running through the blah-ness

As you can probably tell from my last post and the ridiculous length of time that has passed since then, I’ve been struggling with motivation.

Apparently, this is not an issue for Cardi B.

The blah-ness is usually at its worst on my long runs, so I’ve had to employ some strategies to keep things interesting. A few ideas that have worked for me:

Podcasts. Until very recently, I never ran with headphones (or earbuds or whatever the hell you want to call them – I’m old) because I was convinced I was going to get abducted and murdered or run over by a hybrid. Then I bought a pair of these guys, which allow me to listen to podcasts while still being able to hear my surroundings. Life-changing!

Current favorite podcasts include “Women Who Travel” (love the interview with Jessica Nabongo, who is currently on track to become the first Black woman to travel to every country in the world), “Work Play Love” (retired pro runner Lauren Fleshman and her pro triathlete husband, Jesse Thomas, talk about motivation in sport, work-life-training balance, and self-acceptance as an athlete – all wonderful, positive topics for a long run), “This Filipino American Life” (the episodes cover so much of what growing up was like for me), and “Game of Thrones” fan theory podcasts (no shame for my inner geek – love me some Bald Move and Binge Mode, but ugh with the way Season 8 went).

Finding new routes. I tend to run the same two routes over and over again, which is incredibly boring and tedious. So I’m trying to mix it up, even if this means simply running one block over from the street I usually run on. It’s a small change, but at least there’s something new to look at. (Side note: You know you’re old when you enjoy checking out people’s yards, taking mental notes about which perennials you should incorporate into your own landscape.)

Spotted these on a recent run. Aren't they pretty?

Signing up for races. I’ve been using local races for my long runs – instead of competitions, I view them as supported long runs where I’m surrounded by people, can practice my nutrition/hydration plan, and not get distracted and spend 20 minutes shooting an Instagram story about a random cat on the sidewalk. I did the Hot Chocolate 15K in April and the Birdtown 13.1 this past weekend and had a great time. No PRs were set (that wasn’t the point), but they were both successful training runs.

Races are also a great way to make friends, dead or otherwise.

bad days

There are those people on social media who are happy and smiling and always motivated to “do hard things” and “get after it.” And they end up on podiums and qualify for championships and have legit abs and triceps and glutes so powerful they could probably crack an acorn with their buttcheeks.

And then there is me.

This photo sums up this entire blog post.

I often feel like I suck so hard at triathlon that it’s comedy. You’d think that since I’ve been doing this shit since 2011 I would have actually developed – oh, I don’t know – some remote level of skill, or even just basic coordination. But I am the person who somehow manages to totally faceplant simply trying to get on my bike. (And no it wasn’t moving. I just fell for no reason and then bled in public and passersby were concerned and it was horribly embarrassing.)

I would also like to point out that my half marathon PR is from 2011 – yes, that is eight years ago – and since then I just seem to be running slower and getting injured more frequently. (I’m also really good at tripping on absolutely nothing while running. Maybe my true calling in life is to be a professional faller. Is there a Kona for clumsiness? Because I would crush that shit.)

And I cannot even tell you how frustrated I am with swimming right now (yes, this is like a complete 180 from how I felt in November). It's like no matter how hard I work and how many hours I spend in the pool and how early I get up for masters (seriously, why are all masters swim programs at like 6 a.m.?), I still can’t consistently break 2 minutes/100 yards. Yeah, every once in awhile I’ll surprise myself, but for the most part, nothing has changed speed-wise. (And I guarantee you it will be even worse in open water because once I am in that tight-ass wetsuit in a murky lake thinking of sea monsters and submerged disembodied limbs, all semblance of form is completely and totally forgotten.)

I went to a stroke correction clinic in January and spent half a day getting my stroke filmed and then subsequently picked apart by a classroom of people (now that was a humbling experience and I will be forever haunted by horrible images of myself executing what can only be described as the flop-flail of desperation). I am now constantly doing endless painful drills to attempt to correct everything I have spent my entire life doing wrong in the pool (and believe me, there is a lot).

