I will say, although I love my body, and am continually amazed at its ability to rise to the occasion, lately there is an aspect of it that has me bitterly disappointed. Really? Disappointed? That does seem to be more than a little harsh. No, seriously. Disappointed. Suddenly my digestive system seems to take sadistic pleasure in torturing me with it random, painful, embarrassing antics. It has gotten so there seems to be very little I can consume without fear of pain, cramps, bloating, and yes, gas. I swear to all the Powers That Be, I am not a hypochondriac. I am not making this shit up. But it seems that almost everything I eat has serious side effects and consequences. My very favorite and beloved food group, dairy, has suddenly become a Toxic Avenger, wreaking havoc and leaving a trail of methane in its wake. Dairy has been my go-to protein source for like, forever. Yogurt, cottage cheese, and milk, glorious, glorious milk. I am used to consuming two gallons of milk a week. Two Gallons!! And now, No Gallons. And that makes me incredibly sad. It has only been a week of a self imposed ban on milk, and I miss it sorely. It is as if a best friend has moved to the other side of the world, and I don't know if I will ever see them again. Ever.
Of course I am trying different natural remedies. I am taking a digestive enzyme that has not only herbal and amino acid ingredients, but also Ox digestive enzymes. Yeah, Ox Bile. Seriously. That shows you how desperate I am. Ox Bile. I want my milk back. I want giant glasses of cold milk with every meal. I want my warm milk before bed. I want milk with whey protein during and after my workouts. I want my goddamn MILK!
And milk, though the most important of the new taboo foods, is not the only one. Most meals are causing me some discomfort, and yes, methane production. This is problematic on many levels. Not too long ago I spent most of my time alone except for the company of my dogs. Dogs don't care what vapors are wafting through the air. My dogs are very capable of emanating their own special form of noxious zephyr. So, if that were still the case, this would be much more of a non-issue. But happily, my social status has changed fairly recently, and I am not always sleeping alone these days. Great for me and my emotional well being. Not so great if my rebellious digestive tract makes me less than an ideal bed mate. You see where I am going with this? Yeah, thought so. So I am having to really sort through my normal, and already limited, acceptable food products to figure out exactly which foods are going to be added to the ever lengthening list of verboten delicacies. It seems the more carefully I eat, the more carefully I have to eat. And that sucks on so many levels.
So once more, I feel like shaking my fist, and shouting out my rage to the Powers That Be, "I want my goddamn MILK!!" I don't ask for much. Don't expect any special favors. I am not demanding of the Powers. But seriously PTB, I really want my Goddamned MILK!
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Don't Dream It, Be It
I dreamed I was ready for a Half Ironman. I know I am not, but I have decided that I want to be ready for an Olympic distance Tri this season, and a Half Ironman by next season. Yes I set myself lofty goals. But this is my time to make my dreams become reality. And I dreamt it, so I think my subconscious believes I can do it. So now do I push myself harder? Or stay the course? I am working hard towards realizing my dreams. Working towards better fitness and preparedness. I want to be able to step onto the course for my first Tri Sprint and totally rock the race. I want to be well prepared, strong, powerful, and fast. I know speed has never been my strong suit, but I know I can improve. I know I am improving. I am looking at several events now, looking with the strong draw that I recognize as inevitability. It will happen, and sooner rather than later. I feel it. My subconscious knows it, even if the rest of my mind falters a bit.
For too much of my life I have looked towards goals, wished and hoped, but then found the multitude of excuses. I allow myself to fall short, for a multitude of seemingly valid reasons. I am done with excuses. I am done with falling short. I am finally reaching for a dream, and will not allow myself to fail. I will not allow any excuses, valid or otherwise, to interfere with where I want to take my life. The Triathlon is really symbolic of how I want to live my life, reach for my goals, grab life with both hands. No more excuses. I have dreamt it, now I will live it.
For too much of my life I have looked towards goals, wished and hoped, but then found the multitude of excuses. I allow myself to fall short, for a multitude of seemingly valid reasons. I am done with excuses. I am done with falling short. I am finally reaching for a dream, and will not allow myself to fail. I will not allow any excuses, valid or otherwise, to interfere with where I want to take my life. The Triathlon is really symbolic of how I want to live my life, reach for my goals, grab life with both hands. No more excuses. I have dreamt it, now I will live it.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Swim #2
For my first lap swim, ever, I had intentionally taken it a bit easy on myself. I did not want to wake the next day so sore I couldn't get out of bed. I learned this lesson a long time ago; there is nothing quite like going overboard on lunges only to find that you are so stiff and sore later that just lowering your ass onto the toilet is an excruciating endeavor. I made up my mind then and there that I would always take some care and intelligence when introducing a new exercise into my routine, no matter how fit I may think I am. This personal policy has left me in good stead with Body, as well as kept me from injuring myself in my zeal, or inadvertently making myself dread or loathe a new routine.
