Rachel Murphy, YOU ARE....

AN IRONMAN!

I've spent a year day dreaming about the moment I would hear Mike Reilly say those words.  Swimming laps, out on runs, on the bike, I'd picture myself in that finish chute.  I'd be finishing with friends I'd made out on the course, all of us politely insisting "oh no, YOU cross the line first"...I'd be waving to my family, blowing kisses...I'd be energetically giving high fives to the spectators who enthusiastically line the chute and cheer for hours each year...I'd savor every second of that finish.

In reality, I thought I was dying.  I vaguely remember Mike Reilly saying my name.  I don't remember a single spectator lining the chute, I may as well have been finishing in a completely empty space and not the Lake Placid Olympic oval surrounded by hundreds, thousands possibly, of screaming ironfans.  I remember one blonde woman wearing blue rubber gloves grabbing my arm and asking if I was okay.  That's it.  Months of beautiful day dreams replaced by one sweet girl and her blue rubber gloves.  Not what I'd imagined, but as it turned out she was one of the most glorious and welcomed visions of my whole life.

Fortunately the fourteen hours and seventeen minutes it took to get to that finish chute weren't collectively as horrific as those last moments.  Feel free to stop reading whenever you'd like, as I'm about to share the long and gory details.

After a 3:39am wake up call (random, but Mike couldn't sleep until the 3:45 alarm and I was sleeping pretty lightly anyway), I put on my tri kit, ate a bowl of oatmeal with berries and honey and guzzled a big mug of hot coffee.  This is no doubt TMI for the internet, but ironman makes no room for modesty, so I'll just share that this breakfast should be the fixings for a guaranteed bathroom experience within the hour, two at most.  As of 6:30am, standing in my wetsuit beside Mirror Lake, nothing.  And I was freaking out.  I've never EVER raced under that condition, not a 5K, much less a day long event.  I did my best to push the worry out of my mind, kissed and hugged my family good bye (my mom, father-in-law, sister and brother-in-law, and five nieces and nephews all clad in "Rachel and Mike's ironman support crew" tees), and headed into the lake.

I made my way into the water with Julie and Mike by my side, said good bye to Mike right away (he's a very strong swimmer and headed to the front) and Julie shortly after (she's also a strong swimmer).  I slowly breast stroked over to the area I thought was best for me to start in.  And I cried for the first of many times for the day.  I cried for a lot of reasons.  Because my heart ached for the missing member of our ironfan crew...the member who would have no doubt been captain.  Because I was proud of myself for simply having the courage to be there.  Because a really sweet woman I passed in the street at 6am (who obviously saw how nervous I was) took the time to stop me, grab me by the arms and give me the pep talk of my life.  And because I was scared.  Terrified.  Thank goodness for goggles:)

I pulled myself together and talked to a few people in my area of the swim start about swim time expectations and realized quickly I was exactly where I belonged.  With U2's "Beautiful Day" blaring, Mike Reilly wished us well, and with the cannon we were off.  All two thousand and eight hundred of us.

Even where I started, it was rough and crazy from start to finish.  Kicking feet in my face, elbows coming down on my back and coming back up into my face, shoving my goggles into my eye socket, and all before I even got to the official start of the swim course.  All I could do was giggle.  It was such wonderful insanity.  None of it hurt, and I knew that everyone was in the exact same boat as me.

My goal was to come out of the first loop under 50 min, even though my trial swim in the lake on Wednesday had been 52 minutes.  I didn't wear a watch in the swim and when I came out of lap one the clock said 57:xx.  Freaking out that the swim had taken me that long, I frantically asked the girl next to me what she had for time.  They still had the clock running for the pros who started 10 minutes before us, so my first loop was really 47:xx.  I was ecstatic.  So ecstatic that as I began my second lap, I cried for the second time that day.

My total swim time was 1:37:xx, a full 8 minutes faster than my expectation of 1:45.  I had my wet suit stripped and ran down to the oval to transition.  The volunteers were amazing.  I grabbed my bike bag, and ran into the womens' change tent where I had my own personal helper.  She dumped my bag, put my socks and shoes on my feet while I put my helmet on, and stuffed honey stingers and fig newtons I'd packed into my back pockets while I took care of anti-chaffing needs.  It was amazing.  I grabbed my bike from the nice boy who had un-racked it for me, and was on my way.  Well, almost anyway.  I'm not embarrassed to admit that I stood in the mount zone for a few seconds to shove half of a peanut butter jelly sandwich in my mouth.  I knew the course started with a really sharp downhill and that I'd have trouble eating a pbj and riding downhill, and also that I'd need the calories.  No regrets.

I took my first pedal stroke at 8:44am, elated that the swim and T1 combined had taken me one minute less than I had expected the swim alone to take!

The bike portion of the race was quiet.  There are very few spectators on the course (or there may be a lot, but spread out over 56 miles they seem pretty sparse), and no one talked, just pedaled.  I was happy though that it felt almost effortless and that I was doing more passing than being passed.  The miles and time flew by, and it seemed like I'd been on the bike for 10 minutes when I came to 30 miles and the out and back section where I got to see Mike who was 10 miles ahead of me.  I spent my time focusing on staying comfortable and eating and drinking.  I got in a bottle of ironman perform, three water bottles, four fig newtons, half a pbj, a banana, and a bonk bar (that I swiped at an aid station to replace the clif bar that popped out of its wrapper and into a ditch).  The last 10 miles of the loop are climb, climb, climb, but the last doozy of a climb into Lake Placid is lined with great cycling fans and was definitely the most entertaining part of the course.  People sitting right out on the road in camp chairs cheering, running along side of you, holding fun signs.  It felt like my own little 50 meters of tour de france.

I decided at the bike special needs station that I'm not hard core enough to wet my pants on the bike, so I dropped my bike with a friendly volunteer while I stopped in a port a jon.  Then I took a few things out of my special needs bag, and started on loop two.  I saw our ironfan crew just as I was starting the second loop.  I still felt fresh and good and not at all daunted by the idea of having another 56 mile loop to ride, which I figured was a good sign.

