My New Favorite Thing
Monday, March 12, 2007

This little gizmo is going to change my life.

No more suction-induced headaches that last for hours post-swim and result from ill-fitting goggles and having to tighten them so much that they cut off the blood supply to the orbits of my eyes.

This is a seriously exciting find.

And where did I find it? Why, my new favorite place in Madison. I feel like I'm cheating a bit on my other favorite place, but really, Endurance House is just so darn cool...and has everything one would want triathlon-wise. I even got some great chlorine-be-gone shampoo and conditioner so I don't have to smell the pool on my hair for days afterwards.

The other day, I caught myself saying that, these days, I'm perfectly content to shop away at either of these two stores and others like them -- and that I have no desire to wander through Banana Republic or Ann Taylor or White House Black Market.

Those who know me well know the significance of that statement. If I can pay money for things like this or this that can either make the pain of Ironman training and racing either a) less severe or b) go by faster, then sign me up!

Posted by Erin 1:28 PM 1 comments

The Thing About Swimming (or, Hitting the Bonk)
Wednesday, March 07, 2007

An off-day of running for me consists of slogging along at a slower pace than normal, and is sometimes interspersed with shooting pains in my sides, as happened last weekend after a tough, second-to-last night of Mel-A-Palooza paloozaing.

The 12-miler I had scheduled for that past Saturday was anything but enjoyable, as I'm sure my running partner could attest to. I shuffled along like a 90-year-old without a walker, complaining the entire time about the sideaches that shuttled from one side of my abdomen to the other, the numbness in my feet, the cold, my frozen cliff bar and slushy Gatorade, the icy sidewalks that we had to pick our way over, and my general dissatisfaction with having to be out running, period. I was really tired, slightly hungover, and most likely a little dehydrated. But throughout the complaining, I kept slogging (slow+jogging=slogging), and I got it done. 12 whole, miserable miles.

And it's the same on the bike. If I'm tired, if I haven't eaten well enough -- or enough at all -- I reach a specific point where my legs turn to lead. Where I can't seem to get the pedal around with any sort of coordination. Where I can't imagine having to do two minutes more on the bike, much less two more hours.

That, my friends, is called bonking.

Anyone who has experienced it can attest that there is no worse feeling in a workout or race, save for a torn muscle. You know you can run/bike faster, and you know you should. But every single muscle in your body Just. Won't. Move. Like you've suddenly gained 200 lbs. Like you've been sitting sedentary on a couch for years and decided to do a 10k on a whim. It's frustrating and it's painful.

If you're doing a swim workout, it's downright dangerous.

I used to not be able to eat before I worked out. In high school, I'd sip on a water or have a bagel during lunch out of a healthy fear of that afternoon's track practice. In college and grad school, my ideal time of day to run was right around 3 p.m. -- far enough away from breakfast and close enough to dinner that I could eat right afterwards. It wasn't until I started trying to run father and faster that I discovered the joys of adequate nutritional fuel: GU and Cliff Bars -- and how just one little GU break could carry me through an extra five to eight miles that I didn't think I had in me.

And it wasn't until an incident last week that I discovered how essential it was to eat before a swim workout...old wives's tales to the contrary be damned.

Because, unlike running or biking where you just go slow down, if you hit the bonk swimming, you darn near drown.

In retrospect, I should've known better. But I got going late, Leonard took his sweet time on his morning walk, and by the time I got to the pool, I had just a little over 1.5 hours until I had to be at my first meeting of the morning.

The first five to ten minutes went well. I pulled, glided, and pulled in perfect rhythm. I swiveled my hips from side to side as if on a rail, just like all of the books say to do. I was one with the water. Any fish would've been jealous.

And then.

Without warning, I couldn't get my limbs to coordinate. It felt like there was a cement brick resting on my back. I started taking on water. I coughed and sputtered and sputtered and coughed my way through the last 25 meters in a pitiful breaststroke, and then held on to the end of the pool for dear life. I looked at the 50 meters stretched out before me, and for the first time that I could remember, felt scared of the water.

After catching my breath and reasoning with myself, I placed both feet against the pool wall and pushed off for another length. Not even a handful of strokes in, though, and the same problems resurfaced. It was like swimming with a dumbbell in each hand.

In the end, I conceded defeat. Not more than 20 minutes into the workout, and I climbed out of the pool and hit the showers.

Normally, in my training, I won't shy away from working out when I'm tired or feeling sub-par, because, I figure, come mile 100 of the bike on September 9th, or mile 20 of the run, I will surely learn a completely new definition of how tired really feels. I will learn what it truly means to "not feel well."

But there is a reason that the Ironman, and all triathlons, are ordered the way they are: swim first, then bike and run. It's because you can fight a lot of things -- exhaustion, hunger, pain, weather -- but you shouldn't ever try to fight water. If you do, in the end, every time, you'll lose.

