tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16590214695850558632024-03-14T00:08:03.299-07:00lost in transitionthe journey to 140.6 and beyondrichelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.comBlogger137125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-83068767990529902202015-11-24T22:24:00.002-08:002015-11-24T23:18:15.355-08:00Ironman...the sequel<b><i>Forced recovery</i></b><br />
<br />
Five days after IM Choo, I had surgery. A similar surgery in 2012 forced 8 weeks of hard rest and months of recuperation dealing with the side effects of blood loss, so my expectations were firmly in check concerning the length of recovery I might need. <br />
<br />
It takes a lot to force me into doing absolutely nothing, and having surgery happens to be one of those things. Consequently, the "off" season began in earnest on October 2, with me being very down and out, reacting badly to anaesthetic and having to really dial things back. However, the surgery itself went so much better than last time, and my complications were pretty limited, so after two weeks I was able to start gently exercising again. <br />
<br />
The marvelous thing about mandatory rest is that your body has no choice but to repair. My brilliant discovery two weeks post surgery? I felt fantastic. <br />
<br />
<b><i>Rebounding</i></b><br />
<br />
A positive race is incredibly addictive. And while Choo was not a perfect race, nor my fastest, it reinforced to me that there was the potential for a good race. I didn't feel done for the year.<br />
<br />
The "idea" of racing again is one thing. Maintaining the enthusiasm through to the point of execution is quite another. End of season rebound...we all know it. The self-justification that you need to do "something" with all that hard earned fitness, remnants of the finish line high, trying to fill the time void that not training leaves. Unfortunately, I know only too well how this usually plays out - the gas tank usually runs empty well short of race day, and it ends in a miserable rebound race. Late fall training in Vancouver also presents a double whammy as the dark, short days and torrential rain test even the most resolute.<br />
<br />
Undeterred, the "Ironman sequel in 6 weeks or less" program got fired up. Cue the Whole Foods dinners for one and long solo workouts. A flight was booked and the semi-secret ninja ironman training started with my sights set on IM Arizona. <i>After all, if Robert Downey Jr can make Ironman sequels seem sexy in his forties...why can't I?</i><br />
<br />
<b><i>Consistency...what's that?</i></b><br />
<br />
I am a full time professional with a demanding career. I don't have the luxury (or the interest) in being a "full-time" athlete, and thus choosing to race requires a delicate balancing act. The integration of training and racing with my professional life is something I am very familiar with, and something I feel I have become quite good at. My feeling has always been that they are (generally) complimentary to each other - being an athlete makes me a better professional, and being a professional makes me a better athlete. For better or worse, it usually all works out as long as I stay focused and regimented.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, work demands do sometimes command more of my time than an ideal training schedule would have. Shortly after resolving to race IMAZ, the work balance started tipping a lot.<br />
<br />
To say the least, it was not a perfect build. As it does in the fall, it got dark. It got rainy. My enthusiasm waned as the fluid trainer made an appearance, and I remembered that fall training is like being on detention. Then, I ended up travelling several times for work, including a long overseas trip, and it all looked like it was going to hell. I envied those athletes who were smart enough to pack their bikes up for the season while I continued. Honestly, it was ridiculous to think that I could race an Ironman on the low (no?) volume I was doing, but on a hope and a prayer that the base was there, I forged ahead. Luckily, running shoes are portable and Jasper was understanding of these commitments.<br />
<br />
