blame the flying wieners

You guys, it's finally taper. Holy shit, I'm so grateful.

These two lovely ladies should be known as The Climber (Steena) and Speedy (Megan).

My last big push was this weekend. Megan and I drove to Madison and met up with Steena for the Prairie Athletic Club's "big brick": A swim in Lake Monona, the full Ironman bike course, and a transition run afterward. (So basically one long-ass training day.)

Look at all my new friends!

The swim was fine -- I went for an hour. My neck and left arm hurt, but I seem to always have this pain now, so I've embraced it as part of my identity. (This is likely not healthy, but whatever.)

The bike, however, was anything but fine. About 10 miles in, I dropped some of my nutrition (yes, wieners flew out of my jersey) and had to turn around. The group I was riding with kept going, and I ended up alone. And since I've never ridden this course before, I had no idea where I was, so I had to stop a few times to check the turn-by-turn directions.

Barlow was a beast as expected. I rode most of it, but walked the steepest part. I'm glad I did because I still had two-thirds of the course left to ride, with so many more hills to go, and my legs were already tired. If I had ridden Barlow, I think I would've blown up and possibly not finished the ride.

I got lost trying to start the second loop and ended up cutting some of the course short, only to make it into Verona and promptly get lost again. With the exception of riding a few miles with Megan (who had also gotten lost), eventually finding the rest of the group, and flying down some incredible descents (44 mph at one point -- amazing!), the rest of the ride was a slog. I dropped more nutrition going over a pothole, I wasn't taking in enough calories or hydration, and my legs were shot.

For all of two seconds, I kept up with Megan. This photo was the result.

Diane, one of the PAC athletes (and quite possibly the world's kindest person), stayed with me to make sure I finished. And somehow I got it done. I was beat up mentally and physically and felt like I had nothing in the tank, but I still managed to get off the bike and do a 40-minute transition run.

I spent much of my drive back from Madison this morning thinking about what went wrong and what I need to fix for race day.

This is what I need to do:

• Above all, eat and drink. I wasn't eating or drinking enough in the days leading up to this brick, and I took in fewer calories on this ride than on my previous long training rides -- basically I set myself up for failure this weekend.
• The bike is probably going to take me about eight hours to complete, which means that with my slow swimming, I won't have much wiggle room. (Yes, I still have PTSD from Arizona, when I almost didn't make the bike cutoff.) I have to be efficient with my transitions.
• Better secure my nutrition so it doesn't go flying off of my bike.
• Plan to walk Barlow again on race day.
• Get a massage and possibly some acupuncture and try to get rid of as much of my neck and arm pain as possible.
• Make sleep a priority.

And hopefully I won't get lost anymore because the course will be marked and there will be volunteers and support out there on race day and if I do still somehow manage to get lost, I have a serious problem.

Onward: Less than three weeks left!

I need a mental health day

I recently went from this ...

Red is the color of shame. And also a lot of wine.

... to this.

It's been great -- I really don't feel like myself unless I'm training -- but absolutely exhausting. I spent a good portion of my weekend on the bike. On Saturday there were hill repeats (which, by the way, are my least favorite activity ever, except for maybe spending all afternoon barfing in an airport) ...

Pain never looked so pretty.

... followed by a swim. Then yesterday brought a 2.5-hour ride with a transition run.

Don't worry. This wasn't a permanent fashion choice.

As a result, I've had such horrible post-workout brain fog that on Saturday when I finished the ride, I packed my bike, left my Garmin on the roof of my car and drove off. Thankfully, I realized what I had done and went back, and by some miracle, a random cyclist found my watch on the side of the road ("The sun was shining right on it!" he said) and gave it back to me.

And since I'm apparently too dumb to learn from my mistakes (insert dating joke here), after yesterday's workout, I went to the tri store to buy Skratch and a new cassette (went from 12-25 to 11-28 because have I mentioned how much I hate hills and dear god, please bring on the cheater gear), got work done on my bike, packed it in the car and drove off. Two hours later, the woman from the tri store called to tell me I had left the Skratch and my old cassette in the parking lot. 

Dear lord.

back to life. kind of.

Still basking in the glow of bike camp.

Yesterday -- the third, and sadly last day -- brought a 24-mile ride on tired, tired legs. With more climbing.

But this view!

And this view too!

I've decided I can deal with large hills because they mean bombing down later. And I love flying down a hill with no brakes. It might be my favorite thing in the whole entire world. Dear god, bombing down hills is better than sex. (This is the part where my friends who are normal people and not masochistic triathletes threaten to stage an intervention.)

Anyway, now I am trying to get used to the real world again. Oddly, summer has arrived early here in Seattle -- 70 degrees today -- which means I've transitioned from bike paradise to some kind of floaty blue dream with lots of vitamin D.

I spent the afternoon at Green Lake, lounging in the sunshine and reading. And then Annie and I went for a long, meandering walk around the park.

And then -- just as I was getting ready to settle into an exciting evening of more laundry (I swear, they should just call it quadrathlon and make laundry the fourth event) and cleaning out the refrigerator (this is what happens when you are in a deep depression for an entire month and get absolutely zero done at home -- so many chores to catch up on and moldy food to throw out) -- Heidi invited me to the drag races.

I found myself yelling at a large screen and waving a whiskey around when local queen BenDeLaCreme almost got booted off the show. Apparently drag queens are the only Seattle sports team I can truly get behind.

obsessions

Hills. It's hard to tell in this picture, but I am actually second (teal shirt). That's right: Second. This has never happened before -- I'm usually toward the back of the pack, maybe mid-pack if it's a good day. But apparently last Sunday's hill repeats were just my style. Let's hope I can keep it up. My next two races will be climbers: I'm planning to run Kenwood and San Francisco again.

Pilates. I can't say enough about my Pilates teacher. I feel like I show up in her studio each week with all of my weird tweaks and aches from running, and she fixes me. Also, it is an amazing thing to start the day with a 6 a.m. reformer workout.

This song. It makes me feel like I'm in high school again, only in a good way. As in the let's-ditch-class-and-go-to-the-beach-because-we're-skinny-bitches-who-live-in-SoCal-and-wear-flip-flops way. (I know, right? I can't believe I just typed that, either. Maybe I'm having a mid-life crisis. Can you have a mid-life crisis in your 30s?)

Instagram. Because it's just so much fun to take photos that look like this.


And this.


And this.