80/20

    I've been reading a book called 80/20 Running. The concept being that you do 80% of your training at an easy pace, and 20% at high intensity. It does cite a number of reputable studies done over the decades to back the concept. The studies are done on runners, as well as cyclists, swimmers, and triathletes. Of course I am intrigued.
    This season I have struggled with injuries, as I have lamented too many times in too many posts. I have also felt like my recovery rate is not what it was even a year ago. I don't know if I hit some magic milestone of age or hormone level that has my body suddenly being far less cooperative than usual. I seem to have considerably more muscle soreness, and joint stiffness, and my energy level is a little under par. It could be my job, standing around on concrete all day is a bit grueling. I have been doing more HIIT and Tabata workouts, which may contribute.
    I was subscribing to the school of thought that if you can't go long, you can get similar results with short, intense, explosive work. The problem is that my body feels more like it is imploding than exploding. It has been taking me days to recover from leg day. My upper body seems far more capable of taking abuse than my legs and hips are. My body is my lab, I am experimenting continually, trying to find the perfect formula ultra-endurance.
    Reading the 80/20 book has got me thinking back to my first year of triathlon. I was coming fresh off of knee surgery, meniscus repair (the doctor said he couldn't fix the rest of it without total knee replacement *boo*). The physical therapist told me I should never run more than "the occasional 5K." Of course, I wasn't going to totally take her word for it. It was her follow-up comment to that statement that struck a chord, "but you can swim and bike as much as you want to."  Well, now. That was all it took to remind the inner me that I wanted to do an Ironman. So, that was the first step towards triathlon training. The reason I bring this up, is because that was the first time in my life that I started to think of myself as a runner. I actually ran quite a bit, and entered a number of races. That first year I ran in absolute minimal shoes, the Zemgear Terra. They have zero cushion. Zero. Just a rubber sole about 1/4" thick. I ran my first 10K in them. I ran my first trail run in them, and bruised the bottoms of my feet on the jagged bedrock of the Multnomah Falls trail. But I never had any knee problems. I also ran slow and easy, with very little high intensity work.
    My second year of triathlon training I ran a lot more. Still slow and easy for the most part. I did mostly trail running, in the Merrill Trail Glove. Also a bare minimum shoe, but with the benefit of a rock plate in the sole to prevent bruising. Still, no knee problems. The one problem I had that year was from going too long too early. I ran two trail half-marathons, two weeks apart, and got some weird over-use muscle strain that was the root of my leg cramps in my half-Iron at the end of the season.
    So, where I am heading with this is the fact that when I was first starting to run, I was going slow and easy. Very slow. Maybe it is time to go back to the beginning, start in with slow and easy. Minimum shoes, and see where it goes. I know, I know, I have been obsessing about this very topic for some time now. But g'damn it, you can't do triathlon if you can't fucking run. And you can't do an Ironman if you can't manage marathon distance. So, I'm going to start fresh, with 80/20 and see what happens. I does kinda make me want to get some new, minimalist shoes to cheer me up, add them to the pile (yes, I am a running shoe whore *shhhh*).

Oh. My. Glutes.