A screenshot from the stroke analysis: I immediately see five things that are wrong. There are probably more. This is like a Highlights game for bad swimmers!

Honestly, sometimes I just want to cry into my goggles and give away my spandex and move to the mountains and stop talking to anyone who isn't a cat.

Except that knowing my luck, I’ll find a way to fall and crack my head open but no one will know so then I'll just lie there until I get eaten by my cats because that actually is a thing that happens in real life.

allez allez

Last month I ran my first race in France.

My aunt (who is also my godmother and the visionary individual who introduced me to J.R.R. Tolkien, inspiring my life-long love of Middle-earth and a somewhat unfortunate dwarf rune tramp stamp) and I took advantage of a fare sale and escaped to Paris for a long weekend.

Coincidentally, our weekend away was also the same weekend of the Course de la Saint-Valentin, a 10K organized by the Paris Frontrunners, an LGBT running club. The race is four hilly loops through the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont, which is one of my favorite places in Paris and also happens to be where I rolled my ankle and ended up with a cuboid stress fracture six years ago. I took this as my opportunity for a do-over and signed up immediately.

C'est magnifique!

One thing to know about racing in France: There is a mandatory medical release form for every race. It must be signed by a doctor, and you will get e-mails in French every few days until you upload the completed form. Luckily, I had my annual physical in January, so timing worked out for me to have my doctor complete it. (Also, my aunt – in addition to being a book binding artist, owner of a massive stamp collection, and mother to a crazy cockatiel named Gershwin – is a doctor. So I was doubly covered.)

And then there was the race swag.

Yes, that is a condom. When I showed it to my aunt, her immediate comment was, “So is that French sizing?” (She was also quite thrilled by the sexual health literature that accompanied said condom. Best French vocabulary lesson ever.)

Race day was equally awesome. Many runners were in costume. (My favorite: Gay Ninja turtles, complete with green body paint.) And the active warm-up was a riot – I couldn’t stop laughing! (Picture Mario and Luigi joyfully doing squats.) And crowd support was on point too. (There were drag queen cheerleaders who swatted you on the butt with a leather whip as you ran past.)

Post-race yoga with your favorite Nintendo characters.

 This was a slow race for me (much hillier than I’m used to – finished in 1:00:59), but I had a blast!

arctic blast

So up until recently, I thought "arctic blast" was just a cute name for really, really minty gum. I have since learned it is an actual weather phenomenon that involves life-threatening cold and record-shattering low temperatures.

Also, it is currently a very real thing here in Minnesota.

It was -18 with a -41 wind chill when I left the pool yesterday. My hair froze in the minute it took to walk from the gym to the car. 

When I went to bed last night, the wind chill was -50 degrees. No, that is not a typo.

Work was closed today because of the weather, and I just got a text telling me it will be closed again tomorrow.

It is so cold that the post office did not deliver mail today.

I cough the second I step outside and inhale. Touching the metal handle on the storm door hurts. A friend in Washington wants me to blow bubbles and see if they turn into ice.

I have heard that skin can freeze in less than five minutes, that boiling water thrown from a pot will immediately evaporate, that you shouldn't fart because ice crystals will form on the seat of your pants. 

It makes me very grateful to have a warm, safe place to cozy up in. With cats. Because always cats.

the big picture

As part of the planning process for 2019, my coach started a conversation about vision. And by vision, she means something bigger than a to-do list or a New Year’s resolution, something audacious and scary and possibly even requiring many years of work and commitment.

From our trip to Japan in April 2018: Origami cranes in Kyoto -- they symbolize wishes and intentions.

 Oddly, my long-term, pie-in-the-sky goal has nothing to do with triathlon or anything remotely athletic. I don’t want to go to Kona (racing in heat, humidity, and wind isn’t my thing), unless it’s to volunteer and cheer for my friends and teammates until I lose my voice. I don’t dream about Boston (honestly, I don’t even think I like running stand-alone marathons very much – for some reason, a marathon seems so much easier when it’s at the end of an Ironman – yeah, I am probably insane but whatever). I don’t fantasize about RAAM or swimming the English Channel or running a race on every continent (although all of these sound fun, as long as no drowning is involved).