All that being said, for my second swim I totally kicked my own ass. And freaking Loved it! I think I am falling desperately in love with swimming. I may not be a fast swimmer, but I am a strong swimmer. Speed has never been my greatest strength, but strength and stamina are my forte. On the warfield, I may not be the most nimble warrior, but I am nearly always one of the very last to leave the field. I have out-staminaed strong, healthy young men that were half my age. I see these healthy youngsters on the side of the field puking up their morning repast because their poor bodies are rebelling against their over eager antics. Yes, slow and steady wins the race. I would rather start at a solid pace, and keep that pace, then start quick, jump to the lead then find myself on the side of the road vomiting up well earned hydration.
Last night's swim I pushed myself harder, though still not hard enough. But again, I do not want to injure myself in my zeal. I swam 10 laps, non-stop, with a strong, steady pace. Actually, I swam 11 laps, but I lost count so made myself back up my count. Then I allowed myself a brief rest, very brief, then swam an additional 10 laps, with only slight pauses every few laps. I finished with 5 laps at a fairly slow pace, a cool down round, focusing on form and breathing. Granted, the last 5 laps, I was getting knackered. I would swim a lap, pause, catch my breath, tell myself aloud, "just three more... just two more... one more." I am not sure what the parents in the bleachers a few feet away thought of me talking to myself, though I did notice they kept their children far away when I finally did stagger out of the pool. I am trying to work on my stroke and breathing technique. I want to benefit from the full power of each stroke, use my core, arms and legs with a smooth synchronicity. I want my breathing to feel natural, calm, and relaxed. The last thing I would want is to be out in the middle of a pack of swimmers, in open water and start having the panic inducing drain of breathing difficulties. So, I know I need to practice breathing more than I actually need to practice my strokes.
I was damned tired crawling out of the pool. My arms were tired enough that sweeping later that evening was almost difficult. And I Love that! I love to find workouts that really work me out. I have been coasting on my workouts for a while, but no more. No coasting, only powering forward. And with the new, self ass-kicking workouts, I have been sleeping like the dead for the first time in far too long. I am eager to get back into the water. I want to swim further, faster, stronger. And I know I can.
All that being said, for my second swim I totally kicked my own ass. And freaking Loved it! I think I am falling desperately in love with swimming. I may not be a fast swimmer, but I am a strong swimmer. Speed has never been my greatest strength, but strength and stamina are my forte. On the warfield, I may not be the most nimble warrior, but I am nearly always one of the very last to leave the field. I have out-staminaed strong, healthy young men that were half my age. I see these healthy youngsters on the side of the field puking up their morning repast because their poor bodies are rebelling against their over eager antics. Yes, slow and steady wins the race. I would rather start at a solid pace, and keep that pace, then start quick, jump to the lead then find myself on the side of the road vomiting up well earned hydration.
Last night's swim I pushed myself harder, though still not hard enough. But again, I do not want to injure myself in my zeal. I swam 10 laps, non-stop, with a strong, steady pace. Actually, I swam 11 laps, but I lost count so made myself back up my count. Then I allowed myself a brief rest, very brief, then swam an additional 10 laps, with only slight pauses every few laps. I finished with 5 laps at a fairly slow pace, a cool down round, focusing on form and breathing. Granted, the last 5 laps, I was getting knackered. I would swim a lap, pause, catch my breath, tell myself aloud, "just three more... just two more... one more." I am not sure what the parents in the bleachers a few feet away thought of me talking to myself, though I did notice they kept their children far away when I finally did stagger out of the pool. I am trying to work on my stroke and breathing technique. I want to benefit from the full power of each stroke, use my core, arms and legs with a smooth synchronicity. I want my breathing to feel natural, calm, and relaxed. The last thing I would want is to be out in the middle of a pack of swimmers, in open water and start having the panic inducing drain of breathing difficulties. So, I know I need to practice breathing more than I actually need to practice my strokes.
I was damned tired crawling out of the pool. My arms were tired enough that sweeping later that evening was almost difficult. And I Love that! I love to find workouts that really work me out. I have been coasting on my workouts for a while, but no more. No coasting, only powering forward. And with the new, self ass-kicking workouts, I have been sleeping like the dead for the first time in far too long. I am eager to get back into the water. I want to swim further, faster, stronger. And I know I can.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
When Dreams Become reality
I have gone through an interesting transformation these last 6 months, not just physically but emotionally, mentally and psychologically. But the most obvious, in-your-face difference is the physical changes that I have undergone. Yes, I lost a shitload of unnecessary weight, but that is only a portion of the reality. There have been very few times in my adult life when I was not very conscientious of fitness and healthy eating habits. I have had, and used often, gym memberships most of my life. When moving to a new area, or taking a job in a new town, one of the first things I have always done is track down an affordable, decent fitness center that is convenient to either home or work. I have been teased in the past by coworkers, "you workout enough for all of us." Feeling strong and healthy has always been a priority. But this year I have decided that, being my 50th year (fuck, fifty, how the hell did it get here so quickly?) that I need to turn up the dial, stop thinking what I could do and actually do it. In the past I allowed a number of outside influences to give me excuses to stay away from the real me trapped inside a larger me.
