Being freed from work, like a wild bird escaping a cage, I fled to the woods. I had almost forgotten how much I love running the trail that follows the Willamette River in the Mollala River State Park. A few years ago I came here nearly every day with my dogs and we would run and hike the trails, play in the water, and explore the underbrush. There was a regular group of us. Funny, I can remember the dogs easily enough: Raven, Shiloh, and Mickey. But it took me a lot of thought to match the human names with their canine companions: Jim, Red, and Carol. Thinking back to those days, with my wolfhound Tonks who I lost to cancer 2 years ago, and my goofball Hugo, it made me a little melancholy for times gone by, and a companion lost. But the park hadn't changed much.
It is a narrow path, more overgrown than it used to be, that twists and turns, dips and rises, over fallen logs, under downed trees. Damp, packed dirt under my favorite running shoes, a canopy of giant trees above my head, rainforest dense underbrush hiding a plethora of small, woodland creatures. The air feels thick with newly produced oxygen, loaded with positive ions from the wind blowing across millions of fir needles. The air is so loaded it acts like a performance enhancing drug in my system. I run slow and easy. The narrow, winding path doesn't allow for anything else. I am so relaxed, yet alert. In my mind I can imagine ultra-endurance trail running, or that I have slipped back in time a thousand years and am running through the woods to carry tribal lore from one small village to the next. I run easy. I feel like I can run forever. But I know better. I know better than to over-do it on my poor body, which has had a helluva time recovering from a continual array of pain and injury. My run was only about three miles, but it was an excellent three miles.
A powerful run left me still wanting to burn energy. Of course I had my swim bag, and had planned to hit the pool. Today I decided to do The One Hour Challenge: How far can you swim in 60 minutes. I warmed up with 500 yards of mixed strokes: breast, back, and crawl. Then I slipped into my I-can-do-this-all-day pace. Lap after lap, letting my mind wander. Today was a good day for this, I had been enjoying being inside my own head from the moment I escaped work. I hadn't even turned on music in the car, enjoying silence instead. Lap after lap. At about lap 55 I was feeling a little bit of fatigue in my shoulders, so, being the weirdo that I am, I decided to pick up the pace a little. Besides, this really does help train for a strong finish when racing, and I thought I was only a few laps from the end. I had expected to swim about 1 minute laps so at lap 60 I checked the clock and was surprised to see that I still had about 10 minutes. So I swam on, still pushing myself, really putting some power behind my strokes. I ended up swimming 70 laps = 3500 yards = 1.989 miles. I was pleased with myself for sure. Finished up with a 250 yard cool-down. Total swim 4250 yards = 2.41 miles. A good swim. I do think I will add this swim into the rotation about every 3rd week, it is a good way to measure progress.
Of course, I followed my swim with the now mandatory 30 minute leg work in the water. I am convinced that this hydro physical therapy is what let me run the Freedom 5K with little joint pain. And it is likely why I am not having joint pain in the days after the race. Yes, It was a slow run for me. My asthma kicked up about mile 2 so I had to slow to a brisk walk a couple of times to get my breathing under control. And it was my first 5K run since the same event last year. I have been too damaged to run in the last year. Now I am thinking/hoping/wishing that I have figured out how to run again without damaging myself. Only time, and more running, will tell. For the moment, I am just stoked to have rediscovered the trail along the river.
Tuesday, July 12, 2016
Sunday, July 10, 2016
Long, Strong, and Silent
Tonight should have been a Sprint Set swim. That really was the plan. Last night was power, tonight was sprint. I got to the pool so tired, stiff, and sore that I almost didn't swim. I was very tempted to just head for the Jacuzzi. But no, that is not my style. I slipped into the water and started with my standard warmup, with a minor alteration, halving the set: 50 yards each breast stroke, backstroke, crawl (normally I do 100 yards each). Every muscle felt tight and sore. Every. Muscle. I was going to do a few sets to warmup, it turned into 7 sets = 21 laps = 1050 yards. Time for Sprint sets. I swam on lap at a moderate sprint pace, and realized I was still too too, I was going to strain something if I tried to sprint. I hung on the edge of the pool for a moment, thinking of calling it a day and crawling into the Jacuzzi. Not my style.
What to do? What to do? When speed and/or power are beyond the scope of the day's training, no matter what the schedule says, it is time to change the plan. I decided to focus on technique. More precisely, on swimming as silently as possible. The reason being that the quieter the stroke, the more efficient it can be. I try to swim quietly at all times, though the faster the swim the louder it gets. There isn't much you can do about that. I continued with the same type of set: 50 yards each breast, back, and crawl. Mostly because my muscles were sore enough I wanted to keep changing the muscles being used. But now I was focusing on making each stroke long, strong, and silent. Extending my reach as far as possible, lengthening my entire body from the tips of my fingers to the tips of my toes. Grab the water and pull, keeping my fingers pointed to the bottom of the pool, and my palms facing back. Pulling myself through the water until my hands pass my waist and it becomes a push. Then pushing all the way through until my thumbs brush my mid-thigh. Easy, relaxed recovery. The hand slipping silently back into the water to repeat the stroke. The only noise was the sound of my own breathing. I would hold my breath and hear only the slightest ripple of my hand entering the water. Long, strong, and silent. This continued for another 7 sets, for a total swim of 2100 yards. Not too bad for being tired and sore.
