new blog

I am writing a new blog for the Santa Speedo race I am doing on Dec 10.  Please become a follower of that blog.

it is: http://santaspeedo2011.blogspot.com/

Thanks for following my journey to IMFL.  I plan on completing my first Ironman in 2013 and will start a new blog when I register for it. :)

Week 48: The end of the road

It's been four weeks since my surgery and it's clear to me now that I won't be able to compete in IMFL.  The muscles in my neck will take much longer to heal, I have lost all of my fitness, I'm having trouble swallowing which would get in the way of nutrition, and they severed a nerve which feeds my left arm/trapezius muscle.  All of these issues will eventually heal. But it will take a few more months which is not enough time to be ready for November 5.

The past year of training was an amazing experience for me.  I'm glad I did what I did even though I can not race.  I'm looking forward to next year and the challenges it will bring.  Looking back on this past year I have to say I am most proud of the 5K swim at The Ridges.  It ended up being closer to 6K and it was by far the hardest mental and physical event I ever took place in.  I'm also glad I found a way to overcome my tendon injury and keep running using the Galloway method.

If I learned anything this year, I learned to Keep Moving Forward.  And so I will.  And I hope you do as well.  See you out there...in a pool or lake, on the open road or trail.  Swimming.  Biking.  Or Running.  Forever smiling.  Thanks for sharing this past year with me.

Week 47: To pee or not to pee

Poo-poo and the potty.
There is no other social situation I can possibly think of where grown adults can openly discuss bodily functions like triathlon training. Imagine the horror at Buckhead Betty’s next dinner party when someone asks how many times she was able to pee herself. You would hear crickets chirping after that question was asked.
But discuss it we do. Over and over. And sometimes in such graphic detail that I wonder what is wrong with us. Instead of it being a contest of who raced the faster pace at Richard B Russell Olympic Triathlon, it has turned into “who went poop the most times before the race”. And the stories are always told to me with the largest grin on the storyteller’s face. It’s kind of like it takes people back to when they got to announce to their parents for the first time that they used the big girl toilet.
People will offer up to you their strategies to get you to participate in peeing on the bike. “Don’t wear socks,” they say. To reduce the evidence. “Wait until you are riding downhill” so you can relieve stress on your bladder. I don’t think they are really trying to help me pee on the bike. I think they are trying to feel less guilty for peeing on it themselves by incorporating more people into their cult. I meant club. No, I guess I really meant cult.
And so I have fought this nonsense. This peeing on the bike. I even went out and bought a white kit that would prevent me from doing so. But then something happened on my last century ride. I finally drank enough water to stop me from dehydrating. And it was a lot of water. Something like 9 bottles over 100 miles. And I was having to stop and pee behind trees because I couldn’t wait until the next SAG stop. You might tell me I drank too much water on that ride. I will say I felt fantastic for the first time ever when I got done with that century and given it was 95 degrees out, I will consider it a success.
What did happen though was I finally understood why people pee themselves. If you have to sit on the bike constantly thinking about peeing, it is VERY distracting. You want to be comfortable leaning over in aero when you are placing pressure on your bladder.
There are other strategies I’ve heard that are more advanced. Like using urine to be a deterrent to people drafting off of you. First of all no one drafts off of me because I am too slow. And I think it might take years of experience to actually be able to direct my urine in such a manner. And well, I think only guys can do that. But if I get to that skill level, well, you’ll be the first to know.
There is one runner friend of mine who can pee so easily while standing up that she often has to remind herself when standing around in her running clothes NOT to pee. We aren’t dogs. It’s not really that acceptable to just stand around and pee, you know.
I guess in a weird ,sick way I like that we are all so open about this topic and willing to help each other with tips. It makes me feel like a little kid again.
Oh, I guess you might ask, what did I decide to do? About peeing on the bike? If I don’t have my white kit on, the next time you see me at a race it might be a clue. ;)
　
　
　
　
　

Week 46: The General

I have a friend Cheryl who would make a great "military man".  I say this with a slight chuckle because she and I grew up in military families and both have deep memories of what that means.  You want Cheryl on your side when you go to battle.  She does her research.  She finds out all the strengths and weaknesses of her enemies and figures out how to arrange her own strengths and weaknesses to compete against them.  She has helped me learn what that is all about and she has made it fun.  In the military, Cheryl would be a full bird.  A full colonel.  And I would be a LTC, learning from her along the way.  She has a couple more years experience in tris than I do and I stick close to her and absorb her knowledge like a sponge.

This week Cheryl became more like a general for me.  Because sometimes instead of the tactical day to day info of competing in war (or tris), you need someone who looks at the big picture.  You need someone who will say you can win the war when you are down in the trenches and really think you've lost it.  You need someone who simply will not accept no for an answer.  Someone who reminds you of why you started this journey.

Luckily for me Cheryl wasn't the only general.  I had lots of them this week.  In fact, I had so many generals telling me I could win the war that I didn't really have any choice other than to say "yes" I can and I will. 

