In which TST writes a blog post and realizes she sounds a little bit like a crazy be-yatch.

Miles:  12

Pace:  8:48

Friends saved from heart attack:  1 (you’re welcome, Thompson; I accept gratitude payments in wine)

Today is Thursday, which I have long-since declared to be my running day, yet have failed to actually make it so since Napa.  I forced myself to skip the boxing gym this morning and make good on my plan to cycle through 8, 10, and 12 mile runs.  I chose 12 miles today because I ordered a bunch of smaller sized clothing online this week for a conference I have next month.  I would like them to fit when they arrive tomorrow.  It was somewhat easier to skip boxing this week due to the maiming of my hands that occurred almost two weeks ago during approximately 45 minutes of throwing power right crosses at the mitts.  They are nearly healed, but still scabbed over and it still hurts to punch with my right hand.   (A time lapse progression of my gross hands follows.)

(This is what my hand looked like when I took my wraps on Friday the 13th.  Fitting, no?)

(A couple days later.  Still waiting for real scabs to form.)

(One week out.  Scabs are there, which is nice for protecting the knuckles, but they have a nasty habit of getting caught on things)

(10 days out.  I finally realized I had no choice but to wrap my knuckles in gauze very dramatically to keep my scabs from ripping off every time I reached into my purse.  Sadly, there is no other way to bandage a knuckle.)

It was hard to push myself to go fast when I’m not actively training for a marathon.  Yes, I am training for a triathlon, but the running part is only 10K.  It is not stressing me out.  The swim stressed me out a little bit, but I got myself a day pass to 24 Hour Fitness last Sunday and swam 1600 meters to prove to myself I could.  It took me just under 50 minutes (alternating freestyle and breast stroke with each lap).  It was monotonous, but not hard.  My shoulders screamed at me the next day, but I am now confident I can swim 1600 meters.  This weekend I’ll hop on a bike to prove to myself I can still ride one.  But back to today’s run.  I decided I’d like to do sub-9:00 miles, thinking that would be easy.  It was harder than I expected.  Lack of motivation may have factored in.  My run was uneventful, but since I need to develop some content for this blog, I’ve come up with the following three events.

• I had to stop and wait to cross a major street.  While I was waiting, a less-fit appearing man chugged up to the same stoplight, but across the street from me (running parallel).  When the light changed, I jogged across the intersection and saw that he took off faster than me.  The HELL?  Running has taught me you cannot judge a runner by his or her body type – a lesson I routinely ignore when people run faster than I do.  I also have a running mantra that I use when people pass me early in a race and I am tempted to speed up: “Run your race, TST [of course, I use my real last name because I do not call myself TST in my head].  Run your race, TST.  Run your race, TST . . . ”  Since I was less than 3 miles into my run, I decided I was not going to race this man.  He was probably running a much shorter distance, or alternating walk breaks, or . . . “Run your race, TST.  Run your race, TST.  Run your – oh, eff it!  He is NOT GOING TO BEAT ME!”  I totally smoked him. 
•  At about 6:15 am, I ran past Thompson’s house.  I considered banging on her door and saying hi.  Then I realized she probably sleeps normal human sleeping hours and banging on her door this early might give her a heart attack.  I kept running because I like her and do not want her to have a heart attack.
• I stopped at my boxing gym 6.65 miles into the run (dangerously close to 6.66, I know).  I said hi to a couple friends, took a salt pill, and refilled my water.  Then I saw that a new guy TOOK MY BAG.  Let me back up.  I have boxed on the same heavy bag for the last 3-4 years.  It is my bag.  It is marked with my blood, sweat, and tears (okay  . . . sweat).  I let it slide when New Guy used my shower room a few weeks ago (not bothering to remove the clothes I had in there, which prevented me from using the other shower room).  But this is beyond the pale.  When my hand heals, I will request a sparring session.  No, I was not boxing today.  But that doesn’t matter.  It’s like he peed on my fire hydrant!

I finished my uneventful run with no further concerning events.  I did forget that the sun comes up much earlier these days and spent the last 3ish miles running directly into the bright sun because I forgot sunglasses.  I miss winter already. Husband #1 drove by with Daughters #1 and 2 at 11.5 miles.  He honked and waved.  He later told me I looked "strong."  I did not feel strong at that point, but looks are what matter, amiright?