I did an abbreviated leg workout, only 2 sets (about 20 minutes), because my legs were every bit as tight and sore as my upper body. Like I said, every muscle felt tight and sore. Every. Muscle. Of course, by the time I was done in the pool I was feeling much improved. I slid into the hot Jacuzzi and let myself melt into the heat. In a few minutes I was drowsy and yawning. But the day was not over yet.
Saturday is my self-asskicking upper body night. I still had strength training to do once I got home. I drank half a cup of coffee and ate another banana (I eat a lot of bananas), fed the animals, then launched into an intense upper body workout with resistance bands, hand weights, barbell, and pushups. Tonight was 12 various exercises (done in supersets of 4 exercises), 15-20 reps each, 3 sets each. I was quivering, sucking wind, and starving by the time I was done. It was a productive evening for starting out tired and sore. But then, I am not inclined to let that stop me, even if it may slow me down a bit sometimes.
What to do? What to do? When speed and/or power are beyond the scope of the day's training, no matter what the schedule says, it is time to change the plan. I decided to focus on technique. More precisely, on swimming as silently as possible. The reason being that the quieter the stroke, the more efficient it can be. I try to swim quietly at all times, though the faster the swim the louder it gets. There isn't much you can do about that. I continued with the same type of set: 50 yards each breast, back, and crawl. Mostly because my muscles were sore enough I wanted to keep changing the muscles being used. But now I was focusing on making each stroke long, strong, and silent. Extending my reach as far as possible, lengthening my entire body from the tips of my fingers to the tips of my toes. Grab the water and pull, keeping my fingers pointed to the bottom of the pool, and my palms facing back. Pulling myself through the water until my hands pass my waist and it becomes a push. Then pushing all the way through until my thumbs brush my mid-thigh. Easy, relaxed recovery. The hand slipping silently back into the water to repeat the stroke. The only noise was the sound of my own breathing. I would hold my breath and hear only the slightest ripple of my hand entering the water. Long, strong, and silent. This continued for another 7 sets, for a total swim of 2100 yards. Not too bad for being tired and sore.
I did an abbreviated leg workout, only 2 sets (about 20 minutes), because my legs were every bit as tight and sore as my upper body. Like I said, every muscle felt tight and sore. Every. Muscle. Of course, by the time I was done in the pool I was feeling much improved. I slid into the hot Jacuzzi and let myself melt into the heat. In a few minutes I was drowsy and yawning. But the day was not over yet.
Saturday is my self-asskicking upper body night. I still had strength training to do once I got home. I drank half a cup of coffee and ate another banana (I eat a lot of bananas), fed the animals, then launched into an intense upper body workout with resistance bands, hand weights, barbell, and pushups. Tonight was 12 various exercises (done in supersets of 4 exercises), 15-20 reps each, 3 sets each. I was quivering, sucking wind, and starving by the time I was done. It was a productive evening for starting out tired and sore. But then, I am not inclined to let that stop me, even if it may slow me down a bit sometimes.
Sunday, June 26, 2016
Hard Swim
Today was my first Swim only event. The Hagg Lake swim series. I toyed with the idea of doing all three distances: 800m, 2000m, and 4000m. I am inclined to set my sights high. Too high, sometimes. Right up until I was setting my alarm last night I was wavering, finally deciding to only swim the 4000m. The deciding factor was the water temp report, it said the lake was 56 degrees. 56 degrees! Can I hear an, "Oh, hell no!"? I know my body well enough to know there is no way I can be in that cold of water for the time it would take to do all three swims. So I opted for the one race I really wanted to swim; 4000m, or 2-1/2 miles for us 'Mericans.
Despite carefully planned eating for the last two days, I still woke up with what I think of as "Race Gut." When my nerves play havoc with my gastrointestinal system. Downside: discomfort. Upside: totally emptied out system with no worries about having to poop when I'm in the middle of a lake and wearing a wetsuit (this is a serious worry for any of us that have had to spend a long time in a wetsuit, trust me).
