Ask (or don't) and you shall receive.

The trick to getting useful gifts around the holidays, without having to bother with a list, is to pick up a hobby. For example, if people know you like to read, they will buy you books, or gift cards to book stores. If people know you like to cook, they will buy you cook books. If people know you like to drink, they will buy you a membership to the beer/wine of the month club, or perhaps a membership to the local branch of AA.

Or, simply let people know that you're into running, and training for a marathon and triathlon, and you'll be inundated with related presents. You won't even have to ask. And you will like it.

Here, a sampling of the things I opened on Christmas morning:

In no particular order, there is a pair of Saucony gloves/mittens (what do you call those things?), an Asics fleece, a pair of 2XU tri shorts, a Frog Light for the bike, biking gloves, a Camelbak water bottle + mount for the bike, Under Armour capri tights, a headlamp, and a Road ID. Not pictured is a pair of Balega socks (they were dirty). 

Points of interest in these products include the fact that the Saucony gloves have a tiny blinking LED light on the palm, the tri shorts have fleece (or for you fancy people "chamois") in the crotch, the headlamp battery case is extremely hard to open, I'm debating wearing the Balega socks during my marathon, and most of these items either are, or contain, the color pink.

And I didn't have to ask for a single one of these gifts. But you bet your sweet butt I can, and will, use them all.

Perhaps my favorite gift related to triathloning is not even gear. It's this sweet mug darling boyfriend stuck in my stocking:

I also got another little "surprise" right around the holidays, but no one had to pay for it or wrap it up (except maybe me, in the future). *WARNING: If you don't like feet, don't continue!*

It's my first EVER black toenail! The picture is a bit blurry, but clearly it's my second toe. It's a kind of gross, but I'm a little proud of it. It's like my own personal initiation into the long-distance running club. I think I'll be OK with it, as long as it doesn't fall off. I don't plan on giving myself a pedicure until after the marathon.

Things I should not have to witness at the gym.

You all know that one of the highlights of gym-going is people-watching. It's what makes the time go by more quickly while you labor away on the treadmill (which is why it's preferable to attend a gym where the treadmills are in the back of the room, like mine). There are things that make you laugh, stories that you file away in the back of your mind to tell your friends later, and then...there are the things that make you cringe.

I have compiled a list of things I've seen (or heard, or smelled) that just...aren't...right.

• A sweaty man running on the treadmill located directly beneath the fan, raising his arms to said fan to air out his armpits, thereby blowing BO-laden wind toward the unsuspecting people on cardio machines behind him;
• An elderly woman walking on the treadmill while absorbed in a novel, titled "Erotic..." something, picturing two scantily clad people on the front;
• Middle-aged women (OK, any-aged, any gender individuals) farting in the middle of a group exercise class, in a warm, crowded room. Repeatedly. Class after class, week after week;
• Spandex on inappropriate bodies. I know this one is controversial, because yes, people should be able to wear whatever they want. But when you are over 50, and you are wearing only tiny Lycra shorts and a sports bra, and you're well-endowed, and you're jogging on the treadmill, you're attracting attention - and not in a good way. It's not that hot in the gym. There are fans. You can wear a tank top, I promise;
• Sex noises during exercise. I'm not just talking about people lifting heavy weights. I'm talking about grunting and moaning during yoga, and spin class. It's unnecessary, and it makes people uncomfortable;
• Denim during a workout. This one doesn't even bother me all that much, because I can ignore it, but how can someone run on the treadmill in jeans? Can you say chafing? Ouch!;
• Women sitting completely naked (no underwear) on the locker room bench. OK, I admit, I haven't seen this one first-hand, because the locker room is such a hotbed of gym violations that I avoid it at all costs, BUT I know it must happen because my gym actually published a newsletter in which it was suggested that women NOT sit on the benches naked...um, duh?

Occasionally, when I am able to tear myself away from staring at the other gym patrons, I start thinking about what other people might be noticing about me. It leads me to wonder if anyone was watching that time that one of my ear buds fell out, dangled down into the wheel well of the recumbant bike as I pedaled, got wound around it, and accidentally yanked the earphone jack out of the machine...

Oh how I love working out indoors...

Yep, I said it. When the temperatures are frigid and the roads and sidewalks are icy, sometimes it's nice to be able to exercise inside. Where it's warm. Where I don't have to wear 5,000 layers that only serve to weigh me down. I hate the cold weather, which is ironic since I live in a place where it's relatively "cold" for five or six months of the year.

I know, most people don't like to run on the treadmill when they could be running outside, because it's boring, or it feels like you're going nowhere (well...you don't just feel like you're going nowhere, you are going nowhere). I tend to agree with those opinions, until the temperature dips below 20 degrees and the winds start blowing, and the last thing I feel motivated to do is go out and run for an hour or more. Which is part of the reason that I ran 14 miles on the treadmill last weekend.

With biking, you start to feel cold when the temperatures dip below 40 or so (at least, that's the case for me). The fact that you're moving pretty fast and creating your own wind (I'm not talking about farting) makes the air feel maybe 10 to 20 degrees cooler than it actually is. Fingertips? What fingertips? Forget about them, can't feel them. The tip of the nose disappears, too. 

And that is why I'm elated to report that I have moved Pink Lightning into her winter home.

 

This is Pink Lightning, on the Ascent Fluid trainer, in my basement. I scored the indoor trainer off of Craigs List back in July or August, anticipating that I'd need it in the future. I did a little bit of reading, and the Ascent Fluid got pretty good reviews, so I bought it from an older woman who was moving to North Carolina and would be able to ride outdoors year-round (lucky lady).

I am proud to announce that I read the directions and assembled this all by myself. It took me a little bit of huffing and heaving, and I had to consult the directions included in the box, and online instructions, but I did it! I then proceeded to to take the trainer for a test ride. I pushed Pink Lightning in front of the television, and pedaled away for 60 minutes, sweating my arse off. It felt much better than losing the feeling in my extremities. Plus, I didn't have to wear layer after layer of clothing. I was in the privacy of my own home, I could have worn a sports bra and undies if I wanted to (I didn't).

Once I was finished with the workout, I simply pushed the bike and trainer out of the way, where it is conveniently stored...in front of our "guest bed" and behind the TV and sitting area. 

Now, I'm not saying training indoors can replace training outdoors in any way, shape, or form. After all, I won't be running a marathon on the treadmill, or competing in an indoor bike race. I am still running outside when I have to - tomorrow, for example, I'll attempt a 20-miler outside while the temperature hovers somewhere in the single digits.

I'm just sayin', I wouldn't mind so much if Santa put a treadmill under the Christmas tree. And maybe next year he can spring for an indoor infinity pool.

I think my body hates me.

For some reason, my body doesn't seem to want to recover from my last long run. It was 18 miles, and it was on Saturday. This is Wednesday. What the hell? Both of my IT bands (iliotibial bands) scream at me when I get out of bed in the morning. For at least a few minutes, because the IT bands go from the hip to under the knee, I walk completely stiff-legged. I look like some sort of idiotic tin soldier parading around. 