    Oh. My. Glutes. Nothing like the day after leg day to really make you appreciate the ability to sit down without wincing. And my abs are still whining from Tuesday. I am pushing my strength workouts a bit more these days, as well as extending time and intensity on the bike and in the pool, and feeling it. Does it hurt? Only when I move. Or breathe. I wake in the middle of the night with my muscle feeling like they are on fire. It is a curious sensation, as if there is an electrical current running through me, vibrating my muscles, setting them on fire. Almost painful, definitely uncomfortable, and it happens almost every single night. It has been a familiar companion for the better part of two years, whenever my training is intense. I try to think of it as if my muscles are just regenerating.
    In all reality though, I am feeling g'damned good about where I am and where I'm going. I had let my training slide just a bit over the summer as I was nursing my knee, and being hyperactive on the home improvement front and architectural salvage arena. In other words, I was busier than shit with hard physical labor despite a gimpy knee. Looking at the piles of brick, concrete block, and lumber I can honestly say that I salvaged tons of material. Literally tons. My property will be the winner over the next few years as I build my own personal Eden, and my body will reap the benefit as well. There really is nothing quite like hard labor tossed into the training mix. It is like CrossFit with a purpose. Farmer's Walk? Hells yeah! You try schlepping armloads of brick, or concrete pier blocks up hill, stack 'em in a truck, then unload and haul by the wheelbarrow load to the back of the house. Now that  is a Farmer's Walk.
    Then, just for giggles, add in firefighting. Hah! Now there is a full body workout that will leave your muscles feeling a bit abused for a few days. I can't say I get out on many fires, but it is a similar calorie/energy burn as doing a Half-Iron Tri. It's a hella good workout, with adrenaline tossed in for fun.
    I have been hitting the bike hard these last few weeks. Gearing pyramids, and Tababta workouts, as well as long, steady state spins. I've been judicious about legwork, with a nice squat series, and plenty of stretching. I have become a fan of Naudi Aguilar's Functional Patterns workouts. He stresses natural movement. I am trying to get my legs ready for my return to running. I won't lie, I'm nervous about running. It is the one thing that absolutely plagues me with injuries, and I have no idea how to circumvent the pain. Patellofemoral pain syndrome (aka Runner's Knee) was the villain this last season. Last year I skirted around Itiliotibial Band (IT Band) syndrome all season. The year before it was a strained Piriformis. I keep trying different approaches, but have yet to find a way that I can run consistent miles without totally borking myself. And it pisses me off.
    For the upcoming season I am hoping to have my legs as strong and flexible as possible, then ease into running. I will do a lot of slow miles on a track, or fairly level trail. I am going to be cautious with hills, that is what did me in this year. I will add in some high intensity drills, and really focus on good technique. Shoes have been a bit of a dilemma. I haven't had the chance to run in my Newton's, they have older runners singing their praises as knee saviors in almost every publication I can find. I'll believe it when I feel it. Interesting point: I had far less knee problems in my first two years of tri training, when I was running in absolute bare minimum shoes. I switched to a slightly more padded shoe for my half Iron because I knew I was going to have to be pounding the pavement. I am planning on slipping back to minimal shoes, and see what happens. Hell, maybe this year my knees will be fine but my feet will be in agony.
    So, for now, I will keep up with my squat sets, plyometrics, yoga, and video workouts with Naudi (he is a sexy beast). I'm not sure when or where I will return to a regular running routine. I think it needs to happen soon, though, just in time for the worst weather of the year.
 

Water

    I think one of the hardest things I do for my health is to drink at least 16 ounces of water right after I get out of bed in the morning. Honestly.  It took me weeks to get to the point of doing it without feeling uncomfortable. And months to get into the habit.
    Seriously, when I wake up in the morning my first thought is not, "Gee, I can't wait to fill my stomach with a sloshing flood of water. Plain, plain water." Rather, it is usually, "Coffee. I need my beloved coffee."  Yes, coffee is my vice, though not much of one really. I do drink my coffee nearly black, just adding a smidge of organic, free-trade raw sugar (yes, I am one of those people).
    Water. It is vital to life. Without adequate amounts our internal organs will be sluggish, muscle recovery will be poor, brain function will be hindered. No, I am not one to cart around a gallon container of spring water, I think that is bit excessive. I know that our body is very good at processing water out of any beverage we consume, including coffee, so I am not neurotic about counting liters of H2O consumed during the day. I do have a stainless steel water bottle with me at all times, filled with my delicious well water. I always drink water during and after workouts, never sport drinks. I never drink soda, and rarely alcoholic beverages. In the evening I usually have several incredibly large mugs of herbal tea so I go to bed well hydrated. I drink about 8 ounces of water in the middle of the night when I get up to pee away the vast amounts of herbal tea consumed before bedtime.
    I know I am getting plenty of water, in one form or another. So, why the early morning hydration? I could say it is because I read somewhere that it helps kickstart your metabolism in the morning, or that it gets your digestive track moving, or that it wakes up all the internal organs. Because I have read all that somewhere. But just because I read it in one of the multitude of articles I peruse online, does not make any of it true. I think I do it because, just like with my car, I like to keep my tank topped off. You never know when you might hit a long stretch of road with no filling station in sight. A well filled tank, sloshy or not, will let me get a little further, maybe a little faster, without running out of steam. But it is definitely a hard habit to maintain.

