World's Shortest Race Report

First road race in the books!!!! Harder in some ways than I expected; easier in others.  Never even got ON the pack to get shaken; had to do the whole thing alone.  STILL, this was my fastest solo ride WITHOUT the luxury of aerobars and only 1 mph slower than my fastest ride EVER of this distance. 

Interesting lessons learned:

1. A lot of recreational riders ride Trek, but a LOT of the racers ride Specialized.
2. Need more bikes!  Wish I had a bike for road races and crits, and another one just for time trials and triathlons.
3. Biggest rule of bike racing isn't STAY with pack, it's GET WITH PACK FROM THE BEGINNING!  When the start goes off, they GO LIKE BATS OUT OF HELL.
4. Going to do a few road races before I attempt ANY crit.

Finally, BIGGEST lesson learned:

Cyclists go hard.
Harder than marathoners.
Harder than triathletes.

I want to be a cyclist when I grow up.

Next week I have a 5k.  My goal is to go like a cyclist.

More to follow later in the week, I am SURE.



Week in Song Lyrics is a Repeat: Breathe Caroline's I'm Only Getting Started

Caught up and I can't feel my hands

No need to chase
Can you relate?
Can you keep up the pace like you're dying for this?.....
I'm only getting started
I won't blackout
(This time I've got nothing to waste)
Let's go a little harder
(I'm on fire)
I won't blackout
I'm on my way
I'm only getting started

2012 DeLand Spring Fling of Cycling Road Race: Pre-Race Report

Here I am, on the eve of my very first cycling race.  I am prepared as I will ever be; I even took the aerobars off Ruby so she will look like a real road bike and not a tri-bike. 

I have little idea of what to expect tomorrow, but I do know that I am going into this with rested legs and MORE endurance than I need, and a good tolerance for racing in the red (Remember, I'm Only Getting Started, Go Hard or Go Home, and Pain Cave?) My coach(es) (yes, I annoyed the hell out of my friend who has raced P1/2 for tips) told me specifically not to get too feisty with the attacking.

Road racing is different than anything I've ever done before.    You don't have to get up at ass'o'clock, for one thing: you don't even race until 8:30am, and that's only if you're racing Pro 1/2 and you're a man. Us Cat 3/4 ladies go at 11:30 and the Pro 1/2 ladies and Cat 4 men go out around 1. (Tell me THAT isn't awesome). Race fees are a good bit cheaper. You get to draft. You only do one sport. The races are considerably shorter (1-2 hours in most cases until you start getting Pro.) 

Road races are definitely not as popular as the other stuff I've done; I hardly know anyone doing this race, and many of the people I know doing it are way more experienced and even race on legit teams and the whole 9. It really is MY DAY. (With all the other crap flying around me, I could use a ME day.)

In any case, both coaches gave me the following advice.

Important Rule for Cycle Racing Virgins: Your first and most important objective is to have fun, followed by this: be safe and try not to get shaken from the pack.

Okie dokie.  Now we know what my goal is for tomorrow.


By now we know that racing (and life) don't always present us with the best of circumstances on the eve of a big event.  I'd like to be well-rested, massaged, and pumped.  But I don't feel good and I've had a hard training week.  I've spent the past month planning special events at work to try to shake up (and hopefully improve?) campus life. I'm trying to concentrate on the Fourth Discipline, I have major research deadlines, and am currently sifting through thousands of pieces of data as well as dozens of student assignments. (I'm surprised I'm even taking the time to write this, but if I didn't take a break for awhile, I'd probably suffer even further sanity loss.)

The funeral was way harder than I expected. I was severely depressed, and I am still recovering from what was my first real funk since before my thryoidectomy. My toe arthritis is acting up thanks to all the standing (especially in grass, in high heels) at the burial and wake. I am overwhelmed with the mental and emotional strain.

But I've done a marathon feeling like this before, and that lasted 5.5 hours; this is less than half that.  And tomorrow I don't have to be up at 3 or 4 a.m. like I do on a Marathon or Triathlon Eve.


Still, with all this going on, I found myself thinking how the hell did I get here?

The answer is that I got here, not just to the eve of my first road race, but into everything I've been doing the past few months, the fundraising, the knee-deep work and projects and research and special events - all of it - because I never stop challenging myself.   Yeah, maybe I am a bit overwhlemed.  And yeah, sometimes I bite off more than I can chew.  And (at least in the case of this road race) sometimes I may very well suck at something and wear myself out, but I will be able to rest soon enough.

I knew that cycling was my strength, and that I wanted to explore it more, and that I wanted to get even stronger.  And I kept saying some day I will do a century, some day I will be an A rider, some day I will do cycling races.  Some day, some day, some day.

Well, some day may never come.
I got a taste this week of the bitter reality that life really can end at any moment.  It doesn't matter if you're young, healthy, or cancer-free, or aging, frail, and brittle.  It can happen at any time, to anyone.  Knowing that, I feel like I owe it to myself to live outside my comfort zone.

I feel like we all owe it to ourselves to never, EVER stop challenging ourselves. In many cases, the challenge will be the hardest work you've ever imagined. But, whether you realize your plans or NOT, just making the effort will move you much farther along than you hiding yourself in familiarity. 

