I have 25 days left until Ironman. That isn't much. I figure 10 of those days are low-volume training days as I taper down to race day, so really I have 2 weeks left to train. That is crazy. Scary. Scared. Petrified. Mortified.
Last Thursday we drove to Coeur d'Alene to ride and run the course. The bike course is hard. There is no flat spot on the course. You are either going up or down. No flat. If you were just riding the course without the following run you might think it was a good long bike ride. Hard, but you can knock it out. You would be tired at the end. Add in the run, its a beast.
As luck would have it, my daughter was in Coeur d'Alene when I was. It was just good luck that it worked out, so I went to lunch with my riding buddies, my daughter and her boyfriend Chase. Is that term PC? Anyway, it was fun, although I think the conversation may have been tough for some to assimilate.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Sunday, May 20, 2012
5 weeks
I have been imagining how things might go in IM CDA for the past 5 months. I try to visualize success. I try to visualize not failing. I try to visualize barfing and not getting any on me. I try to identify my weaknesses and how I might overcome them. I have 5 weeks to go and I am feeling good about it. I don't care how I place, I just care that I finish. I guess I will know in 5 weeks and 1 day. If I get sick, if I crash on the bike, if I get a blister and sit and cry, it might be a bad result. Time will tell.
I ran 16 miles Saturday. It was a great run. I am still sore but it was ok. The last 3 miles, I walked some. Thats life at 52, you walk some.
34 days 12 hours to go.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Leg Herpes
Yesterday, I rode 88 miles through the most beautiful part of America, from Black Diamond to Enumclaw, to Wilkerson, to the Carbon River Ranger Station. No place on earth was more beautiful than where I was yesterday. The blue cloudless sky was so bright it just popped. The trees hung over the road, letting sunshine lay slices of light down between the shadows. It was cold early, but then a perfect 80 degrees for most of the day, with perfect sunshine made for a perfect day.
The route we rode follows the the Carbon River for quite a while. Every spring, the Carbon runs at full tilt, and, as rivers go, when the Carbon runs high, it's a humdinger. The Carbon isn't one of those slow, pussy rivers that just wander around a couple stumps and get confused on which way down is, trying to change their identity from river to lake. Those slow rivers suck. Those slow rivers just try to sneak off in shame to dump some dirty water somewhere else and shirk their duty. The Carbon isn't like that at all. The Carbon is a freight train running downhill without brakes. The Carbon moves boulders and shakes the earth. I think it is my new favorite river. You need to see it to understand. When God made the Carbon, he was showing off.
So anyway, the road we were on follows the Carbon River. It's pretty, but if you want to ride the Carbon, it's like they say, it's uphill both ways. You should get a t-shirt for just riding to the Carbon River Ranger Station.
I fell apart at mile 75. I was gassed. It was a magnificent display of 75 miles of average riding, followed up by 20 miles of shame. My legs betrayed me. I am better than that. I think somebody sabotaged my bike. The sun was in my eyes.
Today, I ran from the Car Wash to Landsburg and back. If you don't know where the Car Wash is, don't go looking for it because it isn't there. About a week ago, it passed from the physical to the meta-physical, now it existing only in the ether. They just ripped it down. The Car Wash is gone, I guess because nobody was getting their car washed at the Car Wash. I think the great legacy of the Car Wash isn't that some guy is making a million bucks a day there, it is that everybody knows where the Car Wash is and if you want to meet up for a ride or a run, you can start at the Car Wash.
So, according to my gps runners watch, which I hate because I can't make it do anything other than beep when I go too slow, it was a 16 mile run. I don't have anything fun or pithy to say about that. It was a 16 mile run, of which the first 14 miles were painful but manageable. The last 2 miles were a horror movie. It was like the movie where the hot girl has been attacked, but somehow managed, against all odds to hit the knife wielding mass murderer on the head with a seven iron that was surprisingly handy when she needed it. Since he is temporarily passed out, she sits down to cry, with her back to the guy, while everybody can see him sit up and get ready to stab her in the neck with the kitchen knife that is still gripped tightly in his murdering hand. She just needs to turn around and whack him with the seven iron in the head a couple more times, but she won't do it, she just sits there sobbing. It isn't scary, its frustrating. She is literally too stupid to get out of the way.
So that crying hot girl is me running. Well, I am not hot, but I do feel like a crying girl when I run and if I would just stop running I could stop the pain. Everybody except me can see the shadowy vision of a real runner coming up behind me, judging me, mocking me. I just need to stop running, turn around and start whacking some guys with a seven iron.
