. And I just so happen to beat that athlete to the finish line. So I find the fact I brought home a trophy quite humorous. They gave me an award for being slow, but faster than the other slow athlete...

Mehhh...I'll take it.

All in all, a good day considering the events that led up to the race. I have no doubt in my mind that next time I can go sub-7:15, possibly even closer to 7 hours. But nutrition was spot-on, nerves were in check, and I had fun...so really, I couldn't have asked for a better day.

In other news, here are a few things you've missed out on due to my sheet laziness with updating my blog!
- I survived Enduracamps St. Louis...brought to you by the letter "H." It was essentially the 7th circle of Hell as we biked, ran, and swam our way through 5 days of heat, hills, humidity and headwind. It was tough, and I was slow (as usual), but I'm a better triathlete for it.
- I had a 45-mile ride that nearly killed me. GI distress pretty much had me curled up on the side of the road feeling ill. Lovely. I was quickly reminded that we all have days like that.
- I did my first-ever century ride at the Psycho. Actually, it was 103.6 miles if you want to be exact. I had a wonderful first 60 miles...then things unraveled...and then at mile 72 a few slices of watermelon seemed to put me back together again. And all was well. I felt insanely accomplished.
- I volunteered this past weekend at Ironman Wisconsin. Holy crap. That's a whole different blog post though. Can you say INCREDIBLE!? An emotional, eye-opening experience...fo' sho'.
- And it looks like I'll be celebrating my 28th birthday at the end of the month with a century ride followed by a 5-6 mile run. If anyone out there would like to join us, let me know!

Less chatter. More work.

2009-08-12T08:54:00.002-06:00

So it's been quiet 'round these parts in blogland. I can't remember the last time I really sat down and pulled together some coherent thoughts on life, much less training or races. I'm going to try and get caught back up...if for no other reason than to have the remainder of my Ironman training documented (which, while time consuming for me...I still feel is important to have).

July came and went in the blink of an eye. The family vacation was an absurd amount of fun. Who knew that getting locked in a cabin in Northern Michigan with enough taxidermy to fill a natural history museum could be such a good time. Mike and I got to hang out with smartest kid on earth (my oldest nephew...seriously, he's 10 and he's a genius), some of the most adorable girls ever (my nieces), and 2 other nephews that would charm the pants off of an eskimo in a blizzard! I could hang out with the 6 of them all day long.

But since I had a full week off of work, it couldn't be all fun and games. With my bike in tow, I decided to get some solid time in the saddle out there tackling hills and relentless wind. A few tough long rides helped build confidence for the bigger volumes to come. I never once put on the wetsuit, but I did get a handful of miles under my belt with transition runs, a long run, and a race pace run test left my breakfast on the side of the road. All in all, good times.

And naturally, no family vacation would be complete without the unnecessary drama. I guess that's life though. When you've got a family as big and as awesome as mine, you're bound to bump heads at some point or another. You just have to learn to not let the drama get under your skin and consume you. I guess I've tapped into my dad's laissez-faire approach. But other than that, it was truly a fantastic and memorable trip! Thanks mom and dad!

Also in July...homegirl set a new sprint tri PR. And not just by a small margin. I shaved off nearly 9 minutes from last year's race. I don't think I'll actually sit down and write a formal race report, but know that the race plan was to go out, redline, hang on for dear life as long as possible, and see what happens. I had a frustrating swim with my goggles continuously riding up where the lower suction line was actually on top of my eyes, one of the best bike rides I've had this year and then a pretty surprising run. Not to mention that it was at the very end of my family vacation and I didn't have much left in my legs as it was.

Here's a look at how it all went down compared to previous years...

Half Mile Swim
2009: 15:35...1:47/100 yards...420/2551 overall. (I blame the goggles!)
2008: 15:28 ...1:46/100 yards...633/3650 overall.
2007: 19:38 ...2:14/100 yards...2323/3919 overall.

T1.
2009: 2:41
2008: 2:47
2007: 5:35

Da Bike.
2009: 42:17...17 mph...926/2115
2008: 45:35...16.32 mph...1325/3650
2007: 58:59...12.61mph...3248/3919

T2.
2009: 2:37
2008: 2:58
2007: 4:20

Da 5k Run.
2009: 31:33...10:10 pace...1183/2551
2008: 35:19...11:23 pace...2139/3650.
2007: 38:43...12:29 pace...2494/3919.

Final Time.
2009: 1:34:45 (had a time goal of breaking 1:35)
2008: 1:43:09
2007: 2:07:17

Obviously, some solid improvements in performance over previous years. Perhaps I'll one day be able to nab that elusive sub-1:30 in a sprint.