There was a period of about 48 hours when I didn't think I'd be able to train again this year.  And no way possibly compete.  Every flower, kind word, cup of coffee, text, phone call, singing balloon, bar of chocolate and jar of popcorn helped me see that I can.  And I will.  Thank you.  Thank you all for listening to the whining and crying but not believing in it.

Week 45: Where is my tuesday?

I missed writing my blog last week not because of the surgery but because I just wasn't sure what I was supposed to write about or what I was supposed to say.  I didn't want to turn it into a pity party about my surgery but I also didn't want to push it aside and write a humorous blog like nothing happened.  So I waited until I was inspired.

The most interesting part of my stay at Piedmont Hospital and my journey there were the people.  The amazing incredible array of people I met from every culture and lifestyle possible.  And how many of them opened up to me and shared their lives with me to help me feel more comfortable while I was in pain.

I met a woman from Thailand during my pre-op check in who survived breast cancer and shared her amazing story with me.  I had ran 18 miles the day before surgery and my veins were dehydrated and she was having trouble getting the main line in.  So we talked while she warmed my veins with hot compresses.  She told me the story of when she woke up on Wednesday when her surgery was Monday with no idea what happened and kept asking her kids "where is my tuesday?"  She wanted her Tuesday back.

When you get to your hospital room, there are 2 objects on the wall in front of you clear in view.  One is a black and white clock.  The other is a dry erase board.  On the board they list the nurses who are taking care of you by their first names.  The first shift I was there, I was so jacked up on morphine that I could not read the board nor understand what on earth those names meant.  I feel sorry for those nurses because I would just find the call button, push it several times and yell "pain" into the box when they asked me what I wanted.  I actually am laughing while writing this because I now realize how rude it was for me to do that...but at the time, it was all I could muster.

The clock.  That damn black and white clock.  I stared and stared at that clock.  I bargained with that clock.  I was in that room for 48 hours.  I can promise you it felt like a month.  I would beg the clock every 10 minutes to make me feel better, to make me feel normal.  Pretty much now I know that was the morphine and anesthesia talking but at the time I pretty much would trade anything to make the time go by faster.  When the bargaining went from 10 minute period to one hour periods, I knew life was improving.

When the second shift of nurses got there, I had a little more decorum about my shouts into the white squawking box.  I would look up on the board, pick a nurse and yell her name into the box.  As the time wore on, I actually used "please" and "thank you".  Mary O was truly a guardian angel for me.  Typically assigned to the orthopedic surgery floor, she was doing a shift on general surgery.  She treated me like I was her own daughter and for that 12 hour period, I relied on her immensely.  The hospital didn't have a clue on what I could eat and she gave her own greek yogurt to me.  She shared stories about her life with me and she did things that went way beyond the call of duty.  I will go back and find her to thank her in person because I'd like her to know what an impact she makes on her patients lives.

There were also numbers of people who had the same surgery who just happened to show up in my life like the anesthesiologist and two of my parents neighbors.  They proudly pulled down the necks of their shirts to show me their scars and tell me their stories.

All of these things helped me mentally which helps me physically.  Within the first few days, I worried that perhaps IMFL might be out of the cards for me and that to recover and then train and race with less than 60 days to go, might be too big a task to take on.  And then I realized it was really just like the clock in the room.  I only have to think about the next 10 minutes.  Nothing more.  And when I get past that ten minutes, the next 10 will be there.  And then the next hour.  And I don't have to take on any more than that right now.

Week 43: 300 days down 65 to go and now this

300 days have passed since I paid my $600 to sign up for IMFL.  300 days.  A lot can happen in 300 days.  There were a lot of things I expected might happen in 300 days.  I didn't know the tendonitis would happen but it was probable given the strain I was putting on my legs from running.  Once I solved that issue, I never truly believed that I'd really run fast again until a few weeks ago at RBR and then this week I surpassed my longest distance and confidently and comfortably ran 16 miles.  The first 14 were at my typical snail's pace of 10:30-11 min miles.  But my coach asked me to amp it up a little at the end and I laid down two 8:45 miles and was as excited as a triathlete figuring out how to wirelessly download their Garmin to Training Peaks.  Ok, call me a nerd, it makes me very excited every time I hear that beep.

I thought I might lose my job because of the economy.  That hasn't happened but things are looking quite shaky.  I thought I would learn a lot about myself over 12 months of training for an Ironman because that‘s what everyone says will happen.  I have.  But I didn't learn what I thought I would learn.  What I have learned over the past 10 months was how to be a better friend.  How to listen to people.  How to care more about other people. And how to let them care about me. It has been a very unexpected result.  And one that makes me wonder how much of life I have missed out on by not seeing this.

And I guess I learned this lesson just in time.  Because something else has happened that I never dreamt possible while training for an Ironman.  I got cancer.  And I hope you can see I am not writing this because I want pity or attention.  I am writing it because it’s just something that happens to so many people going along their path in life.  And you sit on a table in a doc’s office and they have to tell you this.  That you have abnormal cells growing in you.  And you have to figure out how to handle it.  Without losing it in front of the doc while he explains the procedure and the scars and the permanent numbness of your neck and ear and the chance your trapezoid may not work on that side and your swim will really suck.  Worse than it does now.  And you may be hoarse forever.  The cancer in my thyroid doesn’t concern them as much as the cancer in my lymph nodes.  This is not hyper or hypothyroidism which would have shown up on tests.  My blood work is completely normal.  Had it not been for the pain I experienced in my neck while pushing  my head forward while riding aero, I might not have discovered this.  At this point it’s an 85% success rate.  I think those are really good odds.

