Feels Just Like it Should: The Baldwin Park 2013 Sprint Tri RR

Let's jump in my El Camino (uh huh)

Roll the windows down

Thought we'd see what kinda trouble we can find out on this messed-up little town

Put The Boss on the radio (uh huh)

Take whatever comes

We'll be flyin' down the highway with my arm around you

Singin' Born to Run

 

And it feels just like it should

Must be some kinda miracle

Yeah, a smile on my face, and the rain ain't ever gonna fall

It feels so good

Yeah, it's almost spiritual

Tomorrow'd nowhere in sight - right now, right here, tonight

It feels just like it should

Pat Green, Feels Just Like it Should

 

 

Site of Today's Race: Baldwin Park

 

Baldwin Park is a tiny race.  A TEENY-tiny race. If it was longer than a sprint, it'd be flat-out boring because there'd be no one out on the course after the first fast people finished. (Side note: there's a reason the half marathon is cheap.)  160 finishers here versus 230+ WOMEN only a few weeks ago at Rocketman.

 

Anyway.  So this race is close to my heart, despite the tiny-ness, because of the bike course.  It is like a circuit (or some criterium races).  You whirl around 4-5 times as fast as you can go.  You have to know you might get close to people.  You have to be comfortable with your bike.

 

That's fabulous, since the bike is my strength and I'm kinda crazy. 

 

However, I have not been cycling the distances I was, nor with the fast people I was.  And a few weeks ago at Rocketman I was knee-knockin' thinking about barely averaging 18-19.  And, to tell you the truth, I was waffling all over the place thinking I might do a race that wasn't so teeny, and I almost talked myself right out of racing, even though it may be my last race before I have to have more surgery and radiation.

 

And then my coach said "you're racing." 

 

His one piece of advice to me was "go hard." 

 

And I went hard. While I have gotten good at going balls out, usually I let myself catch my breath at some point during the swim.  Today I did not. I told myself, not allowed. Ricci said go hard. 

 

This race is always changing - location of transition, distances, etc. It isn't well-organized. So you know if you do it that you follow the distances on your GPS and not what the RD says the distance was.  The swim was longer than it should have been, but GPS isn't great in the water so who knows how much longer.  Like I said, you accept the teeny-ness of the race in both size and organization level.  But still, I wasn't expecting my swim time to be a full 1-1.4 minutes SLOWER than last year. 

 

So I needed to make it up on the bike.

 

I thought to myself, please don't let me be slower than last year.

 

The bike was awesome.  I LOVE this style of race.  The corners, getting close to people - so much more exciting than straight flats. I kept exchanging places with this woman in a green tri suit and disc wheel.  We talked with each other all race.  We talked about how we thought we were going to hear the bell for preems because it felt like a crit. When I sailed into transition, I knew I had a bike PR.

I've always wanted to average over 20.  I always somehow miss it by a few tenths. And I could just feel that I had it.

 

And it feels just like it should

Must be some kinda miracle

 

But there was no time to check that.  I had to get out on the run and see if my slowed pace at Rocketman a few weeks ago was myth or fact.

 

Unfortunately, my legs were pretty stiff - unusual for me off the bike. I kept looking at my watch trying to guess if I'd make or beat last year's time.  I kept seeing slower paces than I wanted to see on my Global Trainer.  So I kept having this conversation with myself:

 

Go harder.

I can't.  I'm going as hard as I can.

Are you puking or passing out?

No.

Then go harder.

But my head hurts.

Are you puking or passing out?

No.

Then go harder.

 

When I finally rounded the corner to the finish, I was 2 minutes slower than last year.  The longer swim and being off my run pace by 30-45" a mile took a toll.  The run was still quicker than Rocketman, but not my usual.

 

I grabbed a snow cone and some water.  The woman in the green tri suit came up to me and thanked me for motivating her. I said the same to her. It was a lot of fun.

 

And I looked at my bike split.  20.5 mph average.

 

I DID IT!

 

And then the results got posted.