Mo Jo: Athena Division--Say What?

Run: 3 miles
Pace: FASTER THAN TST. Oh, yeah. (Explanation below--I know, you think I took her knee out Tonya Harding style)
Athena Division Jokes: Many

TST invited me and another friend, Thompson, to Pinetop for a leisurely weekend of wine, Scattergories, and training. We are competitive, if dirty-minded, Scattergories players. In case you are unfamiliar with Scattergories, you have to come up with words that start with a certain letter (selected by a roll of the die) that fit a phrase. For example, if the phrase is "cosmetics/toiletries," and you have the letter "R," then both Revlon and rouge are acceptable answers.

I have instituted a "no adjective" rule after what is known as the "jumping puppies" incident of 2011, in which a certain player who shall remain nameless argued that this phrase was acceptable for animals starting with the letter J. You can see from this rule that I am a ton of fun to play games with.

On our way to a healthy and light meal at the local Mexican restaurant, TST and I talked about our recent triathlon entry form, which had given us the option of competing in the "Athena" division. For this particular race, it means you weigh more than 150 lbs for women. TST, of course, did not qualify, but I did. May I just say right now I am 5'9? 150+ pounds does not seem like a gigantic amount to weigh for a tall woman. Plus, the male version is the Clydesdale. Thompson and TST pointed out that this sounds like a gigantic man clomping along. At least the Athena sounds tall, glistening, and glam. Like a goddamn goddess, not a Budweiser horse. Athenas also get to order the combination plate and beef tamales if they want to.

TST had Daughter #1 and Daughter #2 with her, so on Saturday morning, she packed the kids, Thompson, me, and two bikes into the car and we went to the lake so her kids could bike along the trail. She has described in this blog her methodology: the eight-year-old bikes ahead with TST for a little bit, then TST sprints back to the four-year-old who is peddling slowly but steadily along, then she runs back to the older kid, and so on. I got to encounter this first-hand. Thompson and I were doing a normal-pace jog along the lakeside trail when TST, who had been ahead of us with Daughter #1, came flying by us at a sprint to Daughter #2. Thompson and I appreciated each other's pace at that moment.

Thompson and I jogged around the lake. I was feeling chatty.

Me: "Oh, look at the reeds."
Thompson: "Mmm."
Me: "Guess what song this is on my phone? Bass bass bass bass."
T: "Hmm."
Me: "I wonder if I should get a Vitamix."
T: [silence]

Thompson was focused and probably trying to shake me, but I was feeling strong and kept up. "Guess what song is on now?"

We got back to the beginning (it is a one-mile loop) and Thompson said, "What should we do now?" I said, "We go around again!" Thompson declined, opting to walk in the relative silence. So I ran around by myself and encountered TST, who was doing box jumps onto a park bench. She explained that having to push Daughter #2 up hills had killed her pace time and she was running 11-minute miles. I had been running in the mid-tens and decided this was the ONE AND ONLY time I was going to have a pace faster than TST, so I am telling you all about it here. Yes, I had been running flat out and she'd been taking burpee breaks, but that is of no matter, none.

Anyway, I had the Athena Division in my head. WTF, Athena Division? Who set this arbitrary weight anyway? Apparently it is not, as I first thought (in a possibly reactionary way), meant to shame the athletes. According to Runner's World, weight categories offer another change for people to place and make the races more accessible. The article says:

In running, we know that weight does make a difference. The body supplies oxygen and energy to working muscles, so the lighter the load, the better.... within reason, of course. If you took two runners, identical in all physiological aspects except their weights, odds are that the lighter runner would finish with a faster time than the heavier runner. There are formulas that predict how much time a runner can pick up in a race by dropping weight, especially over the marathon distance. In that sense, you could refer to weight as a "handicap" of sorts, perhaps similar to a handicap in golf, bowling, or even bridge.

My golf handicap is pretty high, too.

Being heavier = more challenging workouts is no big shock. The first third of Matt Fitzgerald's "Racing Weight" could be summed up as follows: Lean people run faster. Got it. Or, there is a different way to think of it (supplied by Coach): Skinny people are cheating.