What I really want to do is live abroad.

Kilkenny last November -- I tagged along on one of Big Gingers businessman trips.

Big Ginger and I have been discussing this for awhile – it’s something we both dream about. I don’t know if this means saving up and taking a year off to travel, or finding a job in another country, but the thought of going somewhere totally different sounds incredibly liberating and challenging and so exciting. (Also: Adopting cats of multiple nationalities, sort of like the Jolie-Pitts, but with more floof and a happier ending.)

We know people who’ve done this (not the cat herd part, but the living abroad part), so we know it’s possible. We have friends who have careers that transferred them abroad, and friends who sold everything, quit their jobs, and are currently traveling (and no, they aren’t recent college graduates with a trust fund – they’re responsible, grown-ass adults who are brave enough to live in a way that brings them joy). But what seems so daunting is how. How do you find these opportunities? How do you get to a place where you're financially comfortable enough to make the leap?

So I’m going to put it out there. Going abroad for an extended period of time is my vision. I don’t know how long it will take to make it into reality, but I can start working on it. I can ask questions and do research and open myself to possibility. I can trim my budget and save money and cut down on possessions. I can brush up on my Spanish and learn French. (Big Ginger is really good at German drinking songs – does this count?) And I can keep traveling and exploring new places, even if I can’t stay for as long as I’d like.

Sunset at Playa Avellanas in Costa Rica, February 2016.

dear santa

When someone asks me what I want for Christmas, I usually say something lame and super practical, like a gift card for groceries or "something for the house." For whatever reason (be it Catholic guilt, the desire to be seen as a financially independent adult human, or an innately stubborn nature due to my astrological sign), I find it mind-bogglingly difficult to come up with anything creative, especially when I'm put on the spot.

Magnus does not shop for presents; he considers his very existence to be the ultimate gift to humanity.

Since there are still a few days left before Christmas (and the internet and Amazon Prime exist to help those who may have procrastinated), here are some triathlon-related gift ideas. These are things I'd love to give or receive. And they're organized by zones because, duh, triathlon.

Z1 – $25 or less

• Stance socks: I got a pair of the tab socks in my Wilder swag bag and am now a convert. Also, there is a holiday cat design that is freaking awesome. 
• Books: Some of my fave tri-related titles include Chrissie Wellington's autobiography, ROAR for all of your women-specific nutrition questions, The Brave Athlete for those times when you're stuck in your head, and Shalane Flanagan's cookbooks.
• Foot Rubz ball: I swear by this thing. Buy several. Keep one in your purse at all times. You'll thank me.
• Coeur Sports swim cap: I have a bazillion free swim caps from races, but I so much prefer these nice, thicker silicone ones -- they cause less hair breakage. Plus the designs are cute.
• A fun water bottle: Two favorites -- this one from Whisky Parts Co. (for obvious reasons) and this one from Portland Design Works (equally obvious).

Z2 – $75 or less

• Jolyn swimsuit: All my "real swimmer" friends love these ridiculously adorable (and kinda sexy) suits. I have one of their bikinis in this cat print (I know you are so surprised), but I'd also love to get a fixed-back onesie for workouts.
• After-swim toiletry set: Chlorine kills my hair and dries out my skin, so I always keep shower stuff made especially for swimmers in my gym bag. This shampoo, conditioner, and body wash gift set from Zealios is on sale.
• Gift certificate for a massage: This is always, always a much-welcomed gift. If you live in the Twin Cities area and want a good sports massage therapist, I highly recommend this gal. 

Z3 – $150 or less

• Cozy Bird Yeti from Oiselle: This onesie sums up exactly how I want to spend every weekend all winter. I want to shovel the driveway in it and take Mouse for walks in it and go to the library in it and cry over the Vikings not making the playoffs in it (perhaps my fears are premature, but what can I say -- this is how life is with this team) and basically just wear it in public constantly until Big Ginger threatens to divorce me.
• Brooks Levitate 2 Limited Edition shoes: I cannot resist anything rose gold, and this shoe is just gorgeous. (Also cool in a totally different way: These ugly sweater sneaks, which I would wear year-round because I am that person.) 
• R8 deep tissue massage roller: It looks like a torture device. It's probably really good for me.

