tapering?

Six days until the big race. I think maybe this means I'm tapering now. But if I didn't actually really train, am I actually really tapering? Such are the big questions in my life at the moment. (Other big questions: What can I eat next? Is it time for third lunch? What do cats think about all day?)

I did my last long ride this past Thursday -- 56 miles. Which brought my total bike mileage last week to 109 -- the most I've ever ridden in one week in my whole life. (By the way, I don't necessarily recommend going from zero miles one week to 109 miles the next. Especially if you'd like to retain sensation in your lady parts.) Highlights from the ride included this random field somewhere near Redmond:

The random guy who rode up next to me just to tell me that the matchy-matchiness of my bike kit was awesome. (Seriously, why isn't the fourth event in triathlon a fashion contest? I could go pro.)

And this random prison park bathroom that was much worse than any dirty port-a-potty I have ever been in:

There were no stall doors. And no toilet seats. And dirty toilet paper everywhere. And have I ever told you that I have recurring dreams about awkward horrible bathrooms? Like bathrooms where the stall door is too short, so everyone can see you sitting there on the toilet. And bathrooms where the toilets are overflowing. And bathrooms where the toilets are arranged in a group format, so everyone goes together. And bathrooms where the floor leading up to the toilet is so steep that you have to crawl on your hands and knees to make it to the commode without slipping. (I am a normal person, I swear.)

Imagine my horror when I stepped into this bathroom and my nightmares became reality! And yet I went anyway, because I really had to go and I pee really fast, so I figured I could out-pee anyone who might walk in. (Peeing should be another triathlon event. I would also win that one.)

I also swam at Alki over the weekend. (Look! I have friends here in Seattle!)

And then did a little SUP afterward.

Another personal nightmare: Photos of myself in a bikini. Apparently, tapering means facing your demons head-on. Or maybe butt-on, as this photo would imply.

it's (not) always a good time

Toughest swim of my life this evening.

Perhaps I should've known things would not bode well when I arrived at Madison Park Beach (an hour early, by the way, just to add to the awkwardness) and found the place completely overrun by tattooed hipsters chain-smoking and basically just re-enacting that Owl City song.

If there's anything that makes me feel old and frumpy and like someone who would make a lame Owl City reference about a song that is overplayed and so six months ago, it's hipsters. But the worst part: I'm strangely jealous of those girls in their mismatched bikinis with their bearded boyfriends. For example, today I saw one such girl with a tattoo that said "Meow." And all I could think about was: Why the hell didn't I come up with that first? Instead I have a stupid unicorn on my ass.

But let's just pretend you don't know about the tattoo I got when I was 18 or about my secret hipster envy-hatred. (Is that a term? And, more importantly, when did I suddenly become the angry jock?) Because this is really all just verbal diarrhea anyway since my brain can no longer function due to the complete and total ass-kicking I received tonight.

(Also, my cats are actually the ones who are typing this right now since I can't lift my arms. If anything in this post is TMI, blame the cats.)

Lake Washington pummeled me for 1.2 miles -- I've never swum in water this choppy before. I felt like I was getting slapped in the face over and over again, sometimes even with little bits of debris. And to add to the fun, both of my calves cramped at the same time not just once, but twice. And then a stray rope of milfoil wrapped itself around me, and I couldn't get it off.

Not too long ago, I would've completely freaked out and started crying and hauled myself up on some stranger's boat deck and begged for a ride back to my car. But this time, I literally just put my head down and fought through it. I knew I had the physical ability to do the swim -- I just needed to control what was happening psychologically. Because really, the worst thing you can possibly do in water is panic.

And I was fine. My swim buddies stuck with me, even with the cramping, so I was never alone. I focused on keeping my legs relaxed and just used my arms to pull me in. And I slowed my mind down -- no racing thoughts about being strangled by milfoil.

It worked. I made it in. This wasn't a great swim by any means -- god knows I probably looked like I was flailing -- but I'll take mental fortitude as a small victory. 