The second loop was chattier.  I munched on my potato chips that I tucked into my tri top and got in another bottle of ironman perform and another three full bottles of water.  I made small talk with a few people as I passed or was passed.  There was a lot of "how are you feeling?"..."how are you holding up?"...."doing okay?, almost there!"... on the second loop.  Again the first 30 miles flew by, I couldn't believe I was at mile 90 when I saw the sign.  That was the last time anything on the bike flew by.  The last 22 miles were loooooonnnnnnggggg.  I literally vowed to never EVER ride a bike again.  My butt was inconsolably sore and the hills felt like mountains.  A couple of British ironfans at mile 100 told me that Mark Cavendish had won the last stage of the tour on the Champs de elysee, so that lifted my spirits a little.

It wasn't until I was sitting in a folding chair in transition that it really hit me that I now had to run a marathon.  I was hot, sunburnt, salty, dirty, thirsty, and tired.  But I was excited to get out there too.  The thing about swimming and cycling is how solitary they had been.  I'd been out there for nine hours with very little human interaction...I was ready to get my run and mingle on.  Another wonderful volunteer helped me with my shoes and socks and compression calf sleeves and sent me on my way.

The first few miles felt great, and I found it really easy to focus on the moment and the mile and not the whole big, ugly, scary, picture.  It was an out and back that you did twice, so I got a chance to see our cheering squad just a quarter mile into the run, and Julie and Mike out on the course who both looked great.  There was an aid station at just about every mile and I decided from the beginning to walk through each one, but from the very beginning of the run it was hard to take anything but ice.  In the first loop I did manage to get down an entire package of honey stingers and a couple of swigs of coke.

At mile 8(ish) I came across a girl finishing her second loop.  I was so excited for her, and we chatted for a while and ran together.  I was in awe that she was going to finish in well under 12 hours.  She told me that her goal was going to be to run with me for as long as she could.  I was so inspired that I ran through the next two aid stations with her (she wasn't stopping).  We passed Mike at our mile 10, his 13.5ish, and he yelled to me "if you can keep running, you're going to catch me!", and the girl I was running with said "oh, you can keep running - go get him!".   I lost that girl not long after, but have no doubt she finished strong in her phenomenal debut ironman, finishing well under twelve hours.  Whoever you are, huge congrats and thanks for the company!

There is a super steep climb coming back into town, and fans on the course line the hill yelling "we want a runner, we want a runner".  My run had slowed to a brisk walk at that point, but being a runner at heart I couldn't let them down, so I picked it back up to a run and they cheered and screamed like I was scoring a touchdown for their favorite team in the superbowl.  And out from the screaming running fans popped Emily Piza Taylor!  I gave her a big, sweaty, salty hug, as she yelled some words of encouragement.  More tears as I turned the corner - I just feel so thankful to be surrounded by people who are also crazy enough to find great pleasure in extreme endurance events.  Emily and I have run a LOT of miles together, and she and the rest of the TCRC crazies are a big part of why I was able to be out there.

By mile 12 and the special needs station I decided I really needed to walk through if I was going to make it another 14 miles.  I couldn't take anything at special needs.  I didn't want to take the time to go through my bag and I'd felt so "good" (all things being relative) on the first loop I was just itching to get onto loop two and know I was finishing.  My first half marathon was 2:07 by my watch, and I was thinking I could definitely pull out a 4:30 for the whole marathon giving me a 13:30ish finish time.  I was excited to see it all coming together, and really excited to know that I had six hours to cover a half marathon if I needed it.  I realized that barring something really extreme like a broken limb or cardiac arrest, I was going to cross the finish line.

I ran back down the main street through town, gave high fives to the nieces/nephews, and told my mom to expect me to slow down a little bit the second half, but not to worry.  Little did I know just how much I would slooooooowwwww dooooooowwwwwnnnnn.

I got out of town okay, but was starting to really struggle to keep up my run between aid stations.  I saw Emily again and she yelled that I looked great, and I remember thinking that I wished I also felt great.  I made it to mile 14 and that's where the wheels really came off.  I'm always preaching endurance events to be 99% mental, and miles 14 - 23 were definitely mental for me.  Miles 23 - 26.2 were that rare 1% of true physical, but I'll get to that in a minute.

I fell into a walk (well before an aid station) just past mile 14.  The two men I walked with were lovely humans no doubt, but we were all only as good company to each other as the hell we were in would allow us to be.  I talked with them for a bit, and then decided that while the course was downhill, I should do my best to run, but running downhill hurt horribly.  I made it to the next aid station and then again, took to a walk.

On this (long) walk break, I talked to a guy from Rochester who asked me what other triathlons I had done.  I told him Syracuse 70.3 back in September and he asked what else.  Umm....  Here I was, closing in on mile 16, and admitting to someone that this ironman was my second triathlon....EVER.  The second time in my life I've ever swam and then biked and then ran.  I didn't know whether to feel proud of myself or like a complete idiot for getting myself into my situation.

I passed Julie who was closing in on mile 21 just around then and she looked PHENOMENAL and yelled "this is the part where we're supposed to be having fun, right?!"  I love that girl:)  She went on to rock out a 12:49:xx....awesome!

Just before the out and back turn around I saw Mike and realized that if I did just suck it up and run steadily for a bit I could catch him.  He looked really good and healthy, he just didn't have legs left for much running.  I worked as hard as I could (I may have put out the most well earned 10 minute mile of my life) and came up to him just as we were both hitting mile 19.

