So I somehow talked my friend Tina into doing the Resolution Run as her first 5k race. Okay, to be fair, I can only take half the credit (and corresponding blame); I mentioned it, she pretty much talked herself into it. This is all great. Tina and I both run about a half-hour 5k, so we can pace each other. Her husband, who's also signed up, is a little more accomplished, and should be warm and dry and sucking back hot chocolate by the time we see the clock.
Problem is, the Resolution Run, which is on January1 pretty much everywhere else they run it in North America, is actually on December 26 in Toronto. This we did not discover until Tina registered. With Tina and James in, I was kinda obliged to do the 26th, too.
January 1 would have been perfect. I'm not much of a New Years' reveler. I don't like the holiday, to be honest, and I like it less as I get older. Let's celebrate another year passing! Sure, buddy, just wait till you've got as few of 'em left as I do.
(And much like St. Patrick's Day, it's what my friend Simon calls "Amateur Night." I'm much more comfortable around the professional drinkers; they're less unpredictable.)
Whereas at Christmas, my family tends to eat. Lots. I'm not going to be crossing the finish line alone; there'll be a good fraction of a turkey and a not inconsiderable amount of ham accompanying me. The wine and beer will surely have evacuated, but their ghosts will linger, if you know what I mean.
I'll also have to come back into Toronto Christmas night, which may be a bit of a pain, but it's a blessing, too. It'll mean a couple fewer beers, a few less Yorkshire puddings, and maybe a fighting chance to start the race feeling like I can finish it.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
It isn't walking if they don't see you doing it
I ran my first 5k race on Sunday on something of a whim. The Run Ajax Waterfront 5k is in my hometown, and I'd thought about running it earlier in the year, but I never got around to registering. Last Saturday, I took the train out to Oshawa to drop off my old bike for my daughter. It's a bit big for her, but only a bit. Then we went out to get a multi-tool, so we could adjust the seat and a couple other things, and a lock.
While we were at it, we stopped at the Running Room in Pickering. They were handing out the race bags and taking last-minute registrations, as I thought they might. I ended up with race bib No. 598.
While I was there, a picked up a pair of tights to replace the ones I'd quickly grabbed off the rack at Mountain Equipment Co-op the week before. I hadn't tried them on. As it turned out, I'd grabbed a women's medium.. I dunno, maybe I would have looked fabulous. And since I can't pass up a clearance rack, I also ended up with one of their Resolution Run jackets, last year's version, for half price. (The Resolution Run is a New Year's Day 5k the Running Room puts on in cities across the country. The jacket, which sells for $90 the rest of the year, is your gift for entering.)
And it's a good thing I did, too. It wasn't till later that the thought crossed my mind: In the event I was going to run this race, I had brought a pair of cotton shorts (all my Lycra was in the wash) and a cycling jersey. It never crossed my mind, until Saturday evening, that the weather might be rainy and cold in the early morning in late October.
And it was. Probably 6C when we got to Rotary Park. Okay, that's not so bad, but add cloud and wind and rain at 8:30 in the morning, and it's pretty uncomfortable. My dad drove Sophie and I down to the lake. It was unfortunately early. I've never gone through the registration process for a race before, so I had no idea how simple it was. There was the start of a half-marathon walk at 8:30, followed by the start of the half-marathon run at nine. The 5k was a 9:30 start. My dad grumbled and read his Kindle in the car. Sophie and I went to the start line about 9 just to see how people took off.
The rain stopped about 10 minutes before my gun time, which was perfect. Five minutes before we took off, someone took to the stage to lead us in a warm-up. It looked like fun to my daughter (who despises running, like I did at her age). I just kinda shuffled from foot to foot. There was a guy wearing a cap that said "80 AND STILL RUNNING." I had a feeling he'd beat me.
And we were off. I'd positioned myself about two-thirds back in the back, where I figured a half-hour 5k might come in. The course began heading east, with a loop back to the west before continuing east along the lake shore. This gave me two waves from Sophie as I started.
In the first five minutes or so, I was passed more than I passed people at a ration of about three to one. This is discouraging. But as we wound along the path toward the turnaround mark, I was no longer being passed. I caught up with a number of people on the outward leg. (I paced myself behind a pair of very attractive young ladies for a while, and I'm sure it hurt my time. But you have to reserve some strength for the finish.)
I was probably at the 1.5-kilometre mark when the first runner passed me coming back the other way. I couldn't do the math at the time -- the only thing I could focus on by that point was my breathing -- but that would have meant he'd covered 3.5k in the time I'd covered 1.5k. There were only a few outliers like that, though. But by the time I got to about the 2k mark, there was a steady stream of people coming back the other way. (One of them was the 80-year-old; I figure he beat me by about four minutes.)
The course has long, rolling hills, for the most part not particularly steep. But there was one downhill on the way out that made me think, "Expletive deleted, I'm gonna have to climb that on the way back."
From 1.5k to the turnaround felt dreary, but at the turn, I felt much better. Then came the hill.
I don't know for sure, but I figure it's somewhere around 3.5k. I got to the bottom, had a quick look around, and saw no spectators. I can walk for 30 breaths, I figured. And I'll make 30 breaths last the length of this hill.
And the rest was a struggle. I was close to packing it up when I came back into the staring loop, but a spectator told me: "You got it beat now." Still, that last 500m was a test. Then I rounded the last corner into the home stretch and saw the time clock.
I can't describe the feeling. It's not just relief. There was no element of excitement. It's kind of like having wandered around in the woods for hours, with no idea where you are, and suddenly, you spy the parking lot you left from. I sprinted the last 75m. (I'm sure witnesses would tell you it was 50, but it's my blog.)
And not only was Sophie there at the finish, but my high school buddy Kevin. I'd called him the day before, since he'd mentioned he'd run a couple 10ks, to see if he'd registered. He hadn't, but he came down to catch the finish.
I figure I finished in about 30:35. I was 58th overall (out of 90-some-odd), 25th male. I have much of this information courtesy of my daughter, since I was wearing contact lenses and couldn't properly read the results page. Running Room hasn't posted the results yet.
I took advantage of the free massage afterward, which was probably a mistake. I hurt WAY more afterward than I did before. I should have just stretched. Well, I know for next time.
This does officially make me an endurance athlete. I have raced. I want to do the Resolution Run this year, but I'm not sure where. I'm not sure where I'll be for New Years', and the Toronto run starts at 9:30, whereas the Whitby run starts at a more civilized 12 noon. The jacket is kinda orange this year (last year's one, the one I picked up in the clearance rack, is green). I could see myself getting into the habit of collecting them.
While we were at it, we stopped at the Running Room in Pickering. They were handing out the race bags and taking last-minute registrations, as I thought they might. I ended up with race bib No. 598.
While I was there, a picked up a pair of tights to replace the ones I'd quickly grabbed off the rack at Mountain Equipment Co-op the week before. I hadn't tried them on. As it turned out, I'd grabbed a women's medium.. I dunno, maybe I would have looked fabulous. And since I can't pass up a clearance rack, I also ended up with one of their Resolution Run jackets, last year's version, for half price. (The Resolution Run is a New Year's Day 5k the Running Room puts on in cities across the country. The jacket, which sells for $90 the rest of the year, is your gift for entering.)
And it's a good thing I did, too. It wasn't till later that the thought crossed my mind: In the event I was going to run this race, I had brought a pair of cotton shorts (all my Lycra was in the wash) and a cycling jersey. It never crossed my mind, until Saturday evening, that the weather might be rainy and cold in the early morning in late October.
And it was. Probably 6C when we got to Rotary Park. Okay, that's not so bad, but add cloud and wind and rain at 8:30 in the morning, and it's pretty uncomfortable. My dad drove Sophie and I down to the lake. It was unfortunately early. I've never gone through the registration process for a race before, so I had no idea how simple it was. There was the start of a half-marathon walk at 8:30, followed by the start of the half-marathon run at nine. The 5k was a 9:30 start. My dad grumbled and read his Kindle in the car. Sophie and I went to the start line about 9 just to see how people took off.
The rain stopped about 10 minutes before my gun time, which was perfect. Five minutes before we took off, someone took to the stage to lead us in a warm-up. It looked like fun to my daughter (who despises running, like I did at her age). I just kinda shuffled from foot to foot. There was a guy wearing a cap that said "80 AND STILL RUNNING." I had a feeling he'd beat me.
And we were off. I'd positioned myself about two-thirds back in the back, where I figured a half-hour 5k might come in. The course began heading east, with a loop back to the west before continuing east along the lake shore. This gave me two waves from Sophie as I started.
In the first five minutes or so, I was passed more than I passed people at a ration of about three to one. This is discouraging. But as we wound along the path toward the turnaround mark, I was no longer being passed. I caught up with a number of people on the outward leg. (I paced myself behind a pair of very attractive young ladies for a while, and I'm sure it hurt my time. But you have to reserve some strength for the finish.)
I was probably at the 1.5-kilometre mark when the first runner passed me coming back the other way. I couldn't do the math at the time -- the only thing I could focus on by that point was my breathing -- but that would have meant he'd covered 3.5k in the time I'd covered 1.5k. There were only a few outliers like that, though. But by the time I got to about the 2k mark, there was a steady stream of people coming back the other way. (One of them was the 80-year-old; I figure he beat me by about four minutes.)
The course has long, rolling hills, for the most part not particularly steep. But there was one downhill on the way out that made me think, "Expletive deleted, I'm gonna have to climb that on the way back."
From 1.5k to the turnaround felt dreary, but at the turn, I felt much better. Then came the hill.
I don't know for sure, but I figure it's somewhere around 3.5k. I got to the bottom, had a quick look around, and saw no spectators. I can walk for 30 breaths, I figured. And I'll make 30 breaths last the length of this hill.
And the rest was a struggle. I was close to packing it up when I came back into the staring loop, but a spectator told me: "You got it beat now." Still, that last 500m was a test. Then I rounded the last corner into the home stretch and saw the time clock.