Once the bands loosen up and I can start to walk like a normal person, I notice all the other aches and pains. I randomly get "phantom pain" on the outside of my right foot, where my stress fracture was almost a year ago. Apparently these pains (which in my case just feel like dull twinges) are normal, although doctors say they don't know the cause, and I don't understand why they call them "phantom" because that basically means imaginary, and I don't think I'm imagining the sensation.

It's probably not just the long run that's hindering my body's recovery, come to think of it. I also swam on Monday and went to a class at the gym called Total Body Sculpt, which consists of many lunges, squats, various dumbbell exercises, and ab work. The extreme soreness in my right thigh, which causes me to try to put as little weight as possible on it when going down the stairs, could be attributed to the squats and lunges. The intense planks off of the bench are certainly the biggest factor behind the ab soreness that made me gasp when I tried to turn over in bed last night.

People watching me walk (or hobble) around must be wondering what I did to get myself into this condition. I want to tell them I got this way by trying to get in shape, but I doubt they'd believe that attempting to do something healthy made me look like a cripple. Yesterday, when I had to get up out of my rolling office chair, I knew I needed a lot of momentum, so I grabbed the edge of the desk and launched myself with as much force as I could muster, nearly ending up in a coworkers lap on the other side of the room (I think he secretly liked that though). Later in the day, as I was leaving work and going down a small set of two stairs, another officemate asked if I'd hurt my back. When I said, "No, why?" she told me that I'd grimaced as I stepped down. I hadn't even noticed!

I have 4.5 weeks to go till the marathon. I am begging, pleading with my body to hold out until then. And to let me run 14, 20, 12, and 8 miles in the mean time (plus shorter runs of varying distances). To appease my aching muscles, I'm downing hundreds of milligrams of motrin, rolling them with The Stick, stretching, and talking to them in soothing tones.

C'mon body. Don't fail me now!

Why do people think it's OK to...

...make ridiculous comments to me while I'm running?

I don't know if just lacing up my sneakers and hitting the pavement is somehow the same thing as putting a sign around my neck or on my back that says "Please talk to me!" but it seems like people interpret it that way.

I recently had a five minute conversation with a guy who slowed down his pick-up truck to drive alongside me while I ran. I know that sounds incredibly dangerous, but it was broad daylight on a relatively busy street, and there were a lot of people around, so I wasn't terribly concerned. I'm not an idiot. Well, most of the time, anyway. This particular man, who apparently had seen me running down the same street in the past, slowed down to ask if I was training for something. When I told him yes, a marathon, I got to hear a long narrative about how he trained all year for a half marathon, but injured his sciatica and had to bail on it. Plus, his sister ran a marathon through Team in Training. After about a quarter of a mile, I knew practically his entire life story. I was trying to be polite, but I mean, hello, I was also trying to RUN! Eventually he wished me luck and drove on.

Granted, that was the only real "conversation" I've had with a stranger while running, but there have been plenty of shouts and fleeting exchanges. Just today I had two different encounters. I headed out in the morning for a six mile run, and passed by a couple of people paving a driveway down the street. I tried to make myself invisible, but as I went by, one of the men yelled out "Just 3 more miles to go!" I chuckled, and from a distance heard another say "It's only 3 miles from here to my house." Cue lots of macho guffaws. 

Later I was making my way down another side street when a taxi went by. The driver called out "Good job!" and gave me a thumbs-up out the window, a hand signal he kept up until he was out of my sight. 

Now, I appreciate the sentiments of all of these people. Clearly, man number one just wanted a little camaraderie, group number two wanted to let me know I didn't have far to go (even though they were wrong), and I think it's pretty obvious that guy number three wanted to tell me how awesome I was. Thanks guys!

But seriously, I should think it would be obvious that running is not exactly conducive to a conversation or acceptance of praise. I wish people* would realize that. 

* There is one exception I will make, and that is the crazy man who plays the guitar and sometimes sings me songs about how girls aren't supposed to run as I go by. That shit makes me laugh.

Battling the holiday bulge with training

I have to admit, I'm kind of curious to see how training for a marathon/triathlon will affect my weight fluctuation over the next month or so. I think it could go either way. Either the running, swimming (and maybe biking?) will prevent weight gain, or the exercise will stimulate my appetite, and I'll consume more calories than I can possibly burn. 

At the risk of sounding immodest, I have to point out that I am not overweight, nor have I been in the past (OK fine, there may have been a few extra pounds in college). That's not to say I don't worry about weight gain, just like every other living, breathing woman out there. And, just like every other woman in her mid-twenties, I have definitely noticed a distinct slowing of my metabolism. I can't explain it, not exactly. It's a new dimple here, a curve there. A softening of my waist line that no amount of sit-ups can banish (I have several very valid excuses for this, though, and regularly explain them to my darling boyfriend. They include the following: Women need extra stomach fat to make babies, the blubber keeps my abdominal muscles warm, and the extra roll holds my pants up).

Though my metabolism has slowed, my eating has not, nor do I plan on curbing it. I love food. I love to eat. I emphasized all this in a previous post. Holiday eating is like its own entity though. Even aside from the actual "day of" holiday meals, there are so many seasonal goodies to inhale before they are ripped off the shelves until next year. 

Things I plan on consuming during the stretch from Thanksgiving to Christmas include: Starbucks Peppermint Mocha lattes with whipped cream; seasonal ice cream flavors, including but not limited to Peppermint Stick, from Stewart's, and Hot Cocoa, by Edy's;  Chilly Bear ice cream sandwiches;  sugar cookies shaped like trees and Santa with frosting and sprinkles; Reese's tree-shaped peanut butter cups; coffee creamers such as peppermint mocha, dark chocolate mint, and pumpkin spice (in my coffee, of course); and candy canes (although I suspect those are not highly caloric). I am sure there are a great deal of seasonal items I'm forgetting, so please, someone tell me what I can add. But don't say eggnog, because I hate eggnog. Any drink with egg in the name stays far away from my mouth. 

It should be interesting to see what prevails - exercise or food. Perhaps it will be neither. and the two will simply balance each other out. No matter what happens, there is one guarantee - my mouth will be exceedingly happy. 

Seriously though...does anyone have any further seasonal food suggestions? 

Allow me to toot my own horn.

Yes, I will dedicate a post to boasting, thank you very much. I haven't updated in a while, but never fear, I've kept on keepin' on in the realm of workouts. And I'm pleased to announce that I've achieved several "personal records" or "personal bests" as they say. Distance-wise, anyway...I'm certainly not breaking any speed records these days, mine or anyone else's.