 

The #1 woman overall was only 7 minutes faster than me, and #2 and #3 were only about 3 minutes faster.  I was pretty sure I'd just finished around the top 5 overall.

 

Wait - where are the results for my age group?

 

Blinkblink.

 

That's ME.

 

I'm #1.

 

I lept into the air.  After years of placing 2, 3, 5, 7 - I finally won.  And not by a technicality.  Not because of a small field (my age group was one of the biggest age groups of women).  Not even because of the screwy course (I had one of the fastest bike splits - man OR woman - of the whole race).  I was among the top women overall on the course.  I won because I genuinely worked hard and earned it.

 

So I didn't PR.

 

I got something else out of today instead.

 

It feels so good

Yeah, it's almost spiritual

 

I came home and saw that a final grade in one of my classes posted - another A.  An A in my final project on the other class - so even a C wouldn't keep me from an A there.

 

I put my medal next to the trophy I won at work.  I am sure I have more to say, but one more final is due.

 

It has been a banner week.

 

And it feels just like it should

Must be some kinda miracle

Yeah, a smile on my face, and the rain ain't ever gonna fall

It feels so good

Yeah, it's almost spiritual

Tomorrow'd nowhere in sight - right now, right here, tonight

It feels just like it should

 

I'm Still Standin'

Once I never could hope to win
You starting down the road leaving me again
The threats you made were meant to cut me down
And if our love was just a circus, you'd be a clown by now

Don't you know, I'm still standin', better than I ever did
Lookin' like a true survivor
Feelin' like a little kid
No, I'm still standin', after all this time
Pickin' up the pieces of my life without you on my mind
I'm still standin'
Yeah, yeah, yeah

-Elton John, I'm Still Standin'

I've had an unexpected week off training.  That horrible head cold I had hit me really hard, and then the stress of this week knocked my on my ass.  I'm finally getting back on the bike tomorrow; I didn't see any reason to push myself back into illness with a race next week. 

The good news is, I got a lot more time to do my homework.  That 5-8 hours a week I train most average weeks doesn't seem that much, but I guess it is when it comes to time I needed to get ahead.

Most people who know me consider me disgustingly positive.  I'm the kind of person who, just moments after being dealt some really shitty news, will turn to the guy next to me and say, you know, the good thing about this is . . . .  (It's almost had me slapped a few times.)

That being said, I also consider myself a realist.  And a realist knows that not every year is going to be a year for personal records, improvements, promotions, new romances, general luckiness, etc.

Still, 2012 spoiled me so much, and my overall recovery from surgery and radioiodine was so good, that the first 4 months of 2013 have thrown me for a loop.  For one thing, my training just hasn't gone the way I wanted overall, partly because of where I live now (holy CRAP is it hard to get regular bike rides in during the weekdays in an urban area) and partly because of how I've been feeling.  For another, as much as you familiarize yourself with the stats (35% of thyroid cancers recur; the survival rate of best-case-scenario stomach cancer patients is 50%), it is hard to wrap your arms around the idea that you or your family might be part of that 35% or that 50%.

To me, the most frustrating part of dealing with a serious illness is not fear, or worry, or depression, or sometimes even the illness itself, but the constant waiting for answers.  It has taken me the last three silent months to get from my first set of diagnostic tests to this most recent, apparently confirmatory round.  It seems simple: if the cancer is back, then I get surgery and/or radioactive iodine - but it might be another 3 months before we even know that.  Depending on what oncology decides, I may go for biopsies, PET scans, radioactive iodine scans, and more, before we even get to the surgery and/or radiation.  And then I have to find out which one it is; and if it's both, I will spend most if not all of my vacation and sick time on the surgery and isolation.

You spend a lot of time waiting for things to settle down so you can resume your normal routine, or waiting to get to the next step, which inevitably comes with multi-stage hurdles, hoping you'll have a final answer soon and just return to normal.  I can't tell you how many times Mom's chemo port has been re-scheduled or they've changed their minds about how many lymph nodes were involved.  Arnie's mast cell tumor had been removed twice, and we still don't know if his current medicine will keep it gone or I'll need to give him kitty chemo.

