WIBA
Monday, July 09, 2007

This past weekend was WIBA here in Madison. No, not the local radio station, or the Women's International Boxing Association. WIBA -- as in the Wisconsin Ironman Brick Adventure.

And before I get any further down that road, the organizers of the event -- namely IronWil -- deserve a huge "thank you" and "well done."

I approached this weekend with a mix of excitement and trepidation. Excitement because I've been going it mainly alone all this time -- all those long, long training days -- and I'd finally, finally have some peeps to train with. The trepidation, as it would, stems from a different side of that same coin -- I'd been training with myself all this time. What if I couldn't keep up? What if I was nowhere near where I should be in my training? What if, what if, what if? Arrrghhhh. Overanalyze, anyone?

Friday was a 20-30 minute swim in Lake Monona, followed by an hour run (or, for me, an hour on the elliptical machine. Ugh.) and then dinner at Tutto Pasta.

Right off the bat, the first person I met getting ready for the short swim was TriAl, who had stumbled across my blog somehow. "Ahhh, Erin...yeah, you were the one who posted about the double Verona loop." This would happen again and again over the weekend, and not just to me. It seems that everyone training for an IM has a blog, and that they all know of/read up on one another. My theory? It stems from the incessant, obsessive search for race reports, combing them for what TO do, and what not to do, tips. As I discovered at dinner that night, I'm far from being the only one who does this.

The swim and elliptical were great (meaning, I got them in without issue -- at least, when I just swam and quit worrying about fast and thus, stopped floundering around), and then it was on to dinner. I couldn't wait to meet other Ironmen/women and Ironwannabies. For this mostly solo-trainer, it was like Christmas, in July.

Apparently, a lot of others felt the same way. Like 40-more-people-than-had-RSVP'd others. I was one of the first handful to arrive, and there were about four tables. But over the following hour, people just kept streaming in. I ended up at a table with a couple of guys from the huge Bloomington, IL crew, RobbyB -- who helped with organizing the weekend shindig, Jeff -- from my Wednesday-night swim group whom I hadn't yet met there, and a couple others. It was a great mix of veterans and newbies, and I garnered some great tips and a dose of confidence that yes, I could indeed do this. And, more than anything, it was fun. Fun to be around such great, nice, friendly people. Fun to have a chance to talk at length with others in the same boat.

After getting some swag bags from Hammer Nutrition, it was home to organize for the next morning and try to get some sleep. The swim, we learned at dinner, was to start at 6:30 a.m. instead of 7 a.m.

Chief of Stuff was going to do the bike portion of the day with me, so we decided he'd bring my bike with him at 8:15 (sharp) before we all clipped-in at 8:30 at Law Park. That meant organizing all of my nutrition for the next day, everything I needed for the swim, and what I'd need in terms of clothing for the bike. I finally hit the hay well after 11 pm.

5:15 a.m. came early. I wanted to be up in time to eat, digest, and walk over to the Monona Terrace for the swim. One peanut butter English muffin and a Gatorade sport shake later, I was headed out the door with my wetsuit and swim bag.

Walking over to the Terrace, I knew it was going to be hot. Brutally hot. It already was. And muggy. Did I mention hot?

The swim went relatively well. Not sure how much distance I covered (and this is my #1 big worry these days...the swim, and making the cutoff on that), but I was in the water for just over an hour and mostly felt good. By "mostly" I mean, except for the part where the (supposedly) digested English muffin thought that it had the run of my body, from stomach to mouth, to slosh around in since I'd been in a prone position for so long. I didn't know quite how to throw up in a lake without having to swim through it, so I bobbed around vertically for a bit to make sure everything was back down where it should be, and then started swimming again.

Long swims are odd things. You don't really get exhausted tired, like with running. Your legs and arms don't really burn like they do when climbing hills on the bike. But you get out of breath, and then you panic a little. At least I do. And I get bored. Bored because you can't hear much of anything (except for the electric whrrrr of the a-hole with his MasterCraft who was trying to decapitate swimmers in our little group), and bored because you just don't make much progress. It's slow going, and even though the Terrace looks close in the relative terms you'd use by bike or foot, when you're dragging yourself through the water, a mile looks like a hell of a long ways.

