I'm not Training for Ironman

...so why am I out here doing this run?? My shoes are squishy wet, my wine-sloshing belly is flashing the residents of this poor town, and I'm burping spaghetti & Italian dressing.

I shouldn't have been out running tonight. There were many signs that it wasn't to be yet I had made the mistake (curses!) of visiting TriGreyhound and had gotten all inspired in spite of myself and before I could control my fingers, I had dashed off a comment saying I was going to go for a run. But I didn't mean to flash my belly. Really. I am a 35 year-old TEACHER, for cryin' out loud. But let's be honest, 35 and my profession really have nothing to do with it. I've been waiting my whole life for my cute little midriff to materialize.

But, no, I have Ponch. The belly bulge that's been with me from 89.7 pound anorexic to 174 pound compulsive overeater. And granted, she's made of iron; I can eat and drink and still pop off a run. Like I did tonight. But still, while I embrace Ponch, I like to do my embracing in the privacy of my own home. But alas, all of my top-dog running clothes are packed for this relay race I'm doing this weekend. So after I left TG that flippin' comment, I was forced to forage. I came out with a bike shirt that was too short in the front, running shorts that reach my knees, and granny undies that reach my rib cage. Which did have the advantage of sticking out over the top of my running shorts and sort of covering a sliver of wine-swilling Ponch.

So why would I drink before a run? Because I wasn't going to run! I had resigned myself to that earlier today. Rewind. Earlier scene: I don my 2nd-to-the-bottom-tier running clothes, all ready to bike to the trail when I get the brainy idea of running a library errand first. So I do. I get my books safely INto the library and come OUT loaded with the extra large, teacher stack of reserves that had come in. To a deluge. I stood by my bike under the eaves of the library, hunkering over my books, wrapping them in a spare plastic bag I keep for just such emergencies. I decided to give the rain 10 minutes to subside. I waited out 3 teenagers (they all screamed off on their bikes after about 2 minutes) and a ballet dancer.

She tiptoed her way down the sidewalk into the library. She was wearing some kind of ballet-slipper-looking shoes that she was apparently very interested in keeping dry. She commented, "It's refreshing, isn't it?" I nodded and said, "Yep." Then she emerged 7 minutes later clutching her books in a plastic bag and tiptoed to the curb. There she stepped off into the street into ANKLE DEEP water. She was out of range before I could say, "Yep, refreshing."

But the ballet lady had wiped my windshield. I knew I had to make a move or be stranded at the library by the hundred-year flash flood. My 2-mile ride home was a blur of cars spraying me, teenagers running under the eaves of their houses, and lotso thunder and lightning. I arrived home drenched. I wrung the water out of my clothing and hung it all in the shower. I cozied up with a glass of wine, salad, a plate of spaghetti and my computer. I ate the salad and spaghetti. I sipped half of the glass of wine down, and surfed. Only to land on Trigreyhound's inspirational post. The rest, as they say, is history.

I went for a run tonight. I flashed my city. I got wet. And it was good.

Rainy Places

You wake up from a nap
on a rainy day
and with eyes still squeezed shut
you play the game:
Where are you?

So many places you could be
You could be Home-Home
Just on the verge of dragging
every towel of Mom's
out to the calf hutches
where you and Jenny
will set up house
Where for an hour or two
you will be the adults

You could be in one of the adult spots
It could be in the Old Place
where rainy days meant
days of Scrabble
and warm mugs of tea
Curling up
and M&Ms

Unable to resist
your eyes shoot open
They encounter the New Place
rain off the patio
soaked evergreens
puddles on the sidewalk
little girls floating
shoeboxes attached to string
A friend in his easy chair
a pensive finger to his lips
So many places you could be.

Where are you on this rainy day?

River Rat

We drove down the back country road and were amazed at the scene that surrounded us. The river was flooded. It had seeped its way right up to the road. Tree trunks were submerged from toe to girdle. My friends whooped. Our kayaks shivered in anticipation. I swear I heard the Sugar say, "Welcome, Teach. I've got a thing or two to teach you about swimming." My belly quivered.

Kayaks unloaded, and with 20 minutes to kill while a car was shuttled to the takeout point, I stood on that foreshortened shoreline. I pulled on my swimcap, wet my goggles, stretched my shoulders, and sized up the Sugar.

I never have been good with sizes.

My first step in took me over my head. I had chosen to step right off the edge of the former river bank. Never to fear, I know how to swim. I thought. I struck out for the middle of the channel, neatly crawling my way along, thinking I was the boss of this bus. I attained the middle and looked over my to my friends on shore. Huh, how'd they get up there?

OK, I would just swim back upstream to them. I maintained the illusion that I was in charge for another 15 seconds or so. Neat strokes and controlled breathing rapidly deteriorated into pure flailing for all I was worth.

To no avail. My attempts left me gasping for air, shoulders aching - and mere feet farther upstream. I changed tactics (midstream as it were) and angled for the side. I reached it and grabbed hold of some bushes and hauled myself, hand-over-hand, branch-over-branch to the landing.

Standing on the shoreline, I shook myself out. My friends shook their heads. But I was ebullient. "I've never swum in anything like this before! I couldn't even swim upstream! I understand how people get swept away and drown." Safety Friend hastened to grab the rescue buoy and clung to it with one eye and me with the other. He knew that I intended to have another go at that river.

I was scratched and bruised, but I had learned. Let the current take you downstream but swim diagonally to shore so you can catch onto something. Anything will do. I continued to add to my collection of scratches and bruises. And to my appreciation for the power of water.

By the time my companions returned from the shuttle, I was ready to sit for a while. We put our kayaks in. I stayed with my paddling friends, on top of the water - above the water - dodging obstacles and wending our way through flooded forest land for 2 hours. Then the swimmer in me poked at my insides. I craved more. Communion with that water. A need to be swept away but to regain myself, find my strength, strategize for equilibrium in the midst of an awesome power.

My friend barely grabbed my kayak and I was off. River-rat-diving under the surface, swimming faster than I had a right to. The current allowed me to keep up with the kayaks. I picked up my head, saw the kayaks pacing ahead of me, and yelled, "I feel like the lead swimmer at Ironman!" I dove, I crawled, I somersaulted and dragged my fingers along the bottom, tracing wavy lines into the sand, feeling that river with my fingers, drinking it in with my face - a tactile overload - down to my bones.

And then I remembered the logs. We dodge them and jump them and limbo them in kayaks. What could a swimmer do? Welcome to LogLand - a playground that's not sure if it's marine or terrestrial. I was never able to tell a log's stability until I hoisted myself up onto it and started my walk down its gangplank. Some sunk slowly beneath my weight, just allowing me to dive before it sunk me completely. Others held fast and allowed me to walk their length - dip walking just to be fancy (and really, what an aptly named walk for me) - to choose a diving spot of my own.

Then I was swept into that current again, swimming, diving under, flipping, writing my life story in the sand - free. I swam like that until my legs were gelatinous. Until stroking downstream made my shoulders protest. But how can you end such a swim? How can you willfully close a chapter in which you feel beautiful, at one, at peace?

You can grab a friend's hand and let him help you into your kayak. Accept a peck on the cheek, a beaming smile on your face, a sparkle in his eyes.

You can go from one beauty to the next.

Wishing You Stubbornness

OK, all you Wisconsin & Louisville Ironman-trainees, I'm thinking of you. In preparation for school, I am reading Everest Book II: The Climb, by Gordon Korman. I came across this passage and thought of you all...