So I got to the lake with plenty of time (and empty intestines), checked in with plenty of time to get suited up, then stood around for a small eternity waiting for the 2000m race to finish up. I did enjoy watching people swim, and come up out of the water triumphant. About 15 minutes before my start time I finished gearing up. Let me insert here that I was more heavily dressed than most other swimmers. I had wool socks covered with plastic bags on my feet, and my neoprene swim booties on over that. I learned this trick when I had to face a col, high desert lake swim. I also had my heavy swim cap underneath the orange cap they gave us all in our race packets. I don't screw around when it comes to trying to stay warm. Of course there are those crazies that swim events like this wearing just a standard Speedo. It hurts me just to look at them (okay, I am envious too, I admit). I went into the warmup area to quite literally "Test The Waters." I had already been told it was not nearly as cold as I had heard. Thankfully, this proved to be true. The water was bracing, about 64 degrees, but not glacial.
All that being said, I was excited to get the swim underway. I had surveyed the course, with its fluorescent orange buoys marking the way. Then I slipped on my blue tinted goggles and had the shocking realization that blue goggles make orange buoys look rather dull and brown, and make them blend into the surrounding water. I was not going to have an easy time navigating. Lesson learned.
We were called to the start line. They count heads as we pass through the narrow entrance/exit gate. They want to make sure that the same number comes out as went in. Of course we are all making jokes, most along the lines of, "Why did I think this would be a good idea?" But I am happy to be there, the water is not frigid, the sun is shining, I'm excited to get going.
The count down, "Three, Two, One...." and blast of air horn and we are on our way. The frenzy of any swim start is always a bit frantic, aptly named "the washing machine," as we churn up the water, getting bumped, kicked, even swum over top of. It makes for an exciting few minutes.
I make myself start easy, with long strokes and good body rotation. I control my breathing, forcing myself into the familiar rhythm. It is too easy to get totally blasted in the first few, adrenaline fueled moments of a mass swim. It takes a certain amount of Zen to stay relaxed. I am already having trouble spotting the buoys though, I try to line up a marker on the distant shore to give me at least a general idea of where I need to go. The downside of this is that it is easy to swing wide when your sighting over long distance. Guess what? I kept swinging wide.
Despite my difficulties with staying on course, and once the first half mile was done and I was warming to the task, I felt like I was swimming well. I practiced for and planned to swim a Negative Split; racing the first half fairly easy, and then really pushing the second half. Of course, there is always the possibility that when you get to the second half you don't have the juice to increase your pace, but that's why we practice. The course was a large triangle with the back side being the long side. It is a strange feeling to be out in the middle of a deep lake with a small group of equally demented people. I finally felt warmed up as I rounded the corner for the third side of the first lap and had an unpleasant surprise: the wind was blowing at such a perfect angle and causing waves that would hit me directly in the face every time I lifted my head to sight. The first few times I got a mouthful of water. Here I have to say, all those hundreds of hours in the pool teaches you to immediately stop an inhale if you feel water where it shouldn't be. It saves me from that desperate feel of choking on a lungful of water, thankfully. I had to adjust my breath cadence a little but then life was groovy.
The second lap started well enough, but the wind was picking up and so were the waves. I had a few moments of frustration that bordered on panic and surrender from getting pushed off course and having such a struggle sighting. I used my Tai Chi, "I can breathe my way through anything." I did have one of the kayakers steer me back from an extra wide swing, I told her about the blue goggles/orange buoy thing, and pressed on.
Rounding the corner onto the back side of the course and it was time to really pick up the pace. I had gotten past the few moments of struggle, and was ready to push it. Out in the middle of the lake the water was so choppy it was like swimming in the ocean. I pretended I was swimming in the Escape From Alcatraz triathlon, bobbing through the frigid waters of the San Francisco Bay. It made it a game instead of a problem. I kept increasing my stroke length and had my cadence up at the max I can do for long distance. Yes, I've practiced this a lot. And I do mean, A Lot.
Rounding the final corner and it was time to really max myself out. I had about 600 meters to the finish and I decided that I was going to leave it all in the water. I wanted to see if I could push myself to my limit. I reached that point where the focus of my world narrowed down to; stroke, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, sight, breathe.... hundreds of times. Doing the math, that last sprint for home was probably 300 strokes (per arm), going hard. Half way to the end and my shoulders were burning. "I can't keep this up." I was breathing almost every right hand stroke at this point, double my normal breath rate. My lungs were burning, my shoulders crying, my back was on fire. "I can't keep this up." "Hell yes I can." I keep telling myself, "This is exactly what I have practiced for." I was swimming hard enough that my stomach was starting to rebel. Every time I would feel my cadence falter I would narrow my focus tighter, thinking of every aspect of my stroke from the moment my hand touch the water, reaching long, grabbing the water, a long pull, my thumb flicking the outside of my thigh to verify that I was pushing all the way through. Then, arm comes out of the water, relaxed, almost casual as it travels through the air for the next stroke. It is like an iceburg, so little to see above the water, all the action underneath, away from prying eyes.
I pushed hard, finally seeing the exit ramp, my hand touches the squishy bottom of the lake. This is the sign to stand and run for the exit. I take a few more strokes, actually grabbing the bottom and pulling myself along. Once on my feet I lose my streamlined grace, and am floundering in mud and knee deep water. I get on solid ground and run up the exit ramp. The woman there yells my number to the timer, then says to me, Nice cadence!" It makes me proud.