Or perhaps there is another way to think of it: Athena could be considered an adjective, depending on the usage. It violates my no-adjective rule. And as it is in Scattergories, so it is in life. :)

TST Slacks

Swims:  0

Bike rides:  0

Runs:  Eh.

I had a plan.  I was going to keep doing one longish run per week after my marathon, alternating 8, 10, and 12 miles each Thursday in a 3-week cycle until my next marathon training season begins.  Of course the Thursday after my marathon, I justifiably skipped the run and went to boxing instead (oh, how I missed punching things!).  It was okay, though, because my friend KO Kennedy talked me into doing a hilly 15K that Sunday.  I kind of killed it with an 8:22 average pace (killed it for me, anyway).  I really really really needed a good race after my disappointing marathon time.  I then intended to jump back into my long runs the following Thursday.  But the week after that I knew I’d be up in the mountains for my kids’ spring break, which meant no boxing for 10 days!  So I skipped Thursday’s run in favor of kick boxing.  It was about this time that Mo Jo proposed we do a triathlon.  In my head, I was like “Sure!  Of course I can do an Olympic distance tri.”  What I should have been thinking is “you haven’t been on a road bike in years and you don’t have access to a pool, dummy.”

So now, here I am up in the mountains.  Just me and the girls.  I have to be very creative to get workouts in.  For instance, here is my track workout:

1.  Run four laps, play one game of red light/green light.
2.  Run four laps, play two games of red light/green light.
3. Run four laps while ignoring children screaming at each other, play three games of red light/green light.
4.   Run four laps, keeping an eye on the maintenance guy who has suddenly showed up at the track, play four games of red light/green light (mediate dispute over who gets to call the game).
5. Run four laps while maintenance guy turns on a couple sprinklers and kids go nuts because . . . WATER!  Sprint to Daughter #1’s Kindle to ensure it is out of range of water.  Play Simon Says. 

 And here is my lake trail workout:

1. Put girls on bikes and start the 1-mile loop around the lake. 
2. Keep up with Daughter #1 for 100 meters, then run back to Daughter #2 so she knows you’re not leaving her.
3. Repeat sprint, double back pattern while trying to talk Daughter #2 out of taking a break at every park bench.
4. When you can no longer persuade Daughter #2 to keep pedaling, stop at park bench and use it for burpees, push-ups, and box (bench?) jumps.
5. Let girls take a break at the top of a short, but steep, hill.  Run 5 hill sprints.    (I got 1.75 miles and dozens of jumps/burpees/pushups out of a one mile trail.) 
6. Take girls to play ground and squat jump across sand, lunge back.  Ignore other parents staring at you.

Finally, when all other options are exhausted, I’ve binge-watched The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt while running on the treadmill.  I can only make it about 30 minutes per treadmill session because IT IS THE MOST EVIL OF ALL EVIL TORTURE DEVICES.   So I have to break it up into multiple sessions per day.  What do you think, should I write a book about balancing kids and workouts?  Yeah, probably not. 

(Not even Kimmy Schmidt can make this fun!)

Through this, I have managed to get about 4-5 miles in per day, plus whatever hiking the girls and I do.  This will not keep me in marathon shape.  Nor will it help me train for an Olympic tri.  But it is only a week.  And Shoe Killer has nicely offered to let me use her road bike.  I just need to figure out how to clip in.  This means I will need to buy clip in shoes.  Add that to the hideous tri suit I’ll need to buy and this is turning in to quite the investment.  Mo Jo, I hope you’re ready to do a bunch more triathlons so I can get my money's worth out of this gear!

Mo Jo: Mo Jo Eats Everything

Run: 5 miles (Sat), 5.5 miles (Tuesday)
Swim: 1300 meters (Sat), 1500 meters (Mon)
Bike: 18 miles (Sun), 12 miles (Tuesday)
Calories eaten: 9,243,265

Training has begun. Here's my main thought so far: what else can I eat? I'm not used to working out like this, and body has decided we are on a death march and wants very much to preserve my, um, curves.

