Holidailies are here again. This year, expect short & sweet entries tucked in amidst marathon training, appearing in a holiday tap show, work, and the general holiday hub-bub. I appreciate the additional motivation Holidailies provides to get me to post more entries. I'm lucky to have a pretty rich and full life and privileged to have the health and resources to do many of the things I love. This holiday season, I want to celebrate the little things that I appreciate about living in the best city in Texas, as well as things that catch my eye, strike my fancy, or make me smile and feel glad to be alive. Enough meta.
To kick things off, here's my tap shoes, getting some action these days after a year on the shelf due to marathon training and injury recovery, both running and not running related.
I wrote the first part of this while sitting backstage waiting for my cue. Pretty awesome to be performing tap, and some consolation for having to skip tomorrow's run to rest & recover from minor chest congestion. A week and a half ago, I had no idea I'd be in Tapestry's Christmas show, then I heard they were looking for more "snow" (which may or may not be a euphemism for white girls who tap dance). From there, it only took a day of deliberation and some honest reflection from two friends about the excitement on my face when I talked about it for me to join up. Somehow, my biggest concerns about finding the time to fit this in among my other activities and responsibilities have been a non-issue. Similar to making a plan to hike the AT, when I chose to participate in something I love, the path opened up. I am grateful for the moments when that kind of synchronicity and ease is present in my life. I spent too many years watching/letting those kinds of opportunities slide by.
On a completely different note, here's the dawg, looking guilty on the sofa, although she earned a whole day's worth of sofa lounging for putting up with ear cleaning at the vet. Not the best picture, it's hard to capture such awesomeness on film.
It's been a very long and very short month since I jacked up my back and had to skip my goal race. The recovery has been up and down; on individual days it's sometimes hard to detect improvement, but in big picture terms, I'm definitely getting better. My chiro didn't see the need to schedule another appointment after this week, and my PT doesn't want to see me for another two weeks. I'm gonna assume it's because I'm improving, and not because they find me endlessly annoying. Monday starts the official rebuilding process to make me better, stronger, faster, although not bionic. Emily said to me the week I canceled my trip/race plans that there must be some reason I wasn't supposed to do that race. At the time I didn't want to hear that, and let her know quite clearly/crudely (sorry 'bout that, Emily!), but now, it seems perhaps there is a greater plan than I can conceive of.
Rogue is conducting a pilot training program based on heart rate. It's targeted at runners who are prone to overtraining and have been stuck in performance plateaus or have had chronic injuries as a result. They received more than 80 applications for 15 spots in the training group. For all the disappointment of missing my marathon, that and my other chronic injuries seem to have put me unequivocally in the "yes" pile. Not necessarily something to be proud of, but it's a fantastic opportunity. My back has recovered enough that I can do sustained running for 30+ minutes, but if this morning's run is any indication, this is going to feel like starting from ground zero, yet again. That might be a good thing since I'll be learning a whole new way of training.
I spent some time this morning getting to know my heart rate monitor. It said my VO2 max is 43, which is off the chart for my age. It was "heartening" considering how much my level of activity has dropped in the last month. I'll find out my true VO2 max this week in a lab test (treadmill, heart rate monitor, face mask oxygen measurement, fun!). I won't be terribly surprised to learn that I've been doing my "comfortably easy" runs at a higher heart rate than I should, which ultimately compromises my recovery and ability to improve. I come by my tendency to overdo/overtrain honestly, but I'm learning there's a more effective way to train, and, if I want to continue to train, race, and improve, I can't afford not to give this my best shot.