Perhaps the experience at Choo made me less fearful of the less-than-ideal build, but I have come to understand that there is no perfect training plan. I did what I was able to do leading into Arizona - probably far less than I needed to, with no long rides and no runs over 2 hours, rarely making my early morning swims. Honestly, it didn't faze me - the race was a bonus, and it was all a great big fun experiment.<br />
<br />
<b><i>SUNSHINE!!!</i></b><br />
<br />
The most glorious part about Phoenix was the opportunity to bask in the sun. I won't lie - sun was as good (or better) reason to get out of rainy Vancouver than racing. The few days before the race were spent tootling around Scottsdale and gathering race provisions. Sunshine, oh lovely sunshine, just has this uncanny way of improving my mood - it was relaxing, warm and perfect. <br />
<br />
(<i>I'll fess up now that my enthusiasm for being in the sun had me hiking up Camelback on Friday before the pro meeting. Not a good pre-race plan at all - my quads were absolutely killing after - but hell, you only live once.</i>)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyuY-dIGHi7mWHIYaF0fxKvSnswy9oc5oNVlqw0LHQXTwnj3H1LiVwhPv80sDe3qI_UqKqK_xo9kiDn9Z37e10atkc4Yy8fRejow-ppj-q2Iuq1IrUO_bMHXTM4EYVlmD-FbSNYx1Mdng/s1600/IMG_4321.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyuY-dIGHi7mWHIYaF0fxKvSnswy9oc5oNVlqw0LHQXTwnj3H1LiVwhPv80sDe3qI_UqKqK_xo9kiDn9Z37e10atkc4Yy8fRejow-ppj-q2Iuq1IrUO_bMHXTM4EYVlmD-FbSNYx1Mdng/s400/IMG_4321.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Views out along the Beeline on the bike course. Nobody here but the cactus.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR1QcEguGYcs874zLTtxcy7nZDvDuhieRGfQvGvpxXUBdPOJwQ2lqVlhBiO8Z7WGjOtQnZP97hOgBuJPYhme022T8hY6UIaCUfD04Q7X1ZWgnXw4l3ymV6I4in0A9xnOzCOrAAbCGeu7g/s1600/IMG_4366.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR1QcEguGYcs874zLTtxcy7nZDvDuhieRGfQvGvpxXUBdPOJwQ2lqVlhBiO8Z7WGjOtQnZP97hOgBuJPYhme022T8hY6UIaCUfD04Q7X1ZWgnXw4l3ymV6I4in0A9xnOzCOrAAbCGeu7g/s400/IMG_4366.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lovely Camelback hike</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxVphgq8HT8RWxwlOOVCAKU_vbxkRC_ACr1DDRpj5mrvOEJLr_1hOCYzwMjO_fTKPh1Bqdr9yIiWww_D5EK4hv_BWbj9S1XvamRAMyzUH31HTMsg7k420zIuoOMx__oDbQeXJOKwnC09A/s1600/IMG_4368.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxVphgq8HT8RWxwlOOVCAKU_vbxkRC_ACr1DDRpj5mrvOEJLr_1hOCYzwMjO_fTKPh1Bqdr9yIiWww_D5EK4hv_BWbj9S1XvamRAMyzUH31HTMsg7k420zIuoOMx__oDbQeXJOKwnC09A/s400/IMG_4368.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doing cactus impressions on Camelback (instead of resting...)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8VAa8kc4i2DinO-iokZuo4r-bGmOebaWnj_1IWrPBptcBhw0733kFy7nvJmV6twLslNNUJCNu-yrRcMPq1v8oRfONiwy2MmjKF_5hZy_jbaiSHmpSp1sk9GqZk-C8uTr4DDyGZetUeA4/s1600/IMG_4377.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8VAa8kc4i2DinO-iokZuo4r-bGmOebaWnj_1IWrPBptcBhw0733kFy7nvJmV6twLslNNUJCNu-yrRcMPq1v8oRfONiwy2MmjKF_5hZy_jbaiSHmpSp1sk9GqZk-C8uTr4DDyGZetUeA4/s400/IMG_4377.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pool at the condo was a little nicer than Tempe Town Lake</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b><i>Getting down to business</i></b><br />
<br />
I will admit that the lovely, sunny days leading up to the race had me wishing I was doing anything but racing on Sunday. I had little interest in the chaos of pre-race (and completely avoided the race site the day before, opting to check in on race morning - this is a huge pro perk) and that 3:45am alarm hurt as much as it ever does. Those parts of racing are decidedly not so fun.<br />
<br />
My glorious sunshine also disappeared, replaced by a rather bleak, cloudy morning. I had joked days before about the "rainy" forecast (at the time, it called for less than a mm), but in the darkness of transition, it was no joke: the weather had made a significant turn for the worse. <br />
<br />
I never feel "amped" before a race - it's just not the way I am. At worst, I am a nervous wreck. At best, it is quiet execution, quickly moving through transition and not getting caught up in the craziness around me. Unfortunately, I found the transition area in Arizona really awkward, which necessitated moving against a sea of people several times. There was also no shortcut to the front of the swim, and I had to move past all of the age group corrals. I barely made it to the front of the swim before the men's start, and quickly jumped into the water for a short warm up. I felt rushed and not ready. <br />