And to round out the month, I biked my longest distance to date during "The Melon"....75 miles. It was a great ride with Lore (who busted out a century) and we went into the wind for about 80% of it. I was surprised at how great I felt during it and finally nailed down a nutritional plan for going long. Now I need to tape the plan to my aerobars or something so it's an in-your-face reminder of when to drink and suck down a Gu.

As of right now I only have one race on the horizon. In November. That little beast called Ironman Arizona. Steelhead didn't pan out for me financially. And The Great Illini only looks like it'll happen if I can find a ride with someone in my Tri Club or rent a car for the night. I'm not entirely convinced that I have to have to have to have a half ironman under my belt before going into race day....but it sure as hell will make me feel a lot more confident. Worst case scenario I pick a day and just do the half iron distance on my own (though I lose that racing component).

Until then, I'm just going to continue to carry on...slow and steady.

Slacker.

2009-07-14T14:25:00.002-06:00

Damn.

I've been slacking.

Not slacking as in I haven't been doing anything.

Slacking in the blog world.

And I've been slacking because I've been doing stuff. A lot of stuff, in fact.

A lot has happened since we last checked in...

Iron Rookie Podcasts...WIBA!...mechanical bike issues that nearly made me throw my trusty steed off the side of a hill along the IMoo bike course...a defunct (but mostly fabulous) family vacation...my first tri of the year...some really crazy long training days...and a ridiculously awesome new sprint PR for me.

I promise I'll get around to blogging it all soon.

Really, I will.

It's just that when you work all day...go home...workout...eat...and then shower...all you really wanna do is sleep.

I'll need to do some backpeddaling to get you up to speed...so some of it may be abridged...

...so look for some updates in the upcoming days. :)

Peace out, yo!

Ironman on a Budget.

2009-06-23T08:55:00.006-06:00

We all know that times are tough these days. The economy blows. And it seems like everyone and their dog is filing for bankruptcy. And since we're in Chicago where the cost of living is beyond ridonkulously high (dude...gas is at $3.29+ ...again) we're definitely feeling the heat of it all. It's a wonder I haven't been living solely off of spaghetti and PB&J sammiches.

And let's be frank.

Triathlons...
...these little races that we've come to love so, so much...
...they don't come cheap.

In fact, this sport is one where things quickly add up and if you're not careful, there could be three, four or even five digits to the left of the decimal on your next credit card statement.

So in an effort to not take out a second mortgage to make it possible for me to do this race, we've been getting...well...thrifty.

Crazy thrifty in fact.

It goes well beyond the Ironman threshold and into our daily lives in countless little ways. But because Ironman is sort of the center of our universe, the ways in which we cut back are the reason we're able to train and race in Ironman events.

To date, my total Ironman-related expenses should be roughly around $4,690. That would include the entry fee, airfare, hotel accommodations, 8 months of coaching and TriBike Transport (which I still need to reserve). Throw in the yet-to-be-booked rental car, a new pair or two of running shoes, nutrition stuff and any extra miscellaneous gear that needs to be purchased between now and November and we'd be sitting pretty around $5300ish.

[Note to any potential sugar daddies reading this blog...please leave a message with your contact information if you'd like to make a cute chick's iron-dreams come true!]

So while that's where we should be...we're only at $2,916 thanks in large part to our frugal resourcefulness.

Here's how we've done it so far...

Now I know this isn't taking into account things like gear and nutrition and what not. But I've managed to pull together a bunch of savings there as well. The Chicago Tri Club has a nice little discount with Infinit Nutrition, and since I'm semi-sponsored by Brooks Running through the Inspire Daily program, I receive a discount on my shoes (which are a bit overdue at this point in time and my legs like to remind me of that with each run). I figure I'll maybe need $500 for the stuff I'm still missing, including a really nice new pair of tri shorts and if I'm lucky the Profile Design AquaCell.

As far as my bike goes, tuneups are covered through the service plan we picked up when we first bought our valliant steeds several years ago. Although I'm having some skipping issues with my gears which I believe indicates I'm due for a new cassette sometime soon. Insert disgruntled "grrr..." here.

:sigh:

I wish I had a money tree.

Wouldn't that makes things slightly easier?

If I found one I'd even share with you guys.
Maybe.

So all of this Ironman budgeting drama has me thinking about and planning for all the things to come.

Unavoidable Expenses to come...
Tri Bike Transport. I love what these guys offer. But the price makes me flinch. I know it's worth the price for no other reason than sheer convenience. And the thought of me disassembling my bike, bringing it on a plane, and reassembling it on the flip side scares me greatly. If anyone has any discount codes for TBT, I'd love for you to share the love.