"Running" with Mike was wonderful.  We picked points to run to, made it to that point, and took breaks.  What I was starting to notice most was how out of breath I was, and I couldn't catch my breath on the walk breaks anymore.  I also felt like I had to pee (pardon the term - sorry mom!) terribly, but after three porta jon stops before meeting up with Mike I hadn't been able to go.  Mike told me to try again at mile 23 (I was really in pain) and so I did and it was successful!  As silly as it seems, I think its just because I was rushing myself before not wanting to miss a Julie or Mike siting, but knowing Mike was waiting for me I could relax.  And then I got up.  Whoa.

Cue the real hell of the event for me.  We'd been running every other set of telephone poles up to that point, but stopping in that porta jon made me dizzy on top of unable to catch my breath.  Sure my feet ached, my legs were screaming, and I had a hitch in my right hip I'd picked up somewhere along the day that was singing loudly, but that pain is the name of the game and pain I've learned to deal with in the past.  Dizzy and unable to breathe with 3.2 miles to go?...this was new to me.

We still got a few runs stretches in, but they were agony.  I knew when we crested the hill into town that Mike was feeling MUCH better than me by the way he responded to the "we want a runner" chants with a little jog up the hill.  All I could do was stare at the ground and hope my legs would keep moving forward.

The out and back by the brewery was cruel.  It was on the way back by the aid station (closing in on mile 26) when an aid station volunteer came right up to me and asked what I needed.  I figured I didn't look all too great.  I don't think I took anything.  The last few aid stations had been water or coke that I'd put in my mouth and spit out.  I didn't feel thirsty or hungry, I just felt like I was going to pass out, and like I really just needed to get to the finish.

Coming into the Olympic oval we saw our brother in law Scott waving and cheering, no doubt there to alert the troops that we'd arrived.  (I'm pretty sure they were ready to call the medical tents at this point looking for us).  It had gotten dark.  I felt like every step I took was going to be my last upright, I was so winded and dizzy.  Once we hit the track in the oval Mike said "you ready?"...but I told him that I was afraid to run because I didn't think I'd make it.  Mike was so sweet in those last few miles, and just said, "then we'll walk as long as you need".  So I said "okay, let's go", and we headed off in a jog.  I heard my name, heard Mike's name, remember Mike taking my hand and holding it up in the air....then blonde and blue rubber gloves.

It's amazing what an RN, a cup of hot chicken broth, company in your misery, and 45 minutes can do. Julie came back to see how we were, and Mike held my finisher shirt and hat and brought me a piece of pizza.  That first piece of pizza was the worst thing I've ever eaten and I had to gag it down like medicine.  The two after that - BEST PIZZA EVER.

By 10:30pm, Mike, Julie, my mom, sister in law Mara, oldest nephew Noah, and I were standing on the bleachers inside the oval finish line, dancing and cheering on finishers.  We cheered in every last athlete right up until midnight, then said our family good byes, found our bikes and transition bags, and headed to the car.  Part of me felt as though I must not have left enough out there if I had that energy left in me, but I've decided over these last few days that I have no doubt I gave every ounce I had to that run - there was nothing more that I could have done safely.  The fact that adrenaline allowed me to stay on and cheer the finish? - just a bonus:)

Driving back to our rental house, we had to take the dreaded out and back road by the brewery (miles 24 - 26 for finishers), and at 12:39am, saw three athletes still out there running - they won't be deemed ironmen because they didn't make the 17 hour cut off, but I have as much, if not more, respect for them as I do Andy Potts who won that day in 8 hours and 25 minutes.  I have so much respect for anyone with the mental fortitude to finish the ironman.  It's an incredible feat, and really, even five days later, impossible to put into words.

My "never again" claims have never lasted outside of the finish chute of a marathon.  It's usually just a promise I make to myself to get through the last couple of miles.  "Never again" on the ironman lasted a good 24 hours.  And then I started thinking...I could get a lot stronger on the bike....maybe I could join a master's swim program and get stronger in the water....if I was stronger on the bike, could I finish an ironman with a sub 4 hour marathon?...


Ironman Mont Tremblant 2013, anyone?

20 Ways To Celebrate Boston Marathon Week.

This weekend was busy. B.U.S.Y. And it's only the beginning - Mike recently brought to my attention that we have not a single weekend free between now and the big day, Lake Placid July 22nd. Not a one. Fortunately for us, however, busy is how we happily roll.

And so in busy-ness, I apologize for the day late-ness of this post. One whole day of the second best holiday week of the year has already passed. But no worries...there is still plenty of time to celebrate...

Boston Marathon Week!

Runner or not I highly encourage you to join in the festivities. For your optimal Boston Marathon week enjoyment, I have developed a list of celebratory activities. Feel free to participate in any, but do not feel pressured to hit them all. After all, they've been running this race for 116 years, so the odds are heavily in the favor of a hundred and seventeenth running.

1. Throw back a Sam Adams.

2. Eat a Boston creme donut.

3. Read chapters 6 - 8 of Kathrine Switzer's "Marathon Woman"

4. Buy your gas from a Citgo. 

5. Watch a youtube clip of Alberto Salazar and Dick Beardsley's "Duel in the Sun"

6. Throw back a Sam Adams.

7. Watch the movie Saint Ralph.

7. b. Cry.

7. c. Download all of the songs from the soundtrack.

8. Listen to the Saint Ralph soundtrack.

8. b. Cry.

9. Throw back a Sam Adams.

10. Cheer for the Red Sox.

11. Create a scream tunnel with friends. As local runners come by, cheer loudly for them and offer them kisses on signs.

12. Pull a Rosie. (eg - enter a local 5K, start, duck behind bushes, and finish as the leader having not broken a sweat. Later, refuse to give back your winnings. Assure local race directors you were simply celebrating Boston Marathon week. What's the biggie?)

13. Wear oversized, cheap or old clothing over your outfit for the day. Just as your day begins, throw the oversized clothes off and leave them where they land.

14. Throw back a Sam Adams.

15. Find a hill in your town. Run up it yelling "heartbreak".

16. Drink Poland Spring bottled water.

17. Throw back a Sam Adams.

18. Eat a full days worth of calories of nothing but sample size portions of gu, shot blocks, power bars, honey stingers, etc.