One mistake people make when they start exercising for weight loss is pigging out afterward because they feel they have earned it. (I was going to find an article to support that, but got lazy. Just trust me.) So you burn 300 calories, and then you eat an extra smoothie or a delicious Mexican pizza from Taco Bell, and boom, you are no longer in a calorie deficit.

I never really had trouble with this concept while I was running. But put me in a pool, and I come out like a building-eating Godzilla in a pink swim cap. What is it about swimming that makes you immediately need sandwiches?

So, enough about sandwiches, and back to training. Swimming, as previous posts have pointed out, is hard. I can run six miles no problem, but one length of the pool tends to have me panting on the edge. But this time I have some help. Coach meets me at the pool and observes me swim freestyle. I'm not going to say it isn't weird having a man observe me swim while I'm wearing a bathing suit, as I'm shy about things like my bottom, but on the other hand I'm sort of over it, and that is one of the great things about being over 40. One gets over certain things.

So, I freestyle down the pool and come up gasping, as usual, and here is where he changes my life. "You're kicking like crazy and it isn't moving you down the pool. It's just making you tired."

Lights shine down from the heavens. A choir sings. It's an a-ha moment.

I'm KICKING too hard. No wonder I can't get across one length of the pool without wanting to collapse from oxygen deprivation. I'm flutter kicking like mad. It's like I'm trying to sprint through a marathon. I TOTALLY get it.

There are about 500 other things wrong with my stroke but seriously, the kicking comment changed my life. I could suddenly go up and down and up and down the pool and still have air. Now I had the oxygen to worry about things like how my arms entered the water, keeping my body long like a ship, and breathing like a pirate and saying "Arr." (Coach teaches kids.) And when I got back in the pool on Monday, it felt much, much, much easier.

One thing though: ill-fitting goggles, contacts, and chlorine appear to be a very bad combo. I have to figure out what to do here, and fast, before blindness comes. Also my goggles have caused the side of the bridge of my nose to swell. It is a tiny spot on my face that I admit I have never paid adequate attention to. Now I am.

As for biking, I met my friend Dig for a ride on Sunday at her house. She immediately proved herself a good cycling buddy by showing me how to put the front wheel back on my bike. I had managed to forget how to put the bike carrying device (what are those things called??) on the car, so I just took the wheel off and threw it in the back. Then, uh, things got complicated when the wheel refused to go back on. But Dig is competent at bikes and solved the problem, nimbly retrieving all the parts I had dropped into her yard and assembling them back into a bike with two wheels.

We rode through Tempe and through Papago Park and then into Scottsdale. It was really a beautiful ride. I was following Dig mostly so I would remember to take my clips out of my pedals at intersections. I really did not want to tip over into the path of a car or something. And then, of course, with all my fear of clipping in and falling, poor Dig fell over. We had been talking on the sidewalk planning our route, and she clipped in and began to go when a cyclist came flying around the corner and startled her. She had one of those slow-speed tip-overs and got a lovely bruise on her hip. She says her career plans to be a nude model are temporarily on hold.

But, being a tough cookie, she got back up and started riding again to finish the ride. 18 miles down. And then? Time for LUNCH.

Mo Jo: We Become Olympians (i.e., olympic-distance triathletes)

Distance: Five miles
Pace: Moderate
Confidence level: Way out of whack

You may recall, loyal reader of ROW, that back in June 2014--nine months ago--TST and I confidently told the world we were going to do a triathlon.

Then we didn't.

We tried. We both got in the pool. I got my bike adjusted and got the cool clip-on shoes. We ran, per usual. But we just didn't sign up for anything. In the meantime, TST ran her second marathon and did lots of other cool things, and I got busy and got the flu and got unmotivated and otherwise did NOT do a second marathon.

After I got the flu, I was sick for two weeks and then was convalescing for another three. I tried to go back to running, mostly because Coach is a nag and won't let me quit forever, but I would run a quarter mile and want to DIE. I felt like I was back to square one. I had never run before ever. This sucked. My lungs hurt. My feet were like lead. I was exhausted.

(I was, however, feeling super skinny because frankly, that flu was kind of awesome.)

