Poor Spastic Brain

    Pre-race anxiety has been my steady, irritating companion of late. I know that there is absolutely nothing I can do, that I haven't already done, or am currently doing, that will make much difference come race day. Yes, I am wishing I would have trained harder, been able to be even more prepared than I already am. But the plain and simple fact is that I do have a life outside of triathlon. Granted, not much of a life besides work, shenanigans at the fire station, and training, but I am working on changing that up a bit, too. I have to remind myself how far I have come in a year. A year ago I could barely swim half a mile, just barely. Cycling 20 miles was tiring. Running 5K seemed so incredibly far. Now, I swim a mile and a half several times a week, and it just makes me hungry. I cycled 50 miles on sunday, and felt great getting off the bike. I have ran two half-marathons, and yes, they were a bit hard on my knees, and I definitely had my "what the hell was I thinking," moments, they were not impossible distances. And still Brain has days like today, days of absolutely spaztastic, manic, free for all, catch me if you can, brains leaking out of my ears freakouts. I knew I was in trouble when, before leaving the house for work, I realized my shirt was on backwards, and my underwear were on inside out. I shit you not. And it just went downhill from there. Nothing overtly stupid or dangerous, just a series of forgetful, early onset dementia, can't get a grip, I should have stayed in bed moments.

    My saving grace? A backpack with my Selkie suit. A swim was awaiting me, to salvage Brain, soothe Spirit, and satiate Body. With the end of summer in sight, I know my visits to The Cove are nearly at an end. But for now, I can swim. As soon as quitting time rolled around, I was out the door, backpack over my shoulder, helmet in hand, headed for the water. Grey days, like today, assure me that I will have the whole lake enarly to myself. Today I shared it with a total of three solitary fishermen. The water was dark and murky, not the glorious emerald of earlier in the season, but I don't care. Slipping into the cool depths, I quickly fall into the near trance state of my swim. The cadence of my stroke, the accompanying rocking of my body, the only sound is my own breathing. In mere moments Brain settles down, steps away from the scrambled signals of a manic mind being short circuited by anxiety and excitement. The jumble of thoughts ricocheting around inside my skull manage to smooth out, become coherent, cohesive, and calm. Now I can think. Now the doubts and panic slip away, confidence returns. I imagine how I will feel in the race, how I will swim exactly as if I were doing my regular laps around my familiar Cove. I will let the others be swept away with excitement and adrenaline, while I will find my I-can-do-this-all-day pace. I will swim the 1.2 miles and come out of the water with a grin pasted to my face, and feet flying for Joshua in T2. Swimming helped me regain my balance, return to center, reconnect. I will miss The Cove once the weather turns cold.

    Home, starving, mentally exhausted, I make a huge meal of vegetarian tacos. Not my normal vegan spinach tacos, not quite. I added a couple eggs and a bit of cheese to ramp up the protein. I am upping my protein and lowering my carbs as I head down the final stretch. My workouts are becoming shorter, but are intense. I know I need protein to repair and rebuild, in order to really hit my peak. Now, belly full, muscles relaxed, Brain is shutting down. It has been a long day and suddenly I am barely able to string together a comprehensive sentence, so I will leave it at this: I have trained to the best of my abilities, I have fueled the machine with almost neurotic care, I have come an amazing distance to be where I am today, I am ready.   