19. Pour over the weather forecast, paying special attention to wind direction.

20. Use a porta jon a minimum of ten times.

And finally... Get training!...the 2013 qualifier is 5 minutes faster for every age group, but right on Hereford, left on Boylston is calling your name!

Happy Boston Marathon week everyone! And please remember to celebrate responsibly...if you participate in items 1, 6, 9, 14, and 17 (especially all in one day) - take the T.

P.S. - Wondering what the best holiday week of the year is? Troy Fair, sillies! Written in my marriage vows..."to love, honor, cherish, and hold sacred the Troy Fair..."

Marathons suck.

...again, written yesterday and not posted until today...so actually two weeks from now I'll be home from school, limping around, sporting my Boston shirt...anyway, I plan to blog lots between now and April 16th...let the two week countdown begin! Oh, and btw - I let Mike title the blog...this next will be his 6th Boston and 13th marathon and he's feeling a bit cranky toward the distance:)

Boston is two weeks from today. Actually, two weeks from this very moment I should be (assuming all goes according to plan) headed home, all cramped up in the car becoming increasingly stiffer and sorer by the minute. Ah yes, nothing screams "reward" for those months of hard work and dedication quite like the inability to sit on a toilet seat, inability to pull on your own pant leg, six hour drive home, throbbing headache, loss of appetite, and intestinal distress that so often accompany the finish of a marathon. Congratulations, here's a medal and a little silver blanket, your family should be somewhere about a mile that way sweetie, now you go on and find 'em.

It's funny why we do what we do. During our last Boston long run yesterday morning, Chuck and Emily and I were composing a pre-marathon motivational speech. All we could come up with was "what the hell is wrong with you all", "welcome all of you who have also obviously lost it", "warning, this is going to suck a lot", as well as a few tips on controlling your bodily functions. Three runners with nearly 30 marathons combined completed and this is all the motivation we have to offer. And yet, there we were, pounding out one last 24 miler before our next marathon adventure.

It's that punch drunk long run conversation, and so many others like it, that make up a huge part of the reward - the why in doing it. Boston won't actually happen for another two weeks, but I've already reaped the vast majority of the rewards. The long runs, the post run coffee, the french toast and waffles, the bonding, the joking, the lost socks, the angry Sunday morning drivers encountered and then giggled about. No matter how many times it's done, the feeling of accomplishment after running 20 miles or more on a weekend morning never becomes any less satisfying, and there's no better sound than the clomp clomping of numerous sets of feet all setting out on a long run together.

And so, in some small way, the big to-do has already passed. The long runs are banked, the last post run breakfast was shared, and all that's left is tapering, overpriced adidas garb, large crowds, and THE 26.2. Don't get me wrong - what's left of the experience is enjoyable. There will still be bonding, still be group meals, still be more to giggle about, and no other long run offers the screaming tunnel of love at mile 12 like the girls of Wellesley College in Boston does. It's exciting, but I've come to realize that it's not the prize, and definitely not the point. The prize is being able to come home to start the whole process over again, and knowing great and crazy people to share the process with.

Like a two wheeled Subaru

Mike's laying on the couch across the room from me lamenting loudly that his pictures from the weekend have yet to be blogged. I've been engrossed in a project for a crochet class my mom and I are taking (a baby cardigan - it's so cute and I'm elated that I've read the pattern and created it *almost* all by myself), but after having to tear out a bazillion rows because I missed a "chain 2" an hour ago, I'm frustrated enough with crafting for the night that Mike wins.

Unlike my cute pink 18 mo cardigan, my Specialized tricross comp bike has yet to be aggravating since we brought it home one week and two days ago. If it is possible for a bike to serve as chiropractor, marriage counselor, and mood enhancing drug, this is the one.

With the natural gas boom in our podunk county, the main roads, which were already far from ideal for bike riding, have become entrenched in large truck traffic. Stone truck after stone truck after water truck after water truck after large equipment trailer. There are days that traveling the roads by car is unsettling, much less trying to run or bike.

Lucky we are though to be surrounded by rural dirt roads. SURROUNDED. Mike has spent the unseasonably warm and snowless winter touring the back roads on his tricross bike. He pulls out of the driveway and comes back hours later covered and mud and grinning ear to ear. When I run after dark, he escorts me with his bright helmet light. He rides up the dirt roads to family dinners at my mom's house. He rides all the places around here ideal for riding - all the places the gas traffic and the tri and road bikes can't go.

Chenango Cycles in Binghamton had the exact same bike Mike bought two years ago, only in my size and on phenomenal sale. Being a 2010 model they no doubt really wanted to get rid of it. I've been eyeing it for a couple of months. Last Saturday after the St. Pat's 4 miler, we pulled the trigger and brought it home.

I've never enjoyed riding a bicycle so much, and never felt so comfortable on a bike. We're on grit and gravel and stone and mud and climbing and descending and climbing and climbing, but riding this bike is like driving a Subaru with two wheels - no matter what the condition of the road under your wheels, you're safe and it won't let you down.

Four hours on the bike Saturday morning loosened up the nagging pain in my right leg from a pestery bulging disc that acts up when my mileage goes up, and my run later that day felt the best any had all week. Those four hours were also the first Mike and I were ever able to be on bikes together and not argue - we have a strained road biking history to the extent that we refer to tandem road bikes as divorces with wheels. Not only did we not argue, we got along famously, even after I had a minor meltdown regarding large rocks the gas company has spread over a few miles of Warren Center back roads and an incident with a German shepherd. If you don't know, I'm terrified of dogs. There were tears. But the stones and dog were nothing fig newtons at the LeRaysville Dandy couldn't fix, and I pulled back into our driveway happier than I've ever been after a bike ride.