I can't describe the feeling. It's not just relief. There was no element of excitement. It's kind of like having wandered around in the woods for hours, with no idea where you are, and suddenly, you spy the parking lot you left from. I sprinted the last 75m. (I'm sure witnesses would tell you it was 50, but it's my blog.)
And not only was Sophie there at the finish, but my high school buddy Kevin. I'd called him the day before, since he'd mentioned he'd run a couple 10ks, to see if he'd registered. He hadn't, but he came down to catch the finish.
I figure I finished in about 30:35. I was 58th overall (out of 90-some-odd), 25th male. I have much of this information courtesy of my daughter, since I was wearing contact lenses and couldn't properly read the results page. Running Room hasn't posted the results yet.
I took advantage of the free massage afterward, which was probably a mistake. I hurt WAY more afterward than I did before. I should have just stretched. Well, I know for next time.
This does officially make me an endurance athlete. I have raced. I want to do the Resolution Run this year, but I'm not sure where. I'm not sure where I'll be for New Years', and the Toronto run starts at 9:30, whereas the Whitby run starts at a more civilized 12 noon. The jacket is kinda orange this year (last year's one, the one I picked up in the clearance rack, is green). I could see myself getting into the habit of collecting them.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
It's a Cannondale
Great news on the my new baby front: It's a Cannondale, about 22 pounds, white and black with red trim.
Another way of saying the Toronto International Bicycle Show (Fall Blowout Version) was this Saturday. I had been prepping for this for at least two months. I'd researched brands and models out the wazoo. But the more I researched, the more I realized: The model I want, even if I've only narrowed it down to about eight, is not going to be there. What you want is a nice aluminum frame, carbon fork, and the rest you can upgrade.
I'd promised to hold a place in line for Kathleen and Beryl at the show, but my buddy Paolo, whom I've known since we were five, dropped in and I misbehaved somewhat the night before. Kathleen actually got there first, probably about an hour before the show opened. We were about 200th in line.
I had planned my assault on the show, mapped it out. But when the doors opened, I did what everybody else did. Hustle in, very business like. Stop, intimidated by the scale of the venture. Wander aimlessly for a few moments. Then, go back to pretending you had a plan.
I think I bounced along pretty efficiently, ruling out shops quickly. The inventory they're blowing out is often unpurchased because it's higher-end than your average failed triathlete might be looking at, and a general rule of these shows is: The more you're willing to spend, the bigger the discount you'll get. A bike with an MSRP of $3,200 on sale for $2,400 is still $1,400 over my budget.
I settled on a Cannondale CAAD 8, mostly for the frame. It felt right. The drive train is nothing to write home about, Shimano whatever, but Peter from Pedal Performance assured me that an upgrade wouldn't be horrifically expensive when the time came. (I'm not giving numbers because there was an element of bike-shop-guy confidentiality. I will, however, reveal this: Do the fall show for bikes, but do the spring show for accessories.)
It's lightish at 22 pounds -- a new wheel set and drive train will take a little off that -- and it just plain feels good. Checked out a Specialized Secteur, a bit more expensive but with a better drive train, but I just didn't feel as good with the frame.
(Kathleen got a Trek, after wrestling with a number of colour schemes and some geometries that just didn't look right. She's also difficult to fit, to be fair, with a long torso.)
The next day, I spent a good hour in the courtyard of my building, practicing clipping in and clipping out with cleats. I've never ridden cleated to a bike before, and it's a little intimidating when you're slowing to a stop and you can't get your feet out of the pedals. I'm okay with that now, though it isn't the most graceful thing, and I'm still not going to be found in heavy traffic till I'm more used to it.
I've swapped the aero bars over, and I'm going to need a fitting. I'm hoping the PP folk will give me at least a 30-day tuneup, once the bolts and cables and such stretch out. Maybe a fitting while I'm there? probably a good idea.
Another way of saying the Toronto International Bicycle Show (Fall Blowout Version) was this Saturday. I had been prepping for this for at least two months. I'd researched brands and models out the wazoo. But the more I researched, the more I realized: The model I want, even if I've only narrowed it down to about eight, is not going to be there. What you want is a nice aluminum frame, carbon fork, and the rest you can upgrade.
I'd promised to hold a place in line for Kathleen and Beryl at the show, but my buddy Paolo, whom I've known since we were five, dropped in and I misbehaved somewhat the night before. Kathleen actually got there first, probably about an hour before the show opened. We were about 200th in line.
I had planned my assault on the show, mapped it out. But when the doors opened, I did what everybody else did. Hustle in, very business like. Stop, intimidated by the scale of the venture. Wander aimlessly for a few moments. Then, go back to pretending you had a plan.
I think I bounced along pretty efficiently, ruling out shops quickly. The inventory they're blowing out is often unpurchased because it's higher-end than your average failed triathlete might be looking at, and a general rule of these shows is: The more you're willing to spend, the bigger the discount you'll get. A bike with an MSRP of $3,200 on sale for $2,400 is still $1,400 over my budget.
I settled on a Cannondale CAAD 8, mostly for the frame. It felt right. The drive train is nothing to write home about, Shimano whatever, but Peter from Pedal Performance assured me that an upgrade wouldn't be horrifically expensive when the time came. (I'm not giving numbers because there was an element of bike-shop-guy confidentiality. I will, however, reveal this: Do the fall show for bikes, but do the spring show for accessories.)
It's lightish at 22 pounds -- a new wheel set and drive train will take a little off that -- and it just plain feels good. Checked out a Specialized Secteur, a bit more expensive but with a better drive train, but I just didn't feel as good with the frame.
(Kathleen got a Trek, after wrestling with a number of colour schemes and some geometries that just didn't look right. She's also difficult to fit, to be fair, with a long torso.)
The next day, I spent a good hour in the courtyard of my building, practicing clipping in and clipping out with cleats. I've never ridden cleated to a bike before, and it's a little intimidating when you're slowing to a stop and you can't get your feet out of the pedals. I'm okay with that now, though it isn't the most graceful thing, and I'm still not going to be found in heavy traffic till I'm more used to it.
I've swapped the aero bars over, and I'm going to need a fitting. I'm hoping the PP folk will give me at least a 30-day tuneup, once the bolts and cables and such stretch out. Maybe a fitting while I'm there? probably a good idea.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Happy Trails
Had to travel on business to Vancouver last week. Since I've got a couple of friends who've moved out there in the last six or eight months, I extended the trip a couple days to catch up. I also designated the week a "recovery" week. Well, I recovered in epic style, going from nine workouts the previous two weeks to ... three.
One of those workouts, though, was a trail run in Lynn Canyon Park in North Vancouver. The weather was glorious; so good, in fact, that on the Friday night, I'd slept on Dale's 14th storey balcony in Yaletown. (I woke up at six on the morning remembering I'm terrified of balconies. Yes, I'm afraid there was some drinking involved.)
Dale and I did breakfast at The Tomahawk, a greasy spoon in North Van that does Yukon-style bacon and feeds you like it's a Denny's. Then we went off to the park for a run.
I'd not gone for a proper trail run before, largely because there aren't proper trails in Toronto. This one started with a walk across a suspension bridge about 50 metres over the river and canyon. I stopped in the middle to revel in the awesomeness of it all. ("I cannot deny the snazzy of this," were my exact words.) Then there were stairs of hewn wood, lots of climbs, lots of descents, fallen trees to hurdle (okay, climb over) and dogs that had been rolling around in the mud. We ran for about half an hour, and I kept up with the punk. Not bad, since he's 10 years younger than me. I even outsprinted him the last 50 yards, though, to be honest, I don't think he knew we were racing.
It was easier on my knees than lap running, with a much softer landing. The scenery was compelling, though for the most part I kept my eyes on the trail ahead -- there were lots of impediments and, in general, crap that could kill you if you didn't see it coming, or at least twist an ankle nicely. In half an hour, I'm sure we covered at least 5k, if you factor in the changes in altitude.
I also hurt in different places than I do after a lap or street run. It didn't help, I'm sure, that I didn't have my foam roller to tease out my IT bands, etc., but it definitely works different muscles.
Now, I have to find some half-decent trail to run in Toronto. Any suggestions? It won't be Lynn Canyon, I'm sure, but there has to be some trails worth running.
One of those workouts, though, was a trail run in Lynn Canyon Park in North Vancouver. The weather was glorious; so good, in fact, that on the Friday night, I'd slept on Dale's 14th storey balcony in Yaletown. (I woke up at six on the morning remembering I'm terrified of balconies. Yes, I'm afraid there was some drinking involved.)
Dale and I did breakfast at The Tomahawk, a greasy spoon in North Van that does Yukon-style bacon and feeds you like it's a Denny's. Then we went off to the park for a run.
I'd not gone for a proper trail run before, largely because there aren't proper trails in Toronto. This one started with a walk across a suspension bridge about 50 metres over the river and canyon. I stopped in the middle to revel in the awesomeness of it all. ("I cannot deny the snazzy of this," were my exact words.) Then there were stairs of hewn wood, lots of climbs, lots of descents, fallen trees to hurdle (okay, climb over) and dogs that had been rolling around in the mud. We ran for about half an hour, and I kept up with the punk. Not bad, since he's 10 years younger than me. I even outsprinted him the last 50 yards, though, to be honest, I don't think he knew we were racing.
It was easier on my knees than lap running, with a much softer landing. The scenery was compelling, though for the most part I kept my eyes on the trail ahead -- there were lots of impediments and, in general, crap that could kill you if you didn't see it coming, or at least twist an ankle nicely. In half an hour, I'm sure we covered at least 5k, if you factor in the changes in altitude.
I also hurt in different places than I do after a lap or street run. It didn't help, I'm sure, that I didn't have my foam roller to tease out my IT bands, etc., but it definitely works different muscles.
Now, I have to find some half-decent trail to run in Toronto. Any suggestions? It won't be Lynn Canyon, I'm sure, but there has to be some trails worth running.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Dude, *there's* my breakthrough
Sometimes, you have a breakthrough workout. You go with a plan; when you hit the end of the workout, you feel like continuing. Before you know it, you've doubled your target, maybe more.