I didn't have a watch on, and with the group I got into the water having pulled far ahead of me, I panicked that I'd be the last one in the water. I pictured CoS standing there, my bike in hand, waiting for me long after every single other person had left. Or worse, getting out of the water when they were all there and on their bikes, ready to leave. Embarrassing scenarios, both. So I kicked things into high gear, and swam stronger than I thought I could until I was almost back to the Terrace. It was then that I saw a group swimming toward me -- part of OUR group. Whew. They were just on their way out on the out-and-back swim. So, I slowed a bit, tried to find a rhythm, and relaxed.

There were now two MasterCrafts pulling skiers and ski-jumpers in one small little area near the swim start, and the combination created competing waves. I felt like I was treading water. Every time I tried to breathe, regardless of what direction I tried, I got smacked in the face by a wave. In the spirit of self-preservation, I considered hopping out at one of the docks, but because I didn't want to look like a wimp, I swam on. Later, I saw others doing just as I had wanted to, and thought, Good, so I wasn't that far off.

The bike portion had three choices/groups. You could either embark on the full 112 mile course, leave from the Terrace and do one lap and then back (a little under 80 miles), or start at Fireman's Park in Verona and do two loops, also about 80 miles. I chose the second group. It was supposed to be well over 90 degrees and on urging of my physical therapist, decided I didn't need to push it with my hip. After all, I live here, and I could do the 112 if I wanted/needed to some other time.

The first part of the ride, going out McCoy road, all I could think was, "Gawd, this sucks." I wasn't happy about being bike-side. Neither, to be completely honest, was my backside. Before I knew it, though, we had tackled Whalen Road and headed into Verona. It was getting hotter, but in a weird move on the part of my body, I was feeling better and better (I almost never handle heat very well...I just don't sweat enough).

Perhaps part of it was talking our little group (as part of the bigger WIBA group) through the turns of the course. A) it made me feel useful, B) it got my mind off of me and onto what was coming up, and C) it was fun to hear people ask, "are we done with the hills now?" (Ahhhh, no. Not even close).

Again, before I knew it, we were in Mt. Horeb, stopping at the Mobil station which, by now, felt like a second home. Bikers streamed in, buying gallons of water and jockeying for a little patch of grass in the shade. CoS and I popped some salt tabs and split a Coke. It went down surprisingly well, and I saw a few others doing the same. Not sure why this works, but it just does. The same stuff that makes you belch when you're watching a movie and rots teeth is like some kind of super-endurance serum when biking on a 90-degree day. Go figure.

Back on the bike, my favorite part of the course was still to come. And this is what I love, in a sick sort of way, about the IM-Moo course -- I hate the quick turns and steep speed bump hills of Valley Road and Marsh View Road. I hate the gradual inclines on Highway G and 92 that aren't really even inclines to the naked eye (or motorist's eye), but seem to go on forever. But the course from Mt. Horeb on? Bring it! I love the steep downhills and steeper uphills. I love trying to get over 40 mph on Garfoot Road, and scaring myself on how fast I can take the corners. And I have a really, really special place in my heart for the Three Bitches -- the IM-Moo's infamous hills.

I don't know why I love this part of the course. Perhaps it's because it's challenging, technically. Perhaps it's because other people complain about its climbs endlessly and I just like a really good challenge. Perhaps it's because I know I can conquer the Three Bitches now without getting out of my saddle once, two times around, and keep pedaling on after the crest. I don't know what it is, but it just feels good. No, it feels great.

We stopped at Fireman's Park in Verona to refuel (WIBA included a SAG vehicle, overflowing with Hammer products, free of charge. Can anyone say kickass?) and you could tell people were feeling it. Or not feeling it, whatever the case may be. The heat was taking it's toll (it was HOT -- so much so, in fact, that it almost felt better to be pedaling on your bike than standing still, because at least you were creating a breeze that way), and people all around were talking about bowing out of the full-course or two-loop ride. Some were out of it, others had simply had it. I recognized that feeling. This course, especially on your first time out, could do that. Add a heat index of 100+ degrees, and it was easy to see how meltdowns (no pun intended) could happen.

But the thing I was pleased -- hell, almost giddy -- about, was that I felt good. Really, really good -- nutritionally, mentally, and physically (hip pain excluded). Were it not for the bad wheel and the PT's advice to take it easy, I would have been fueling up for my second loop.