We went out for another ride Sunday afternoon after our long run, and tonight I got my first chance to escort Mike on his run in the dark and drizzle. Mike did all of the picture taking this weekend, so I apologize in advance that this is a bit of a photo collage of myself - but if you look past the cyclist in the pictures, you'll see some of the beautiful places we're able to ride...in tshirts in March no less!

Swimmer? Okay, maybe not. But closer.

I wrote this Wednesday night and never posted. Update: in last night's swim I was able swim further without breaks in my new swim "style". That said, old habits die hard, and I feel like all I do while swimming is think...I think about my arms and my hips go back to their sway, I think about my hips and stroke is sloppy again. I wish it were more natural for me, but I'm working at it slow and steady, and I suppose that given my swimming status I should just feel grateful that I haven't required lifeguard assistance yet! Next post will be up soon - we've adopted another two wheeled family member, and spent four hours touring the back roads of our gas infested stomping ground together today. It was almost a complete win.

When I say I "learned to swim" this past July, I really mean that I attempted and succeeded putting my face in the water, breathing to the side, swinging my arms and kicking my legs. I have since called it swimming.

It gets me from one end of a pool to the other over and over and over, and it got me through (heavily wetsuit aided) the Syracuse 70.3. It just gets me these places very slowly. Swim workout after swim workout, I go to what I know...face in the water, breathe to the side, swing my arms, and kick my legs. And move painfully slowly.

Now I know I'm biased here, but Mike's middle name may as well be Phelps. He's a swimmer extraordinaire. Or at least was "back in the day" and is still very good. He's been patiently giving me little swimming tips whenever we swim together. I felt as though as I was a lost cause though when last Saturday's only "tip" was "I think you just have very little upper body strength". And I had become resigned to calling anything under the two hour and twenty minute cut off time in the ironman a win for the day.

Tonight in the Elk Lake pool, Mike's faith in me must have been renewed, and he started offering all kinds of advice. Advice on stroke. I'd work on it for 100. Advice on kicking. Work on it. And then he did something magical - he mocked me. He swam for me the way he sees me swim. I look ridiculous. I asked if I REALLY moved my hips that much, and he said yes, and so I asked why he never told me to stop, and he assured me that he's told me plenty of times, but that he assumed I just couldn't stop because I hadn't.

So I stopped. No more thrashing my hips about. I swam the next 25 yards in literally 1/3 of the time I have ever swam the length of a pool before. Keeping everything straight and long, I swam another and another and another. And Mike said "I can't believe it...you look like a swimmer." I could've cried.

Now mind you - I still suck. A lot. Swimming that way was hard work. I had to rest between every 50. And I have a lot of work I need to commit to doing just to successfully get through the swim at Lake Placid regardless of time. But for today, my Mike Phelps called me a "swimmer".

Forty-three days

Where on earth does the time go?

The Boston Marathon will be run in forty-three days...twenty-six miles, three hundred and eighty five yards from Hopkinton to Boston will be run six weeks from tomorrow, ready or not. Oy vey.

April 16th will be my fourth Boston, but while the race route and date (Patriot's Day in Massachusetts) stays the same every year, the preparation is, as always, unique.

Last year at this time I had run the MV 20 miler at 7:09 pace, was running midweek tempo runs up to 16 miles total w/ as many as 10 miles at 7min flat pace, and logged seven 20+ mile runs before the big day. I was a woman possessed with hopes of a marathon PR. I was also a woman possessed with horrific back pain who was miserable.

I didn't run a PR last year in Boston. I ran over 2 minutes slower than my PR, but I've never felt quite so satisfied finishing a race. Like someone had pulled a 300lb monkey off my back. Regardless of the time on the clock, it was over. I'd been racing my own shadow for months and it was exhausting. I could relax. I could take a deep breath. I could demand I felt physically well before I pushed myself to run again.

It's funny how differently a person can react to similar life situations. Before that day, every race I'd ever finished had left me with a desire to be better. That race just left me with a desire to smile, laugh, eat, nap, and most of all to take the "must run faster, farther" blinders off and enjoy other aspects of life. I also looked forward to a break helping me to enjoy running again.

Ten months later, I can definitely say that I've smiled, laughed, and eaten (oh my have I eaten). I've enjoyed things I didn't make time for before. I learned to swim, I learned to ride a bike down on aero bars, I tackled my first triathlon, and I nurtured and maintained a garden that for all of Mike's picking on my green thumb skills or lack there of, we are still eating the bounties of out of the freezer. I've read books and crocheted hats and scarves. And I LOVE to run.

However happier, I am (ironically) sadly slower. Sigh. In the last month's attempts at track work and tempo runs I'm hard pressed to be convinced I share legs and lungs with the girl in last year's running log. Deciding that happy running is just too important to me to let my times get me blue, this week, like a Greek mother with a bundt cake, I FIXED IT!

The fix? Watch and track be damned.

I know many will judge, but I just don't see why I need to look it in the face. I need to DO it (run fast), but do I need to KNOW how much slower my running fast is happening? I think no. Not right in this moment at least.

And so, instead of my tempo run this week with the constant eye on the pace on the Garmin - it was five miles out, five miles back my favorite route from school. Two miles easy, push for five, three miles easy. I know where the mile marks are on that run, I've heard the Garmin beeps enough times to know well. And I know what a tempo feels like. Tough, uncomfortable, but sustainable.

Instead of my planned 6 x 800 - I chose "shuffle on my ipod" (ironman training playlist). I left home with my tunes in, ran two songs easy and then the third song - fast. Fourth easy, fifth fast, etc...until I had run 6 songs total at a pace that felt just like the pace I run on the track for 800 repeats. I know that feeling well too. You feel good for about 200, and then somewhere in the next 200 your guts start to feel funny, and then toward the end you start to choke on your spit a little bit. At least that's how mine feel, and so that's what I went with. The best part of that workout was the Russian roulette of the random shuffle. 800 repeats will always be 3:00 - 3:15. Letting a song determine how long you have to run hard can mean committing to upwards of 4 minutes. Pray to the shuffle gods you don't get Free Bird.