My runs lately have been capped by knee pain, almost like clockwork, at about 18 minutes. I'd run for 20 laps, or 2.5 km, walk a lap, then continue. At 26 laps, the knee pain would start; by 28 laps, 3.5 km, I'd have to shut down.
So I went in today with that general plan; run 15 minutes, walk a lap, run until I had to shut down. But I got to Lap 20, and I still felt good. Breathing wasn't too laboured, legs felt fine. And that put me at the halfway point of a 5k. So I figured I'd just run it out.
I thought I felt the twinges begin at Lap 24, but I relaxed a bit and they stopped. I was expecting them at Lap 28. Nothing. By the time I'd got to 30, I figured I had no choice but to finish.
At Lap 32, I started getting twinges. They didn't go away. But I only had a kilometre to go. (BTW, if I'd said, "Only a kilometre," six months ago, I'd have been being sarcastic.) The pain got worse, but slowly, and only a little. Steadily, but not a lot worse. I turned it up a notch for the last two laps. I sprinted the last half lap, though "sprint" would be a loose description; it might have been a 25-seconds-per-100m pace.
So, radical improvement. I'm sure the foam roller helped; my IT bands are much looser now. The new orthotics, too. But everything else falling into place helped, too -- the spinning, the swimming, they helped build the cardio aspect of it as well.
I'm in Vancouver a couple days next week, so I'll get a chance to check in with my buddy Dale. I'd hoped by the time I saw him, I'd be able to kick his punk ass in a 10k. For now, I'll settle for keeping up with him for five.
My runs lately have been capped by knee pain, almost like clockwork, at about 18 minutes. I'd run for 20 laps, or 2.5 km, walk a lap, then continue. At 26 laps, the knee pain would start; by 28 laps, 3.5 km, I'd have to shut down.
So I went in today with that general plan; run 15 minutes, walk a lap, run until I had to shut down. But I got to Lap 20, and I still felt good. Breathing wasn't too laboured, legs felt fine. And that put me at the halfway point of a 5k. So I figured I'd just run it out.
I thought I felt the twinges begin at Lap 24, but I relaxed a bit and they stopped. I was expecting them at Lap 28. Nothing. By the time I'd got to 30, I figured I had no choice but to finish.
At Lap 32, I started getting twinges. They didn't go away. But I only had a kilometre to go. (BTW, if I'd said, "Only a kilometre," six months ago, I'd have been being sarcastic.) The pain got worse, but slowly, and only a little. Steadily, but not a lot worse. I turned it up a notch for the last two laps. I sprinted the last half lap, though "sprint" would be a loose description; it might have been a 25-seconds-per-100m pace.
So, radical improvement. I'm sure the foam roller helped; my IT bands are much looser now. The new orthotics, too. But everything else falling into place helped, too -- the spinning, the swimming, they helped build the cardio aspect of it as well.
I'm in Vancouver a couple days next week, so I'll get a chance to check in with my buddy Dale. I'd hoped by the time I saw him, I'd be able to kick his punk ass in a 10k. For now, I'll settle for keeping up with him for five.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Note to self
After swimming with a pull float, remind yourself to start kicking when you try to swim without one.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Making other plans
I'm up to my hips in triathlon training plans. Aside from the iPod app, which I can't be bothered to even look up the name of let alone link to right now, I've got at least three magazines (plus two with bicycling training plans), two books with about a half dozen to a dozen each. Other people's plans are useful. They've actually got experience. But I found trying to follow someone else's training plan, especially as I'm essentially a fitness beginner, unsatisfactory. Sure, it gave me a certain structure and demanded a certain amount of discipline, but bristled at that after about six weeks. It didn't adapt well to my circumstances.
But it's a good body of research to draw from, in terms of specific techniques -- interval training, for example -- to develop my own plan. And that's what I plan to do now. Every Sunday, I'll develop a plan for the following week. It'll take into account how I feel, what I want to (and realistically think I can) accomplish, other demands on my time (damn work), etc.
What I want to do at this point, since there's no pressing deadline, is develop general strength and fitness, using sport-specific training where possible.
As I see it, there are five disciplines I need to work on: swimming, cycling and running, of course, but also upper and lower body strength. I should probably work some flexibility training in, too; at the moment, it's a matter of stretching after workouts and with the foam roller at home.
Another mistake I made, I now realize, was thinking I could squeeze most of my training into lunch hours. It just doesn't work. At best, you get 45 minutes, five times a week (though it probably turns out to be four), plus whatever you do at the weekend. So I'm building my weekly training plans around two sessions a day -- 45 minutes at lunch, and an open-ended one after work -- figuring it'll realistically turn out to be seven sessions a week.
Each discipline gets one session in the lunch slot, and one in the afternoon slot. (The exception is cycling, since spin classes start at 6:30 at my Y, and that just gets me home too late.) For example, this week's schedule:
Monday: Swim at lunch; upper body/core strength in the evening.
Tuesday: Spinning; run
Wednesday: Lower body/core; swim
Thursday: Run; upper body/core
Friday: Spin; Lower body/core
If I miss something during the week, I juggle and try to make it up. For example, I missed my run this afternoon, so Thursday, I'll swap it from the morning to the evening so I can have a longer session. Or I can try to fit it in one day on the weekend, but it's no big deal if I can't, as long as I don't habitually miss one discipline. Logging is very important, not just to track progress and what I've missed, but also to make sure I ease off every fourth week. And that's another area where weekly planning comes in handy. If, like at the end of this month, I'm away a couple days on business and can't get to a gym/pool/run, I can make that a recovery week.
Must say, there was something relaxing and motivating about sitting down Sunday evening with the puzzle of how to fit disciplines and sessions together. It made me look forward to the week. Eventually, I'll have to work on cycles where I focus on specific disciplines, but that depends on my progress. Swimming will probably be first. And possibly second. Definitely last before I launch into a training schedule based on event dates.
But it's a good body of research to draw from, in terms of specific techniques -- interval training, for example -- to develop my own plan. And that's what I plan to do now. Every Sunday, I'll develop a plan for the following week. It'll take into account how I feel, what I want to (and realistically think I can) accomplish, other demands on my time (damn work), etc.
What I want to do at this point, since there's no pressing deadline, is develop general strength and fitness, using sport-specific training where possible.
As I see it, there are five disciplines I need to work on: swimming, cycling and running, of course, but also upper and lower body strength. I should probably work some flexibility training in, too; at the moment, it's a matter of stretching after workouts and with the foam roller at home.
Another mistake I made, I now realize, was thinking I could squeeze most of my training into lunch hours. It just doesn't work. At best, you get 45 minutes, five times a week (though it probably turns out to be four), plus whatever you do at the weekend. So I'm building my weekly training plans around two sessions a day -- 45 minutes at lunch, and an open-ended one after work -- figuring it'll realistically turn out to be seven sessions a week.
Each discipline gets one session in the lunch slot, and one in the afternoon slot. (The exception is cycling, since spin classes start at 6:30 at my Y, and that just gets me home too late.) For example, this week's schedule:
Monday: Swim at lunch; upper body/core strength in the evening.
Tuesday: Spinning; run
Wednesday: Lower body/core; swim
Thursday: Run; upper body/core
Friday: Spin; Lower body/core
If I miss something during the week, I juggle and try to make it up. For example, I missed my run this afternoon, so Thursday, I'll swap it from the morning to the evening so I can have a longer session. Or I can try to fit it in one day on the weekend, but it's no big deal if I can't, as long as I don't habitually miss one discipline. Logging is very important, not just to track progress and what I've missed, but also to make sure I ease off every fourth week. And that's another area where weekly planning comes in handy. If, like at the end of this month, I'm away a couple days on business and can't get to a gym/pool/run, I can make that a recovery week.
Must say, there was something relaxing and motivating about sitting down Sunday evening with the puzzle of how to fit disciplines and sessions together. It made me look forward to the week. Eventually, I'll have to work on cycles where I focus on specific disciplines, but that depends on my progress. Swimming will probably be first. And possibly second. Definitely last before I launch into a training schedule based on event dates.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Sunday, September 5, 2010
The war on the other front
I'm fighting the whole VO2Max battle on the one side -- breathing has never been my forte, but I'm working on it -- and on the other side, there's the fact that, well, I'm just not as flexible as I used to be, and it's causing problems
The largest problem,specifically, is my illiotibial band. Which I may not have spelled properly. Anyway, it's a tendon that runs from your hip to your knee. When everything'.s cool, you probably don't even know it's there. When everything's not cool, your knee lets you know about it. The classic presentation is that your effortless running stops at a specific time -- say, 15 minutes into your run -- at which point your knee puts a gun to your head and says, "We're not going to keep doing this, if you don't mind."
I walk a lot. Okay, I walk like a nomad. This tends to tighten up those IT bands. And they're very difficult to stretch. I'm religious about stretching after a run, but I didn't have anything that worked for my IT bands.
The I saw a YouTube clip of some guy using a foam roller to stretch his IT bands. You put the roller, which is about six inches in diameter, on the floor, lie along the top, and let it roll up from your knee to your hip. The guy demonstrating it was a little teary-eyed, and there was a catch in his voice, but he swore it worked wonders.
I picked one up this morning at The Running Room. The cashier, a lovely and inevitably fit young creature, gazed at me a little awestruck, like I was a soldier off to a foreign land to do some very unseemly task, like clean portas in Afghanistan. "Have you ever used one of these?" she asked.
I confessed I hadn't.
"The first couple of times, it's going to really hurt," she said. "But it's going to hurt sooooo good." Apparently, I'd notice the difference almost immediately. I got the impression that as soon as I walked out of the store, she'd begin praying for me.
I made sure everything was good and warm before I tried it. I went for a 45-minute ride, a hard ride, one of those rides where you have to yell at children and picnickers. Then I rolled out my yoga mat and laid out The Roller.