Now, no matter what, I eat before I swim now. And lest I forget, there's a cliff bar that stays in my pool bag. Rookie mistake, and one I won't make again.

Posted by Erin 7:56 AM 0 comments

COLD
Friday, February 02, 2007

When I moved here after four years in Marquette, Michigan, I scoffed at Madisonians' reports of winter weather.

Snow? Marquette gets more than ten feet a year on average (It's the second-most "snowiest city" in the country). It starts coming down in October and still dots the beaches in May (I wasn't at all surprised one warm spring day to see sunbathers in bikinis sharing a beach with snowbanks). One winter, I had to have my car towed (read: unstuck) six different times. Three were right in my own driveway.

Cold? Marquette is the fourth-coldest city in the country. January averages have been known to hover right around five degrees. In Marquette, you huddle under over sized wool sweaters, wear boots, and try your damnedest to score an apartment with a fireplace, not because any of these things are cute or trendy, but because otherwise, you'll literally freeze your ass off.

Despite all of this, people in Marquette are among the most active -- year round -- whom I've ever seen. They snowshoe, cross-country and downhill ski, skijor, and run...no matter what the weather is like.

It was there that I learned the value of good (read: weather appropriate) running clothes and developed a true love of snowshoeing and winter running.

Strange, but true. The worse the winter weather is, the more I seem to want to be out in it. There's just something about running past houses where people are huddled safe and warm inside. It's a braving-the-elements sort of thing. One that delivers a punch of accomplishment and sticktuitiveness. On days like that, there's nothing like a look from a passing motorist cast in your direction that says, "You crazy, crazy fool. What are you doing outside in this?" and at the same time, "I could/would never do that."

But today in Madison, it's a special kind of cold out -- the kind that makes your nostrils freeze together. The kind that makes your teeth ache and your legs go numb lest they're covered in Carhart. The kind of cold that the winds whipping off Lake Superior dish out to Marquette only once in a while.

It's hard to remember, on days like today, how the sun could possibly feel too hot on your skin. It's hard to look out over Lake Monona and believe that just four months from now, the frozen sheet of ice covering it and the mini-city of bundled-up men with their shanties and poles will give way to warm, lapping water, swimmers, and boaters. It's hard to imagine running in a tank top and shorts.

Such is the miracle of midwest living. Four true seasons. Weather ranging from the unbearably cold to the excrutiatingly hot, and all of the sublime days that fall in between.

Proust said that "A change in the weather is sufficient to recreate the world and ourselves." For me, spring begets hope in the purest possible sense. Summer's warmth makes every day feel like vacation. Fall invokes the need for family and hunkering down. And frigid winter days build character. Much like brussell sprouts or a 20-mile run, these cold days are not something you look forward to or wish for. After the fact, though, you survive and you are proud.

And if you're anything like me, not too proud to hop on the treadmill.

Posted by Erin 8:30 AM 1 comments

No Excuses
Thursday, February 01, 2007

As months go, January and February top the list as the hardest. Nothing much happens during these months. There are no holidays to mark the time, no holiday parties to pass the longer nights. More often than not, the days are frigid and snowy. And these two months seem about as far away from the warm, scent-heavy days of spring as you can get -- both in calendar pages and mental health.

Especially in the Midwest. Especially when you're training for an Ironman.

In the last two cases, it's easy to feel down. It's easy to feel uninspired and unmotivated. It's even easier to make excuses.

Too icy to run outside. Too much to do at work. Too much to do after work -- grocery store, exercising the dog, exercising the horse, meetings upon meetings. To borrow a phrase I heard someone say lately, "Too much too much."

A skipped workout here or there won't hurt. It's the middle of the winter, after all. Your life is busy. One can only do so much.

And then you hear about someone like Dick Hoyt, and you're exposed for what you are: a whiner and a wuss.

Dick Hoyt's son Rick has had Cerebral Palsy since he was born, but that hasn't stopped either of them from completing 64 marathons, 206 triathlons (six of them Ironmans), 78 half-marathons, and a slew of other races -- 911 in all. Lest you think that isn't enough of an accomplishment, the pair also biked and ran across the country (3,735 miles) in 45 consecutive days; biked the states of Connecticut,Rhode Island, Massachusetts with "Axa World Ride '95;" and biked from Pittsburgh to Washington DC with "Axa World Ride 95 ."

The remarkable thing is not just the races. It's the training, too. All of the training hours logged for each one of those races. All of the miles Dick Hoyt runs, bikes, and swims -- not only by himself, but with his son. Pushing, pulling, and pedalling his son.

When Dick runs, Rick is in a wheelchair that Dick is pushing. When Dick cycles, Rick is in the seat-pod from his wheelchair, attached to the front of the bike. When Dick swims, Rick is in a small but heavy, firmly-stabilized boat being pulled by his dad.

And I think my training is "much too much" at times? As Rick Reilly from Sports Illustrated says, "Compared to Dick Hoyt, I suck."

Take the time to read the story and watch the short video of this amazing duo here.