<br />
Referring to the body of water that we swam in as a "lake" is a pretty generous term for the man-made, sludgy, murky, cold water that we jumped into. Not happy. Not happy at all. <br />
<br />
My happiness did not improve during the swim. I was cold. I had trouble seeing (despite wearing blue tinted goggles). I didn't understand the sighting (should have swam the wall, not the crooked buoys), and just past the halfway point I became an age group punching bag. Did I mention I was cold? I have never experienced such a nasty swim and was really, really pissy by the time I emerged from the swamp. Attitude really drives everything, of course, so it was not a shock that I swam a 1:11. Shit swim for a shit attitude. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeo-yKlV5_rFU4kXFVXpnwpaGjZy9kwFk0ayP7JLrDcOOl0XIgDUByetSb4ti55joRleYa9xYcp845cJmrAJVMNnhfgg5_iF9KuPq7u62RtMjGsu-ilJaas0E39bPbAbwKfqqfzBSA6UA/s1600/Swim.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeo-yKlV5_rFU4kXFVXpnwpaGjZy9kwFk0ayP7JLrDcOOl0XIgDUByetSb4ti55joRleYa9xYcp845cJmrAJVMNnhfgg5_iF9KuPq7u62RtMjGsu-ilJaas0E39bPbAbwKfqqfzBSA6UA/s400/Swim.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b><i>Rock, scissors, paper, tri bike</i></b><br />
<br />
Going into T1, I was cold, grumpy and pretty done with racing. My brain was in full-on negotiation and it was pretty sure at that point that I was not finishing the race. <br />
<br />
My nephew does this funny thing where he plays "rock, scissors, paper" against himself. It's terribly cute, terribly funny and seems pretty pointless, as a rational person would tell you it is not possible to negotiate against yourself.<br />
<br />
I would play the devil's advocate on this one, however, because the majority of the forward movement I was able to achieve at IMAZ was as a consequence of me negotiating against myself. And so, it began, leaving T1 with a self-bargain to do "just one loop".<br />
<br />
<i>Brain: You can do this. </i><br />
<i>Body: I'm cold. I hate this.</i><br />
<i>Brain: Just one loop.</i><br />
<i>Body: I know what you are up to. You are tricking me.</i><br />
<i>Brain: It's only 60k, then you can come back and sit down.</i><br />
<i>Body: It's a trick. You are going to make me do the whole thing.</i><br />
<i>Brain: Pinky swear. Just one loop. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
And so the day began, with "just" one loop. <br />
<br />
I really, really struggle to find much positive to say about the bike course except that it is measured to a tee. 180k exactly. 30k out, 30k back, 30k out, 30k back, 30k out, 30k back. Around and around you go. Not exactly inspiring. Flat-ish, windy-ish, dull-ish.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEyrAZCu_A6dpTr_kUMPUNszRd-NB_8BGY6xrNIkoLPDyFYRPm6qDyS9p2H7Ma-aIvc2fqwVoZOlp9OseSxjR_hF0UTEfRcqPib7OVXrMutGhzFeIEF977dQ5vOdvWiqxBR44EuASdnkM/s1600/Arizona+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEyrAZCu_A6dpTr_kUMPUNszRd-NB_8BGY6xrNIkoLPDyFYRPm6qDyS9p2H7Ma-aIvc2fqwVoZOlp9OseSxjR_hF0UTEfRcqPib7OVXrMutGhzFeIEF977dQ5vOdvWiqxBR44EuASdnkM/s400/Arizona+2.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This way. No, that way. Round and round we go. Stop when you hit 180k.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My power meter also decided to be awesomely not awesome and told me that 35 kilometers per hour on a slight uphill grade equated 110 watts, so the only real measure of effort I had was cadence and common sense, the latter of which was a little lacking seeing as I was riding my TT bike wearing basically nothing in the freezing, windy desert. Happy times.<br />
<br />
Little did I know that the first loop would in fact be the best loop, or I may have been more inclined to pack it in and go for a margarita. The wind kicked up on lap two, as did the congestion on the course. Brain and body continued their negotiations.<br />
<br />
<i>Brain: OK, maybe just one more loop.</i><br />
<i>Body: Dark moments. So dark. </i><br />
<i>Brain: You are being dramatic.</i><br />
<i>Body: Not dramatic. Legs are lead.</i><br />
<i>Brain: Spin. 90 RPM. You got this.</i><br />
<i>Body: You suck! This sucks!</i><br />
<i>Brain: 60k is a pansy Sunday ride. Do 120k and you can eat some pizza later.</i><br />