There are six stretches prescribed for The Roller. I began with the IT band stretch, figuring I'd get the worst over with first. And it hurt. Not as bad as I'd expected, but yeah, it hurt. I made some noises loud enough that my neighbours might misinterpret and consider me a ladies' man. (I am, just not enough to worry the neighbours.)
I went through the other five exercises, each one eliciting a louder (and easily interpreted as more carnal) howl. But it wasn't until the last stretch, the upper and lower back stretch, that I wept. No tears, understand. But there was no question that I was crying.
And ... I noticed the difference immediately. I had no idea where my IT bands were before; now, I can feel that they're looser. My quads, my hammies, everything. Tomorrow morning, I might feel like hell. But I don't think so. It's like having a massage from a masseuse in a really bad mood. It hurts like a sonofabitch, but it doesn't leave bruises, and later, well, it's a thrill to have survived and you feel refreshed.
The largest problem,specifically, is my illiotibial band. Which I may not have spelled properly. Anyway, it's a tendon that runs from your hip to your knee. When everything'.s cool, you probably don't even know it's there. When everything's not cool, your knee lets you know about it. The classic presentation is that your effortless running stops at a specific time -- say, 15 minutes into your run -- at which point your knee puts a gun to your head and says, "We're not going to keep doing this, if you don't mind."
I walk a lot. Okay, I walk like a nomad. This tends to tighten up those IT bands. And they're very difficult to stretch. I'm religious about stretching after a run, but I didn't have anything that worked for my IT bands.
The I saw a YouTube clip of some guy using a foam roller to stretch his IT bands. You put the roller, which is about six inches in diameter, on the floor, lie along the top, and let it roll up from your knee to your hip. The guy demonstrating it was a little teary-eyed, and there was a catch in his voice, but he swore it worked wonders.
I picked one up this morning at The Running Room. The cashier, a lovely and inevitably fit young creature, gazed at me a little awestruck, like I was a soldier off to a foreign land to do some very unseemly task, like clean portas in Afghanistan. "Have you ever used one of these?" she asked.
I confessed I hadn't.
"The first couple of times, it's going to really hurt," she said. "But it's going to hurt sooooo good." Apparently, I'd notice the difference almost immediately. I got the impression that as soon as I walked out of the store, she'd begin praying for me.
I made sure everything was good and warm before I tried it. I went for a 45-minute ride, a hard ride, one of those rides where you have to yell at children and picnickers. Then I rolled out my yoga mat and laid out The Roller.
There are six stretches prescribed for The Roller. I began with the IT band stretch, figuring I'd get the worst over with first. And it hurt. Not as bad as I'd expected, but yeah, it hurt. I made some noises loud enough that my neighbours might misinterpret and consider me a ladies' man. (I am, just not enough to worry the neighbours.)
I went through the other five exercises, each one eliciting a louder (and easily interpreted as more carnal) howl. But it wasn't until the last stretch, the upper and lower back stretch, that I wept. No tears, understand. But there was no question that I was crying.
And ... I noticed the difference immediately. I had no idea where my IT bands were before; now, I can feel that they're looser. My quads, my hammies, everything. Tomorrow morning, I might feel like hell. But I don't think so. It's like having a massage from a masseuse in a really bad mood. It hurts like a sonofabitch, but it doesn't leave bruises, and later, well, it's a thrill to have survived and you feel refreshed.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Little known fact
Spanish cyclist Miguel Indurain, who won five consecutive Tours de France in the early 1990s and is actually about seven months younger than me, had a resting heart rate of 28. That's not even one beat every two seconds.
I keep forgetting to take my pulse first thing in the morning, but I think I'm down around 60. And I'm thinking that's pretty good for me.
I keep forgetting to take my pulse first thing in the morning, but I think I'm down around 60. And I'm thinking that's pretty good for me.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Back in the swim
Okay, first of all, colour me self-absorbed. I haven't mentioned that my friend Brian Jackson, whom I dragged into the triathlon with me then abandoned when I discovered I couldn't swim, managed remarkably well in the race, finishing in a little under 58 minutes. Congrats, Brian. I'm still planning to kick your ass next year.
I've been lazy about training since missing the race. Vacation the first week, then just reacquainting myself with the gym. I started with a couple trips to the weight room. Did a run, which confirmed my 15-minute limit (it was actually closer to 18, but still, I've obviously got an IT band problem that needs dealing with). And I did a spin class.
I think I've mentioned spin class. This is where people who think they're fit get taught a lesson. It's interval training, really -- blasts of full-bore pedalling alternating with brief recoveries. I left a puddle of sweat under the bike, and I only did half a class. I'm glad I didn't shit myself, to be honest. It was definitely a leave-with-my-tail-between-my-legs experience.
Thing is, the others in the class don't look much fitter than me. In fact, some of them looked less fit. But I couldn't keep up with them. Spin is a different world. I'm trying to make ot once a week until it kills me outright.
And this week, I got back in the pool. I've resented the pool. Swimming was the failure that made me miss the race. But I have to learn to swim properly, and I had to start somewhere. So I went to the training pool with a pull buoy.
A pull buoy is a float you hold between your thighs. It keeps your lower body up in the water so you can focus on your upper body technique and breathing. I tried one early in my training, and my simple lack of mastery scared me; I couldn't get anywhere, and I'd panic and twist out of the water. Now that I have a little facility with a front crawl stroke and I'm forcing myself to breathe underwater, I'm finding it very useful.
I can feel the hip rotation that you don't realize is going on with a front crawl, so much so that I've rotated right over onto my back a couple of times. I've been trying to get the hang not only of breathing, but breathing every third stroke, so I'm alternating breathing on the left and right. And I'm getting somewhere, too, though I'm still not rolling my face out to breathe as a seamless part of the stroke. I still kinda lift my head out of the water.
I've been trying to make the recovery part of the stroke -- where your arm comes out of the water near your hip and reaches back ahead -- faster than the stroke in the water. That's coming along a little awkwardly, too. I've never been taught proper front-quadrant swimming.
I really am back to Square 1 here. I'm setting a goal of 100m continuously for the end of the month. Very modest, I know, but I'm looking at this like I'm learning to swim from scratch. Don't pick up bad habits, refine the technique a little, and develop a more efficient stroke.
There's also the question of plain aerobic capacity. Mine is not great. But I have a couple things lined up to help develop that. Spinning class is one them. If the other folks in my class can manage, I can too.
I've been lazy about training since missing the race. Vacation the first week, then just reacquainting myself with the gym. I started with a couple trips to the weight room. Did a run, which confirmed my 15-minute limit (it was actually closer to 18, but still, I've obviously got an IT band problem that needs dealing with). And I did a spin class.
I think I've mentioned spin class. This is where people who think they're fit get taught a lesson. It's interval training, really -- blasts of full-bore pedalling alternating with brief recoveries. I left a puddle of sweat under the bike, and I only did half a class. I'm glad I didn't shit myself, to be honest. It was definitely a leave-with-my-tail-between-my-legs experience.
Thing is, the others in the class don't look much fitter than me. In fact, some of them looked less fit. But I couldn't keep up with them. Spin is a different world. I'm trying to make ot once a week until it kills me outright.
And this week, I got back in the pool. I've resented the pool. Swimming was the failure that made me miss the race. But I have to learn to swim properly, and I had to start somewhere. So I went to the training pool with a pull buoy.
A pull buoy is a float you hold between your thighs. It keeps your lower body up in the water so you can focus on your upper body technique and breathing. I tried one early in my training, and my simple lack of mastery scared me; I couldn't get anywhere, and I'd panic and twist out of the water. Now that I have a little facility with a front crawl stroke and I'm forcing myself to breathe underwater, I'm finding it very useful.
I can feel the hip rotation that you don't realize is going on with a front crawl, so much so that I've rotated right over onto my back a couple of times. I've been trying to get the hang not only of breathing, but breathing every third stroke, so I'm alternating breathing on the left and right. And I'm getting somewhere, too, though I'm still not rolling my face out to breathe as a seamless part of the stroke. I still kinda lift my head out of the water.
I've been trying to make the recovery part of the stroke -- where your arm comes out of the water near your hip and reaches back ahead -- faster than the stroke in the water. That's coming along a little awkwardly, too. I've never been taught proper front-quadrant swimming.
I really am back to Square 1 here. I'm setting a goal of 100m continuously for the end of the month. Very modest, I know, but I'm looking at this like I'm learning to swim from scratch. Don't pick up bad habits, refine the technique a little, and develop a more efficient stroke.
There's also the question of plain aerobic capacity. Mine is not great. But I have a couple things lined up to help develop that. Spinning class is one them. If the other folks in my class can manage, I can too.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Everything you've done wrong, baby
From that four-in-the-morning moment when I decided I wasn't ready for the swim, I was determined to analyze what mistakes I'd made along the road. I was on vacation with my daughter last week, so I didn't much think about it. But I'd already got a handle on many of the sometimes contradictory mistakes I'd made.
I focused too much on the swim. I never took the cycling training seriously, figuring I was good enough on the bike. (My first spinning class this afternoon disabused me of that notion. Holy Hannah.) I eased off on the running when I encountered a some knee pain. These both hurt my swim; I wasn't getting the aerobic cross-training benefits.
I didn't focus properly on the swim. I was dealing with a distance target; once I found a flailing, dog paddle/breast stroke hybrid that got me across the pool, I beat that into the ground, hoping it could get me the distance. I should have focused on technique, learned a proper front crawl, and let the distance come. (It still might not have come in time, and I still might have had to pull the plug, but I'd be further along now. As it stands, it's back to Square 1, and I don't mean in Mississauga.
I peaked too early. I was in my best condition about five weeks before the race. Let's face it, when you haven't spent any consistent time at the gym in 30 years, going five times a week for more than 15 weeks is a little much. My training tailed off after that, too. I was just damned tired.
I started too late. Not too late in the sense of a training schedule; too late in the grand scheme of things. I was cumulatively too old and too out of shape. I don't mean to say I can't do it. It just took longer than I thought to get a base level of conditioning. Guess what Job 1 is?
