I'm not prepared. I haven't done the training. It's race day. 2.4 mile swim. 112 mile bike. 26.2 mile run.
The race starts and I'm still messing with my stuff in transistion. Putting my bike together. I'm freaking out, man. My longest run is under 12 miles. I haven't rode my bike more than 20. I keep seeing this basket full of eggs, wait, golf balls, next to my transition bag. I wanted to be first out of the water, but the girls are exiting and I'm not even in yet.
Omigod.
Ooomigod.
Omigod omigod omigod, I AM NOT READY.
I awoke in dripping sweat, kicking the sheets off my body. I had this feeling before. The feeling of unpreparedness. The worry, the fright. The panic. It's all a dream. It's all a dream. But, it's kinda not. I'm just starting to begin my training for Redman. My dream was my fears about the race, and where I'm at now with my fitness and training. Had I tried to set out for 140.6 miles in my sleep last night, I surely would have failed. Your dreams prove how much control your mind can have over your race, and I do not want to have that feeling.
I emailed the hopefully-soon-to-be-coach lady: Do you still have room for me? When can we start?
Becase, well, things may be closer than they appear.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Listen Up!
As you may have noticed, I've made some cha-cha-chaaangges to the blog. I decided a re-vamped look for 2009 is in order. So, I'll try to stick to this for a while, or until I get really tired of looking at it.
One of the new items is a playlist. I'll continue to update this, but as I think of new workout songs, I'll add them to the list here. It's pretty much the stuff I'm adding to my iPod.
If you get tired of hearing it, all you have to do is hit the "Pause" or stop buttons. I make no concessions for my choices in music. They cuss, scream, and wail. Consider yourself warned.
Oh, and if you're at work and playlists are blocked, then check them out at home.
Crank the volume to 11.
One of the new items is a playlist. I'll continue to update this, but as I think of new workout songs, I'll add them to the list here. It's pretty much the stuff I'm adding to my iPod.
If you get tired of hearing it, all you have to do is hit the "Pause" or stop buttons. I make no concessions for my choices in music. They cuss, scream, and wail. Consider yourself warned.
Oh, and if you're at work and playlists are blocked, then check them out at home.
Crank the volume to 11.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Crank Yankers
It's 2:30am and my phone is ringing. "Unknown number" the screen says.
"Hello?" I answer, painfully aware of the time and very afraid of having to get out of bed to open the pool in the morning, as what other reason would I be getting a phone call so early?
"This is your best friend." Uh, no, it's not. Alygator does not sound like an 18 year old girl, and Jules wouldn't call me at 2:30am to just phuck with me. Unless there's wine involved. And she would for sure be WAY better at prank phone calls than this douche.
With enough exchange I got a first name. Then a bunch of stammering and a last name. Then I was told we were best friends (again). Oh, and she has a brain tumor and she hates me. That sucks. I'm also told that we "swam together back in the day." Um, FYI you're not even old enough to use the term 'back in the day.' I say.
When I had enough I said I was hanging up the phone and to have a goodnight. Then she dropped this one, "I slept with your husband." Too bad I had already pressed the red button. Darn. I asked Eric, "You sleep with anyone by that name?" Nope. If I did, must have sucked, because I don't remember. Haha! And with that we laughed a bit more and rolled off to bed.
I have a pretty good idea who it was. But even better, I put in a trace request with my phone service provider and will have a phone number and name by the close of business.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Til Your Arms Fall Off or You Eventually Fall Down a Hill
Or lats explode. Your choice.
Robo hasn't blogged about the ridiculous pulling swim workout yet, although, she really hammed it up about her swim test. Last week, her coach lady wanted to kill her. Well, her arms at least. And Robo thought it would be fun to pass on the joy to me. I'm not going to tell you the particulars of the workout, as that's between Robyn and Robyn's Coach Lady (and me because I stole that workout). However.
Howevvver, I will tell you that the main sets (Yes, plural) were pull. A lot of it. All 2300 yards of it. As far as I could see, there was nothing that said "pull bouy allowed" either. There were things like "let legs hang" and "band together" as well as, "no flip turn, turn like at marking bouy." It was sick, I tell ya.
