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dress rehearsal

In our pre-race talk, Coach Mark called Sunday's race a dress rehearsal for Louisville. And as with any dress rehearsal (since I was a drama dork in high school, I'm totally an expert on this subject), there were glitches.

There was also one very pungent dead deer, four dead snakes (two of which made me scream, even though they were dead) and one unidentifiable mummified dead thing with a long tail and fur.

But I digress.

Even though this race was just practice, I still feel like I should've done better. It wasn't an A race by any means, but I still wanted a sub-7 finish. I'm trying really hard now not to dwell on my performance (or lack thereof) and instead learn from my "issues" and make a plan to fix them.

The Swim: Oddly, the best part of the day. I got kicked in the head and there was lots of contact, but I didn't panic. I stayed steady, swam in straight lines (at last) and focused on long strokes. Swim time: 49:27.0. (And actual time in the water was probably less than that -- the timing mat was up a hill just outside of transition instead of immediately at the water.)

Jazz hands! (Photo by Coach T.)

T1: Even though I dropped my goggles running to transition and then slipped and fell picking them up, this was still one of my better T1s -- no fumbling with the wetsuit. T1 time: 2:49.2.

Bike: Where do I begin? At Mile 17-ish, a yellow jacket hit me in the face, bounced off my cheek and landed on my left arm, where it inserted its ass into my flesh and stung me. I shook the bug off, but the stinger stayed in my arm the entire ride. And it was not fun. Also not fun: Losing my front water bottle and having to stop on the side of the road to retrieve it even though I had taped all my bottles with Hello Kitty duct tape for extra grip.


Then there was the pain in my neck and shoulders from the aero bars. And not being able to ride as aggressively as I normally would have because I was still getting used to Minivan and shifting in aero. And I got bad stomach cramps at Mile 50 that continued through the first few miles of the run. My heart rate was all over the place -- inconsistent effort, largely due to discomfort. Bike time: 3:45:54.9. (A big fat meh.)


T2: Fine, but a little slower than normal because I felt like shit and was sort of giving up hope. T2 time: 2:26.9.

Run: The cramps were bad. Really bad. But I kept running, popped two salt tabs and sucked down a bunch of Osmo. I started feeling better around Mile 4 and ended up being able to run the entire 13.1 without walking (although I did stop at aid stations for water and fuel and used a port-a-potty once). The only other issue (very minor) was the timing chip cutting into my ankle. And I probably could've pushed harder -- I was mostly in Z2 the whole time. (One sign that I should've worked more: I managed to have a very detailed conversation with some random guy about how I had tried to pee on the bike but failed because I kept thinking about the pee getting on my rear water bottles and then what if I drank my own pee and is that sanitary or would I die. We are now Facebook friends.) Run time: 2:27:11.8. (Also meh.)

Total: 7:07:49.8 -- in a small race like this, where almost everyone seemed to be prepping for IMAZ, I was at the tail end of the pack. Not going to lie: It was (and is) really hard not to feel like a gigantic loser. Also, my arm is swollen and hot and extremely itchy.

But I'm trying to be positive. I'm looking at the problems I had during the race and coming up with ways to address them before Louisville. The to-do list includes getting my bike fit readjusted, changing my hydration system (for the third time), making hydration a priority in the days leading up to the race and carrying salt on the bike.

And so we continue onward. And I thank god I'm not allergic to bees.

Best part of triathlon: The friends who don't judge you even after a tough day.

this isn't really happening

So I looked up my bib number today.


I'm in denial that this race is less than five weeks away. I'm also in denial that I have a 70.3 this weekend. (Have you noticed that I have completely and totally failed to mention that until just now? I'm telling you: Denial.)

And while we're at it: I'm not really in the 35-39 age group. That must be a typo. I also didn't wake up this morning with a sore throat. And the Loch Ness monster is real.

*

On another note, I went to the chiropractor today. (I usually go once a month, but as Ironman gets closer -- which of course, is not really happening because it's all just pretend -- I start going every other week.) Our conversation went like this:

Chiropractor: How's your body feeling?

Me: I crashed my bike Sunday.

Chiropractor: Didn't you crash last time you were here?

Me: Did I? Oh wait. Wait. Yes, I did!

Chiropractor: Stop crashing.

*

I am healing, though. And the road rash is really not that bad -- amazing what a little Neosporin and arnica can do. Although I will admit that it is totally gross when you pull cat hair out of your wounds.


Also, I may or may not have been sitting on the toilet when I took the above photo.

*

Recently, I was on the bus behind this:


Actually, at first, it was next to me and it didn't smell great so I didn't look at it because I've learned the hard way that sometimes it's really best not to engage, so I scrunched closer to the window, but then the seat in front of us opened up, and so it moved since apparently it didn't want to sit next to me either, and that's when I saw the incredible hair.

I was sort of hoping a litter of kittens would pop out and fall into my lap and it would be like this story about the two guys in Alabama who were fishing and randomly had two kittens swim up to their boat.

rough go. or something.

