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.

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):

healing requires patience

It’s been 5.5 weeks since Victoria 70.3, and I’m still healing. No running, no standing climbs on the bike, no kicking on the swim (which reminds me of a Seattle teammate who called the pull buoy her boyfriend because it spent so much time near her lady parts -- ha).

I’m determined to give my ankle the time it needs, but man, I feel like it’s taking forever. Which seems crazy to me, considering how common this injury is: In the U.S., 25,000 people sprain their ankles every day. That’s like the entire city of Laguna Beach plus 3,000 of their BFFs stepping off a curb the wrong way. (Am I a horrible person for thinking this would make a really good dance number in a musical?)

Yet it can take up to 12 weeks to fully recover, depending on the severity of the injury. And most of us don’t wait as long as we should. We think, It’s just a sprain. Nothing’s broken. No big deal. And then we’re back out there. And then we get injured again. Because studies find that ankle sprains have a re-injury rate between 40 and 70 percent.

I’m pretty sure that’s the mistake I made the first time around, when I sprained my ankle back in April but went ahead and did a duathlon anyway. Which led to shin splints. And two more ankle sprains and a DNF. And now I’m sitting here, 5 lbs. heavier (because my appetite always thinks it’s an Ironman), ordering elastic-waist shorts from the J.Crew outlet (because why pay full price), and listening to podcasts about the effects of ageing on an athlete’s body (because education).

But the ankle does feel noticeably better. Recovery is happening, slowly but surely.

victoria 70.3

In sum: I swam (and in typical fashion, it was meh). I rode my little heart out (don’t tell anyone, but I think I secretly like hills and I absolutely loved this course). And because my MRI did not show a stress fracture, I ran.

I got 11K into the run, rolled my ankle, walked it off, started running again, and then rolled it even worse at 13K, so I pulled the plug.

The girl huddled in a volunteer’s hoodie and a plastic rain poncho, foot propped up on a rock, simultaneously crying and cheering before Run Aid Station 1? Hi, that was me.

Because even though you go into a race injured and knowing a DNF is possible, it still feels disappointing. And I am so incredibly tired of the seemingly stupid injuries that have plagued me all season.

Med tent adventures

 *

This is the chart I made leading up to the race, when I was waiting for my MRI results and trying to figure out my options.

I guess I’m at the “Heal 100%” box right now. I don’t know what’s next. I’m trying to take it one day at a time, but it’s hard. I feel like I need redemption, that surge of emotion that comes with crossing a finish line.

*

The race doctor thought I might have a fracture, so Big Ginger drove me to the emergency room at Victoria General Hospital for an x-ray. I was still in spandex. I needed a shower.

Thankfully, nothing was broken. However, I spent a few days on crutches. And Big Ginger pushed me around the Butchart Gardens in a wheelchair. (Every time he let go of the chair, I'd yell, "I'm escaping!" and wheel myself away as fast as possible. I'm sure this game was really fun for him.)

*

I have a brace on now. My ankle is still swollen, but it’s getting better. The bruising is going away. Yesterday I rode my commuter bike (hooray for flat pedals) and felt fine.

Fingers crossed.

will the tech be mcdreamy?

So tonight I am going to get an MRI for the very first time.

I’m looking forward to it because hopefully I’ll find out what’s wrong with my leg and can then figure out how to get healthy again and make a plan for how I’ll handle Victoria. (DNF? DNS? Try to run anyway and see what happens? Also, for the record, I did get an x-ray Monday, and the results were normal, which sounds great at first, but stress fractures don’t often show up on x-rays. In fact, the last time I had a stress fracture, it wasn’t visible until I got a bone scan.)

But mostly I’m super excited for my MRI because I’ve been watching way too much "Grey’s Anatomy" on the trainer. (Side note: How is this show still on? I used to be into it but stopped ages ago, when Izzie started seeing dead people – oops, sorry if I spoiled it for you, and yes, it is really That Ridiculous – only to recently realize it is now in its 14th season! WTF.) It is going to take all of my self-control not to ask the imaging technician (is that what they’re called?) if they are “meeting” someone in the on-call room later. (Do technicians even have an on-call room?)

My brother, who is an actual real-life doctor, would literally punch me right now if he read this.

(Unless our parents are too busy drugging us like they did for this Christmas photo. Try not to be jealous of my amazing outfit.)

I'm old and my body hates me

A few weeks ago, I turned 40 30 for the tenth time.

Confession: This is not my party.

And my body has pretty much been breaking ever since. I rolled my left ankle (which technically happened before my birthday, but my body doesn’t care about those details and all it knows is F this tri season) and wasn’t able to run for awhile.