The truth is, with cancer, you never really have answers.
The truth is, in life, you never really have answers.

So the benefit of cancer is that you learn to accept a certain uncertainty.  You learn to stop expecting everything to be explained.  You learn to stop waiting for the next lull.  You learn, in some ways, to just let go.

Next post, we return you to your regularly scheduled triathlon blogging - I have to return to the training before I have some training to blog about. In the meantime, I'm still standing.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Don't Call it a Comeback

Don't call it a comeback
I been here for years
Rockin my peers and puttin suckas in fear
Makin the tears rain down like a MON soon
Listen to the bass go BOOM
Explosion overpowerin
Over the competition I'm towerin

-LL Cool J, Mama Said Knock You Out

So, I've been gone for a few months.

And now I'm back.

But, in the words of Mr. LL Cool J, don't call it a comeback.

After all, I been here for years. 

. . . Which is how long it feels since the 2012 Baldwin Park Sprint Triathlon.  I never wrote my race report - but, the crazy thing is, this race is one of the most report-worthy I've ever raced.  In fact, it's that way EVERY year.  Last May, before I did this race, I made major life decisions. This May, I made some even bigger decisions.

I have to tell you - my training suffered.  A move across town, a new job, the end of the teaching semester, getting ready for my own graduate coursework, and the end of my research project - plus some other personal revelations, doctor's visits, waiting to find out if I needed another radioactive iodine scan - that all really took its toll on my body, heart and soul.  This year, more than ever, I was reminded of the power of the mind-body connection.  I think back to the days when I really struggled, physically and emotionally, and I realize now how connected they really are.

I still signed up for the race.  And I honestly felt a little worried that it wouldn't end up well.  A tiny little part of me wanted to crawl into a cocoon and cry and drink until I didn't know where I was.

As you might recall, someone - a FEW someones, actually -  had told me, rather innocuously, that they didn't think I should make the move from Athena to Age Group because I would have a better chance of placing in Athena.

Something like this happened in my head:

Mama said knock you out
I'm gonna knock you out

There were a few goofy moments where I stumbled over myself in transition, and a bummer when a friend in a younger age group passed me on the run despite my massive lead on the bike, but it was truly the most confident I've ever felt on a race course. When I crossed the finish line in 1:12 and change - a 12-minute PR over last year - I was all smiles.  A guy stopped me and told me that he had to tell himself I was a pro to feel better about how I handed him his ass on the bike course.

But don't call it a comeback

I watched a few acquaintances come in and then stumbled over to the tent to check out my results.  I fully expected to be top 3, given last year's results.  Usually, women 30-34 are not the fastest.  We typically get beat by 35-39 and 40-45.  But when I looked down at the sheet, the #1 woman had finished FOUR MINUTES FASTER THAN I DID. 

Damn.  Bitches be trippin'.

Correction:  bitches be FLYIN'.

And then I realized

I was 5th. 

I had just successfully transitioned from top Athena to top AG.

And THEN I realized

I WAS FIRST PLACE 30-34 ON THE BIKE

In a race where my age group was the fastest or second-fastest age women of the entire race

(Later on I realized I was 8th place out of all women on the bike and about 18th overall.)

The funny part? I weigh under 150 some days when I'm buck naked, but with clothes on - especially with shoes on - by weight, I am a true Athena.

Mama said knock you out
I'm gonna knock you out

The one big takeaway: I was disproportionately slower on the run and swim. I already bumped up my strength routine. So I was left with a decision to make a dedicated effort on those two sports.  I took a couple light recovery-ish type days and planned a 4-week, 10,000-yard-a-week swim block.

How'd that go? As of this moment, I've swam 11,000 yards more in 2012 than I swam in ALL of 2011.  I'm still 500 miles shy of my all-2011bike totals and 320 miles shy of my all-2011 run numbers - but I'll get there.  Next year, I want my run and my swim to be as strong as my bike.