And of course the rental car. I'll test out that Name Your Own Price feature on priceline and see if I can score closer to time. Or see if I have any points on my credit card that I can apply to Hertz or something.

But My Big Splurge?
Enduracamps.

Do I absolutely, HAVE TO HAVE TO HAVE to go do this?

No. I don't. I know this.

But the program is remarkable. And it's one that works. And I know it'll give me the confidence I need to tackle the course successfully. Plus it was a gift to myself with our Tax Return.

Besides, it'll be nice to see my family in St. Louis while I'm in town.

So for the most part, I'm pretty pleased with how we've been keeping costs in check for this race. With triathlon it seems all to easy to let expenses get out of hand as the cost of entry fees alone can be fairly lofty for well-branded races.

Nobody ever said following your dreams were cheap. But I'll be damned if I don't find a way to make it work.

So with that...I'd love to hear your two cents on ways to save some bucks here and there during training and race day preparation. And if I'm blatantly missing some big important cost, feel free to call it out.

...and of course...any sugar daddies who'd like to step up and buy me a few key training items.

(or someone willing to loan me their aquacell for the big dance. hint, hint!)

Weathering the Storm

2009-05-26T08:13:00.008-06:00

This post should come as no surprise. I'm sick.

And in true Barb fashion, I'm acting like a complete and total baby about it.

Somewhere my mother is saying "some things will never change."

What started off as some random sinus infection has morphed into a chest cold from hell. You know the kind where you feel you have a hippopotamus sitting on your lungs and your respiratory system has been renamed "the mucus factory."

Really, it's quite lovely.

So the past few days I've given myself the "suck it up, princess" mentality and have gone through the motions of the workouts. The swim test went well. And then Friday's run test went surprisingly well, too...all things considered (who knew I could run a sub-10 pace off the bike into the wind?! Not me!). I woke up Saturday feeling worse than Friday...but still mustered up the energy for my long HR Zone 1-2 run. And by the time Sunday rolled around, I honestly thought I was going to lose a lung. Every cough was painful and I was pretty certain I wanted nothing more than to lay around in a dayquil-induced haze.

I typically tend to baby myself when it comes to anything dealing with my lungs, thanks in large part to the great lung collapse of 2004. Take it from me, spontaneous pneumothoraces aren't fun and I wouldn't wish that type of pain upon my worst enemy (although I'm pretty sure the government should put this in their back pocket as a potential alternative to waterboarding).

Unsure of whether or not I should suck it up and ride for 4 hours...or bail (which I wasn't keen on since my last 2 long rides have were either foiled or cut short for one reason or another)...I called the chief.

He promptly told me I have two options.
A) Continue to train and potentially be bogged down with this crap for 2-3 months and get less than my best out of the training I do...
...or...
B) Take 1-2 weeks off of training to allow my body to get back to 100% so I can get back in the groove of kicking ass and taking names.

Strangely, my first inclination was to keep training, but just cut back on volume so at least I'm doing something and not losing all the fitness I've built up to this point. And then the chief talked some sense into me...and did a damn fine job convincing me that I'm really not going to be losing that much fitness. I mean, this is why I pay him the big bucks, right?!

So while frustratring and mildly annoying, I know it's for the best. But my training plan for the next week or so it so sit around, catch up on my favorite TV shows, get plenty of rest, keep pumping the fluids and get myself healthy again.

I'm frustrated by the lack of volume from last week as I struggled balancing my health and training. And I'm highly annoyed knowing I'm not going to be logging any workouts of note this week.

So in Perez-style disapproval, here's a look at how my training has been going the past few weeks...
"Sports Minutes" is actually time spent on the bike trainer, and the rest you should be able to figure out from the key at the bottom.

Hopefully I can shake this nonsense and get back to the grind soon. My goal is to be back on track for the Udder Century on June 5th. No, I won't be doing a true century of 100 miles, but I'm looking at cranking out a metric century (62/100k). It won't be fast and it won't be pretty...but it'll be some solid miles, which is all I'm after at this point.

Sometimes numbers speak for themselves...

2009-05-22T07:19:00.003-06:00

I'm quite shocked at the results, but I'm pretty sure I killed it. And I can't help but wonder how it would've gone if I were feeling 100%.

Although I have no idea how in the hell I'm supposed to get faster than that for the next test.

Nostril + Spoon

2009-05-19T10:47:00.006-06:00

When I was a little kid, I once got a brown M&M stuck up in my nose. With some creative rejiggering and a little bit of time, we were able to dislodge the sucker. I don't remember much of the incident...except that it hurt...and my mom had me spend the better half of an evening blowing my nose trying to get the thing out on its own. And that my brilliant brother suggested I just spoon the damn thing out.