"In the Icefall, an alpinist relied not on technical skill, but on a mixture of courage, blind faith, and pure stubbornness that bordered on insanity."

Your big day is approaching. I wish you pure stubbornness - just short of insanity. K? :)

RMC Sprint Triathlon Race Report

The Swim

I stood in the water with 72 other women, shivering, chatting nervously, reassuring each other. I had tried out my new bike tire and goggles, I had visualized my transitions, I had warmed up with a swim. All that remained now was to do this race. I stood in the middle of a pack of kindred spirits who were just about to clobber each other and - at the blow of an airhorn - we were off. It went quickly. Crawl, thrash, dodge, thump, and yes... clobber.

The swim: 500 meters. 8:26.

I exited that water in Race Mode. I heard the spectators, waved at my beloved cheering section, but was - in a way - oblivious to them. Wrapped up in that internal drum that is Race Mode. It's singular and solitary and oh-so-compelling. My T1 went beautifully. I found Serra right away, frantically - and with not a little vertigo - put on my socks and bike shoes. On went my race helmet and then my race belt. On to Serra I went.

T1: 1:09

The Bike

The bike course wound out of the Green Lake Conference Center grounds and into the country. I had ridden pieces of the route last year during Ironman training. (Where didn't I ride last year for IM training?) I remembered it being exceptionally hilly. It was. I am dubbing it "The 30 Hills in 15 Miles Route." That's a compliment.

I did the usual jockeying for position with two tall men on blue bikes. They'd pass me on the uphills and I'd pass them back on the downhills and flats. My mantra of the day was, "This is a sprint. Sprint." I pushed the whole way, EXCEPT the two times I dropped my chain. I coached myself: Slow down. Be gentle with the derailleur so you can get the chain back on by just spinning NOT dismounting.

My quads hurt like hell, begged me for an ice bath, begged me for a nap, or at least to ease up. I staunchly ignored them - and even may have pushed a little harder just to show them who's boss. Ha! I refueled them with about 10 oz. of Gatorade and 2 sips of water. I was careful not to overdo the drinking, having sloshed my way through races before.

Serra felt good. He accelerated like a dream. He's very light under me. I appreciated that lightness immensely as one hill led to another hill to another to another... pretty country. Tough country. As I neared the entrance back into the Conference Center grounds, I came up on the first woman I'd seen in about 12 miles. I "good jobbed" her and passed her. I wondered how many other women were ahead of me.

The volunteers and crowds picked up as I got further onto the conference grounds. I heard T2 well before I saw it. I shouted to anyone who would listen, but to my cheering section in particular, "Now that was a bike course! 30 hills in 15 miles!"

The bike: 15 miles. 47:07.

I dismounted Serra and crossed the chip mat. Then a volunteer uttered the fateful words, "The first place woman is in the transition. Go get her."

Pump, thump, pump! Endorphins! I screamed through T2.

T2: 0:33 (FYI I have never transitioned that fast in my life!)

The Run

As I crossed the chip mat to exit T2, I saw the #1 woman in front of me. She was lean and strong and mighty hungry looking. But I was too. I don't know what got into my legs but they just went. I passed her within the first 100 yards of the run. I was out of my body. I was flying. My cheering section yelled, "Pace it out, Teach!" I smiled and pretty much exuded exhilaration. And kept running like hell.

When you're running really hard, do you ever feel as though someone has thrust a spear through your temples? I felt this and thought, "Yes! This is how it's supposed to feel. I'm running fast enough." I kept running at spear-through-the-temples-pace, breathing hard, feeling... good. Happy to be racing. Feeling... nervous. Threatened by the thought of the woman behind me. Feeling... in tune, alive, panting, wheezing and focused. I stopped for no water, for nothing. For no thing.

I had enough left to sprint the last 50 yards into the finish chute. The spectators were wild, the cheering fueled my flames. I crossed the line and heard my name. The run: 5k, 22:07

Overall: 1:19:19
#1/73 Female
#11/204 Overall

____________

The aftermath: I can now say that this season has hosted the BEST race of my career and the WORST. I can reiterate that my cheering section rocks. I cannot post any pictures of my huge trophy (Fe-lady) because I won, instead, a medal and a bottle of wine. I could post some pictures of me after drinking said bottle of wine, but... I won't.

Let's just leave it at, "Cheers, everyone."

First Female!!!!

Just back from my sprint tri - the local one I've done since its inception nine years ago - and (drumroll please) I was first female! I'm pumped, happy, feelin' good. Details to follow... :)

The Apartment Kids: Biker Chick

Black matted hair
and sagging diaper
she stomps an angry foot
at retreating older sister's back
releases a few screams
but sees the futility

She turns back to the bike
on her own
screws up her lip
concentration
determination
first mounts and tries pushing the pedals
but quickly realizes her own
not-strong-enough
dismounts
and pushes on the handlebars
negotiates them around a 360
but the bike goes nowhere

She steps back from the bike
appraising
a 30 year old problem-solving eye
peering out of that 3 year old face

Trial
The bike responds as she pushes on its seat
Soon she and the bike are motoring down the sidewalk
after the elder sister
Who's to point out that she is not precisely riding it?
Girl and bike are in motion

A biker chick is born.

Delavan Lake Tri Race Report

Author's Note: This started out as a list of what I've accomplished in my time as an MIA blogger. CATCH: #1 on the list turned into over 800 words. I decided that some stories just need to be told. So here you have it - my first tri of the 2007 season. Read it and weep. (I did.)

When: June 2nd
Where: Delavan, WI
What: Oly distance
Why: Pfft!

Morning nearly dawned. I was up at 3:45 AM, positively itching to race. I was on the road by 4:15.

Only to hit a deer. Or, more accurately, the deer hit me. I had stopped for it, but after loping across the highway in front of me, it decided that the grass was greener on the previous side, turned around, and ran into the driver's side of my car. Scared the living bejeezus out of me. On shaky legs, I got out of the car, determined that the car was still drivable, determined that I was still drive-able, and continued on. I had a race to do.

Packet pickup and prep were uneventful, and I was race-ready by 7AM. But the race wasn't ready for me. Or the other 200 athletes on the beach. So we stood there. Talking, pushing our toes around in the sand, craning our necks to see if the race director was off his phone yet and ready to start the race... at 7:27, we finally started.

The swim felt beautiful. No kicks, no thumps, no hyperventilating. I felt smooth, calm, and very connected. I came out of the water in 21 minutes and charged to my bike. This was Serra's first race of the year, and "excited" does not touch how I felt about trying out my new steed.

He was fast.

Every time I looked down at the Cateye we were over 20 MPH. I was flying. It felt great, sublime, superb -and lots of other adjectives - to be racing at last. I passed a lot of people, "good jobbing" my way through the masses. Then, the short course and the long course split off and the crowds thinned. At about mile 9 I saw another soul and passed him, taking the lead on open country roads. That's where it got interesting. I kept going straight down that road, watching for the teeny race signs that indicated turns.

I kept going straight down that road, watching for the teeny signs that indicated turns.
I saw open fields, blacktop, cows, people working in their yards.

I kept going straight down that road, watching for the teeny signs that indicated turns.
I rode through a town of about 300 souls. I looked behind me at the guy I had passed earlier. He was still following me. I slowed down and let him catch up to me. "Do you think we're still on course?" I asked him. "I haven't seen any signs," said he. So...