I didn't take it seriously enough, especially nutrition-wise. Beer robs your body of the ability to store glycogen. Beer is also cold and fresh and tasty. Did I cut back? Um ... maybe a little. Certainly not enough. Hence, five months of five-a-week workouts and I still have a belly. I did, though, take eating regularly more seriously. I still spend half my day at work eating. More grain (I wasn't much of a bread-eater). More fish and vegetables. More peanut butter than is strictly necessary. Lotsa yogurt and chocolate milk. I'm about 163 now, up about 13 pounds. I should probably get back to about 155.
I didn't get strong enough. I didn't spend enough time on the weights. This, too, was brought to my attention by the spinning session. When the others stood to pedal, I couldn't. My legs didn't have it. (If you think you're in good shape, take a spinning class. It exposes all kinds of shortcomings.)
So ... now, I've got, say, eight or nine months till I'm likely to run a triathlon. No rushing to hit a distance target. Build base conditioning (boy, was that spinning class a wake-up call). Get technique right. Sort out the nutrition. And spend a couple days a week at spin class.
I focused too much on the swim. I never took the cycling training seriously, figuring I was good enough on the bike. (My first spinning class this afternoon disabused me of that notion. Holy Hannah.) I eased off on the running when I encountered a some knee pain. These both hurt my swim; I wasn't getting the aerobic cross-training benefits.
I didn't focus properly on the swim. I was dealing with a distance target; once I found a flailing, dog paddle/breast stroke hybrid that got me across the pool, I beat that into the ground, hoping it could get me the distance. I should have focused on technique, learned a proper front crawl, and let the distance come. (It still might not have come in time, and I still might have had to pull the plug, but I'd be further along now. As it stands, it's back to Square 1, and I don't mean in Mississauga.
I peaked too early. I was in my best condition about five weeks before the race. Let's face it, when you haven't spent any consistent time at the gym in 30 years, going five times a week for more than 15 weeks is a little much. My training tailed off after that, too. I was just damned tired.
I started too late. Not too late in the sense of a training schedule; too late in the grand scheme of things. I was cumulatively too old and too out of shape. I don't mean to say I can't do it. It just took longer than I thought to get a base level of conditioning. Guess what Job 1 is?
I didn't take it seriously enough, especially nutrition-wise. Beer robs your body of the ability to store glycogen. Beer is also cold and fresh and tasty. Did I cut back? Um ... maybe a little. Certainly not enough. Hence, five months of five-a-week workouts and I still have a belly. I did, though, take eating regularly more seriously. I still spend half my day at work eating. More grain (I wasn't much of a bread-eater). More fish and vegetables. More peanut butter than is strictly necessary. Lotsa yogurt and chocolate milk. I'm about 163 now, up about 13 pounds. I should probably get back to about 155.
I didn't get strong enough. I didn't spend enough time on the weights. This, too, was brought to my attention by the spinning session. When the others stood to pedal, I couldn't. My legs didn't have it. (If you think you're in good shape, take a spinning class. It exposes all kinds of shortcomings.)
So ... now, I've got, say, eight or nine months till I'm likely to run a triathlon. No rushing to hit a distance target. Build base conditioning (boy, was that spinning class a wake-up call). Get technique right. Sort out the nutrition. And spend a couple days a week at spin class.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
A very difficult decision
SCENE: Press conference. REPORTERS are jockeying for position near the dais, mumbling "peas and carrots, peas and carrots" in order to sound like a louder crowd. PR FLACK comes to the dais, grasps the microphone on a gooseneck stand, which emits a howl of feedback
PR FLACK: Thank you. That was Dazed and Confused, by Led Zeppelin. If you'll come to order, at least as close to order as you ink-stained wretches can manage with the promise of two drink tickets, Fishbelly White will make a statement. If you'll shut the f--- up for 30 seconds. Mr. White?
FBW: Call me Fish. The irony will become apparent shortly. (Clears throat) As you all are aware, as you're figments of my imagination, 19-1/2 weeks ago I declared the goal of going from chain-smoking, beer-drinking couch potato to triathlete in 20 weeks. It is with much regret that I have determined that my swimming skills are not adequate to cover 400m in Lake Ontario, and rather than become involved in a scenario which involves dredging and questions as to what the hell I was thinking, I have withdrawn from the Toronto Island Give-It-A-Tri. Twenty weeks was long enough to get into shape. Wasn't long enough to learn how to swim.
REPORTER 1: How do you feel? Are you disappointed?
FBW: How do you think I feel, ya yutz? I'm disappointed on a scale you can't imagine in your pointy little head. On the bright side, I didn't drown. This gives me a warm feeling inside.
REPORTER 2: Is this the end of your triathlon career?
FBW: Buddy -- and by "Buddy," I mean, "Jackass" -- my triathlon career hasn't even started. If I've learned anything from being a Brett Favre fan, it's that it ain't over until it's over, unless it's over, in which case, it might not be over.
REPORTER 2: That answer made my head hurt.
FBW: Good. You should have an aneurysm. Putz.
REPORTER 3: Do you think you made errors in your training plan?
FBW: What, you all came off a short bus? Of course I made errors in my training plan. I'll start analyzing them as soon as I stop crying myself to sleep and post them on my blog, like anyone will read it now.
REPORTER 1: What would you say to Fargo, who's participating in a Give-It-A-Try in Cobourg two weeks from now?
FBW: Fargo ... this is my decision. It shouldn't affect yours. Go kick some ass, even if it's your own. And thank whatever's holy this week you don't have to put up with imaginary reporters.
Yeah ... been a bad week.Two nights I didn't sleep, vacillating between I absolutely can do this and I absolutely cannot. I haven't made 200m consistently in the pool for the last month; at best, I was betting there was a 50 per cent chance I could make it half way, which would have been irresponsible.I am going over for the race though. I'll volunteer if they let me.
I'm not done. I will try again. I'm going camping with my daughter this week, but eventually, I'll start analyzing what I did wrong. I'll learn to swim properly, instead of flailing for distance. I'll post more links here, too, instead of making it a diary of someone who can't swim 400m.
It ain't over ...
PR FLACK: Thank you. That was Dazed and Confused, by Led Zeppelin. If you'll come to order, at least as close to order as you ink-stained wretches can manage with the promise of two drink tickets, Fishbelly White will make a statement. If you'll shut the f--- up for 30 seconds. Mr. White?
FBW: Call me Fish. The irony will become apparent shortly. (Clears throat) As you all are aware, as you're figments of my imagination, 19-1/2 weeks ago I declared the goal of going from chain-smoking, beer-drinking couch potato to triathlete in 20 weeks. It is with much regret that I have determined that my swimming skills are not adequate to cover 400m in Lake Ontario, and rather than become involved in a scenario which involves dredging and questions as to what the hell I was thinking, I have withdrawn from the Toronto Island Give-It-A-Tri. Twenty weeks was long enough to get into shape. Wasn't long enough to learn how to swim.
REPORTER 1: How do you feel? Are you disappointed?
FBW: How do you think I feel, ya yutz? I'm disappointed on a scale you can't imagine in your pointy little head. On the bright side, I didn't drown. This gives me a warm feeling inside.
REPORTER 2: Is this the end of your triathlon career?
FBW: Buddy -- and by "Buddy," I mean, "Jackass" -- my triathlon career hasn't even started. If I've learned anything from being a Brett Favre fan, it's that it ain't over until it's over, unless it's over, in which case, it might not be over.
REPORTER 2: That answer made my head hurt.
FBW: Good. You should have an aneurysm. Putz.
REPORTER 3: Do you think you made errors in your training plan?
FBW: What, you all came off a short bus? Of course I made errors in my training plan. I'll start analyzing them as soon as I stop crying myself to sleep and post them on my blog, like anyone will read it now.
REPORTER 1: What would you say to Fargo, who's participating in a Give-It-A-Try in Cobourg two weeks from now?
FBW: Fargo ... this is my decision. It shouldn't affect yours. Go kick some ass, even if it's your own. And thank whatever's holy this week you don't have to put up with imaginary reporters.
Yeah ... been a bad week.Two nights I didn't sleep, vacillating between I absolutely can do this and I absolutely cannot. I haven't made 200m consistently in the pool for the last month; at best, I was betting there was a 50 per cent chance I could make it half way, which would have been irresponsible.I am going over for the race though. I'll volunteer if they let me.
I'm not done. I will try again. I'm going camping with my daughter this week, but eventually, I'll start analyzing what I did wrong. I'll learn to swim properly, instead of flailing for distance. I'll post more links here, too, instead of making it a diary of someone who can't swim 400m.
It ain't over ...
Friday, August 6, 2010
Last post ....
... till after the race.
Not sure I have anything to say at this point. I am not sure I can make it through the 400m swim. That's it, that's all. If I can, I finish. If not, it's a DNF. Which is still a personal best.
I had an encouraging chat with Hank Cunningham the other day. Hank's a financial genius, author, avid cyclist and repentant marathoner. He's possibly the most centred person I've ever met. When I have some time and I'm not so horribly self-possessed, there are many links I will post that speak to Hank's contribution to a world worth living in.
Hank is one of those people who draws your worries out of you without asking. And I was worried. I don't think I can do this, I told him.
He told me about his first marathon, years ago. It involved a lot of walking and lessons learned. And he told me: Try as best you can. That's the measure. If you can't do it, the worst thing that can happen is ... you try again. But it's about you, nobody else.
I set as one of my goals to shame myself into shape. I have accomplished that. Okay, good shape, not great shape, but a helluva lot better than I was. I've also made fitness a habit. That comforts me. And, in a way, sentences me to a forever of swimming, running, weights, etc.
It's made me recognize how important the YMCA is in our community. I want to contribute now.
And -- I feel like I'm bragging now, but I'm not (I hope) ... Several of my friends have told me I've inspired them. That wasn't what I set out to do, but, really, that's what I should have set out to do. I love my friends.
So ... Here I go. Thanks for reading, and I'll let you know how it comes out.
I don't want to end this post.