I must acknowledge that the beginning of the transformation began as a trial by fire, a dip into the pits of hell, a fall into a dark abyss. It was not a method that I would ever recommend to anyone, friend or foe. And honestly, in the beginning there was a steep decline in my workouts, a weight gain and a lack of my normal care in my upkeep and feeding. It was a mere 8 weeks or so, but it was enough to make me grab hold of myself by the short hairs and bitch-slap some semblance of sense into my faltering mind and flagging body. I had spent too many hours of my life working out, staying strong and healthy, to let a little backslide in the emotional/psychological arena to let myself down that way. I could not allow it to happen. From that point, I did slip further down into the darkness, but knew that if I could not control my emotions, control my brain, at least I could control my body and what went into it. The stress reached a pinnacle that caused me to be almost unable to eat or sleep. My response; find what healthy food I could eat, and if I couldn't sleep I got out of bed and hit the treadmill. There were a lot of predawn miles pounded out under my feet, forcing blood into my sleep deprived brain, boosting flagging serotonin and dopamine levels. It was probably not what a doctor would recommend, but it was all I knew to do. And it helped. Getting and staying fit does more for delicate hearts and minds than anything a doctor could prescribe.
So, now, here it is, early summer in my fiftieth year, and I am in the best shape of my life. My body feels better than it did in my early twenties, and I have more energy than when I was a chubby 10 year old. I keep pushing my workouts up a notch, finessing, perfecting, and kicking my own ass in the process. My weight continues to drop, though now I am trying to stabilize it. I never thought, in my wildest dreams, that I would have to eat more so I could stop losing weight. Yes, I would like to lower my body fat more, but my poor, saggy, little breasts would become empty envelopes of skin if I did, and I just can't quite go there. And now training takes precedence, and nutrition is paramount to effective training. I am deliriously happy to be able to reintroduce peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to my normal fare. I missed them so.
So my Mind and Body are on an adventure to see just where this ride will take us. I have dreams and goals, and am reaching out to them every single day. I see some right at the tips of my fingers. Others are for the future, but not a distant or unreachable future. I have finished with pipe dreams, maybes, could haves, should haves. I am on course to attain triumphs and victories that a short year ago were mere wishes. Now the wishes are dreams, and those dreams are becoming reality. I love my life. I love my Body.
I must acknowledge that the beginning of the transformation began as a trial by fire, a dip into the pits of hell, a fall into a dark abyss. It was not a method that I would ever recommend to anyone, friend or foe. And honestly, in the beginning there was a steep decline in my workouts, a weight gain and a lack of my normal care in my upkeep and feeding. It was a mere 8 weeks or so, but it was enough to make me grab hold of myself by the short hairs and bitch-slap some semblance of sense into my faltering mind and flagging body. I had spent too many hours of my life working out, staying strong and healthy, to let a little backslide in the emotional/psychological arena to let myself down that way. I could not allow it to happen. From that point, I did slip further down into the darkness, but knew that if I could not control my emotions, control my brain, at least I could control my body and what went into it. The stress reached a pinnacle that caused me to be almost unable to eat or sleep. My response; find what healthy food I could eat, and if I couldn't sleep I got out of bed and hit the treadmill. There were a lot of predawn miles pounded out under my feet, forcing blood into my sleep deprived brain, boosting flagging serotonin and dopamine levels. It was probably not what a doctor would recommend, but it was all I knew to do. And it helped. Getting and staying fit does more for delicate hearts and minds than anything a doctor could prescribe.
So, now, here it is, early summer in my fiftieth year, and I am in the best shape of my life. My body feels better than it did in my early twenties, and I have more energy than when I was a chubby 10 year old. I keep pushing my workouts up a notch, finessing, perfecting, and kicking my own ass in the process. My weight continues to drop, though now I am trying to stabilize it. I never thought, in my wildest dreams, that I would have to eat more so I could stop losing weight. Yes, I would like to lower my body fat more, but my poor, saggy, little breasts would become empty envelopes of skin if I did, and I just can't quite go there. And now training takes precedence, and nutrition is paramount to effective training. I am deliriously happy to be able to reintroduce peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to my normal fare. I missed them so.
So my Mind and Body are on an adventure to see just where this ride will take us. I have dreams and goals, and am reaching out to them every single day. I see some right at the tips of my fingers. Others are for the future, but not a distant or unreachable future. I have finished with pipe dreams, maybes, could haves, should haves. I am on course to attain triumphs and victories that a short year ago were mere wishes. Now the wishes are dreams, and those dreams are becoming reality. I love my life. I love my Body.
