The Fourth Pillar
Monday, August 06, 2007

As if swimming 2.4 miles, biking 112 miles, and running a marathon isn't enough, there's an often-forgotten, fourth discipline in Ironman: nutrition.

I thought I had my nutrition down pat. After all, I know what I like, I know about how much I need to take in, and I know about when I need to do it. My coach, however, had me write up my nutrition plan for race day, and am I ever glad I did. It's a lot to think through sitting here nice and comfy and able-minded on my bed. It will be quite another thing, I'm sure, come race day with all of the emotions and fears and commotion. So, below is my plan, followed by the little cheat sheet she had me draw up to actually tape to my bike where I can see it that day.

I have a feeling this is all going to be indispensable. After all, as Chief of Stuff just said, "All of the double-bricks in the world aren't going to help if you screw up your nutrition that day."

Aptly put. And without further ado, here it is:

RACE DAY NUTRITION PLAN

4:00 a.m.

• Whole wheat English muffin with peanut butter and honey (200)
• Gatorade Nutrition Shake (370)

5:00 - 5:30 a.m.

• Grande café mocha (330)
• Sip water

6:30 a.m.

• Sip Gatorade

7:00 a.m. Race starts.

7:00 – 8:45 a.m. Swim

9:00 a.m. Out of T1, start biking.

• First 20-30 minutes: water only
• 3-6 Clif Blocks or ½ Clif Bar at top of each hour
• Chase with water
• 3-6 Endurolytes on every x:30
• 1 bottle of Gatorade per hour
• Bonus: Combos in special needs bag (131 calories, 316mg sodium)
• 3 Advil – then –Water only 30 minutes before T2 (about mile 105)

Advice to Remember:

• "When your attitude about the race changes, take in some fuel." (Translation: Feeling sorry for yourself or angry at the wind is a sign of low blood sugar. Eat!)

• "When you feel good, eat." (Translation: When you feel good during the race don’t hammer;, take advantage of this time to get more fuel onboard.

5:30 p.m. Out of T2, start running.

• First two miles, just water.
• Alternate oranges or Clif bar/blocks + water and Gatorade every aid station.
• 3 Advil at ½ marathon point
• Start sipping coke at mile 15-18. Continue through end of race.
• One Endurolyte per hour.

Post-Race

• No water immediately (and no caffeine or alcohol). Sports drink only.
• Recovery shake or Protein Berry Workout smoothie from Jamba Juice.

0-1 hour Water and Gatorade

3 Endurolytes

1:00 hr. ½ Clif Bar or Clif Blocks 1:30 hr. 3-6 Endurolytes

2:00 hr. ½ Clif Bar or Clif Blocks 2:30 hr. 3-6 Endurolytes

3:00 hr. ½ Clif Bar or Clif Blocks 3:30 hr. 3-6 Endurolytes

4:00 hr. ½ Clif Bar or Clif Blocks 4:30 hr. 3-6 Endurolytes

5:00 hr. ½ Clif Bar or Clif Blocks 5:30 hr. 3-6 Endurolytes

6:00 hr. ½ Clif Bar or Clif Blocks 6:30 hr. 3-6 Endurolytes

7:00 hr. 3 ADVIL, Water only.

***1 bottle Gatorade/hour!***

There it is...full race weekend plan forthcoming.

Posted by Erin 8:49 PM 5 comments

If I Was Crazy Enough to Do This Again Next Year...

Almost makes me want to give it another (more organized) shot...

Almost.

Posted by Erin 3:01 PM 2 comments

Light at the End of the Tunnel
Friday, August 03, 2007

I'm venturing a guess that I don't mark time like most people do. I mean, I do, but I have one additional, unusual way of doing it that made me very, very happy just yesterday.

Most horses have to get their toesies trimmed about every six weeks. My horse, Gino, is no different.

Our routine goes like this: I make sure Gino is well-exercised and god-willing, tired, before the farrier is to show up at the barn. Then the farrier shows up, and tries to trim and file Gino's hooves while Gino simultaneously tries to pull his foot from the metal stand the farrier uses to save his back and bite the farrier and/or me. I spend my time yelling "woah" and trying at the very least not to let Gino bite the farrier (if he gets me, that's okay, but finding a good farrier is not an easy thing). At the end I write out a check and then we schedule another appointment, six weeks into the future.

For the past year, every time I scheduled a new appointment, I'd think of Ironman. (yes, seriously) I'd think of the fact that I'd be in way better shape six weeks into the future, or that I'd be able to finally bike outside, or that I'd be on the other end of the marathon.

This time, scheduling that appointment was sweet in so many ways.

September 13th.