<i>Body: Pizza! Squirrel! OK!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I hit a pretty low point around halfway where my body really started hurting. Staying in aerobars consistently for 5+ hours is actually pretty painful, and I would choose a hillier course over flat every single time. Despite my mental struggle and the start of the real physical one, I had started moving through the female pros and knew that I was moving along just as well as any of them. This motivated me enough to keep cruising through to lap 3. <br />
<br />
The rain arrived just in time to match any motivation that I had in continuing. By the time I left town for the last time, it was no longer just a light sprinkle...cold, heavy, windy rain. Although I am fairly comfortable riding in rainy conditions, my bigger concern was the congestion around me and staying safe. I had come around the back of the age groupers and was now passing continuously. Conditions were slippery and dangerous, and I was on the verge of getting very, very cold. <br />
<br />
I was forced to slow down enormously on the last 15k, but realized that I was still going to post a personal best bike split. It would have been awesome to be able to finish up strongly, but I recognized that rubber side down was preferential. The last section into transition was so slippery that I was unable to brake...a volunteer caught both me and my bike just before I skidded out. I guess that's one way of dismounting. <br />
<br />
<i>Brain: We got this!</i><br />
<i>Body: WAAAAAH.</i><br />
<i>Brain: Just go to T2 and change.</i><br />
<i>Body: BUUUUT I'M SOOOO COOOOOLD.</i><br />
<i>Brain: The tent will be warm.</i><br />
<i>Body: I CAN'T FEEEEEL MY TOOOOOES.</i><br />
<i>Brain: Shut up. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
My T2 time was about as glacial as my toes, but the time spent was a necessary evil in keeping me in the race. The volunteers were amazing and had warm towels to dry my feet, and they draped another towel around my shoulders to help me gain some body heat while I put on dry shorts and socks. I was shivering and sore, and not at all excited about the prospect of running a marathon. <br />
<br />
The first few steps out of T2 felt like they always do - junky and gross. I was still cold, but felt a little better after splashing some water on my face and shoving a gel down. The only thing you can really do is just keep moving, as crappy as it feels. However, what happened over the next 2k was really interesting. I started to feel great. Running felt easy. I felt light, and dare I say, happy-ish. Of course, this good feeling terrified me and I chalked it up to too much gel. <br />
<br />
<i>Brain: WTF</i><br />
<i>Body: Wheeee! Let's go!</i><br />
<i>Brain: Go easy. Slow down. This is not normal. </i><br />
<i>Body: Wheeee! You said PIZZA...let's go! </i><br />
<i>Brain: It feels easy now but this is not going to last.</i><br />
<i>Body: Screw it! Let's go!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
And, in a complete reversal of the way things usually play out during an Ironman marathon, my body trumped my brain. Through 10k in 49 minutes. Half marathon in 1:44. Perfect little metronome splits. Just waiting, waiting for the crash. <br />
<br />
That crash never came. The first lap featured pouring rain and conditions that would rival a regular fall day in Vancouver, my shoes were soaking wet and I was drenched, but managing to stay warm. I ate gel at regular intervals, in fact more gel than I usually manage to get down, and I started on the cola at the halfway mark as usual. My feet didn't hurt. My legs felt fine. My heart rate was controlled. Dare I say, I felt fantastic. <br />
<br />
The silly ridiculousness of the entire thing was not lost on me at all, and I spent most of the run absolutely beaming at the absurdity of the entire situation. It was pouring. In the desert. We were slopping through mucky red puddles and sliding around on slippery concrete. And, most absurd of all, after riding a 5:07, in my second ironman in two months, six weeks after surgery, I was simply chugging along happy as can be. If that's not something to smile at, not much is.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoGmRc1274bZJupS6oeet3NTK-DvBqnwRTdOASbK7kW6vVTYKA_QYnMjiBc7b0XBaytPwX57DUfFEbRal8EMJ6CjLInNqFjsnYFM81Dy-XIxPgupy2n9V9FR3T9BazRv349mC3aEwOXNE/s1600/Arizona+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoGmRc1274bZJupS6oeet3NTK-DvBqnwRTdOASbK7kW6vVTYKA_QYnMjiBc7b0XBaytPwX57DUfFEbRal8EMJ6CjLInNqFjsnYFM81Dy-XIxPgupy2n9V9FR3T9BazRv349mC3aEwOXNE/s400/Arizona+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happily chugging along.