Before I start updating all y'all on my training sagas

I had to share this gem. I heard about it from an email sent by mi amiga MBJ with the subject line: "another reason we don't sleep with Republicans". She makes me laugh (and this article makes me scared). Please let this be a rumor!

Next post: my 2015 BHAG. Stay tuned (and keep using contraceptives!)

Matches? We don’t need no stinkin matches

Because I burned them all in the first 16 miles.

The day of the Sun Trust Richmond Marathon dawned COLD! I rolled out of my comfy bed (thanks, Doozie & Dawn for hosting me!!!) and woke to a few text messages from encouraging friends (awwww!). After a delicious dinner of Pad Se Euw and bread pudding, the size of my a$$ was larger than I’d wanted but hopefully full of glycogen I could use during the marathon.

I donned my thrift store sweatshirt and vest over my fuzzy running shirt, put on some earwarmers and a beanie, and hauled myself in to the car. Double D drove me to the start, which was an extension of the Princess Treatment they gave me all weekend. Amazing ladies!!!

My running pants were rather fabulous; black with hot pink stitching. A gift from my Oakley rep buddy, Brad. They make my hiney look great and feel rather fast. Hey, I take what I can get these days.

“The Friendliest Marathon in America” is indeed friendly. I hugged a few skinny girls who were in shorts and tee shirts. It was about 35 degrees, and I am a Chihuahua in this type of weather.

Sidebar #1: For those not in the know, I met Double D in the Galapagos in June. Lovely, lovely girls who will be friends for life!

Sidebar #2: the crisp air and bright leaves make me miss racing cyclocross; the best sport in the world.

The start gun went off and I started Dawn’s Garmin (thanks, love!). My first few miles were around 8, which was what Coach Fred advised. The next few were in the 7s, and I knew I was burning matches I needed. I didn’t feel amazing (which is not the fault of the Thai food, but the fault of me hardly training). The course was lovely, along Monument Avenue and down by the James River on Riverside Dr.

By mile 13, I was exactly on pace to meet my 3:30 objective. I met up with a nice guy who gave me a salt pill and we chatted as we went over the Belvedere Bridge, which is apparently a mindfcuk. I didn’t really notice, and felt decent though not amazing.

Double D was on the course at various points, and I loved hearing them cheer for me! Also, the PeaHen made an appearance. I love that guy.

I grabbed a Coke at the “Junk Food” stop (sorry, Papa Pepsi. It was sponsored by McDonalds so whatchya gonna do?) and kept going. I was feeling pretty sluggish at this point, and noticed my goal times slipping away. I knew I’d gone a bit too hard on the first part, but a part of me says make hay while the sun shines and build an advantage over yourself. Maybe not, come to think of it…

Sidebar #3: I did run a marathon 10 years ago; the Columbia River Gorge Marathon. Read: Hilly and windy. I finished at a slow pace and never really felt tired. Ah, youth! So Richmond felt like my first, given the amount of energy (notice I say “energy”, and not “training”) I’d devoted to it in a year that had far too much sucking.

Mile 20 felt like forever to reach, and my lap times plummeted to Clydesdale pace. I was staying hydrated and full of calories…but the legs were feeling pretty heavy. I thoroughly regretted burning those matches in the first half. Thoroughly.

Mile 22, going into a lovely part of North Richmond and I questioned why the he11 I signed up for this. I plodded along, clocking an 8:41 mile (WTF???) and suffering. I kept staring at the backside of this woman in front of me, wondering why on earth she had briefs on under her running tights. Chafe much? Cardinal rule of endurance sports: no undies! These are the things you think of when you're cracking…

The last few miles felt like forever despite all the awesome fans and high fives and water aid stations and a million other reasons to be inspired. A 3:35 pace group caught up to me at about 25.5, and I struggled to hold their pace. Due to my laziness about situps, my core was hurting pretty bad from holding myself up. I had to pause and bend over in pain. I told myself I wouldn’t stop, but hey, if you’re gonna break a promise make sure it’s to yourself and not others.A glance at the Garmin, and I knew I wouldn’t achieve my goal. However, I knew I could make it under 3:35 if I gutted it out.

The turn onto Cary Street and I was counting the blocks; not sure I would make it the final 6. Scratch that, I was counting the steps. I sprinted (okay, I could have outrun a toddler and not much else) across the line and promptly lost my ability to walk. Pretty sure my a$$ still looked great in the pants, but everything else was pretty wrecked. Two very nice volunteers grabbed me and gave me one of those insulation blankets and a water. Made sure to grab my medal. Let’s not forget the medal. Don’t lose track of the medal. DON'T!