By September 13th, I will hopefully have become an Ironman. My labors will have paid off -- months and months of 6-hour bike rides and double-bricks and swimming until 10:00 at night behind me. On September 13th, after Gino has had his feet trimmed, I will not have to take off for a two-hour bike and an hour run like I did last night. Instead, I will likely linger at the barn, letting Leonard play with his barn-buddies, visiting with the crew that's around on a nightly basis. Perhaps I'll even throw a saddle on Gino for the first, second, or third time. We'll walk, trot, and canter around the outdoor arena as the sun sets, just a stone's throw from where I had recently tested my mettle biking through the roads of Verona and beyond. We'll start getting to know one another, Gino and me. And that night will represent the very beginning of my next journey -- the journey back into the world of horse showing...a world I've so desperately missed these past handful of years.

September 13th. Looking forward to it.

But first, September 9th. Giddy up.

Posted by Erin 5:02 PM 2 comments

Frustration Station

The other day, I checked in at the Spirit of Racine site to take a look at the results. While I'm not a real numbers person, I just wanted to see, approximately, how I might've stacked up. And what I saw freaked me out.

Not the swim times, or the run times, but the bike times. Or, more specifically, the bike averages: 20 to 22 mph at the top, down only to 16 or 17 mph at the very bottom of my age bracket.

This stung a bit. Again, I'm not a big on numbers, which translates into being not being big into gadgets. The whole bit is just kind of lost on me. But I know numbers enough to realize that I'd likely be in the very bottom percentage of my age bracket with the averages I usually put up on my bike -- often running the gamut of the 15mph range.

And, just like the woman with the choppy-ugly stroke in the lane next to me today at the Y, I couldn't just let those numbers be, I had to try to beat them.

So, last night, after a four-mile run (and man! it was h-o-t-t out there!), I mounted up for my scheduled two-hour ride with a goal to go as fast as I possibly could. Period. (Disclaimer: I recognize the unscientific and possibly detrimental nature of this little experiment as it relates to my training. But really, I didn't really care.)

My route took me out-and-back along about a third of the Ironman loop. Just after the turn-around point, I biked one of the hills so hard that I threw up. It was the first ever chuck-it on my bike, which I took to mean that I was doing well, pushing myself and all.

I pushed the highest gear I could, eventually causing my hipflexors to feel pinched and sore. But I didn't back off. My quads started complaining. But I didn't back off. I was feeling a bit overheated...hard to do on a bike. And still, I didn't back off.

I tried not to let myself look at the computer, but whenever I did, there were pretty numbers like 18, 19, and even 22 or 23 that flashed back at me. Surely, I was cru-sing.

Finally, I reached the end of the route, dismounted, and with great anticipation, clicked through my bike computer's screen for my average....

Drum roll....

16.2 mph

WTF?!?!?!?

I felt a tempter tantrum simmering up. I felt like kicking my bike (as if it had something to do with those numbers). And then I felt like crying. Because I had just ridden my ass off and mustered a measly 16.2.

I know I don't need to (or probably physically can't) average close to 20 for the Ironman. I'm fine with slow-but-steady and all that. I have no sights set on a specific finishing time; I just want to finish.

But still. That's a big gap -- between16.2 and the age groupers at Racine. And I just keep wondering what I'm not doing that I could be.

Because the thing is, I'm in great shape. Probably better than I've ever been. I've done countless intervals interspersed with putting significant time in on long rides. I starting to finally feel "one" with my bike (despite a few hiccups). The only thing I haven't been doing with any regularity is pushing as high of a gear as I can, mostly due to the fact that when I do, my hip screams bloody murder for me to stop.

So now I'm wondering, what else? Short of investing thousands and thousands of dollars in Powercranks and power meters and other helpful gadgets, how do I go faster? More drills? A coach? More time on the bike? Or am I just doomed to slowness?

Any ideas? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

Posted by Erin 3:30 PM 3 comments

Childhood, Interrupted?

So, I caught this story about five-year-old tennis prodigy Jan Silva on the Today Show this morning, and I must say, I'm still trying to figure out how I feel about it.

All of the experts agree that the kid has mad talent. That's why Patrick Mouratoglou, a former top player and head of the Mouratoglou Tennis Academy, is covering all the Silva family’s expenses and providing them with a three-bedroom villa and a car in their move to France.

But still -- he's five. Five-years-old and he's practicing four hours a day (on top of three hours of school) and has a mental coach to boot. Now, I'm not a parent, but shouldn't this kid be out climbing trees and playing soccer and swimming, and not having to be bribed with ice cream to practice? If he has this much natural talent, won't it still be there when he's ten or twelve, when he can make the decision to play for himself?