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The only real issue I encountered was that, due to the cooler weather, I just wasn't sweating out my hydration the way I usually do, which necessitated about 4 potty stops. Moving time on my watch reflected a 3:29 marathon split, so those stops cost me about 4 minutes in total because my stop time was 3:33. While frustrating (and what ultimately would cost me my sub-10), I am not sure I would do anything different in retrospect. The amount of food and drink I was consuming was keeping me buoyant - whatever it was, was working.<br />
<br />
I crossed the line as the 15th pro female, in 10:01 and change, and about 16 minutes faster than I have covered the distance before. I'd like to say that it was all of the hard training, a positive mental attitude, great race execution, blah, blah, blah, but the truth is I have no idea how I pulled that race out of my a**. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyyfbOsDW4r6QQ5I5ljIfeCq9k642SOlfH5xkPlaGnVLzFb68sWOLCpbtq8bMGnmLzBMOlBGbXomU7MtjBhEksOOZdwO70O5r8v8HKM8dyEpahIJglTxD4wZhtF93sKubr7oD974nkfgc/s1600/IMG_4383.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyyfbOsDW4r6QQ5I5ljIfeCq9k642SOlfH5xkPlaGnVLzFb68sWOLCpbtq8bMGnmLzBMOlBGbXomU7MtjBhEksOOZdwO70O5r8v8HKM8dyEpahIJglTxD4wZhtF93sKubr7oD974nkfgc/s400/IMG_4383.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
What I can say, however, from someone who did not come from any kind of "elite" sporting background, this season has ended up being a marvelous foray into possibility. None of the three sports that add up to a triathlon come particularly naturally to me (especially at a "pro" level), nor do I have any kind of sporting pedigree. I'm just an Alberta kid who who learned to swim and bike at the age of 35, with the (at the time lofty) goal of finishing a sprint distance tri.<br />
<div>
<br />
Six years later, at ripe age of 41 (eek!), I am looking back at a season that not only included a 900k bike race, but also two ironman finishes, and damned close to that oh-so-elusive sub-10 time, and a 15th place finish in a deep pro field. That's a lot of shits and giggles to me. More incredibly, none of this was done on a "conventional" training plan - in fact, far from it. It came from slugging it out, more than a few moments of being talked off the ledge by my coach and my own brain, rolling with a lot of punches, more Whole Foods single-person dinners than I care to admit to and more than a few strokes of good luck. <br />
<br />
I certainly don't have it all figured out (far from it, actually), but am appreciative of the journey, of these experiences, of the low moments that yield high ones, and the opportunity to learn each step of the way. <br />
<br />
The best laid training plan is not what gets you to the finish line - it's the determination, execution and guts it takes to lay it down day after day, believing in the process, and trusting that you are capable of getting there. And, on the days when you don't trust yourself, trusting the people around you when they tell you that it is going to be fine. Most importantly, getting to the line requires moving forward, even when things aren't going so great. Races, and life, are long enough to afford you to bounce back from the little bumps on the way. No matter how shitty those moments are, no matter how many of them there may be, no matter how many times you have to traverse the same path in order to get it right, that long road has a purpose. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-76173435966586572242015-11-23T00:28:00.002-08:002015-11-23T09:58:50.879-08:00Impromptu racing - IM Choo<span style="font-family: inherit;">Long distance triathlon is a pretty strange sport. For whatever the reason - perhaps because of the time consuming training, the desire to obsessively plan, the need to book travel, or the hope of participating in high-demand events - I have since my first year of triathlon laid out The Plan. Moreover, The Plan always has a theme - prioritizing races to culminate in The Race, followed by "off-season" where I attempt to be "normal" but really end up secret race planning for the next season.