Life is too short to be stagnant. Reach out, branch out, way beyond your comfort zone, and see just how great you can be. I promise you this: you're capable of much more than you ever imagined.

I am an athlete. . . .

Stop thinkin' you don't belong here.

You are where you are 'cause you hardly move.

The music is not gonna stop, take your eyes off the chair

Cause there are others who are under the same impression as you

How many seats can the rock bottom accomodate?

One too many people who share nothing but views

Misery is willing to keep company with those who don't ever walk a mile in their own shoes

-Sage Francis, Stuck

If you can't relate to the lyrics of this song, let me break it down for you the way I do, in two parts: the first is about belonging. It ties nicely into the second part, but before we get there, think about this: in almost every race I enter, I feel like a fraud. Like an imposter. I don't belong here. I'm not fast or experienced and I'm probably likely to come in Dead Last if I'm not careful. But this is the case with many age group athletes. A lot of us feel we're not as worthy of racing as our faster, leaner colleagues - or as the elites and pros. Like we're not real athletes because we aren't out breaking records and cashing checks.

Which leads me to the second part, which is all about accountability. Self-accountability. This is not to be confused with self-pity, nor is it to say that part of being fast and lean isn't genetic or financial. I'm sure all of us could be speedier with better genetic structure and fancier equipment. But the truth is, we all belong where we put ourselves, especially when we're "hardly moving," or not capitalizing on the strengths we DO have. Accountability is not woe is me. Accountability is about being true to yourself, even when it hurts. (Go visit that link for a coach's take on keepin' it real - she elucidates those thoughts a lot better than I do.)

Remember my saying "there are no victims, only volunteers"? Well, that's what I hear when Sage Francis says 'misery is willing to keep company with those who don't ever walk a mile in their own shoes.' A constant self-assessment (standing back and examining ME as if I were NOT me) has always been a significant part of my attempt(s) to better myself. Basically, if you're not where you want to be, and you carefully examine how you got there, you'll uncover that you were at the helm of the ship the entire time, Captain. You may not have chosen the port, but you sure as hell laid the course that brought you there.

Over the past year, I've met a few other remarkable athletes who suffered from similar health problems to mine, and I can't tell you how refreshing and inspiring it was. One of them was at the Marine Corps Half last winter, which we ran in rain and mud the whole way. When he discovered I had health issues, he completely agreed with me that training keeps him feeling "normal," and he confessed that he was severely diabetic and ran to help lose weight and control it. He was a twig,so he must have lost plenty, and he was fast, so he smoked he around mile 6. Last weekend, it was Matt at Fort De Soto, who has the opposite problems I do: FAST heart beat, diabetes and HIGH blood pressure. He had also lost weight and gained perspective through his training.

The important part of this whole dissertation is cleverly hidden in the very first sentence: "a few other remarkable athletes." What's so special about that sentence? Well, for one, despite the odds against them, these people were, indeed - ARE, indeed - athletes. And by calling them "other" athletes, I'm admitting what The Dude and many others have been trying to get me to admit for the past two years.

I do belong here. I am an athlete.

My very first blog on the Hal Higdon forums was called "Against All Odds." My Story here on blogspot was also called "Against All Odds." And now I have to walk a mile in my own shoes. I have to keep it real. I have to put down the Martyr Flag. It doesn't make me any more or less courageous that I triumph over tragedy. It doesn't make me any more or less motivated, engaged, energetic or important. It just makes me human.

I am an athlete.

Strip away all the mental and emotional turmoil. Remove all the medicines and struggles. Take away the degrees, honors and awards. And what you have is exactly what you have: an age-group athlete trying to enjoy a few races. Not despite anything. Not against any odds. Just because it makes me feel good and I like to do it.

Maybe I'm not winning awards and money. Maybe I'm not able to do everything the other athletes do because of my physical limiters. But I'm still doing it, so thinking I don't belong is going to get me where it's always gotten me - not belonging. Walk a mile in your own shoes, Meggan Ann: you'll find out pretty fast that you're an athlete.

I forget who said it first, but what you think becomes what you say, what you say becomes what you do, and what you do becomes what you are.

I am an athlete.

And a pretty damn happy one, judging from these pictures.

Ramblings of the sick and JACKASSES in TRANSITION

I am sick. Again.

Shocked? I'm not.

I have a cold . .. sore throat, sniffles, cough, sinus headache, the whole 9. Between that, being low on sleep the past few days and trying to raise my running partner, I am about as dog-tired (no pun intended) as you can get. I feel so shitty I can barely compose the thoughts that are insanely chasing themselves around in my head. My house is a wreck and I don't have the energy to do anything with it. I shuffled around some clothes and did some laundry. Tidied up a bit in the kitchen and had a bowl of my famous it-came-out-of-the-box-but-is-lowfat-and-has-real-cheese-mac-and-cheese. Passed what looked like a stain on my new carpet and tried halfheartedly to clean it. Looked down and realized the floor needs a sweeping but sat down to watch the puppy play instead. Couldn't go anywhere without the pup, so I tried to get Kona to pee outside a million times and play with him so he would pass out for a few hours. (Getting up with him is not so bad because The Dude will come by after work - he gets off around 2am - and spend some play and potty time with him. Then I can sleep until work time again.)