Editor's note: the great M&M debacle of the mid-1980's paled in comparison to when Sleepy Sister shoved a button up there and had to pay a visit to our family doctor to get the damn thing out. Or so I'm told, since this happened long before the era of Barb.

Over the past couple of days, I once again have spent the better half of my time blowing my nose in an attempt to get all this sinusy gunk out on its own. I am pretty much on the verge of unlatching my own head and scooping out my sinus cavities. I can handle the sniffling, sneezing, watery eyes, husky man-voice (oooh, sexy!) and the overall discomfort...but I am freakin' over feeling like I have a vice clamping down on my face. Something tells me the procedure would be quite messy, so perhaps a spoon up the nostril would be the way to go.

I'll have to give it some due consideration. And then pray I live to report back on the self-surgery.

So when I haven't been in a benadryl induced coma, I've been blowing my way though boxes of tissues (pun completely intended), feeling miserable for myself. It's quite lovely...natrually making me one of the most *awesome* people to be around.

But in case you haven't noticed, we're back from Kansas. And it was a very good trip.

As always, it was wonderful seeing my parents and paying homage to all my favorite places in Lawrence (Quinton's, The Wheel, and of course...The Love Garden). We did minor bank account damage (oh come on, did you really expect me not to drop any dough at Love Garden...I now own some more Iron & Wine, Depeche Mode and Radiohead on vinyl) but it was all well worth it.

Training was...well...it was what it was. Actually, it wasn't what it wasn't is more like it. The plan to brick long on Friday was foiled by Mother Nature and her out of control electrical storm which flooded the midwest. Saturday's limited time meant I could get my long run in and nothing else (9+ miles on hellaciously hilly terrain? check!). And then Sunday was graduation day where we packed up lil' bro-in-law from the pig sty he called home for the past 5 years and sat in the sun for commencement. Seeing it from the other side made me all nostalgic.

So last Thursday's missed swim (due to the short course change up at masters) was moved to Monday before our long car ride home. It was nice to get a solid (albeit snotty) 2600m in the books.

Which brings us to this week.

A week with a swim test. And a run test. And a really long bike ride (which should be humorous based on my last 2 nonexistant long rides). All with a less than 100% homegirl.

I consulted the Chief of Pain for his two cents on how to prioritize the workouts. Per his advice, I'm waiting until I'm back at 95% to do any testing (which means testing will likely throw down tomorrow/Friday in a blaze of glory) and taking it easy on any workouts in between.

So until then, I'm on the prowl for a spoon...or anything else to help get my sinuses in check.

Gah!

Apparently I'm "It"

2009-05-13T13:54:00.006-06:00

So today I found myself tagged and since there is very little to report about my truly sucktastical day here in Chicago...I figured I'd play along. Because really...who wants to hear me bitch and moan about my awful day?

Yeah. Not you.
That's what I thought.

So here you go...8 Things...which I'd venture to say you couldn't care less about :)

8 things to which I'm looking forward
1) Tonight's tempo run. Even though it'll likely be lightning and pouring down...it'll be one of those therapeutic, suck it up, pound the pavement as hard as you can, spin the earth off beneath your feet, dig deep and run runs. And home girl needs that right now more than anything.
2) Seeing my parents this weekend. It sucks that we live so far away...I get to see them 3-4 times a year (if I'm lucky).
3) Doing some carnage on Mass. Street in Lawrence on Saturday. The jury is out on whether the carnage will be on my liver or my wallet.
4) Seeing my lil' Bro-in-law Graduate on Sunday.
5) Moving out of our postage stamp-sized condo. Seriously. I need more space. These walls are driving my slowly insane. No idea when this is going to happen...but I can counting down the days in my head.
6) 11.22.09. I hear that day is going to be LEGEND...wait for it.....ARY!! (for those of you clueless folk out there, that'd be Ironman Arizona).
7) 11.23.09. I hear that it's going to involve a lot of margaritas. And maybe even a mechanical bull. Incriminating photographic evidence will likely follow. Don't think I haven't forgot about this, Molly.
8) Retirement. Yes. It's a lame response. But it's true. I am quite looking forward to the day I no longer have to work, thank you very much.

8 things I did yesterday
1) Swam 2600 meters.
2) Biked for an hour.
3) Ate 2 breakfasts...and 2 lunches...and a bunch of snacks before and after dinner.
4) Noted how I was still hungry despite all the food consumed.
5) Bought a crazy amount of food for next to nothing at the grocery store.
6) Tried to go to bed early. Failed.
7) Boo'ed at the TV when Tara lost on the Biggest Loser (but yay for Helen nevertheless).
8) Burned the burgers while grilling.