And next week, I start training for my 5th marathon, the December Rocket City Marathon in Huntsville, Alabama.  On the way, I had so much fun at the BP tri, I decided to do the BP Half Marathon.

We'll call it a 4.5-month run block.

But don't call it a comeback.


PS - if you haven't before, go read about my hero and fellow thyroid cancer survivor, as well as fellow fall risk, Kristin McQueen.  You'll thank me.

Three Tangled Necklaces and The Race Report That Never Was

I realize I've been remiss in reporting on the Baldwin Park race.  I haven't even updated my stats until today.  This is because, from the week of the race right up until this very moment, life has been extremely, somewhat unexpectedly, filled with major changes.

I guess I shouldn't call them unexpected.  I've never been a fan of the saying "hindsight's 20/20."  And we all know that we would have done things differently "if we knew then what we know now."  I can see some use for those dogged cliches now that the past few weeks have carried me forward rapidly and effortlessly to conclusions and decisions I hadn't expected to reach previously, but now seem so simple and obvious.  It is one of those times in my life where seemingly innocuous and unrelated events of previous weeks, years and months come together like puzzle pieces, and,  in one or two moments, expose their purpose and meaning with perfect clarity.  I'm not a Taylor Swift fan, but there's a line in her song The Story of Us that really sums up my past month: I don't know what to say since the twist of fate when it all broke down . . .

The Sunday of the race was absolutely perfect.  It was, in fact, the best race I have ever had.  I hoped to match or beat my Sprint PR of 1:35 and beat my Baldwin Park course record of 1:48.  Instead, I crossed the finish line in 1:25, scorching every Sprint PR I've made on any course, placing #2 Athena overall, and coming in the top 40 on the bike out of 236 men and women (and top 60 on the swim.)  My paces were a sub-2-minute/100 swim, an 18+mph bike, and a 9:35 minute/mile.

Later that day, a series of events set in motion weeks (even months) before came to a conclusion, and I put in my place my decision to move out on my own after spending over 2.5 years with the B.    None of this belongs in a blog about my training and racing, but it affects my training and racing directly.  Because of the move, emotional turmoil, lack of sleep, etc., training has been slowed.  Not stopped - and I am very proud that I haven't stopped altogether - just slowed a bit. My coaching and training strategy has also altered.  I must find more affordable methods of accomplishing those goals now that I'm on my own.

I've been spending a lot of time with friends, and my sleep has been sketchy.  A typically exhausted, 8- to 10-hour sleeper, I've been averaging 5-7 a night. Positive as it is, there are still a lot of life changes, major alterations in my routine.  

Last night was a great example.  I found myself awake past 2 a.m. trying unsuccessfully to disengage three of my favorite necklaces which had been knotted together in my move.  This wouldn't be remarkable unless I mention to you that I'd already spent an entire afternoon cursing, breaking one of them, and pulling apart the other 3 that were originally part of the 6-string fracas.  Finally, exhausted to the point of physical illness, I asked myself why the hell am I spending so much time trying to untangle these last 3 necklaces?  Obviously, they were of some sentimental value, but of way less monetary value than warrants 8 hours of effort.

That was when it hit me that the necklaces symbolized my newfound independence.  Instead of asking my mom, or B - both of whom were excellent de-knotters and problem-solvers - to help me fix this situation, I was determined I was going to fix it myself, no matter what it took.  After all, I am an INDEPENDENT WOMAN now!  I CAN DO THIS ON MY OWN!

In the end, I was unable to get the last 3 chains apart, although I did salvage one of the charms.  I realized that, like many parts of my previous life, there are just some things too broken or messy to fix - and, sometimes, when it gets to the point that the repair attempts are causing you physical or emotional turmoil, it is simply time to accept that you have done your best and move on.

While I'm really missing a few things about my old situation (like my cats and coaches), I feel as if this is one of the best things that's happened in my entire life.  I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a fabulous, adventurous, open, amazing, beautiful world filled with limitless potential.   It is astonishing how, instead of sad and helpless, releasing those beliefs that anything can be fixed or solved can fill you with so much freedom and  hope.