I kept going straight down that road, watching for the teeny signs that indicated turns.
I crossed the Illinois state line.
EEEEEEERK. Clue. I am off course.
Sh!t, Sh!t, Sh!t! Serra and I had been bookin', truckin', takin' no prisoners.
I turned around to see if Mr.-No-Signs-in-Sight was still behind me. NOPE. I'll never know when he bailed, but bail he did.

So Serra and I decided to go another mile to ensure that we did 25 miles total - on an out-and-back course - and turned around. Easy-peezy, right?

NOPE.

• I tried following those teeny signs in reverse, and that turned out -- hopelessly. Soon, I no longer had any clue if I was coming or going (literally). And were those signs for the sprint or the oly?? I re-gave up and made it my goal to get back to the lake.
• I stopped and asked for directions 3 times.
• I slowed down and smelled the roses, ate all of my Clif and Gu, and laughed at myself. (Once I was done cursing.)
• I made it back to the turn for the lake and saw the first volunteer that I'd seen in over 30 minutes. I came from the wrong direction and shouted so to her. She just nodded her head sympathetically and waved me in.
• I had done 30.6 miles on a 25-mile course. And averaged 19.1 MPH. (No comment. About what "coulda been" or otherwise!)
• I landed in the transition area and poured out my story of woe to my sag wagon friend. Only to hear other athletes singing my song: "I did 27 flippin' miles!" The volunteers, looking a little rueful and sheepish but still smiling -still volunteering - said that many bikers had gone off course.
• Sag wagon friend commented, "Hey. I just counted. There were 19 turns in that 25 mile course."
• Oh.
  

I took a deep breath and prepared to run the six 1-mile loops required to put a period at the end of this race. Then, I spied my timing chip laying in the grass next to my wetsuit. My timing chip that should have been on my ankle for the last hour and 35 minutes. That was it.

I picked up the chip, considering it, a crystalline idea plonking me over the head - some things are not meant to be. I turned the chip in at the finish line, thanked the volunteers (who offered me a case of water for my efforts), and went for a run with my friend by beautiful Lake Geneva.

So there you have it. The first installment of "What I've Accomplished Since Being an MIA Blogger." It ain't pretty, but it's true. My car no longer has the dent, I'm sure the deer has long since moved on to greener pastures, and I? Yes. Greener pastures and long days on a blue bike. More to come...

Ninety Degrees

You sit in a 90° parking lot
sweating bullets
in a deer-crushed car
that allows only inches
of air
to blow over you
to cool your indecision

It is a 90° turn you are considering
an apartment
at a 30-mile distance
from him
from her
- the person that you were.

Considering
an open door
to ... What?
Freedom?
New vistas?
Self-actualization?
Maybe.

Times of loneliness?
Moments of regret, sadness?
Assuredly.
___________

And here I am.
In the new place
in a room of my own.
I did it.

I am here.
In the middle of all this.
I still have my self
- with a 90° difference -
in a spot of
cool light
and sweet spaces.

In a spot with
rooooom
to explore
to be
to write

I am here.
I am home.

Hatched

It is 56 in the valley
with a fog thick, milky
and so smooth you
could cut it with a butter knife

Every blade of grass
wears a mantel of moisture
to wet a bird's beak

Piper and I climb
toward the sun
just making its debut
stretching its rays
reaching for the fog
ready to burn it off
to lift the valley into light

With warmth on my face
and wet on my feet
I am thinking.

I realize with a start
that for once
it's not
the agonizing haze of
analysis
doubt
of warped concentration on
my Situation.

I am ready
to see the world
to think of my students
to pull two girls

one a misfit
one a depressive
- both brilliant

out of themselves and
into a book club
into the warmth
and companionship
that kindred spirits can supply.
I am ready to save them
- or at least give it a try.

Huh.
Irony strikes.
They have saved me
Their obvious need
has compelled me...
has burned off my fog.

I have some reciprocating to do.

The Kindness of Strangers

The kind
of kindness
that you don't expect
from people who
"owe" you nothing

A tattoo-clad man
and his tween son
watching over me
as I swam through
Jet ski-infested waters today

The bloggers who read
who listen
who comment
as I swim through
tumultuous waters
of a different sort

Sometimes the kind
of kindness
you don't expect
is the most reassuring of all -
People are good.

Maya Angelou Poem

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....
enough money within her control to move out
and rent a place of her own even if she never wants
to or needs to...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....
something perfect to wear if the employer or date of her dreams wants
to see her in an hour...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
a youth she's content to leave behind....

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....
a past juicy enough that she's looking forward to
retelling it in her old age....

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ......
a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black
lace bra...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....
one friend who always makes her laugh... and one who
lets her cry...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....
a good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone
else in her family...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....
eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems, and a
recipe for a meal that will make her guests feel honored...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....
a feeling of control over her destiny...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
how to fall in love without losing herself...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
HOW TO QUIT A JOB,
BREAK UP WITH A LOVER,
AND CONFRONT A FRIEND WITHOUT RUINING THE FRIENDSHIP...


EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
when to try harder... and WHEN TO WALK AWAY...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
that she can't change the length of her calves,
the width of her hips, or the nature of her parents..

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
that her childhood may not have been perfect...but its over...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
what she would and wouldn't do for love or more...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
how to live alone... even if she doesn't like it...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
whom she can trust,
whom she can't,
and why she shouldn't
take it personally...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
where to go...
be it to her best friend's kitchen table...
or a charming inn in the woods...
when her soul needs soothing...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
what she can and can't accomplish in a day...
a month...and a year...

AM RUNNER

I was in
68 degree heat
68 percent humidity
at 6:00 in the morning
I was at
141 bpm
for 31:58.
I was.

I saw
the exodus
of the town's gray hairs
Vegas-bound
on a Lamer's bus
From cashed-out parking lot
to coin-craving slots
all
in air-conditioned comfort.

I ran to the top of the world
on a gravel path fanned by grasses
Funneling me into nature's beauty
a lover in the morning
Alive and alert

I descended
and saw
Panchito Sanchez
on his porch
gave him a wave
he nodded back
Biding his time
until the work bell clang

I was in Saturday's race
finding my core
finding my strength
resolving
to go fast
to be true
every second
to wheeze
to hurt
to break through
to emerge
tougher
elated
smiling

I went for a run this morning
I was in the moment
And beyond
I never left city limits
Yet
I went everywhere this morning.

Meet Serra

Silent Saturdays
slide by in his saddle
The boy named Serra
who
just like Johnny Cash's Sue
will fight anyone who
dares oppose his name.
That's just what I want
- A fighter.

Blogosphere, meet Serra.
A custom-built Waterford bike
frame weight 3 lbs, 4 oz.
Total build 18.5 pounds.
Hand-built wheels 1401 grams
Acceleration 0 to 20 in seconds.
Middle name?
Speedy-quick.

Long Tall Texan

I stand on the gunwale,
packing my round
Wisconsin self
into last year's wetsuit.

Out of the radio
pops Lyle Lovett
crooning Long Tall Texan.

Huh.

Dripping sweat
and nervous to my toes,
I take the plunge.

I am rewarded
with 59 degree water
in my suit
up my nose.

My wetsuit remembers
and bobs me to the surface
I give the boat one last look
and turn my face into the water
ready to meet it on its terms.

They are chilly terms.
Chilly to my cheeks
Chilly to my hands.

Invigorating
Exhilarating
chilly terms.

I first train myself to use my breath
Happy exhalations
bubble and gurgle
warming my face

For my hands there is only
Swim Faster
But that's short and choppy
a Wisconsinite in the water

I need to be Texan.
I stretch and reach
adding inches to my frame
I catch it and I pull it
Cold water getting shoveled.

