Still waiting..

I tried to find my legs at track on Tuesday night, but they never showed up. I decided I need to cultivate new ones. So I've been riding more the last couple of days. Because that helps the running legs, right? Wednesday night we rode out to the Forest, rushing to beat the sunset, but being stalled briefly by a slow leaking tire. While Jonathan was busy at work...

Laura was busy modeling her cracked sunglasses...

..taking pictures of me...

...and Charlie's mud-splattered helmet. Unfortunately, the photo doesn't do the mud justice, but Charlie's looking particularly Zoolanderish here.

Just after the Xterra race on Saturday, Charlie had mud streaks similar to Andrew's facial mask.

Twelve hours after starting Wednesday night's ride, I showed up at the Peddler ride. Unfortunately I got stuck behind some particularly conscientious riders who stopped at a red light. We never caught back up to the main group; I think I was one of the few who wanted to. But it was a nice ride nonetheless. I thought maybe my running legs were starting to find their way home, but my run afterwards proved they hadn't. So I taught a hard spin class, trying to coerce them into returning. I'll give them a few days off, maybe until my Saturday brick. I trust they're still out there somewhere, hanging out, relaxing, enjoying their vacation. If they don't come back soon, I'll just join them there.

Missing. Reward.

LOST:
One pair of running legs, 1977 model. Short, stocky, top-heavy, a nice shade of winter white. Small dent in left one. Usually very responsive to requests to run faster. Can stay on pace for numerous 400m repeats or during Ironman marathons. Last seen Nov 1, 2008 in Panama City. Owner is distraught over loss. Reward or trade for pair of sitting legs.

naked racing

I didn't do the race naked, as in, without clothing. It would have made it slightly more interesting, I'm sure. I'd have gotten much more sunburned and would have surely been cheered for a bit more. I realize that lots of people race with power meters, garmins, and heart rate monitors. I usually race with just a watch, but managed to forget it for the NOLA 1/2 IM. I was halfway across the mile-wide field on race morning, heading to transition, when I realized what was missing from my attire. At that point I was in no mood to traipse back across the wet grass in my flip flops to dig it out of the car. It's a good thing I didn't waste any time doing that, since the half hour porta potty line made me officially late getting out of transition. I did take the shuttle the mile+ to the starting line, and got there just in time to yank on the wetsuit and find my age group clustered in the corral.

The swim was actually pretty nice. I didn't panic even once, and found a good rhythm right off. I knew to look for the "sausage-shaped buoy" to direct me in to shore, but it never seemed to appear. I swam for an eternity before finally finding the unmistakable buoy. Having no clock at the swim exit, I turned to a girl near me and asked her time. A little slow, but I found out later that the course was long.

The most interesting part of the bike to me was the section that was actually on a small piece of interstate that had been shut down. Now, I've ridden my bike on an interstate before, going the wrong way no less, when somebody took me on I-55 before it turns into Riverside. The race wasn't quite as exciting as that ride, especially since we weren't riding in the dark, but I found it to be slightly entertaining. Except for a couple of bridges, it was completely flat, which makes for some good winds. During the first long out-and-back, we had an excellent tailwind, pushing me to easily ride at 24-25. So I went 26. I thought maybe, just maybe, I was feeling good because I was in decent shape even considering my lack of training for long course. But turning around killed that idea quickly when I realized 16-17mph was going to have to be good enough for this "back" section. I guess that was even pushing it hard, or my stomach was just voicing its opposition to the aero position that hadn't been trained since October; it decided to empty on my leg. At least it was mostly Gatorade. I couldn't decide if I should be proud of myself for riding hard enough to throw up during a race (a first), or worried that I wasn't going to be able to get enough calories in. I decided to be proud, despite the fact that I wasn't pushing all that hard.

Finally back to transition, and out of the wind, I realized that it was getting hot. My face had turned into a salt lick, and having forgotten the beloved tablets, I considered scraping some off my face and reingesting it, or picking up those two that somebody had dropped on the ground. I did neither, and probably suffered just that much more for it.

Not having my watch particularly affected me during the run. I was walking within the first half mile, with cramps taking over my body. At some point along the way I tried to think positively. I went into assessment mode and tried to identify muscles that were NOT seized by cramps. Let's see, cramps in the feet? Check. Calves? Yes. Quads and hammies? Definitely. Skipping the abs, they've been cramping for days. Forearms, shoulders, chest, and back all taken over by cramps. I know, I know! You don't run on your arms! It still makes you suffer! I decided to stop thinking altogether at that point; it just wasn't helping. I think I turned my brain back on with a mile to go when a guy next to me said, "One more mile!" I snapped back to the race and felt hopelessness come over me again. I thought surely I'd just missed the 12 mile mark and was well beyond it. No such luck.