Double D and their buddy Mona met me at the finish with big hugs and support as I hobbled along. My hip flexors were in full revolt when I perched on a bench, and I had mucho struggles getting up again. Brutal.

Why did I do this, again? Even after great coaching (Tanner, Costantini, Burke & Eberle), I wonder what the he11 I was doing. I was pretty disappointed with my time, but I learned a lot and definitely want to get a killer base before I attempt another.

Final results: a slow 3:34:28. Qualified easily for Boston. You ready for 2013, Tanner?

And fcuk yeah I wore the medal.

Next stop: White Rock ½ Marathon. Likely to be much less painful on the body and more painful for the lungs, given my running partners.

The #2 killer of Americans

...is heart disease-related.

The #1 killer of Americans, we all know, is watching too much Kardashian TV.

(Please make them stop!!!!! Why are they so famous?????)

In support of the American Heart Association, I am raising money. And it's not just money that contributes to research and communications that save lives.

Nay, it's money that turns me back into the hippie I was in college!

If I raise $1,000, I have to sleep outside on Frito Lay's campus for 4 nights, living on nothing but PepsiCo products. I have to avoid showering, using electricity, Wi-Fi after 7 p.m., and various other modern conveniences.

For those who know how I grew up, this isn't a stretch. However, in the past few years, I have gotten rather fond of the interwebz for things like Cheezburger Kittehs and Rue La La. So I may be a little bummed.

At any rate, skeedaddle on over to my page and donate. I am just a few hundred bucks away from my goal! Many companies match employee donations, so your generosity is doubled!

Oh, and turn off that TV. Do you REALLY care with Kim & Co are up to?

There's a monkey in the parking lot

I got tired of not winning. Two tris into it and I’m already impatient with my lack of progress. John Eberle, who seems to understand the sadistic “seek & destroy” aspect of my character, clued me in on a little triathlon July 31st in the hamlet of Denton, Texas. The deal was sealed when I saw the bike length: 16 miles versus the usual 12. Sold!

So, I forewent rounds of lemon drops and tabletop dancing (an activity, not a drink) on my birthday and went to bed early. Driving to Denton (aka Oklahoma) was quite the undertaking when a race starts at 6:45 a.m.

Arriving in the dark and trying to find the start grid is always fun. Managed to set myself up between a few guys but give myself demerits for not remembering the landmarks by my start row. That’s a little trick. You are sometimes so blasted by the swim that you forget where your bike is. I was not blasted by the swim, but we’ll get to that in a minute.

The swim was in an Olympic-length pool (another bonus!) and I was delighted to be able to see the bottom and not have to inhale duck poop as in my other two tris. We went off in 5-second intervals and my gross (haha) number was 144…so I was middle-of-pack with my predicted swim time in a field of 300-odd racers.

I jumped in the water and took it chill chill chill. Now that I look back on it, I figure that the 30 seconds I would have gained by going balls-out would be negated by shaky arms at the transition which aren’t really worth it. So, I just took my time and if I had a birdseye camera on myself I’d like to think I looked graceful. I passed a few boys, which was a prelude of things to come since I didn’t let a soul pass me for the rest of the race. Seek & Destroy Mandy was on the loose. The monkey on my back was holding on for dear life and darned if I was going to let him come home with me.

Jamming into the transition, I got to my bike and shoved my feet into my shoes and hopped to the chip mat. I mounted my steed rather ungracefully given my shoddy 105 pedals (how is it that I was on a pro team with gucci equipment yet craptastic pedals?). Must work on that because you never know when someone might put it up on YouTube! I am normally a cyclocross remount queen, but with shorts wet from the swim I’m never sure how that will come out, so best to just be safe and sane on the remount.

For some reason a cute blonde girl on a Kuota didn’t get the memo about me not letting anyone pass and passed me briefly during mile 1. I gave her half a wheel length for about ¼ of a second, then passed her right back and left her for dead.

Like I said…Seek & Destroy Mandy. She is not nice.

I did as Jonny advised and went stupid slow during the first 6 miles. Just got my rhythm and pedaled smoothly. I noted the places where I’d go extra-hard on the return trip, since it was an out-and-back. It is funny how much you learn from bike racing that you can apply in triathlon. I think that’s half the battle and probably something not every girl knows, which gives me an advantage.

To top it off, my rear Zipp disc sounds like the Grim Reaper, which is something I enjoy when in Seek & Destroy mode.

The way back was tougher than I remembered, but at least the road surface was nice. It was chipseal for cars but smooth on the shoulder. I continued to pass people and tried to hammer up the hills and over the top. The “over the top” mindset is another trick from bike racing, and I think people would be so much faster if they would just try that sometimes.