I thought today would be a good day to do this set. After all, I work at a pool, and had some time over lunch. So I put on my gear and got in. Geesh. After Monday's spin- thankfully only a functional threshold test, not Max HR test; that's tomorrow- I took yesterday to lightly recover. Good thing I don't need my arms to run tonight. I'm planning to make another trail attempt, only this time, with Mr. TriathleteBride. Yes, that one. The crosscountrysuperstarwhatever. But, it will be dark, so I should just put some big sticks on the trail and he can roll down the hill.
When I asked my dear hubby if he wanted to join me he asked if it's a good idea. "It will be dark by then," he tells me. Yes dear, that's why I want you to come with me. "Won't you twist your ankle or break your leg? That sounds like something Wimpy would do." Gee, thanks for your supreme confidence in me!
Wimpy is my pet name. It has nothing to do with being a puss. It's a derivitive from the Wimpony, which I have no idea where that came from.
Maybe I will need my arms to catch me tonight, like, when I fall into a ravine.
Robo hasn't blogged about the ridiculous pulling swim workout yet, although, she really hammed it up about her swim test. Last week, her coach lady wanted to kill her. Well, her arms at least. And Robo thought it would be fun to pass on the joy to me. I'm not going to tell you the particulars of the workout, as that's between Robyn and Robyn's Coach Lady (and me because I stole that workout). However.
Howevvver, I will tell you that the main sets (Yes, plural) were pull. A lot of it. All 2300 yards of it. As far as I could see, there was nothing that said "pull bouy allowed" either. There were things like "let legs hang" and "band together" as well as, "no flip turn, turn like at marking bouy." It was sick, I tell ya.
I thought today would be a good day to do this set. After all, I work at a pool, and had some time over lunch. So I put on my gear and got in. Geesh. After Monday's spin- thankfully only a functional threshold test, not Max HR test; that's tomorrow- I took yesterday to lightly recover. Good thing I don't need my arms to run tonight. I'm planning to make another trail attempt, only this time, with Mr. TriathleteBride. Yes, that one. The crosscountrysuperstarwhatever. But, it will be dark, so I should just put some big sticks on the trail and he can roll down the hill.
When I asked my dear hubby if he wanted to join me he asked if it's a good idea. "It will be dark by then," he tells me. Yes dear, that's why I want you to come with me. "Won't you twist your ankle or break your leg? That sounds like something Wimpy would do." Gee, thanks for your supreme confidence in me!
Wimpy is my pet name. It has nothing to do with being a puss. It's a derivitive from the Wimpony, which I have no idea where that came from.
Maybe I will need my arms to catch me tonight, like, when I fall into a ravine.
Monday, January 5, 2009
So It Begins
Well, Here We Are.
Tonight's first of the year "Spin" class will mark the third consecutive workout for me. Yes, I said third. Tonight I shall embark on a 16 week journey of twice weekly bike sessions with the goal of building miles and kicking my anaerobic threshold. No really, the name of the class is KMA. Although, all the participants are fully aware that KMA is really for Kick My Ass and has little to do with anaerobic thresholds.
Yesterday, I swam around 3500 yards. Hardly anything when you think about one race totaling 4400. However, I worked hard. Especially on the negative split 400's. After looking at previous year's RedMan results, I'm having a hard time understanding why the swim splits are so... slow. Only one woman last year swam under 1:05. In 2007, the first woman out of the water was a 1:24. ONE HOUR, TWENTY FOUR MINUTES. 2006 was two minutes slower than that! I'm guessing its the lack of draft that causes the slower times, and there's fewer competitors to compare by. I was the 70th woman out of the water at IMFL 07 with a 1:06. The fastest fish that day was Theresa Mackel in 50min.
After looking over results, I feel like if I can swim to the same ability as in 2007 (not the same speed, as the draft really does play a huge part), then I should exit the water near the front of the overall race. I'll worry about the bike and run later. Let me savor this moment.