I'm supposed to do my first du this weekend - remember, the one I moved because I was so sick *different sick though* last month? That one. I've decided not to go coached until I go Iron, and when I do, I'm going with a local coach. One issue is that I just can't get financially stable enough since the divorce to do it right now. Another issue is that I need the face-to-face, in-person interaction more than the mental coaching. All having a coach seemed to do was put added pressure on me - as well-meaning as that pressure is - pressure I probably need in the long run - but the truth is, I'm rough enough on myself. (Remember, I'm the one who feels as if I manifested my own illnesses by somehow being less of a human being.)

I probably need a shrink more than I need a coach. OK, NO ONE'S ALLOWED TO RENT NEGATIVE SPACE IN YOUR HEAD, REMEMBER - NOT EVEN YOU!!?

NO VACANCY.
NO VACANCY.
NO VACANCY.

Truly, with all my issues this year, it's just not a good year for me to get "serious" about the sport. If I was a stay-at-home wife or a mom who went to school instead of working, or just stayed at home PERIOD, I'd have more schedule flexibility (don't think I'm saying this means I'd have more TIME). But right now, if I don't get in a workout because I'm too sick to wake up an hour or two early, that also means I can barely get through a workday, come home to throw in a load of laundry and feed my pets before I start to LITERALLY collapse at night. Some nights I don't even get dinner. (Which is why I'm sitting here instead of doing something that requires me to stand up and move around).

So I'll stick with club workouts and try to make some triathlon buddies until I get super-serious. Let's face it, I'm not going to Kona. *Well, unless he whines to get out of his cage.*

Which leads me to my RANT about JACKASSES racking their SHIT on top of YOURS in TRANSITION. Listen, ASSHOLES, I know you have dreams of winning your age group, and I know you probably, unlike me, actually have a CHANCE, but you are COSTING the person behind you MINUTES AND MINUTES by kicking their things over and throwing your things on top of them - not to mention potentially DAMAGING them. I understand we alll want to get through transition quickly, but just because YOU would rather GAIN 30 SECONDS does not give you the right to COST some other poor schmoe behind you 90. Besides, for all YOU know, they're only behind you because their wave started after yours, and they're going to kick your ASS on the run ANYWAY. Just because you can afford all the time and gear and training to make you faster does NOT give you the right to make someone else slower. Besides, it's Just Plain Respect. Get in and out as quickly and neatly as you can so that everyone else can, too. Let's face it. No one is running Escape from Ft. De Soto or HOT to win a place in the World Championship.

Thus concludes my cranky, sick rant for the day. Sorry. Being without exercise and sleep make me esceptionally pissy.

Escaping from Fort De Soto (with a PR, no less)

(What's with the spacing and formatting lately, blogspot??)

When you're at the end of your first race of the season, and you're going a lot slower than you'd like, and you've only passed one person, and the volunteer around the last mile tells you, "Don't look back - there's no one behind you," what's the first thing you think?

C'mon, quick.

Holy *%&^ - I'm last. I can't believe I'm THAT slow.

Well, that's what I thought, anyway. "That's MEAN!!!" I shouted. Then the guy tells me, "There's a whole pack of people behind you. They're all WAY behind you. Trust me. No one's even close."

ME??? AHEAD OF SOMEONE?!?!?!! I'm a SUPASTAH!

But, I digress.

PRE-RACE

First of all, let me just mention that I LOVE THIS VENUE. My very first tri was here, and the beach at Fort De Soto is, quite possibly, one of the most beautiful beaches I've ever seen. And the Mad Dogs are one of the coolest tri clubs I've ever met. I want to BE a Mad Dog. (Hell, I'm already a Crazy Bitch!)

I also had my first real sherpa for this race. The Dude - by a stroke of luck - got the night off and went with me to the race. The problem is, I didn't get off work, get finished packing, eat and get on the road until about 8pm. Which means, by the time I scoped the sight real quick-like and got to bed, it was 11 or 12. Getting up at 4am for a race is not fun when you don't get to bed till 11 or 12. And, if you know me, you KNOW how superstitious I am about my pre-race routine, especially having a low race number, getting to bed ass-early and having my race packet the night before. So I got up with a serious case of race crank. Thankfully, The Dude helped me with everything: packet pickup, packing, unpacking, getting my foot-washing water, and jamming out to my loud pre-race music on the way to the race, at 5 in the morning, as if he does this every weekend. It was like we went to a party and a race broke out.

My goals for this race were low. This was a B-C priority for me, a warm-up for St. Anthony's, which is a warm-up for Florida Half Ironman. And I have been in and out of the hospital in the past few weeks. And I generally do my worst at Sprint distance. So, my goal for the swim was 15-17 minutes, given that my last sprint-distance swim was 750m in 17:36, and I wasn't as bad-ass of a swimmer as I am now. My bike goal was light - under 40 minutes. And my run goal was 45 minutes - I've never managed an 11-minute mile in triathlon, only stand-alone foot-races, but my running's been pretty strong. In short, I didn't want to push it. This was more of a workout for me than a race. Under two hours total, and I'd be happy.