At the finish line, knowing I had started 40 minutes after the pros, I could easily calculate that it was my worst half Ironman finish ever. I didn't really want to run into anyone I knew at that point, but when I saw my teammates, and learned of Maggi's overal WIN!, I got pretty excited. I bragged about her the rest of the day to friends of friends I chatted with while waiting on Gary.

I felt a little worse (I was really THAT slow?) and a little better about my race when I looked at results. Not only had I had an especially tough run, but just about every Memphis guy who raced had trouble as well. There were at least 10 of us who ran in the 1:55-2:05 range. Ouch! There really is something to heat acclimation, and I'm finding the nearest Bikram studio to find out just what. Bring on the Memphis in May heat. I'll be ready.

Race Preparations

Preparing for the very early first half ironman of the year is a bit different from my race preparations of just 2 weeks ago. That race required borrowing a bike, backpack, water bladder, compass, duct tape, headlamp, paddles, et cetera, 3 nights before the race. For the race itself, I had these two fabulous teammates to rely upon to get me from point A to point B (then C, D, and E, followed by A again, then F, G... you get the point).

Olaf and Charlie are hands down the best adventure racing team possible. I think I'm going to ask them along for the New Orleans race. If I can draft off Charlie in the bike and Olaf can encourage me along in the run like at Natchez Trace, I'm winning this thing. My job requirements during the entire 12 hours of racing only consisted of carrying the team ovaries and trying to keep up. Oh, and not complaining for at least the first 6 hours, which I think I did pretty well, right Charlie? The vocalization of my butt bruising was mere fact, not a complaint. I think I kept up pretty well, except that first leg of the bike when the brakes were so tight on my front wheel that I couldn't spin it but 2 inches before it stopped. I tried not to get too stinky by tiptoeing through the mudholes, but that all went out the proverbial window as we trekked through the knee-deep creek. The water was strangely oily-filmed, which I attributed to the underground crude oil pipeline that was coincidentally within a mile of us at all times. I think it helped seal off the thorn wounds on my thighs and shins. No infections arose from all of that good clean dirt being ground into my skin. It was much like a healing mudbath. Or really not so much.

But back to the upcoming race. The only preparations I've made so far, with 5 days to go, are collecting my GUs and various other nutritional aids, and.. um.. well that's it. But it seems so simple to pack for a half ironman after that adventure race and all its required gear. Nobody is going to stop me along this race course and ask to see my knife and matches. But it IS New Orleans, so they might ask me to see something else. At least maybe I'll get some beads out of it.

On the agenda for this week is to find my wetsuit, get down my race wheels, change some cassettes, and pack it all up. Party time!

Happy Birthday Dad!

It's Dad's turn! He's just 6 weeks younger than Mom, and in my opinion has the best birthday. What could be better than having your birthday on the first day of spring?

So one of the many ways Dad is a great dad is his patience with being around girls all the time. He not only had 3 daughters, but when we started acquiring animals, we got all girls-- cat, dog, horses. When we finally found a boy kitten, those two buddied up really fast.

He's surrounded.

The first grandchild to come along was, of course, a girl. But shortly thereafter, Jenny managed to have a boy, who loves his Granddaddy, and wants to do everything he does.



From the time she could talk, one of Emily's favorite things to do was go on an "A-wide" behind Granddaddy's tractor. Here's a picture that Emily took from the hay:

Dad is a man of many talents. Not only is he the best plastic surgeon ever (have you noticed the scar on my head from the time I hit a tree? I didn't think so..), he's also the best steak griller, bush hogger, chili cooker, anything fixer, and ice cream maker ever.

Dad always has a good joke to tell, and from years of working summers at his office, I know that he's known as the practical jokester. He's also a hard worker; he has won numerous awards in plastic surgery and been president of his professional society. He has used his talents doing mission work in countries such as Palau and the Philippines, repairing cleft palates and other surgeries that would otherwise go undone.

I get a lot of traits from Dad. My non-brown eyes (his are green, mine are blue), my fast walking, my fair skin, and the shape of my fingernails (I know it's a weird thing to notice, but they're identical!) are all from Dad. I think I also get my competitiveness and intolerance of really stupid people from him, haha!

Growing up, Dad was my alarm clock, breakfast fixer, and ride to school when I missed the bus. He made my lunches for me every day, and I always loved the smiley faces or notes he would put inside. Just recently I found a smiley face I'd cut from a note years ago and stashed away. Those really made my day!