I stagger out onto the grass, and walk up and down for a few minutes to regain my land legs and catch my breath. I look out over the lake and am a little disappointed to see how few swimmers are still in the water. I had hoped to finish more towards the middle of the pack, but I still beat a lot of swimmers by a decent amount of time. I'm pretty sure my inability to see the buoys, letting me drift off course so much, probably added 200-300 meters to my swim. And I'm okay with that.
I gathered my few things and went back to my car. It wasn't until I took a sip of water and tried a bite of banana that I realized just how queasy I was. The banana almost triggered some dry heaves. I decided I could wait a few minutes before eating.
The rest of the day was a bit anticlimactic. I changed into my cycling gear, had a bite to eat and went out on a nice 90 minute ride around the lake. All hills. There is not flat ground around this lake. After the bike I switched over and did an easy 25 minute run/hike (all hills, remember), and finished with about 20 minutes of Yoga and stretching.
It was a good day. A mini triathlon with an epic swim. I want to do another long swim race, with clear goggles so I can see where the hell I am going. Next year the 11 mile Portland Bridge Swim.
Despite carefully planned eating for the last two days, I still woke up with what I think of as "Race Gut." When my nerves play havoc with my gastrointestinal system. Downside: discomfort. Upside: totally emptied out system with no worries about having to poop when I'm in the middle of a lake and wearing a wetsuit (this is a serious worry for any of us that have had to spend a long time in a wetsuit, trust me).
So I got to the lake with plenty of time (and empty intestines), checked in with plenty of time to get suited up, then stood around for a small eternity waiting for the 2000m race to finish up. I did enjoy watching people swim, and come up out of the water triumphant. About 15 minutes before my start time I finished gearing up. Let me insert here that I was more heavily dressed than most other swimmers. I had wool socks covered with plastic bags on my feet, and my neoprene swim booties on over that. I learned this trick when I had to face a col, high desert lake swim. I also had my heavy swim cap underneath the orange cap they gave us all in our race packets. I don't screw around when it comes to trying to stay warm. Of course there are those crazies that swim events like this wearing just a standard Speedo. It hurts me just to look at them (okay, I am envious too, I admit). I went into the warmup area to quite literally "Test The Waters." I had already been told it was not nearly as cold as I had heard. Thankfully, this proved to be true. The water was bracing, about 64 degrees, but not glacial.
All that being said, I was excited to get the swim underway. I had surveyed the course, with its fluorescent orange buoys marking the way. Then I slipped on my blue tinted goggles and had the shocking realization that blue goggles make orange buoys look rather dull and brown, and make them blend into the surrounding water. I was not going to have an easy time navigating. Lesson learned.
We were called to the start line. They count heads as we pass through the narrow entrance/exit gate. They want to make sure that the same number comes out as went in. Of course we are all making jokes, most along the lines of, "Why did I think this would be a good idea?" But I am happy to be there, the water is not frigid, the sun is shining, I'm excited to get going.
The count down, "Three, Two, One...." and blast of air horn and we are on our way. The frenzy of any swim start is always a bit frantic, aptly named "the washing machine," as we churn up the water, getting bumped, kicked, even swum over top of. It makes for an exciting few minutes.
I make myself start easy, with long strokes and good body rotation. I control my breathing, forcing myself into the familiar rhythm. It is too easy to get totally blasted in the first few, adrenaline fueled moments of a mass swim. It takes a certain amount of Zen to stay relaxed. I am already having trouble spotting the buoys though, I try to line up a marker on the distant shore to give me at least a general idea of where I need to go. The downside of this is that it is easy to swing wide when your sighting over long distance. Guess what? I kept swinging wide.
Despite my difficulties with staying on course, and once the first half mile was done and I was warming to the task, I felt like I was swimming well. I practiced for and planned to swim a Negative Split; racing the first half fairly easy, and then really pushing the second half. Of course, there is always the possibility that when you get to the second half you don't have the juice to increase your pace, but that's why we practice. The course was a large triangle with the back side being the long side. It is a strange feeling to be out in the middle of a deep lake with a small group of equally demented people. I finally felt warmed up as I rounded the corner for the third side of the first lap and had an unpleasant surprise: the wind was blowing at such a perfect angle and causing waves that would hit me directly in the face every time I lifted my head to sight. The first few times I got a mouthful of water. Here I have to say, all those hundreds of hours in the pool teaches you to immediately stop an inhale if you feel water where it shouldn't be. It saves me from that desperate feel of choking on a lungful of water, thankfully. I had to adjust my breath cadence a little but then life was groovy.
