crazy cat lady

Monday, July 21, 2014

Since I royally suck at human relationships firmly believe in giving even the smallest creature (except slugs) a chance at a good life, I adopted a third cat this weekend.

New baby, 11 weeks old, also a Taurus

I've been thinking about this for awhile, largely because Maček, the younger of my two girls, has been losing her mind. (Note: Stop reading here if you don't want to watch me psychoanalyze my cats.) She's almost 2 years old and extremely playful and affectionate, while her older sibling Mari -- who is 8 -- wants to do absolutely nothing but eat, sleep and yowl at me to turn the bathroom faucet on because that is the only water she deems good enough to drink. So when I travel, Maček gets bored and angry and does terrible things: "Mom left me for a triathlon? Well, I'm going to revenge pee in this cardboard box! And when she finally finds it and picks it up, the pee is going to dribble all over her foot!"

True story. (And also, I really did have a yet another sad breakup recently and am now working toward a future that involves acreage on the Olympic Peninsula, a shit-ton of cats and improving my climbing abilities. The nutty lady riding up Hurricane Ridge pulling a trailer full of orange tabbies and -- best part -- everyone is in matching bike helmets because safety first? That's me in 30 years.)

Which brings me to this baby. I found her online via Oasis for Animals and went to meet her Saturday at an adoption event. (Dear Todd and Annie: Thanks for humoring me and tagging along to look at cats. Because I'm pretty sure there's no other way you'd like to spend your weekend.) I fell in love immediately.

Toes like beans!

On the ride home, she insisted on sitting in the passenger seat.


I kept her isolated in the bathroom at first so she'd have a chance to get used to her new home.

"Why is my bed by the toilet?"

It didn't take long for her to start exploring the rest of the house. Maček won't stop following her around. They chase each other, pounce on each other through the curtains (and there go the curtains) and sleep next to each other. This morning, I woke up to Maček cleaning the new baby.

"I can haz sister?"

Mari is taking a little longer to come around. She hisses and growls at both cats, but I think things will be OK eventually. All three of them sat on the couch together last night and there was no fighting or awkward slinking away.

All of my dreams are coming true.

Now all I need to do is win the lottery so I can actually afford acreage. And start working on my quads and lung capacity. Easy, right? Hurricane Ridge, we're coming for you.

(Oh and the new baby's name is Mouse.)

recovery

Friday, July 18, 2014

Something I always seem to forget after a big race: How long it takes my body to recover. Contrary to my unrealistic expectations, I can't jump right back into training for the race of my life after just completing the race of my life.

Case in point: I did a 30-minute open water swim in Lake Washington this morning, and it straight-up sucked. The water was choppy as hell, so I felt like I was getting tossed around the entire time. And I couldn't breathe. Even after I calmed down and stopped freaking out about the water conditions, I still couldn't catch my breath. Ended up just swimming back and forth along the buoy line. (Coach Mark's words of wisdom: "Don't headbutt anything." He must've heard about my last Lake Washington swim, when I collided head-on with not just one but two other swimmers coming the opposite direction. Oops.)

And the fatigue didn't stop there. The simple act of getting out of the water and walking the short incline from the beach to my car was tough. Apparently my lungs gave their all last Sunday, and I need to be more patient with them.

So this week has been about rest. Today's swim was my first attempt at an actual workout. Mostly, I've just been taking leisurely 30-minute walks around the neighborhood that typically involve a lot of stops for photos of beautiful things and then end up at a restaurant with a glass of rosé and a good book.

See? This is a beautiful thing.

Find the kitty.

No tall people allowed.

I've also been trying to catch up with old friends.

Hello again, Jack. It's been awhile.

In all seriousness, though, I am looking forward to getting back into a regular training schedule again.

two words: killed it

Monday, July 14, 2014

I achieved two major things yesterday: First, I blew my very first snot rocket ever on the bike. (And you'll be very pleased to know I did not accidentally blow it onto my own shoulder.)

Second, I set a 43-minute PR.

I know, right? I keep checking the results page over and over because I'm still in shock, and part of me expects an e-mail from the timing chip company telling me there has been a terrible mistake. But no matter how many times I refresh, the truth is there: I finished Vineman in 6:39:48 -- compared to 7:22:29 last year and 7:32:45 in 2012.

This text from Coach Mark was waiting for me when I finally made it back to my tri bag after the race:


If you ignore the fact that math is not Coach Mark's strong point (and as you may recall, neither is typing), you get the gist: Lovey dovey amazing day all around. 