Dad always makes sure his daughters are taken care of, and if advice is ever needed, he's always there to give solid, practical guidance. He's shaped my life in so many ways, and I'm so lucky to be his daughter! Happy Birthday Dad, I love you!

Posing

When they gave me "elite" status for getting second last year in the Little Rock half marathon, I should've declined. Apparently nobody knew about this race last year, and they were particularly unaware of the large prize purse. "Large," to me is, well, any prize purse. Since I couldn't turn down a free entry to a race I was already going to do, I accepted and entered again. The big E after my number gave me access to the Perks Tent, where the elite racers and those who like to pay for long bathroom lines and "free" cokes went. I forgot to put one of the wristbands on in the morning, so upon entrance I asked if my number, 2013E, would get me in. The woman looked at me with a bewildered expression and said, "YOU'RE elite?" Was it the confused look on my face? The absence of a coach and escort? I KNOW I've gained weight over the winter... the XL saddlebags? Anyway, thanks. I was already feeling like I didn't belong.

I was supposed to start off slowly, at a 7:10 pace for the first 3 miles. It seemed like forever before the first mile mark, and before looking at my watch I thought, hmmmm, I've probably gone out too fast given my labored breathing and RPE. Nope! I was almost right on: 7:14. The same thing happened for miles 2 and 3. Miles 3-12 were mostly a long, drawn-out blur of pain. I would say it was all downhill from there, but there were in fact some nice uphills and false flats. There were a few bright spots along the way. I had a nice chat with a champion masters runner who'd done an ultra 2 weeks ago. A couple of other men ran with me for a while and worked on a business deal between miles 8 and 9. I should've just given up around 10 when the guy with plaid boxers and a basketball jersey passed me going up the hill. I would've if I hadn't passed him back on the next flat. Coming up on 12 miles, I could make out the figure of a female in front of me. I was actually gaining on her. With 3/4 mile to go, I made my move. I felt like I was running at 400m pace; the problem was that I had 3 of those to go. I passed her easily, but soon after realized my vision was blurring and I wasn't running straight. A few yards later, she fluidly overtook me for 11th place female. A PW for the last 5 years or so, but hey, who's counting?

After crossing the finish line, it was I, not she, who was greeted by the elite coordinator and escorted in my clothespinned mylar blanket to the Perks Tent, where a massage therapist was waiting on me. With the massage and recovery pizza I said farewell to my elite status and limped back to the car.

I Quit Winter

I've had enough of coldness and rainy days and sweaters and gloves. I can't even roll my window down at a drive-thru without my Raynauds kicking in. I just want to go outside and run with no north wind making my last 11 minutes up Mud Island a tear-inducing, chin-numbing experience, like it was yesterday. Yesterday's high was approximately 35 degrees colder than Tuesday. So not only is it still winter, but we get teased by spring every so often, just making it that much worse when we have to dig out those sweaters we already put away again.

But the conditions at the downtown Y pool remain the same: warm and humid with good artificial lighting. There are always 4-5 people in each lane by the time I get there at 5:40(ish), and they've finished all but 100 or so yards of warm up. The water's always the same temperature; I'm guessing it's about 82F. It feels slightly cool when you first jump in, but gets to feeling a little warm by the main set. If I'm in Barb's lane, she'll be insisting on going last. Jonathan's always smiling and going last (ahem, skipping out) on the kick sets, and MC shows up later than I do- yay, I'm not last! I have to have Rob repeat the set instructions at least three times to get through to my foggy brain. Sometimes I throw everybody off by getting there at 5:30; I don't think they recognize me then. I manage to stand around and chat or adjust my goggles on those days until I've missed the warm up anyway. After swim is a hot shower while chatting with Damie in the next shower over, then it's off to a reward coffee before spin. It's all very routine, but that's part of why I like it.

Swimming seems to be the only training I blog about lately. Probably because my training mostly consists of swimming and a little running here and there. The next two weekends will be filled with racing, though, and there will be hours and hours to report about. The Little Rock half marathon is Sunday, which hopefully will not be multiple hours long, and will also hopefully have me finishing smiling and with a huge pink diamond in hand, if not a ginormous check to go with it like last year.

Upon scrutiny of this picture, I'm relieved to see that my left quad had a large dent in it last year at this time. For weeks I've been worrying that it's a new oddity. What a relief.

The weekend after the half marathon is the Natchez Trace Adventure Race in Jackson, which, as the name implies, should provide hours of adventure and maybe some racing thrown in. I may leave that race reporting up to Charlie, who seems to be able to remember event details even while extremely dehydrated and/or miserable. Me, I get a little hypoglycemic and my mind blanks out. Protective mechanism. That's why I keep going back for more.