The first breakthrough came in the pool. As some of you may know, and others of you could learn by going back and reading old posts (shameless plug), I was really struggling to swim anything more than 50 meters without basically feeling like I was gasping for air and on the verge of vomiting. During and after my swim lessons with B, I was completely stressed out and focused on perfecting my form, all the while being frustrated over my lack of endurance. So then A, the triathlon coach, made an offhand comment that I should be able to swim much further than 50 meters at this point. I was really disappointed to hear that, even though I knew it was true. I hemmed and hawed over that for an entire weekend. The following Tuesday, rather than starting off with swimming drills and obsessing over my form and breathing, I decided I'd just get in the pool and swim freestyle, in whatever way felt comfortable. When I got to the 50 meter mark, I felt tired, especially in my legs, but I took it slowly, stayed relaxed, and kept going. I hit the 100 meter mark, considered stopping, but thought maybe I could eke out another 50. And I did! And then another 50...and another...and so on and so forth until I realized I'd gone - insert "Holy Crap!" here - 400 meters. That's a quarter of a mile! That's actually a real distance! There are some sprint triathlons in which you only have to swim a quarter of a mile. Bouyed (haha a swim pun, see what I did there?) by my breakthrough, I went to the pool this morning with the intention of doing the the same thing. Just relaxing and swimming until I could not swim anymore. I can't even believe I'm about to say this, but I swam 800 meters without stopping!! A half mile! That's an even more legitimate distance. I wish I had a logical explanation as to why I can suddenly swim so much farther than I could two weeks ago, but I guess I have to assume it was mainly a mental thing. As I've experienced with running (many, many times) sometimes it really is mind over matter. 

Speaking of running...I also hit a distance PR in that activity last weekend. 15 miles! I hadn't ever run more than a half marathon without getting injured. Of course, marathon training sort of necessitates running, well, twice that distance, eventually. I was a little intimidated and a lot paranoid that I'd hit 13.2 miles and suddenly be hit with another stress fracture. Luckily that didn't happen, and actually, I felt surprisingly good during the 15 miles, despite the fact that it was pouring rain and my running buddy had convinced me to run on some muddy, hilly trails. Of course, I may have felt good in part because I was running particularly slowly, but hey, I still moved my feet for 15 miles. I think I may have even found a fuel that will work for me - the Clif Shot! 

Since the post I wrote a while back about fueling with Gu, I've tried a variety of things, including a Honey Stinger gel (see here) and Clif Shot Bloks. Both went down much more easily than the Gu, and tasted better too, but they (at least I assume they were the culprits) gave me stomach cramps. The Clif Shot, although the flavor wasn't all that great, did not cause any such issues (it was Razz, for anyone who is curious, and I am 97.3% sure that Razz is slang for raspberry, although from the taste, I couldn't tell 100%). Of course, the lack of stomach cramps could easily be attributed to any other number of circumstances surrounding the run...amount of water consumed, the Oatmeal Squares I ate beforehand, etc. I am supposed to run 16 miles this weekend (almost every long run until the marathon will be a new distance PR, which is quite scary to think about), so I'll try another Clif Shot and see what happens.

Oh, and as long as I am disclosing my personal records in athleticism, I might as well let you all know that I did 40 push-ups. In a row. I am pretty sure that is also a personal best. The only reason I did 40 push-ups is that a 14-year-old told me there was no way I could do it, and I said "Yes, I could!" and she said "No you couldn't!" and said I "Uh-huh!" and she said "Nuh-uh!" and I said "Could too!" and she said "Could not!" and this went on for about 10 minutes and then to shut her up I did 40 push-ups. So there! Um, anyway...

Before I end this post, I just want to *knock on wood* because I'm superstitious, and God forbid tooting my own horn should result in some sort of terrible setback or horrific injury...

What's that? Biking personal records? Oh...well...Pink Lightning has, in fact, traveled a record number of miles over the past few weeks...by riding in the back of my car. Er...let me work on that...

The new definition of CRAZY

Until this past summer, I was only vaguely aware that Ironman competitions existed. I mean, I knew about them, heard about them, and understood that they were sort of the "ultra" triathlon race. It was not until I witnessed a competition firsthand that I realized what it entailed, how much endurance, strength, technique, and most importantly, passion, it required. A 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike ride, and 26.2 mile run. Yes, it's doable, lots of people seem to do it, but to me, it still seems a bit...well, insane. 

And then, a few days ago, I found out there were such events as DOUBLE and TRIPLE Ironman competitions!!!! I was perusing a running forum, and someone just casually mentioned that they were thinking of registering for a triple Ironman. I thought I had misread that, but I decided to use my old stand-by Google and do some research. Turns out, although there are only a few, such events do exist, and some people are just crazy enough to participate!

Can you imagine? 4.4 miles in the water, 224 miles on the bike, and a 52.4 mile run?? Or, a 7.2 mile swim, 336 mile bike ride, and a 78.6 mile run???? I know there are "ultra" events out there, like 50 to 100 mile runs, century rides, people who swim the English Channel...but forget ultra...I'd call this extreme.

On the other hand, I can see how amazingly cool it would be to say you had done a triple Ironman. Although, you might have to say it from beyond the grave, because somehow covering  421.8 miles all at once seems like a death wish.

Anyway, if you're curious about some of the athletes that have taken on this feat, click here for an article about a man and a woman who have finished doubles.

Body Glide is my new friend

Up until this point in my running "career" I have never experienced chafing. I don't really know why, exactly, but I'm guessing it's just because I wasn't doing many runs of 10+ miles. It's one of those things I've heard runners talking about - sports bra chafing, inner thigh chafing, etc - and I've just thought to myself how glad I am that it's something I don't have to deal with. But last weekend's 13 mile run was my official initiation into the chafing club.

I didn't notice any pain or rubbing at all during the course of the run. I didn't even see a mark on my body when I undressed. It was when I got in the shower and the spray hit my bra line and I made a sound like "EOWWWW" that I realized I'd chafed. It was just a spot about 3 inches long on the front of my chest, right where the band of my sports bra sits. It wasn't big at all, but man, it stung! After the shower it was actually red and a bit swollen, and not knowing what else to do, I rubbed Neosporin on it. The swelling went down as the day went on, and the spot scabbed over. 

The problem was that, even though my next several runs weren't long, and wouldn't produce chafing in other circumstances, my sports bra was going to re-irritate that area with rubbing. Enter: Body Glide. It's website calls it a "technically advanced anti-chafe balm." I don't know about all that technically advanced stuff, but I happened to have a stick of the balm left from the last time I had planned to start marathon training. After the stress fracture derailed those plans, the Body Glide sat unopened and neglected on my dresser. At long last, I could put the lubricant to use.

I rubbed it all around the area on my ribcage that was scabbed, and slid my bra on over it. It felt a little strange having this slippery substance on such a random spot on my body, but actually, once I started running, I totally forgot about it. And my chafing did not worsen. Within a few days, after I used the Body Glide each time I ran, the chafing under my chest healed right up. It's nothing but a pale, pink mark now. Hooray!

2 days ago, I headed out for a 10 mile run. I was wearing a thicker pair of tights than I have on any of my long runs so far, because the weather's getting colder. I almost always go commando underneath running tights. To me, there is nothing more unsightly than giant panty lines under spandex. What I didn't take into account was the thick seam running down over the butt area of the tights. I experienced chafing in a new, and to me, unique spot. Once again I didn't notice until I hopped into the shower, and "YOW!" This time, it was in between my butt cheeks that the horrible stinging occurred. 