Now the warmth is there
generated from within
My face is shining
my spirit on fire

I close my eyes
swimming blind
to better hear the bubbles
to better feel the sun
to better stretch and reach.

It took me 40 minutes
but I emerged from that water
a Long Tall Texan.

A Room of One’s Own

The tomatoes
were growing too close
Blocking each other's light,
Choking each other's roots.
Their true leaves had budded
Fleshy and full
A sign of readiness,
A sign of need.

I heard them

And gave them
Rooms of their own.

Sometimes a woman
Needs a room of her own
To dig in new roots
To breathe her own oxygen
Uncolored by yours
To embrace the full sunlight
Undappled and alone.

When you see a woman
with true leaves
Give her a room of her own.

Heavy Equipment

OK, I have to admit to feeling more than a little funny writing a post about GEAR for a BIKE. But I promised Lisa and took the pictures, so here goes...

Everything you need in order to be a utilitarian biker goddess...

Quick Mtx Track trunk bag that slides into grooves on the QR Beam Rack Mtx. The rack supports 20 pounds and attaches to my seat stem with a quick-release adjustment thingy. (As opposed to the old bike racks with supports that reached down to attach to my rear hub.)

(Do I sound remotely intelligent here??)

Trunk bag with side pannier unzipped. Ooh, spacious...

The whole kit 'n' caboodle with the trunk bag open to show room for swimsuits, shoes, goggles, groceries... the possibilities are really endless, Ladies and Gents.

Hope this helps you out, Lisa! (And any others.) I'm off to clear my head with a good poem or two.

Thoughts on Speed

(This first number sung to the tune of "PFFT You Were Gone")

Speed, oh speed, where are you tonight?
Why did you leave me here all alone?

I've run the world over
Thought you were my true love
But you've met another... met another...met another (record skipping)
And PFFT
You were gone.

_________________________________________________

(Next: An Interrogation)

Speed, where have you gone to?
I dunno.

When will you be back?
Couldn't tell ya.

I want you... Immeasurably - to the tips of my toes.
Pfft, come off it!
I've left you with joy,
camaraderie,
and drive.
Now really,
shouldn't that be enough for you?

_________________________________________________

(Last: An Update)


Tomatoes 1

Triteacher 0

Pine Line Marathon Relay

"If it is to be, it is up to me."

This quote greeted me five minutes into my leg of the Pine Line Marathon this morning. There were several other quotes posted along the course, but this one stuck with me because of my reaction to it. I smiled and thought, "It already was." All else - e.g. meeting my goal time - would be icing on the cake.

What could put such a crazy thought in my head?

• Meeting Rural Girl before the race. She is the real deal - funny, enthusiastic, down-to-earth - just as I knew she would be.
• Messing around with our team costume (filmy scarves) last night and hearing my pink-scarf-clad father proclaim that, had he the audacity, he would always wear just such a cravat.
• Driving around to the checkpoints with my niece and catching up on her life as an 18 year-old. - Not to mention scheming all the devious ways in which we could catch up to the other relay teams.
• Taking pictures of my brother who sprinted the first 2 miles of his leg with the big-hearted spirit that personifies him.
• Disobeying Strong Sister's strict instructions to just get my niece to the exchange point. Her sole response to our cheering was a stern, "See you in a few minutes." (She had five miles to go yet! More bonding with my niece over that one.)
• Racing - at last. The trail and weather were divine, my endorphins were pelting my legs and splitting my face into the goofiest-ass grin you ever did see...

And these will have to be IT for now. No icing on my cake today. My time was much slower than I'd hoped for. I did the 10.1 miles in 1:21 - far from the smokin' 1:11 I'd hoped for. One minute per mile off, in fact. (Eeks!)

In retrospect, I see that it was an unrealistic goal given my current level of fitness and my running times so far this season. I'm just not as fast as I was when I ran 7:09s in 2003. (The times upon which I based this goal.) So for me, today was a checkpoint, a dipstick into the well of this growing season. And happy as I was to just be out there with such good people today, I learned something too...

If it is to be, it is up to me.

I, my friends, have some work to do.

I Feel Pretty

I feel pretty, oh so pretty...

"Ms. Triteacher, that's a pretty dress."
"You look nice today, Ms. T."
"We're not used to seeing you in purple."
(Actually it's lavender, but I'm not about to point that out.)

I'm all dudded up for the kids' concert tonight, and they noticed.
It feels oh-so-pretty to be me today. :)

Ladybug Soul

I swallowed her tonight
She went down whole
Now I'm ladybug
to the core of my soul

My helmet protected my hair
My glasses fought for my eyes
My hairs hid my nose in a weave
But my jaw gaped wide

I came on at seventeen
She had to be doing twenty
The tailwind gave her a boost
She found a new place to roost

Then at home
I spied my tulips
freshly-opened today
Instead of flowers
I saw a tomb
and knew there was only one way.

My two lips I did part
and relinquished her to her grave.
She now has a happy heart
in that sunlit yellow place.





As for me
I'll remember her.
For this clinging
bitter taste.

The Growing Season

I spent an afternoon and a morning with a fork in my hands, mired in compost and garden soil. Right now I have dirty fingernails and aching muscles. But in a few weeks time we'll have spinach and lettuce. In a few months we'll have broccoli and tomatoes. At this point, it's hard to believe.

Bet you can't see where this post is going.

I've spent afternoons and mornings on the bike and in the pool. My weeks have seen progressively longer runs. Right now I have sore muscles and magnitude 8 doubts. In a week's time, I'll have the results of my first running race. In a few months, my Tri Nationals fate will be written history.

In my garden and to the toes of my running socks, I have the excitement of a season getting underway. It is the growing season, and I - like the spinach and tomatoes - will grow.

The Sleeper

She slips in in the morning
a bright smiling face presented to the world.
The smiles and nods continue,
punctuation in all the right places
throughout class.

Finally she slips her test into my basket
and slides back to her seat.
I wonder if it will reveal
the 60% of last time.

She's sliding along.
The smile is vacant,
the nods for the trees.

Well, wake up, Little Sleeper,
Your teacher is calling your name.

The Bike

The bike is just different for me.
Utilitarian.
I ride it to get me to school,
to get me to the trailhead so I can run,
or to the pool so I can swim.

I need to expand my horizons
to go beyond the utilitarian
to go beyond accomplishing training.
I need to make the bike about biking.

How the hell am I gonna do that?

My trainer lays dusty in my closet -
still in its plastic.
I, the one with the vocabulary,
mentally block on words like cadence and wattage,
gears, parts vs. components, derailleurs
= Derailed.

But hey, I got bottle cages and seats downpat!
Er - or was that saddles?

How do you retrain a brain,
create a proclivity?
Woefully, willfully ignorant.
Is there hope for me yet?

Yes. I will find a way.

I Hurt, But I'm Getting Faster

Yes, my quads hurt. I've taken a page out of Lisa's book and am tackling this little nemesis of mine called...

THE BIKE.

It gets the least play in this blog because it is my least favorite. Oh sure, I enjoy it and all, but it ain't swimming - and it cannot touch running.

But, Lisa's honest appraisal and reporting of her biking - as well as her steadfast efforts to improve - have inspired me. So, bottoms up:

Here's where I've been - 14.9 MPH
Where I am - 16.5-17.5 MPH
Where I'm going - 19.5 MPH
(All done on my usual 19 mile route.)

AND

How I'll get there:
In spin class, we used to count our RPMs. We were always aiming for around 90. I have started doing this now on my roadbike. With an evil Triteacher Twist.