For the last mile I was behind this annoying dude who wouldn’t let me pass him and I couldn’t really ride next to him for fear of drafting penalty (see post from April). So I was all surge-y and we came into the finish together, with me annoyed at his insistence on riding in the middle of a narrow road and being generally in the way.

I hopped into the transition and forgot where my rack was (hence the need for a landmark). I slipped into my shoes (no socks) and did that little speed lace thing. Man, those saved me some time!

I took off on the run and felt like I was churning through molasses. So damn slow! AnnoyingMan was ahead of me and I tried to hold his pace but wasn’t able to after the first mile.

The run was interesting. Through a golf course with lots of twists and turns. The water stations were plentiful and I took the opportunity to douse myself with water down the back.

About mile 2.5 I tried to put it into overdrive. I don’t race/train with any data or a watch, so it’s all by feel. I would like a Garmin (hello, Santa, you out there?) but since I’m the cheapest mofo inDallas, I will wait until someone feels sorry for me and gives me one. Until then, it’s all about listening to my body.

Since I wasn’t sure of my pace, I just tried to keep it uncomfortable. I tried to pass everybody I saw and take every corner on the inside and shave every possible inch of course I could without straying out of bounds. I sprinted into the finish and got an encouraging yell from homeboy Eberle.

We enjoyed some pancakes and sat in the grass. It was a great scene, with a local band and lots of fit, healthy, happy, and attractive people milling about. Dallas Athletes Racing really knows how to put on a great event. Cheered for co-worker Heather when she crossed the line, and talked to a few people here and there. Cool vibe overall!

I am not a fan of how I look in my Zoot shorts, so I scooted back to transition to change into my GearGrinder pants and Vanderkitten tank top. Like I said before; you never know when someone’s going to capture you for posterity and one must always project le hotness.

We have a term in bike racing (to be spoken in Jens Voigt’s accent): “if it goes well I might make the first page of the results, eh?”

And that I did. 23^rd overall out of 300-some competitors. First of the ~100 women by 2.5ish minutes. The most amazing part was how many men I beat in the run portion. 27^th overall. I was blown away by how fast I managed to run while feeling like I was underwater and pulling a truck full of Doritos with my teeth.

Plaque awarded. Picture taken. Fist bump from Eberle. When we drove out of the parking lot, the monkey that had been on my back was wandering around, looking for someone else to pester. No matter what he says, don’t let him into your house.

Bye bye monkey!

I capped off my birthday weekend with lunch at Ozona (Migas!!!), a nice pedicure with Mary Beth (Mermaid blue toes!) and Pho at Vietnam Restaurant. Even went early-ish to bed. Yes.

I might add that this win was unaided by caffeine. I save that for mornings when UCI points are on the line and then it’s “like my shorts were wired with electricity”, to quote my cute and quirky friend Derek. I still don’t know what he meant.

So, next stop Half-Ironman somewhere. There will probably be caffeine, a training program, and a Garmin involved.

And yes, I am a dork and made a spreadsheet.

RIP Little Zipper

At 2:45 a.m. this morning, my sweet baby girl Zipper went to kitty heaven.
She was such a gift in our life and I can’t begin to express how much we’ll miss her.
She came to us on a hot day in May 2010. Her owner was moving to Hawaii and had no way of taking her over without a 6-month quarantine or some other unsavory sentence.
We volunteered to take her in after just 1 photo of her cute gray face and giant green eyes.
She was named Zoe when she arrived, but I snobbishly thought it too bourgeois a name and changed it to “Zip Zip Zoom!”. I had just spent a weekend in Texas wine country with three girlfriends, and this was a common expression. It just seemed to fit.
For the first 3 days, Zipper hid behind the bed, hissing at everything that moved and expressing great displeasure in her new environs. Our power had been knocked out by a fallen tree branch, and the house was easily 95 degrees at night. Very unpleasant.
Gradually she emerged from hiding and began to get acquainted with Brutus. Our fat little boy didn’t make it easy on the little girl; instantly sniffing her nether regions and provoking much spitting and growling.
Over the months they developed a friendship occasionally punctuated by Zipper walking by him and swatting him for no good reason. They would occasionally wrestle on the floor, with Zipper always winning though half the size of our piggycat.She was never a cuddler but would tolerate being petted and loved on occasionally. She groomed herself obsessively and could always be located by the sounds of her tongue scraping over her fur.
While Brutus was a purring ball of snuggle at nighttime, Zipper would roam about, occasionally visiting the bedroom to hop up on the bed and then hop quickly down. About 6:30 a.m. every morning she would begin “the stare”, which consisted of her perching on whatever part of my body was highest up in the air (usually a shoulder or hip) and stare at me. Just yesterday morning I woke up with her 3 inches from my face, staring. Telepathically reminding me it was breakfast time.At 2:30 a.m. this morning she was viciously attacked by the pack of feral dogs that roam our neighborhood. She died a few minutes later in our arms and the only comfort I take was that we were there when she took her last breath.
Rest In Peace my sweet, sweet little girl.