This presents an interesting dilemma. I haven't done a run since the 10-miler, but when I do, I'm not sure if I'm supposed to put Body Glide on my butt cheeks. I mean, I'm sure I could, but it just seems a bit...unusual. After all, it's a delicate area, and I picture the substance spreading all around down there. That can't be good, can it? On the other hand, I'm not eager to experience further chafing, because as you can imagine (but probably choose not to) it makes for some uncomfortable bathroom experiences. 

Regardless, Body Glide will definitely be an essential part of my long run preparation going forward. I just have to remember not to mix it up with my deodorant, because the cannisters look extremely similar. That would make for some slippery armpits and fragrant butt cheeks...although the latter may not be such a bad idea...

Food or fuel? Fuel or food?

I have never been a person that diets. Like every woman out there, I have my days where I feel flabby, or look in the mirror and think I see dimples, the beginning of cellulite, or a double chin. But, in my mid-twenties, I have to remind myself that I'm not supposed to have the body of a young teenager anymore. It's sad, but true.

Back in high school, my lunches and snacks consisted of chocolate chip cookies, Devil Dogs, chips and salsa, and cheetos. As I've gotten older, and the country has entered some sort of a health-food revolution, I've learned that those junk foods have nasty ingredients and chemicals that are not good for me. Lots of people, athletes especially, have cut out all the fake, over-processed stuff, and eat only clean, whole foods. But, even armed with knowledge, I can't seem to make myself adopt a super healthy diet.

Of course, I don't eat cookies and chips alone for meals anymore. My thought is that, as long as I get in all the essential nutrients, and don't eat only junk, where's the harm? I mean, I wouldn't eat fast food every day, or eat a tub of Crisco or anything like that. I have enough self-control to avoid trans fats (since they have essentially been eliminated from almost all foods anyway, thankfully). I figure as long as I eat my fruits and veggies, my "healthy fats" (which I just recently learned to call mono-unsaturated fatty acids, or MUFAs), lean protein, and take my vitamins, I'm probably faring relatively well.

Even when I want to, I just can't seem to restrict myself. Lately my appetite has been raging, which I'd like to blame on the increase in exercise. At first, I was a little bit concerned about just how hungry I was. I am talking stomach-gnawing hunger pains and light-headedness. I tried ignoring it, which I guess could be considered a form of restriction. But it would not be ignored! I'm probably eating a few hundred calories a day more than I was on average a year ago. And that's where the whole "food vs. fuel" argument comes in.

Some people need to remind themselves that food fuels the body in order to rationalize eating enough. Others just love to eat. Me? I'm a combination of the two schools of thought. I love, love, love to eat, and that works out, because I need that food to give me energy for exercising. As far as I am concerned, if the fire runs hot enough, it will burn anything. A small amount a high fructose corn syrup? Eh, big deal. Throw it on the furnace. Partially hydrogenated oils? I've recently heard that ingredient adds trace amounts of trans fats, but until it's been banned, I'm OK with it.

I give serious props to all the people out there who have embraced and stuck to a certain eating style. Seriously. I'm impressed when someone can radically change their diet and stick to it. Hopefully someday, if I stop exercising for some reason, I'll be able to treat my body well enough to keep it healthy. And, hopefully I won't have to regret my habits and eat my words (pun intended) someday.

For now, I'm just going to eat whatever I feel like eating. Let's take today for example. Breakfast was oatmeal, a banana, OJ, and coffee. Lunch was a granola bar, yogurt, almonds, and a big pear. Snacks included a fun-sized Snickers bar, some candy corn, and a lollipop. Dinner was salmon, brown rice, and broccoli. And in a few minutes, I'll have a bowl of brownie m&m ice cream. I took a Vitamin D supplement, a calcium supplement, and a multi-vitamin. So, uh, that's balanced, right??

We won't talk about the big pan of macaroni and cheese with cut-up hot dogs I wolfed down after my long run on Saturday. There is such a thing as being too gluttonous, after all...

Plugging along

I'm just chugging my way through my 18-week marathon training plan, while practicing my swimming and cycling. It's going by much more quickly than I thought it would, and at the same time, it's dragging. Don't you hate it when that happens? After Saturday, I will have completed 8 weeks of the plan! I'm nearly halfway there!

But, I am extremely nervous about doing a sprint triathlon in the late spring/summer. I thought 9 months would be more than enough time to get ready. However, I've been swimming for over 2 months now, and I can only swim 50 meters comfortably (sometimes 75) without stopping. The shortest swim in a sprint triathlon (that I know of) is 400 meters. That means, by my calculations, that I have about 7 months to add 350 meters to my swim. Unfortunately, instead of working on endurance right now, I'm still working on form and technique. Hopefully I'll have some sort of a breakthrough soon and be able to swim more consistently. My next official lesson is on November 20th. I hope B has good news for me then!

As for biking, I'm embarrassed to even talk about it, because I've been doing so little of it. The longest ride I've done still stands at 14 miles. It's almost time to move Pink Lightning inside for the winter! I bought an Ascent Fluid indoor bike trainer off of Craig's List, and soon enough Pink Lightning will reside in an alcove of my basement. I'm sort of hoping that once she's inside, staring me in the face everyday (our basement is finished and we use it as the family room), I'll be inclined to jump on and ride more often. Before I set up the trainer, I'm going to take Pink Lightning back to the shop and see about getting some clips for the pedals, so I can get used to using them over the winter. I also recently heard that there is a group of local bikers meeting once a week in a central location...hopefully in the spring I will feel confident enough to join them. 

And just for the fun of it, I'll post what my workout schedule was this week:

Monday: 3 mile run

Tuesday: 45 minutes of swimming drills

Wednesday: 6 mile run

Thursday: Rest

Friday: 3 mile run

Saturday: 13 mile run

Sunday: Rest or bike ride

As you can see, lots of running, some swimming, not nearly enough biking. Oy.

What a drag...

I'm talking about the drag of my lower body while I swim. I had another lesson with B on Friday. I've officially been swimming for over 2 months now, and I was hoping that I would be able to impress her with my rapid improvements in form and technique. When I got to the pool at 6:30 on Friday morning, B was finishing up her own workout, so she told me to hop in and do some warm-up laps and she'd be right back. I started swimming in exactly the same fashion I've been practicing - just jump in and start freestyling. When I glanced up after my second lap, B was watching me with her arms folded across her chest.

"OK!" she said. "OK..." she repeated, rubbing her hands together. That's when I knew that she wasn't awed or impressed by my swimming abilities. B told me that the main problem was the drag that my lower body was creating, slowing me down and forcing my arms to do double the work. Basically, I wasn't using my legs, glutes, or core, and was pulling myself through the water using solely my arms, dragging my legs behind me like a paralytic. And, as I should have known, because this is almost always the case, the core is the most important component of all things athletic - the core is the body's powerhouse. 