SWIM

I had a major case of the Race Jitters, and I knew the second I did my water warm-up that this swim was going to SUCK A#$. I was completely dizzy in the water. My vertigo had me all wacked out. And I was just. Slow. As. Hell. Instead of passing people in the waves before me, I got to be the jerk who got passed by waves behind me. I had to pee in the water. It was the slowest swim I've ever done in ANY triathlon in my LIFE. Then T1 was about a half-mile run from the swim. Also the slowest T1 of my life. (Although NO ONE escaped from this T1 unscathed because it was so long.) So I kept singing one of the songs they'd played before the race (Disco Inferno): "I heard somebody say, 'burn, baby, burn' . . ."

BIKE

The bike was almost as bad. I couldn't get my groove AT ALL. I had to pee the whole time (I always do on the bike), but people were all around me. So I fell back to my race strategy and just gave it a moderate effort: one Gu, no real hustle. (Heart rate monitors are so worth the money for keeping you on your race strategy.) I was definitely BOP'ing (Back-of-the-Pack'ing) it.

At one point, I passed ONE person - a stronger cyclist in his 70's. "On your left," I grunted. "Be my guest," he retorted with a grin. "Oh, don't worry," I told him. "You'll be passing me." "What, is there a downhill coming up that I don't know about?" "Yep," I yelled over my shoulder, at about 17 mph. "It's called me bonking." Which I did less than 200m later. "Oh no!" He laughed as he flew by. "It's the dreaded Lance-Armstrong-ist!!!"

(Did I mention I want to be him when I grow up?)

Toward the final turn, I thought it was time to dismount, so I was already unstrapping my shoes. Turns out I still had a half-mile around the corner, so I couldn't really give a "final push" because I was what my mom would call "barefooted as a yard dog." (Or, maybe in this case, as a Mad Dog??) I know I didn't do this in under 40 minutes, but I had bumped my "lap" button on my HRM, so I couldn't tell.

I heard somebody say, 'burn, baby, burn' . . .

WARNING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SEPARATE, PISSED-OFF BLOG ENTRY ABOUT MUTUAL ATHLETE RESPECT IN TRANSITION, ESPECIALLY PEOPLE THROWING THEIR BIKE ON TOP OF YOURS, THROWING THEIR WETSUITS AND SHOES AND CRAP ON TOP OF YOURS.THIS COST ME A WHOLE MINUTE IN T2.

RUN

So much for under two hours. Now I'd have to run 4 miles in 30 minutes or less to make that goal. My fastest 5k footrace is about 32 minutes, so 4 miles in 30 just ain't gonna happen. I realized one of my worst race limiters, too: THE TINKLES. I have to pee THE WHOLE RACE LONG. And then that's all I can think about. On the run, after finally getting to pee, I met a really cool guy named Matt - who's doing FL 70.3 for the second time in May - and we chatted for almost a mile, which perked me up considerably. So I actually figured I'd do well on the run. But then, just after mile two, we came around the corner of the fort, and the volunteer cheering us on said something like, "there's water just up the steps, guys."

Excuse you? What steps?

I seem to have forgotten that this race is called Escape from Fort De Soto. So I should have expected to actually ESCAPE FROM Fort De Soto at some point. Up the steps, across the top of the fort, down the steps, AND ACROSS THE SAND FOR OVER A MILE. Thankfully, it was pretty hard-packed sand, so it wasn't too rough. But there was no shade, which was pretty painful - thank GOD this is April, not August like last year's Hammerhead Olympic. Nothing I could do from there but have fun, so I kept singing.

I heard somebody say, 'burn, baby, burn' . . .

Past the cool volunteer who told me no one was behind me. A mile left. All of a sudden, finish line in sight. There's my sherpa. He actually expected me to keep up with his skinny, 8-minute-mile-running behind for the last 400m. I crossed the finish line. The clock said 2:11-something. My very first sprint, last year, was 2:10:05.

I just had my ass handed to me. No, scratch that. I just handed my own ass to myself.

But what did I expect? Really? I mean, I didn't push. I sang to myself almost all the way. So I felt great. I wasn't sore, wasn't dragging ass, wasn't tired . . . . of course, I couldn't eat till a few hours after, but that's me with any workout over 30 minutes.

And then I realized that I was in the 3rd wave.

Which means I was 6-9 minutes behind the start.

Which means I just PR'd.Without trying.

Despite my worst swim ever.

And The Tinkles.

After just being in the hospital and missing weeks of training since December 31.

As my dad likes to say when we watch football (which happens pretty much every week), "We don't care if it's ugly - we'll take it."

What a great time. Now The Dude wants to do triathlons too.

The volunteer toward the last mile came up to me after the race. "Do you remember me?" he said.

"Of course I do!"

"Remember when I said there was no one behind you?"

"Yep."

"And you took it negatively."

"Sure did."

"But I didn't mean it that way. Everyone behind you wasn't even in sight."

"You're right."

"Don't ever let anyone rent negative space in your head."

"You're right."

"We'll see you next time."

You bet your ass you will.

My run saved my race. That really sticks with me. The lower mileage and higher cross-training seem to do my body well. But what that volunteer told me is what really stuck with me, so you can expect me to write all about it for months to come. My worst race limiter is not THE TINKLES at all. My worst race limiter is that I DO let people rent negative space in my head. And the biggest tenant is ME. Even with The Tinkles: if I didn't think about it so damn much, I wouldn't have to pee so damn bad.

From now on, the week of a race - any race, practice or not - I'm going to put signs all over my house, my desk, my car if I have to. I'm going to tape one to the handlebars of my bike. I'm going to sing it to myself.

