The Mile

Walk a mile in my shoes? HA! Run a 10k in my shoes, then we'll talk.

If you only walked a mile in my shoes, you wouldn't get it.

I sincerely believe that people who have never really run consistently before write it off way too quickly. They decide that running is a cheap form of exercise and a good way to lose weight, so they go out for a bit, find it uncomfortable, walk (which is fine if you've never run before), then stop completely. Feeling defeated, they come up with the following conclusions about why they don't like running:

"My --fill-in-the-blank-- hurt when I try to run."

"I just get so short of breath when I try to run."

"Running just doesn't agree with me."

These things are all true. About the first mile. No one likes the first mile.

Runners, am I right about this?  I've heard that track workouts for my triathlon club have historically lower attendance when the workout calls for a "timed mile" - and these are people who do Ironman, for the love of God.

The trick to being in love with running, or any endurance sport, is to get past the first mile. If you were like, "Suzanne, go run a mile." I would dread it too. I hate running one mile only. That first mile of any workout is brutal. Believe it or not, my legs don't feel good during the first mile and my breathing is really uncomfortable. In fact, I now dread the first three miles. (This is why I don't do a lot of 5k runs). It takes a while before my legs loosen up, my lungs get enough air, and joints start to perpetuate a good rhythm. It takes a good 30 minutes to start to feel good.

So, remember this. I don't know anyone who loves running one mile. You have to give it time, walk before you can run, push through, because miles 5 and 6 are bomb diggity.

Holy Crapathon, Batman!

60 days to Chicago? Are you freakin' kidding me?!

A good little monkey, I took it easy for a couple of weeks after Barb's Race. For the most part. There was one 15 mile run. I'll explain later.

My boyfriend and I took a little vacation down to Santa Barbara where we ate, drank, and slept in. The only exercise I did in Santa Barbara was cruiser down the coast for a few miles. Now I am looking at my training log for the past two weeks, with a bunch of random/short workouts and days off, and it's freaking me out.

On June 19th, I received an email, reminding me that the month of June is the official start to training season for the Chicago Marathon. (Many training plans, like Hal Higdon, are 18 weeks long.) Let's see, Hal Higdon's training plan for the week of June 19th includes: 26 miles or running, with a long run of 10 miles. My half Ironman-distance training, on the other hand, included: about 18 miles of running, 70 miles of biking, and a couple of miles in the pool.

So how does that add up? Well...

Fast forward to the week after Barb's Race (marathon training week 7), when Hal Higdon suggested a 16 mile run. I mean, I took a couple of days off, and it was only a week after Barb's Race. I can run a half marathon in my sleep. I am a superhero, people! How hard can 16 miles be?

POW! BANG! WoaH! Yikes!

I only made it to 15 miles. Sure, it might have been fatigue from the race, and not enough recovery time, but that mere 5k extra was just too much. It was a flashback to marathon training last winter. WOAh!

I knew when I signed up, that the Chicago Marathon would be an experiment. I am determined to keep up with some biking and swimming, so that will cut down on some marathon miles, but I am also hoping it might improve how I feel overall. Last winter, I felt like going back to just running was too difficult on my legs, and it probably took me until March to feel normal again.

Pure Evil. Waahahahaha!

Barb's Race - year two. My plan worked. Boo ya!

Evil Plan:
To finish Barb's Race in under 6 hours.

ULTIMATE Evil Plan:
To finish Barb's race in well under 6 hours - not 5:59:59, but to make significant changes to my time from last year.

Evil plan tactic #1: Swim Faster.
I've always just tried to stay out of the way of real swimmers during races. You know - stay in the back, wait until they go, then start. Their pace is their pace, and mine is mine. I'm not a real swimmer anyway. Last year, at the turn around, the water was so shallow that someone literally swam over me, and my entire chest pressed to the ground.