And then there's the crucial long run. Last year's seven 20+er's culminated with a "practice" marathon at Ocean Drive in Cape May the last Sunday in March. I remember most of my long runs leaving me hobbling last year, but this run was the straw that broke the camel's back. I went from feeling fast and strong with tolerable pain to rendered nearly unable to run. I ran no more than 30 miles a week the whole month of April. I remember calling it my super taper. In reality it was my "oh my, I hope I can do this".

This morning's 20 miler was, like the rest of this week's training, a breath of fresh air. It was the end of what turned out to be my first 70+ mile week, and was faster than I had any business running at this point. I ran with a group of six for the first five miles and then my friend Chuck for the last fifteen, and while I struggled a bit toward the end, the company, as always, made the run not only bearable, but really fly by. And a little part of me would like to believe that the pace of this morning's run may have been made possible in part by the non traditional workouts working out. The good news however, is that for as mentally and physically challenging as parts of that twenty miles was - parts of all 71 miles this week actually - not one step of them was miserable.

Two years and twenty more miles...

Again a post written and not published for over a week. So please pardon the date discrepancies. Happy March!

Two years of marital bliss were celebrated last week with the annual trek to Martha's Vineyard to relax, eat, shop, and of course, run the MV 20 miler, the world's greatest race. Yes, I said it. WORLD'S GREATEST, as declared by me, this 22nd day of February 2012. They may now put it on the shirt if they'd like. Maybe it'll replace the very obviously missing no weenies stamp? Even freshly miffed over the boys and girls club royal f up of disregarding the no weenies emblem on finishers shirts (what were they thinking?!) you can't take the shirt out on the race, and that 20 miles is the best. EVER.

I took quite a few pictures on our trip (a milestone as I'm terrible about capturing memories), and so I'll keep my chat brief, and let the pictures do the talking for this post. In short, what I found this weekend was that I not only love, but really really like my husband a lot, that I'm blessed with great friends, that if bright painted fish speak to you then you should bring them home (my kitchen walls are crying that I didn't buy them), and that no number of miles run can counteract the food damage that island's insanely terrific fare inspires. And the race? Mike did us proud, 9th overall. My race was more choppy stride and survivor shuffle than a feat of graceful athleticism, but it was a 20 miler in the bank and I still enjoyed myself enough to pick up a pretty sea souvenir somewhere between miles seven and eight (pictured below).

I feel a little awkwardly smug posting such a gushing "ahh, isn't my life just so perfect! I just love my life!" post, so sorry about that. Life's also heavily reliant on perspective, and though I ran literally 40 whole seconds a mile slower for 20 whole miles (that comes out to 14 minutes for those of you keeping track), and spent minutes of our trip being upset about my run, I had to let it go and realize that at least my bad long run happened in beautiful surroundings. Nothing's ever perfect of course, but our time together on that island every year is pretty close.

We caught the ferry in daylight this year, and so got a sunset run in on the island....

Race morning...Mike and I were bibs #2 and #1, and Julie and I (both in blue if you can pick us out) both made the Martha's Vineyard Times Sunday morning in the race start photo.

A mile 7 souvenir...it was prettier before I broke the bottom trying to cram it into the little pocket in the back of my running shorts around mile 12...but once I'd carried it for 13 miles I became attached. This could be why we have so many cats?...

Our MV 20 miler weekend crew...

And the view that's so hard to say goodbye to every year...

Until 2013...may the MV Boys and Girls Club come to their senses....VIVA LA "NO WEENIES"!

Using hand dryer as hair dryer: faux pas?

I actually wrote this two, almost three now:/, weeks ago, but never proofread and posted, and then got sidetracked. Happy reading, spandex flaunting, and inappropriate rest room using my fellow runners!

I remember the days (they weren't all too long ago) when my curly hair and I dreaded swimming events and humidity. When I wouldn't have imagined leaving the house in lounging clothes, or without makeup. The days when the only lounge clothes I owned was a pair of sweats I'd bought from a school basketball fundraiser, two pair of cotton gym shorts, and a pile of marching band tshirts.

I knew people in those days who tromped around in their scruffy lounge clothes, and I envied them. I envied even more the people with the trendy lounge clothes; cute jogging pants and hoodies, hair in a pony. For me, even after laboring over clothes and crazy frizzy hair and face paint for far too long, I would still feel self conscious out and about. Which is, no doubt, why I not only noticed what others were out in, but envied their confidence in themselves.

And then one August day, there I was. Dressed in cotton shorts, a marching band tshirt, the only pair of sneakers I owned (that really weren't running appropriate and left horrific blisters on my achilles) drenched in my own sweat. I had on no makeup, or if I had at some point that day it had long since melted off and run down. And what was worse - I was standing next to the cutest boy I'd ever met. It was my high school nightmare. It was my 26 year old "content to be a cat lady band teacher but at least I'm going to be a thin and fit one lost my ability to give a hoot" happy reality.

The cute boy stuck around, (and has told me since that he hates make up and doesn't understand why women 'paint their faces'), and so did my happy reality. And I gained confidence. Rare is the day I feel those all too familiar from the past pangs of self consciousness, and the feeling of contentedness in self and life is bliss.

But will I know when I've crossed the line? The line that separates a secure sense of self from total lack of regard for others' opinion of you. The filter that screams "self confidence!" vs "socially unacceptable!"

Because I think I may have. This past Sunday. In a public restroom.

Due to snow, the county band concert I had to attend with students and direct during was rescheduled from Saturday afternoon to Sunday afternoon. Refusing to miss my Sunday long run with the Triple Cities group, I set out my winter long run clothes and packed up my dress clothes and toiletries on Saturday night without giving the whole situation a second thought.

I got in 19 with "the group" though really Emily and I ran alone for all but literally a couple of tenths of a mile early on. The temperature never reached double digits, and some of our miles were, we realized, the slowest the two of us have ever run together, but it was another great run in the bank, and I enjoyed every step.