The second lap started well enough, but the wind was picking up and so were the waves. I had a few moments of frustration that bordered on panic and surrender from getting pushed off course and having such a struggle sighting. I used my Tai Chi, "I can breathe my way through anything." I did have one of the kayakers steer me back from an extra wide swing, I told her about the blue goggles/orange buoy thing, and pressed on.
Rounding the corner onto the back side of the course and it was time to really pick up the pace. I had gotten past the few moments of struggle, and was ready to push it. Out in the middle of the lake the water was so choppy it was like swimming in the ocean. I pretended I was swimming in the Escape From Alcatraz triathlon, bobbing through the frigid waters of the San Francisco Bay. It made it a game instead of a problem. I kept increasing my stroke length and had my cadence up at the max I can do for long distance. Yes, I've practiced this a lot. And I do mean, A Lot.
Rounding the final corner and it was time to really max myself out. I had about 600 meters to the finish and I decided that I was going to leave it all in the water. I wanted to see if I could push myself to my limit. I reached that point where the focus of my world narrowed down to; stroke, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, sight, breathe.... hundreds of times. Doing the math, that last sprint for home was probably 300 strokes (per arm), going hard. Half way to the end and my shoulders were burning. "I can't keep this up." I was breathing almost every right hand stroke at this point, double my normal breath rate. My lungs were burning, my shoulders crying, my back was on fire. "I can't keep this up." "Hell yes I can." I keep telling myself, "This is exactly what I have practiced for." I was swimming hard enough that my stomach was starting to rebel. Every time I would feel my cadence falter I would narrow my focus tighter, thinking of every aspect of my stroke from the moment my hand touch the water, reaching long, grabbing the water, a long pull, my thumb flicking the outside of my thigh to verify that I was pushing all the way through. Then, arm comes out of the water, relaxed, almost casual as it travels through the air for the next stroke. It is like an iceburg, so little to see above the water, all the action underneath, away from prying eyes.
I pushed hard, finally seeing the exit ramp, my hand touches the squishy bottom of the lake. This is the sign to stand and run for the exit. I take a few more strokes, actually grabbing the bottom and pulling myself along. Once on my feet I lose my streamlined grace, and am floundering in mud and knee deep water. I get on solid ground and run up the exit ramp. The woman there yells my number to the timer, then says to me, Nice cadence!" It makes me proud.
I stagger out onto the grass, and walk up and down for a few minutes to regain my land legs and catch my breath. I look out over the lake and am a little disappointed to see how few swimmers are still in the water. I had hoped to finish more towards the middle of the pack, but I still beat a lot of swimmers by a decent amount of time. I'm pretty sure my inability to see the buoys, letting me drift off course so much, probably added 200-300 meters to my swim. And I'm okay with that.
I gathered my few things and went back to my car. It wasn't until I took a sip of water and tried a bite of banana that I realized just how queasy I was. The banana almost triggered some dry heaves. I decided I could wait a few minutes before eating.
The rest of the day was a bit anticlimactic. I changed into my cycling gear, had a bite to eat and went out on a nice 90 minute ride around the lake. All hills. There is not flat ground around this lake. After the bike I switched over and did an easy 25 minute run/hike (all hills, remember), and finished with about 20 minutes of Yoga and stretching.
It was a good day. A mini triathlon with an epic swim. I want to do another long swim race, with clear goggles so I can see where the hell I am going. Next year the 11 mile Portland Bridge Swim.
Monday, June 13, 2016
Stick With The Plan
Days like today I really have to force myself to Stick With The Plan. Not in the way you might think. For me, on days like today during my swim, feeling that combination of strength, drive, and the need to burn off stress. I want to go longer and harder than I know I should. I have my first swim only race in less than a week, 800m and 4000m, now is not the time to go crazy and give myself a ridiculous overwork injury. Today and tomorrow I have tougher swims planned, then lighter recovery swims for Friday and Saturday so I can be rested but loose for my swim on Sunday. That is The Plan. Today I hit the pool feeling pretty powerful. Yes, I was tired from work, and almost every muscle was sire from my weekend training session, but the water is invigorating.
The plan for today was my Power Swim, a combination of Individual Medly and hand paddles. I had decided to warm up with 24 laps I.M. then 24 laps with hand paddles, and 24 laps I.M. to cap it all off. A nice 2 mile swim with muscle intensity, but not the cardio intensity of a HIIT workout with sprints and hard effort. Yeah, I'm rambling incoherently aren't II? I'm tired, I didn't sleep well last night and was plagued with strange dreams about getting exotic pets. Anyhoo, back to the pool.... I was feeling great in the water and found myself pushing the intensity on my breastroke, and speeding my cadence on the crawl to a near sprint. Not part of The Plan. I forced myself to back off. Then once I got the hand paddles on I found myself wanting to push harder and faster. Again, Not part of The plan. I backed down to proper pace and technique. Then, I got the end of the 24 laps and though, "Maybe I can just go another few, or five, or ten laps...." Once again Not part of The Plan. I finally convinced myself to keep on track and not risk damaging myself.