8 things I would like to do
1) Clone myself three times. One Barb to train. One Barb to work. and One Barb to conquer the world.
2) African Safari with a detour to climb Mount Kilimanjaro and a visit to Victoria Falls with a dip in the Devil's Pool. This, hands down, would be my dream vacation.
3) Find a way to kill my pre-race anxiety.
4) Get more sleep.
5) Find a money tree and horde it all to myself.
6) The Great Wall Marathon.
7) Find a way to make Edward real and not a fictional character. (Ooooooh yes, I really just admitted that.)
8) Pack up and move to the islands...specifically Peter Island.

8 shows I watch
1) Ghost Hunters
2) How I Met Your Mother (what took me so long to realize the brilliance of this show?!)
3) American Idol
4) So You Think You Can Dance
5) Biggest Loser
6) Saturday Night Live...and almost any show with one of their veteran comedians.
7) Friends. Yes. I still watch this. And may even have every episode memorized.
8) And pretty much anything else that my TiVo records.

8 people I tag
Okay...rather than tag specific people...if you fit one of these descriptions, consider yourself tagged.
1) If you're born outside the country...consider yourself tagged.
2) If you're training for something...anything...even the donut olympics...consider yourself tagged.
3) If one of your redeeming qualities is sarcasm...consider yourself tagged.
4) If you believe that the toilet paper roll should point toward the back...you're correct...and subsequently tagged.
5) If you know a secret handshake...you be tagged.
6) If you are (or were) one of the Knights that said Ni...consider yourself tagged and receive the gold star of awesomeness.
7) If you've ever blamed it on the dog...yer it.
8) If you've ever started the night in NYC and woken up in Cancun with your pants around your ankles in bed with a goat and a questionably-gendered little person...then you're definitely tagged because the world at large is looking for an explanation on your shenanigans.

Shuffling things around...

2009-05-11T10:09:00.003-06:00

So you could say that last week was a bit of a clusterf%*& when it came to training.

Life happened.

Workouts got moved.
Some got missed.
Others cut short.

Needless to say, I'm not exactly thrilled about it.

But I know that it's bound to happen every once in a while.

This time around, it was because of body reasons. Point blank...I needed more sleep. I've been going to bed earlier and earlier (just as I've been eating more and more). And some mornings (okay...only Thursday morning, really), I found myself desperate for some additional shut-eye.

Ultimately, I missed my Wednesday weight-lifting hour...moved Thursday's Masters swim to Friday...missed a short OWS on Saturday (come on...the temps are barely in the 50's...chief of pain is CRAZY)...moved Saturday's long run to tonight...and turned yesterday's 3 hour ride/30 minute run brick into a 2 hour trainer ride that I really, really, really had a hard time mentally cranking out (short on time, not feeling it at all, and really just wanted to can the whole damn thing).

Needless to say, I'm a liiiiittle disappointed in myself. But honestly...it was one of those weeks were by body was protesting nearly every workout. And when the body screams, sometimes you just need to shut up and listen. I'm ready to suck it up this week and get back on the bandwagon.

Things have been a good kind of crazy up here though. Mike and I had a day date on Saturday (and we couldn't remember the last time we went out to somewhere fun on our own), so we headed up to Milwaukee to experience the Titanic Artifact exhibit. It was truly incredbile and moving. If you ever have the chance to see the exhibit you shouldn't hesitate on the opportunity. On the way home, we got side tracked in Gurnee for some Cracker Barrel (delish!) and a stop at the outlet mall for a small bit of damage.

This coming week should be another good one with potentially some more shifting of workouts. With bikes in tow, we leave for Kansas on Thursday for my brother-in-law's graduation. It'll be fun going back to our old stomping grounds, but hopefully I can stay focused enough to get the long run and ride in amid all the festivities (note to self: find a 40-50 mile loop on flat country roads).

The totals for this pathetic week 5 of IMAZ training:
Swim - 5577 yds (Masters swim offers a bonafide ass-kicking
Bike Trainer - 4 hours
Run - 8.8 miles
Total - 8:06 (blah!!)

...this is going to be a better week. It has to be.

199

2009-05-06T10:49:00.002-06:00

One hundred.
And ninety-nine.

That's how many more days there are.

199 more days of waking up early...sweating more than I ever imagined possible...doubting myself...building myself up...running hundreds of miles...biking thousands...and doing everything I can to not sink to the bottom of Lake Michigan or drown in the masters pool in front of the big fish.

But strangely, I feel like 199 days is all I really need to be ready for this race physically.
Mentally...that's a different story. I'm not sure there are enough days on the calendar to get me where I need to be in my head.

I suppose we'll see in 199 more days.

First Burn.