NO VACANCY.

NO VACANCY.

NO VACANCY.

No one's renting any negative space in my head. Not even me.

So yes. I'm still slow. And NO. I'm still not racing Athena again just so I can get a trophy.

The Official "Hey, At Least I Wasn't Last and I PR'd" Results:

# 167 Meggan Johnson 29 Orlando FL

PLACE: 47 out of 48 in my age group, 849 out of 850-something overall

SWIM: 25:18

T1: 5:34

BIKE: 40:24

T2: 2:51

RUN: 52:01 (MY FASTEST RUN IN ANY TRIATHLON TO DATE.)

FINISH: 2:06:06

PR: Around 4 minutes.

Was it the run that saved me, or was it the disco? You decide.

I heard somebody say burn, baby, burn . . .

Packing List

Ok, so Saturday is my first race of the season.

I don't think you heard me.

I said, it's the first race of the season.

And I have the race jitters like you would not believe.

What the hell? I've done this three years now. And the distance of this race doesn't even come close to the distances at which I'm training. It's a 1/2 mile swim - about 850yds. I've been swimming over 2000 for so long that 850 could be my warmup. It's a 10-mile bike. When I'm lazy, I ride 12 or 13 just to say I did something. It's a 4-mile run. When I'm really dragging ass, I get close to 5. I've even done a super sprint from this same location, with almost no training whatsoever, back when I thought swimming 1km was a big deal.

I. SHOULD. NOT. BE. AFRAID.

But I am.

I almost wish I'd done my first du, sick and all, just to get the first-race jitters out of the way. And no one really understands how sick I was, so to say that is saying something HUGE.

I have the Race Jitters.

So, here is what I shall do to calm my Nancy Ass down. I shall make my packing list. Nothing makes me less jittery, besides telling myself this is Just Another Workout and Straight Up Doing the Damn Thing, than getting good and organized.

Soooooo . . . . here we go!!!


Pre-Race Packing and To-Do's

• Clothes for before the race
• Directions to race site
• Directions to packet pickup site
• Figure out course
• Book hotel
• Clif bars
• Bananas
• Oatmeal
• Honey or agave nectar
• COFFEE, milk and sweetener
• Set 3 alarms
• 5-hour energy
• Meds
• Bike tune-up/once-over
• All bags packed and hatches battened down!!
• Check in to hotel and get to bed early
• Lay out food and outfit
• Double-check transition bag

Set-Up Packing and To-Do's

• USAT Card
• Sunscreen
• Transition bag
• BODY GLIDE
• Two towels (BRIGHT) and anything else bright to stick to bike
• Race numbers (affixed to everything!!!)
• Championchip (and strap)
• Watch and HR monitor
• Tri outfit
• Bra
• Goggles
• Swim cap
• Anti-fog stuff
• Water to rinse feet

T1/ Set-Up Packing and To-Do's

• Black sharpie
• Flip flops
• Sweatshirt
• Water to rinse feet
• Bike (with all repair tools in bento box!!)
• Food bar in Bento box or Gus in this case
• Pump
• Helmet
• Sunglasses
• Bike shoes
• Safety pins
• Race # belt with Gu pouch (strapped to bike)
• Bottles of water
• Bottles of Clif shot
• Gus

T2/ Set-Up Packing and To-Do's

• Race number
• Lip balm?
• Running shoes
• Socks
• Baby powder
• Water/Gu/Clif shot
• Place to store wet gear
• Post-race pack-up

I be thinkin' that's about it.

JITTTTTTEEEERRRSSSSSS.......

Shoo, shoo, Retarded Flu

Yeah, it got me. Not Howard Stern's infamous Retarded Flu, just THE FLU. Doctor's orders: rest and fluids. It always happens the week before a race. Not to give you TMI, but I've struggled with nausea, diarrhea, low-grade fevers and fatigue now for almost a week. Now my closing is postponed . . . again.

And just when I was getting ahead. Poopysticks.

Well, I'm back on it this afternoon. We'll see how it feels!

Du WHAT?

DISCLAIMER: terrible puns ahead.

Ok, now that we got THAT out of the way. This weekend I buy my first house. Next weekend I do my first duathlon. It's a weekend of firsts, but there are many more firsts to come this year.

I'm not intimidated by the du, although I always feel a little nervous about the firstr ace of the year, just because I need to get my race legs under me again. It's a sprint - 5k run, 12.4-mi bike, 5k run. It gives me a chance to take a short road trip. The weather is nice. My cycling has been strong. And I'm really looking forward to du-ing it. (Har, har, har.) I also have the flu. My stomach has been upset for days and I've had fevers, too. It sucks, but there's nothing I can du about it. I keep on keeping on.

I'll be here all night, try the veal.

Spin, Spin Sugar . . . and the NEWS

Ok, so yesterday I did it. My first spin workout. And let me just say two words: holy crap.

Maybe it was because I haven't cycled in so long, maybe it was because Hector is a tough coach, but either way . . . that was a serious ass-kicking. It was about a 30-40 minute spin workout followed by strength. It was fun as hell, and everything everyone said it would be (except that I don't think my ass hurt as bad as Duane's! LOL!) There was good music, black lights, cool people. (And, in case you were wondering, I dressed perfectly - some older sneakers with my Philly Marathon tee and some tri shorts.) I could have brought my cycling shoes and clipped in, too, but I am pretty sure the clips were speedplay. It's been so long since I stared at my pedals that I didn't really recognize them. (Isn't that sad? Good thing it won't last long.)