And now, with the exception of the swim, I know I can do this. I've ridden 120 miles in pouring rain and did a sprint tri the next morning in an even bigger monsoon. I've done two loops of the course -- two times up the bitches -- in hot weather all by myself as dark was descending on Verona. And I've done the remainder of the course -- the stick of the lollipop -- and another loop in unbearably hot weather, and felt great doing it.

Back at my condo, I hopped on the elliptical for a quick 45-minute jaunt, and it wasn't until the last eight minutes that I wanted my workout to just be over. And then it was.

Lying on the floor, attempting to stretch afterward, CoS asked, "Are we okay?"

I furrowed my brow at him.

"I mean, you're just quiet, and I wanted to check in and make sure all is okay."

I laughed then. Out loud. Belly-laughed.

"Dude, I just worked out for almost ten hours. Cut me some slack."

Sunday, I cut myself some slack. I wanted to meet up for the rest of the WIBA festivities, but I wanted some time to myself more. So I woke up at 7 a.m. (couldn't sleep), hopped back on the elliptical for an hour and a half, watched the first stage of the Tour, and then had the Day of Erin -- complete with a Starbucks and Target run, eating brunch at Pasqual's, and sunning by the (noisy and overcrowded with splashing kids but still better than nothing) pool all afternoon. I even finished a whole book, start to finish.

What. A. Weekend.

Posted by Erin 11:44 AM 2 comments

Perspective
Friday, July 06, 2007

This is a few days belated, but wanted to get it down lest I forget.

On Wednesday, July 4th, I was scheduled for an open water swim, a 2-hour easy ride, and a 30-minute run (on the elliptical).

About 7:30 a.m., Chief of Stuff and my wonderful sister, Lindsey, got up with me to head to the lake. They didn't want me swimming by myself, although they later admitted that when I reached the opposite side of Lake Wingra, they couldn't tell my swim cap and arm flailing from the little bitty waves. In any case, it made them feel better, gave them time to take in a little coffee to start the day, and gave the dogs -- mine, Leonard, and my sister and brother-in-law's, Nolan -- time to run, swim, and play.

The swim went well. Right around a mile, and I felt strong. My arms weren't fatiguing nearly as much as they had been when I first started swimming in my wetsuit. And the only stops I made were brief ones to readjust my annoying, leaking goggles.

After the swim, it was on to biking. While Lindsey took the dogs home for naptime, CoS and I got geared up for a two-hour ride.

We headed up the bike path toward the Military Ridge Trail, stopping in Fitchburg to pick up some fluids. The temp was great, it was a beautiful day, and I was (finally!) biking new territory. But I couldn't relax. I had my whole family (mom, dad, sister, and grandmothers) plus four to six others, coming for a cookout at noon-thirty-ish and I still had to bike, another hour or so, shower, and run to the store before then. It was 10 a.m.

"I can't do this," I told CoS. "I want to just go back and get things organized." (am a little type-A, mostly at very inopportune times). He convinced me to do a bit more, and then we'd turn around and head back.

Riding back into the parking lot outside the Vilas Zoo, we spotted 1/2 of a couple who had been swimming with a different group that morning and had taken off on their ridiculously pimped-out, fancy, matching Trek Equinox TTX 9.5's just before we set off on our ride.

I was feeling guilty about not getting up earlier (notice a trend?) and about cutting my already way-too-easy ride short.

"Well, that's good. I swam longer than their group, and they biked just about as long as I did, today," I commented about the ultra-fit Equinox TTX 9.5 couple. "So maybe this is okay. I mean, I got a workout in, and I can always sneak out for a short ride this afternoon before or after I do the elliptical."

CoS said that he thought it was fine. But I kept prattling on, wanting to assure myself that I wasn't a wuss, and that I had some kind of business being in the Equinox couple's realm.

"Maybe this is their tough day," CoS offered, I'm sure wanting to end my obsessing.

I told him I doubted it. They looked like serious kids. Probably an easy day. But I was scheduled for sort of an easy day too, so maybe it was okay. Again, more prattling.

Finally, CoS found just the right thing to assuage my guilt and obsessing: "Erin, it's only Wednesday." He reminded me that this was good training for a mid-weekday, and that I didn't have to hammer out 100+ miles just because I had the day free from work (but thankfully left out the part of having to do that tomorrow).