Bike The Course

    Pre-race anxiety has been tenaciously creeping from my subconscious to my conscious. The Race is the first thing on my mind most mornings, and the last thing on my mind most nights. I have laid to rest my swim anxiety. Running, I have done two hella brutal halfs with minimal problems. Oddly, for as much cycling as I have done, it has been the bike leg that has been nagging at me. Looking at the bike course map, and the elevation graph, I knew it was going to be a steep, technical ride. But how steep? How tech? I know that the best way to finish any long course Tri in good shape is to execute the swim and bike well enough that there is energy left for the run. That was my fear, that the bike course would be too tough to leave me with legs for the run. The only way put these fears to rest, or fuel the fire, was to ride the course.
    Today was the day. I planned on getting a good night's sleep, maybe sleep in a bit, be well rested. Instead, my pager went off at 5:30, so I was dressed and out the door by 5:32. Back home by 6:30, too awake to go back to sleep, so I had a healthy breakfast, two cups of coffee, loaded my gear, and was out the door by 9:00. This trip had several purposes, first and foremost to learn the course, but also to make sure I knew exactly how far and how long of a drive I would be facing at O-dark-thirty the day of The Race.     Just south of Salem the rains began. It poured. And me without anything remotely resembling rain gear. Oh well, it's only water. The rain stopped shortly before I arrived at the lake. I found a wide shoulder to park Wallace, strolled down a narrow trail, listening to the trees shed their early morning shower, and saw the green, pristine lake that I will be swimming in 13 days. It is a beautiful place. I got Joshua out of the truck, got into my gear, strapped my TT helmet to my head, and straddled the bike. The rains came. The heavens opened. In a few minutes I couldn't have been wetter if I had been hit with a fire hose. It was cold, wet, but not miserable. I had a moment of concern for hypothermia, but dismissed it as soon as it arose.
    The first few miles were nice, rolling hills. I was beginning to relax, thinking that this wouldn't be anything I couldn't handle. After all, I can ride Wildcat Road, aka Kick-my-ass-and-leave-me-in-the-ditch-to-die road. No sooner had I had this particular thought, when I rounded a curve and saw I-shit-you-not-holy-mother-of-the-gods-this-is-gonna-hurt hill. It was a steep, long incline that made me think of Wildcat Road On Steroids. The road disappeared into the mist, I had no idea just how far, or how high it went. Shit just got real. Lowest gear, up in the stirrups, head down, grinding my way up the hill at near walking speed. There was nothing to do but just gut it out. Every curve I rounded, the road just kept going up, and up. It was amazing. A nagging voice in the back of my mind was speculating, the altitude graph showed the worst hill to be at the halfway point. If this was as brutal as it was, holy gods, the toughest climb was going to be punishing. I kept grinding along. At one point I saw a man strolling down the road towards me. Me, "Heckuva a hill." Him, "Yep, pretty steep." And we were both on our merry ways. I admit, as I was slogging my way up, I was congratulating my cardiovascular system on its health and strength. Finally, finally, I reached the top, an intersection. I stopped to check my scribbled notes, and compare them with the road signs. Nothing matched anything anywhere in my notes. Nothing. I had no idea where the hell I was, except that I was at the top of a long-ass hill, and over 12 miles from my truck. Well, there was nothing to do but keep going. I figured worse case scenario I would ride another 12 miles or so, then turn around and ride back, then get in my truck and drive the course to see where I went astray.
    After bombing several miles down a ridiculously steep, winding section of road, and thinking what an unholy bitch it was going to be to ride back up, I came to another intersection. Berlin Road. I was back on course. Not sure how it happened, but apparently the road pixies were on my side. Now to settle down and ride. The rest of the course was technical, with some wicked steep hills, but nothing quite as agonizing as my unintentional detour. I got in some excellent practice shifting, more practice to "level the course." Reaching the top of the course, I paused for a moment to snap a picture, eat a Clif Bar, and guzzle some water, then back down. I was feeling damn good, when I heard Han Solo's voice in my head, "Don't get cocky, kid." I was only halfway done, after all. This time I was careful to find the correct road. At least I think it was the correct road, and pay attention to what I had missed.
    Before I knew it, 50 miles had rolled under my wheels, and I was back at the truck. I knew I had to test myself. I had ridden the course with the intention of being as energy efficient as possible. Using my gears to "level the course" and coasting the downhill grades. On training rides I rarely, if ever coast. When training I make it a point to keep peddling, keep my cadence high and regular. By coasting the downhill sections, saving my legs a little, I actually felt less fatigued than I would after a training ride on less hilly terrain. It was an interesting little lesson. So, to check just how well I had done, I locked Joshua up in the bed of the truck, got into my running shoes and ran a quick mile. I could have run farther, but it is getting too close to The Big One for me to do an ass kicking brick workout. I really just wanted to see how my legs would feel. They felt damn good. I have started races with my legs feeling worse, The Hagg Lake Half, for instance.
    This was an excellent confidence boost. A much needed balm to my pre-race nerves. I know this race will kick my ass, it is a long damn distance to go under my own power. But now I am feeling confident that I will cross the finish line, head high, and under my own power. It was an excellent day.