Stomach Flu and Sugar Reset

   Did you know it is "No Sugar November."  It is. No, I am not one to follow such things, but I had been easing myself back into the world of sugary goodness. In the month of October I think I consumed more sugar than I had in the last year or so. I have really cut back on my consumption of sugar, especially processed sugars. So I was looking at November more as "Low Sugar November," with the objective of getting myself back on track with training and nutrition. I was doing rather well with it, for the first few days of the month.
    Then last week I caught a stomach bug. Now, I don't get sick very often, and it is usually just a mild bout of  the cold virus. I think it has been 25 years since I caught an actual intestinal virus (other than my bout with Salmonella 4 years ago). Last Wednesday I woke at 7am with a headache so severe it radiated down to my shoulders. "Well shit," I thought, "some Aleve, and  few more hours of sleep should kick it in the ass."
    I got up, stumbled around wincing at the daylight that drilled into my pupils and straight to my brain. I let the dogs out, took two Aleve with 8oz of water and half a banana, let the dogs back in, then crawled back into bed. I settled in, trying to get comfortable, when a vaguely familiar feeling hit me. "Damn. I think I am going to throw up. No, I don't throw up. I don't get that sick."  Despite my convincing argument, my stomach raised its own voice. "Dumbass, get to the bathroom!"
    Sure enough. I vomited. Four times, actually. It sucks. Puking sucks.
    I stumbled back to bed, trembling, damp with cold sweat, and cursing whoever had passed this on to me. Back in bed I slept until past noon. My body was aching from being prone for so long. I figured I could deal with getting up, maybe watching a little Netflix, drink a little herbal tea.  I was wrong. I manage 25 minutes of Murdoch Mysteries, and a half cup of Tension Tamer tea before I was back in bed. Next thing I knew, it was 5:30. Up again, feeling a tad more human. I finished my tea and had half a banana. It stayed down, and my stomach was quiet. I cooked up some plain white rice. It stayed down. One more cup of herbal tea. Then back in bed by 8:00.
    Thursday I felt human. But with zero appetite. I focused on fluids, mostly herbal tea. Bananas, always a staple in my diet, were definitely my friends. No surprise that I had no desire for sweets. No desire for any food, really.
    Now, as the days have rolled past, my appetite has returned in full, but I am still not too interested in anything sweet. It is as if my body invited a stomach virus in just to help reset my cravings button. Kind of like the "Turn it off, then turn it back on again" method of rebooting.
    Tonight, despite being absolutely fried from having spent half the night battling a structure fire, I am not wanting to sit with a jar of peanut butter and a bag of chocolate chips. Instead I had a banana, and some hummus and corn chips when I got home from work to take the edge off of my appetite. Then a nice bowl of French green lentils, quinoa, and rice, and a cup of Rooibos tea. I do have a loaf of pumpkin bread in the oven, made with quinoa and spelt flours, my homegrown and dried raisins, pumpkin and sunflower seeds. It will be tasty and mildly sweet, but satisfying without the sugar spike. I admit, running on three hours of sleep I am questioning the intelligence of putting a loaf of bread in the oven. I am already wishing I was in bed asleep.
    The whole point of this sleep-deprived, rambling narrative is simply this: The silver lining to an unfortunate bout of stomach flu is that it has reset my sugar tolerance. Yes, I know that I could do this simply by going cold turkey long enough for the cravings to pass. But the downside there is that feeling of deprivation that goes with such an effort, and often causes cravings to increase. Instead, my body did me a mercy by making me vomit until dry heaves. Now I can regain m footing, realign my nutrition to go hand in hand with my increasing training intensity. I remind myself that I need rocket fuel for my engine if I expect it to perform.