It was still a great shoulder burner of a swim, and I know I'm going to feel it tomorrow. But feel it in that comfortable achy muscle kind of way, not the sharp stabby WTF-did-I-do-to-myself-this-time kind of way. This is one reason it is vital to Stick With The Plan. The Plan lets us get through a training season, building intensity and endurance at a proper pace, and not damaging ourselves along the way. Now I just have to keep reminding myself as I try to get my body back on track from last year's injury prone not-a-season. Now for sleep to recover from the intense swim that was just right, and just what I needed.
The plan for today was my Power Swim, a combination of Individual Medly and hand paddles. I had decided to warm up with 24 laps I.M. then 24 laps with hand paddles, and 24 laps I.M. to cap it all off. A nice 2 mile swim with muscle intensity, but not the cardio intensity of a HIIT workout with sprints and hard effort. Yeah, I'm rambling incoherently aren't II? I'm tired, I didn't sleep well last night and was plagued with strange dreams about getting exotic pets. Anyhoo, back to the pool.... I was feeling great in the water and found myself pushing the intensity on my breastroke, and speeding my cadence on the crawl to a near sprint. Not part of The Plan. I forced myself to back off. Then once I got the hand paddles on I found myself wanting to push harder and faster. Again, Not part of The plan. I backed down to proper pace and technique. Then, I got the end of the 24 laps and though, "Maybe I can just go another few, or five, or ten laps...." Once again Not part of The Plan. I finally convinced myself to keep on track and not risk damaging myself.
It was still a great shoulder burner of a swim, and I know I'm going to feel it tomorrow. But feel it in that comfortable achy muscle kind of way, not the sharp stabby WTF-did-I-do-to-myself-this-time kind of way. This is one reason it is vital to Stick With The Plan. The Plan lets us get through a training season, building intensity and endurance at a proper pace, and not damaging ourselves along the way. Now I just have to keep reminding myself as I try to get my body back on track from last year's injury prone not-a-season. Now for sleep to recover from the intense swim that was just right, and just what I needed.
Sunday, June 5, 2016
Event on the Calendar, Finally
I have done it. Finally signed up for an event. This has been a weird year or so, with nothing on my calendar. It makes it hard to maintain a decent training ethic. I signed up the the Hagg Lake Open Water Swim later this month. There are three distances; 800m, 2000m, and 4000m. I am mostly interested in completing the 4000m so I can be qualified for the Portland Bridge Swim next year, but I am hoping I have enough juice to swim all three distances. I will freely admit, this scares me just a little, and that is good. One reason I tend to set my sights high is to give myself that titillation of fear, it gets my blood flowing. What this means is that I need to stay very focused with my swimming, even though I know that if I'm not ready now, there isn't a lot I can do in so short a time to make myself any better. But I can surely maintain my level of swim endurance, and focus a bit more heavily on my freestyle technique.
One thing I have to remind myself of, is that when going for long distance I know I get to fall into my relaxed I-can-do-this-all-day pace. No, it isn't fast, but it is efficient. I have spent most of my training sessions over the last few months focusing on High Intensity Interval Training aka HIIT. This is usually some sado-masochistic series of sprints, 95% efforts, and slow recovery laps. It is the kind of workout that sometimes makes me feel like puking, but hasn't pushed me quite that far, yet. HIIT has the advantage of training for endurance by building strength through intensity, without having to spend 2 hours mindlessly swimming lap after lap after lap. Don't get me wrong, a nonstop 75 to 90 minute swim is fairly normal for me. But with HIIT I get to break it up into slightly more interesting sets that keep my brain from going totally numb. Besides, when my brain is tired after work it is hard for me to keep track of counting higher than about 4, and HIITs let me break down each swim into small, easy to count sets.
I'm excited to finally have an event, and one I am not likely to injure myself doing. This will be my first Swim Only event, and that feels a bit weird. I am going to throw my bike in the car, for a lap or two around the lake after the swim, if I'm not totally gassed. Hagg Lake is very pretty, and the road around it is about 12 miles, an easy ride. I can pretend I am doing an Aquabike (swim/bike race).
There are a few small events here and there that I would like to sign up for, a small obstacle course race, and a 5K race on the 4th of July. But my hip and knee have been so cranky that I will wait until the last minute to send in my entry fee. I may even resort to the slightly higher expense of registering the day of the race. Damn joints anyway. For now though, I will bask in the knowledge that I have a race in 3 weeks.