"Let's go have a fun cookout, and enjoy the day. You're fine," he said.

And, I decided, I mostly was.

Posted by Erin 12:42 PM 1 comments

Woah

And I thought a little 112-miler this weekend was going to be tough.

Check out this article (thanks to Mel for sending it on!) on Matt Pomeroy's 4,000 mile bike ride across the country (dubbed "Matt Across America") to raise money for Lance Armstrong's Livestrong foundation in honor of his mother, who passed away in 2005 from breast cancer.

Of particular interest? Matt's blog, http://www.mattacrossamerica.com/ -- especially the July 4th entry, "Rolling Back Roads of Wisconsin," where he says that Prairie du Chien to Madison were "112 of the most difficult miles yet on Matt Across America." He writes: "Up & down, up & down, up & down . . . forever. Today was the number one climbing day of the entire cross country ride so far and the pain was compounded by the constant rolling which makes it impossible to find the right gear or get into a steady rhythm."

That's after 33 days' worth of riding, since May 31st, starting at the shore of the Pacific Ocean in Washington state and heading through the Rockies, Montana, and North Dakota. Surely anyone who's tackled the Horribly Hilly Hundreds or the IM-Moo course would agree.

Posted by Erin 11:40 AM 0 comments

Here's Looking at You, Kid

Some vicarious blogging from CoS:

************************************

As Erin's "Chief-of-Stuff," I've been a recurring character on this blog for some months now. I say character, because while I appear, it's not quite really me. When I rescue Erin from a flat tire situation, it's heralded on the long and winding road. When I say something stupid (which trust me, happens more than flat tires), it's edited out. When I join Erin on a run or a bike ride, I get e-kudos on the blog, while my complaining is tactfully lost to her readers. I even get the occasional photo…but only the ones she finds flattering.

It's a surreal experience being reported about on the blog and I thought that if Melanie could vicariously blog, it was about time for Chief-of-Stuff to speak up.

I love running and have included it in my work-out regime for the last twelve years. Running on a warm sunny day that begs to be enjoyed outside is an easy pleasure. But I've learned to love running at midnight when Madison sleeps or on cold winter evenings when the snow muffles the sound of the occasional car. Biking has never appealed to me as much as running. I'm not the kind of guy who gets into toys or gadgets. Running somehow seemed pure and free while biking tethered me to equipment and bound me to roads.

Twice, though, I've trained for marathons only to be defeated by IT band pain. Despite changing my shoes, wearing straps, stretching, icing, popping pills, strength training , allowing a chiropractor to bruise me with stainless steel instruments, and rolling on a surprisingly painful chunk of foam, my IT band gets inflamed when my long runs begin to creep past the half marathon mark, give or take a few. My last effort, in May, resulted in gritting my teeth through 13.1 miles and settling for finishing a half-marathon. I've run exactly 1.5 miles since.

Something strange has happened, though. Biking has begun to seem appealing. After watching Erin finish a duathlon and a triathlon, I had to admit that biking looked like fun. And given Erin's summer training schedule, it began to look like biking might be the only good opportunity to hang out with her.

So I tried a couple rides with her on my hybrid and was roundly humiliated. I'm man enough to admit it; she kicked my ass. My interest spiked, though. I remembered living on my bike all summer as a kid. It seems like every conversation I had was over the the handlebars of my ten speed. I remember 40 mile rides out to Sauk City and back with my friend Luke in high school. There's a certain freedom and exhilaration that accompanies a bike ride. It's just different than a good run.

And then a friend offered to help me buy a bike at a steep discount. The universe was conspiring so I decided to buy myself my first real road bike.

Last weekend, Erin and I headed up to her hometown and I had the chance to try out my LeMond Versailles. It was a gorgeous sunny day and I felt almost giddy at the prospect of a long ride, on a new bike, through one of the most beautiful parts of the country. I also felt secretly pleased by the confidence I had that my new bike would give me a shot at keeping up with an ironwoman-in-training. After all, I was in marathon shape. How hard could it be to apply that to biking?

We conquered the reputedly terrible hills (the mini-bitches) early and without much trouble. My confidence soared. Most of the roads were curvy back highways lined with towering pine trees or farms. The asphalt seemed new and smooth, the sun was warm, my legs felt fresh, and I was having a blast. I began comparing biking and running and decided that biking – if anything – was a better workout because it forced interval work into the middle of an endurance work-out.