The other problem - OK one of the other problems, because let's face it, there were many - with my technique was that I was only breathing to one side. I'm just much more comfortable breathing to my right side. But, B explained, if you only breathe to one side every time you swim, the whole time you swim, the muscles on that side become stronger and more developed than on the other side, leading to an overall imbalance. Actually, she said, Michael Phelps only ever breathes to one side, and if you look closely you can tell he isn't balanced - he could actually improve his technique, she said. I understand that she was just giving me an example, but I mean HELLO, Phelps is only like the greatest swimmer ever, so if he can get away with breathing to only one side, why can't I?? Whatever.

The result of all this was that B had me go all the way back to the start, and work on the simplest drills again. How frustrating. I really think that part of what is making this whole thing so hard for me is my lack of coordination. While I'm swimming, I'm constantly mentally checking all the parts of my body to make sure they're doing what they are supposed to. Head down, but not too far down, chin tucked to chest, arms out at slight 'Y', elbows straight, core strong, butt up above water, legs kicking, feet fluttering...so many things to remember! When you add breathing while trying not to swallow water and drown to the mix...there is too much to keep track of!

Eventually, after working on all the basic drills, I got to a point on Friday where I did two lengths, with a double stroke, still only breathing to the right, where B said my form was "excellent." YES! But when I tried to progress to a triple stroke, alternating breathing to each side, the whole thing fell apart. It's the coordination factor, I'm telling you! I was paying so much attention to stroking exactly three times and breathing to the correct side that I got confused, missed a breath, panicked, flailed, etc.

Then B gave me a science lesson using a pool noodle, and a ball. "I always give this lesson to the kids I teach, but maybe I should do it with the adults, too," she said. Ha. Great. Anyway, the ball represented the lungs, and the noodle represented the body. She showed me how, while swimming, the majority of the body should be over and out in front of the lungs, rather than dragging down behind them. Then, she told me that until my next lesson, I should practice double stroking, but breathing to each side. She also said I should work on strengthening my core, my powerhouse, which I thought I was doing sufficiently just by all the exercising I do combined with the strength class I take every Monday...but I guess I'll be doing some extra planks and crunches from now on.

On Saturday, my lower back was very sore, which is exactly how it should NOT feel after swimming. Darn that weak core and my dragging legs. I still have a very long way to go, but I have some hope. After all, Michael Phelps isn't perfect either, according to B...

I don't know though...his body looks perfectly balanced...any comparison between myself and Michael Phelps is a-OK with me!! 

I hope my dreams do not come true

I'm talking about my literal dreams. The ones I have at night, while I'm watching the picture-shows behind my eyelids. Let me preface this by saying that I have always been prone to having anxiety-fueled dreams about "the worst thing that could happen" in an important situation. Actually, "important situation" is a relative phrase, since in high school that meant having dreams that my dress didn't fit, my date didn't show up, and my hair wouldn't hold curls, in the weeks leading up to prom. But you get the idea. In college I'd dream that I forgot to write a paper, couldn't remember what class I was supposed to be in, or overslept and missed a final exam. These days my anxiety dreams tend to be work-related - missing a deadline, forgetting to do an interview, or making some grievous error that leads to being fired. Apparently, large competitions will now qualify as "important situations" in which I fear that the worst will happen. Lovely. 

I'll start with the nightmare I had about an Ironman competition, just because that dream came first, chronologically. I suspect the impetus of the dream was watching the Ironman World Championships, which took place in Kona, and realizing once again how crowded and crazy the swim starts are. In my nightmare, I was not actually taking part in the race, I was just watching from the sidelines. The race started, the swimmers took off, and it was so chaotic that the competitors in the water were hitting and kicking each other in their quest to get out in front. Horrified, I watched from my spot next to the water as a young woman was kicked so hard in the head (accidentally) that it snapped her neck, and she started to drown. It was so early on in the race, and still so crowded, that it was impossible for the officials in kayaks to see what had happened. In fact, it seemed like I was the only one who had seen it. I started running around trying to find someone to alert, but no one paid me the least bit of attention. It was only when the entire competition (all three portions of it!) was over, and officials noticed that one competitor had never finished, that people suspected what had happened. At that point, the officials in kayaks went back out into the water and started to search the bottom of the lake and...well, you can imagine what they found. Now the really odd part (ha as if any part of this dream wasn't odd) was that no one actually seemed to be that concerned. Everyone brushed it off, saying "These things happen all the time, it's a risk the athletes are willing to take." In my dream I thought, "Yeah, right, that's not a risk I'm willing to take. Forget this Ironman shit!" Of course when I woke up, I realized I just have an incredibly anxious/disturbing thought process, but honestly, I hope that type of triathlon dream doesn't recur over the next...oh, three years it could take me to reach my goal.

Before you scream and run away and refuse to read anymore of my morbidity, I'll tell you that the marathon-gone-wrong nightmare was much less dark. I was actually the main character in it, rather than an observer, and it was a more typical representation of my disorganized dreams. It all started on the morning of the marathon, when I arrived at the proper location, and the announcer said the race would be starting an hour early due to an inexplicable heat wave. I panicked because I hadn't had time to warm up, use the bathroom, or fuel properly. In an effort to make the best of what I had, I groped furiously for a gel or some jelly beans, and all I could find was a bright orange Powerbar. (I absolutely can not stand or stomach Powerbars in real life). Since it was all I had, I took a few bites before I gagged. When I looked up, I realized everyone was lined up at the start, about to take off, and so I had to sprint to catch up. Then, instead of a road race, the marathon course was set up like an obstacle course. One of the first things we had to do was climb a ladder that was propped up against a brick building, and then scale across some extremely narrow window ledges, until we reached the other end of the building, at which point we were supposed to climb down a second ladder. I froze because I am scared of heights, and all of the other competitors were yelling at me to get moving. Another of the course obstacles involved running through a corn maze in a giant field. At some point during the race I burst into tears, because I couldn't believe everything was going so badly. There were a few more awful details, like attempting to drink Lemon-Lime Gatorade (my least favorite flavor) while on the run and spilling it all over my shoes, so that they squished and squashed and caused blisters for the rest of the race. Then, instead of a straight finishing chute, the final .2 miles was another maze, made of string, which I had to zig-zag through, while the finish line was in my sight. The time it took me to finish the marathon was so pathetically awful and slow that I cried again. I told my family that I wanted to run another marathon the next weekend to vindicate myself, and I was told that I could only run one marathon per year. And cue the alarm - I woke up at that point.

I am sure some dream analysts could give me a million different meanings behind my dreams. But I don't think it takes a rocket scientist to uncover the real root of the nightmares. I'm freaked out and worried that everything will fall apart and go wrong in my races - the ones I'm already registered for, and the ones I'm only contemplating. 

Now we're back to the title of my post - I really hope my literal dreams do not come true. I also hope they abate somewhat, or else I'm going to be perpetually exhausted for the next three years...

Fall?? Where are you??

It seems that Mother Nature has entirely skipped over the Autumnal season this year. The weather went from 70 degrees and humid, to 40 degrees (as a high for the day!) with a frost on the ground. I do NOT do well with the cold weather. On my run yesterday morning, I had to wear fleece-lined tights and my Sugoi hooded top with built-in mittens. The sign along my route that flashes the temperature periodically (which, oddly, is in front of a strip club) read 34 degrees. My breath hovered in front of me the entire way. Some guy walking his dog called "It's not that cold out here!" to which I haughtily replied "I am really sensitive to the cold." 