I've been sitting here for the past five minutes, trying to figure out how to use the phrase "rough go" to describe the last week or so of training, but not being quite sure whether the correct use is "rough go of" or "rough go at." Also, the whole thing kind of sounds pornographic, so maybe I should really just scrap the phrase altogether.

Welcome to my brain.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that the last week or so of training has been challenging. Today I had a seven-hour ride on my schedule, and even though it was drizzly and wet outside, I couldn't bear the thought of spending seven hours on the trainer. So I drove up to Snohomish to ride the Centennial Trail (which is awesome and you should ride it). 

And all was going well until I slipped on wet railroad tracks and ended up on the ground. You know that moment when you look down and you're bleeding and you're shocked because holy shit there is blood and it's yours and then suddenly you feel light-headed and like you might pass out? Yes. That moment.

Just road rash and bruises.

Thankfully, a very kind woman (who unfortunately was wearing a Seahawks jersey so now I can't hate the Seahawks anymore, goddammit) named Melissa and her daughter Lexi stopped to help me. God bless them. They called 911, and the paramedics came, made sure nothing was broken and bandaged me up. And when I told the medics my age, wonderful Lexi exclaimed: "Wow! You look really young!" And when I took my helmet off, she said, "You're so cute!"

Pro tip: If you ever feel bad about yourself, I strongly recommend crashing your bike in Arlington and letting the affirmations flow.

Melissa and Lexi then drove me 20 miles back to my car. And we talked about horror movies and the mean girls in high school (Lexi starts her freshman year Tuesday) and how Taylor Swift is the best ever. I hope they win the lottery.

And that's just the most recent bad training story. Yesterday I got out of bed and put all my running gear on and started eating breakfast and then felt sick to my stomach, so I went back to bed (still wearing all my running gear -- Garmin and heart rate monitor included) and slept all day. When I finally got up and went for my run, I got caught in a thunderstorm and torrential downpour that was so bad I almost crawled under a semi trailer for shelter at one point.

At least I wore a black sports bra.

And I had another running fail earlier this week -- double workout last Tuesday, with a 3,300-yard swim in the morning and track in the evening. I didn't eat enough during the day and almost passed out at track. Coach T made me lie on the ground and then sent me home for dinner.

And then last weekend, there was a huge windstorm so I spent a total of 10 hours on the trainer -- four one day and six the next. Pretty sure my downstairs neighbors hate me. (And can you really blame me for wanting to ride outside today after 10 hours on the trainer last weekend?)

Yes, that is a hot dog.

And on top of all of this, I'm just downright exhausted. 


Ironman Louisville: Five weeks and counting.

very sexy dream angel v-string pull buoy

Today got a little crazy with work and multiple health-related appointments (don't even ask about the tooth right now -- this is truly a never-ending saga of stupid) and other events, so I didn't get my swim in until later this evening.

And my swim had really, really long intervals (100s on 3:00 -- plenty of time to wonder about important things like if I fart while swimming, can other swimmers tell or do the bubbles just look like normal swimming bubbles) so it took me a really, really long time to finish the workout. As a result, by the time I was done, there was no one else in the pool area except me.

And The Random Lady in the Jacuzzi.

Who was very interested in my pull buoy.

Random Lady: "Where did you get that?"

Me: "This? I brought it from my house."

Random Lady: "It looks like it's from Victoria's Secret. It's their colors. Like if you buy $70 worth of panties, they give it to you for free. I would buy $70 worth of panties if they were giving that away."

(The cats in this photo give zero effs about swimming.)

I will never look at my pull buoy the same way again.

how to do it wrong

Fly to the Midwest for "vacation." Drink wine and Japanese whisky to celebrate finally being reunited with one of your favorite people in the whole entire world. Stuff your face with sushi in the shape of a dragon.


When you are so full you can barely function, waddle back to the apartment, where you will then decide there is no better time than now to adjust the road bike you rented. Allow your favorite person to then convince you it is a good idea to test the bike fit by attempting to ride down the hallway of his apartment.

Immediately crash into the wall on your left, bounce off of it, smash your face against the wall on the right and then end up in a heap on the floor, still clipped in to your pedals. Laugh hysterically while your favorite person tries to drag you back into his apartment before the neighbors come out and ask you why the hell you are riding bikes in the hallway in the first place.

Spend the rest of the evening trying to casually ice your face and appear totally nonchalant about your human pinball impression. Fail completely.

But still somehow manage to get up the next day for a five-hour ride.


Complete the ride, despite the fact that your right shifter is now crooked and your face is so sore it hurts to smile. Pray that your favorite person's family doesn't notice the bruise that is slowly but surely forming on your cheek.

(That may or may not be a Timberwolves shirt.)


Watch helplessly as the bruise gets progressively greener every day.

Return to Seattle. End up on the train back from the airport next to a strange man who is wearing nothing but a bedsheet. When he smiles at you, think: "Wow, Mr. Bedsheet is really nice and maybe isn't all that big of a weirdo!"

And then realize you have a bruise on your face, so Mr. Bedsheet may look sane in comparison.