Giving this my best shot means making some fundamental changes in other areas of my life. While I improved my rest and nutrition during my last training phase, I can do better. In an effort to keep myself honest, here's the rebuilding plan for the foundation - the things that will make my runs and training more enjoyable and more effective:
Rest - no more operating from a small, but consistent sleep deficit. I can function on 6-7 hours of sleep, but that adds stress to my system and over time, hinders my performance. Goal: 7-8 hours of sleep, consistently
Nutrition - this one calls for a bulleted list:
- do a two week carb sensitivity test
- eliminate foods that create cravings or decrease feelings of well-being and ability to perform (sugar, gluten, most dairy, caffeine, and alcohol immediately come to mind, others to be determined from sensitivity test)
- keep a food log - this will help with the carb sensitivity test, and help me stick with my plan
Strength - at least two strength workouts/week. A combination of Rogue Core workouts, Schrupercises, or time in the fitness center at work, primarily leg & core strength
Cross Training - swim or bike at least once a week, 40-45 minutes each
Flexibility - practice yoga twice a week, maintain PT exercises for my back
Recovery - monthly massage, post-run stretching, trigger point, and ice baths (as needed)
I'll track all of this, but probably not publicly. Some of these things, specifically the rest and nutrition aspects, will contribute to improving my overall well-being and making my life more enjoyable and effective. I'm clear on the fact that it's a privilege for me to be able to run and train and compete in events. I'm fortunate and grateful to have the physical health and resources to be able to do these things. I deserve to take the best possible care of myself, but I haven't been doing so. I have a genetic predisposition to high cholesterol, and have often said I would make drastic changes to my diet, if it were necessary for medical reasons. So far, my athletic pursuits have been enough to keep my ratio healthy. But running has evolved into something more than getting across a finish line or staying fit. I want to see how far I can go and how fast. That begs a deeper level of commitment and dedication than I've previously given to my athletic performance. This is a record of that commitment.
I feel like this rebuilding process needs a catchy name.
Sunday's See Jane Run Austin half-marathon was canceled because of the severity of thunderstorms race morning. I wasn't running (obviously, from my last post) but had planned to cheer on a few friends who were running. I was quite happy to stay inside and listen to the early morning rain instead. It brought back memories of the '07 Cap Tex Tri - the only other event I've missed - that was canceled because of storms race morning. I felt bad for all the people who were planning to race. It's incredibly disappointing to have worked for something for months, then not have the opportunity to go out and execute. I remembered how pissed off and sad we were to miss the '07 tri.
Some interesting things happened as a result of that race cancellation. I had trained for months with Team in Training, getting to know a few people, but dealing with the disappointment of missing the race was the glue that really bonded us as a team. When the sun came up and the weather broke that morning, someone had the brilliant idea for us to run an impromptu 5K along the race course. Puddle jumping, whooping & hollering, and letting out some of the race energy we'd built up. Our coaches and mentors cheered us on, and we cheered each other through the finishing chute, by this time the only athletes still around. The race photographer took a group photo of us. We met up for happy hour later that week, where we acknowledged how far we'd come as a team and what we'd accomplished in the fight against cancer, regardless of race day events. We also received the only finisher medals given out for the race. Somehow, TnT staff and our coach managed to get them for us. TnT also secured entries for another race for us.
At the happy hour, talk inevitably turned to "what might have been" and "what next." Linking the anger, sadness, and disappointment was an undercurrent of dissatisfaction that I can best characterize as hunger. A hunger to perform what we'd practiced for so many months on the race stage, for closure on the training season, and to see how much farther training could take me. That happy hour was where the Half-Ironman distance first became a twinkle in my eye, and many of us informally committed to '08 Wildflower that night.
Cap Tex Tri '07 would have been my first Olympic distance race. For the Disco Tri in Dallas, the make-up race, record rains canceled the swim, so it became a duathlon (to my delight). I finally got my Olympic Tri at the inaugural Austin Tri in September. I think I ended up doing more races in '07-'08 than the previous six years combined, all on the heels of a race cancellation that somehow cemented my commitment to working toward training & racing goals. 2007 was the first year I participated in organized training, which really brought my inner athlete out of the closet. I learned that I thrive as an athlete when I work with a good coach. As someone who had a long pattern of putting the needs of others before my own, trying to do everything on my own, and keeping my athletic abilities on the back burner, seeking out good coaching was one of the best gifts I could give myself. Now, I've not only checked running a marathon off my bucket list but I'm in the process of finding out how fast I can run one. Ironman is no longer one of those races only crazy people do. Well, let's face it, that definition still applies, nonetheless, it's been added to the bucket list.