I will tell you that even though I'm still in holy shit mode, I wanted that PR something fierce. I knew I had done the work -- I knew I was ready. It was a matter of staying calm and sticking to the plan.

And perhaps also trying not to get intimidated by my ridiculously pretty (and very, very fast) teammate / housemate for the weekend.

If Ryan Gosling was a triathlete. That is all.

(By the way, since we are ignoring details in photos, let's also ignore the fact that I look like a midget next to these boys. And don't ask me why I'm smiling like that, either.)

I was lucky enough to be in one of the earliest waves this year, with a start time of 6:54 a.m. -- a huge relief since I was worried about the heat. (I already felt fried at packet pickup, so I knew temperatures were going to be an issue.)

Locked and loaded.

As you know, this year was a weird one for me -- so much loss, so much change. I was texting Layla in the car on the way to the race (don't freak out, I wasn't driving), and we were remembering when we volunteered at Vineman together in 2011, before triathlon was even a remote possibility for me. We had spiked our coffee. She had long, long hair. I still had a wedding ring.


I teared up in the backseat on the way to the start. Funny to think of a race as a gauge of where you are in your life, but in many ways, that's what Vineman has become for me. And the person I am now -- the person brave enough to start in the middle of the pack in the water yesterday instead of hanging back and letting everyone else go first, the person with no parents on shore taking photos, the person with no significant other to kiss before putting the goggles on, the person whooping it up with total strangers, hungry for a PR -- I never, never would've guessed that would be me.  

But when that gun went off at 6:54 a.m., I dove in -- right into the middle of the flailing limbs and that crazy washing machine of humanity. It was the most aggressive swim I've ever been in. I got kicked in the face. I pushed and was pushed. And I finished in 47:48 (compared to 49:11 last year). I had hoped for a 45-minute swim, but hey, not going to complain. I tore out of that water and was through transition in 4:08, even with the full wetsuit (5:12 last year with a sleeveless wetsuit). 

Obligatory T1 photo.

I immediately felt more comfortable on the bike -- out of the washing machine and reunited with Muppet, the love of my life. Unfortunately, because I was in such an early wave, I got passed a whole hell of a lot. I had to tell myself to hold steady, that I would catch up on Chalk Hill. I stayed focused and concentrated on nutrition and hydration, since I knew this would be key to setting myself up for a strong run.

As expected, I was solid on the hills. (Dear Seattle: I bitch about my neighborhood all the time, but that shit has made me such a better climber.) Had no problems riding up Canyon. But as I started the descent, I thought I heard my rear tire deflating. I became more and more convinced that it was going flat, so I rode into the Geyserville aid station yelling, "I have a flat! I have a flat!" at all the volunteers until someone brought a pump out to me. And then we realized I didn't have a flat after all. In fact, nothing was wrong with my tire.

Me: I'm sorry. Am I crazy?

Volunteer: No, you're just tired.

And then I refilled my water bottle and used the port-a-potty and was on my way. Rode most of the stretch between Geyserville and Chalk Hill in aero, pushing the pace hard to make up for the imaginary flat tire incident. Bombed down the rollers on Chalk Hill Road, and when it came time for the big climb, I just let loose and started yelling, "Fuck this motherfucking piece of shit fucking hill!" the entire way up and tried to pass as many people as I could. (Really glad they don't give you penalties for cursing, or I'd probably still be sitting in the penalty tent right now.)

Bombed down and pushed hard until the end. Finished the bike in 3:26:07, with a negative split (down from 3:42:56 the previous year). Had been aiming for 3:30, nearly shit myself when I realized what I had done. Went through T2 in 4:56 (last year's 4:44 was better) and then I was off to run.


Last year, I couldn't run. I was so dehydrated and cramping so badly that I could barely keep going. This year, I was extra-careful with hydration and nutrition on the bike -- went through two bottles, plus gels and a Picky Bar -- so I wouldn't die on the run. The heat was terrible as expected. And officials changed the rules so no spectators could access the run course between miles 1 and 11.5 -- which meant it was a silent slog, with only the sound of people's breath. I did have a few "Why the hell am I doing this?" moments, but I just made myself keep running. I focused on form and hydration and doing my best to cool myself down (water over my head at every aid station, ice chips in my sports bra). I also tried to find people I knew (Kimra, thank you so much for volunteering -- so uplifting to see you on that eerily quiet course!) and say nice, encouraging things to other racers. (See? Contrary to popular belief, I don't just curse all the time.)