I count my revolutions (one leg) for 10 seconds out of every minute. If I don't make the requisite, magical 15 (Yep, 15 x 6 = 90 RPM), I have to count again in that same minute. (The Twist.) I try to maintain that 90 RPM for 5 minutes straight. Repeat 4 times per ride.

Though I can't say I've isolated this as THE variable, I attribute my increased speed to this drill. Hey, if it makes you hurt, it has to make you faster, right? ;)

_________________________________________________________________

Also on my mind... Virginia Tech. See these blogs for more thoughts:

Anne
Marty

Back Away from Your Screen

A-a-choo-kablooey!

Don't say I didn't warn you.

And I always thought they were exaggerating when they said:

watery eyes
itchy, runny nose
stuffed up head
sneezing.

Gods Behaving Beastly

Shiva and Shakti
took my legs for a run
this morning.

Ten miles on a crushed gravel path
in 60 degree sunshine -
you would think they'd be kind,
kick back and enjoy the weather.

But nooooo....
not those two.

They frolicked with each other
as they rampaged through my body,
vying for my misery.
I swear I heard them say,
"Screw 'What Would Jesus Do.'"

They tightened up my quads
and pinched my piriformis.
They stuck Gatorade bile
in the back of my throat
and pushed my legs to pulp
on a Long Distance Slow.

But I fought back
caving only to the secret thought
of a negative split.

As I sit here now
with an ice pack under each cheek,
my piriformis is not purring.
But I am.

My watch has told me the score:
Miles 1-5: 45.04
Miles 6-10: 43.38

I have earned my smile.
I went for a run today
and negative splitted.

Oh, and Shiva & Shakti?
They're busy rolling out my quads.

Call Me Shiva

- Hindu Destroyer and Creator

Yesterday
AM: Treadmill 45:00 - 9 x 400
PM: Bike 1:09 Average 16.6 mph
Swim 1:10 Chasing Coach again

Today
Recovery - I can feel those microscopic muscle tears sewing themselves back together, making me stronger and more whole.

How's the Shiva in you?

Hallway Duty

How do Kindergarteners Come back from Lunch?

Like you've opened up a bag of popcorn
and sprinkled it liberally throughout the hallway.
They hop and they skip,
they gallop and they sashay.
They twirl and they twitter.
One little boy announced, "I'm poppin' wheelies,"
as he wove back and forth across the hallway.

So - from a technical standpoint - I've still enforced "No running in the hallways," right?

The Beast

The Beast resides within me
It gets a notion
and like the cat at the door
howls for release.

I try to outswim it.
An hour & ten chasing Coach's toes
leave it untouched.

It wriggles through blogging,
Won't be sated by dishes, cooking,
or even vacuuming.

At 9:13, I admit defeat.
As I reach for the running shoes
it has the audacity to whimper
and curl its jowls into a canine grin
that leaks out onto my lips.

A puzzled look from husband
provokes maniacal laughter
that I only barely suppress
and manage to supplant
with "Just going for a run."
The beast divines well
and diverts my attention
with another ripping YOWL
before I can be reached
by the Voice of Reason.

Our feet hit the pavement
and we are in church.
The thunk of our feet
calls out "Hallelujah!"
The beating of our heart
whispers "amen."

The Beast is irrepressible
Dashing and mad
My brain tries to train it,
pulls back on its leash
Tomorrow is 9 x 400 day
Cool your jets!

I feed it 4 hungry miles,
the cool night air
our only companion,
but companion enough
to soothe and smooth
the beast into submission

Shhhh... It now lies sated
snoring at my feet.

But Beast be warned:
Should you try to snooze through 9 x 400,
I will not hesitate to prod you with a stick.

Drive Stuck in Park

I think my drive is stuck in park. Here's how it goes in Triteacher Land...

1) Getting back into the pool after my vacation hiatus was bliss. I promptly promised myself that next season I would sign up for the master's swim meets in my area. I even added an extra swim on Friday.

2) Did I mention that I wanted to try to qualify for Nationals? Oh yeah, I probably did. BUT I cannot decide on a distance. My heart says Half Ironman, but my brain says, "You've only done one and it was done as training for IM. You have no idea of how to pace yourself competitively at that distance! Nor do you have any idea if you can be competitive at that distance."

Sprint? - Smarter choice but heart says, "BLAH. Not long enough. Why even get into the water if I'm only getting out 8 minutes later?"

Oly? - You might just have something there. Long enough to warrant getting my feet wet and definitely a challenge. Most of my experience is at this distance so I have a clue about pacing. But (in the same breath) HIM would be better!

I think Ironman has wrecked me. I like going long.

3) I went for a trail run this weekend (inspired -thank you very much - by Bubba and Marty) and was convinced that I wanted to become an ultra/trail runner. I even ran extra and was late for Mom's Easter dinner. I fell hard for the Chequamegon National Forest - and running through calf-deep streams.

4) My siblings twisted my arm (yee-ouch!) and I am now signed up for two relay running events. One is taking the place of the half mary on April 28th. We're going to do the full marathon as a relay. I get the last 10.1 miles. Yahoo! Bringin' it home on a relay is fu-u-un. BUT that means changing my half mary 1:33 goal. I think I'll keep the per mile pace goal: that's 7:09. OK?

Do you see the evidence of Triteacher Drift?

Um, how many lifetimes are we allowed in which to chase our dreams?

That's not even mentioning that I love vacationing with my husband and puppy... and at those times, my training plan goes out the window. Did you notice the absence of any biking references in my posts this week? It's indicative of exactly that - NO biking.

I know that I cannot possibly meet all of these goals simultaneously. Excitement is nice, but I feel as though I stymie myself at every turn with yet another new adventure. My drive is stuck in park just because I can't consistently answer one question:

"What do I want to be today?"
Last season, I had a consistent, clear answer to this question. I woke up each day and knew that I wanted to be an Ironman. Drive.

This season is different. My answer to that question changes every day.

Can I have a whole season governed by whim?

• Yes. I have in the past. In fact, with the exception of last year, all of my triathlons have been whimsically chosen and completed. Training equally so.

• No. Not if I want to reach my competitive edge.

There's the rub. Any thoughts out there?

Red River Gorge, KY

This was our final hike - and it was the jewel in the crown.

Cave Entrance

Stony Limbs (I could relate!)

Sworls in Sandstone

Sweet, Fresh Water

Notes from Lexington: Kentuckians

Those Kentuckians shore know how to drawl. In the land where "Share the road with Horses" and "Horses have Right of Way" signs dominated, I spent the greater part of every conversation restraining myself from repeating their words, trying to corral those long, long vowels for myself.

Friendly to a one (does that famous Southern hospitality still exist?), they seemed to look for any excuse to converse with us. Among conversation-starters: our Wisconsin license plate, my hiking hat, the reusability of the deli containers - you get the picture. And once they got us started, they played the game I often play (and will only admit to here in the safety of blogosphere). I love to hear people with accents talk. I engage them in conversations of inconsequence and try to stretch out the experience to some level of (unattainable) saturation.

I'm a linguistic geek. But I'm not alone! Those Kentuckians and fellow tray-yul (trail) hikers are guilty too. Even the ones who've moved "up here" to live with their grandmother who's "fixin' to pass" wanted a piece of these Northerners. As we hiked through their hollers (hollows) and basked in their sun, I noticed our commonalities.