And it's true. Some people would have overheated with all the clothes I was wearing. Some people would probably be comfortable wearing a lot less - like the guy working on his car wearing shorts and a t-shirt (wtf!?!?). But I was completely comfortable with all my layers on. I didn't get hot at all.

That got me thinking. How on earth am I going to train through November and December for a marathon in January? If I'm putting on my warmest, thickest clothing mid-October, I'll have to come up with some sort of insulated, personal heater-type suit of armor in order to run outside in the coming months. I have a $25 coupon to Fleet Feet, but I don't think they sell suits of armor there. Maybe I can pick up an extra jacket though.

Now, I know that I was running outside up until January last year, but somehow I still can't fathom doing it this year, especially when it's incredibly hard to force myself out there in the Fall!

But, I will have to carry on. I will be running both an 18-miler and a 20-miler in December, and I'm sure as hell not going to run those on a treadmill. I shudder at the thought of my frozen toes and fingers, my frostbitten nose and ears. Next year, I'm picking a spring marathon.

At least I'll be able to ride my bike inside. I got an indoor trainer for it off of Craig's List! But more on that later...

Double digits!

So I finally, for the first time since January, had a double-digit run. I ran 10 miles yesterday! In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't seem like a "long run", but I think it's an important milestone (pun intended). I had to take a 3-month break from running, starting in January, when I developed a stress fracture in my right foot. The fracture was my own fault, because I stupidly started running further distances and faster paces when I was under-trained. The whole problem began shortly after I jumped into double-digit runs, which is why I was nervous to make that leap this time. Luckily, starting in April, I have built my mileage up very slowly, both in distance and pace, so I was a lot more prepared.

I couldn't convince anyone to go with me on the run - my sister was resting because she ran a half marathon today (more on that later) and darling boyfriend said he would be glad to bike the distance while I ran, only he doesn't have a bike. I didn't want to run on the local bike path alone, since people have been known to get attacked (by people and dogs) while running there, so I headed over to a park that has about 5 miles of paved trails (some may remember this park from my earlier post about the family on the foot bridge). I didn't wear an ipod, because it's against the rules to wear one during races, and I want to get used to running without music now. Suffice it to say that 10 miles of running with no company and no music is a whole lot of time to spend in my own head.

I started off at a really conservative pace, and hit the first mile at about 9:44. I had concocted a plan that would allow me to hit the halfway point (5 miles) back at the parking lot and my car, where I would take a Gu and some water before doing the next 5 miles. Even though I'd be able to stop at my car, I wore my SPIbelt for the first time, just so I could get used to the way it felt. Touted as the "original small personal item belt", the SPIbelt is basically a pocket attached to an elastic band that clips around the waist and isn't supposed to move or bounce while you run. 

That picture is totally me, and those are totally my abs. OK fine, they're not. Anyway. True to its claims, I hardly felt the belt when I ran - in fact I literally forgot I was wearing it. Of course, all I had in it was a bandaid, a Gu, and my car key, but still. It was surprisingly comfortable. But I digress.

I basically held steady at a 9:25 pace after the first mile. I didn't get too bored running along the paths because there were quite a few walkers, joggers, bikers, and really cute dogs to look at. Additionally, there was a really big farmer's market being held at one end of the park, and I kept seeing people walking back to their cars with their arms full of goodies like apples, cider donuts, squash, cheese, and fresh milk. I fantasized about stopping and getting some treats for a good 20 minutes or so.


I got back to my car around 47 minutes into the run, and braced myself for my first experimentation with fuel. I thought I had bought and brought a Clif Shot, but it turned out I had a Gu, which I had heard terrible things about. It was Tri Berry flavor and apparently contained caffeine. It had gotten a little warm from sitting snug against my body in the SPIbelt, but I ripped the package open, squeezed, and hoped for the best. Unfortunately, I got the worst. It was disgusting. The texture alone was abominable. It coated my mouth and felt gooey and sticky, and I chugged half a bottle of water just to get it down my throat. I gagged a little and a man pulling up next to me in the parking lot laughed. I chugged the other half of my water just to get rid of the taste, which seemed very chemically to me. It was all around yucky.


After I recovered a little from the trauma of the Gu, and re-tied my shoes, I took off on the second half of my run. The only benefit of the Gu was that it gave me something to ponder during the next couple of miles. I was trying to come up with a product similar in texture, so I could adequately describe it to someone who'd never tried Gu. After about 2 miles I finally had it - warm Vaseline. That was exactly it. If you can imagine trying to swallow a mouthful of Vaseline that has melted a little bit, you can imagine what it's like trying to take a Gu. I won't say the Gu didn't do its job as far as fueling goes, because I felt fine for the rest of the run. On the other hand, I don't really think I need to fuel on a 10-mile run. The main purpose of experimenting with it yesterday was to get an idea of what will or won't work on marathon day (and in subsequent triathlons). I think I'll try something different on the next long run - hopefully something that won't make me gag, which I admit I do even just thinking about that stupid Gu.


Trying to come up with a proper Gu metaphor got me through 2 miles, and I got through the last 3 by promising myself I would stop at the farmer's market when I was done. Chocolate milk is supposed to be a really good recovery drink (something about the right combination of protein/carbs/fat) and I thought I'd snag a pint. And maybe a baked good while I was at it. The day had turned really windy, and my ears were hurting from the cold, but I sped up during the last portion anyway, as I usually do when I know the end is near and I don't feel like I'm about to die. I went just under 9 minutes per mile for the last 2 miles.


After I finished, I stretched for a good 5 minutes, then got in my car and drove to the other end of the park to hit up the market (yes I had just run 10 miles, and no, I didn't feel like walking the quarter of a mile it would take me to get to the farmer's market. It was cold outside). I grabbed my chocolate milk, and I wanted to spend more time browsing the goodies, but it was really windy and cold, so I skipped straight to the bakery table, where I got two giant black and white cookies and an almond-poppyseed muffin. I chugged the milk as soon as I got back to the car, and saved the muffin to eat with my coffee later.


So, I made it back to my double-digit runs, and (knock on wood) nothing horrible happened to my legs. I'm hardly sore at all today (that chocolate milk must really work!), my feet haven't fallen off, I don't even have so much as a black toenail! And, to top it off, I hit 20 miles for the week! That makes me happy.



* I would be remiss if I didn't take a minute to give a shout-out to my older sister, who ran a half-marathon today, smashing her personal record by 5 minutes, clocking in at 1:35 for the 13.1 miles, and thereby qualifying for the NYC marathon in 2010. She may kill me for saying this, but it's my blog and I can do whatever I want. My sister ran in high school, halfheartedly in college, and then gained a whole lot of weight after college. It was only about 2 years ago that she decided to take it up again, and she has proceeded on with single-minded dedication, shedding the weight and dropping her times. Stay tuned to see how she does in the Philadelphia marathon at the end of November.