Meanwhile -- despite the cold, despite having to entertain a justifiably-bored Vizsla and exercise a cooped-up horse, and despite having to figure out what to do about dinner -- I'm going to get my workout in tonight.

No more excuses.

Posted by Erin 2:08 PM 0 comments

Guesswork be Gone
Friday, January 26, 2007

2006 was a year of life-changing experiences.

There was turning 30 (which I've heard is the new 20).

Then there was gmail, with its snazzy searches and incredibly convenient g-chat feature (Seriously, people, I didn't believe it either at first. But it's that good.)

And finally, there was Map My Run (also a direct result of the genius of Google. Coincidence? I think not!)

For any runner or cyclist, this is, perhaps, one of the greatest inventions of all time. Right up there with the dry-wick gear, bodyglide, and the ipod.

Gone are the days of driving a route in your car and mentally guesstimating the approximate mileage lost or gained by things like cutting through parks. Gone is the guilt and (if you're anything like me) the subsequent tacking on of extra blocks at the end, to make up for that guessing (because, heaven forbid you should run 2.93 miles instead of 3). Gone are the boring days of running only a few calculated routes, or the difficulties of running or biking while out of town.

You can store all of your routes right online and there's a handy little calculator in which you enter age, height, weight, and total time for the route; in return, it spits out your average pace and how many calories you burned.

It's brilliant. Pure and simple brilliance. And, for the Type-A runner, a little bit like crack.

Try it and see. I dare you. You'll be hooked in no time.

Posted by Erin 1:11 PM 0 comments

For those of you new to this blog thing...

I've heard from quite a few people that they wanted to post a comment on here, but couldn't figure out how. So, here's a primer:

1. For the particular post (blog entry) that you'd like to comment on, click on the "comments" portion (ex: Posted by Erin 11:19 AM 0 comments Links to this post) at the bottom of each post.
2. In the box under "leave your comment," type what you'd like to say.
3. Under "Chose an Identity" click on the "Other" button (unless you have undergone the life- changing experience of gmail) and enter your name.
4. Press "Publish Your Comment" and, voila! (or as a certain Wisconsin political blogger who will not be named would say, "Wahlah!"). Mission accomplished. Well done, you!

Posted by Erin 12:47 PM 0 comments

What Comes Around...
Friday, January 05, 2007

I could have had a free bike.

Coulda, woulda, shoulda.

Here's the story: I walk into the Trek store in October, pick out a bike and all of the fixings that go with it...which, if you've ever decided suddenly one day to "take up" biking, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Water bottles, water bottle cages, aerobars, spare tires, tire-changing tools, an under-the-seat pack to hold the spare tire and tire-changing tools, a tire pump, bike trainer, shoes, a fitting. I could go on for close to forever. But, you get the picture. Lots o' stuff.

In any case, I open up a Trek card (great deal - no finance charges for 12 months), promise to make good on all the goods by signing my name on the dotted line, and the store clerk realizes there was a shoe fitting or pair of shorts or something that didn't get rung up. So, she runs the card again, and I sign, again. Then, I go home happy.

About a month down the road, I get a statement from Trek. For $36. So I pay it. And, assuming the big whopper of a statement is not far behind, I pay an extra few hundred dollars toward the bike et al.

Two months come and go, and I get a letter from Trek indicating that I overpaid by several hundred dollars and they'd like to refund my money. I just have to call a specified 1-800 number.

After explaining the reason for my overpayment, the customer service representative tells me she sees no record of me having bought a bike and I should contact the store to see if they do.

I hang up the phone and realize I have two options: 1. call the store, alert them to their (rather large) mistake, and pay for my bike the old fashioned way, or 2. pretend the whole Trek-instigated letter/conversation never happened and go about my training a little bit richer.

Now, I'd like to say that I immediately jumped to #1, but I didn't. I don't know if that makes me a morally-marginal member of society, or just plain human. But we're talking a LOT of money here folks. Money that I wouldn't necessarily have to pay if I didn't pick up the phone and alert the Trek store to a mistake that they didn't even know they had made.

At the very least, it was tempting not to. I thought about it, and thought about it, and thought about it. I weighed my options. Over and over again.

In the end, one picture keeps resurfacing: me on a dishonestly-come-by bike, on a miserably hot (or, given this year's weather, cold and drizzly) day in September, struggling up and down hills and struggling just to keep my legs moving after 6+ hours on a bike, with the phrase "most difficult Ironman bike course in the world" (not sure where I heard it, but after seeing the Wisconsin course, there's not a doubt in my mind that it's true) narrating the scene.

The Ironman is a 2.4 mile swim and 112 mile bike, with a marathon tacked on to the end for good measure. It's one hell of a hard race. And, I figured, why make it even harder?

So, I picked up the phone. Because from what I've heard, Karma's a bitch. And I'd really rather not have her tagging along on September 9th.

Posted by Erin 11:19 AM 0 comments