Taper *grumble grumble* Taper

    I do not like to Taper. This summer I haven't tapered for a single event, instead taking on each event as just a long workout day. I do not slow down, take down time, relax, take it easy. It is so hard for me to cut workouts short, knowing I should, but feeling pouty about it the whole time. But now, it really is going to be vital that I am well rested and recovered in 18 days. I am shortening my workouts, but upping the intensity a bit. Tonight I cycled for 45 minutes, half my normal time, but I was adding 1 minute hard sprints every few minutes. I followed up with 45 minutes of leg and core work, and stretching. I have added single legged squats, and isolated calf raises to maintain strength without adding too much more wear and tear. I am really working my core, knowing that by the time I hit the halfway point through the half-marathon I am going to need all the muscle I can muster to get me through the last 6 miles. But all this means I have to taper, I have to stop doing double workouts, 3 hours of training in one big bite, pushing myself to the point of nausea, reveling in sore muscles, telling myself, "Just one more set." *Sigh* I miss it already. I do not like to taper, but I tell myself I must. I can't ruin a year of training in the last few weeks. I am already having anxiety that I won't be ready, that I didn't train enough. But I know I trained as hard as was possible with the time frame my life allowed. Less than three weeks and I will toe the line, find out if I did train enough, fuel properly, taper well. Though I do not like to taper.

Thoughts, Rambling and Otherwise

    I am starting my Taper. The ever elusive, optimal taper. Rest and recuperate, but don't slack so much you lose conditioning. I am aiming for an "active taper," continuing to workout with intensity, but shortening the duration of workouts. Last night I did 30 minutes of high intensity cycling, high cadence and high tension. Tonight, since weather made me skip my swim, I opted for 90 minutes hard cycling followed by 30 minutes of core work. My legs feel almost fully recovered from sunday's half, and I had great energy tonight. I admit, I am feeling a bit anxious as the days count down, but I just keep reminding myself, I can do the swim, I can do the bike, I can do the run. I have three weeks remaining to put the final polish on the machine I have built. Part of the polish is a tweak to my diet. I have been eating a fairly high carb, nearly vegan diet for several months, and feel great. But as the duration of my workouts shorten I will need fewer carbs, and in reality, fewer calories. I am still sticking with the delicious, high protein, whole grains that have treated my body so well, but I am replacing some of the carbs with more protein. I have reintroduced eggs into my diet the last week or so as a protein and omega 3 boost. I'm also adding extra brown rice protein and hemp protein to my smoothies. Yes, they taste a bit overly "healthful" at this point, but my muscles need the protein if I want to be fully recovered and at my peak on The Day.
    I am not quite sure what I will do with myself after the race. I have devoted so much time to training that I will be at a bit of a loss when my focus has been removed. True, I have the Portland Marathon the first weekend of October, and various trail races here and there. In February is the Hagg Lake 25K Mud Run, I am thinking I will need to get it on the calender so I will have a training focus. It is funny to think that in less than 4 weeks I will be done with this goal, for better or worse. I am so used to always being in a state of fatigue, sore muscles, whiny joints, hair constantly wet from swimming, or sweating, or getting out of the shower and crawling into bed with a wet head. Half the time my ears are crackling from water in them, I am surprised I have not contracted Swimmer's Ear. It has been an interesting year. I am already thinking of new goals to keep me on track and moving forward. Though I think my training will take a different bent as I head into winter. I plan on incorporating a lot more XFit Endurance workouts to increase my strength, agility, and power. I will also add moves specific to feet, ankle, and knee strength. I need to stop thinking too far ahead, and focus on the next few weeks. It's almost race day.
    That's about all I got tonight. I keep promising myself I will get to bed earlier than normal, as sleep is the optimal time for muscle recovery.