I'm still figuring out the coaching situation. I originally thought I'd have more moola to spend than I really do. I found someone that I feel would be an excellent fit, however, I'm trying to figure ways to make coaching a necessity versus a want and therefore giving paying thousands a year a bigger allowance out of our budget. I do want to say that Nancy Strickland coached me last year and is F-A-B-U-L-O-U-S. However, I was needing to make some changes and when doing an Ironman, it's easier on the phsyche to be coached BY and Ironman. Not to say Nancy isn't a badass in her own right.
I'm off to dig thru a box of mismatch heart rate monitor straps here in the office. During my "arms will fall off" swim set yesterday, my faithful HRM of two years but the dust. I've tried changing batteries, replacing pieces, anything, to save it. But, I think it's done. However, the watch/ receiver portion still is ticking (pun intended), so hopefully there's a Nike strap in this gross sweaty box.
Tonight's first of the year "Spin" class will mark the third consecutive workout for me. Yes, I said third. Tonight I shall embark on a 16 week journey of twice weekly bike sessions with the goal of building miles and kicking my anaerobic threshold. No really, the name of the class is KMA. Although, all the participants are fully aware that KMA is really for Kick My Ass and has little to do with anaerobic thresholds.
Yesterday, I swam around 3500 yards. Hardly anything when you think about one race totaling 4400. However, I worked hard. Especially on the negative split 400's. After looking at previous year's RedMan results, I'm having a hard time understanding why the swim splits are so... slow. Only one woman last year swam under 1:05. In 2007, the first woman out of the water was a 1:24. ONE HOUR, TWENTY FOUR MINUTES. 2006 was two minutes slower than that! I'm guessing its the lack of draft that causes the slower times, and there's fewer competitors to compare by. I was the 70th woman out of the water at IMFL 07 with a 1:06. The fastest fish that day was Theresa Mackel in 50min.
After looking over results, I feel like if I can swim to the same ability as in 2007 (not the same speed, as the draft really does play a huge part), then I should exit the water near the front of the overall race. I'll worry about the bike and run later. Let me savor this moment.
I'm still figuring out the coaching situation. I originally thought I'd have more moola to spend than I really do. I found someone that I feel would be an excellent fit, however, I'm trying to figure ways to make coaching a necessity versus a want and therefore giving paying thousands a year a bigger allowance out of our budget. I do want to say that Nancy Strickland coached me last year and is F-A-B-U-L-O-U-S. However, I was needing to make some changes and when doing an Ironman, it's easier on the phsyche to be coached BY and Ironman. Not to say Nancy isn't a badass in her own right.
I'm off to dig thru a box of mismatch heart rate monitor straps here in the office. During my "arms will fall off" swim set yesterday, my faithful HRM of two years but the dust. I've tried changing batteries, replacing pieces, anything, to save it. But, I think it's done. However, the watch/ receiver portion still is ticking (pun intended), so hopefully there's a Nike strap in this gross sweaty box.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Aaah. So. Much. Better.
After yesterday's blogging vent session, I drove home experiencing
global warming at it's finest. A tempid 62 degrees in good old kcmo. I
was cruising with the windows down when it hit me: GO RUN.
I called up my bestie Alyson who is spening the weekend with me. "Get
your trail shoes on, we're hitting the mud!" Thirty minutes later we
found ourselves standing at the top of the trail head. The jacomo/ blue
springs lake trails are my style. Formerly chat gravel, a good morning
rain tops off the ground with a touch of mush. The trails are up, down,
up down, and aren't any pussy ups. Or downs. The washouts and stream
crossings at the bottom make for a pretty treacherous descent. Good
thing my new job's health insurance kicked in yesterday!
After we reached our turnaround, we began to really notice the warm
winds blowing through the valley, and with every step up the tempature
rose.
We chatted occassionally, relying mostly on the sound of running shoes
leaving prints in the swampy gravel for our soundtrack. The moon was in
its glory, the sun long having set.
I reemerged from the trail a muddy, scratched shell of myself ninety
minutes prior. I was fresh, bright and full.
global warming at it's finest. A tempid 62 degrees in good old kcmo. I
was cruising with the windows down when it hit me: GO RUN.