After the run, I ate my breakfast and then made a break for the public restroom where I proceeded to change into my concert outfit in a stall, and then wash my face and hair in the sink, mousse my hair, dry my hair under the hand dryer (I had my blow dryer but there were no outlets), spray and pin my hair, and lightly paint my face. In the swinging door sweaty, salty and just minutes post frost beard, back out the swinging door in less than 10 minutes ready to direct a band and greet parents and students.

Oh the looks those 10 minutes held.

Now, Wegman's is the upper echelon of grocers in the area, but I didn't get the sense the clientele giving me looks was being snobby. Just genuinely aghast at the woman with her head stuck under the hand dryer.

Fleeting pang of that old insecurity and self doubt. Fleeting, but enough to get me thinking about how many borderline socially inappropriate things I do in my runner life.

I wear spandex everywhere in the winter. On my run and then into the grocery store, the post office, through the halls of my high school (where little to none of my running wardrobe meets the dress code).

I think nothing of spitting or snot rockets regardless of who I'm running with or who I'm running by.

I've given up makeup but for the lightest bit, and it seems unfathomable to me that I was ever self conscious about my hair, with whose out of control-ness I've fallen in love. The way I figure it, you really can't mess up what's going on up there unless you try too hard.

The thing is, I remember how exhausting those self conscious, hair straightening, makeup applying, fashion fussing days were. And how unhappy they often were. And so, while running may have led me to using that hand dryer as a hair dryer, it also led me to yet another wonderfully fulfilling and happy Sunday, and I'll take those at the cost of a few funny looks any day.

Fuel

Enough about me. About how many miles run (though for the record it was 61.7 last week - my first 60+ mile week since March 2011...and it felt WONDERFUL), about how many yards swam (*gulp - zero), about how many minutes biked (*cough zilch cough*). This week's post (which I realize is five days late as per the New Year's Res) is dedicated to what I've been relying on (and enjoying in the process) to fuel the miles. And soon, I assure you, to fuel swim yardage, and cycling minutes in a serious way as well.

Granola

3 C oats

1 C almonds

1/2 C maple syrup

1/4 C coconut oil

1/4 C honey

1/2 C sunflower seeds

....because that's what I had in my cupboard.

* makes 20 servings of 1/4 C each at 120 cal

I toasted it for close to an hour at 200, stirring it every 10 - 15 minutes. It is delicious. The coconut oil gives it wonderful flavor. I'd eat it plain with milk six times a day, but granola, while nutritious, is calorie packed. So I've been using it as a garnish atop my yogurt and blueberries (I picked and froze about a million blueberries this summer...or at least I hope as many as I need to get us through until next July:). I may occasionally (while cooking dinner, or just before bed) pop dry handfuls of it in my mouth because it's so tasty. Possibly.

Cookies I made up! And they taste good!

1/4 C butter

1/4 C coconut oil

2/3 C brown sugar

1 egg

1 C wheat flour

1/4 C cocoa

baking soda (sprinkle)

vanilla (quick pour)...in my opinion, why dirty the cute the tsp/Tbsp measurer thingy?...

1 C slivered almonds (because I found them in the back of my cupboard when I cleaned it out)

1 C semi-sweet chocolate chips (...in the same cleaning I found a half used bag).

*recipe makes 30 cookies @ 90 calories each

Bake on 375 for 8 minutes. They are tasty and wonderful. Don't get me wrong, they're still atrocious for you...they're cookies;) But I feel a little better about them, and even if there's nothing astoundingly more nutritionally sound about them, I made them up and we (yes, even Mike, who is a tough guy to please in cookie world when you're not his mother:), enjoy them.

Quiche

8 eggs

1 C skim milk

4 oz shredded cheese - whatever kind is in the fridge

vegetables - again, whatever is on hand. This week it was broccoli that needed to be used.

jiffy pie crust.

* makes 4 servings at 300 cal each

I make mine in 4 mini souffle dishes. Line each w/ pie crust, sprinkle 1 oz of cheese and the pre-cooked vegetable to the bottom and cover with 1/4 of the milk/egg mixture. Baked for 35 - 40 min at 400, the two of us have dinner that night, and lunch the next day. I completely realize that my take on "quiche" is incredibly generic, but what a fun word to call "eggs and other stuff in a cute little crust" that provides good protein punch.

Those have been my favorite three things recently, though there's been a lot of kitchen creation going on here in Camptown. Winter always gives me the cooking and baking bug, but unfortunately this fall gifted me five pounds I'd like to shed. *sigh. What a terrible, horrible, unthinkable realization it is to come to that it is possible to run 50, 55, 60 mile weeks for weeks on end and still need to watch calories. I only started running five years ago as a means to lose weight, and as strongly as the running stuck to me, the weight shed off. That said, this isn't the first time I've had the scale wake up call and it will unfortunately not be the last. And so I've been calorie watching, and actually remember how much healthier it makes me to keep myself accountable to portion sizes and nutritional information.

Okay, this post still ended up being all about me. Sorry. But we're 30 from the Martha's Vineyard 20 miler (my FAVORITE event of the year, and our two year wedding anniversary) and I'm up 3 lbs (the calorie awareness has shed 2 of autumn's nasty little buggers so far) from wedding day weight. I'm thinking that with a little food conscientiousness, and a few more good weeks of running mileage, I can hopefully do my joints the favor of a little less weight baring down with every step by then. And I intend to enjoy every step and bite along the way!

The enormous pain in my butt.

Last week was long and tough. School was crazy, jumping back into the pool left my arms sore, jumping into a 10K was a cruel reminder that fitness doesn't just reappear overnight and that I've got a lot of work to do, and no matter how much I run, bike, swim, and watch what I eat, the scale just won't let go of the Christmas cookie and fudge grudge its holding. The week's biggest bummer, however, was the pain in my butt. It's a Trek speed concept 7.0 that is sitting on a trainer in my living room. More specifically, it's the saddle that sits on the bike.