Z4 – $300 or less

• Swim Smooth workshop: There's a one-day stroke correction clinic coming to the Twin Cities area in January. I treated myself to it, and you should do it too.

All out

• NormaTec boots: Every time I see these at a race expo, I have to stop and spend a few minutes in them. They are amazing. I would love to fall asleep in them while Ryan Gosling reads me poetry. 
• Registration for Coeur Sports training camp: Get your season started on a good note! The best part: There are multiple pricing options, so you don't have to break the bank.
• Wahoo Kickr: Big Ginger just got one, and he loves it because it keeps his workouts honest -- you can't cheat watts on a smart trainer. (Although I kind of feel like the term "smart trainer" implies that my current trainer is a "dumb trainer," and I think that's sort of mean.)

swimvember

Maybe you saw my tweet this morning.

Never in my life did I think I’d be bouncing out of bed at 5 a.m. to shovel the driveway because there was no way snow was going to make me miss masters swim.

Where the magic happens.

Over the past month or so, my whole attitude toward swimming has changed. Once upon a time, swimming was a source of dread, embarrassment, and sometimes even terror (tell me I’m not the only one who’s woken up panicked in the middle of the night, thinking about a looming CSS test). Now going to the pool is a highlight of my week, and I find myself wishing I could do it more often.

Part of this is due to joining masters (a.k.a. the best decision ever – besides cats and Big Ginger, of course). I love the people I swim with, I love the coaching, I love the challenge of new strokes (yes, I can fly now – it’s ugly and exhausting, but I can do it). I’m constantly being pushed out of my comfort zone – asked to attempt things I’ve never done before and risk failing in public, in spandex, in front of other people – and I really, really enjoy it.

I’m also grateful for Swimvember, my tri team’s month-long challenge geared toward getting everyone in the pool more often and building swim fitness. You earn points for each swim you complete, and there are bonus points for doing certain sets and workouts. All the points are tracked on a giant spreadsheet (Big Ginger would approve – spreadsheets are his jam), and while there are plenty of opportunities to win prizes (including cool stuff from Roka, which sponsors the challenge), I just really like seeing all the numbers on paper – keeps me accountable and motivated!

As a result of all of this swimming (32,800 yards this month as of today), I clocked my fastest 200 ever on Tuesday – 3:47. My previous PR was 4:05, so I am beyond ecstatic!

Here’s my holy-shit-I-just-did-that face.

Goggle eyes ftw.

running as metaphor

Wilder opening circle (photo by Jess Barnard)

Confession: I've been sitting on this post forever. I started writing it two weeks after Wilder, but was having trouble getting it to exactly where I wanted it. So I never hit publish and just let it languish in my drafts folder.

This is exactly everything anti-Wilder, which was all about letting go of perfection and still being able to find a way to say, "I am satisfied."

photo by Jess Barnard

So I'm making myself hit publish now. Here goes.

Almost two months have passed since I got back from Wilder (and yes, time does seem to go by faster as you get older – this article proves it’s a legit thing), but I can't stop thinking about that wonderful weekend in the woods.

Those trails – I’m a road runner, and the roots and moss and rocks made me nervous, and I worried about reinjuring my ankle, and my calves and my glutes got sore, and my lungs strained, and everything felt hard and so very slow, and at one point, someone mentioned ticks (wtf, people, way to freak me out). But I kept going (even if it meant walking at times). And the view at the top was so worth it, and I never want to forget the blue of Penobscot Bay and the trees just starting to turn colors.

Can you blame me for wanting to go back?