Not sure I have anything to say at this point. I am not sure I can make it through the 400m swim. That's it, that's all. If I can, I finish. If not, it's a DNF. Which is still a personal best.
I had an encouraging chat with Hank Cunningham the other day. Hank's a financial genius, author, avid cyclist and repentant marathoner. He's possibly the most centred person I've ever met. When I have some time and I'm not so horribly self-possessed, there are many links I will post that speak to Hank's contribution to a world worth living in.
Hank is one of those people who draws your worries out of you without asking. And I was worried. I don't think I can do this, I told him.
He told me about his first marathon, years ago. It involved a lot of walking and lessons learned. And he told me: Try as best you can. That's the measure. If you can't do it, the worst thing that can happen is ... you try again. But it's about you, nobody else.
I set as one of my goals to shame myself into shape. I have accomplished that. Okay, good shape, not great shape, but a helluva lot better than I was. I've also made fitness a habit. That comforts me. And, in a way, sentences me to a forever of swimming, running, weights, etc.
It's made me recognize how important the YMCA is in our community. I want to contribute now.
And -- I feel like I'm bragging now, but I'm not (I hope) ... Several of my friends have told me I've inspired them. That wasn't what I set out to do, but, really, that's what I should have set out to do. I love my friends.
So ... Here I go. Thanks for reading, and I'll let you know how it comes out.
I don't want to end this post.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Really? Is this how it works?
Thngs have gone steadily downhill over the last two weeks. After my panic attack in the lake, I got ill. While I was ill, the free-floating anxiety returned. Somehow, a cut has developed under a couple of toes on my right foot, making it occasionally difficult to walk.
Does this happen to people? You train and train and train and then, two weeks before the race, everything falls apart? It can't be. That wouldn't be right.
I've probably trained too long. Looking at my log, I think I peaked about a month ago. Now, my IT bands are tight as piano strings. My knee starts to give in at 4k when I'm running. And -- since I've lost some fitness having only been able to work out four times in the last two weeks -- I can't get to 400m in the pool anymore.
I'm developing a strategy to get through this. Next week is critical. Getting back up to distance for the swim is Job 1. A couple light runs and bike rides, nothing too hard. If I don't finish the swim, my performance in the other two is immaterial. Then show up rested and zoned in.
So. If you're in your mid-40s (leave me that illusion), you haven't worked out in 20 years, and you haven't been living the healthiest lifestyle, it appears that about 14 to 16 weeks of five-day-a-week workouts is probably about optimum. This is definitely salvageable. But if I knew then what I know now, I'd have done it differently.
I'm taking the week after the race off. Annual camping trip with my daughter. And just relaxing and not working. Or working out. Maybe a trail run or two. Short.
Then I'll decide whether to enter a 5k trail run in my home town for October.
Does this happen to people? You train and train and train and then, two weeks before the race, everything falls apart? It can't be. That wouldn't be right.
I've probably trained too long. Looking at my log, I think I peaked about a month ago. Now, my IT bands are tight as piano strings. My knee starts to give in at 4k when I'm running. And -- since I've lost some fitness having only been able to work out four times in the last two weeks -- I can't get to 400m in the pool anymore.
I'm developing a strategy to get through this. Next week is critical. Getting back up to distance for the swim is Job 1. A couple light runs and bike rides, nothing too hard. If I don't finish the swim, my performance in the other two is immaterial. Then show up rested and zoned in.
So. If you're in your mid-40s (leave me that illusion), you haven't worked out in 20 years, and you haven't been living the healthiest lifestyle, it appears that about 14 to 16 weeks of five-day-a-week workouts is probably about optimum. This is definitely salvageable. But if I knew then what I know now, I'd have done it differently.
I'm taking the week after the race off. Annual camping trip with my daughter. And just relaxing and not working. Or working out. Maybe a trail run or two. Short.
Then I'll decide whether to enter a 5k trail run in my home town for October.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
A perfect day for a panic attack
The sea was angry that day my friends, like an old man trying to return soup at a deli.
-- George Costanza, The Marine Biologist, Seinfeld
I finally jumped in a lake, as I've been told to do a hundred times. It's critical preparation for a lake swim (duh) in a triathlon. You can log miles and miles in a pool; that doesn't necessarily prepare you for open water. I'm glad I did it yesterday rather than waiting for another couple of weeks, and I wish I'd done it sooner. I was seeking the answers to several questions: Will the shock of the cold water make me seize up? Is it more difficult to swim in a wetsuit? What kind of premium on effort do the waves make? I got those answers (No, the water was 24C; No, the wetsuit hardly affected my stroke, such as it is; and considerable), and the answers to questions I hadn't sought, such as: What is pure, blind, regurgitive terror like?
I dropped my keys off at my local, since I didn't want to take anything with me I couldn't afford to lose, and walked down to Cherry Beach. Stopped at Balzac's in the distillery to pick up a coffee and a biscotti. All very civilized. Maybe a half hour altogether.
A sign at the beach put the morning water temperature at 24C and the e coli count at 10, well under the swim-at-your-own-risk limit of 100. I felt a bit pretentious in a wetsuit. But there was another guy in a suit in the water; he looked like he knew what he was doing, so I figured I'd tail him for a while. The footing, BTW, was awful, a sprained ankle waiting to happen. Funny how none of my training books mentioned this. I guess "rocks are not smooth" is a given.
As I entered the water, a lifeguard -- lovely young thing, very blonde and owns her own kayak -- started paddling along. "You read my mind," I joked. She didn't laugh. She'd probably seen what was about to happen dozens of times.
I started out behind the other swimmer, parallel to the beach, in what I thought was about four and a half feet of water. I hadn't really warmed up, which I realized later was a mistake. Even in the pool, if I try to swim 100 metres as soon as I jump in the water, I fade quickly. I need a couple lengths to get used to the water, a break of about a minute or so, then I can pound out 400 or 500 or even 600 metres.
The chop was moderate -- it was a windy day -- but not insurmountable. But after a couple minutes, I got that fade. Aside from the effort, being in open water had cranked up my heart rate some, and I was breathing a little funny, like when a pretty girl talks to me. So I turned and headed back for shore.
As I turned, I reached down with my foot to check for bottom. Nothing.
This worried me some. I swam a few more strokes. Checked again. Nothing.
This panicked me. My coffee started coming back on me. I thrashed. The girl on the kayak was about 20 yards away. A croak came out of me that, at a closer range, might have been recognized as a reflexive and unwilling cry for help. The kayak had swung around. My conscious and willing capitulation: I raised an arm to the lifeguard.
And discovered I was in three feet of water.
How scared had I been? I wasn't even remotely embarrassed. I wasn't even embarrassed when I told the story later.
I wasn't pleased with my initial reaction to open water, but I did make a recovery. I went through this in the pool, though with less likelihood of drowning. What did I do at the pool? When I couldn't swim a full length, I started in the deep end, so by the time I'd run out of steam, I'd be in the shallow end. So, having made a mental note to update the e coli reading as a result of my panic attack, I walked as far out into the water as I could, then turned around and swam back to shore.It was about 25 strokes, so close to the length of a pool. I did 200 metres that way.
And it was cool. There was a flock of geese and a flock of ducks coasting through, so I had to make an effort to stay out of their way. (Get between a Canada gosling and her mother and tell me how that goes for ya.) In five feet of water, the waves were a foot, maybe a foot and a half crest to trough, and I let them bob me up and down. I watched somebody kite-surfing, tearing along at motorboat speeds. A couple stand-up paddleboarders went by. It's something I want to try this summer. Some friends and I are going to arrange a lesson. All in all, I just kinda felt like a beach bum. I liked it.
It was quite worrisome for me from a triathlon perspective, though. Swimming in 10 or 20 feet of water should technically be no different than swimming in four feet of water. This I know. How do I shut down that instinctive panic reaction and just swim? This I don't.
The obvious answer is to get to the beach as often as I can manage before the race in four weeks' time. It took me three months to go from 25 metres at a time to 400 metres at a time in the pool. I've realistically got only three weeks, and perhaps three swims in open water, till the race. I'm revising my training calendar, giving up on the iPod app. One, maybe two, days of running a week. Occasional recreational bike ride. The rest is swimming, swimming, swimming. I have to get more confident in the water.
-- George Costanza, The Marine Biologist, Seinfeld
I finally jumped in a lake, as I've been told to do a hundred times. It's critical preparation for a lake swim (duh) in a triathlon. You can log miles and miles in a pool; that doesn't necessarily prepare you for open water. I'm glad I did it yesterday rather than waiting for another couple of weeks, and I wish I'd done it sooner. I was seeking the answers to several questions: Will the shock of the cold water make me seize up? Is it more difficult to swim in a wetsuit? What kind of premium on effort do the waves make? I got those answers (No, the water was 24C; No, the wetsuit hardly affected my stroke, such as it is; and considerable), and the answers to questions I hadn't sought, such as: What is pure, blind, regurgitive terror like?
I dropped my keys off at my local, since I didn't want to take anything with me I couldn't afford to lose, and walked down to Cherry Beach. Stopped at Balzac's in the distillery to pick up a coffee and a biscotti. All very civilized. Maybe a half hour altogether.
A sign at the beach put the morning water temperature at 24C and the e coli count at 10, well under the swim-at-your-own-risk limit of 100. I felt a bit pretentious in a wetsuit. But there was another guy in a suit in the water; he looked like he knew what he was doing, so I figured I'd tail him for a while. The footing, BTW, was awful, a sprained ankle waiting to happen. Funny how none of my training books mentioned this. I guess "rocks are not smooth" is a given.
As I entered the water, a lifeguard -- lovely young thing, very blonde and owns her own kayak -- started paddling along. "You read my mind," I joked. She didn't laugh. She'd probably seen what was about to happen dozens of times.
I started out behind the other swimmer, parallel to the beach, in what I thought was about four and a half feet of water. I hadn't really warmed up, which I realized later was a mistake. Even in the pool, if I try to swim 100 metres as soon as I jump in the water, I fade quickly. I need a couple lengths to get used to the water, a break of about a minute or so, then I can pound out 400 or 500 or even 600 metres.