And just when I thought I was starting to get better (even finishing third in my AG at Cinco Du Mayo – who cares if there were only like seven people in the field and they only gave hardware to the first- and second-place finishers so I didn't even get to stand on an actual podium), my calf and the rest of my leg got screwed up somehow and now I have shin splints that are so painful my coach thinks maybe I could have a stress reaction or fracture.

Icing my calf and eating this entire pizza all by myself.

 And then yesterday I opened the front door onto my foot and tore my toenail. 

You're welcome.

Victoria 70.3 is less than two weeks away. I feel so craptacular and disheartened that I bought this:

I just really need something to laugh at. (Also, there's probably a totally inappropriate metaphor here.)

winter continues to kick my ass

File this under most Minnesota thing ever: A snow shoveling injury.

Yes, that’s right. I obsessively shoveled our driveway so hard that I hurt my rotator cuff and haven’t been able to swim in over a week.

This is like a foot of snow.

Cow print athletic tape hiding my cupping bruise.

Winter: 1. Michaela: 0.

finished vineman, hit a toilet

Today I injured myself on the toilet.

But not the way you think.

I was hanging a mirror on the wall behind the toilet (it's a mirror with little mustaches on it, and I like to hang it behind the toilet so when guys come over -- which really means when the mister comes over since the days of other guys at my house are long gone and not even my dad will visit me because my parents think Minnesota is cold all the time and are afraid of it -- and pee, it looks like they have a mustache on their man parts) and somehow rammed my left shin really hard against the toilet bowl. And now my shin hurts, and a bruise is forming.

But I can't wait for the mister to come back from his business trip to Asia so he can pee at my house.

Anyway, that's kind of what my life has been like lately: Muddling through, nesting, occasionally having misadventures. (Two weeks ago I puked at the ferry terminal in Seattle. But that's another story for another time. And it doesn't involve man parts, so it's not as interesting.)

I did, however, finish Vineman. It seems like awhile ago (especially since the full Ironman Vineman 140.6 happened today, and other bloggers who are better about being bloggers are probably blogging about the 140.6 on their blogs while I'm just now -- almost three weeks later -- getting around to casually mentioning the 70.3).

In a nutshell: I forgot my Garmin, so I did the entire race with no clue what my pace was. (At first, I freaked out a little. But after awhile, not having a watch was refreshing.) I ended up doing a few seconds better than my last Vineman in 2014 on the swim and the bike, and then totally blew up on the run, which was not surprising since I had a late wave start, got caught in the heat and had some stomach problems. And I also haven't been running as much or doing any track workouts this year, so I didn't really deserve a good run anyway.

Out of T2: The best I looked on the run (photo by Layla).

Swim: 47:43 (one day, I swear it, I'll hit 45:00)
T1: 4:03
Bike: 3:25:16 (I love this course more than any other course ever and it will always be joyous)
T2: 3:25
Run: 2:37:17 (I ended up in a port-a-potty for a very long time)
Overall: 6:57:44 (which I'm OK with -- I just wanted a sub-7)

I hate gun time vs. chip time on this thing.

Other random thoughts about Vineman: It's not the race I remember anymore. Ironman completely took it over, so instead of wine barrels at the finish and local sponsors at the expo, the finish line was typical Ironman-style and the sponsors were all national companies. We also had gear bags for the first time ever. And mandatory bike drop-off on Saturday. And there were 500 more athletes in the field, so the race was crowded -- I actually got boxed in on the bike and was worried about drafting penalties (which is something I've never worried about ever because I am usually slow and alone). And at packet pick-up, they routed you through the merchandise tent (which is so Ironman). And no more misting station at La Crema (which was sad, since it was really freaking hot out there).

Pre-race checklist: "Oh shit. My Garmin."

I missed the smaller race feel, and I'll admit I made a few grumpy "back in my day" comments. But that said, I thought T1 was better organized, the buoys on the swim were better and the swim finish was much easier to navigate. I also liked the new T2 setup -- less time awkwardly running with your bike into transition. Oh, and the medals this year were much cooler.

But as always, the very best thing ever about Vineman is how it feels like coming home. I love seeing my friends and riding through my old stomping grounds and feeling grateful for the way triathlon has taught me to be brave when I was going through some really rough times in my life (divorce! death! depression!). I will forever have a special place in my heart for this race.

Best body marking ever.

Vineman isn't Vineman without Layla.

Thank you to Jason, my buddy from IMAZ and sherpa for the day.

Much love also to Coeur Sports -- proud to be an ambassador and represent out there alongside my teammates!

ask me about discomfort

Current status:

Do you like my pedicure?