The three sixth grade boys hiking in front of us filled the bill of sixth grade boys everywhere. They giggled and exclaimed at the copulating stick figures drawn on a rock wall, "Somebody was rotten up here!" (Rotten??)

They jostled their fellows for the chance to lap at the water dripping down from those same rock formations and successfully ditched red-faced moms who huffed up the trail behind them. ("You go right on ahead, Hon'.") They scoffed at dads and younger siblings who'd opted to ride the lift instead of hike up the trail.

They gaped at spiders,

pretty views,

and natural sandstone bridges.

Yep, I reckon they'd make sixth grade boys anywhere proud.

Notes from Lexington: Fluid Motion

OK, I'm not quite done "conquering the world," but I'm afraid of losing my vacation zen, so here I go; world-conquering delayed, story starting...

Sunday, April 1, 2007 - Lexington, Kentucky

I sit in the car with Piper while Chris goes into the store. I observe a couple entering the store behind him. They are dressed alike - in beaded 70s apparel, two heads of straight and longish hair done to the same level of coif. Seamlessly, she pauses before the door and he opens it for her, then lock-steps in behind her. Inside the foyer, she clamps a cuff at a time and pulls on a denim jacket. Meanwhile, he acquires a cart and wordlessly pulls up alongside her. They slip from view, but I imagine them sweeping through the aisles together, deciding on purchases with the minimum of murmurings. Everything will be accomplished with the fluid motions of a couple long acclimated to each other, with the automaticity of compatibility.

If I had to describe this trip so far, I'd say that we'd accomplished it this way. Fluidly. It's as though you read each other's minds. If there is contention, you sense when to push the point - and when to just fall in line with the will of the other.

There is peace of mind, there is comfort, there is serenity. There are views that you wordlessly share. Later they drift into conversation and you realize that he was thinking the same thing as you when you rolled into Kentucky's blossoms and greenery.

You see him in front of you running through the University of Kentucky's arboretum and later, hiking in front of you on Sheltowee Trace National Recreation Trail. Piper turns and runs back to bridge the distance should anyone interrupt the invisible tether that joins you as a unit, a family.

So much is made of the drama of falling in love, the passion of couples. (Rightfully so.) However now, as the other half of an "old married couple," I see the joy of the still waters of coupledom. The deep and enduring mind-reading sharing of a life. The trust and togetherness that imbues every waking moment. Fluid motion is very nice.

Rejuvenated!

We're back and I feel great! I didn't even realize how rundown I was until comparing it to how energized I feel now. I feel like conquering the world. Or at least doing laundry, scrubbing the house, starting my garden, swimming tonight... Life is good.

We came back to find that Chris's family had cleaned my car, taken superlative care of our kitty, and genuinely missed us. They soaked up our stories and told us theirs. Funny how much you take for granted the good vibes of the people who are always there. They rock.

I have stories for you-all too - "Notes from Lexington" soon to come! Plus I need to catch up on commenting. I quickly skimmed through everyone's blogs - you've been busy! All in good time... gotta conquer the world here first. :)

Prisoner TT2349

He's out packing the bikes up now, but I don't have long. I came home from school to find the car in the driveway, loaded down already with the travel agent cum jailer's and Piper's bags.

"Umm... are we leaving early?"

"As soon as you can get ready."

So I've been scurrying around - up and down the stairs, trying to find the perfect balance of running, hiking, biking, swimming (wetsuit??), vacation clothing. I've also been trying to compose this - my last message to you all - but my eyes must have glossed over or my hands slowed, cuz each time I tried, I'd get a "Is that bag ready to go to the car yet?" So nothing profound, just a hurried scribble to say... have a great week!

Prisoner TT2349 reporting to vacation - 24 hours early.

Finding the Rhythm

I saved a toad's life tonight. And it all happened because I let the rhythm find me today.

Let me back up a little bit. It was that kind of Monday. Up later than I intended, I had to leave the house one cup shy of my usual dose of caffeine - and the day continued that way.

Then I got home with every intention of doing the 1 hour bike, 20 min. run on my training plan. But there was Chris. With Piper. All suited up and ready for a trek through a cornfield on a 70 degree day. I have a weakness for such things. Instead of donning my bike shoes, on went the hiking boots. Two hours later, we had rehashed Chris's weekend at work, decided yet again to postpone moving to another locale, and prevented Piper from rolling in a dead skunk. (He beat us to the punch last week - aargh.)

Then it was home to supper, followed by blogging. Mid-blog-reading, I suddenly felt the urge to bike. I estimated that I still had 45 minutes of light and was out the door within 5 minutes. And up to 17 MPH by .12 mile. That's when I got the first inkling that sometimes you win by letting go of the best laid plans and letting the rhythm find you.

The rhythm that found me was the mating song of spring - every bullfrog and his uncle was out there in the marshes calling for a girlfriend. Two foxes scuttled across the road in front of me, I braked for a herd of deer and - a little over an hour later - wound up safe and sound at home with 18 miles under my belt.

But I was not done banging the drum yet. I transitioned into my running shoes (1:09) and was back out the door for my 20 minute run. Somebody gave my legs speed or something because they completely forgot about the 10:15 miles they were doing yesterday and ran around 8s.

I was pumping it home when who should I see out in the middle of the road but Mr. Toad, trying to soak up the last heat of the pavement. A quick glance behind me revealed a speeding car driven by a pack of the town's cruising teenagers.* There was about a block between Mr. Toad and certain death. I had to make a decision fast - and decided to risk it all. I swooped out to the middle of the road, scooped up Mr. Toad (for which he promptly thanked me by peeing on my hand) and placed his cold little body in the grass.

How's that for rhythm?

(*OK, the car was being driven by the town granny who was a block away and creeping up at 10mph, but just go with this here.)

The Hunger

I am not speaking metaphorically here. I'm talking being on my bike and having visions of taking the Sawzall to our peanut butter jar and sawing the narrow top off so I can stick my face right into raw peanut butter and devour every last creamy chunky bit of it.

It's that time of year - the miles and hours are ramping up. Anyone else experiencing the hunger?

Lest I Forget

This has been a great year. These kids have given me joy in ways that I'll never be able to repay. I want to remember...

Explaining contractions - like didn't is did+not, and thinking it would somehow stick better if I told them about muscular contractions... I started down the path to contractions like a woman has in labor and quickly discarded it at their blanched expressions. Then I thought to pull up my sleeve and make a muscle.

"Hooo-eeee!" yelled Big Blue Eyes. We all laughed a little bit, and I continued on to explain how muscular contractions are caused by the shortening of muscle fibers just like we shorten a word - all the while flexing - but was upstaged by the eyelash-batting incredulity and one-man chorus of "Hooo-eee! Man!"

I'm afraid we abandoned contractions that day.

For two of my girls, it's a time of friendship that feels deeper and more secret than the mystery of conciousness. They meet at the couch in the morning to unload their backpacks and catch up on the hours of separation, link arms to walk through the halls - whispering and giggling all the way - accompany each other to the bathroom, together until they have to part ways - on separate buses to separate homes. They earnestly tell me that they never want to be apart.

It's a year of them discovering the links between them, their world, and entities that used to be separate. "I'm really getting into reading now." "I love these books."

It's a year of having to clear space on my cabinet for more autographed drawings of hearts and horses and triathlete teachers - and even one depicting the differences between the types of literary genre.

They break my heart. They are so good. Yet, sometimes I despair because they're what we in the business call a "low" class - overall low achievers who produce less-than-superb work. But man, their hearts are in it.