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Deviations from The Plan and/or failure to put a check mark beside The Race are in equal turns distressing and frustrating, because they usually mean that things are not going well. Work, reality, injury, fatigue...whatever the reason. When The Plan goes off the rails, experience is that it's probably time for a break and a reset. In irrational, Type A, success-driven, triathlete-land, however, the ability to accept the need to hit reset is usually a last-ditch attempt to salvage The Plan.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The Plan definitely did not have me backing up the Haute Route with any more racing, but after the unexpected DNF in Whistler, I honestly felt a little lost. With the idea that the long ride days at the Haute Route would contribute to my bike fitness, I discussed the possibility of racing IM Chattanooga with Coach Jasper and tentatively signed up just before leaving for Europe.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Was this audacious? Ridiculous? Against my better judgement? Probably all of the above. So I stubbornly did it anyway. </span><br />
<br />
<b><i>Ready or not...</i></b><br />
<br />
Upon returning from Venice, the illness I had fended off the during the Haute Route promptly turned into a nasty head cold and sinus infection (of course, I blame the long overseas flight and not the 900k of riding that preceded it). The brutal head cold, in addition to some serious fatigue, left me unable to do any meaningful training and pretty much stuck on the couch. <br />
<br />
One week before race day, all my workouts were shelved in favor of an emotional breakdown and 18 hours of sleep. I began packing (aka throwing lycra into a pile on the floor) with about as much enthusiasm as a trip to the dentist for a root canal. The thought of travelling across the continent to stand on the sidelines (or worse, a DNF) was a lot more than my heart had in it. I also did not have a ton of support in my corner - pretty much everyone I knew thought I was stark raving mad to consider it.<br />
<br />
If you had seen me the day before stepping on the plane, popping antibiotics, wads of Kleenex in hand, you would understand just how preposterous the idea of racing 5 days later was. Under any other circumstances I would have pulled the pin, but knowing that I was facing surgery in early October, I felt a little like there was nothing to lose. <br />
<br />
There were several serious and panicked conversations with Jasper in the days before I left, and I am sure Jasper started to feel more like a psychiatrist than a triathlon coach during many of these discussions (read: meltdowns). There are many coaches who are great, experienced athletes, who understand human physiology, and who can plan workouts - I see this as a baseline, but not what makes a coach truly exceptional. It is Jasper's uncanny ability to see the big picture, to wrap everything together with a band of possibility, that makes him nothing short of awesome. He listens, he sees potential, and has an incredible way of putting it in grasp. Despite the horrible immune response my body was in, he believed from experience that there was a big base of endurance underneath it. Admittedly, even he thought it was a bit of a gamble and, in his words, "it would either go well or be total shit".<br />
<br />
I giggled at this after Choo was over, because I realize that it really says nothing and covers all manner of outcomes. What I realize now is that, in his wise, experienced manner, Jasper was putting the expectation entirely on me. By forcing me out of my skepticism into a place of belief and possibility (it "could" go well), no matter how much of a gamble it was, I started optimistically believing that the former could (and would) be true.<br />
<br />
<b><i>And so it goes...</i></b><br />
<div>
