Sunday, February 8, 2015

Becoming

I've said it before, and I'll say it many times over: we are all in the process of becoming.

In 2007, I began the process of becoming healthy. (Also, divorced. Coincidence? I think not.)

In 1994, I began the process of becoming a college grad.

And a week from yesterday, on Valentine's Day (or as I like to call it, Independence Day), I will begin  the process of becoming a yoga instructor. (Disclaimer: I don't know if I will ever teach, but the training will surely take me deeper into my practice, and prepare me to share it, if I should choose to.)

The process of becoming is scary as hell, but so very essential. If you never grow - if you never become something you aren't today - aren't you mostly dead?

Go ahead. Do something that scares you. Something you're not sure you can do. Something you suck at, but you can learn from.

Dare yourself. What might you become?

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Training, x3

I would  be lying if I said I'm not intimidated as I registered for Yoga Teacher Training.

I would be lying if I said I'm prepared for the rigors of training for the Half I-Challenge, a 5K/half marathon combo I'm registered for at the end of April.

And I would be lying if I said I am confident I'll be ready for my do-over on all three triathlons.

And yet, that's the plan. Training for three separate things, all extremely important to me, all happening at the same time. It's going to require discipline, really careful planning, and plenty of sleep.

Not gonna lie: it's the sleep part I'm looking forward to the most.

Over the next six months or so, I'll do my best to chronicle the journey here. It's going to be scary as hell. But I also think it will be amazing. YTT starts February 7; it's time to buckle in and take the leap into 2015.

Sunday, January 11, 2015

2015

I ended 2014 pretty much the same way I ended 2013: frustrated with myself, having put on a suitcase full of holiday poundage. But there's one thing that's really different this time around:

I'm giving myself grace.

Am I disappointed? Yeah. But the truth is, before Thanksgiving I got sick, and it was two weeks before I was able to really work out again. So by the time I was able to get back on track, the holiday season was in full swing. Parties took precedence over training runs. Meeting girlfriends for a cocktail meant I wasn't necessarily tracking my intake. I got on the scale last week and it was pissed.

But it's okay. I know how it got there; I know how to take it off. And I'm honestly considering not worrying about it at all, because maybe what I need to do is gain muscle and quit concerning myself with the weight at all.

So this year, I have three goals:

  • One half marathon, in April. 
  • Yoga teacher training (which scares the piss out of me and has me SO EXCITED at the same time), running February - June.
  • Three triathlons (the same three as last year - Esprit de She, IronGirl, and the biggie - Chicago, at the end of summer).

Training for the half begins in earnest tomorrow. Tri training shortly after that. And yoga teacher training will be an ongoing pursuit, every Saturday for the front half of the year.

I'm not going to be crazy about logging calories (although I will do my best to eat wisely.) I'm not going to kill myself to get workouts in (because I don't exercise; I train). And I'm not going to give in to the shoulda/coulda/woulda that often comes with not taking the best care of myself. No, I'm just not going there. I'm simply going to take each day as it comes, doing the best I can. And I'll try to be a little better at updating the blog, because it really does help me to stay honest.

Stay tuned.

Sunday, November 9, 2014

The starting line

It all started with a text message to my friend Diane.

"Do you think," I asked, "that I could do that Hot Chocolate 5K thing in November?" It was late summer 2010, and I had an inexplicable wild hair. 

"Yes," my friend said, "you can absolutely do this, and I will help you." The next weekend found me out on my first-ever training run, panting, praying for sweet death, with Di running up ahead of me, talking the whole time in a manner that made me envious and hopeful. I registered for the race, not knowing what was about to happen.

I was inspired to try running by my sister Kathie. My sisters and I, we've never been particularly athletic, but I admired Kathie's gumption, and truth be told, I wanted some of my own. But I wanted something else, too. For years, I'd seen runners around town, doin' their thing. Solo, in groups, in the morning, at night ... I wanted what they had. I wanted that wind-in-your-hair freedom. I wanted to see if there was an athlete anywhere inside me. 

That first race took place on Kathie's birthday, and I will never forget watching her finish the race. While I ran the 5K, she ran the 15K, and I thought what she was doing was absolutely otherworldly. Hollering to her as she approached the finish line, I couldn't hold back the tears. 

I have never seen her look so strong. 