And you know what I realized (besides the fact that I have zero clue what to do with a tick)? Writing is a lot like running. It’s hard and it can sometimes suck and you have to put in the work before you see any results, but the secret is keep going. Keep going even when your writing is awful and sappy and embarrassing, keep going even when it’s uncomfortable, keep going even when you feel like you’re wasting your time. Because in the end, it’s worth it.

Wilder founder Lauren Fleshman (photo by Jess Barnard)

There were goats! I love goats!

I'm the awkward one in the blue tank top (photo by Jess Barnard)

hi, September. bye, September.

My boss started a new meeting process called three things. (And no, this isn’t a reference to the number of snacks I eat in every meeting. Although it could be. There was that one time I dropped an entire salad on the boardroom floor in the middle of a meeting with our whole curatorial staff and the editor of an important arts publication. I’m still embarrassed.) It’s about sharing the three projects that are top of mind at the moment.

So I’ll get to the point. Three things:

One

I got into Wilder -- a writing and running retreat led by former pro runner Lauren Fleshman – and leave for Maine tomorrow morning. I haven’t started packing at all and will probably spend tonight frantically throwing shit into a suitcase, but I’m beyond excited. It’s an honor to be selected as a participant.

 
My relationship with writing is weird. (And wasn’t that just the most profoundly literary sentence you’ve ever read in your whole life?) I love it and am terrified of it all at the same time. I want to start writing fiction again, but I still have PTSD from grad school. There’s something about creating that feels so naked and vulnerable. It’s bizarre – I have no problem making an ass out of myself in the pool (want to see me attempt the fly, anyone?) and putting in the hours for a massive goal like Ironman, but when it comes to sitting down and starting a short story (much less finishing one), I’m scared shitless.

So I’m hoping Wilder will be what I need – a way to shed the icky, competitive grad school feelings, get messy, and channel some of the same energy and passion I’ve put into triathlon, all while exploring a beautiful place (autumn in Maine!) and meeting inspiring humans. (And maybe, if I’m really lucky, some inspiring cats too – because you never know. Like my ultimate fantasy would be waking up to the sound of meowing outside my cabin and finding a tiny orange kitten who would then be my muse for the rest of the trip and then I would take her home to Minnesota and name her Merwin after W.S. Merwin – who cares if he’s a man, minor detail – and then my army of cats would become even stronger.)

Two

I wasn’t lying about the fly. I joined a masters swim group and have officially survived Week 3 of my attempt to become a “real” swimmer. I can now not only do a flip-turn, but a backstroke flip-turn as well! However, I still resemble a dying frog during breaststroke, and I laugh hysterically when the coach asks us to do IMs. Equally hilarious: Dolphin kick with a board, a.k.a. spastic wiggling in the middle of the pool while clinging to a piece of foam. (Dear people with kids: Make them go to swim lessons so they don’t become me when they are adults.)

Full disclosure: This isn't the Phillips pool. But this is an accurate depiction of my swimming.

Oh, and inside tip: If you live in Minneapolis and are looking for a masters group that is primarily beginning-to-intermediate swimmers who are super welcoming and totally focused on learning, this is the workout for you. It’s at the brand-spanking-new Phillips Aquatic Center and only costs $30 for the entire session, which runs through Dec. 20. (For comparison, yesterday I spent $40 ordering Halloween costumes for cats, and I’m pretty sure that won’t make me a better swimmer, so $30 for masters swim is like the best deal ever.)

Three

Is it just me, or as you get older, do you become more of an introvert? Don’t get me wrong – I still love throwing a good party (like the time we had Yia Vang from Union Kitchen come over for a cooking class and then somehow stayed up until midnight and a bottle of 1977 Port was consumed, among many other things).

But I want to leave the house less and less. (This is not helped by the fact that I recently discovered Instacart.) And now that it’s fall and the daylight is waning (I like that word – “waning”), all I think about is sleeping. (I’m also reading this book, which is basically about a woman who quits her life and sleeps for a year. My feelings on it fluctuate between “Wow, this character is remarkably flawed, with some serious psychological issues” and “Dear god, she’s a freaking genius.”)

I'm racing again!