The chop was moderate -- it was a windy day -- but not insurmountable. But after a couple minutes, I got that fade. Aside from the effort, being in open water had cranked up my heart rate some, and I was breathing a little funny, like when a pretty girl talks to me. So I turned and headed back for shore.
As I turned, I reached down with my foot to check for bottom. Nothing.
This worried me some. I swam a few more strokes. Checked again. Nothing.
This panicked me. My coffee started coming back on me. I thrashed. The girl on the kayak was about 20 yards away. A croak came out of me that, at a closer range, might have been recognized as a reflexive and unwilling cry for help. The kayak had swung around. My conscious and willing capitulation: I raised an arm to the lifeguard.
And discovered I was in three feet of water.
How scared had I been? I wasn't even remotely embarrassed. I wasn't even embarrassed when I told the story later.
I wasn't pleased with my initial reaction to open water, but I did make a recovery. I went through this in the pool, though with less likelihood of drowning. What did I do at the pool? When I couldn't swim a full length, I started in the deep end, so by the time I'd run out of steam, I'd be in the shallow end. So, having made a mental note to update the e coli reading as a result of my panic attack, I walked as far out into the water as I could, then turned around and swam back to shore.It was about 25 strokes, so close to the length of a pool. I did 200 metres that way.
And it was cool. There was a flock of geese and a flock of ducks coasting through, so I had to make an effort to stay out of their way. (Get between a Canada gosling and her mother and tell me how that goes for ya.) In five feet of water, the waves were a foot, maybe a foot and a half crest to trough, and I let them bob me up and down. I watched somebody kite-surfing, tearing along at motorboat speeds. A couple stand-up paddleboarders went by. It's something I want to try this summer. Some friends and I are going to arrange a lesson. All in all, I just kinda felt like a beach bum. I liked it.
It was quite worrisome for me from a triathlon perspective, though. Swimming in 10 or 20 feet of water should technically be no different than swimming in four feet of water. This I know. How do I shut down that instinctive panic reaction and just swim? This I don't.
The obvious answer is to get to the beach as often as I can manage before the race in four weeks' time. It took me three months to go from 25 metres at a time to 400 metres at a time in the pool. I've realistically got only three weeks, and perhaps three swims in open water, till the race. I'm revising my training calendar, giving up on the iPod app. One, maybe two, days of running a week. Occasional recreational bike ride. The rest is swimming, swimming, swimming. I have to get more confident in the water.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Officially a tri geek -- my daughter says so
Might recall I was thrilled that my 12-year-old's Father's Day gift to me was a running hat and a water bottle that straps to your hand. This weekend, she demonstrated she is unquestionably my biggest supporter. She made me a T-shirt that shows a figure -- readily identifiable as me by the glasses and the bald head -- in the three phases of the race, swimming, riding and running. Above, it reads: "My Dad is a Tri Geek." She made this from a transfer, so had to draw and write the text backwards. It was a Herculean effort just to get the three disciplines in the right order. The shirt is hanging in a place of honour right now till I can get it framed.
(I must say, the sun in the background of each of the vignettes is a little intimidating. A la Indio, a Big Hard Sun. But that's just me being spleeny, I'm sure.)
If my daughter's declaration doesn't make me a tri geek, try this on for size: I'm going to review socks.
A few weeks back, Running Room in Commerce Court had a three-pairs-for-$15 sock sale. They were slightly irregular, and you could mix and match. So I chose three different pairs. They are before me right now. (Seriously, they are.) These are not dollar-a-pair cotton jobbies. I wash them in special athletic wear detergent and I hang them to dry, lest the dryer spin some of the magic out of them.
Pair 1 is a thin poly-blend quarter sock. Pair 2 is an Ironman branded sock that comes only to the top of my running shoe. Pair 3, the Wigwam Thunder Pro, is also a shoe-height pair, but much thicker. (I'm not playing favourites by linking to the Wigwam sock; there are pages and pages and pages of socks on Running Room's Web site. I lucked out finding the Thunder Pro.)
(If you're still reading this after two paragraphs about socks, bless you. I hope this somehow convinces you to end the punishment you put your feet through by buying cotton socks. Though I do wear cotton socks on an everyday basis when I'm not exercising. With apologies to The Tragically Hip, It Can't Be Nashville Every Night.)
I'd thought Pair 2 was going to be the sock to beat. It appeared to have it all going for it: Low profile, thin fabric, and, um, well, that's about all you ask for in a sock, isn't it? But I found it was a bit futzy to put on, not a great trait for a triathlon.
Pair 1 pulled on more easily. That was really the only difference. I really didn't notice either pair of socks while I was running. I don't mean I was ambivalent. I mean I really didn't feel the socks. I can't call them comfortable; it was like they weren't there.
Likewise with Pair 3, my winner Low profile, like Pair 2 -- just a half-inch hike on the back to keep the shoe from rubbing against the Achilles. Virtually unnoticeable when riding and running. But, they went on absolutely without a fuss. At a guess, all straightened out, four or five seconds faster than the others. And equally unnoticeable.
I've just reviewed socks. Can't imagine there's anything more to say. I've slipped into the abyss of tri geekdom.
(I must say, the sun in the background of each of the vignettes is a little intimidating. A la Indio, a Big Hard Sun. But that's just me being spleeny, I'm sure.)
If my daughter's declaration doesn't make me a tri geek, try this on for size: I'm going to review socks.
A few weeks back, Running Room in Commerce Court had a three-pairs-for-$15 sock sale. They were slightly irregular, and you could mix and match. So I chose three different pairs. They are before me right now. (Seriously, they are.) These are not dollar-a-pair cotton jobbies. I wash them in special athletic wear detergent and I hang them to dry, lest the dryer spin some of the magic out of them.
Pair 1 is a thin poly-blend quarter sock. Pair 2 is an Ironman branded sock that comes only to the top of my running shoe. Pair 3, the Wigwam Thunder Pro, is also a shoe-height pair, but much thicker. (I'm not playing favourites by linking to the Wigwam sock; there are pages and pages and pages of socks on Running Room's Web site. I lucked out finding the Thunder Pro.)
(If you're still reading this after two paragraphs about socks, bless you. I hope this somehow convinces you to end the punishment you put your feet through by buying cotton socks. Though I do wear cotton socks on an everyday basis when I'm not exercising. With apologies to The Tragically Hip, It Can't Be Nashville Every Night.)
I'd thought Pair 2 was going to be the sock to beat. It appeared to have it all going for it: Low profile, thin fabric, and, um, well, that's about all you ask for in a sock, isn't it? But I found it was a bit futzy to put on, not a great trait for a triathlon.
Pair 1 pulled on more easily. That was really the only difference. I really didn't notice either pair of socks while I was running. I don't mean I was ambivalent. I mean I really didn't feel the socks. I can't call them comfortable; it was like they weren't there.
Likewise with Pair 3, my winner Low profile, like Pair 2 -- just a half-inch hike on the back to keep the shoe from rubbing against the Achilles. Virtually unnoticeable when riding and running. But, they went on absolutely without a fuss. At a guess, all straightened out, four or five seconds faster than the others. And equally unnoticeable.
I've just reviewed socks. Can't imagine there's anything more to say. I've slipped into the abyss of tri geekdom.
Monday, July 5, 2010
The goat rodeo is now a zoo
Summer programs for schoolkids have started at the Scarborough Y. When I dropped on at noon, half the pool was populated by screaming, splashing tweens. Of the three "swimming" lanes, one was occupied by teens horsing around; one by seniors chatting and doing exercises in place. This left a single lane for swimming lengths, and about eight of us, all of different speeds and strokes, were trying to share it.
At 12:30, they whistled end of play, took the tweens out, and rearranged the swimming lanes. It still took a while to get back to normal. A teenager nearly landed on me doing a cannonball at one point, a crime that would have got me ejected from the William E. Legros Centre in Ajax in my day.
A lifeguard told me later that the zoo's in town from 10:30 to 12:30, and from 1:30 to 3:30, every day over the summer. This leaves me three options: either a precisely timed lunch hour arrival at exactly 12:30 (I could wear my trunks under my work clothes, and at the appointed hour, just tear my pants off and run shrieking across the street, which I might get away with on casual Fridays, but they're run days, anyway); arriving at 7:30 and swimming before work, which would take some adjusting of my diurnal clock; or going after work, which would mean I'd get home 7:30 or 8 p.m. For the time being, I'm going to try to be religious about a 12:30 lunch on swim days and see how that works out.
In the name of whatever's holy this week, I hope they don't do the same thing with the running track. They have regular sessions up there with about a dozen developmentally challenged adults, and when you combine four or five other runners up there, that's pretty much capacity. With the unruly mob of future felons -- uh, sorry, leaders of our Just Society -- running would truly be impossible.
(Don't get me wrong, I don't hate kids. I just wish they all had my daughter's temperament, compassion and consideration.)
At 12:30, they whistled end of play, took the tweens out, and rearranged the swimming lanes. It still took a while to get back to normal. A teenager nearly landed on me doing a cannonball at one point, a crime that would have got me ejected from the William E. Legros Centre in Ajax in my day.
A lifeguard told me later that the zoo's in town from 10:30 to 12:30, and from 1:30 to 3:30, every day over the summer. This leaves me three options: either a precisely timed lunch hour arrival at exactly 12:30 (I could wear my trunks under my work clothes, and at the appointed hour, just tear my pants off and run shrieking across the street, which I might get away with on casual Fridays, but they're run days, anyway); arriving at 7:30 and swimming before work, which would take some adjusting of my diurnal clock; or going after work, which would mean I'd get home 7:30 or 8 p.m. For the time being, I'm going to try to be religious about a 12:30 lunch on swim days and see how that works out.
In the name of whatever's holy this week, I hope they don't do the same thing with the running track. They have regular sessions up there with about a dozen developmentally challenged adults, and when you combine four or five other runners up there, that's pretty much capacity. With the unruly mob of future felons -- uh, sorry, leaders of our Just Society -- running would truly be impossible.