Today, I ran my fifth Hot Chocolate race. To date, I've run the 5K twice, and the 15K three times. Today's race wasn't my best time, but it wasn't my worst. I covered 9.3 miles at a pokey pace, and I finished in a little more than two hours and 15 minutes at a pace of 14:31 per mile. But contrast that with four years ago, when I ran 3.1 miles in 49:56, at a 16:05 minute mile. This is what progress looks like. 

But it's so much more than that. It's friendships forged, goals set (and occasionally crushed but often missed, yet celebrated anyway), breakfasts eaten, photos taken, challenges offered and confidence built.  It's the blisters and the black toenails, the smelly sports bras and the unmentionable chafing, and it's chasing something bigger than you are.

For a long time, I was chasing a sub-40 5K. For a lot of runners, that's incredibly slow, but for me, it's a huge accomplishment. And I've done it. Twice. Now I'm chasing a sub-35 5K, and a sub-3-hour half marathon and yeah, a sub-2 15K. And I'll get there, eventually.

But for tonight, I'm achey and accomplished. My feet are really pissed at me, and there is this raw spot where my trusty sports bra and I clearly did not see eye-to-eye. I'm ravenous and euphoric, not because I made it to the finish line.

No, this incredible feeling comes from believing in myself enough to make my way to the starting line, time and again, with the absolute knowledge that, one way or another, I will finish.

I am so grateful for the love and support of everyone in our tribe. May we only cease to run when our bones are too brittle to risk the impact. I love you with everything I am.

Monday, November 3, 2014

Ten kilometers

You learn a lot about yourself when you're running. If you let your mind move away from the pain in your hip flexors or the sound of your feet hitting the ground, you might discover some interesting things about yourself.

For instance, yesterday I learned that at about five miles, I get really really bored. Which was kinda not bad because yesterday I only had a total of 6.2 to run ... but it makes me a little scared for this weekend, when I have 9.3 to run and the last half is rather boring by design. (Because the lakefront path just doesn't do it for me anymore. Snob.)

Anyway, out there, feet propelling you forward ... if you're willing to go there, you can find out a lot about you. I got bored, yes. But out there, on the path to whatever, I've gone through all the emotions at one time or another. (PS, it's really hard to run when I get all seething angry, because I cry then, and running is not much possible when I'm also sobbing.) (PPS, not pretty; this is why I don't wear makeup when I work out.) I've been through all the feels while running. From blissful to hungry (rungry?) and everything in between, six miles is enough ground to work through it.

Feel it. Heal it. That's kinda where I'm at here. And a 10K is enough time to make some very real headway.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

The tri that almost wasn't


Sunday morning, August 24, started way too early for me. The night was a series of tossing and turning, and not much in the way of sleeping. I don't get much in the way of pre-race anxiety anymore, but I think it plagued me on Saturday night. At 3:15 a.m., my alarm went off. It was time to start my day.

I jumped into my tri clothes, acknowledged my screaming headache, swallowed some toast (thank you, Linda) and headed out the door with my backpack (packed with a wetsuit, goggles, timing chip, swim cap, running shoes, racecourse nutrition, socks, headband and sunglasses) and we were ready to go. (Our bikes were already on the car.) Off we headed, into the city.

We parked below Millennium Park and walked our bikes toward the lake. The world was dark and quiet; every awake human was also toting a bike. Triathletes are a different breed.

When we arrived at the transition area, one thing was clear: the rain had taken its toll. MUD. Everywhere. This wasn't going to be neat. Linda and I checked into transition (hers for the Olympic distance, mine for the sprint), got our stuff set up, and met back by the portalets. Because you always have to know where the bathroom is.

And before you really had a chance to think about it, it was time for Linda to grab all her stuff and head to the start line. It was 5:45 a.m., and race day waits for no one.

As we walked along the lake shore, one thing became obvious: the water was not calm.
Lake Michigan is not your friend.
Now, I'll be honest here. I wasn't entirely convinced I needed to do a tri today. My head was still pounding, and clearly the swim was not going to be easy. I walked to St. Arbucks to see if a little caffeine might help.

As I made my way back to the lake, the thought that occurred to me was, "Doing the tri probably isn't going to make you feel worse. But not trying will definitely make you feel worse." So I headed to transition, grabbed my wetsuit and other swim stuff (with only a few minutes left to spare) and made my way toward the start line.