2009-05-04T06:59:00.003-06:00

In an effort to work on riding more outside I hit the lakefront path yesterday to ride for a bit while dodging dogs, small children, tourists, roller bladers and idiots on their cell phones who refused to pay attention. Needless to say, it kept my bike handling on my toes. The new adamo saddle works WONDERS. It is seriously crazy comfortable. I worked on getting comfortable in aero position again (but need to make a few minor saddle adjustments for aero position) and my general bike balance. In the past, I've pretty much had a death grip on my bike, rarely taking a hand off the hoods.

At any rate, in light of yesterday's outdoor ride, I celebrated the beautiful weather by foregoing the use of any sunscreen. And so now, yours truly is rockin' a truly awesome farmer's tan.

Hot.

Last Friday night, I can say with utmost confidence that we found the most peaceful place in all of Chicago...the rooftop pool at the East Bank Club. We were invited as guests by our dear friend Jill, and I was able to crank out a comfortable 2500 yards as the sun set over the skyline. While there was a chill in the air, the pool was inviting and it made me wish we could be members there. But never fear, my friends. Tomorrow starts a new day where we'll be swimming with the big fish. Let's just hope I'm able to wake up that insanely early!

Week 4 of IMAZ Training
Swim - 5000 yds
Bike Trainer - 1:44:16
Outdoor Biking - 32.5 miles
Run - 12.8 miles
Strength - 48mins
Total - 10:09

April Roundup
Swim - 11,450 yds
Bike Trainer - 8:34:33 (good grief that's a long time!)
Biked Outdoors - 25.5 miles
Run - 34.3 miles
Strength - 3h19m

Bringing the Pain

2009-05-01T11:24:00.001-06:00

With one month of Ironman training behind me, things seem to be going well. I've found a groove with getting workouts done each day and have gotten used to eating dinner somewhere around the 9pm hour at night. My desk is full of healthy, energizing snacks and I find myself getting sleepy earlier and earlier with each passing day. Needless to say, I totally feel like an old lady.

April ended up being a strong start for what's to come. Sure, I missed 3 days because of the flu, and one swim workout because of lifeguard training taking up the time slot, but all in all I'm proud of those 11,400 yds in the pool, 25.5 miles biked outdoors, 34.4 miles ran, 2:24 lifting weights and the mind-numbing 8 hours 24 minutes and 33 seconds spun on the wretched, evil bike trainer.

I've caught a glimpse at what May has in store for me...and my first thought was...

Holy $#*&...
...I'm gunna die.

I have to admit, I'm a bit overwhelmed and nervous. From the looks of it, each week is either adding in an extra swim, bike or run workout. No more 2 days of rest each week for me. I'll have my highest swim volume in a single week ever, pushing 7,000 yards. And some insanely long bricks...like a 3:20 bike ride + 45 minute run (at least we're not at a RBRBR...yet). I mean...I expected this in training...just not so soon! I remember last year when my longest ride maxed out at 3:30 with a 30 minute run...and now it's going to be part of the standard norm of base building. So to the insanity I say...BRING ON THE PAIN!! ...and then cross my fingers that I make it to the other side in one piece...

Needless to say, it's all very intense. But I'm still excited (mostly) and looking forward to being outdoors much more now that spring is starting to rear its head in the windy city. Let's just hope it isn't too windy.

Given the time requirements needed for the upcoming training on top of my everyday 9-5, I can say with near certainty that by the end of the summer, Mike is going to completely forget what I look like. I should really start looking into creating a life-sized cardboard cutout of myself as a reminder...

In closing, as we go into the weekend, I'd like to offer up a little public service announcement to all my friends out there...be careful when texting after a few drinky drinks...you never know where your text may end up.

Pleasantly Surprised...

2009-04-27T08:24:00.005-06:00

Another solid week of base training is in the piggy bank. Overall it was a pretty calm and boring week with a few small training surprises along the way.

For starters, in the pool last week, I had a main set of descending 4x200 (where you get faster each time). Clipped the first two off at 4:12 and 4:06. When the third one clocked in at 3:53, I was convinced I had blown it. There was no way I could break 3:50. While swimming that final set I thought a lot about what Liz said on confidence and the squirrel on the edge of the branch ready to fearlessly jump into traffic for that nut. I focused on positive thoughts, being strong off the wall, really driving my hips and reaching to pull my body through the water. Needless to say, I was BEYOND baffled when I resurfaced and saw a 3:37 on my watch. That's a difference of 35 seconds between my first and fourth set. A difference of a 2:05 pace versus a 1:48 pace and over the course of 2.4 miles that's the difference of 12-14 minutes in the water. Granted, I'm not looking to pull that kind of crazy number on race day...I imagine I'll be around an hour+thirty (give or take 5 minutes) during Ironman. But damn wouldn't a sub-1:20 swim be sweet?! Dream on, turtle girl...