The Line

    Wow. What a run. Did my second half-marathon today, the Hagg Lake Trail Half. Honestly I felt my lack of rest, and the last few weeks of amped up workouts. My legs were a bit leaden at the start. My lungs, heart, and energy felt great, but my leg muscles felt this week's over exuberant plyometric workout, and yesterday's cycling and core work that was interrupted near the end by back to back medical calls that kept me from fueling up for about 3 hours after my workout. I was running decently well though, until mile nine. That is when the leg cramps hit. Oh dear gods did they hit. Fortunately they alternated legs; left inner thigh, then right calf, then upper right thigh, then left foot, etc, ad nauseum. Most I could at least keep moving, but a few were brutal enough that I had to stop, grit my teeth, try not to cry, and wait for it to pass. I know it was a combination of cumulative fatigue and electrolyte imbalance. I had to change my stride and gait, landing more flat-footed to take the load off of my calves and hamstrings, this put a beatdown on my knees, feet and ankles tough, and I may pay the price for a few days.
    Interestingly, instead of raging against the unfairness, being pissed that I would finish last (which I didn't, quite), and beating myself up for "failing," I felt a sense of triumph. I hit "The Line," that point in a race when your body is feeling used up, hurting like hell, and trying to convince you that stopping would be a great idea. The Line is the point that often spells the end of a race for a lot of people, people willing to give up, throw in the towel, let a little discomfort get in the way of finishing. I hit The Line and kept going. Yes, I had to stop twice, and walk out cramps a few times, but I kept going, and as soon as the cramp passed I ran. Yes, I ran a bit slower than I wanted to, but I ran. And when the finish line came into view my head was high, and I made a that final, hard kick, and crossed the finish line strong. Then begged for Gatorade to try and rebalance my poor body.
    Just as last week's Triathlon, with all the weird problems, trials, and tribulations was excellent practice in dealing with potential problems, today's run was excellent practice for hitting The Line. At several points I even thought to myself that this is very likely how I will feel 9 miles into the run after 56 miles on the bike. I don't expect The Big One to be easy, or pain free. I expect it to push me to the edge of my current fitness, push me to the point that I have to push myself to finish. That is the point, isn't it? To find new challenges, look them in the eye and rise to meet them.