Remember my recent "my left knee hurts" complaint? Turns out my left IT band and hamstring are so tight they've been pulling on my knee. The pain was enough yesterday that I skipped my long run and then went to the chiropractor today for some intense Graston action. Hence the bruising (which is a totally normal thing after this treatment, I promise). I'm already feeling better, but may still keep the running easy, especially since I'm less than three weeks away from Vineman.

Anyway, this weekend was a brutal one for training. The heat and humidity were overwhelming. (Dear Minnesota: I thought you were supposed to be cold. WTF.) I did my long ride -- 65 miles -- on Saturday. Even though I brought ample hydration and nutrition and followed my plan exactly, by mile 45, I knew something was wrong. I started feeling really drowsy -- like I could just shut my eyes and fall asleep mid-ride.  

The part when I seriously considered lying on the side of the road.

And it got worse. The air was stifling, and when there was wind, it felt like a hair dryer hitting my face. And when I stopped at a park to use the restroom, taking my shorts off was a struggle because they were so soaked through with sweat. (However, I was happy I could still pee. At least there was that.) And when I got back on the bike, I started to feel chilled, and my heart rate was in zone 4, even though I was riding really slowly.

(Meanwhile, this entire time, I also had a bug bite in the crease between my upper thigh and my lady parts. So imagine that too -- sweat plus awkward bug bite plus extreme heat plus hours in the saddle. And if you're wondering how the hell I got a bug bite there, it happened at last week's race. I changed out of my tri shorts into regular shorts after the race, and somehow a bug flew up there. And I totally felt it happen. It was like a sudden pinch. And I actually stuck my hand up my shorts to figure out what was going on. And this was mid-conversation. So if you happened to be the person I was talking to while I shoved my hand toward my crotch in discomfort, sorry.)

Thankfully (my awkward bug bite and) I made it safely to my car, only to learn the outside temperature was 95 degrees. I nixed the T run and went home.

Not the most productive training weekend.

that only took four years

Because I am an extraordinarily intelligent human being who respects her body and its need for recovery, I did the New York City Marathon three weeks after Ironman. As you can see from my official race photos, I had an absolute blast.

Walk of shame in an unflattering shirt? Nailed it!

My left hamstring was so excited for this race that in the weeks between Ironman and NYCM, it allowed me to run a whopping total of five miles. And I would've deferred the marathon, except I've been deferring it (or it's been deferring me) since 2011. And I was out of deferments. And since I got in via lottery and the chances of ever getting in again are very slim, I told my hamstring to suck it up. (OK, maybe it was more like: "Let's at least get to the starting line, and if this is really awful, then I promise we can get on the subway and go home and eat pizza.") 

The demeanor of a true champion.

Race morning dawned, and Neveia, Margie and I left the apartment we were staying at on the Upper West Side at 6:45 a.m. and squeezed onto the subway.

Then we stood in a huge crowd waiting to get into the ferry terminal.

My fashion choices for this race were spot on.

Then we stood in another huge crowd waiting to get on the boat.

When we got off the boat (which was so crowded we sat on the floor and I tried not to think things like, "What if a previous passenger got seasick right here and now I'm sitting in it?"), there was a huge line to get on some shuttle buses. 

"Being squished is fun!"

It took us three hours to get to the start area. And then we began running at 11 a.m. (Pro tip: If you ever do this race, bring a portable lunch that you can comfortably eat while your face is pressed against a total stranger's back.)

Anyway, I made it to about Mile 14 and was somehow on track for a PR, but then everything about my left leg started hurting. And then I did the run-walk-shuffle thing until Mile 18. And then I just decided to walk. And for awhile, it was fine because I was walking with a random guy named Jerry who was also having problems with his hamstrings, but then around Mile 21 or so, Jerry barfed, and we all know how I feel about barfing, so I said farewell to Jerry. (For the record, there was a lot of barf in this race. The most horrible thing I saw was a woman jamming her fingers down her throat, making herself puke. I wouldn't be surprised if that sight alone was the whole reason Jerry lost his cookies. Because it was pretty disgusting. And hey, now you can have that mental image forever too! You're welcome!)

Walking those final miles was slow and painful and not very fun at all. I amused myself by taking pictures of my favorite signs.

I would like to adopt these people as my own.

Dear random strangers: I love you.

I finished in 5:41:25, for a brand-spanking-new personal worst marathon time!

And then I got in a huge crowd.

On the plus side, Margie qualified for Boston, so we celebrated afterward with some bubbly.

And I did get to eat a pizza (gluten-free of course).

And now I can cross NYCM off of my life bucket list.

P.S. Those are pirate pajamas. And I may or may not still be wearing them as I type this post.

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.