My lessons from that canceled race:
- Have your feelings, preferably with people you've trained with or who "get it"
- Acknowledge your progress and accomplishments of the season
- Sign up for another race ASAP
- Use the hunger to extend your goals
- You never know how a difficult experience will impact you over the course of time
After four months of training, including dealing with a nagging leg issue (Thanks, Dr. Moos!) and many, many "sweating into my shoes" long runs in the glorious Austin heat (Thanks, Rogue teammates!), this was supposed to be my pre-race wrap-up post. Turns out I won't even make it to the starting line. Monday morning I had a great, short easy run, in which I noticed how balanced my stride felt, how nothing was hurting. Gracie kept pace alongside and I cautioned a couple of glances at the pre-dawn stars, enjoying the cooler morning air, clear skies, the ease of breathing, of running. Sunday's outcome unknown, but the race plan rock-solid (Thanks, Coach Amy!). Monday night, as I bent to pick up a shoe, I felt something strange in my lower back. Then I REALLY felt it when I stood up. Ouch is an understatement!
Diagnosis: discogenic lumbar region, aka bulging disc. At least it's not herniated. To add insult to injury, the cold I've been holding at bay for the past three weeks has settled in full bore.
For the first time in my racing life, I will not be at the starting line of an event I registered for. I canceled my travel plans because sitting on a plane for several hours is unthinkable, much less running a marathon. Canceling the trip sucks as much as missing the race because I was realy looking forward to seeing trail family, Journey and The Saint. I've got a call in to the race organizers to find out if I can transfer my registration to next year's race, and I'm attacking my recovery like I would a Yasso 800.
I've been asked "what's the lesson in this?" I don't think there is one. Sometimes these things just happen, and what matters is how I deal with it. Acknowledging my progress. Many great things have happened over the course of the training season. Improved self-care (nutrition & rest), getting to know and run with an awesomely fun bunch of people, training with Coach Amy & Coach Rex, practicing patience with persistent injuries (I get to practice that some more!), improved fitness, a return to the ease and joy of running that I hadn't felt since my Thru-Hike, and learning that I don't know #%!&. Having my feelings. It's an understatement that I'm deeply disappointed to miss this race, I've shed some tears, shaken my fist at the universe, and probably will again, but none of the "what might have beens" diminish the victories of this traning season. Moving on. A wise coach taught me to consider what it might mean to miss a goal, and though this is a setback, it's a resolvable one. The Doc says we've caught the issue early and I can expect a 4-6 week recovery. I'm investigating things I can do to maintain my fitness while I heal, and I am still on the path, a stronger, smarter runner. Any big goal carries with it an element of risk, that's what makes it exciting to work toward, regardless of the outcome. Writing this entry. I will need to remind myself of all of this in a couple weeks when I'm depressed about not being able to run and in the thick of PT.
For my Rogue teammates and other friends who are gearing up for Twin Cities, Chicago, Nike, Portland, Columbus, Marine Corps, New York, San Antonio, and other fall races - run with heart!
It has been an honor and privilege to run with you, I'll be back as soon as I'm able. The Rogue Blog has a great article on Dealing With Failure.
The last time this race happened was 11 years ago. They call it the heatwave for a reason. The last (and only previous) time I ran it was at least 15 years ago, and I almost passed out from heat stress. Granted, I was younger, dumber (i.e. not nearly as educated about training), and not really prepared for the distance and conditions. But I was very reluctant to enter races after that.
I was due for another visit to my birthplace, and an inexpensive 5 mile race on July 4 was good incentive for a family visit. Plus, I was curious to see how I'd fare with the benefits of age and experience. Race morning I dropped Gracie off at my parents house after a breakfast of raw oats, chia seed, raisins, walnuts, and almond milk. I drank a Nuun on the drive over. It was a fairly small field (352 finishers), but well supported with aid stations and cold sponges on the race route, showers, popsicles (no HFCS), water, fruit, sodas, beer, & sausage on a stick at the finish. I enjoy smaller, grassroots races like this because the course is less crowded, and I have better odds of placing well in my age group. I never claimed I wasn't opportunistic. I'd driven the course the night before and the last mile and a quarter were daunting. A long straight stretch where you could see the finish three blocks to your right, but had to go another half mile or so before making the turn toward the finish. I ran the straightaway for my 20 minute warmup, then headed to the start.
A local student sang the heck out of the National Anthem, then I spotted my parents, who'd made it to see us off. I ran over to give them both a hug, really excited they were there. My goal for this race? In the back of my mind, breaking 40 minutes, but I really had no idea if that was reasonable, considering the conditions and that I'd only done long, slow, distance training to that point. Plus, some tightness in my right calf was just beginning to be an issue.