Trained To Drive

    I am beginning to have twinges of anxiety as I face the last four weeks before The Big One. My Half-Ironman is four weeks from today, and I am excited, nervous, anxious, and beginning to have the whispered doubts of Oh-My-God-What-The-HELL-Was-I Thinking?!!! Then I rein myself in, let the anxiety slip away to be replaced by the eagerness I felt the day I decided that I would do this. Four weeks to go, this is my last "Big week" for training, then I begin my taper. I have thrown my training off just a bit by having three consecutive weekends of fairly major events: Thw Wildwood Trail half-marathon, last week's Olympic Tri that turned into a duathlon, and tomorrow The Hagg Lake Half. Two trail half-marathons, and a 52K duathlon. I did this on purpose, making my normal weekend long workouts be events, so that I would feel the competitive edge that always makes me go the extra mile, literally. I am not inclined to do long runs on my own, and with my knees being cranky I have had to limit my running more than I would have liked. But I have pushed my cycling, strength conditioning, and plyometric workouts all the harder to make up for a lack of run mileage. It seems to be working for me. The trail half two weeks ago was wicked steep, but I ran the distance, slow and steady, my pace, and finished feeling good (yeah, my knees were rebellious, and my legs were tired, but I felt good about the run). The Tri turned Du last weekend went off without a hitch, at least in my own physicality, inside my "Box." I executed well, slow and steady, at Ironman pacing, and finished feeling excellent, with energy left, just as I had planned. Tomorrow the 13.2 mile trail run will be my last long run before The Big One. I am excited for another trail half, and I know this one will have hills, but nothing like the long steeps of the last one. Again, I am planning Ironman pacing, slow and steady, get to the finish with energy left.
    So you see, it is all coming together. I am executing well, have found my "I can do this all day" pace (or at least for half a day), and am usually confident in my fitness level. Usually. This last week I find myself thinking, "I should have trained harder," and "I wish I had more time to train more," and "I should have dropped another five or ten pounds," and "Maybe there is still time to get in a few more weeks of ass kicking." Then I have to rein myself in, put a damper on the doubts and panic. I remind myself that I have trained as much as my real life time frame has allowed. I have put in hundreds of hours, and easily over a thousand miles of training. I have honed my nutrition to a science. I am at nearly the lowest weight of my adult life, and by far at my highest level of fitness ever. Mostly I remind myself, "I have swam the distance, over and over. I have cycled the distance a number of times. I have run the distance. I have trained to pace myself, to drive the magnificent vehicle I have built." Now I just need to put it all together in one day, when I can push myself further and harder than I would dare in training. Experts agree, most athletes toe the start line with the fitness, but without the knowledge of just how to pace, how to execute, how to drive the vehicle that is their body. Most athletes rely on gadgets, the most magnificent carbon-fiber bikes, the latest wetsuit, the sleekest Tri suit, all the best tecno that money can buy. But it is not the technology, the money, the gear that will get you across the finish line in one piece. All the money in the world will not drive the magnificent vehicle. "It is not the race car, it is the driver," I have heard said. Same story. Yes, athleticism, fitness, genetics play a definite role, but it is the ability to drive that will make the difference between tanking halfway through the race and finishing in abject misery, or crossing the line, head up, grin pasted on my face, feeling victorious. I have to remind myself that I have trained myself to drive. I can do this.