Soon, it was my turn to jump in. When it was my wave's turn, the water felt great. I made the right decision to do the race. And then ... we started swimming.

SWEET JESUS, the water was awful. Choppy, wavy and full of seaweed. I'd get a face (literally) full of it, over and over. It clung to my arms and my feet and my everything. It was awful. I kept moving, hoping it would stop, and eventually - about a half mile later, when I got out of the water - I was free of it. 

That sucked. It took me 28:25 to finish. It shouldn't take me more than 20 minutes; certainly not more than 24. But there you have it; almost a damn half hour! Yikes.

In racing, there are four different levels to the Emergency Alert System - Green (good conditions), Yellow (conditions could take a turn), Red (it's looking like not a good day to race) and Black (we're shutting this sucker down). When I got into the water, it was green. As I got on the bike, I was told they had moved it to red; I was to proceed with caution. I briefly contemplated ending my race there.

And then I got on the bike. 

May I say, holy shit Lake Shore Drive is hilly! I had no idea there was that much elevation on LSD, but my legs sure felt it. The wind didn't help. It was a shitty, shitty 15 miles. I finished at a speed of 12.7 mph, contrasted with a usual 13.5 to 14.3 mph on other sprint courses. It took me over an hour and 10 minutes. And I still had to run.

Usually, by the time I get off the bike, my clothes have started to dry. Not on Sunday; nope, it was so humid, there was zero chance of anything being dry and comfortable. We were at 90-something-percent humidity, and it was time to begin running through a cloud. Supremely gross, and about to get grosser.

A 5K on the lakefront should be a glorious thing. Instead, it reduced me to a soggy bucket of flopsweat and lake water. But the only thing standing between me and a medal was 3.1 miles, so off I ran. It seemed to take forever.

It kinda did take forever. I would not be deterred. And finally, I crossed the finish line and got to put this beauty around my neck.
Medalicious.
This was one of those races. Since the moment I crossed the finish line, I've had mixed feelings. I'm proud that I finished. I'm even more proud that I started. And honestly, I wanted to quit about a dozen times during the race. I almost turned around early on the run, cheating and cutting my 5K short. No one would've know. Except me.

And I'm the only person I'm competing against, anyway. It's me against me out there. And while I'm not happy with my results, I'm happy with my refusal to give up.

There will come a day when I'm unable to do these things.

Today is not that day.

Thursday, August 21, 2014

My inner badass

I started this year saying I wanted to complete three triathlons this summer.

On Sunday, I will complete my third official sprint tri, although it will actually be the fourth time I've participated in an organized sprint swim-bike-run event. (One was a training event and not timed, but we had numbers and a transition area and everything!)

In 2012, when I did my first tri, I just wanted to finish and not die. I remember being scared to death, and I remember it taking for-freaking-ever to finish. I had a hand-me-down bike and I'd just learned to swim and hell ... I didn't even know how to be smart in transition.

That first year, I took two hours and 38 minutes to finish the "race." Last year, I shaved almost 20  minutes off my time, bringing it down to 2:18:27. This year, I accomplished the impossible by taking another 10 minutes off, coming in at 2:07:17.

A few weeks ago, I did another sprint. This one had a little bit shorter bike portion, so my time of 2:01:12 is as much an indication of a shorter course as it is a better time, but it's still a sprint, and it's still less time, so I'll take it.

And what all that means is, I'm chasing the two-hour mark. It's gonna be tough-to-impossible, though, because we're lookin' at a 15.25 mile bike, as opposed to 13.3 for the Esprit de She (June), and 12 for the Iron Girl (July). However, I wouldn't bet against me.

So that's the big goal: finish under two hours. It's a stretch, I know, and honestly ... this is my first time doing the Chicago tri. It's a lofty goal for something unknown. But I have another, more important goal in mind.

The truth is, I want to get out there and enjoy the process. I want to spend 20-something minutes swimming in Lake Michigan, in water that's a good three to 12 feet over my head. I want to peel off my wetsuit and climb on my bike, taking myself along the lakefront and allowing myself to be awestruck by my city. And yeah ... I want to go for a three-mile run in the hot, sticky sun at 11 a.m.

I want to tap into my inner badass and let her out to play.