It isn't the distance that got me over the past 2 days, its that I think I have leg herpes. No matter what I do, my legs feel like they have somehow, without notifying the owner gone out and contracted leg herpes. If I walk to the bathroom, they cramp, if I lay down, they cramp, if I lay perfectly still, they cramp. I think I have leg herpes. Doesn't that suck?
41 days, 16 hours until IM CDA.
The route we rode follows the the Carbon River for quite a while. Every spring, the Carbon runs at full tilt, and, as rivers go, when the Carbon runs high, it's a humdinger. The Carbon isn't one of those slow, pussy rivers that just wander around a couple stumps and get confused on which way down is, trying to change their identity from river to lake. Those slow rivers suck. Those slow rivers just try to sneak off in shame to dump some dirty water somewhere else and shirk their duty. The Carbon isn't like that at all. The Carbon is a freight train running downhill without brakes. The Carbon moves boulders and shakes the earth. I think it is my new favorite river. You need to see it to understand. When God made the Carbon, he was showing off.
So anyway, the road we were on follows the Carbon River. It's pretty, but if you want to ride the Carbon, it's like they say, it's uphill both ways. You should get a t-shirt for just riding to the Carbon River Ranger Station.
I fell apart at mile 75. I was gassed. It was a magnificent display of 75 miles of average riding, followed up by 20 miles of shame. My legs betrayed me. I am better than that. I think somebody sabotaged my bike. The sun was in my eyes.
Today, I ran from the Car Wash to Landsburg and back. If you don't know where the Car Wash is, don't go looking for it because it isn't there. About a week ago, it passed from the physical to the meta-physical, now it existing only in the ether. They just ripped it down. The Car Wash is gone, I guess because nobody was getting their car washed at the Car Wash. I think the great legacy of the Car Wash isn't that some guy is making a million bucks a day there, it is that everybody knows where the Car Wash is and if you want to meet up for a ride or a run, you can start at the Car Wash.
So, according to my gps runners watch, which I hate because I can't make it do anything other than beep when I go too slow, it was a 16 mile run. I don't have anything fun or pithy to say about that. It was a 16 mile run, of which the first 14 miles were painful but manageable. The last 2 miles were a horror movie. It was like the movie where the hot girl has been attacked, but somehow managed, against all odds to hit the knife wielding mass murderer on the head with a seven iron that was surprisingly handy when she needed it. Since he is temporarily passed out, she sits down to cry, with her back to the guy, while everybody can see him sit up and get ready to stab her in the neck with the kitchen knife that is still gripped tightly in his murdering hand. She just needs to turn around and whack him with the seven iron in the head a couple more times, but she won't do it, she just sits there sobbing. It isn't scary, its frustrating. She is literally too stupid to get out of the way.
So that crying hot girl is me running. Well, I am not hot, but I do feel like a crying girl when I run and if I would just stop running I could stop the pain. Everybody except me can see the shadowy vision of a real runner coming up behind me, judging me, mocking me. I just need to stop running, turn around and start whacking some guys with a seven iron.
It isn't the distance that got me over the past 2 days, its that I think I have leg herpes. No matter what I do, my legs feel like they have somehow, without notifying the owner gone out and contracted leg herpes. If I walk to the bathroom, they cramp, if I lay down, they cramp, if I lay perfectly still, they cramp. I think I have leg herpes. Doesn't that suck?
41 days, 16 hours until IM CDA.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Some Dead Guys
Years ago, I was driving to work at about 5am, I was doing what I usually do when I drive to work, that is I was sleeping with one eye open to watch the road, listening to Robin and Maynerd on the radio, and trying to list all the things I wasn't going to get done at work. It was winter in Seattle, so it was dark and raining. Its always dark and raining in the winter in Seattle. Then I saw a dead guy.
I didn't know he was dead when I saw him, I had to hear it on the news that night when I got home. I mean, he seemed dead, and he looked dead, but I didn't jump out of the car to give him a shake and wake him up, so I didn't really know for sure. When I saw him, he was laying on the ground, under one of those green half covered shelters that are suppose to be used by the bus riders waiting for the bus. There were two cop cars there,with their red and blue lights flashing, blinding all the drivers that were trying to grab a peek at the dead guy. An ambulance or a fire department medivac truck was there, and the guy was covered up with some blanket or sheet, except for his feet. The thing I remember most was his feet. He had huge feet and the sheet wasn't big enough to cover the whole guy, so his feet stuck out of the sheet, toes pointing to heaven. Maybe he was going there.