I'm really enjoying the group workouts so far. Granted, I've only done two, and the social aspect is immensely uncomfortable because of my inherent shyness, but I am doing it. Today was a swim - coached this time - and I couldn't wait to hear some of Hector's tips on swimming - but I elected to sleep in. I don't want to attack this first week too aggressively, hit every single workout at 100%, and burn out before I get to my peak. I have a long 6 months of training ahead of me and I want to ease into it, do it right and have a good time. I'm ready to get down to running, too, which we haven't done yet as a group.


There is another reason I am not completely diving in, too, and it involves my very big NEWS. I made the decision this week (like my tri-sister Jayme) to enlist the help of the one . . . the only . . . Elizabeth Fedofsky, also known as the ELF. I don't know yet how this will jive with my club workouts, but you'd best believe that I'll do whatever The Elf tells me to do. I've been fighting with myself for a very long time about getting a coach. Of course because it means budgeting is tighter, but also because . . . well . . . this sounds kind of stupid when I say it outloud, but I'm going to say it nonetheless. Yes, I wanted to be one of those self-assisted phenoms that rose to age-group placement in races armed with a few books, some friends on some forums, and a general knowledge of and love for the sport. I've realized, however, that I can't do it alone - not with everything else I have going on in my life, and not during my first year of major-distance races. My official training with her begins in January.

So, stay tuned, ladies and goims. I'm sure I'll have more updates as the weeks and months progress.

Aaaaaaand . . . . GO!!!!

This morning I did my first club workout. Very intimidating for someone who's never belonged to any club or group in her life, except those nerdy societies into which one automtically gets inducted upon completion of a certain score or goal. I felt like Tea during her first club workout. I kept thinking, "What do they think of me? Will they like me? Are they laughing cause they're all so buff? They probably think I suck. This is a non-coached workout, but should I follow everyone else or knock this s(#*t out just like I'd do on my own?" (The latter won, by the way.)Tomorrow I get to do my first indoor spinning class - which begs two questions . . . 1)How does someone who's been working out since she was 18 and racing for two years, manage to *never* spin indoors? and 2)WTF *does* one wear to an indoor spinning class. Is it like riding my bike outside, sans special shoes? Or what?

Yeah, go ahead and laugh at me. I am. I feel brand-newbish all over again.

So, this is the moment when I remind myself that the Meggan of a year ago would never have *imagined* a 2200yd swim workout, especially not as her "warmup" for the season. Even 10 years ago, when I first started swim/bike/running just for fun, my workouts were a 2-mile run, a 10-mile ride an maybe a 200 to 400yd swim. But not this morning. Several sets of drills, about an hour and 15 minutes gone by, and all of a sudden I had logged 2300 yds.

But who's counting that warm up lap? Not me.

The Athena Strategy

Well, I've talked to a lot of people over the past few months about my Athena strategy. I've alluded, hinted and muttered about it. So I've decided it's time to go public.

I will not be racing as an Athena next season.

Wh-wh-what?!

I have a number of different reasons for doing this, and let me preface this by saying I have nothing against my Athenas out there who race Athena; let me also say I am not embarrassed to announce my weight at races. No, there are other reasons.

First, if (and when) I place in my age group and/or win more awards (because I will, eventually, even if it's when I'm 60, dammit), I want it to be because I am fast. Period. Not because I am fast for someone over 145 pounds, not because the class was so small that there was no one to really compete with, but because I am fast. Second, this is one of few times in my life I've weighed over 145 pounds and I'm sick of it. By the time St. Anthony's comes, I won't qualify for an Athena weigh-in.

That's right, you heard me.

Not I don't want to or I'm going to try to but I WILL NOT QUALIFY FOR AN ATHENA WEIGH-IN BY SPRING.

How ya like them apples?!

It's painful to be a winner: Pictures of the Award

It's painful being a winner. I can barely walk today. Oh, did I mention school starts tonight and I'll have to wander around campus, getting my books and hobbling back and forth from 3-hour classes?

I'm waiting on the pictures of the race to be published, but here is the award. You're damn right I'm making a fuss over it . . . it's my first award in triathlon. It'll have a pic of me in it eventually.

Did I forget to mention that Camp Blanding is where my dad trained when he was in the Army National Guard before he transferred to the Air Force? More good karma, I guess.

RACE REPORT: The Acccidental Champion

26.2k
The first part of this race report shall be devoted to the V-Team 26.2 k. The weekend's 26.2k report is brought to you via the Hammerhead Olympic Triathlon (aka HOT). My total distance was actually 51.5k, but 51.5/2=25 and change, and I warmed up for an additional couple of kilometers, so can we call it "two loops" of 26.2k? I think so. Also, I think there were exactly 262 finishers. As Hal says, what's a dot between friends?