(Don't get me wrong, I don't hate kids. I just wish they all had my daughter's temperament, compassion and consideration.)
Sunday, July 4, 2010
How I spent my summer vacation Pt. 1
I did not jump in the lake yesterday. More logistics than fear. Two weekends from now, I'll have to do it twice, is all. See, you need someplace for your other stuff when you go for a lake swim. At minimum, you're carrying your house keys with you. And it wouldn't do for that stuff to disappear. I know. I've lost house keys before, and the buddy I stay with when I do something stupid like that (Hi, Dale) has moved to Vancouver. They do have lockers on Toronto Island, so I suppose I could have done it there.
Whatever. I wasn't all together at 11 this morning, so the easiest thing to do was a brick workout -- an hour-plus bike ride followed by a 10-minute run. I'm happy with how it went. The calf sleeves definitely make a difference, and it was the first time I'd run with the knee strap on. Getting a better idea, too, of what I need and don't need for each section of the race. (If it's particularly hot, I need the right cycling glove during the run because it has a sweat pad, for example. I have a water bottle in the left hand. Amazing the little things that occur to you.)
I got a couple days in on my week off where I got to work on more than one discipline -- cycling and swimming, cycling and running -- and also managed to squeeze some weight work in. I didn't manage to spring the surprises on my body I wanted to. One was the lake swim; my body already knows that's coming, so I can talk about that. The other is something a friend suggested to me that I'd planned on earlier in the week, but the knee issue kept me from trying. Week after next is a recovery week, so if I'm going to do it, it'll be in three or four weeks' time. It may have to wait till after the race.
I'd like to have accomplished more this week, but it's hard to know how much work you can put in until you've put it in. One thing I would like to have done is a mock triathlon: Swim, bike and run as far as necessary in one day. I got two-thirds of the way there today, and was considering going up to the Y for a swim, when I saw on TV that Yonge and Grosvenor was Ground Zero for the Pride Parade. Even if I could have got to the Y, that's just too much humanity to deal with.
I did gain a new appreciation for how wonderful it is to live by the lake. I rode out on the Leslie Spit to the end and got a view of the skyline with the islands in between. I wandered along Harbourfront. Tonight, after visiting my bike locker -- I've become attached to my bike in an unseemly way since I had the handlebar work done -- I walked down to Queens Quay to have a look at the water. I think that's how I'll close my evenings for the summer, rather than watching TV (I haven't turned mine on in more than a week anyway; any TV I watched, I watched at the pub, mostly World Cup fixtures) -- visit my bike locker, then go down to the water.
Back to work tomorrow, which means back to peanut butter and English muffins in the morning. I haven't had them in nine days. Lost a pound.
Whatever. I wasn't all together at 11 this morning, so the easiest thing to do was a brick workout -- an hour-plus bike ride followed by a 10-minute run. I'm happy with how it went. The calf sleeves definitely make a difference, and it was the first time I'd run with the knee strap on. Getting a better idea, too, of what I need and don't need for each section of the race. (If it's particularly hot, I need the right cycling glove during the run because it has a sweat pad, for example. I have a water bottle in the left hand. Amazing the little things that occur to you.)
I got a couple days in on my week off where I got to work on more than one discipline -- cycling and swimming, cycling and running -- and also managed to squeeze some weight work in. I didn't manage to spring the surprises on my body I wanted to. One was the lake swim; my body already knows that's coming, so I can talk about that. The other is something a friend suggested to me that I'd planned on earlier in the week, but the knee issue kept me from trying. Week after next is a recovery week, so if I'm going to do it, it'll be in three or four weeks' time. It may have to wait till after the race.
I'd like to have accomplished more this week, but it's hard to know how much work you can put in until you've put it in. One thing I would like to have done is a mock triathlon: Swim, bike and run as far as necessary in one day. I got two-thirds of the way there today, and was considering going up to the Y for a swim, when I saw on TV that Yonge and Grosvenor was Ground Zero for the Pride Parade. Even if I could have got to the Y, that's just too much humanity to deal with.
I did gain a new appreciation for how wonderful it is to live by the lake. I rode out on the Leslie Spit to the end and got a view of the skyline with the islands in between. I wandered along Harbourfront. Tonight, after visiting my bike locker -- I've become attached to my bike in an unseemly way since I had the handlebar work done -- I walked down to Queens Quay to have a look at the water. I think that's how I'll close my evenings for the summer, rather than watching TV (I haven't turned mine on in more than a week anyway; any TV I watched, I watched at the pub, mostly World Cup fixtures) -- visit my bike locker, then go down to the water.
Back to work tomorrow, which means back to peanut butter and English muffins in the morning. I haven't had them in nine days. Lost a pound.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Having a 'Who's idea was this, anyway?' moment
Several elements have cross-bred to conceive a perfect storm of doubt in my ability to resist a brutally overused metaphor. I'm sorry, in my ability to complete this race.
First was the knee pain that shut me down on Wednesday. That meant an extra day off training aside from my rest day today. Could I have swapped them as rest days? Yes, but I would have paid for it in a few days. You have to keep your one rest day a week sacrosanct; I take a break Saturday or Sunday, even if I've had to miss a day during the week. This was a lesson learned the hard way, as in the I-can't-get-out-of-bed-after-eight-consecutive-days-of-training hard way.
Then was the fact that I couldn't repeat my 400m swim. I managed 300m, in about 9:15, which would put me at about 12:25 in the water for the race. Still six weeks off, so I can still build confidence on that.
But tomorrow, I'm scheduled to jump in the lake, and I'm not convinced that's not Insanity Lite. I want to get in at least two lake swimming sessions before the race so I don't die of shock when I jump into 65-70F water on race day. But this is Lake Friggin' Ontario. It ain't warm, even if the air temperature's 30C in July. Superior, it's said, never gives up her dead, but Ontario's pretty forsaken cold, too.
Which is why, in a weak moment, I let a voice in my head say: "What the expletive deleted were you thinking? You can't do this."
Well, voice in my head, with apologies to Billy Joel, you may be right. This was a dumb idea. I should pack up the tents and go home, Goodnight Irene, etc., right?
Fuck you, voice in my head. Did the Donner Party give up? No. Did the Uraguayan rugby team whose plane crashed in the Andes give up? No. Have I any idea why I'm choosing examples of superhuman endurance that involve eating your companions? No. Probably shouldn't invite me over for dinner for a few days.
Point being ... this is about training my will as much as my body. Am I scared of swimming 400m in a lake? Yes. Is it possible that my knee is not up to the full training plan I'm on? Yes. But I can find a way to keep training without doing more hurt to my knee and still be in shape to run 2.5k. And in two or three more weeks, I'll have convinced (or deluded -- tamayto, tomato) myself that I can handle the swim, and I can overcome the panic by remembering: It's a little under 13 minutes. Someone's written a book about survival and endurance on the principle that you must focus on getting through the next five seconds. What's five seconds? Whatever the circumstance, you can get through five seconds. Thirteen minutes is just five seconds, 156 times.
By the end of next summer, I want to be able to do an Olympic distance triathlon, which is about four to five times as long in every discipline. Wouldn't do to cough up on a super-sprint, would it?
I would also like to one day run the Beer Mile in Boulder, Colo. In the dead of winter, competitors run four circuits of a 400-m track, after chugging a beer at the beginning of each lap. That's endurance. Nobody scared of a little cold water can pull that off.
First was the knee pain that shut me down on Wednesday. That meant an extra day off training aside from my rest day today. Could I have swapped them as rest days? Yes, but I would have paid for it in a few days. You have to keep your one rest day a week sacrosanct; I take a break Saturday or Sunday, even if I've had to miss a day during the week. This was a lesson learned the hard way, as in the I-can't-get-out-of-bed-after-eight-consecutive-days-of-training hard way.
Then was the fact that I couldn't repeat my 400m swim. I managed 300m, in about 9:15, which would put me at about 12:25 in the water for the race. Still six weeks off, so I can still build confidence on that.
But tomorrow, I'm scheduled to jump in the lake, and I'm not convinced that's not Insanity Lite. I want to get in at least two lake swimming sessions before the race so I don't die of shock when I jump into 65-70F water on race day. But this is Lake Friggin' Ontario. It ain't warm, even if the air temperature's 30C in July. Superior, it's said, never gives up her dead, but Ontario's pretty forsaken cold, too.
Which is why, in a weak moment, I let a voice in my head say: "What the expletive deleted were you thinking? You can't do this."
Well, voice in my head, with apologies to Billy Joel, you may be right. This was a dumb idea. I should pack up the tents and go home, Goodnight Irene, etc., right?
Fuck you, voice in my head. Did the Donner Party give up? No. Did the Uraguayan rugby team whose plane crashed in the Andes give up? No. Have I any idea why I'm choosing examples of superhuman endurance that involve eating your companions? No. Probably shouldn't invite me over for dinner for a few days.
Point being ... this is about training my will as much as my body. Am I scared of swimming 400m in a lake? Yes. Is it possible that my knee is not up to the full training plan I'm on? Yes. But I can find a way to keep training without doing more hurt to my knee and still be in shape to run 2.5k. And in two or three more weeks, I'll have convinced (or deluded -- tamayto, tomato) myself that I can handle the swim, and I can overcome the panic by remembering: It's a little under 13 minutes. Someone's written a book about survival and endurance on the principle that you must focus on getting through the next five seconds. What's five seconds? Whatever the circumstance, you can get through five seconds. Thirteen minutes is just five seconds, 156 times.
By the end of next summer, I want to be able to do an Olympic distance triathlon, which is about four to five times as long in every discipline. Wouldn't do to cough up on a super-sprint, would it?
I would also like to one day run the Beer Mile in Boulder, Colo. In the dead of winter, competitors run four circuits of a 400-m track, after chugging a beer at the beginning of each lap. That's endurance. Nobody scared of a little cold water can pull that off.
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