Of course, I'd also be remiss if I did not add: Sister, you better watch out, because I am going to KICK YOUR BUTT. Eventually. I guess you could call yourself an inspiration or a motivating factor or something. Just don't let it go to your head.

Updates and anecdotes

I'll start with the anecdotes, and I have one for each activity. 2 involve kids, and one, weirdly, involves an old man. None of them have anything to do with technique or fitness.


Running anecdote: Sometimes if I need to be to work earlier than usual, I drag myself out of bed at an ungodly hour for a run. Last week, I started my circuit around the neighborhood at around 7 am (I have a one mile loop around the block I use for shorter runs). 7 am happens to be the time when all the kids are out on the various corners, waiting to be picked up by the school bus. Down on one corner, a group of boys ranging in ages from about 8-12 were clustered up talking and punching each other and generally acting like little boys do. They stared at me as I ran by on my first loop. They punched each other and stared at me as I rounded the corner for the second time. The third time I made an appearance, one of the boys was pushed out from the group to stand in front of me. "You're really fast!" he said. "You just ran around the whole block in like, 5 minutes!" I laughed and said thank you, continued on my way, and allowed him to think I had really just completed a 5-minute mile. Hardly anyone ever calls me fast, so I wanted to revel a little in the undeserved glory. But I was also left wondering why these kids had been waiting for the bus for 20+ minutes. I'd be really annoyed if I had to stand outside every morning for 20 minutes...

Swimming anecdote: This is the one that involves an old man, and if anyone can make sense of it, please let me know, as I am dying of curiosity. Every Tuesday when I go to the pool, there are 4 or 5 men doing laps during open swim (I'm almost always the only woman, except on the occasions that B is giving me a lesson). One of the men, who must be a regular, wears a Speedo. He is very large. And he is very hairy. Which is all well and good. I noticed some time ago that he kept a pair of white tube socks at the edge of the pool, by the end of his lane. I thought it was a little bit strange, but dismissed it pretty quickly, thinking he probably didn't have sandals, and just wore his socks in the pool area to avoid getting athlete's foot. Until last week. Last Tuesday, he was in the lane to my right, and when I was finishing up a lap, I happened to glance over just in time to see him putting his socks on. In the pool. Under the water. Hm. I kept watching, and he proceeded to do a few laps, while wearing his tube socks, before he took them off and replaced them at the edge of the pool. Baffling. This past Tuesday, sure enough, the big, hairy, Speedo-wearing man was there, as were his socks. The socks were different this time, they were ankle-length Hanes athletic socks, but his process remained the same. He swam some laps without the socks, put them on and swam a few laps, took them off and swam some more. I'm stumped. Is there some sort of benefit to swimming in your socks that a newbie like me should know about? I'm to embarrassed to ask him outright...

Biking anecdote: I went for a 10-mile ride a few days ago, on local neighborhood roads. As I took a left turn and crossed a road, a little boy, probably around 3, started shouting at me. "You're not supposed to ride in the road!" he said. I smiled at him. He turned around to his mom, who was locking the door of the house. "MOM SHE'S RIDING HER BIKE IN THE ROAD!" he told her. The little tattletale! I was gone before I knew what her response was, but it's funny that little kids think the rules their parents give them apply universally. Although I have to give him points for knowing proper safety procedures. And, as my sister pointed out, I'm quite small, and may have looked like a little girl riding a pink bike...

On to the updates.

Running: I managed to screw up the training plan that I printed out for myself for the marathon, which resulted in the initial thought that I had added in an extra week. So I skipped a 3-miler last week, and then realized I hadn't, in fact, added an extra week. Therefore, I was 3 miles behind my target mileage for last week. Oh well. It's the long runs that are important. I have my first double-digit long run (10 miles), since my stress fracture in January, coming up this weekend! I will soon be experimenting with fueling - Gu, Clif Shots, Luna chews, and all that jazz.

Biking: Not too much to report here. I've done a few 10 mile rides, a few 5 mile rides, and my longest ride, 14 miles. I'm not sure if I should count the 14-miler though, because I rode alongside my sister while she ran, which made it a slow ride. Plus, when we came to an intersection, I attempted to follow traffic rules by sticking out my left arm to indicate a left turn, and I fell off my bike. And then walked through the intersection. And all the subsequent intersections. Oops.

Swimming: The good news is I can now swim 75 meters freestyle without stopping to pant and catch my breath!! The bad news is, that's still over 2 miles away from the distance of an Ironman swim. Er...at least my form is getting better. I think. Well. Practice makes perfect.

How do people do this??

Wow, balancing running, biking, and swimming is hard, hence the title of this post. Trying to practice all 3 activities weekly is proving difficult, leaving me to wonder how some of the more hardcore triathletes out there make time for all 3 daily. I'm impressed, to say the least. I also feel decidedly inadequate.

If I haven't mentioned it before, I'm training for my first full marathon, in addition to jump-starting my triathlon training. I'm already registered to run the Disneyworld marathon in January 2010. I'm not even into the higher mileage weeks yet, and already running takes up a significant chunk of my time. To roughly outline what my marathon training plan dictates, I run four times a week (Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday) and cross-train once a week, which leaves two days open for rest. I've been doing my swimming on Tuesdays, and that takes care of the cross-training day. But I feel like I need to do at least one bike ride a week, too, so I've been trying to push myself to do a ride on Thursday or Sunday. 

When you combine that with working 40 hours per week (including some occasional very late deadline nights), trying to sleep at least 8 hours a night, cooking relatively healthy meals, and having a social life...well, something's got to give.

I have come to the conclusion that before I can start full-blown triathlon training, following a strict plan created by a coach, I'm going to have to come up with a different type of plan...a "balance plan" if you will. I'm not sure exactly what it will look like, but the first item on my list is going to deal with cooking and eating. Last week, when I worked past 10 p.m. twice, I ate a sandwich for dinner on two different nights, and a can of soup on another. Not only is that not nearly enough food, it also seems pretty unhealthy. And on the two nights that I ate sandwiches, I came home to find out that my darling boyfriend had eaten Sunchips (the first night) and tortilla chips with cheese dip (the second night). And not for appetizers, either. For meals.*

So, I am going to experiment with "cook ahead and freeze" meals. We grocery shop once a week, so if I make lists of ingredients for 2 or 3 different meals, cook them on the weekend, and then freeze, label, and date them, we will have things to heat-and-eat on the nights I work late, or on nights where I'm just very tired and don't feel like cooking. 

That one change alone could save me...maybe 30 minutes to an hour on any given week day? It's worth a try!

And to all those out there who work full-time, have families, and are triathletes, let alone IRONMEN...I give you this:

(that's applause, by the way).

* Note - My darling boyfriend can, and will cook (and he's good at it, too), it's just that he gets lazy and distracted if I'm not here to remind him to eat dinner.

Just keep swimming!

I think swimming will be, by far, the hardest part of the triathlon for me. I took the usual swim lessons for a kid when I was little, but for the last 12 or so years, the only swimming I did was from the pool steps to a lounge float. 