The last two miles of that run were tough -- the finish was so close, but I was so tired and hot. I just kept telling myself, "How bad do you want this? How bad do you want this?" and then I pushed on, keeping turnover high and trying to be as efficient as possible.

Coming down that chute was incredible. I knew I had PR'd -- I knew that even in the terrible heat, with the terrible sadness that has been weighing on me these past few months, I had done what I set out to do. I saw my teammate Himanshu on the sidelines, cheering me on (so great to see a Seattle face in California), and I just brought it in. The announcer called me Michael, but fuck it, I thought that was funny. And I crossed the line. And I got my medal (or my "better bling," as Layla put it so nicely). And then it hit me.

I found Layla -- who was volunteering in the athlete food tent -- threw my arms around her and just broke down sobbing. It was like everything I had been holding on to just bubbled to the surface and exploded. All I could think about was Erika and how much I missed her and how we had gone tubing in the Russian River the weekend after my first Vineman and how I still hear her voice in my head, every day.

I finished the run in 2:16:49 (compared to the atrocious 2:40:26 of last year). And when Layla looked up my final time, I started crying all over again. I had gone into this race wanting a sub-7 finish, maybe hoping for something in the 6:45 range at best. And I came out with a 6:39.

This girl. I'm so blessed to have such good friends.

It is hard to explain to someone who doesn't do triathlon, who maybe thinks all of this is crazy and masochistic, just what this sport means to me. It has been my anchor, the one sure thing I've been able to hold on to, when the rest of my life has felt like total chaos. I've learned how to be strong and work hard, how to keep my mind steady, even in the most difficult times. I've rolled with the punches (literally, especially in that swim) and realized that anything is possible if you're brave enough to try to make it happen.

Yesterday was amazing.

Disbelief + river hair = HAWT

And of course, we celebrated.


IMAZ is next for the two of us!

Guess which one I picked?

Onward.

it's race weekend

Saturday, July 12, 2014

Hello from Santa Rosa, where the pre-Vineman reunion with old friends -- plus the addition of new ones -- is going strong. My teammate Nathan and I are crashing with Thai and Josh this weekend, and to thank them for their hospitality, we made dinner last night and also had Todd, Neveia and Arvan over to join us.


Nothing is as wonderful as sitting down for a homemade meal with people you adore, telling stories and remember-whens and laughing hysterically. (And yes, there were several "remember the time when Michaela crashed her bike" tales.)

It feels so good to be here, especially since the travel was kind of an adventure. Hauling a bike case that is as large as I am through the airport and onto a packed rental car shuttle and then through the equally packed rental car center, only to finally get the rental car and pray to god that the case would fit in the backseat was interesting. I think I ran over quite a few toes, and two people literally said: "What is that thing? A piano?" Har har, smartasses.


And then traffic driving up here was awful. Lots of stop and go, and any time I braked suddenly, the case would fly forward, hit my seat and almost give me whiplash.

But Muppet and I made it, and later this morning I'll pick her up from the tri store, and she will be in one piece and ready to race.

Away we go!

in countdown mode

Thursday, July 10, 2014

The big first for this weekend: Flying with Muppet.

Maček really wanted to pack the bike box.

Went to the local triathlon store today to learn how to take her apart and properly stow her.

Dismemberment?

I'll be taking her to another store tomorrow when we land to get her reassembled -- paranoid I won't be able to put her together correctly and my handlebars will fall off mid-race or something. But my goal is take her apart myself Sunday night for the flight home. (Guys, I bought a pedal wrench!)

Final prep also included my pre-race pep talk with Coach Mark today. He had me detail my entire nutrition plan -- timing, calories, target intake, pre-race dinner, pre-race breakfast, etc. Nutrition is what I'm most nervous about -- it's what destroyed my run last year. Mark reminded me that I control my nutrition, so I should quit worrying about it and just make it happen. He also told me to be smart with my foot -- it's been some time since the stress fracture, but I still want to be careful and listen to my body, especially if something seems off.

And then he said: "I thought of you today. I don't know what I ate, but I've been really sick and haven't been able to keep anything down. It's awful."

In other words, when my coach has diarrhea, I immediately come to mind.

(I suppose that's my own damn fault after this incident.)