I mostly held it all together in his office and then fell apart for 5 minutes in the ladies room.  5 minutes.  That’s really all I needed.  Went to the hospital admin office and took care of the paperwork so I can go back Tuesday for the surgery which lasts about 4-5 hours and requires one night at the hospital.  It is a 2-3 week recovery period at home.  There is no chemo but I have to wear some pretty scary looking drains and there is a radioactive iodine pill I will take afterwards to kill off any remaining cells.  (You might not want to visit me those days.)  It is just another hiccup on the road to Ironman Florida.  It is most likely a cancer I have been living with for awhile.  It did not happen overnight.

But back to the new found skill I have learned over the past 10 months.  The one where I let other people help me and care about me.  Something tells me it is going to come in handy during the month of September and beyond.  Perhaps you can teach an old dog new tricks.  I’m about to find out.

Thank you all for the love and concern you have sent me.  I have always wanted to experience what it felt like to be on a team.  And it feels really really good.

 

Week 42: The triathlon bubble.

We all have our neroses, and the longer you hang out with your teammates, the clearer they become.  I have quite a few of my own and they typically involve food.  In fairness, I think that I can blame all of this on my mother.  My mom was one of those people who never threw out anything and thought it was okay to leave the container of milk on the kitchen table for hours while we ate, and then put in back in the fridge for the next day.  Needless to say, I do not drink milk anymore and haven't for about 20 years.  Maybe more.  You can look up my age on my tri results, but I'm not going to make it easy and just give it away.

 

One night, I was over at my parents' house for dinner and they were cooking shrimp on the grill.  You might think that sounds tasty.  But the shrimp were the already cooked frozen shrimp type.  You AREN'T supposed to cook those.  You defrost them and serve them cold.  Or make shrimp salad out of them.  Whatever!  So when I requested some of them to make shrimp cocktail, my mom said, "okay," and directed me to the pantry for the cocktail sauce.  It was "new" and unopened.  It was also black.  In my world, tomatoes are red, they are not black.  "Mom," I said, "how old is this cocktail sauce?  Nevermind, I will just look at the label.  Mom, this cocktail sauce expired 17 years ago!" 

 

So yes, I became a little neurotic about food, and I grocery shop every 1-2 days.  I also freak out when people try to shake my hand while I'm eating at a restaurant.  Or if they lean over me to talk to someone next to me and spit all over my food.  In my perfect world, we'd all eat at our own tables and wave to each other during meals.  And maybe text.  But not talk.  And definitely not spit on each other's food.

 

When I started doing tris, I was quite shocked at my change in behavior.  Not that I will eat old food...because that ain't happening.  BUT I will eat food, any food, dirty food, food off the floor, food other people have touched and coughed on and stepped on and well, you are starting to get the picture.  Is that an unopened pack of Gu I see on the ground that has been stomped on by 500 people?  Pick it up and save it for later. (yes, I will wash the pack first).  Did someone leave the mini boxes of cereal on this table from their swag bag?  They are mine now.

 

At the Augusta 70.3 last year, I was the runner of our relay team, and the more water I drank while waiting for the race to begin, the more I wanted.  But I ran out and couldn't find anymore.  I spied a very large container of it that someone used to fill their aero bottle near the bikes.  It was by the trash cans.  They hadn't used much of it and were throwing it away.  Hmmmm....it looked just fine, so I picked it up and refilled my water bottle.  I might have drunk straight from the bottle.  It's just hard for me to admit that.

 

This past fall, during my first century ride, I stuffed nutter butter cookies from one of the rest stops into my back pocket of my jersey and forgot about them.  After the race, I was starving, and despite them being soaked with my sweat and quite soggy, I ate them and licked my fingers clean.  I also scraped the remaining soggy, doughlike substance from the jersey pocket to get every bite.  When you are ravenous from 104 miles of cycling, you just don't care what people think.

 

What?  Licked my filthy fingers clean?  And it hit me.  There is a bubble.  A triathlon bubble.  It allows us to train and compete and not get sick.  It protects us against all kinds of disease and nasty crap we get into.  I have gotten out of some of the lakes we swim in with horrible bites and rashes only to find that a couple of days later, they are gone.  We have all eaten from tubs of orange slices into which countless other filthy hands have reached before us, and not gotten sick.  We drink from gatorade containers that I am certain have not been cleaned out since Gatorade was invented.  It is the protective triathlon bubble, and you'd better be happy it exists.  Because I know I am.

 

I am not proud of this behavior, not at all.  But it does provide a little freedom for me to believe in this bubble.  And perhaps, a little bit of therapy to be free from my craziness about food, even if it's only for a short time.  Just don't tell my mother.