In Lake Placid, after watching the swim portion of the Ironman, I ducked in to some stores with my sister and tried on one-piece bathing suits. I probably hadn't worn a one-piece suit for about 12 years, either. I didn't know what size I even was, but I discovered that I am a size 32. I'm not going to try and pretend I understand how they size these suits.

I have no idea what good criteria are for these suits, but for the most part, I don't think "cute" is on the list. I liked the way the TYR suits fit, but all the suits they had in stock in my size had patterns that resembled an old person's wallpaper. No thanks.

When I got home from Lake Placid, I went online and found a decent deal on a TYR suit. And BONUS! It's reversible! 

I went to the town pool, which is olympic-sized, and tried out some laps. I was absolutely terrible. I thought I could just get in the water and imitate a free-style stroke. After all, I was in decent shape from running, how hard could it be? I was so, so wrong. Trying to breathe, I was inhaling water, and having no breath made my muscles feel like lead. I couldn't even go 50 meters without having to stop and pant for a while.

I decided to ask F, the triathlon coach my sister put me in touch with, if she knew of any good, local places that taught swim lessons for adults. I'm sure I could have found some sort of class at the YMCA, but I didn't want to take lessons with 5-year-olds that frequently close the pool by pooping in it.

Luckily, F's swim coach, whom I will call "B", is still in the area, and still offers to teach lessons at the school where she is a swim coach. I contacted her and set up a session. The only drawback was that B could only offer lessons between 5:30 and 8:00 in the morning. Yikes! I scheduled for 6:30 am and prayed I didn't oversleep.

I showed up for my first swim lesson with huge butterflies in my stomach. The night before, I had a dream that I got in the pool, and B told me I was so bad that she couldn't even waste her time teaching me. I was hoping that wasn't the case in reality!  

I have to give B points for being honest, and blunt. The first thing she asked me to do was one lap, using what I "thought" was a freestyle stroke. I was gasping for breath by the end of the first length, but I didn't want to embarrass myself, so I forced myself back to the other end of the lane, where B was waiting for me. When I de-fogged my goggles, it seemed like B was trying hard not to laugh. She said something like, "OK. OK, that was...we need to do some work." So it wasn't AS bad as my dream, but close enough.

In fact, I was so bad, that B had me revert to using a pool noodle for my first drill. Before I could learn to do my strokes, I had to learn how to carry my body through the water. I never understood how much coordination goes in to swimming!

After I got my body positioned in relatively the correct way using the noodle (which took a good 20 minutes) B explained the technicalities of breathing to me. The most important thing is to remember not to lift your head when you breathe; you simply turn your head to the side. After a few lengths attempting this technique, I had swallowed approximately half of the pool.

I have to give B more points here, for being patient. She had to keep explaining things and repeating herself, which must have been really frustrating.  For me, it seemed like there was so much to think about! Keep your head down, push the water up and over your hip with your arm, wait for one arm to come back to the front before you stroke with the other...and on and on and on. I was quickly realizing that swimming required something I didn't have a whole lot of...coordination! Who knew?

At the end of the hour-long session, B told me that I had made at least some progress. We both agreed that I definitely needed another lesson...or ten. 

The day after the first lesson, my lower back and butt were so sore I was hobbling. I knew the whole swim part was going to be hard, but I seriously miscalculated how horribly hard it would be. 

I can't even swim 50 meters without feeling like my lungs might burst and I will drown. How am I ever, ever going to swim 2.4 miles!?!? 

On your left!

So I decided to take Pink Lightning for a "long" ride. By long, I mean 10 miles. Yeah, it's not that long, especially compared to the 112 miles that I'm aiming for (eventually) but baby steps are very important here. Being ridiculously afraid of riding where there is traffic, I decided my first long-ish ride would take place at a local park that offers over 5 miles of paved paths. A lot of people ride their bikes there - well, a lot of little kids ride their bikes there while their parents walk beside them. 

Now, I've run on enough bike paths to know that a cyclist is supposed to yell "On your left!" when passing a walker or a runner. I'm pretty shy, and I knew I would feel awkward yelling out to someone when I was behind them. At first, that wasn't a problem because the paths weren't too crowded, and most people were walking far to one side, anyway.

I did have to call "On your left!" a few times, but luckily it wasn't as awkward as I had thought it would be. There was the old couple that couldn't seem to figure out right from left, forcing me to ride on the grass for a few feet, but that all worked out.

But toward the end, I did make the mistake of taking a path that had a small, wooden foot bridge in one section. I feel it's important to note that the bridge is not scenic in any way. It does not go over a river or anything like that; it is so unremarkable that I don't even remember what's underneath it. As I came upon the bridge, I was a little bit nervous, because it was narrow, and I was still wobbly on Pink Lightning. I could see a family of four (at least I assume it was a family) standing on one side of the bridge, looking over the edge and just chatting. At least one of the teenagers looked up and saw me, and by that point, I was riding almost as slowly as I could, to give the family time to move across the bridge.

The kid who saw me coming motioned to his family and they all looked my way. Relieved, I kept right on pedaling. But instead of walking on, all four of them tried to smoosh up against the railing. I only had a few seconds to react. Let me reiterate how small the bridge was. It was maybe wide enough to let two people stand side by side. It did NOT seem big enough to let a person on a bike pedal by four people.

I belatedly, and fruitfully, called out "On your left!" as I started onto the bridge. I really don't know why I bothered, considering that they definitely knew I was coming, but it just seemed like the right protocol. It didn't prompt any reaction from the family. I was terrified that I was going to swerve the tiniest bit and impale one of them on a handlebar. 

I came thisclose to hitting what I assume was the father of the bunch, and so I panicked and swerved to, the left. My front tire was about to smash into the side of the bridge, so I reached out and grabbed the railing with my hand to prevent contact between Pink Lightning's precious parts and the bridge. Unfortunately, contact between my hand and the rough wooden railing, while traveling over 5 miles per hour, did not result in anything pleasant. 

Once I got to the other end of the bridge and back on to the pavement, I was so distracted by the MILLIONS of splinters in my hand that I lost my balance and started to fall over, to the left. I tried to catch myself and make it look like I was just hopping off voluntarily, but that failed when I hit my crotch on the bar. Poor Pink Lightning hit the ground while I tripped and scuffled my way off of her to keep from face-planting.

The family on the bridge? They started laughing. Now, I can see how someone standing behind me would find humor in the scene. However, this little predicament was entirely their fault. For all I know, they plant themselves on that bridge every weekend and get their kicks out of sabotaging unsuspecting bikers. I haven't been back to find out. After I made sure Pink Lightning wasn't damaged, aside from a few small scratches (that in my opinion, give her character and make her look a little bad-@ss), I walked her around the bend to where the family couldn't see me before getting back on and riding to my car.

Next time I see that family of punks though, I am not going to give them the courtesy of calling "On your left!" If they happen to be in my way, too bad for them. I'm just going to keep on riding straight. A little taste of their own medicine might not hurt.     

I used to be afraid of riding in traffic, but now I know there's another hazard out there: Human traffic at a standstill.