As the course wore on, my thoughts shifted. I went from being in love with a hunk of carbon, to feeling blah, and even wondering how anyone could ever be one with the god-forsaken torture instrument beneath me.

I also began to notice that every time we hit a hill, Erin pulled away a little. As my strength began to fade, I started counting up all the excuses I still had left now that I could no longer blame my inferior performance on the hybrid bike. I didn't have clipless pedals. Or aerobars. I hadn't had the bike adjusted yet. I had only been biking six times this year (excluding spin bikes at the gym). I didn't have a fancy bike computer. Or the right sun glasses. My jersey wasn't as tight fitting and was causing (I'm sure) substantial drag.

And just as I was beginning to confront the humbling reality that Erin is just flat-out a better biker, I discovered the miracles of drafting. Tucked in behind her bike, I took a break anytime I felt like giving up. I forced myself not to ride there for too long, but drafting saved me. And because it's not allowed in the Ironman, I saw no need to return the favor.

And soon I began to enjoy the ride again. I mixed my ride between drafting, sprinting, coasting, climbing, pulling up alongside Erin to talk, and building up as much speed as possible down hills. And other than the moment when I suggested we go throttle the Mortl tech, I began to love the ride.

With a new carbon road bike, the promise of future advantages like clipless pedals and aerobars, a great training partner, and a gorgeous UP day, I punched through 58 miles with enough left to sprint for the last two or three miles.

And as I pulled up alongside Lake Antoine, I looked down at my shiny blue LeMond with min-max carbon frame and Shimano components and thought, "this could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship."

Posted by Erin 9:13 AM 0 comments

If Loving My Ipod is Wrong, I Don't Want to Be Right
Thursday, July 05, 2007

So, I consider myself a somewhat serious runner. I've been doing road races off and on since I was 12, ran track in high school and college, and have done a couple marathons. By no means, though, am I a purist. I'm perfectly able to run without music, but I'd rather not. I even took an extra minute or so in transition during the Appleton Paper Discovery Duathlon in May to grab my Ipod for the run portion (two 5ks). Why? Because I could. Because I like it. And because I feel like I run faster and better when I've got a little Billy Idol or Black Eyed Peas busting it up in my earphones.

Honestly, though, I really don't understand this.

Jean Knaack of the Road Runners Club of America is quoted as saying, "I hear race directors complain that it's [listening to music during a race] a growing problem. They'll say 50 percent of the people running races have on headphones."

A growing problem?

The article cites these reasons as to why: "runners wearing headphones are less likely to respond to directions from course marshals, and they can't hear faster runners approaching from behind or hear warnings about vehicles or potholes. " The Peachtree race director says that the race's "helicopters, bands and crowds, should be entertainment enough."

What???

This is so many levels of ridiculousness that I don't know where to begin. First of all, if course marshals need to be giving out such complicated directions that you need to be fully aware and attentive to receive them, the course isn't as well-marked nor the race as well-run/organized as it should be. Second, faster runners approaching from behind? Really? At what, like ten miles per hour? With an entire width of a road for room? I was not aware of the danger of being stampeded during a 10k. And to Ms. Race Director, if the participant is paying YOU $35-$50 to run, shouldn't the participant get to decide if the bands/crowds are "entertainment enough"? At some races, this might be true, but running by a band for a 30-second blip of music every two miles doesn't entertainment for a racer make. And I can say for certain that the weather at this year's Green Bay Marathon thinned out the crowds to the point where it felt like a training run. Were it not for my handy pink Ipod, I might well have had a mental meltdown.

I'm curious, though -- am I missing something here, beyond the stampeding 10k runners and marshals who can't get the attention of racers when they need it? If so, please fill me in. I'm turning my music down and am all ears.

Posted by Erin 12:06 PM 4 comments

What's Wrong With Me

Ok, all you smartasses reading this, stand down for a bit.

For a while now, or more specifically, since the Green Bay Marathon on May 20th, I haven't been able to run.