Not Too Sore
I am feeling moderately sore today, but not nearly as much as I had been envisioning. I usually have a 36 to 48 hour delay on any muscle or joint soreness, so was fully expecting to not be able to even lift my arms today after my first swim session 2 days ago. Delighted that not only can I lift my arms and dress myself, but am looking forward to adding a few laps tonight. I do have to remind myself that I have part two of the Firefighters Physical Agility test practice session coming up day after tomorrow and do not want to head into it too tight. There is one station that is a tad worrisome: 20 blows with a 12 pound sledge hammer. I THINK I will be fine, but I certainly haven't trained for it. I am just trusting my overall fitness to make the difference. And hell, I have split tons of wood, literally, in my lifetime, so I should be able to manage.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Cycling Workout
Tonight's workout was most excellent. Finally, a beautiful sunny evening for cycling. I rode my motorcycle over my hill route to make sure I wasn't deluding myself on my distance. Pleased to find it's a 12+ mile circuit, all hills, so that makes a solid 6 miles of uphill. Kick-my-ass-and-leave-me-in-the-ditch-to-die Road is proving to be a great training route, abut I plan on adding a bit of mileage every time. Today, I added another mile for a total of 13 miles, this also added one more brutal hill I have named SlapMeImYourBitch. As soon as I got home, dripping sweat but feeling great, I decided to try kicking off my shoes and getting right onto the treadmill (don't tell coach). One lap and my calves were very unhappy, I stepped off, stretched for a few minutes, got back on and did an easy half mile at a slow jog. Running barefoot works my calves and quads differently, so I wan't to build a little slow, and not cripple myself with my zeal. I have noticed that barefoot running doesn't put any noticeable strain on my knees, which makes me deliriously happy. After a brief bout on the treadmill (sorry coach) I did an hour of legs and abs, doing my usual melange of squats, lifts and crunches. My back is still tight so I have been extra careful to stretch during and after all my workouts. Tonight was not exception, I did at least 30 minutes of stretching before allowing myself to collapse over a bowl of Venison and Black Bean Chili.
I just want to crawl into bed, but realized my bike and motorcycle are still sitting outside in the gloaming. No rest for the wicked.
I just want to crawl into bed, but realized my bike and motorcycle are still sitting outside in the gloaming. No rest for the wicked.
Tuesday Workout
My Tuesday workout started with the epic swim: 15 laps, 750 feet; alternating freestyle, breaststroke, sidestroke, backstroke. It was tiring, a damned good workout. But it wasn't quite enough. Once home I wolfed down a banana and a cup of unsweetened almond milk, then ran a slow, easy 3/4 mile on the treadmill (forgive me, coach), barefoot, to rewarm my muscles. Then I did a modified and lighter version of my normal upper body and core strength training workout: with heavy band; 3 sets each rotating press, French curl, fly, upright row, press and one armed rotating row. Also 3 sets of tricep dips. Followed this with a solid 20 minutes of stretching focusing on quads, hamstrings, calves, back and shoulders. Slammed 8oz of almond milk mixed with scoop of whey protein for quick muscle recovery.
My soreness from the unaccustomed swimming spree is yet to be determined since I have about a 48 hour delay on the full level of muscle soreness. So, tomorrow will be the acid test. Did I over do it? Nah. If I don't push myself, who will? I am my own drill sergeant, pushing myself to new levels of endurance and strength, and maybe just a little pain.
Dinner was an epic meal: Small bowl of leftover venison spaghetti sauce chock full of meat and veggies, with the addition of a can of black beans to make a delicious chili. Guacamole made with 1/2 small avocado, 1/2 cup nonfat cottage cheese and 1/4 cup salsa with a side of chips made by toasting strips of corn/wheat tortillas under the broiler until golden and crispy.
My soreness from the unaccustomed swimming spree is yet to be determined since I have about a 48 hour delay on the full level of muscle soreness. So, tomorrow will be the acid test. Did I over do it? Nah. If I don't push myself, who will? I am my own drill sergeant, pushing myself to new levels of endurance and strength, and maybe just a little pain.
Dinner was an epic meal: Small bowl of leftover venison spaghetti sauce chock full of meat and veggies, with the addition of a can of black beans to make a delicious chili. Guacamole made with 1/2 small avocado, 1/2 cup nonfat cottage cheese and 1/4 cup salsa with a side of chips made by toasting strips of corn/wheat tortillas under the broiler until golden and crispy.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
The Swim
My first lap swim. Ever. My first public appearance in a Speedo. Ever. I did not shame myself, I am happy to report. Politely inquiring from the lifeguard which lane was open, not wanting to confess that without my glasses I am damn near blind, he, equally politely, directed me to lane two. Exhibiting a confidence I did not feel, I sat on the edge of the pool, dangling my legs in the comfortably lukewarm water and slipped on my Speedo goggles. Body appropriately attired in skin tight, black and red spandex that fortunately was not riding up like a thong. Head encased in a hot pink, condom like swim cap that made me feel like my skull must look like an eager penis ready to cleave the water with gusto. And now, goggles like octopus tentacles threatening to suck my eyeballs from their sockets. I was ready to swim.
I slipped into the water and was surprised at how comforting it felt. I have never been more than a recreational swimmer, but I have always felt I was a decently strong swimmer. Now, as I slipped easily through the water, slowly, but easily, I began to think that I might do quite well in the swimming segment of a triathlon. I began with a simple breast stroke, two laps. Then the hand over hand freestyle, trying to breathe properly and have decent form, and snorting water up my nose, making me splutter like a newb. Sidestroke and backstroke. I alternated between the four basic strokes, knowing that the ability to be strong in all could help me keep forward momentum and prevent fatigue on long swims. I know I need to improve my freestyle, perfect my breathing, not snort water up my nose, since it is the fastest of basic strokes.
I managed to do ten 50 yard laps without pausing much between laps. I was feeling kind of cocky. I decided to do an additional five laps, for a total of 750 yards. I admit, the last five laps were not too easy, and my pauses at the end of each were longer. But I felt triumphant. Then I got out of the water. Holymotherofgod, I was exhausted. It hit me as I forced myself to walk steadily to the locker room, but damn, I wanted to stumble into a comfortable chair. Once in the locker room, and under the warm water of the shower, I discovered that getting out of a wet Speedo is kind of like trying to peel a green banana with oiled hands, not so very easy. But, shower, shaky, and feeling gloriously tired, the swim was a success.