Also, I refuse to show fear in front of hipsters.

cautiously optimistic

Vineman is 12 days away. And even though I've had an assload my fair share of setbacks -- including ever-so-slightly spraining my ankle this past Sunday night when I tripped over a pair of shoes in my hotel room in the dark (sometimes even I am truly amazed by my talent) -- I'm telling myself everything will be OK on race day.

Yes, the nasty, juicy, I'm-hacking-so-hard-I-might-barf coughs are still happening. (And so is the non-stop travel -- I was in SF this weekend.) But I can swim without discomfort. In fact, I got my first open water workout as a Seattle-ite (is that a word?) done last week. The PR gal at one of the major wine companies here is a swimmer, and she encouraged me to join an organized swim -- complete with kayak support and coaching -- on Lake Washington, from Martha Washington Park to Seward and back.

The experience was absolutely incredible -- an amazing, supportive group of people who truly love swimming and an unbelievably gorgeous location. The water was a just-right 66 degrees, and at one point after the turnaround, the clouds parted and the sun shot through -- if only I could describe the way the light looked on the water. We swam 1.2 miles (though I suspect I swam more, since my sighting was horrible and I basically zig-zagged all over the place), and I felt so happy and so lucky to be out there in the water. (Never in my life did I think swimming would make me feel this high, by the way.)

I'm also running again. It's slow-going, and if I have to stop at a crosswalk or take a break for any reason, the cough-gag thing kicks in pretty violently. But I slogged through a short heat run last week (it's possible race day temps could be around 100 degrees, so I'm trying to brace myself for the worst) and got an 8-miler in on Sunday.

Sweaty, post-run me -- kind of ick, but pretty happy to be running again. (And yes, I guess I'm officially the dorky person who snaps workout selfies at the gym. But I try to do it only when no one is looking. At least, when I hope no one is looking.)

And I am finally back on my bike. I went a little nutso yesterday and rode 53 miles. This really wasn't what I was planning to do, but I couldn't help it. Once Muppet and I were reunited, we just couldn't stop. Yes, there were scary moments (I officially hate riding across the Ballard Bridge -- the bike lane is one person wide, and you end up playing chicken with people coming the opposite direction -- it's all kinds of horrible), but for the most part, I had a great time out there. Rode all the way out to Woodinville and back.

The "back" part was interesting, though. Since I live on top of a ginormous hill, there's really no easy way to get home. I finished my ride with about a 1-mile steady climb and was pretty much a mess of sweat, snot and dead bugs (yup -- it was death to winged insects if they flew into my sticky, sunscreen-slathered legs) when I returned to the house.

So tired that I couldn't even get Muppet up the stairs!

So I'm hoping for the best and trying to stay out of panic mode. Yes, I do feel a little like I'm cramming for a test at this point, but I'm just going to keep reminding myself that everything will be fine. I've done what I can. This has been far from a perfect training cycle (can you really even call this training?), but it is without a doubt an adventure.

total meltdown

This may sound weird, but the annual trip to Aspen for Food & Wine typically means it's time to get serious with my Vineman training. While I'm in Colorado, I pack in high-altitude workouts. And somehow manage to clean up my diet and cut out the gluten (odd venue for it, but I'm a girl who likes a challenge). And then I come home and start upping the mileage.

And at first, things seemed to be going as planned. I had a fantastic run in Boulder.

I made a new friend, saw some interesting art and felt like I could've kept running forever.

(Just curious: Is it normal to see pot plants randomly growing in public places? Because I swear I saw at least four of them while I was out there.)

Then there was the 5K from hell in Aspen. And I got an 1,800-yard swim in at the ARC (which never ceases to amaze me -- besides the mega-sized aquatics facility, complete with three-story water slide, this place has a climbing wall and an indoor ice rink).

(Swimming at altitude is just as tough as running at altitude, though!)