Head In The Box

    Today was my "B" race, my Tuneup race to see how well all the pieces are falling into place. This triathlon is my one year anniversary Tri, of my very first Tri, my very first race, and the stepping stone to so much I have accomplished this last year. Friday night my dreams of a glorious, ass-kicking swim were shot down. A sudden algae bloom in the lake closed it to all swimming. When I got the email friday night I actually cried. I was going to totally own the swim. I wanted to prove to myself just how far I had come in the year since I crawled out of the water, dead last, and dead tired, at this very same triathlon. And some blue-green slime crushed my plan. I was angry and disappointed. I ranted and raved, fired off an angry email to the race sponsors demanding my money back, I pouted and moped. Last night, still moping, I made myself get a grip. I told myself to treat it as a good practice brick with transitions and competition thrown into the mix. But I was still mopey.
    This morning I got up, unenthusiastically, made coffee, moped around the house a little, ate, and started hauling my gear to the truck. I was running a few minutes late when I took Joshua off of his stand, checked front tire pressure, fine. Checked rear tire pressure, flat. A flat tire. Fucking perfect. I was already a tad behind schedule, and this was really throwing a wrench into the cogs. But it was this event, this icing on the cake, this new problem compounding an already sucky situation that made everything click. In all my reading, my studying to self coach, I have found that there is a phrase used by Tri coaches, "Keep your head inside the box." This means to focus on the here and now, what is in my control, what decisions I can make to cause a positive outcome, basically keeping my head in the game and not letting myself spaz out over the uncontrollable, what is already done, what I cannot change. This was going to be my practice session of Keeping My Head Inside The Box. I coolly got out my tools to change the tire. I struggled getting the tire off of the wheel, it was stubborn. Time ticked by, I kept at it. Finally the newly inflated tire was back on Joshua, but I was now about 45 minutes later than my planned departure time. I suppressed panic, "Head in the box, head in the box." There was nothing I could do to change the events that had happened, all I could do was move forward.
    On the drive I kept having to rein myself in as my mind began to gibber and run in tight circles, "I'm going to be late. I'm going to miss the start. They won't let me into transition area." Rein it in, "Head in the box." I focused on the here and now, my race, my plan. Regardless of my start time I was still going to pace myself for half-Ironman, not get caught up in the adrenaline of faster, faster, faster. I needed to find my I-can-do-this-all-day pace, stay relaxed, not burn energy on things not in my control, finish the race with plenty of energy left. Head in the box. Spaz out, "I'm going to be late." Head in the box, mentally walk through transition set-up. Spaz out, "I only have $4.65 and the parking fee is $5." Head in the box, they probably take debit cards.
    I got on site 30 minutes before the planned start time. Coolly but quickly unloaded my gear, did a mental check that I had everything since there would not be time to run back to the truck, and headed towards check in. It only took a few minutes to get my packet and bib number, then off to transition. I was pleased to see that I wasn't the only person just getting there. I wheeled Joshua to our rack, there was one spot left, the most excellent end slot which would make it easier to find when I came through transition. I calmly set out my gear, listening to the announcer talking everyone through the revised race situation. I would have extra time, they would not be starting at 8:15. Everything was smoothing out. Head in the box, focus on set up.
    My excitement for the race had returned in full force. I do love race days. I have learned something about myself over the last year, I love to race, get incredibly excited, and yet show up at the start line feeling relaxed, happy and eager. I had plenty of time to warm up a bit before the opening run. Without a swim the venue had changed to a duathlon: run, bike, run. What we triathlete snobs like to call, "A race for people that can't swim." We were only going to run a mile, then on to the bike. I knew that it would be easy to get caught up in the crowd and make it a one mile sprint, which was not in the plan. Head in the box, pace myself easy to warm everything up, and don't trigger an asthma attack. It worked. True, I was in the back half of the pack, but I didn't care.
    Bike transition was smooth and and easy. In no time I had the wind in my face and Freddy Mercury in my head singing, "Don't stop me now, I'm having such a good time." I found my pace, my quick cadence, and rode. I did have a few people race past me, their legs pumping hard, and I could see them straining against too hard of a gear. Head in the box, I used my gears as they were meant to be used, to lessen the load on my legs. At one point I was actually a little concerned that I didn't feel like I was cycling hard enough, but my cadence was perfect, and I was shifting to "level the course," I had found my I-can-do-this-all-day pace. It was a fantastic ride, and the 40K went by very quickly. Heading back into the park I went through the series of moves to help my legs transition from the monotonous, circular pedaling, and into running.
    Back into transition, T2. Biking gear off, running gear back on, and heading for the run out. I took it easy, jogging while I adjusted my hydration belt, took a couple of swigs of my homemade, and delicious, energy drink (3 parts sweetened Super Irish Breakfast tea, 1 part unsweetened, organic pomegranate juice, delicious and refreshing). Head in the box, I ran super easy, letting my legs adjust, finding my I-can-do-this-all-day pace.  I ran very well off the bike, and was feeling almost giddy. The 10K went by as easily and quickly as the bike had. It made my confidence in my abilities rise considerably.
     The whole time I was racing today I was impressed with how I had managed to, despite disappointment, anxiety, and a few spaz outs, keep my head inside the box and make the day work for me. I really did pull off my plan of finding my pace, maintaining fuel and hydration, and getting to the finish line feeling great and with energy to burn. Crossing the finish line I felt not only the elation I always feel finishing a race, but a sense of true accomplishment. If everything had gone smoothly and without a hitch, I never would have known just how well I can keep my Head In The Box and not let the little shit defeat me. It was a great race.