One thing I have to remind myself of, is that when going for long distance I know I get to fall into my relaxed I-can-do-this-all-day pace. No, it isn't fast, but it is efficient. I have spent most of my training sessions over the last few months focusing on High Intensity Interval Training aka HIIT. This is usually some sado-masochistic series of sprints, 95% efforts, and slow recovery laps. It is the kind of workout that sometimes makes me feel like puking, but hasn't pushed me quite that far, yet. HIIT has the advantage of training for endurance by building strength through intensity, without having to spend 2 hours mindlessly swimming lap after lap after lap. Don't get me wrong, a nonstop 75 to 90 minute swim is fairly normal for me. But with HIIT I get to break it up into slightly more interesting sets that keep my brain from going totally numb. Besides, when my brain is tired after work it is hard for me to keep track of counting higher than about 4, and HIITs let me break down each swim into small, easy to count sets.
I'm excited to finally have an event, and one I am not likely to injure myself doing. This will be my first Swim Only event, and that feels a bit weird. I am going to throw my bike in the car, for a lap or two around the lake after the swim, if I'm not totally gassed. Hagg Lake is very pretty, and the road around it is about 12 miles, an easy ride. I can pretend I am doing an Aquabike (swim/bike race).
There are a few small events here and there that I would like to sign up for, a small obstacle course race, and a 5K race on the 4th of July. But my hip and knee have been so cranky that I will wait until the last minute to send in my entry fee. I may even resort to the slightly higher expense of registering the day of the race. Damn joints anyway. For now though, I will bask in the knowledge that I have a race in 3 weeks.
Thursday, June 2, 2016
Resetting Goals
*pulling self up by bootstraps* Yesterday's walk/run was a bit depressing. Okay, it was a real letdown. I hate the idea that I am likely never going to be a runner again. Funny thing, 6 years ago I would not have considered this to be an issue. 6 years ago I never really gave running much of a thought. It is interesting to think that in the course of just a short time I began to think of running as an integral part of my life. in 2012 I entered 10 running events (including my first trail race), and 3 sprint triathlons. The following year I entered 15 running races, including 2 trail half-marathons, a 10 mile road race, and an Olympic and a half-Iron triathlon. In 2014 I didn't enter many races, but my running mileage had increased exponentially because I was prepping for an Iron distance tri. Then last year, my first race of the season and I was on the injured list. Benched for the season. I haven't quite managed to get off that bench. It has been tough on my ego and sense of self. I feel like I should be able to "tough it out." That's not happening.
Yesterday's run was pivotal. It let me know that it is likely I will not be a runner. Ever again. Running in and of itself isn't what is troubling me, it is the triathlete in me that is screaming, "NOOoooooo!!!" I don't know where this leaves me in my dream to get some Iron distance events under my belt. I don't know if power-walking an event is really an option. Yeah, I know plenty of people end up walking the run leg of a triathlon, but it isn't by choice. Can I train myself to walk at a quick enough pace to make it a viable option? Can I get my swim and bike speed up enough that I can make up enough time that walking the run leg will still get me across the line before the cut-off? Honestly, I don't know.
One thing that yesterday's run did was trigger my stubborn nature. I don't want to give up on my dreams so easily. I refuse to give up on my dreams so easily. So now I shift my focus. I haven't been able to run at all, but I can walk almost daily, g'damn it. Also, I can push my bike and swim training, increase strength training, alter my approach, again.
To shore up my flagging spirits I did get registered for the Hagg Lake Swim Series. One entry fee lets me swim all three distances if I choose: 4000m, 2000m, and 800m. My main goal is the 4000m swim. I need that distance to be officially in the books to be able to enter the Portland Bridge Swim (probably not this year, I let my training flag a bit due to respiratory problems). I may swim the 2000m as well, just to push myself. I will see how I feel the morning of the event. I admit, the idea of this scares me just a little, which is just what I need, I think.
Yesterday's run was pivotal. It let me know that it is likely I will not be a runner. Ever again. Running in and of itself isn't what is troubling me, it is the triathlete in me that is screaming, "NOOoooooo!!!" I don't know where this leaves me in my dream to get some Iron distance events under my belt. I don't know if power-walking an event is really an option. Yeah, I know plenty of people end up walking the run leg of a triathlon, but it isn't by choice. Can I train myself to walk at a quick enough pace to make it a viable option? Can I get my swim and bike speed up enough that I can make up enough time that walking the run leg will still get me across the line before the cut-off? Honestly, I don't know.
One thing that yesterday's run did was trigger my stubborn nature. I don't want to give up on my dreams so easily. I refuse to give up on my dreams so easily. So now I shift my focus. I haven't been able to run at all, but I can walk almost daily, g'damn it. Also, I can push my bike and swim training, increase strength training, alter my approach, again.
To shore up my flagging spirits I did get registered for the Hagg Lake Swim Series. One entry fee lets me swim all three distances if I choose: 4000m, 2000m, and 800m. My main goal is the 4000m swim. I need that distance to be officially in the books to be able to enter the Portland Bridge Swim (probably not this year, I let my training flag a bit due to respiratory problems). I may swim the 2000m as well, just to push myself. I will see how I feel the morning of the event. I admit, the idea of this scares me just a little, which is just what I need, I think.