And then I came home, continued with the running and the swimming (yes, I realize my cycling is totally suffering), went on a quick work trip to San Francisco and then came back for the Seattle Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon on Saturday.

I should've known something was off when I woke up that morning with a sore throat, but I figured it was just allergies and ran the race anyway.

It was hilly. And hot. (Of course, the one day sun decides to show up in Seattle is the same day as the race. Go figure.) I got passed by a perky pregnant woman wearing a sign that said: "Running for 2 / In 5 days I'm due!" (Am I a bad person for wanting to punch her? Don't answer that.) And I finished in a not-so-rocking 2:16:58. I figured my poor performance was largely due to my lack of training.

Until I came down with a 101-degree fever the next day.

Thankfully, I'm no longer confined to my bed, suffering alternating bouts of sweating and chills while my nose runs like a faucet.

However, now I can't breathe. The stupid cold or whatever it is has lodged itself in my lungs, and I wake myself up at night because my wheezing is so loud. My coughs are juicy and disgusting and make people standing next to me uncomfortable. My lungs hurt when I walk uphill.

Pardon me while I freak out and lose my shit for a moment: Vineman is less than three weeks away and I cannot train because I cannot breathe.

Big, fat, superbold F. 

missive

I have been traveling so much lately that I can't remember what day of the week it is. (Case in point: I'm currently at a hotel that has a nacho bar on Monday nights, and I just went downstairs to stuff myself with melted cheese, only to discover that -- duh -- it is not Monday.) I also got off a plane in Denver and thought I was in Phoenix for a split second. (In my defense, it was abnormally hot.)

And the last time I was actually home, Mari left me this:

Sorry. Had to share.

I can't really blame her. I'd probably take a massive protest dump too if the only person in the whole world I didn't hide under the bed from drove me 14 hours to a strange place and left me there all by myself with only a crazy kitten who doesn't stop biting me for company.

I'm a horrible cat mother. (Cue feelings of lingering, former-Catholic guilt.)

But I love the travel. And I love my job in a way I haven't felt in a very long time. Yes, it would be nice to actually spend one week straight in my new place and, I don't know, maybe even unpack. And yes, I would love to start meeting people who actually live in Seattle and take part in activities that are actually based in Seattle, such as going to the grocery store and finding a reputable dry cleaner. And yes, it's quite possible that Vineman is going to be absolutely laughable this year due to my extremely inconsistent training.

And the hardest part: It does get a little lonely sometimes, especially when I find myself in a really beautiful place and wish I had someone to share it with.

But I've had the chance to do things and meet people and have experiences that I will never forget.

Like five days in Washington wine country with a group of 50 trade folks from 11 different countries. (Key learning points: Everything east of the Cascades is a desert. Only American men are afraid to wear color. The Columbia River is a cold, cold thing, even in June. The Red Mountain AVA is awesome. It's completely possible to have a dance party in a hotel lobby.)

This week, I flew to Colorado (not Arizona, as I previously thought) for the Aspen Food & Wine Classic events.

Highlights included running my worst (10-minute PW) yet most memorable 5K ever. I thought the altitude was going to kill me, but Marcus Samuelsson hugged and kissed me on the cheek at the starting line when I told him I read his book and loved it. And then I walked back from the race with this guy:

And we talked about how 5Ks are really hard because they feel like an outright sprint for 3.1 miles and we really just prefer half marathons.

But that was nothing compared to taking the gondola up the mountain last night for an event.

Gorgeous in daylight, yes? Now imagine it at night, when it's pitch black except for the city lights shining up at you from below, and then your co-worker decides to play the Cure's "Pictures of You" on his phone. And you sit in silence and the instrumental part just builds and builds and you remember how important this song was to you in high school and you think how in high school, you never would've thought your life would end up the way it has. And this strikes you as something sort of amazing and you wonder where you will go next. And the lights keep shining up at you and then you think: I don't ever ever ever want to take this for granted.

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