Last week I did a wretched, complaint-laden three-and-a-half miles, telling Coach weakly around mile two, "Just go on without me (whimper)." He did, scampering off like he'd been freed of a slow, whiny albatross. Two days later I did a slow four by myself, and then on Sunday I did six. And today I did five and felt JUST FINE.

I'm back, bitches!

So in a burst of feeling fit, I looked up some races and found a triathlon about a month away. I emailed TST to see if she wanted to do it, and she said (of course, because she is awesome and up for anything), sure. "Do you want to do the sprint or olympic distance?" she asked.

Sprint distance is a 400-meter swim, a 12-mile bike ride, and a three-mile run. Olympic is a 1600-meter swim, a 24-mile bike ride, and a six-mile run.

"Olympic," I said. Note that I have swam exactly 0 meters since June, but hey, I am feeling pretty good. I looked up some training plans, and they seem to think one has 16 weeks to train. Where is the four-week plan, I wondered? Eh, I'll just wing it.

So we're on for the next challenge! Keep an eye out for updates.

TST: Suffering Is Optional (Alternate title: Let It Go)

Distance:  26.2

Pace:  11:06

Official time:  Yes, this  time I got one.  4:50:47.

Wineries visited:  4

This morning, I woke up at a beautiful B&B in Napa.  Then Husband #1 and I hopped in the rental car and drove to Sacramento, where we boarded a plane to Vegas to collect our children (who were staying with grandma and grandpa).  Now I am typing this on the drive from Vegas to Phoenix.  Longest travel day ever!  Two days ago, I ran my second marathon. 

Husband #1 and I arrived in Napa a little before noon on Saturday.  We stopped at the race expo to get my bib and ridiculously awesome retro swag.  It wasn't like the big races I'd done in the past.  It was a small gathering of people who looked like serious runners.  At the expo, I realized I had forgotten my gels and my salt pills (they were unhelpfully sitting in the trunk of my car in Vegas).  I found some Gus, but no salt pills.  No worries, we found a pharmacy, where I bought 2 liters of Pedialyte and some electrolyte gummies. 

(This bag should play "Eye Of The Tiger" on a non-stop loop.)

 (Pedialyte:  Not just for vomiting toddlers.)

We checked in to our B&B, where we were greeted with a chocolate truffle and complimentary glass of bubbly.  Yeah, the marathon was less than 24 hours away.  But a glass is fine.  We went to lunch and, of course, I had to have a glass of refreshing rose.  It is Napa, after all.  Upon returning from lunch, our B&B host informed us there would be a wine reception in the wine cellar at 5:30.  It would have been impolite to say no to that.  We joined the other guests to sample some local favorites with the other guests (one of whom called cabernet “the Taylor Swift of wine” because every week they come out with a new one – puh-leaze!).  We ate an early dinner at a highly-rated Italian restaurant for some pre-race carb loading.  And you know what?  I am pretty sure the Romans made it a cardinal sin to eat gnocchi without a glass of red wine.  Okay, so over the course of a day I drank more wine than I intended before a marathon.  I also downed a liter of Pedialyte, though, so I feel like they canceled each other out. 

(Mmmmm . . . pasta and (fermented) grapes.)

I slept really well up until about 3:30 am when I started having nightmares about oversleeping.  Husband #1 drove me up to the start (stopping for a latte on the way) in Calistoga before the sun came up.  I couldn’t find my electrolyte gummies, but didn’t look too hard because I figured the Pedialyte would carry me.  I would come to regret that decision.  The start line was dark and cold.  I found the porta potty and then begged my way onto a school bus to escape the chill.  I sat there with a handful of other chilled runners, all of whom were expecting to qualify for Boston.  This was a small race full of serious runners.  I didn't see a single person in costume.  I kind of had to pee again, but couldn’t bring myself to leave the bus.  Another mistake I’d regret.

(It is the perfect shirt for the race and for this blog, but not for the weather.)