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
National Running Day
I have spent a lot of brain power on my run training. Brain power because running has not been an option for nearly a year, due to injuries and arthritis. Today is National Running Day, at least according to a running friend of mine, so I decided it would be the day I needed to lace up the latest pair of running shoes and give them a test. I don't know why I keep holding on to the hope that if I can just find the right shoes, or the right combination of food and supplements, or the right strength training, or the right flexibility exercises, or a combination of all of the above, that I will manage to get past the intense pain I have when I run. Anyhoo, so I laced on the newest shoes, Adidas Lite Pacer 2, and headed out the door. First off, let me say, these have more cushion than most of the shoes I have been running in over the last few years, about the same as my Saucony Virattas. Next, let me say, these are damned comfortable shoes for power walking.
So, I headed out the door, with the plan of just hitting the closest farm road. I just wanted to see how my right hip was going to behave, since it has been the problem child since about February. I didn't have a lot of faith. Even though I have been diligent with physical therapy, strength training, plyometrics, and stretching, my right hip hurts most of the time. It feels pretty delicate and easily tweaked. It also hurts enough that it makes it hard to sleep sometimes. Regardless of all this, I decided to see how running would feel. Yeah, I'm a bit of a masochist. I decided to walk at least 10 minutes before even trying to run. I wanted things to be decently warmed up. Power walking went well, as long as I paid close attention to technique, it only hurt a little. Then, the moment of truth, I broke into an easy run, short strides, higher cadence, good technique, mid to forefoot strike. And holymotherofgod! It felt like someone was stabbing a red hot ice pick into my hip. That is not normal. Hell, after all I've done to try and rehab my hip and knee, that kind of pain is just plain mean. I want to cry "foul" at this point. So, I backed off, back to a power walk. Much better. I walked a few hundred paces. Maybe it was just my stride? Core tight, abs in, pelvic girdle clenched, I broke into a gentle run. Okay. Better. Pain not quite so stabby and red hot. I switched to a near flat foot strike. Better. Still not great, but better.
Over the course of about 2 miles I tried to run a half dozen time. It wasn't too bad as long as I was wildly conscious of all aspects of technique; soft foot strike, foot alignment, pelvis forward, abs in, core engaged, knees in tight and yet flexing. As soon as I would relax a little, maybe let my feet pronate, or knees turn out a hair, I would feel it either in my right hip, or high up in my left adductor. But no matter what I did, how I ran, the pain in my right hip was too sharp and deep to be ignored. Despite all the hours I have spent I can not PT this problem away. I have to come to the conclusion that it is not an injury that is going to heal given enough time, it is a chronic issue that will likely only be remedied with medical (aka surgical) intervention.
What did I come away from this with? The knowledge that it is likely I will never run another race. But you know what else I came away with? That I can damned sure still power walk one. Time to start training to speed walk.
So, I headed out the door, with the plan of just hitting the closest farm road. I just wanted to see how my right hip was going to behave, since it has been the problem child since about February. I didn't have a lot of faith. Even though I have been diligent with physical therapy, strength training, plyometrics, and stretching, my right hip hurts most of the time. It feels pretty delicate and easily tweaked. It also hurts enough that it makes it hard to sleep sometimes. Regardless of all this, I decided to see how running would feel. Yeah, I'm a bit of a masochist. I decided to walk at least 10 minutes before even trying to run. I wanted things to be decently warmed up. Power walking went well, as long as I paid close attention to technique, it only hurt a little. Then, the moment of truth, I broke into an easy run, short strides, higher cadence, good technique, mid to forefoot strike. And holymotherofgod! It felt like someone was stabbing a red hot ice pick into my hip. That is not normal. Hell, after all I've done to try and rehab my hip and knee, that kind of pain is just plain mean. I want to cry "foul" at this point. So, I backed off, back to a power walk. Much better. I walked a few hundred paces. Maybe it was just my stride? Core tight, abs in, pelvic girdle clenched, I broke into a gentle run. Okay. Better. Pain not quite so stabby and red hot. I switched to a near flat foot strike. Better. Still not great, but better.
Over the course of about 2 miles I tried to run a half dozen time. It wasn't too bad as long as I was wildly conscious of all aspects of technique; soft foot strike, foot alignment, pelvis forward, abs in, core engaged, knees in tight and yet flexing. As soon as I would relax a little, maybe let my feet pronate, or knees turn out a hair, I would feel it either in my right hip, or high up in my left adductor. But no matter what I did, how I ran, the pain in my right hip was too sharp and deep to be ignored. Despite all the hours I have spent I can not PT this problem away. I have to come to the conclusion that it is not an injury that is going to heal given enough time, it is a chronic issue that will likely only be remedied with medical (aka surgical) intervention.
What did I come away from this with? The knowledge that it is likely I will never run another race. But you know what else I came away with? That I can damned sure still power walk one. Time to start training to speed walk.
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