I think about that guy once in a while. I don't know anything about him except for he died at a bus stop and he had big feet. I told my wife he had clown feet, but it seems disrespectful now. I feel bad about saying that he had clown feet pointed at heaven.
Last Saturday, my wife and I went to my daughter's graduation ceremony in Pullman and we thought we might as well make a big weekend of it so we spent an extra night in Spokane and ran in Bloomsday on Sunday. If you don't know, Bloomsday is a 12k run, 49 thousand runners and walkers, 25 or 30 bands lined the streets to entertain the runners. It was a great time. I run slow like a turtle but I was flying by those walkers and maybe one or two of the runners.
So I hadn't thought about that dead guy with the clown feet until I was running along with other Bloomsday runners and we see this guy laying part in the road, part on the curb and some volunteers are holding up a sheet, I guess trying to keep the runners from seeing the guy. His shirt was up, exposing a fairly large belly, and he wasn't moving. It was hard to see all of him, but I didn't stop to gawk. I wanted to, but I was too self absorbed in keeping my incredible running pace up to stop. The guy's legs were sticking into the road below the knees. The paramedics must have hit the shocker button because his feet sort of jumped up while I was running by. I don't know what happened to that guy, but I fear the worst. I ran on, trying to put it out of my mind. I felt guilty about it, but not guilty enough to stop. I didn't see a newspaper story about him, but I bet he died. He wasn't moving.
A mile later, there is ANOTHER guy on the side of the road. This time, the volunteers didn't have a sheet, so you could see the paramedics giving this guy chest compressions. I wanted to scream 'What is with all the dead guys!' If I was a good person, I would have stopped, kneeled and said a prayer. I didn't. I was trying to get a good time in a 12k. I am such a heel.
So, if you are a triathlete, or not, just be happy you don't have any of the problems these guys had.
I didn't know he was dead when I saw him, I had to hear it on the news that night when I got home. I mean, he seemed dead, and he looked dead, but I didn't jump out of the car to give him a shake and wake him up, so I didn't really know for sure. When I saw him, he was laying on the ground, under one of those green half covered shelters that are suppose to be used by the bus riders waiting for the bus. There were two cop cars there,with their red and blue lights flashing, blinding all the drivers that were trying to grab a peek at the dead guy. An ambulance or a fire department medivac truck was there, and the guy was covered up with some blanket or sheet, except for his feet. The thing I remember most was his feet. He had huge feet and the sheet wasn't big enough to cover the whole guy, so his feet stuck out of the sheet, toes pointing to heaven. Maybe he was going there.
I think about that guy once in a while. I don't know anything about him except for he died at a bus stop and he had big feet. I told my wife he had clown feet, but it seems disrespectful now. I feel bad about saying that he had clown feet pointed at heaven.
Last Saturday, my wife and I went to my daughter's graduation ceremony in Pullman and we thought we might as well make a big weekend of it so we spent an extra night in Spokane and ran in Bloomsday on Sunday. If you don't know, Bloomsday is a 12k run, 49 thousand runners and walkers, 25 or 30 bands lined the streets to entertain the runners. It was a great time. I run slow like a turtle but I was flying by those walkers and maybe one or two of the runners.
So I hadn't thought about that dead guy with the clown feet until I was running along with other Bloomsday runners and we see this guy laying part in the road, part on the curb and some volunteers are holding up a sheet, I guess trying to keep the runners from seeing the guy. His shirt was up, exposing a fairly large belly, and he wasn't moving. It was hard to see all of him, but I didn't stop to gawk. I wanted to, but I was too self absorbed in keeping my incredible running pace up to stop. The guy's legs were sticking into the road below the knees. The paramedics must have hit the shocker button because his feet sort of jumped up while I was running by. I don't know what happened to that guy, but I fear the worst. I ran on, trying to put it out of my mind. I felt guilty about it, but not guilty enough to stop. I didn't see a newspaper story about him, but I bet he died. He wasn't moving.
A mile later, there is ANOTHER guy on the side of the road. This time, the volunteers didn't have a sheet, so you could see the paramedics giving this guy chest compressions. I wanted to scream 'What is with all the dead guys!' If I was a good person, I would have stopped, kneeled and said a prayer. I didn't. I was trying to get a good time in a 12k. I am such a heel.
So, if you are a triathlete, or not, just be happy you don't have any of the problems these guys had.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)