Something else the necklace fiasco made me realize is how much I *do* have.  I mean, I had 6 necklaces before I took the 3 apart.  And, despite the 3 left, I still saved 50% of them.  And that's the way I feel about my move.  I had to give up a lot.  I'm sure I'll have to give up more.  But what's left still feels extremely plentiful.

I don't remember feeling this blessed for a long time, if ever.

I put those 3 necklaces gently into a box that is now sitting atop my jewelry armoire.  Like the last few years of my life, I am not sure that I will ever fix them, or even attempt to, but I've found a safe place for them where they will not be forgotten.

Baldwin Park 2011 Pre-Race Report, aka The Point Where it All Comes Together

There is a point in our lives - often, multiple points - where everything that we've experienced lends us wisdom on some level and life just starts to click.  Situations we'd have found insufferable mere months prior seem to work out easily; solutions to problems we'd long dismissed irresolute appear, seemingly out of thin air.  Resolve we never knew we possessed suddenly strengthens us to tackle additional challenges and adventures.

This week has brought me there - to the point where it all comes together.  

In 2008, I did the Baldwin Park triathlon as a comeback race after a disappointing finish at St. Anthony's and a DQ at Florida Half Ironman (all but 4.3 miles.)  I spent a month on the trainer, doing stomp sets and high-interval spinning.  I learned (and actually FELT) how nutrition on non-race weeks and days factored into the picture.  And I finished the race with the fastest time I'd completed a sprint course up until that day.

I did no triathlons in 2009.  I took a hiatus and didn't return to multisport until summer 2010, when I'd resolved to keep my cancer treatments from hindering my fitness.

So tomorrow I return to triathlon for 2011, after a year of virtually nonstop PRs in 2010.  My goal for this race is to beat not only my course record at Baldwin Park but also my all-time sprint record.  But, either way, I'm continuing to learn to push myself really hard at short races, to really attack. 

Every race I have a keyword or set of keywords that fuel me during the race.  For Miami Man, it was I'm in Miami, Bitch.  For the OUC Half Marathon, it was pain cave.  For Battle at Fort DeSoto, it was balls out.  For the Mardi Gras Marathon, it was Team MAJ. Tomorrow I am debuting a new keyword: ATTACK.

Let's do this, Brutus.

THAT'S A MAN, BABY!

I hate race photos like this, but this was just too funny not to share. I saw this picture from Baldwin Park - the date that I PR'd and found out I was knocked up within the same 4 hours.

My first thought: THAT'S A MAN, BABY!!!! A FAT MAN!

Then I thought: damn, if that's a man, he's got some SERIOUSLY LARGE BOOBS!!!! MAN BOOBS!

And then I realized: no, that's ME!!!!

And now, looking back and realizing I was already 5 weeks pregnant, I realize why I didn't recognize my own boobs.

I'm a "hard fit"

About noon yesterday, something really weird happens: my eyeballs start throbbing like they're going to pop out of my head. They're moving around spontaneously in my skull, twitching like little football-shaped Mexican jumping beans. I'm extremely wigged out, but I can't be bothered, so I take out my contacts and go back to work with my glasses on. I know the optometrist said I was having eye spams on Wednesday night, but they can't be that bad, right? Besides, if I take my contacts out, it will help.

Wrong.

I'm going to coin a new term here: Meggan's Law. It's like Murphy's Law - anything that can go wrong, will go wrong - except it relates to health and side effects. Any pill, procedure, exam or aid that can cause a problem, will cause ME a problem, and usually will cause me ALL of them. I remember when I was on The Pill. I used to say "The Pill is The Devil!!!!!" because I had every single side effect from the most minor and annoying (like bloating and moodiness) to the most life threatening (a severe blood pressure increase). The second week I was off The Pill, I dropped 15 pounds and my blood pressure went back to being low.