No more! After months of keeping up with my lane peers in the pool, and fighting with flailing arms (while being smacked in the head a few times) during the Splash and Dash events, I decided to no longer make adjustments for others, and push through them as needed. I used their bubbles to my advantage and I probably accidentally swat people in the head or swam over them and did not apologize. There is a big difference between good sportsmanlike conduct, and being too nice.

I don't know what happened during that swim, but no one was getting in my way dammit. I was sick and tired of not being a swimmer. So, I pushed through some women. When there were two swimming side by side, I would just cut right down the middle of them. It is a competition, after all. I tried to keep my hands to myself, but wasted no time trying to go around other swimmers.

Evil plan tactic #2: Plot With My Evil Bike.
I surprised myself on the bike last year. It was probably because I had never timed myself on a long bike ride. So just over 3 hours sounded pretty darn good to me.

I biked a lot this year, close to 350 more miles than this time last year. I introduced the new bike, with new gears, and new pedals, saddle, shoes, etc. into training in May. As you may have heard, my new bike is haunted. It is constantly testing me. I now have a love/hate relationship with my bike. She is pure evil, but so am I. I'm thinking about naming her Miss Bigglesworth.

During the race, the front brake decided to rub against the tire. The. Entire. Ride. I physically had to keep adjusting it, and as soon as the road got bumpy again, it would move over again. Thhhhhhhh. So incredibly annoying. Somehow my bike time was slightly better from last year, but I was definitely more panicked, and frustrated. I was so happy to put on my running shoes.

Evil plan tactic #3: Run Faster.
The run was the worst part of my race last year. Last year, I just had nothing left - every step was like putting my foot into a foot of snow. Plod. Plod. It was uncomfortable, and annoying. My brain said, "GO!" and my body said, "No, no, no..."

This year I went to running "Rehab" (Run Even Harder After Bike). I did a lot more bike-to-run bricks, but it wasn't enough to just put in a couple of miles. No, no. I would run hard after biking. I know I can continue to move my legs after biking, but more importantly - the legs need to move pretty fast after biking. Otherwise, if becomes plodding. So, I worked on speed, and some more on speed. Also, anything that would make a run more difficult, I tried it: running in 100 degree heat on purpose, running up hills, running when I was tired, running slightly hung over (after July 4).

It worked! Wahahaha! I got used to the uncomfortable feeling of running, and knew what it would feel like. I kept pushing through the race, and didn't allow myself to go much slower than 9 minute miles. That was reasonable, and I knew I could continue at that pace without running completely out of steam.

Evil plan tactic #4: Transition Faster.
Last year, I spent over 7 minutes in T1, and over 4 minutes in T2. It doesn't take that freakin' long to take off a wet suit, folks.

I looked at a lot of times this year, and noticed that transitions do make a huge difference. Sure, I want to take some time to reorient myself before jumping into a new part of the race, but it can be done with a bit more urgency.

4 minutes was the maximum amount of time I allowed myself in transition - a reasonable amount of time. I ran through each transition. I used the wet suit shucker guy in T1 (you lay on the ground, and they shuck your wet suit off for you), then raised my voice at a girl on the other side of my bike rack because her helmet was stuck on my derailleur. Finally, I ran up the hill as fast as I could before clicking in, and riding off. In T2, I was literally eating, and putting on my Garmin as I was running out of transition. I knew I could make up for it later.

Transition #2 set up. Since I had to leave my stuff overnight, I took a picture to remember what it looked like. I still ran into the wrong row the day of the race, but I still maintained an < 4 minute transition.

My Evil Plan paid off. Every part of the 70.3 was faster than last year - over 31 minutes faster total. That's a lot.

Swim 2012 - 46:07 / 2013 - 39:55
Transition 1 2012 - 7:02 / 2013 - 3:47
Bike 2012 - 3:09:47 / 2013- 3:04:47
Transition 2 2012 - 4:45 / 2013 - 3:57
Run 2012 - 2:13:22 / 2013 - 1:57:07

Total 2012 - 6:21:15 / 2013 - 5:49:31

What will be my next evil plan?