Right down to spelling. A little girl argued with her peer editor about the spelling of the word "activity" in her story (she wanted "activate"). I finally convinced her that while she can be creative and "own" her ideas, the spellings belong to the greater English-speaking collective.

But inside, I am exuberant that she cares so much. She is a lioness protecting her cubs, fiercely protective of her writing. She is a writer.

Fortune has smiled on me in the shape of a gaggle of 11 year-olds. The world is my oyster.

First Track

You live all week with your head in the sand, searching for a grain of truth - or just checking things off the list. Yet you've got a Mona Lisa smile because in your pocket is your training plan. And on that training plan you've got intervals. For Wednesday.

Wednesday dawns and you look at the list of what must be done before you can start living: School, Meeting, then Intervals. The weather says chance of thunderstorms so you pack two sets of clothes - one set for the track (that you fervently hope to use), and one set for the treadmill (that have been used plenty already).

You toil through the day, engaged in what's meaningful at the moment - but every once in a while lifting your head high enough out of that sand to get a shiver of excitement. Of anticipation. First night on the track.

Finally the students have tumbled out the bus doors. An x on the list. Then it's the interminable meeting where, among other matters of earth-shattering importance, you debate and finally decide on precisely how to spend $6. Crucial meeting - check.

At last you can change into your track clothes. Because it will be the track. Come what may. You have waited through winter's snow and a bout with an edgy heel. Even if you have to battle thunder and lightning, tonight's intervals will be waged on the track.

And so it is.

800 warm-up: You wish you had more pores on your body. To soak it all up. On the track in spring with puddles of water pooling around you, dense air clothing you, birds chirping and the wind whipping across the marsh - bringing spring to your nostrils. More pores needed.

And then it's go time...

1:33 for 400 #1 - There are no more thoughts of spring or birds or even life. This is it. What you've been waiting for. Your legs respond to the momentous occasion and charge like they've been doing it forever.
2:25 Recovery 400 -You smile cuz you know it is good and you have done well.

1:33 for 400 #2 - Your legs feel high and springy, juiced and ready.
2:23 Recovery 400 - You decide that next set your recovery will be shorter because you're ready for another interval at 200.

1:36 for 400 #3 - You remember that you wheeze and your chest hurts when you run fast. You learn things that you never knew before about running. The way your heel strikes when you run, the way your arms pump and reach, the way your quads recoil and spring, all these details reach your conscious mind with a clarity that shoves all else out of the world. There is only you. You. And Running.
1:16 Recovery 200 - It dawns on you: recovery jogs feel good.

1:36 for 400 #4 - You start out strong but then realize you have blown your wad by 50 meters. You start to rationalize and wonder how fast you really should be running these. Is it necessary to push this hard? Doesn't my training plan say to run these at a 5K pace? That certainly is much slower than this.
1:19 Recovery 200 - You get a little tiffed at yourself because you know exactly where those seconds went. You let your legs slow down a little bit while you were diverting your big brain with pacing thoughts.

1:37 for 400 #5 - Over halfway!! You're happy again just to be out here doing it. A bit of sun even peeks out of the clouds.
1:23 Recovery 200 - You start to cough but stop yourself when it feels like a part of you may come up and have to be spat out. After all, you have vowed to leave nothing on the track tonight. Lung included.

1:37 for 400 #6 - You decide that intervals are as tough as you remembered - only worse.
1:33 Recovery 200

1:39 for 400 #7 - Your legs feel fast. In the initial burst, you think, "Shiiit, I'm just getting warmed up!" Then you reach about 40 meters. PUSH is the name of the game for the remaining 360.
1:29 Recovery 200 - You hear the first peal of thunder and chuckle, "Yep, it's that kind of day." Seven down, one to go, one to go...

1:37 for 400 #8 - You know it's number 8, the finale. The last one that you want to last - yet can't wait for to be over. You give it all you've got.

6:04 for Cooldown 800
As soon as you can breathe again, you look around and down - revering the track, thanking it, thanking your legs, the sky, the clouds, the birds, your running shoes... This is what all the waiting was for. Your bliss is nonpareil.

And then you start to wonder... What could I do next time? You give the track a last reverent look and know from the bottom of your soul that this is not good-bye, but a definite...

See you later.

Stealing Faster's Secret

My master's swim coach has been telling me for months to spend more time on my side. He's been very gentle about it, patiently reminding me after a suitable interval of non-improvement has passed. But yes, reminding me. He clothes these reminders in different forms, hoping it will sink in. I fear I've sunk the poor man's analogies. He has told me to:

• Spend more time on my side
• Put my arm over the log
• Catch with my armpit too

Then I ran into Faster at the pool today. I observed him carefully, watching his catch, his pull, his recovery. The man is a marvel - a flippin' torpedo. He seemed to travel 3 yards off of each pull.

Then I noticed his barrel of a belly. Though not huge, it was sizable enough to mark his progress through the pool. It swung from side to side like a pendulum, regular as clockwork.

Eureka! That's when it hit me.

Faster was spending a lot of time on his side. That metronomic belly showed me. I have learned a lot from watching Coach. But he is lean - all muscle, skin and bone. He couldn't show me what Faster did. I can now visualize "on my side," and enact it.

Like Faster, I have a barrel. Except it's higher on my anatomy. Not to be indelicate, but I have "twin barrels". I have never thought of the girls as allies before, but could they be trained to carry their own weight?

Right then and there, I marshaled the troops, instructing them that as soon as I started swimming, they were to look right and then left. Look right and then left... I can't wait to show Coach!

Ha! I have snuck behind enemy lines and stolen the secret! I chuckle and smack my lips as I consume an extra serving of M&Ms. Now, instead of cursing my excess and binding it to my body, I am officially recruiting it in the pursuit of Faster!

Monsters II: Juxtaposition

My loneliness is measured in a night shift.
Hers will last an undetermined,
interminable amount of time.

I look at a calendar and can predict it.
Hers came out of the blue.

My light is on at 6AM to run.
Unexpectedly, hers is on too.
Was she dreaming of him -
and then woke up?

Oh NeighborLady,
I'm sorry for your loss.
Your monsters are
meaner than mine.

Monsters

Sometimes when he's not home
the old monsters come to roost
They perch on my shoulder
and whisper mean things
they make me slow
and indecisive.
Sometimes
when I'm
alone.

They feed me too many M&Ms
and hide my running shoes
and tie me to the couch.
These monsters
really got it
in for
me.

Then the telephone rings to deliver
his strong tones over the line
The monsters trip over
themselves to scurry
off to caverns dark.
Wusses
after
all.

The Smell of the Track

Confession: I made a rookie mistake. I over-wore my shoes and, as punishment, the gods of triathlon banned me from running.

At left: The Culprits - Any guesses as to which heel is hurting?

Last night I decided to see just how badly I could twist the knife. I walked Piper to the track. Just to check it out. Just to see if I was really missing out, or if the triathlon gods have spared my self-pitying, old-shoe-wearing, plantar-fascitis-bearing sorry sack of a self.

They have.

The track still has at least 100 yards of ice and snow; I wouldn't dare to run on this surface yet. YES!!! But there were enough clear parts that I got a whiff of rubbery track seasoned with spring. Ooh, am I ready!

I was able to run this morning. See the HEROES at right. My heel hurts, but it has plateaued to a bearable, non-limpable amount of pain. Doable. As long as I continue to RICE - or at least ICE.

My next intervals shall be on track. (Tee hee. Clever double entendre, no?) By next Wednesday, the snow/ice will be gone, my heel will be healed, and I. Will. Run.