So anyway, forgetting Meggan's Law, I go on about my bidniss. By 5 o'clock, I'm so sensitive to the light that I can barely drive myself home, and I'm so dizzy that I feel like I'm going to throw up, like last night after my contact fitting but waaaay worse. It doesn't matter that I've put my glasses back on at this point - nothing's helping. I call my eye doc and schedule an appointment for the next day (today). He's going to have to dilate my eyes to get my "true prescription." Apparently, he tells me, "I'm a hard fit."

WTF does that mean? I have an astigmatism that's not even severe in one eye and almost no astigmatism in the other. That's not a big deal. Well, NOW they tell me I'm farsighted. (Every time I go in, I find out something else.) Also, it appears that my eyes, unlike the eyes of the REST of the population with much worse farsightedness and astigmatism, do not like the soft, cushy contacts they are supposed to like. No, MY EYES want harder, weighted contacts. The soft contacts move too much and my eyes some times push them right out. (At least that explains why my contacts used to float around in my eyeballs during a swim.) The difference is that now my eyesight is so much worse that I can't afford to do what I've always done and just be slightly blind, especially not for longer races.

I eat something, cover my eyes and take migraine medicine, and lay in bed from about 7 till 9 before I fall asleep. My forehead, the back of my head and eyeballs - THE EYEBALLS THEMSELVES - are aching - and they're still trying to escape from their sockets. Every few hours they wake me up with their pulsing.

I didn't even bother telling my bosses this morning that I'm not supposed to be using the computer. That would be like a seamstress coming to work and saying she's not allowed to sew.

All I know is, the dilating better relax those suckers, because I have a date with a PR on Sunday.

I'M HUNGRY but I'm Not

Tonight's run was about 4.5 miles past the cemetery. I got a new toy: a metronome. It's red and snazzy and it clips onto me. I set it for about 85 BPM when I want to run in zones 1-2. It really, really helps. No walking necessary to even out HR because listening to the cadence allows me to keep my gait in check even if I have to slow the rest of my body down and teaches me faster turnover on my legs. I'm staying on my toes/center of my feet more, bouncing a little but my legs are more used to it. They weren't quite so heavy tonight.

Got rained out on the bike so hit the trainer . . . little less than an hour ride. I have a HARD TIME getting my HR up on the bike. I could be pushing up a hill with a 9% grade and I'd be lucky to get into the 160s. Zone 1 is up to 147BPM for me, and I have to tell you, 147BPM is REALLY HURTING MYSELF. Like, practically dying. Same with the swim - although a few flip turns and I can be at 134, which is the high end of my zones, which is why I don't really bother practicing them even though I suck major *(%& at them. The run is the ONLY place I can get up to 180+BPM. (That's killing-myself-pace too, though).

Weird, when I run through the cemetery I always think of the graveyard at mom's and feel at peace.

I seem to be shorting myself calories still, maybe like 300-700 per day. I'm starving when I sit down to eat and I know my body is crying for them but I just can't eat them all. I'm hungry, but I'm not hungry enough to get that extra punch of cals in. Another thing: I get a lot of protein, but mostly from fattier sources it appears, which throws my fat % up. However, my overall percentage for the past month is 62% carbs, 13% fat and 24% protein, which I'm calling a damn good try for my first month of logging my food by perentages vs. by "points" or straight "calories and fat grams."

Do I have a goal for this weekend's race, by the way? Errrr . . . not really. To learn to push harder on sprints and finally get under the 2-hour mark. I'd like to do a 15 swim (sprint swim PR is 17 and change), 40-45 ride(sprint PR is a little over an hour) and 35-40 run (PR is 44 mins for a triathlon 5k). I don't see that happening, so I'll settle for getting under 2 hours.

On the shedyool for tomorrow: a 4500 yd swim. (Yes, you read that right. 4500. There's no way it can be done in the morning, so it better not lightning tomorrow night. It'll take me 2hrs, and even if the Y opened at 5 instead of 5:30, that wouldn't give me time to work out AND get to work.) But that's it. One workout.

I LOVE IT!