I called up my bestie Alyson who is spening the weekend with me. "Get
your trail shoes on, we're hitting the mud!" Thirty minutes later we
found ourselves standing at the top of the trail head. The jacomo/ blue
springs lake trails are my style. Formerly chat gravel, a good morning
rain tops off the ground with a touch of mush. The trails are up, down,
up down, and aren't any pussy ups. Or downs. The washouts and stream
crossings at the bottom make for a pretty treacherous descent. Good
thing my new job's health insurance kicked in yesterday!
After we reached our turnaround, we began to really notice the warm
winds blowing through the valley, and with every step up the tempature
rose.
We chatted occassionally, relying mostly on the sound of running shoes
leaving prints in the swampy gravel for our soundtrack. The moon was in
its glory, the sun long having set.
I reemerged from the trail a muddy, scratched shell of myself ninety
minutes prior. I was fresh, bright and full.
I finally felt alive.
-Sent from my T-Mobile Sidekick®
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Unraveling.
"If you want to destroy my sweater...
Woah-ah-woah-ah-woah.
Hold this thread as I walk away...
As I walk away."
Two-thousand and eight was a year of serious ups and downs. I've breifly discussed it. Pretty much my personal, athletic and professional lives were flipped turned upside down many times over. Like a washing machine. You could sit on the floor by the front-loader and watch it go thru the spin cycle.
I am so tired of the begging, the pleading with my mom to get help. I am so tired of people and animals dying. I am completely over the petty arguments and pointless bickering. I have escaped from the horrors that I called my co-workers at South & Assoc. I am sick of the economy. I am through with the things that one by one unraveled my heart strings. Thankfully, I'm very lucky to have an awesome husband and a handful of really wonderful friends.
I entered 2009 on a very sour note. A fairly blah New Year's Eve, a dog that crapped on my favorite rug (Which I stepped in with both bare feet. It was warm. And liquid like), an argument with my hubby with him a thousand miles away. While not everything is totally resolved yet (except for the rug. No amount of Resolve would fix that- it found the way to the trash), I'm trying to make a resolution of 2009:
Let it go.
Woah-ah-woah-ah-woah.
Hold this thread as I walk away...
As I walk away."
Two-thousand and eight was a year of serious ups and downs. I've breifly discussed it. Pretty much my personal, athletic and professional lives were flipped turned upside down many times over. Like a washing machine. You could sit on the floor by the front-loader and watch it go thru the spin cycle.
I am so tired of the begging, the pleading with my mom to get help. I am so tired of people and animals dying. I am completely over the petty arguments and pointless bickering. I have escaped from the horrors that I called my co-workers at South & Assoc. I am sick of the economy. I am through with the things that one by one unraveled my heart strings. Thankfully, I'm very lucky to have an awesome husband and a handful of really wonderful friends.
I entered 2009 on a very sour note. A fairly blah New Year's Eve, a dog that crapped on my favorite rug (Which I stepped in with both bare feet. It was warm. And liquid like), an argument with my hubby with him a thousand miles away. While not everything is totally resolved yet (except for the rug. No amount of Resolve would fix that- it found the way to the trash), I'm trying to make a resolution of 2009:
Let it go.
Let everything go. Let everyone go. The things and people that hurt me in 2008 aren't going to affect my life anymore. I am going to just count to ten, and breathe out everytime something gets me flustered. I will walk away from the heart ache and resentment that I've carried for so long. I am done with it. I am airing it out.
The people can keep doing what they do. I don't care anymore. It's not my life to live, and if they want to destroy themselves, fine. Go for. It won't hurt me anymore. For the loved ones I've recently lost including my grandpa and my friend, I hope you have found peace. I'm letting you have it. For the critters that passed, may all dogs (and bunnies) go to heaven.
This is me, unraveling to my core.
The people can keep doing what they do. I don't care anymore. It's not my life to live, and if they want to destroy themselves, fine. Go for. It won't hurt me anymore. For the loved ones I've recently lost including my grandpa and my friend, I hope you have found peace. I'm letting you have it. For the critters that passed, may all dogs (and bunnies) go to heaven.
This is me, unraveling to my core.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)