Race Info
This was quite a small race compared to my usual events, but ran very well. The swim is in beautiful Kingsley Lake on Camp Blanding National Guard Training Center. It's one of those crystal-clear lakes so RARELY found in Florida - you can see all the way to the bottom, nearly to the second buoy of the 1.5k swim. The race was supposed to start at 7:30am, but fog was so thick you could barely see the first buoy, so the RD wisely opted to delay start until 8am. The bike is almost completely flat, with 2 or 3 very small hills. And the run is also almost completely flat, except for one nice steep hill right around mile 4. As the name leads you to believe, it is HOT'r'n'hell. Temps today got up to 91 degrees, but are typically 5-8 degrees higher. Aid stations on the run are nearly every mile, offering gatorade, water, ice cold wet sponges, and even gels at mile 4 at the top of said hill.

Pre-Race
I was number 77. Originally I was 306, but for some reason they changed me to 77. Now, I must tell you that I am EXTREMELY superstitious when it comes to sports. Almost abnormally superstitious. The lower the race number I have, the better I seem to do. I know, I know - lower race numbers usually mean you registered earlier, which means you have more time to preapre. But the last really long race I ran was the OUC Half Marathon and I was number 99 - despite IT band injuries and illnesses that kept me from training, I did quite well. So here I was with number 77. I was convinced it was a sign. Add that to the fact that my parents, husband and race mentor were all there - for the first time. My husband has only ever been to one race, and my parents and Dawn, never.

Race Goals
This was my first Olympic triathlon, but it was my 5th (4th finished) tri. This was the longest race I have ever done next to my half marathon. Now, some may say, with all my health conditions, competing in endurance races is not a wise idea. But I firmly believe racing keeps me alive. So I shot for a race time of 4hours. I figured it would break down like this:

• Swim: 40 minutes (originally my goal was 45 but I got gutsy)
• Bike: 2hrs
• Run:1:1

If I was lucky, this would put me at a total of just under 4 hours. Here's what REALLY happened.

Race Day
I'm up at 4:30am. I get to transition in perfect time to get racked, do a warm up bike, run, and swim, stretch a little, pee several times, eat a Clif bar, two bananas, and a 24-oz bottle of Clif Shot. A little coffee and some 5-hour Energy and I'm good to go.

Swim
I love the swim. It's my favorite part. I am a slow but very strong swimmer. Swim never intimidated me when I started doing triathlons. The race start, however, is delayed until 8am because of the fog; fine, just leave me out in the sun longer (but really a wise decision by the race director when I think about it.) I'm in the water with the Clydesdales, Athenas, relay and military. I hang out near the edge/side as always, and am the last one to get going (as always). But, as I slide into the water, I get my rhythm quickly. I'm breathing well, my heart rate's good, I am swimming almost perfectly straight. And something weird happens. The farther I go, the more people I pass.

I pass one girl from my wave. Then two. Then a guy. Then another girl. Then another girl. Then another guy. Next thing you know, I pass two people from the wave before me. Then I pass two people from the wave before that. Then I pass one guy from the FIRST WAVE. I keep glancing at my watch. My hopes for an under-40 minute swim are long gone, but before I know it, I'm pulling up to the dock, where my mom is shouting GO MEGGAN, and I'm running out of the water ahead of at least a dozen people. Apparently, I'm the fastest of the lastest. Can't really see my watch because my contacts are floating, but seems to say 40 minutes as I get out of the water. I feel awesome. I am more than ready for the ride. Especially since it's flat and I've trained on some of the toughest hills in the state. My flat race pace is about 15-17 (I thought it was 16-18, but my averages were wrong).

Bike
Everyone is cheering for me. Since we were the last wave, there are few bikes on racks. This makes me nervous until I remember we were the last wave. This feels like my fastest T2 yet: as I'm running in from the water, I'm already rehearsing my strategy: helmet, shades, bike, shoes, GO! First 20k loop and I'm off - I keep exactly to my strategy, sucking down 2 gels and going through 24oz of water, carefully building my speed. Second loop - I put on some hustle. I must be going really slow, though, because there's no one around me. I'm nervous but I keep hustling. I have to pee, and I finally get a moment alone to pee - a little - on the bike. Weird experience. I couldn't relax enough to pee all the way. I keep looking behind me to relieve some pressure about being passed, and to make sure no one's seeing me pee.

Second loop - I'm on to bottle #2 and a few bites of my Organic Food Bar. I barely choke them down. I am on kilometer 26.2 and solid food and I are not friends. Then, on some rough road, I lose one of my brand new Polar insulated bottles. Crap. I really needed that bottle. I just took salt pills, which I also lost the rest of. And I just bought that bottle. Oh well - part of my swag was a HOT branded Polar bottle, so maybe this was meant to be. I take my race number belt off my handle bars and tuck it into my shorts so it's already on me. By the time I come around the final corner, I'm already out of my shoes and gloves. I'm feeling fabulous, albeit a bit queasy from the salt pills and gels. Apparently, I am still the fastest of the lastest. I glance down at my watch. 2 hrs 26 minutes. I have about an hour and a half to make my goal, so it looks like I'll be finishing in 3:40-3:45. I am overwhelmed.