Brilliant workout numero deux came on Wednesday on the track. Yes. I said it. On.The.Track. It was beautiful. I was there. And I was running brilliantly. Which is a rarity in and of itself. Every once in a while I'm bound to have a fantastical day while running. Accidents happen, right? At any rate, after a long warm up, I had 3x1600 descending. Another bloody set of getting faster as you go along. If I could do it on the water, why couldn't I do it on land? Here's how it went down:

1600 #1 - La la la la...running along singing show tunes in my head (yes, you read that right. Show tunes. Hairspray to be exact)...this isn't too bad...except for the fact I'm running circles 'round and 'round the track. At the end, I see a 12:47 which is definitely slower than my 10k pace...clearly wasn't paying attention and ran a bit too conservatively...okay...way too conservatively (should've been around 12 but my Garmin doesn't get a signal on the track--oops!).

1600 #2 - Put forth a solidly good effort. I'm feeling pretty swift and relatively comfortable...like I could hold the pace for 5k or so. Coming around the corner I hit the split and see 10:37. That's more like it.

...except for the fact that I know the last 1600 is supposed to be 10 sec. faster than my 5k pace (which based on my PR would put me at about a 9:04, but that was last year when I was in prime physical condition...though If I had to guess, my current 5k time would be somewhere in the 10:00 pace range).

1600 #3 - I start out running comfortably fast thinking it wasn't too bad, by the time I hit a half mile I realized that I was sort of on pace to hit the same time as set #2, so I knew I had to kick it up a notch and a half. My brain and my legs had a conversation that sort of went like this:
Brain: Go!Go!Go!Go!Go!
Legs: Are you crazy!? Any faster and your lung might explode.
Brain: I don't give a sh*t, suck it up and run, Princess.
Legs: Buuuut...
Brain: Do you really think you'll be equipped to handle an Ironman if you can't crank out a decent speed session? DO YOU?! Now go faster! Faster! FASTER!!!!!!!!
Legs: ohmygawd I'm never going to be able to hang onto this...thisiswaytoofastforme...

I managed to crack a whip on my own ass. And when I came around the final curve to finish it off I hit the split and saw 9:32. Damn. Better than I anticipated. It's been a while since I've run a sub-10 mile...not to mention doing it at the end of a speed session. The good news is, I know I've got a sub-9:00 mile in me, and the day where I report a mile that starts with the number 8, it'll be time to celebrate. The bad news is, it hurt. A lot. But I guess the truth hurts. And the truth is...I can go faster.

Week 17 (Week 3 of IMAZ training)
Swim - 4400 yards
Bike Trainer - 3h43m (talk about mind-numbing!)
Run - 14 miles
Strength - 33m
Time - 9:16

For the first time in a long time...

2009-04-23T07:24:00.003-06:00

...I actually rocked the sh*t out of a track workout. Which is a complete and total surprise considering how crappy I felt all day long and was dreading the descending 3x1600 main set.

Ya know, some days training for this lil' race called Ironman is really kind of surreal. The summation of all these tough, crazy, challenging workouts is going to somehow mean that I am more than prepared for 140.6 miles of insanity. This season is going to be all about pushing myself to the edge...finding new limits and thresholds...and seeing just far I can go without falling off.

And I'm actually excited about the next few months of building my base. Already I'm feeling stronger (and more tired...and ravenously hungry) and I can't wait to see how it all progresses over the months ahead.

Training this week is going solidly well. My bike now won't be ready until Friday which means that I'm now going to be spinning on Friday night--a little annoying, but that's just the way it goes. Also Mike and I are all signed up and registered for WIBA for a fun weekend of training.

Thought for the day in my Ironman Piggybank...

"Only those who risk going too far
can possibly find out how far one can go."
T.S. Elliott

Those crazies.

2009-04-19T16:17:00.004-06:00

Before I ever started running...I used to be one of those people who'd be out driving and think to myself "those people are crazy"anytime I saw someone running in the rain...snow...ice...etc. If the temperature and the elements didn't align, I couldn't understand why someone would make themselves suffer.

Then I started training for my first marathon. And the runs in the rain and the snow all began to make sense. When you've got a goal in mind, you deal with the elements and get the miles done anyway. No little rain storm should make you miss a long workout (and I'm definitely not one to grind it out on the hamster wheel).

So when I saw today's weather for rain I allowed myself to grumble about it and procrastinate for a few hours before actually getting laced up and moving. I knew I wouldn't be the only one out there chugging through it...and that once I got going I'd actually enjoy myself.