Remember how I made that joke about being in Triathlete magazine? So this happened:

It's a story about the YWCA Women's Triathlon, which took place this past Sunday. Everything about this race gives me glowy feelings. I love seeing the hard work of so many strong women pay off as they finish a tri for the very first time. I love how supportive all of the athletes are, how celebration is the focus, not competition. And I love how diverse the field is – women of all different body types, ages, ethnic backgrounds, and physical abilities.

Jen said it best: “YWCA is one of those races you want to keep doing every single year for the rest of your life.”

Which is why I’m so glad this was my comeback race. Yes, folks, the photo doesn't lie: I’m racing again. And I managed to do the entire run without walk breaks. And I didn’t re-sprain my ankle. Glowy feelings all around!

Here’s a quick recap:

Pre-race: I rode to the start with my neighbor Alyssa, who was also racing. We gushed about how much we love this race and laughed over how we weren't nervous at all since we felt like we hadn't actually trained and therefore had zero expectations. 

Air quality wasn't great this weekend, which made for an epic pre-race sunrise.

Swim: Water temperatures were warm, so no wetsuits allowed. The swim at this race is heavily supported -- waves are spaced out really well, and there are tons of kayaks and noodle swimmers so you feel safe at all times. I took this as an opportunity to try to swim like a legit triathlete vs. tooling around like I normally do. So I positioned myself toward the front of my wave, swam tight against the buoy line (this was the straightest I’ve ever swum in my life -- we all know I’m not the best at sighting and most of my open water swims look like a scenic tour of the lake), and had surprisingly very little contact with other swimmers. Overall, pretty ideal conditions! Yet despite this and the fact that I felt like I was pushing myself, I still had a super slow swim time of 11:40. (What can I say? I excel at bad swimming.)

T1: I made some stupid decisions, like sitting down to put my shoes on, even though I really didn’t need to. I also tried to get on my bike before the mount line and got a little tsk-tsk from the volunteers. Oops! Took me 2:27 to get through T1.

Bike: My goal was to go all out and get uncomfortable since this is the only sport I’ve been doing somewhat consistently since my injury. I wanted to see if I could average close to 20 mph. I did OK on the way out, but then after the turnaround, I felt like my rear wheel was dragging, so I slowed down and asked another racer if my tire was flat. Surprise – it wasn’t flat; I was just tired and that dragging feeling was my legs! (Seriously, I am so dumb sometimes.) So I lost speed for a stupid reason. My bike time was 49:47 – 18.7 mph average.

T2: Once again, I fumbled around. My dismount was slow – I had passed all these people on the bike, but they still crossed the timing mat before I did. And then I got into transition and had no idea where my rack was. Dear god: SO RUSTY -- 1:43 T2 time.

Run: I was aiming for a 10:00 minute/mile pace – I just started running again two weeks ago, and I hadn’t run farther than two miles, done as a run-walk. The plan was to run for five minutes, see how that felt, and then either keep running or take walk breaks as needed. I felt pretty good, so I ran the entire time and ended up with 29:20 – a 9:28 pace! Yes, it was nowhere nearly as fast as I’ve run 5K in the past, but who cares. I am running again, and that’s a win!

Also, I convinced the body marker to draw a cat on my leg. Winning AF.

My overall time was 1:34:54 -- 31st in my age group out of a field of 165. This was slower than last year (although I improved a smidge on the bike and with transitions). But like I said, today wasn’t about breakthrough performances – I was just thrilled to finish a race and not end up in an X-ray machine. (For the record, all that talk about Canadian healthcare being free is a lie. I recently paid the bill for my ER adventure, and I’ll be eating lentils and rice for the next two weeks.)

And finally: Shoutout to all the first-time triathletes I met swimming at Nokomis this summer, especially Liz, Rebecca, and LaTanya. The best part about the sport of triathlon is the community, and I absolutely love welcoming more people into the fold. I’m so damn proud of these ladies and their accomplishments, and I hope YWCA is just the first of many races we’ll do together!

trainer meow-tivation

Since it is International Cat Day, I’d like to show you what happens when I get on the trainer and Magnus decides he can’t live without me.