The weekend after the marathon I was scheduled for ten easy miles. I got in four (and walked the rest). The weekend after that, I attempted a sprint tri and ran one mile out of three. Over the years, I've slowly learned that there is pain that you can and should run through, and then there's the kind that you can't...and if you try to, bad things happen. This last kind was the type of pain I've had in my hip whenever I ran during and post-marathon, or whenever I stood for too long, or slept on my left side. So, I decided to cut myself off from running until I could get in to a specialist.

The problem, as it turns out, is trochanteric bursitis -- inflammation and irritation of the fluid-filled sac that allows smooth motion between the bony prominence over the outside of the hip (the greater trochanter) and the tendon that passes over this bone. When the bursal sac becomes inflamed, each time the tendon has to move over the bone, pain results.

The bursa. Mine gets getting really, really mad any time tendons or muscles touch it.

I have to say that only once before have I encountered such a great doctor as the one I saw at UW Sports Medicine. Or, I should say, doctors -- a sports medicine specialist and a resident DO. Not once did I get the whole, "Just stay off of it and see how it feels, and we'll go from there." They took my situation as seriously as I was, and talked about solutions in terms of getting me back out there as quickly as possible. I appreciated that. The DO found that my pelvis was way off kilter and the physician diagnosed bursitis, although it was a chicken-and-egg situation. The DO adjusted my off-kilterness, and the physician referred me to a physical therapist who has done three Ironmans herself. At the top of the referral sheet he wrote "Ironman -- ASAP" and told me that if she didn't fit me in soon enough, to email him and he'd call her personal cell. I was blown away by all of this, and remembered why I loved seeing sports specialists. They just get it.

Tuesday I had my first appointment with the PT. She, too, is wonderful. She asked me to tell her about the marathon and I recounted the easy-breezy first 19 miles, and then the cramping and pain, and hobbling and pain, and the cold and the pain. "Why didn't you stop?" she asked. I said I really, really had wanted to break four hours, and she just shrugged her shoulders as if to say, "Oh, right. Of course."

So, she has me on a regimen of IT band stretches and Iontophoresis, which I've never heard of but am hoping like hell that it works. I have four more treatments of that, and if it doesn't have the desired effect, I go back to the specialist for cortisone injections. As I was leaving the other day, the PT told me, "Just be patient and hold off a little bit, and we'll get you fixed up so you can go out and start hammering again." Did I mention how wonderful she is? Love her.

I'm on a "bike/run as tolerated" program, but it's a really fine line to walk. On one hand, I don't want to back off on my training. I only have two more months to get through and if I can just tough it out, then I can rest properly. But on the other hand, if this injury worsens because I didn't rest enough, to the point where my race day is compromised, it's going to be hard to forgive myself. I'm telling myself that racing a little undertrained is a lot better than racing injured, but it's hard and frustrating. Hard because it's an easy excuse to train less, especially now that my volume is really going up. (I have three hours scheduled tonight? Well, if I get two in and my hip is starting to hurt, that'll be good.) And it's frustrating for obvious reasons, but one that I recently discovered is that I really, really love to run.

A two-hour run for some reason, isn't nearly as daunting as a two-hour bike for me. The bike, I dread -- making sure I have all my gear; constantly coming up with new, interesting routes and planning routes that don't take me through intersection after intersection; worrying about being picked off by an inattentive motorist, or hitting a pothole, or falling off the bike. It's just requires so much preparation, so much thinking, so much concentration. But running? Running is therapy in motion. It's relaxing and cathartic. In five minutes, I can be out the door and lost in my thoughts and/or music. I love the rhythm of it, the solitude, and the way my body feels both during and after a good run -- energized and tired all at once. Depending on how I feel, I can take a nature approach and run along the lake or in the woods, or if I want to be in the middle of things, right down state street or past the Terrace. And man, do I ever miss it.

I'm more than happy to bike and swim. But I need a good run sprinkled in now and then to really enjoy the other two, and to feel most like me.

I've resigned myself to the worst-case scenario that I might not get to run like I have before (a quick 12 or 15-miler in the middle of the week just for fun) for the rest of this summer, and perhaps the year. But I just hope this isn't a persistent, nagging, permanent injury.

So, back to the PT tomorrow morning, and then WIBA ("as tolerated") this weekend. I just. want. to. run!

Posted by Erin 9:13 AM 2 comments

Up in the U.P.
Monday, July 02, 2007

Posted by Erin 9:55 AM 1 comments