When Things Go Wrong

    At the pool this evening, after a long day, letting the water wash the stress from every cell. Lap after lap, the Zen of swimming. Stroke, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, breathe. So mellow. So smooth.
    Let me insert here a small quirk about the pool where I swim. It is standard 25 yards long, but only about 4 lanes wide. There is only one lane roped off as a dedicated lap lane. The lap lane doesn't have a line on the bottom, has curved corners where the walls meet the floor so it messes with depth and distance perception. It is also where the heated water enters the pool so it has a hot spot in the shallow end. None of the lap swimmers like swimming in the lane. When I got into the pool I had the place to myself, so picked the second lane, with no lane divider, an the blue tiled stripe on the bottom. Where I always swim.
    Then a father and tweenie son get in the pool. Tweenie gets into the roped off lap lane, dad gets in the lane on my other side.  Using a large, neon pink ball to play volleyball with my lane as their net. What the hell?! True, they stopped slapping the ball back and forth when I would get close. But several times I had to pull my start because I thought the ball was about to get airborne. They were oblivious to my glaring stink-eye, maybe the goggles masked the fury. I let this go on for a bit, getting riled and furious.
    Finally, I stopped, and tried to be diplomatic, "Hey, you know that isn't good pool etiquette?"
    The dad, Mr. Oblivious, "What?"
     I speak a little louder, "Tossing the ball back and forth over a lane when someone is lap swimming is really poor pool etiquette." I even add a hand gesture. No, not  that  hand gesture.
    He sputters a bit, as if in disbelief, "We stopped when you got close."
    All I can do is shake my head, give a grunt of irritation, and get back to my swim. No longer mellow. No longer smooth. I am nearing volcanic. The internal dialogue starts to roll, unimpeded. Playing back what I said. What he said. What I wish I had said. What I still could say. They keep playing for a few minutes. Then thankfully move their game to the other side of the pool, relieving me of the arduous job of being the net.
    I keep swimming. My brain is playing the situation on endless loop. Am I in the wrong for not having taken the roped off lane to begin with? No, tweenie took it over the minute they got in the water, and showed no desire to leave it. I really don't like that lane. It has a hot spot, and I get too close to the wall, and it sucks, and I am whiny. I don't want to move over and look like I am giving into their boorish behavior. I want to be on the just side here. Endless loop. Stress. Confrontation. Anxiety. Anger. This swim sucks.
    Yes, this is where my brain goes  When Things Go Wrong.  I felt myself on the hamster wheel of doom. It was up to me to get a grip, rein in the brain, and get on with my swim. This is where I had an epiphany: All too often on Race Day, or just in Life in general Things Go Wrong.  Bad shit happens. Life goes awry. Relationships go south. Jobs go away. Flat tires. Sprained ankles. Falling branches. Mud puddles. Dog poop on your shoe. The difference between a good day, and misery, is how you deal with it. Don't dwell. Let it go. Choose to stop the endless loop. Move forward. If you can't move forward then side-step. Do what needs to be done to rectify the situation. Your race, or life, is in your hands. This was actually an excellent opportunity to practice a vital race day skill: Getting Back on Track After Things Go Wrong.
    The first thing I did was get into the lap lane. I would concede that point. Yes, the hotspot is annoying. Tough shit, I wanted to swim. I had to silence the rant in my head. It wasn't going to go down easy. I tried thinking of a few favorite songs, but none of them had the right tempo for my stroke, and it was just screwing with my timing. I tried thinking of what to make for dinner. Nope. That wasn't doing it for me, either.
    So I narrowed my focus even tighter: Stroke Mechanics. I could control what my body was doing. I was in control of every aspect of arm movement: smooth entry, long reach, good catch, high elbow pull, palm facing back, long follow through, thumb grazing my thigh. Now my mind is sliding into the near meditative dialogue that often accompanies my swim when I am focused on technique. Stroke, stroke, breathe. Suddenly I am enjoying my swim. My rhythm has returned. I am mellow. I am smooth.
    The endless loop is broken. The simple fact that I recognized where my brain had gone When Things Go Wrong let me take the steps to change the pattern. I have had ample opportunity to practice this particular skill, and I get better at it all the time. It really is a vital tool in the race day kit. It is so easy to let one incident completely blow apart a race, turning a joyful adventure into a pit of black despair. Life is too short to waste on what if, if only, I should have. We hold the power to change our race even When Things Go Wrong.