My life cup is really 99.99999% full, so I'll focus on the good before going into negative nancy mode.

Last week was the mothership of running company. I ran with a crew after school Thursday and again this afternoon, and Saturday's January freeze 10K in all its balmy mid 40's wonder brought people out of the woodwork, giving me lots of familiar faces throughout the race. The sixteen of us (yes, 16!) tromping out of the Wegman's parking lot at 7:30am yesterday on our way to get anywhere from 10 - 20 miles in was the icing on the cake. I got 16 in, a miracle feat that would not have been possible without the fabulous Emily PT and Chuck H! Sixteen people, (seventeen, actually, once we picked up Stephen M around 1.5 miles), who love to run so much that they'll get out of their warm beds on a Sunday morning to don the running tights, hats, and gloves, and run mile after mile after mile into the January elements. I've said it before, and I was reminded again this weekend - gee I love runners!

I got back into a swimming routine last week too, and though it left me sore, I feel like it was a good start. 5000 yds over three sessions. I'm still completely rotten at swimming, but I felt really good about what I did, and I feel like, with hard work, I have a lot of potential to get stronger and faster. Here's hoping anyway.

Our dishwasher had a moment, throwing a wrench into my "keep a cleaner house" plan, as the kitchen (where we enter the house) was a bit chaotic, but we have been eating healthy, nutrient rich meals. I think I'm slowly becoming a part time vegetarian too, but that's another post. In other food news, thanks to Ashley M (blogger, runner, and new mom) blogging about coconut oil, I picked some up and it has revolutionized my homemade granola! So while the scale may insist on being a wench, at least I feel like there are lots of vitamins and nutrients mingling with the holiday gorging fat cells in there.

Now the butt pain. The P.I.T.A. if you will. The plan was M W F 5:30 - 6:30am on the trainer. With Spinervals Louisville KY is all ramped up in the xbox ready to inspire me, Monday I rode. Yep. I rode Monday. That's it. Just Monday. Because that one hour left the innards of my sit bones tore up from the floor up. It wasn't just "a little uncomfortable" to get back on the saddle on Wednesday, it was unbearable! And I fancy myself quite pain tolerant. So, a trip to the bike shop is definitely in order, but if anyone reading has any advice, please do share! I switched out the original bike saddle (which nearly rendered me maimed for life in the nether regions) for an adamo which served me well all fall (training rides, tour de shunk, Syracuse 70.3). Maybe it was not getting out of the saddle at all that morning? Maybe it was because I haven't ridden in forever and I just need to build saddle stamina? Maybe I sit on the bike wrong? All I do know is that we're not going to make it through an ironman together unless we mend ways soon.

I'm giving it another shot and hoping the biking goes better this week. I'd also like to get my weekly running mileage up to the 55 - 60 range - a much more attainable goal. I mean, after all, running is like riding a bike to me...oh, wait...

Hope you all enjoy a pita free week!

The 7 month count down

...or 200 days if you will. Yes, just 4,800 measly little hours (give or take) separate me from the starting line of Lake Placid. 28 weeks. And a whole lot of running, swimming, and biking.

For New Year's I resolved to keep a cleaner house, eat less meat and more local, blog every Monday, and do my best to dig real deep and find my inner A type in an effort to be more organized and get more done. 40 hours later, our house is clean(ish), I'm blogging on a Monday!(late night and will probably post Tuesday morning), and I ate local pig for dinner last night. Summoning my inner A type personality however: like squeezing water from a rock. I had cleaned my band room one day over break, and thought that with a clean desk and newly organized room all things were possible. By lunch time, piles that only I understand (but that in my defense I can always find anything in) a bazillion tiny to do post it notes lining my computer screen, and the dust of chicken feed (that's a long story, but suffice it to say that I do not own chickens) on my right pant leg. Ah well.

In the hopes I'll stick to my Monday blogging resolution, this should be the last entry until July that I have to summarize numerous weeks in one post. It's been a fun filled and (phew, I am still a runner!) running filled five weeks.

With the month of December came the resurrection of a little more serious mileage, and it felt great. Tough at first, but great. Knowing I had to start training in all three disciplines come January, I focused on getting back to my usual runner self in December. 50 and change mile weeks, 204 for the month and I feel back on track. The best part of the running month was undoubtedly the Sunday morning long run company. I've missed those group long runs so much, and had forgotten how much easier and more enjoyable long runs are with friends. Two 15's and a New Year's day 14 with great company. And while I well know the bridge from 15 miles to 20+ is vast, those longer runs felt so good I feel excited to train hard again and ready to tell Boston 2012 to bring it.

December was a relaxing month, and quite possibly the most I've ever enjoyed Christmas. I baked, I canned jam, I ran alone, I ran with friends, I read, I spent time with family, and between winter band concerts, holiday parties, and holiday shopping, I found time to relax.

All in preparation for what 2012 was going to bring, and seeing as I'm tired on Monday, January 2nd, it could be a long, long, road to July.

The plan is simple for January. Just get back into it all. I was on the indoor trainer for an hour this morning, and plan to do just that every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and for another 2 hours on Saturday or Sunday. If I gain nothing more than saddle stamina this month I'll feel as though it was successful. Swimming will happen the only time it can here in kudda janta khan - come hell or high water I will be in the Elk Lake pool each of the three days a week it is open this month. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday nights, you'll know where to find me. So scared am I of the swim and not being prepared that if I miss one of those three nights I'm vowing to make it up at Owego or Vestal on the weekend. And then run.

And run.

And run some more.

Ironman training plans always call for minimal (in my opinion) running. We'll see how long it takes for me to change my tune, but I don't want to have to sacrifice running mileage to train for this ironman. I'm sure I'm the one who's wrong, and I'd be best served to run less and bike and swim more, but running makes me happiest. And if you're unhappy, what's the point? With that - Happy 2012 everyone!