I have never been a competitive swimmer, not yet. But I am beginning to see the reality of my first triathlon. I mean, G'damn, swimming is an amazing workout, my upper body hasn't felt this worn out in a long time, despite my religious strength training routines. I am excited to add it to my regiment.
I slipped into the water and was surprised at how comforting it felt. I have never been more than a recreational swimmer, but I have always felt I was a decently strong swimmer. Now, as I slipped easily through the water, slowly, but easily, I began to think that I might do quite well in the swimming segment of a triathlon. I began with a simple breast stroke, two laps. Then the hand over hand freestyle, trying to breathe properly and have decent form, and snorting water up my nose, making me splutter like a newb. Sidestroke and backstroke. I alternated between the four basic strokes, knowing that the ability to be strong in all could help me keep forward momentum and prevent fatigue on long swims. I know I need to improve my freestyle, perfect my breathing, not snort water up my nose, since it is the fastest of basic strokes.
I managed to do ten 50 yard laps without pausing much between laps. I was feeling kind of cocky. I decided to do an additional five laps, for a total of 750 yards. I admit, the last five laps were not too easy, and my pauses at the end of each were longer. But I felt triumphant. Then I got out of the water. Holymotherofgod, I was exhausted. It hit me as I forced myself to walk steadily to the locker room, but damn, I wanted to stumble into a comfortable chair. Once in the locker room, and under the warm water of the shower, I discovered that getting out of a wet Speedo is kind of like trying to peel a green banana with oiled hands, not so very easy. But, shower, shaky, and feeling gloriously tired, the swim was a success.
I have never been a competitive swimmer, not yet. But I am beginning to see the reality of my first triathlon. I mean, G'damn, swimming is an amazing workout, my upper body hasn't felt this worn out in a long time, despite my religious strength training routines. I am excited to add it to my regiment.
Triathlon: Let's Discuss Distance
I am pretty sure most people, when hearing the word "Triathlon" immediately think of The Ironman Races. Those epic battles of humans versus distance, where finishers stagger across the finish line after hours and hours of pushing themselves beyond anything they probably believed possible to endure. Yes, those are triathlons, but they are the pinnacle. So to clarify, I want to post the different race distances. Yes, there are easier distances.
The Sprint: The distances in a Sprint vary, but are usually as follows (more or less): Swim 1/2 mile, Bike 12-14 miles, Run 5K. This is the Beginner race, and should be fairly easy (I say that with more than a hint of finger crossing).
The Olympic: This gets a bit tougher, but still on the manageable level. Swim 1.5K (just short of 1 mile), Bike 40K (roughly 25 miles), Run 10K (6.2 miles).
Half Ironman: Yes, this gets a bit more serious. Swim 1.2 miles, Bike 56 miles, Run 13.1 miles.
Ironman: The Gold Standard. Swim 2.4 miles, Bike 112 miles, Run 26.2 miles.
So, there you have it, everything from a sensible, pleasant morning workout to a radically painful way to spend the better part of a weekend. And this is what I am setting myself up for. My goal is to complete a Sprint no later than mid-September. I would like to do one earlier, but there is an odd dearth of races in August in this area. So, maybe one in September and another in October? I would like to be ready for Olympic distance by next spring, and maybe manage a Half Ironman by the end of next season. I don't think this is an unreasonable goal. Insane yes, unreasonable no. And, in a crazy corner of my mind, oh wait, that would be most of my mind, I would like to complete one full Ironman. It is honestly something that has intrigued me for years, but self doubt made it seem just another pipe dream. Honestly, I am tired of pipe dreams, I want dreams to become reality. I want my reality to be my dreams realized. No one in the world will realize my dreams but me, and so I will train. I will train hard. I will strive to reach goals that others would deem unreachable. I have faith in my abilities. I have faith in Me.
The Sprint: The distances in a Sprint vary, but are usually as follows (more or less): Swim 1/2 mile, Bike 12-14 miles, Run 5K. This is the Beginner race, and should be fairly easy (I say that with more than a hint of finger crossing).
The Olympic: This gets a bit tougher, but still on the manageable level. Swim 1.5K (just short of 1 mile), Bike 40K (roughly 25 miles), Run 10K (6.2 miles).
Half Ironman: Yes, this gets a bit more serious. Swim 1.2 miles, Bike 56 miles, Run 13.1 miles.
Ironman: The Gold Standard. Swim 2.4 miles, Bike 112 miles, Run 26.2 miles.