The sun came up and we started soon after.  I had one bluetooth earbud hidden under my headband (which I was so happy to have for ear warmth!) playing at the lowest volume possible.  There were no corrals, so I headed toward the rear of the pack, not wanting to be run over by all the fast runners I’d seen wandering about.  Miles 1 through 7 were dreamy.  I kept 9:45 to 10:00 miles over stunning rolling hills.  My “Run Now Wine Later” shirt was a hit with the few, but devoted and enthusiastic, spectators.  Then my bladder told me I had to take a break.  Damn.  Should’ve gotten off that bus.  There was a porta potty at mile 7.  I lost 4 minutes waiting in line.  It was okay, though.  I was still well on pace to run a 4:20 or better if I could give a good finishing kick.  Then the wheels fell off at mile 12.  My stomach cramped so badly that I was having flashbacks to childbirth.  I eased off the pace and eventually started incorporating walk breaks.  I drank water and Gatorade at every water station, but they never seemed to quench my thirst.  The nausea and cramping continued and I’ll simply say I stopped at more porta potties, which fortunately did not have 4 minute lines. 

I began to text Husband #1 on my walk breaks and make myself run as much as possible.  Husband #1 told me to take it easy because somebody had already collapsed at the finish line, which was scary.  (And yet, that person beat me by almost an hour . . . )  Around mile 23, I managed to figure out a slow jog that I could (mostly) sustain.  Although my abdominal pain was pretty awful, the rest of me felt good.  My legs weren’t tired and I could have easily maintained a conversation or given a State of the Union address.  People would see me walking and ask me if I was okay.  I would smile and say yes and they would reply, puzzled, “well you LOOK really strong still” polite enough to not continue “why the hell are you walking?”   Before I knew it, I was rounding the corner at mile 26  with only .2 to go.  Husband #1 had his phone out snapping photos, so I put on my best finishing smile and slowly jogged across the finish line, proud of myself for finishing in under 5 hours.  A very nice high school boy met me at the finish and told me how I looked “strong and ready to go back out there.”  Thanks, kid.  He personally escorted me to a water bottle, my medal (also fantastically retro), photo ops, and gave me detailed instructions on how to find the food and showers.

(". . . went the distance, now I'm back on my feet, just a man and his will to survive . . . ")

All I wanted was Pedialyte.  Fortunately, Husband #1 had it in hand when he met me.  I crumpled to the ground and sipped Pedialyte while I changed into flip flops.  My stomach started to ease when I got through half the bottle.  We walked to the car and by the time we got to the B&B, the Pedialyte was gone and my stomach was almost completely better.  Our well-appointed room had a jacuzzi tub, which I put to good use.  My legs were stiff, but pretty good and I was able to walk to a nearby brewery for lunch.  After a post-lunch nap, Husband #1 surprised me with a massage (the lady came to our B&B!).  We walked in to town for a delicious tapas dinner, where I almost fell asleep at the table. 

Overall, it was a good day.  I didn’t kill myself.  I didn’t forget my timing chip.  I didn’t lose any toe nails.  I ran through beautiful wine country.  It will surprise people who know me well that I am not depressed by my performance.  I could have had a better time, but it is what it is.  I didn’t hit the wall.  I didn’t fall short because of conditioning or injuries.  I made a stupid nutrition mistake that I will never repeat. My confidence is actually bolstered, not shaken. Haruki Murakami said “Pain is inevitable.  Suffering is optional.”   I ran 26.2 miles, 14 of them in pain.  I am not going to suffer by beating myself up over my finishing time.  There will be other marathons and I will run them faster.  My 20 mile training runs prove that I have faster marathons in me.  

Believe it or not, this has encouraged me to shoot for a 50K trail run.  When my stomach forced me to slow down and forget about pace, I was able to really enjoy my surroundings and my legs felt like I could go forever.  You can watch a YouTube video of the beautiful course here.  I realized I might really enjoy a race where the goal is to finish and I get to walk the uphills.  So next February I plan to do the Phoenix marathon with the goal of breaking 4 hours and then follow it up with the Crown King Scramble, a 50K trail run (with my only time goal being to beat the 9 hour course limit).

Monday after the marathon, Husband #1 and I went on a wine tasting tour.  Five people in our ten person group had run the marathon, two of them qualifying for Boston.  It was fun and I felt great (which confirms I didn't push my legs anywhere near as hard as I could).  We bought a bunch of wine, which led to my only true injury of the weekend -- a bruised arm from carrying a heavy box of wine through the airport.  

(The struggle is real, my friends.)