Trans Tahoe Relay: Sass-tastic

Sass 2.0. Trans Tahoe Relay 2013 - Sassjana, Sassard, Sasstine, K-sass, Sassbrenner, Sassanne, and our Sasscot.

There are a few things in my life that I can't imagine doing, and I can't tell you what they are because, I haven't even imagined what they are yet. One of those things used to be, swimming across Lake Tahoe.

Who does that?

People who swim across Lake Tahoe are those people who grew up swimming, who join masters swim clubs, who grew up next to the ocean, and own boats, and probably like to camp and fish. That was not me. Swimming for me was survival only, even in triathlons. My goal was always to survive the swim, so I could enjoy the rest of the event.

My Trans Tahoe team, Sass 2.0, wracked our brains this weekend trying to remember how we decided to do the 11 mile swim in the first place, and none of us can quite remember how it started. It definitely started with Lis-sass and Lin-sass, and a conversation about extreme sporting events, including Barb's Race. How I got involved is event is even more of a mystery (at least to me). God knows how, with my experience, why anyone would want me to be part of a swim relay. I guess if you have people who believe in you, you just can't refuse. We had a team name - SassMouth, and then like a bunch of school girls, started to incorporate the word sass or sassy into everything we did (sasskipper, sasscot, happensass). We signed up for the Trans Tahoe Relay 2012 on the day registration opened.

What followed was 7 months of training, and worrying about cold ass water. I was training for Barb's Race too, so as long as I followed the 70.3 training plan, and swam in colder water a few times, I would be fine for a 30 minute leg of the TT Relay. Right?

I don't think I mentioned this in my recap last year, but in my first leg swim leg last year, I panicked. I panicked a lot. So much, that I looked up at our captain on the boat, and saw the concern in her face (maybe). This was not an event for me. I had only started to swim, and I was already doing a major swimming event. I had paid for a room, a boat, and for the entire weekend, and I wished that they had scooped me out of the water and back onto that boat that instant. They could do it without me - they were more worthy of the challenge.

Last year: SCARED. This was before the panic.

It was a horrible feeling.

Sure, I put  my head back under and ventured forward, looking up to make sure my friends were still there. I started to feel better, but it was the longest 30 minutes of my life. I tried to focus on my stroke, the beautiful blue water, the sky above, the lovely mountains on both sides. The last 2 minutes, I got a side stitch but gritted my teeth until I could tag my next teammate in the water. The second leg was a lot better - I decided there was no reason to cry about it, and I was up for the challenge, so I pushed ahead. "Now, I have the hang of this!" I thought.

This year's experience was completely different. Most of my fear was logistical - like driving the boat around a bunch of other boats and swimmers. The swim - I wished it could have lasted longer. One of the most amazing 30 + 15 + 10 minutes of my life. After all of the swimming I've been doing, swimming in Tahoe is now my favorite. There is no gross ocean (aka groscean), no walls to stop and turn around at, no algae or duck poop. Just blue water, as far as the eye can see. It's like swimming through a magical blue crystal that kind of smells like gas (from the boats), but it is magical.

Now that the team has no more residual swaying back and forth from our 6 hour adventure, we look ahead to next year. I wonder what kind of swimmer I will be then.

I can't imagine not being able to swim.

This year: PREPARED! It was a perfect 10 kind of a day.

The 10 Commandments of Tapering

1.) Thou shalt have no other goals before me than thine own personal best performance.

2.) Thou shalt not falsify my efforts through self doubt or hold thyself in a negative image.

3.) Thou shalt accept one's shortcomings, but also embrace the times when you ROCKED!

4.) Remember to taper, and keep it holy. You need a little rest.

5.) Honor thy father and mother who giveth thee strength, encouragement, and good athletic genes.

6.) Thou shalt not kill. No killing allowed - even when cranky. Also, no killing yourself with over-training and mental beatings.

7.) Thou shalt not cheat on thy diet. It's not time to start eating massive burritos and drinking wine. Yet.