It's cute at first. He jumps up on the stool next to my bike and says hello.

But then he gets really excited and climbs onto my aerobars.

Imagine if I actually raced like this.

And then he gets mouthy.

For the record, he has terrible breath.

But aerobars are not enough.

He has to jump onto my shoulder ...

... and try to sit on my head.

And of course, he always does this when I'm supposed to be building in Z3 and Z4. Gah!

if you're having a bad week

... and need something to laugh at, I'm totally here for you.

Yes, my wetsuit penis bump, my floppy hand, and my I'm-about-to-pass-out face are all here for you.

Still not enough?

Well, then watch me fail to use the video function on my GoPro and take a series of awful still photos instead: 

I know, right? I should totally be on the cover of Triathlete magazine.

Oh and please don't show these to Ryan Gosling because he'll try to break down my door and Big Ginger won't be happy about that.

butt blasting

Right now my butt is so extremely sore from physical therapy. (And by butt, I mean glutes, not butthole. Because why on earth would a physical therapist work on your butthole? Although I will admit that once I did one of those colon hydrotherapy treatments that supposedly all the celebrities do before red carpet events because it makes them look skinny. I was curious. And also I had a Groupon. As I’m sure you can imagine, the experience was weird and involved sticking a hose up my butt and using a tennis ball to massage my stomach while water flowed in and poop flowed out. And then afterward the woman who administered the butt-cleansing made me look at all my poop and told me I needed to chew my food more. And I went home feeling like a big balloon of liquid and not at all like a celebrity.)

Anyway, apparently my ankle is related to my butt. Or rather, my gluteus medius, which is more like the hip-butt. (I’m like a total scientist with my awesome anatomical knowledge.) And when the hip-butt is weak, instability ensues. So I am doing clamshells with a band and fire hydrants (yes, these are just like a dog peeing) with a band.

And oh how it burns.

That feeling when.

more catbell

You know what always makes me feel so inspired?

Kittens.

Oh, and cheering at a triathlon in my special shirt.

(I was thinking about how people always bring cowbells to races, and I'd like to point out that cats wear bells, too. So people should really consider saying "more catbell" instead of "more cowbell." Also, since catbells are small, you'd need a shit ton of them if you want to make any sort of significant noise. Which would mean you'd need a shit ton of cats. I really don't see what the downside is here at all. More catbell!)

Yesterday I drove up to the Chisago Lakes Triathlon and Aquabike (side note: on the way there, I spotted a sign outside the Northwoods Humane Society that said “We’ve got kittens!” and I cannot even tell you how much self-control it took for me not to pull over) to celebrate Jen, who was doing the aquabike as a step toward her goal of completing her first 70.3 next year. She rocked it and finished faster than she was expecting!

Fun fact: Jen has three cats.

 I also got to see a few Coeur Collective Beat gals, which was super cool.

Katie's so fast, I could only catch photos of her butt.

And the entire time, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I want to race again. And I found myself missing the craziness of Ironman training. And then I went to the pool and swam 2900 yards because I just had to do something.

on the bright side

You know, it’s probably a good thing I’m injured because this summer has turned out to be incredibly busy, so if I were training for a big race right now, I’d be totally stressed out and Big Ginger would want to divorce me and our house would be a giant litter box and the cats would be bald from me obsessively petting them in an attempt to find relief.

But instead, I’m doing things like going on family fishing trips (bet you can’t guess whose side of the family organized such a trip), during which I did zero fishing but all the biking:

Any time I get to ride my road bike is a good time!

This is what happy looks like!

… listening to musical performances by artists who were really cool once:

I'm OK with being the only one sitting down.

… flying to California to see my family:

I swear, these shirts were not my idea.

… getting together with Clos Du Val friends (has it really been 10+ years since those Napa days?) to sweat profusely in nice clothes and celebrate Laura and Chris:

High butt cheek moisture right now.

… and learning that Indian weddings require more stamina and caloric intake than Ironman (and dal tastes way better than gels):