Run
Ahh, the run. The great crapshoot. Some jackass racked his bike wonky, so I struggle a little racking mine, but still feel fast. I already have my race belt on, so I slide into my powdered shoes and socks, tie up and go. I clip my race belt and slap on my visor as I head out. It's all down hill from here, I think. And downhill it was. On my warmup run, the calves/shins didn't seem bad, but now they are giving me hell. I try to run it out, slowly but surely, all the way through mile 1. Around mile 2, a severe, dull pain has crept up my right leg from my calf. Now my calves don't cramp - instead the pain is all the way up to my butt, shooting into me with every heel strike. I stop to pee because I never peed all the way on the bike. Gatorade, water - should have grabbed some darn sponges, but I didn't till I passed the halfway point. It actually hurts worse when I walk, but the sun is so bad I am forced to stroll several times. The pain is all the way into my lower back now. I pass Ironman Dawn on her way back. I cheer her on. She looks miserable. I feel worried.

This run feels like it's never going to end. I forgot to sunscreen my face and there are no clouds like the weatherman promised. Most of the water I'm drinking is getting poured all over me. I'm now as wet as I was on the swim, and I'm chugging down Gatorade at every aid station, running through most of them. I start grabbing sponges at every station, sticking them into my bra straps so they cool me and I can lay my face on them, saving them until I really need to squeeze the rest of the water over me. Everyone behind me has now passed me except for a very few - my advantage is almost totally gone. I think I may throw up, but I keep focusing on my keywords, thinking positive. The sooner I get through this, the sooner the pain ends. The fact that I have run much longer races than this, at much faster paces, sticks in my mind, and I keep running through the pain. I might be able to make my goal if I push.

Then, at mile 4, the hill from hell approaches. Another person passes me. I hate, hate HATE being passed on hills. As if the torture of the hill isn't bad enough. Thankfully the grade isn't bad - it's a long slow climber. I glance down at my watch, as I have been repeatedly, and realize I'm actually getting slower. I doubt I can pull off a 22-minute 2.2-mile now, but that's what it would take to do the run in 1:17 or so. My hopes at this point are not high - this is the worst I've felt all race. My heat-exacerbated medical conditions are starting to flare up. I'm slightly rejuvenated at the top of the hill when they ask me if I want a Gu and there's a cheering section. I tell them I love them, take a Gu, a gatorade, a water, and two icy sponges. 2 miles to go.

The Finish
The two ladies behind me have now passed me. I am dead last. On the run. Again. Because of my stupid legs. Again. I'm going to kill my physical therapists. The girls make friends and start to talk. I chit chat with them for a bit, but I'm in so much pain all I can think of is getting done. Amazingly enough, despite the heat and my natural dehydration problem, I have saved a little bit for the last 1.5 miles. I surge past them. They keep walking. Mile 5 comes. I glance behind me. They're a little farther. Mile 6 comes. The girls behind me are now jogging. I'm in trouble - one of them is 6 feet tall, and her race walk is faster than my run. I see my parents just past the 6 mile sign. As I pass, I whisper to my mom, "I don't want to be last, but I don't know if I can do it." She yells, "YES YOU CAN! There are like 15 people behind you!" I can't believe that there are 15, but for some reason her words are enough to keep me moving.

I really am going to puke soon. The girls behind me are gaining on me. I hear my mom yell, "COME ON SWEETIE, YOU CAN DO IT! Pick 'em up and lay 'em down!" I start to near the cones and I dig down from somewhere really deep and I pull out a full-on sprint, leaving them no chance of catching me. A cop pours water over my head after asking my permission. I want to kiss him but I hold back and go stand under the sprinklers for a few minutes. I can barely walk.

I finish in 3:53:17.

After hobbling and chatting for a few minutes, Dawn comes back. She is changed and getting ready to go to breakfast with her family. She was going to go run with me. We look at my time. "I finished 2nd in my clss," I tell her. "I don't care," she says. "You finished. Now go get your award!" she says. I get an award? She missed an award by one place, but her time was over an hour less than mine. How is this possible?

I hang around for a while, and I hear the Athena results being announced. They're giving the Clydes age group awards 5-deep, but the Athenas only get 1st pace awards. I'm TICKED but I never really expected an award for a time so slow. "1st Place Athena in her age group," says the announcer, and I expect the other girl to be announced. But the guy says, "Meggan Johnson." I almost crap myself. I look all "Academy Awards speech" - you know, big eyes, open mouth, silently asking, "ME??" But I go up to get the award. And then I start crying a little. I keep telling my family, "But I'm not that fast."

As it boils down, I was the 2nd to last finisher. I don't know where the 15 behind me were, unless they dropped out. Somehow, the 2nd to last finisher won an award. Of all Athenas, I was 3rd, so I would have gotten an award even if they did overall, but there were only 4 Athenas. Eventually I stop caring. This is my first award. At my first Olympic race. And it's FIRST place. And I just bet my initial goal time by 37 and a half minutes, and my revised goal by 6 and a half.

PLACE: 2
OVERALL: 261
#77 Meggan Johnson 28 Orlando FL
TOTAL: 3:53:17
1.5k SWIM: 43:37 (3:37 slower than goal)
T1: 2:14 - my fastest T1 yet
40k bike: 1:38:20 (my fastest long-distance bike, 22 minutes faster than my goal)
T2: 1:31 (my second fastest T2)
10k run: 1:27:36 (10 minutes slower than goal)


Three heart arrythmias. Vertigo. Two leg injuries. One award.

Just call me the accidental champion.

Currently listening :
Lenny Kravitz Greatest Hits
By Lenny Kravitz
Release date: 24 October, 2000