His mom says in this article that "Everyone thinks we're crazy, but when they come and actually meet us they are like, 'This kid loves it,' " says Mari, a tennis instructor who now teaches at Mouratoglou's academy. "We don't have to push him."

Perhaps. But at five, it's hard to imagine that Jan has chosen this. After all, five-year-olds have a tough time choosing what they want to drink (I have cousins, and I've witnessed their incredible ability to really want one thing one minute, and the next minute want something exactly opposite with just as much vehemence). Rather, one would assume that it's likely all he knows.

To this day, I still think about what might have been if my parents had just given in to my pleas to send me to the Burke Mountain Academy, which started in earnest at the end of my eighth grade year and some promising results at the Junior Olympics that winter. The Academy has only about 15 to 20 graduates a year, but since opening in 1970, has placed 150 athletes on the US Ski Team, US Olympic Team, or other national teams.

I was ready to give up everything to be one of those 150 -- friends, my horse, time with my family, and in general, a normal life. But the difference is this: I was ready. I made the choice, from sixth grade on, to get up at six a.m. every day during my Thanksgiving and Christmas vacations...to tag along to races I wasn't yet old enough to race in, carrying and screwing in gates that were double my size before it was even light out and before the temp had cleared zero degrees...to train and train and train until I qualified for the JOs...and to mentally prepare myself for them at twelve and thirteen years old -- for the actual race and also all of the surrounding craziness that comes with competition at that level. I had to lobby my parents to send me to races and sign me up for camps. And finally, at the end of eighth grade, I did the research on Burke, wrote to request information and an application, and filled it out. I chose it -- all of it.

And still, my parents said no. Even when I cried and begged and pleaded, they said no. More than a spot on the US team, they wanted me to have a normal life. They wanted me to run track or try out for basketball, in addition to skiing. To go to prom and serve on the student council. To go to horse shows with the family and be there for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner.

Maybe their motives were a little bit selfish. Maybe they didn't just want those things for me, but for them too. Maybe they weren't ready to give me up right when they were just getting to know me.

I don't know what the right choice was -- for me, or for little Jan. But I can say with certainty that the trend is that sports seem to be getting more comeptitive, not less. Kids are having to choose "a" sport to focus on at younger and younger ages. One mom I met in Junior League talked about try-outs her son had to attend for soccer. He's five. Back when I was five, if you showed up in your $15 team t-shirt that usually hung down to your knees, you were in. No drills, no private lessons to ready you for try-outs. Just fun. Post-game kool-aid and cookies (and in my case, some during-game dandelion-crown-making) and fun.

And then there's this issue rolled into the whole mess as well, marginalizing lower-income kids from reaping the benefits of competition like learning social skills, teamwork, and life-long healthy habits.

Perhaps Jan will avoid the pitfalls that seem to plague so many child prodigies or child stars. I hope he does. But it will be interesting to see if he's still swinging a raquet 15 or 20 years from now. Only time will tell...

Posted by Erin 9:15 AM 1 comments

What I'll Be Doing September 9th
Thursday, August 02, 2007

For anyone who's curious what the Wisconsin Ironman course looks like, check out Simply Stu's great overview of each leg here. What a great tool for visualization and/or for out-of-towners who don't have much of a chance to recon the course. Must've taken some serious work to put these together, but on behalf of one Ironman-in-training, tres helpful. Thanks, Stu!

Or, for anyone who wants to get more of a spectator feel of Ironman, check out Xt4's blog, Becoming Ironman, and click on any of the sections under "documentary film" on the right-hand side.

Today I'm largely tired of navel-gazing. I want to think and write about something other than Ironman, but I just can't. As worn out as I am from thinking and thinking about it, that's all I've got.

I found myself wishing, all day long, that I could just go and train without having to fit it in around life. I'm back to a place where motivation isn't the problem, but finding enough time -- or the chunks of time that I need to do my workouts these days -- is. All day, I've been irrationally jealous of all those in training who don't have 9 to 5 jobs. I wish I could take the next few weeks off and just concentrate on training. But, alas, this is the real world and I do have one of those jobs that requires me to be here for set hours each day, even when there's not a whole lot going on. Makes me stir-crazy. So, I'm off to see what I can do about fitting in a bike ride before my horse has to get his feet done at 6 p.m., and a swim/run after that.

Good times.

Posted by Erin 1:55 PM 0 comments

Why I Have No Business Attempting an Ironman.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007

This week, I fell off my bike...while standing still. Twice. Yup, twice. Count 'em -- as in one, two. And standing still as in not moving. At all.

I am a huge dork.

Posted by Erin 7:37 AM 3 comments