'Til then - I will swim until I'm pruney, bike until my quads burst - and run in moderation. Penitent as I feel, I may even throw in an extra lift. Fair enough, tri gods?

Between Fast and Faster

Today I went swimming and ended up in a lane between 2 men. I recognized both of them. On my right was Fast and on my left was Faster.

Fast has been coming to this pool long before even me. My first attempts at lap swimming took place in his daunting presence. When I first started 3 years ago, I could barely keep up to him for 25 yards. By 200, he had lapped me.

I love it when I see Fast at the pool, because I've been marking myself against him these 3 years. I've gained on him little by little. Though we've never spoken to each other, I know his name, and I'm sure he knows mine. But when we're in the pool, both of us are all business - he even moreso than I. He has one speed. Fast. (Hence the name.)

Today I stuck with him for 200 yards. He's still setting the pace and calling most of the shots, but at the end of that 200, I touched the wall even with Fast.

In the other corner, we have Faster. He is friendlier than Fast, and we've exchanged pleasantries. But not names. He's new to the pool, but I hope he'll keep coming. Today I could barely keep up with him for 25 yards, and yep - he lapped me by 200.

But guess what, I've got three years in me yet. Do you think in 3 years that I could be Faster?

Lap Counter

So Mike Ricci says swim volume. Well, if you're going to swim volume, you need to count laps. Perhaps a lap counter?

Nope, no fancy gizmo for me. I'm a Luddite compared to the lot of you with your i-pods and Garmins and... other stuff. I have a heart rate monitor & watch. Period. So how do I ever manage to count my laps?

I tell organized stories. Mini life histories. For example, a 600 consists of every teacher I had grade 1-12. For the first 25 of each lap, I think of the teacher. I say his/her name at the flip turn and then think of my classmates/academics/important events of that grade level for the last part of that 50 yards. Next 50 = I've been promoted a grade. Yep, totally geeky. But I rarely leave the pool wondering if my time for the 600 can be trusted.

A 500 is my whole family - from Dad to Baby Bro. Man, do they have a lot to say! And I'm a captive audience to each of them for one whole 50...

• Dad tells me to take it easy. (Why am I doing triathlon again??) I interpret that to mean he wants me to have a very relaxed, rolling recovery.
• Mom tells me to be tough. I hear Mom a lot toward the ends of my workouts. She's also the second lap of timed 100s. I hear her saying, "GO!" (BTW, hubby is the first lap of the 100 - even he's not quite as tough as Mom.)
• Eldest Brother makes Popeye faces at me. Yep, he's reminiscing about our childhood, but he's also prompting me to breath as Popeye speaks - out of the corner of my mouth. To minimize how much of my mouth has to come out of the water to draw breath. Eldest Brother has an ulterior motive; he can only complete the swim portion of our annual family triathlon if he has a noodle - and he doesn't want to have to share that noodle with anyone.
• Second Son Brother cheers me on and tells me I rock. He's just proud I'm in the water. In this lap I remember why I'm a triathlete. For the plain old joy of moving smoothly.
  
• Strong Sister reminds me that we are runners - and I'd better be kicking like I mean it. Consistent, tight little kicks are what she demands.
• Sweet Sister reminds me to stretch, R-E-A-C-H and maximize all the height I have on her.
  
• I tell myself to put it all together. Be the Backhoe!
• Little Brother tells me to watch my back. Next year he's finding a "good" triathlete to challenge me at the family tri. I spit back at him to get off his ass and challenge me himself. (I really ought to time just this lap - my adrenaline is surging even as I type this!)
• Little Sis would really like to help me out with some swimming tips but have I heard what happened to her??? OMG, you are never going to believe it...!
• Baby Bro reminds me to position my head correctly and press my chest into the water. Use that natural "buoyancy" that runs in our family to advantage.

With all that yammering, it's a wonder I ever get out of the pool at all. :)

Still a Runner & An Apology

I can still run. I ran a sunny 7-miler with Piper on Sunday morning. It wasn't fast, but it was pretty. Oh, sigh of relief and quiver of elation.

Now I have to apologize to the snow for my nasty little riddle. You see, after my post, we went skiing by the light of the full moon. Ain't no way you could do that in August.

There was beauty in the forest - the dappled light just enough to follow the path. But the stunners were the clearings - open bowls of milky white perfection. We'd had so much snow that these were large tracts of untrammeled powder. We took turns baptizing them - being the first one to swish through the powder. In those places, we were alone in the world together. The first ones. In those places, like reptiles to the sun, we lifted our faces and basked in the moon's glow.

Oh snow, do you forgive me now?

A Riddle

In November
I am cute and fluffy,
novel and exciting.
I make you wax your skis
and wet your lips.

By March I am worn,
I am old and heavy.
I cling to your concrete
and bust your back.

I overstay my welcome and
delay any green,
with a brilliant-white grin.

Who am I?

Time for the Critical Eye

It's been a slacker week for me. I skipped all but my swim workouts and clawed my way through denial of food cravings. I succeeded - until last night. Then the levees broke. Big time. Here are the casualties:

• 1 canister lowfat (even in the 11th hour, I was still trying!) Pringles - except for the last 4 chips and some crumbs. By the time I got to those, even I had tired of their sour cream and oniony deliciousness.
• 2 slices bacon cheeseburger pizza - cut me some slack here; I was still full from the Pringles. Usually I'm good for at least 3 slices.
• 4 (FOUR, cuatro) ice cream sandwiches. Not too full to enjoy a little ice cream.
  

This morning the guilt got me out the door and running. I feel so cleansed now. My cravings have been purged from my system. (I did not literally purge; call me what you will, but I've never been bulimic.) Every once in a while, I need to do this. Binge on all of those uber-icky foods, and then I'm done with them. Back on the straight and narrow.

So, time for the critical eye:
Running - Not so good this week.

Swimming - Inverse proportion to the running; it rocked! I've noticed that when I pick up my running, my swimming suffers. Cut back a little bit, and boy, do I feel like I can cruise.

Biking - Mediocre. I'm mountain biking around town but haven't clocked any long rides. However, biking through snow, sleet, and rain (crazy weather week) has really helped my bike-ed-ness. I feel one with the bike.

Lifting - Skipped all week until today.

Weight - Even while all this craving-clawing was taking place, I managed to lose weight. I'm only 3 pounds up from my Ironman weight now. That's a loss of 5 pounds since January. I'm getting there!

Kegels - No, I am not pregnant! (Call me what you will, but I have never been pregnant.;)) However, I have experienced an increase in, um, urinary urgency and am taking pains to train those muscles as well. It's going quite nicely, thank you.

Why am I telling you this? I am curious. This first came to my attention during Ironman, and exertion seems to exacerbate the condition. Has anyone else experienced this? Is there a causal relationship, or is it due to one of the other bazillion variables (e.g. too much coffee)? Please drop me a comment - or an email if you'd rather not speak of IT in a public forum.

Mitigating factors (AKA Excuses):
I skied 3 hours last weekend, and shoveled snow for a total of the same over the course of this week. My shoulders ached. Plus, I did feel that little nagging sensation at my temples that's my first indicator of overtraining. I think the shoveling and skiing count for more than I'd initially granted them.

So where does that all leave me? With a mixed bag: worried about meeting my 1/2 marathon goal time, but with the sneaking suspicion that the skiing and shoveling have strengthened me in some heretofore unappreciated ways.

Finally, food: I am ready for a salmon-spaghetti-vegetable week. Hold me to it.

Critical Eye out!