So, there you have it, everything from a sensible, pleasant morning workout to a radically painful way to spend the better part of a weekend. And this is what I am setting myself up for. My goal is to complete a Sprint no later than mid-September. I would like to do one earlier, but there is an odd dearth of races in August in this area. So, maybe one in September and another in October? I would like to be ready for Olympic distance by next spring, and maybe manage a Half Ironman by the end of next season. I don't think this is an unreasonable goal. Insane yes, unreasonable no. And, in a crazy corner of my mind, oh wait, that would be most of my mind, I would like to complete one full Ironman. It is honestly something that has intrigued me for years, but self doubt made it seem just another pipe dream. Honestly, I am tired of pipe dreams, I want dreams to become reality. I want my reality to be my dreams realized. No one in the world will realize my dreams but me, and so I will train. I will train hard. I will strive to reach goals that others would deem unreachable. I have faith in my abilities. I have faith in Me.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Kick-my-ass-and-leave-me-in-the-ditch-to-die Road
Yes, along with writing about the random thoughts and lessons learned I will be posting my daily workouts. More for my own records than for any self-aggrandizement.
Today I had planned on my first lap swim, followed by upper body and core. But I was thwarted at the swim center, apparently Mondays are chock-a-block full with the water aerobics class, leaving very few lanes available, and those were taken.
Instead I chose to cycle. There is a road nearby named Wildcat Road, which I first took in an effort to avoid the long hills on what was becoming my "normal" ride. I totally outsmarted myself on this one though. Within the first quarter mile of what was looking like a gentle ride, I turned a 15mph curve and was faced by a long, steep uphill. My first thought was, "Fuck no." Then the perverse inner athlete smiled and said, "I'm your Huckleberry." I had thought that the other side of this long, brutal hill would be the gentle road I had hoped to traverse. No. There is not a flat stretch on this road. It is hill upon hill. Some so steep that in first gear it is all I can do to keep moving at all. Head down, death grip on the bars, standing in the stirrups, using every muscle in my body to keep the crankshaft moving and wheels rolling. I have renamed Wildcat Road, it is now "Kick-my-ass-and-leave-me-in-the-ditch-to-die Road," with hills I have named, "OhFuck," FuckMe," and "ImmaYourBitch." As I have added distance with each additional ride there are new hills, "FuckMeNoLube," "KillMeNow," and "JustBuryMeHere." It is an epic ride.
So, all that being said, today's workout: 75 minute cycling on Kick-my-ass-and-leave-me-in-the-ditch-to-die Road. Then home, and half an hour spent with my 7 year old neighbor Quinn, sharing a smoothie. Then half mile easy jog, barefoot, to warm my muscles for my leg workout. Legs: 3 sets each; Wide squat, one-legged squat, prison squat, split squat, leg raise, side leg raise, calf raise. I am still not ready for deep squats, making sure my knee is healed before I get all jiggy with it. Then onto the floor for abs; 320 various crunches. Finally 20 minutes of stretching legs and back.
Dinner: 2 medium boiled eggs, 1 slice toasted ancient grains bread. Remember, I already had the super smoothie made from fresh garden greens, 100% cranberry juice, 100% black cherry juice, fresh strawberries, 1/2 cup nonfat yogurt, big scoop whey protein (and it was delicious).
Onward through the Fog.
Today I had planned on my first lap swim, followed by upper body and core. But I was thwarted at the swim center, apparently Mondays are chock-a-block full with the water aerobics class, leaving very few lanes available, and those were taken.
Instead I chose to cycle. There is a road nearby named Wildcat Road, which I first took in an effort to avoid the long hills on what was becoming my "normal" ride. I totally outsmarted myself on this one though. Within the first quarter mile of what was looking like a gentle ride, I turned a 15mph curve and was faced by a long, steep uphill. My first thought was, "Fuck no." Then the perverse inner athlete smiled and said, "I'm your Huckleberry." I had thought that the other side of this long, brutal hill would be the gentle road I had hoped to traverse. No. There is not a flat stretch on this road. It is hill upon hill. Some so steep that in first gear it is all I can do to keep moving at all. Head down, death grip on the bars, standing in the stirrups, using every muscle in my body to keep the crankshaft moving and wheels rolling. I have renamed Wildcat Road, it is now "Kick-my-ass-and-leave-me-in-the-ditch-to-die Road," with hills I have named, "OhFuck," FuckMe," and "ImmaYourBitch." As I have added distance with each additional ride there are new hills, "FuckMeNoLube," "KillMeNow," and "JustBuryMeHere." It is an epic ride.
So, all that being said, today's workout: 75 minute cycling on Kick-my-ass-and-leave-me-in-the-ditch-to-die Road. Then home, and half an hour spent with my 7 year old neighbor Quinn, sharing a smoothie. Then half mile easy jog, barefoot, to warm my muscles for my leg workout. Legs: 3 sets each; Wide squat, one-legged squat, prison squat, split squat, leg raise, side leg raise, calf raise. I am still not ready for deep squats, making sure my knee is healed before I get all jiggy with it. Then onto the floor for abs; 320 various crunches. Finally 20 minutes of stretching legs and back.
Dinner: 2 medium boiled eggs, 1 slice toasted ancient grains bread. Remember, I already had the super smoothie made from fresh garden greens, 100% cranberry juice, 100% black cherry juice, fresh strawberries, 1/2 cup nonfat yogurt, big scoop whey protein (and it was delicious).
Onward through the Fog.