Despite being apparently permanently associated with poop in the minds of everyone who knows me, I feel good about Vineman. Like I've said before, I've worked really hard over the past six months, and I'm excited to see what will happen on the race course. Mentally, I'm also ready -- instead of being anxious, I feel like I have nothing to lose since I've been through so much hell already this year. Vineman is nothing compared to death and cancer.

Bring it.

vineman, here I come

Monday, July 07, 2014

Back from the Penisula (yes, that was on purpose). Listening to my triathlon playlist. (Trust me, you don't want to know. Remember, I'm the girl who sings love songs to her bike.) Thinking about Vineman. And how I'm planning to paint my nails black. And race the shit out of that motherfucker. (I am also the girl who writes about love songs and motherfuckers in the same paragraph.)

I had a lot of fun training this weekend. Nothing like exploring a beautiful place while doing the sports you love. Here's a quick recap:

Swim

Never in my life did I ever think I would bring a wetsuit on vacation and voluntarily go to the second-deepest lake in the entire state of Washington and jump in like it's no big deal.


But that's exactly what happened: I went to Lake Crescent -- 600 feet deep and carved by a glacier -- and was the only person crazy enough to go for a swim. I entertained quite a few people during their family barbecues, especially when I swam through one spot that had a ridiculously cold undercurrent that tried to tug me out farther into the lake, and I popped out of the water long enough to yell: "Holy shit, that's cold!" (Yes, in front of children. I don't discriminate.)

Other than that small section, the temperature was nice -- much better than Aquatic Park in San Francisco. And the water was amazingly clear and so, so incredibly blue.


Not the best shot, but you could see rocks and sand under the water, and you could tell exactly where the shore suddenly dropped off into a huge blue abyss, with the outlines of vague large shapes -- I told myself they were trees, but ravenous lake monsters were also a possibility -- floating in it. I stayed the hell away from there -- it was like a giant cerulean hole just waiting to suck me in with its icy glacier waters. Instead, I swam laps back and forth along the shore. And the water was so clear that I didn't really have to sight -- I just looked down and stayed away from the giant dropoff point.

And then I got out of the water and promptly realized I had forgotten to pack underwear and a bra. Apparently, clothing was not my strong point during this trip.

Bike

Two rides this weekend: On Saturday, I was supposed to do an easy hour-long ride in Zone 2. When you're staying in the mountains in the middle of nowhere, there is no such thing as Zone 2. I ended up doing hill repeats for an hour.

One hill was so steep I found myself caught in the slow cadence of death, with my heart pounding so loudly I thought my eardrums were going to burst. I had to dismount and do the walk of shame the rest of the way.

What humiliation looks like.

Other hazards of riding at elevation in the middle of nowhere:

My worst nightmare.

The roads were littered with these horrible, horrible creatures. They were enormous. And when they got squished, they were five times more disgusting. I want to barf just looking at that photo. In fact, I probably should excuse myself and wash my finger with lye, just in case.

Thankfully, yesterday's ride was not as traumatic, though it definitely was an adventure. I took the Olympic Discovery Trail toward Sequim. Imagine riding in aero, against a backdrop of waves gently hitting the shore.


And then you burst into a tunnel of green.


And then, just as you are marveling over how wonderful and gorgeous the world is, and how your bike is the best thing ever and you should really start lobbying to legalize bike marriage, this happens:

 
And then you find yourself stumbling and carrying your bike. I eventually turned around and went back the other direction. Ended up riding to the Elwha River, which was also amazing and did not involve carrying Muppet across large portions of gravel.


Although I may or may not be humping her in this photo.


Run

Best transition run ever after yesterday's bike ride: Thirty minutes at an 8:53 average pace. I don't think I've ever done anything like that ever. I'm going to conclude that all those track workouts are paying off.

I also ran Friday -- did an easy 8-miler along the waterfront.

 
And now it's time to taper: Five days and 14 hours until Vineman.

the olympic penisula

Thursday, July 03, 2014


I don't want to mock Coach Mark, but that is the funniest typo I've seen in awhile.

And yes, I'm on the "penisula" for the weekend. Had to get out of town for awhile to clear my head and mend my heart, so I packed up Muppet and all my tri gear and my laptop and journal and tons of books and got on the ferry.


Only to land on the other side and immediately realize I had forgotten all of my clothes at home. Sure, I remembered the bike pump and the foam roller and the sunscreen, but clothing? Apparently that was way too obvious for my brain to properly process.

Which meant I had to turn around and get back in the ferry line behind -- wait for it -- this:


Sometimes all you can do is laugh ...


... and then pick up your bag and try again.
 
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