...and I did.

A HR Z1-2 run was on tap (and they drive me ten shades of crazy for how slow I have to go to keep under 153bpm) for 80 minutes. Temps were hovering in the mid-upper 40's and the rain just kept coming down. I was one of those crazies...and I knew some of the people driving in the warm, dry cars along Lake Shore Drive were judging me...thinking that I was insane.

I'd exchange a small smile or head nod with just about every runner or cyclist out there. Afterall, we were all in this together today.

...and then I saw someone taking crazy to a whole new level.

On my run north...I saw a guy in a wet suit...running in and out of the water (nevermind the fact the lake isn't technically open for public swimming yet). He'd go and swim for a few minutes...come out...run on the beach and then go back in the water again. Given the fact that the water can't be warmer than 40 degrees...he brought "training in the elements" to a whole new level.

After I turned around to run back south he was coming out of the water and walking to his car. I asked him how it was, to which he promptly replied "crisp" through his chattering lips. Then when I asked what he was doing he simply said "getting my body ready for Coeur d'Alene." If you didn't know, CdA is one of the coldest Ironman swims out there...last year it was in the upper 50's.

I'm not convinced that self-induced hypothermia is the answer, but hey...to each their own. I'm sure I'm bound to do some pretty unusual things along the way to Ironman Arizona that will make you fine folks raise an eyebrow and question my sanity.

It was a good solid week of training with a bit of good ole fashion drama mixed in. Some of the week's highlights include:
- Pool being closed for a swim workout and me discovering this fact while standing on the pooldeck in my suit with towel in hand (at least I hadn't dived in yet).
- Finding myself ravenously hungry almost every day.
- A bike test that I completely and totally failed. Big! Fat! F!!!
- And my first outdoor group ride of the year including a punctured tire (thanks for saving the day, Jeff). So Little Red Riding Hood will be getting a new set of tires this week along with a nice pre-season tune up.

Here's how the week ultimately panned out for me...
Swim - 2650 yards
Bike Trainer - 1h25m
Outdoor Bike - 25.5 miles
Run - 11.8 miles
Strength - 32m
Time - 7:44

The tiredness has definitely set in as I've found myself going to bed earlier and earlier each night. Soon I'll hopefully find my rhythm and get the early morning workouts and late night meals into a solid routine. 216 days and counting...

Running Jayhawk - Now with IRON!

Multitalented.

Making Room for Baby

Turning a New Year...

Ironman. It takes 9 months to train for.

The Nike Women's Marathon....really!? NO. No...REALLY!?

***tap tap tap*** Is this thing on?

Limbo.

Burnt out.

Because sometimes this are just took ridiculous not to share...Chicago Naked Bike Ride

Canned Heat in my Heels...

Ignorance is Bliss.

I'm still standing....

Only because bodily harm was threatened if I didn't post this.

OH DEAR GOD THAT HURT.

Was I always this tired?

We Eat Hills for Breakfast.

Awesome.

Summon the Pain!

...like a chicken with its head cut off.

I Survived Chiditarod.

I'm Going Straight To Hell.

Switch.

Ch-Ch-Changes!

Weighing the Issue...

Keep on Keepin' on...

Don't Spill the Chi

F^This - Guest Blogging for the Pace of Chicago

Airborne.

Pep Talk.

FTP.

Stiff.

Yeah. It's that kind of cold.

Legacy.

Rancid.

Finding my P.A.C.E. (...and how about a Free Ride?!)

Decade.

Goals.

A Race Report. (not mine)

Fitter. Happier. More Productive.

Thrown back into the wild...

Ironman Arizona Part 5: Starlight

Ironman Arizona Part 4: Light and Day

Ironman Arizona Part 3: Don't Stop Believin'

Ironman Arizona Part 2: Learn to Fly

Ironman Arizona Part 1: One Day Like This

15:54:51

Last Will and Testament

Meltdown.

And we'll all float on okay...

Calgon, Take Me Away!

Growth.

The external athlete.

More than just another number...

Well this is an interesting development...

Complacency

You Are Ready.

Mental Case.

Ironman Training Is.

Awesomeness surrounds itself with awesomeness: Thoughts from the Chicago Marathon (or at least 18ish miles of it)

Coming Together

Getting Unstuck

Great Illini Half IM

Less chatter. More work.

Slacker.

Ironman on a Budget.

Weathering the Storm

Sometimes numbers speak for themselves...

Nostril + Spoon

Apparently I'm "It"

Shuffling things around...

199

First Burn.

Bringing the Pain

Pleasantly Surprised...

For the first time in a long time...

Those crazies.

tap tap tap Is this thing on?