I went out conservative at the start. Besides the real contenders, who were long gone, quite a few people motored past me, and I let them all go, telling myself I'd probably see some of them later in the race. I picked a comfortably hard pace and checked my time at the first mile. I was reasonably happy with the pace and settled into a pretty good rhythm through miles 2 and 3. Lots of turns in this section, and some welcome shade. A scenic course, this is not, but I don't think that would be possible in Baytown. Around mile 2, an older guy passed me and complimented my running form. He ended up winning his age group (65-69).
With a 7am start, the sun was fairly high by the halfway point, and it was getting hot. The ice cold sponges were awesome and plentiful. Between miles 3 & 4, it seemed like I stopped sweating, and I was mildly concerned. By this point in the race, I was starting to pass the people that went out too hard, and that just motivated me to keep my pace. The last mile was just as tough as I thought it might be, but I finished at 40:50 and change, for an 8:10 per mile pace and fourth in my age group. Not quite fast enough to score a giant beer mug, out of which I'd probably only drink smoothies. Technically I was seventh, but the top three women in my age group took the top three masters spots, so, I got bumped. I always like a free upgrade!
Post-run, I ate half a popsicle, lots of fruit, caught up with my parents, had one bite of sausage, and zero beer. Mom & Dad took me to a local taqueria for one of the best plates of huevos rancheros ever, infomercials on the TV notwithstanding. Then I went back to the hotel for an ice bath, trigger point, and nap before hanging with the fam for the rest of the fourth, which included a trip to Baskin Robbin's and two slices of mom's chocolate chess pie for the drive home.
Marathon training is in base building mode, so what better way to follow up a 14-miler than to race a sprint tri the following morning.
When I considered which triathlons to do this summer, Pflugerville had a lot to like about it. Smallish race, new (to me) course, and reasonable entry fee. Knowing it was on the calendar was good motivation to swim a lap or two at Barton Springs every now and then. Same for starting a twice a week bike commute schedule during bike month. So, my preparation/training for this race was lots of easy pace running, 3-4 stride sets per week, a couple of short post-run swims per week, and biking to work a couple times a week. I had no goal time or expectations for the race other than to maintain hard effort throughout the race (whatever that might feel like after a 14-miler), and enjoy the return to multisport.
I figured the course would be pretty windy. We've had lots of wind out of the south lately, and there's not a lot of development or trees near the race site. I didn't account for the effect of the wind on the swim course. Swimming is the segment of triathlon where I have the most "opportunity for improvement". Standing on the shore of the lake, I got really nervous seeing how choppy the water was. Getting bumped and jostled by other swimmers, or getting splashed in the face when trying to breathe cause little anxiety spikes for me. Tension makes for inefficient swimming, which would only be compounded by the rough water. Things were not looking good to me. It didn't help to see one of the women from the previous wave turn around and swim back to the start. Standing there, waiting to start, I told myself just swim buoy to buoy, once you get to the red one (halfway) the hard part is over. For the second half of the swim, we'd be headed back to shore, with the waves. By that time, I wasn't particularly nervous, more resolved that the swim was going to be tough, but slow and steady, I'd get through it.
The horn sounded for our start, I hesitated for a moment, started my watch, then started swimming. To my utter surprise, I quickly fell into a rhythm, and was more relaxed than I'd ever felt on a swim, regardless of conditions. I found myself riding along with the waves, breathing in sync with the motion of the water, hardly getting splashed in the face at all. I seemed to maintain pretty good body position without much thought or effort. Before I knew it, I was past the second buoy and headed for the halfway point. Rolling with the conditions and not fighting was making it easier somehow. Granted, I was still working, and my arms were getting tired by the halfway point, but I was feeling really good about my progress and my mental state. The second half of the swim actually felt harder than the first. Fatigue was starting to set in, but my pace seemed to slow despite the calmer water and swimming with the wind. I went a little wide on the return, reset my course, and exited the water really happy about how I'd managed a difficult swim.