Coaching
Yesterday was the first session with Coach Todd. He says he will try to not make me cry, but no promises. As it was, he gave me great information on proper running form, and how to minimize impact and fatigue, and increase efficiency. He does not like the phrase "foot strike" in regards to how your foot hits the ground when running, usually heel first if shod in traditional running gear. He is a barefoot runner and runs gracefully and lightly using the balls of his feet and his knees to absorb what little shock is created by proper running, and prefers the term "foot fall." It makes perfect sense, a simple concept that has been over complicated by ever more technical "advances" in gear. The human foot is made for running, made to land lightly, easily and without damaging the knees, hips and back. I admit, he preached, and I was an accolade. I don't know if my delicate tootsies are quite ready to start logging miles on asphalt, but I may start cycling to the nearby school and taking advantage of their fields to give myself, quite literally, a test run.
Yes, I will likely do this under a shroud of secrecy. I know this is silly, but in my mind I am still the chubby kid struggling to make even one lap without feeling like I wanted to die.
Yes, I will likely do this under a shroud of secrecy. I know this is silly, but in my mind I am still the chubby kid struggling to make even one lap without feeling like I wanted to die.
Day One, And So It Begins
On to new endeavors, trials, and testing my mettle. I have blogged excessively in Deasal's Random Ramblings about the emotional, mental rollercoaster that is my life, and it does not seem to be the appropriate place to start writing of my pending physical feats. What feats, you may well ask. I have decided that I will be a successful, competitive Triathlete. Yes. A Triathlete.
Anyone who knows me, now or in my past, knows that I have always been a relatively active, strong female. I am not a girly-girl. I am a Tomboy to the bone (well, okay, I do have my girly moments, but please don't tell anyone since it may very well ruin my biker chick/warrior reputation). I wanted so very badly to train for the obstacle runs that have been dominating the world of amateur sports the last few years. From the moment I first read a description of The Warrior Dash I was smitten. The idea of glorious victory over trial by fire, mud, water was a concept that appealed to the warrior in me. And I looked at it as a great motivation to cross train and change up my workouts, as well as to add some zest to my fighting training. But all along I knew my knee was a handicap, too unstable to handle the rugged and/or slippery footing challenges. I had hoped my recent knee surgery would give me the stability I would need to start challenging myself with these difficult obstacle courses. But it was not to be. I have been told by my doctor, my physical therapist, and a trusted friend who is a running coach and very familiar with the Spartan Races, that these types of races would likely be "catastrophic" for my knee. I fucked my knee up doing something difficult, challenging, and stupid. And I knew it was stupid at the time. So, I need to not repeat my past mistakes and screw it up to the point of being truly crippled.
I admit, this was a depressing realization for me. Actually, it went beyond depressing and struck me at my core. For years I was certain that knee surgery would be a miracle cure for the pain, instability, and random dislocating that has been the bane of my agility for more than 10 years. Instead, I was told that the doctor went the minimalist route because once he got in there he realized the only way I would get anything resembling normal stability was with a full knee replacement. Neither of us was ready for that procedure yet. And so, as I heal up and wait to see what exactly, if any, changes there will be in my knee's functionality, I have had to alter my dreams. I am not one to dwell on what might have been, what should have been, and wishes denied. Instead I have a quick, violent breakdown, weeping, cursing, shaking my fist at the Powers That Be, ranting against the unfairness of it all, and then I get over it as best I can. Quick breakdown, quick recovery. I do still have twinges of sadness at the loss of potential challenges, but it has made me hit the reset button on my personal expectations.
I have been enthralled with the Ironman series of races. In awe of those stalwart individuals capable of pushing themselves through such a grueling task. But for my entire life I have told myself, "I am not a runner." I have repeated this to myself hundreds of times over the years. I am not sure what started me down this thought process. I think it started very young, as a chubby kid, when we had to do The Presidential Physical Fitness Test. I loathed that test. The pull-ups were embarrassing, but it was the mile run that was sheer humiliation for me. To take a chubby kid with no running experience, and expect them to be able to run a mile truly is a recipe for damaged self-esteem. Now, if they had prepped us for a month or so? Then maybe more of us would have risen to the challenge, not felt like gasping beached whales. Yes, it was like that.
Now, with a recent, and much overdue, weight loss, I am back to what I used to call "My Fighting Weight." And this was long before I had ever even heard of medieval armored combat. Now, after 16 years of actually fighting, and convincing myself I need to keep my body mass up to be able to take and give a good hit, I have stepped out of that mentality. Instead of gearing the bulk of my workouts towards fighting, I switched gears. Completely. I am not fighting this year. I changed nearly every aspect of how I workout, and I lost 55 pounds in the process. No, my workouts did not do that, I did that. I became obsessive with what went into my mouth. It bordered on a stress induced eating disorder. Hell, who am I kidding. It was a stress induced eating disorder. Let's call a Spade a Spade. There was a month this last winter when I could barely eat. Every food was nauseating, except for milk, whey protein and oranges. I do not recommend the Nervous Breakdown Weight Loss Plan. But it did help me kick my sugar and carb addiction, so I can't diss it too much. And after the first 15 pound loss caused by the stress, I regained control over my appetite, but was very careful what I was willing to reintroduce to my body. I eat basic, simple, natural foods. I avoid sugar, but still indulge a bit. I do not eat processed foods, avoiding chemical laden quick fixes. So the weight kept peeling off. Now, I will do whatever it takes to keep it from ever regaining a foothold.