Luck ain't this lady

I am officially a curse and April is the cruelest month.

Last April, El Gato went to Athens Twilight/Roswell and broke his right collarbone.

This April, I am the last colleague Jeff Klein sees minutes before snapping his right collarbone in 4 places.

And this past weekend:

Athens/Roswell.

Again.

Right arm.

Again.

Fuck you, Georgia.

Tri-ing again

I lopped off (and donated) my luxurious locks last weekend right before I did my 2nd ever triathlon. The haircut was the more gratifying of the two experiences.

Pre

During

Post

The tri was a full-immersion (pun intended) in the sport and the reasons that I waffle between respectable and bad with momentary flashes of brilliance. I did pretty dismally.

I learned the hard way, coach John and I postulate, that "drafting" in triathlon means "being in the same time zone". I deserved the penalty, admittedly, for not reading the race bible. I thought I was done with those things? However the drafting penalty is just a theory because they never tell you why the penalty. I guess that they applaud introspection. I can live with that.

Barring the penalty, I would have been the 10th overall woman. I consider this logic not like the usual bike racing excuse, where people say "if only I had a good wheel in the last turn" or "I ran out of water" or "that jerkface from [insert rival team name here] chopped me" or "I was chasing all day". This was purely beginner's ignorance, and not a lack of skill on my part. Just a lack of reading the race bible. A mistake I assure you I shall never make again though it pains me to dip my toe into the water of geekdom with that pledge.
Of course I made smash on the bike (thank you, Bear Cub, for the siiiiick Zipp disc wheel), and didn't get a lick of benefit from "drafting", if indeed that was the penalty. I remember a time or two being a few bike lengths behind someone who thought they could pass me (wrong answer!), but otherwise felt rather alone. Drafting where I come from is 5 centimeters, not 5 meters. When in Rome...
Lesson learned: check
Regarding my penalty, I don't imagine I could have done anything illegal in the swim except nearly drowning and causing inordinate stress for the guys in the lifeboats. I was so bad I just floated on my back the entire time. I panicked when I jumped in the water and started inhaling underwater and exhaling when I came up. The wetsuit kept me buoyant but I was unused to it and felt even more helpless. I just got into a rhythm of "gasp, backstroke, gasp, exclaim 'holyjebus'/’holycrap’, gasp, backstroke". Notice how there was more gasping and exclaiming than swimming in any direction.
I ended up 14th overall in the women (that includes my time penalty) and had the fastest female bike leg by far, coming in 32nd overall in that. I humiliated a bunch of dudes when they downloaded the results to their little spreadsheets on Monday (and you know 80% of those guys did).
I am not much of a geek but this sport could turn you into one. You have to piece together a good race with so many separate parts. The pursuit of said physiological patchwork is addicting.
In the spirit of that, here is what I need to improve:
1. Shave 20% off my swim. Not a bad aspiration, considering I am starting from panicking and hyperventilating and swimming on my back. Do that and I’d be within striking distance of the top women in the whole field. Mind you, this is the DFW metroplex we're talking about, not all free nations of the world). Remember all the while that my training in a pool does not at all equate to an open-water endeavor. Not even close.
2. A 5k in a triathlon is not a 5k in training (well, in my training, anyway). I’ve been putting in 7:20-7:35 miles on the treadmill and on my self-imposed death marches around Pleasanton. If I’m running next to an athletic man, I put in sub-7:00 miles on account of my ego. Could I have done that in this event? Not a chance, apparently. 8:21, which is like crawling compared to what I’m used to. What if I could shave off even 2 minutes from my total 5k?
3. Transitions kill you. Mine were in the mid-pack, and probably shaving 45 seconds off my total 3:45 of transitions would nudge me from (albeit local) mediocrity.
Put it this way: making those three improvements alone and I would have plunked my size 9.5 feet on the overall podium.
Man, this sport is both easy and hard at the same time. wouldacouldashoulda can fill up some hours!
Maybe I should just switch to Olympic distance so I could no longer flirt with single-digit placings…Then I’d still suck and do so for even longer!

Evidence that all things come to an end:

Post-race was followed by the traditional (all two times a tradition!) nap in the backyard in a Lisa Lozano bikini w/ kitteh. This time Brutus accompanied his Mama.