The bike course felt long and was very windy. Tailwind and downhill to start, then stiff crosswind/headwind/crosswind/headwind combinations with long slow uphills, rollers and a few glorious sections with tailwind. I don't ride with a computer, so went purely on effort, and maintained whatever gear/cadence necessary to keep my breathing at a comfortably hard level. Here's where I started feeling yesterday's 14-miler. My legs were the limiter on the bike, which probably served to keep some cardio in reserve for the run. I took a gel and some Nuun in the first mile, then chose not to take another gel. Any race is as much a mental test as a physical one, but today's conditions were the kind that make it easier to / harder not to get caught up in head games about how tough it is. When the going gets tough, just keep going. This was the toughest part of the day for me. I just didn't have any power in my legs and the course reminded me too much of my bike commute. Long, slow, windy uphills that should have felt easier since I wasn't carrying a backpack. Perhaps on fresh legs it would've been different.
It took almost a mile for me to settle into my breathing on the run. I'd forgotten what it felt like to transition to the run after the bike. Shuffle-jog into the headwind, head down so as not to lose that hard-won Rogue Trail Series hat. By the time I get to the far side of the lake, I'm in my stride. My lungs feel like the limiter by now. We've got a good headwind for parts of the run. I put my head down and let the wind blow through me. I think I'm picking up the pace as I go, but can't tell for sure. I definitely pick it up for the last 150 or so yards to the finish. Start easy, finish strong. Glad to be done. Race results not in yet, but I don't really care about my time after how great the swim felt.
Highlights/Observations
Seeing Pyrofly - fellow '09 AT Hiker: thanks for the body marking, hope to see you out racing soon!
The first half of the swim
Mile 8 of the bike - An old windmill in the field to the left: hearing it's fleeting squeak as it slowly turned in the wind, like a cry from the past.
Hanging out with racing buddies Devon, Krista, & Ken
Robin & Gracie coming out to cheer me on
Or, Are we done yet?
Parts of the course reminded me of Grayson Highlands State Park, with a Texas twist of mesquite trees. Running over the granite uplift and through granite boulders was wonderful. And fortunately, only part of the first 10 miles. I couldn't have repeated that section, it was spectacular, but tough. This race was my absolute favorite of the series. On-site camping, beautiful course, beautiful weather, awesome post-race showers and food. The scenery was so amazing that I didn't feel bad for the times I slowed to a walk. That said, I least looked forward to this race. I had busted my knee and elbow open at the ranch two weeks prior on a training run, and had struggled on long runs since. I was tired and ready to be done. Apparently, my busted knee was legendary. Some of my friends told the staff they were with me and didn't have to pay for camping.
The field was probably twice that of the previous races, so chances of placing were pretty slim. The 'back of my mind' unofficial/unspoken goal was to finish no slower than The Loop race at Emma Long, but I wasn't sure even that was possible. Tough to gauge how that was going on this (unequal) two loop course. Loop one was about 11 miles, loop two made up the difference. Turns out no one got official times or placing because there were course marking issues. Many people took wrong turns and either ran over or under 30K. My time was on par with my goal, so I either ran short and slower, or ran the course as marked.
A couple of times I stumbled but caught myself. Both times I rather vehemently told the trail, "you are *not* getting another piece of me!" Both occurrences boosted by energy level for a bit, so that was a nice bonus for not quite falling. Somewhere beyond the halfway point, my right hip started to bug me. Either my adductor or psoas was complaining. I tried some minor gait adjustments with some success. It never really resolved itself, but would come and go for the rest of the race. It slowed me to a walk a few times, so I got to enjoy the views. The hardest part was the last half mile. We had to run back along an unshaded dirt road, skirting the pond by the pavilion, where we could see the spectators and everyone who'd already finished. And they could see whether I was still running. I really wanted to walk for part of that last bit, but kept running (slowly) out of pride. We circled wide to get back to the finish line, which I couldn't see until I'd made the final turn. It was a nice surprise to see my housemates and friends there to cheer me in, with a sign and everything! I found a little finishing kick for the last 50 yards, very happy to be done.
My time was slightly faster than the previous race, and being one of the few women who completed the 30K series, I earned a pair of Brooks Cascadias. Not bad for 90K in 3 months.
Six days of rest, and on the seventh day, fall marathon training began. So far, I'm enjoying the base building phase.