8.) Thou shalt not steal, unless it is stealing a few more hours of sleep.

9.) Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy equipment. Do not blame bike or shoes for shortcomings.

10.) Thou shalt not covet thy neighbors awesome time. Do YOUR best, not someone elses'.

Weekend Update: screaming quads before the taper

I'm much more calm about Barb's Race this year, so I don't have a lot to write because I'm feeling like an "old hat" at this 70.3 thing. (Ok, that's a stretch.) There just isn't as much internal training drama going on - I have much more confidence and excitement going into this year's race. At this time last year, I was so over it and was picturing myself slogging over the finish line.

This year, I need to focus on not over-training, and allowing myself some easier workout days.

AKA: The Taper.

Monday night was yoga. Oooouuummmmm.

Saturday morning, I put in 60 miles of cycling with a bunch of elevation and in good company; Old La Honda and Kings Mountain in one day. Oh how far I've come since the days of hating other cyclists for climbing past me while having a full-blown conversation! Now I can converse a little while my quads are burning! It's as easy as walking and chewing gum.

Yeah, it's harder than that actually. Do people really have a problem with that?

On Sunday, I ran the Jungle Run half marathon. I almost set a personal record on the Jungle Run course last year, except that I stopped to pee. This year, did not see a PR in my future, and decided I would run as comfortably as possible, and stay in front of the 1:50 pacer, who talked the entire time...

"There is a curve to the right up ahead. . .  You know this one time (insert personal story here). . .  blah blah blah."

Dude, you are a pacer, not a tour guide. Shut it.

I knew my legs would be a little shot from the ride, but my goal this season has been to run against all odds to mentally prepare for the worst on race day. My quads screamed at me during miles 5, 6 and 7 during the half this weekend. Those are usually my favorite miles of the race. But, I have to mentally prepare, because, on the race day, I'll have other types of fatigue to deal with.

Going to a happy place. Positive reflection. Oooouuummmmm.

My bike is haunted

My bike is haunted.

She had a flat within the first 5 minutes of my first ride. Of course I didn't have the proper equipment to change the tire because I hadn't even put a saddle bag on yet.

The breaks made a horrible, dull, squeaky sound. Kind of like an eerie haunting noice... boooowaaaahaaahaaa.

Her seat hurt my butt and other lady areas. It was only after 20 miles that I noticed. There was a very uncomfortable 30+ miles that followed.

She decides to skip the chain when I start pedaling from a complete stop. I try to shift down before I stop, but sometimes, when least expected, the chain jams and I have to pedal backwards to get the chain to engage properly.

After observing these problems, I took her in a few times for adjustments and a tune up. I made sure she was stocked with the proper equipment: saddle bag with plenty of tire repair, water bottles, a place to put food and my phone. Oh, and I replaced the seat the day after that horrible butt catastrophe.

But, on Saturday I dropped my chain. WTF!

I have some theories to why this is happening:

1.) The bike is just new and needs continuous adjustment before it settles. (Kind of like an old house settles, but this is a new house, and, oh never mind...)

2.) New bike's sister - the Griffen - is jealous. They share a room together, and at night, the Griffen pokes little holes in her tires or threatens her by saying, "You'd better not ride as well as me, or I'm going to bend your derailler, biatch!" So, it is actually my other bike that is haunted. Not the new bike.

3.) It's me. I'm having some troubles with the new bike and I just need to figure out what is causing them, then change me, not the bike. Generally she is very nice.

Knowing the situation, and having some idea of adjustments that could be made, I took my bike to a recommended bike fitter yesterday. I talked to the fitter for over an hour, and we tried a bunch of different positions. My bike seems to fit better now, at least while sitting on the trainer inside the store. The fitter agreed that I look more comfortable riding. Hopefully these adjustments will make the difference. Anyway, I will take her out for a ride tomorrow, then ride the Barb's Race course on Saturday. If I still feel like she is haunting me, I may decide to use her evil sister. Or maybe hire an exorcist.