Yes, I am rambling. To get to the point, getting back to my Fighting Weight, seeing lean muscle, knowing that my rigorous workout ethic and careful nutrition had me in the absolute best shape of my entire life, suddenly made the thought gel, "I am an athlete, I can be a runner." I want to be a runner. It is something that has been a desire of mine for many years, but I have tried, failed, and quit, time and again. But now, this time, I know it is different. I am different. I am stronger, more intelligent, better educated, and know that I can do this. And so, shedding the disappointment of knee related limitations, I am switching my dreams and goals: Triathalon. And So It Begins.
Anyone who knows me, now or in my past, knows that I have always been a relatively active, strong female. I am not a girly-girl. I am a Tomboy to the bone (well, okay, I do have my girly moments, but please don't tell anyone since it may very well ruin my biker chick/warrior reputation). I wanted so very badly to train for the obstacle runs that have been dominating the world of amateur sports the last few years. From the moment I first read a description of The Warrior Dash I was smitten. The idea of glorious victory over trial by fire, mud, water was a concept that appealed to the warrior in me. And I looked at it as a great motivation to cross train and change up my workouts, as well as to add some zest to my fighting training. But all along I knew my knee was a handicap, too unstable to handle the rugged and/or slippery footing challenges. I had hoped my recent knee surgery would give me the stability I would need to start challenging myself with these difficult obstacle courses. But it was not to be. I have been told by my doctor, my physical therapist, and a trusted friend who is a running coach and very familiar with the Spartan Races, that these types of races would likely be "catastrophic" for my knee. I fucked my knee up doing something difficult, challenging, and stupid. And I knew it was stupid at the time. So, I need to not repeat my past mistakes and screw it up to the point of being truly crippled.
I admit, this was a depressing realization for me. Actually, it went beyond depressing and struck me at my core. For years I was certain that knee surgery would be a miracle cure for the pain, instability, and random dislocating that has been the bane of my agility for more than 10 years. Instead, I was told that the doctor went the minimalist route because once he got in there he realized the only way I would get anything resembling normal stability was with a full knee replacement. Neither of us was ready for that procedure yet. And so, as I heal up and wait to see what exactly, if any, changes there will be in my knee's functionality, I have had to alter my dreams. I am not one to dwell on what might have been, what should have been, and wishes denied. Instead I have a quick, violent breakdown, weeping, cursing, shaking my fist at the Powers That Be, ranting against the unfairness of it all, and then I get over it as best I can. Quick breakdown, quick recovery. I do still have twinges of sadness at the loss of potential challenges, but it has made me hit the reset button on my personal expectations.
I have been enthralled with the Ironman series of races. In awe of those stalwart individuals capable of pushing themselves through such a grueling task. But for my entire life I have told myself, "I am not a runner." I have repeated this to myself hundreds of times over the years. I am not sure what started me down this thought process. I think it started very young, as a chubby kid, when we had to do The Presidential Physical Fitness Test. I loathed that test. The pull-ups were embarrassing, but it was the mile run that was sheer humiliation for me. To take a chubby kid with no running experience, and expect them to be able to run a mile truly is a recipe for damaged self-esteem. Now, if they had prepped us for a month or so? Then maybe more of us would have risen to the challenge, not felt like gasping beached whales. Yes, it was like that.
Now, with a recent, and much overdue, weight loss, I am back to what I used to call "My Fighting Weight." And this was long before I had ever even heard of medieval armored combat. Now, after 16 years of actually fighting, and convincing myself I need to keep my body mass up to be able to take and give a good hit, I have stepped out of that mentality. Instead of gearing the bulk of my workouts towards fighting, I switched gears. Completely. I am not fighting this year. I changed nearly every aspect of how I workout, and I lost 55 pounds in the process. No, my workouts did not do that, I did that. I became obsessive with what went into my mouth. It bordered on a stress induced eating disorder. Hell, who am I kidding. It was a stress induced eating disorder. Let's call a Spade a Spade. There was a month this last winter when I could barely eat. Every food was nauseating, except for milk, whey protein and oranges. I do not recommend the Nervous Breakdown Weight Loss Plan. But it did help me kick my sugar and carb addiction, so I can't diss it too much. And after the first 15 pound loss caused by the stress, I regained control over my appetite, but was very careful what I was willing to reintroduce to my body. I eat basic, simple, natural foods. I avoid sugar, but still indulge a bit. I do not eat processed foods, avoiding chemical laden quick fixes. So the weight kept peeling off. Now, I will do whatever it takes to keep it from ever regaining a foothold.
Yes, I am rambling. To get to the point, getting back to my Fighting Weight, seeing lean muscle, knowing that my rigorous workout ethic and careful nutrition had me in the absolute best shape of my entire life, suddenly made the thought gel, "I am an athlete, I can be a runner." I want to be a runner. It is something that has been a desire of mine for many years, but I have tried, failed, and quit, time and again. But now, this time, I know it is different. I am different. I am stronger, more intelligent, better educated, and know that I can do this. And so, shedding the disappointment of knee related limitations, I am switching my dreams and goals: Triathalon. And So It Begins.
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