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Even under the best possible circumstances, I would have a lot of anxiety about racing Choo. As things became less and less ideal, it compounded. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I frame all of this not to be negative, and not to create excuses, but because I find these are the things few athletes speak of - the expectations, the emotional weight, the pressure, the physical strain - and how they deal with it. I ask myself often why I race, why I put so much pressure on myself. The answer, I am afraid, is far from rational. I know I choose it, and it really ends up being a lot about chasing an intangible - that amazing feeling, the accomplishment, the summer wind. It only takes one perfect race in a lifetime to make you a total junkie for it. You also never know if, or when, you will ever find it again. </span><br />
<br />
Exacerbating my stress about the state of my health and self-doubt over the lack of quality swim and run training leading into the race was my general feeling about triathlon in general. It weighed on me that I had not finished an Ironman distance race in over a year (since Norseman), had chalked up two DNF's (Mallorca and Whistler) and was honestly starting to feel like I was an old, ugly duckling who was not cut out for the sport. Whether I would be able to overcome the self-doubt while racing was foremost on my mind. <br />
<br />
I know two things. One is that if I had let myself believe in failure, it would certainly have found me in the days before Choo. The other is that I am fairly certain my triathlon "career" would have ended with another DNF. If I was starting, I was finishing...in one way or the other. <br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<b><i>Choo Choo!</i></b><br />
<br /></div>
<div>
As it turned out, Chattanooga surprised me. I didn't really know what to expect of the town, the race course or my own performance, and perhaps this is what made it so utterly fantastic in retrospect.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
While it is a reasonable thing to debate the "difficulty" of various Ironman courses, and acknowledging that Choo features a down-river swim, I found the course not only fun, but challenging. The swim simplicity is more than offset by a long bike course (an extra four miles!) and an absolute bitch of a run. What makes IMChoo so exceptional, however, was the people - small city hospitality, and everyone so very friendly and welcoming. Incredible restaurants and lodging (OMG Whole Foods!), easy to get around (bike share!), great weather. It honestly reminded me a bit of Penticton in its heyday - all of the volunteers and spectators were spirited, supportive and incredible. <br />
<br /></div>
<div>
I have spared an overly detailed narrative and the play-by-play of the swim, bike, run. The day was about as fun as 144.6 miles could possibly be, with the typical array of highlights and lowlights (<i>...this is awesome! no, it's not! why am I here?</i>) </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The swim was definitely a highlight for me, curiously enough, and while the river was not running as quickly as it was in the previous year, we did catch a little draft enough for me to crack an hour on my swim (slow swimmers rejoice!). Jumping into the river in the pre-dawn darkness, crickets chirping was pretty surreal, and was one of the most peaceful and enjoyable race starts I have experienced. Although I quickly lost touch with the fast swimming pack ahead of me (damn, those women are fast!), I was excited to discover I was only slightly behind the female pro directly front of me. Besides, it makes it very easy to spot your transition bag when you are DFL pro out of the water :)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My greatest fear in racing pro for the first time was not belonging, and I was really pleased to be able to make short work of DFL shortly after jumping on my bike. Slowly, but surely, I was able to make up some of my swim deficit and start picking off some of the pros at the back. Racing at the so-called "front" of the race is a great experience - definitely a hard, honest effort, but so worth it. I love, love, loved being out of the age group scrum, free to ride my own ride without the stupid surging. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I didn't have much company on the bike, but far from being lonely, I found it an incredible opportunity to keep my effort even and race my own race, at the intensity I wanted. There was occasionally some cat and mouse with pro women that I was able to catch, but for the most part it was a solo affair. The bike course was great - fast, lots of rollers, pretty Georgia countryside - and for the first time in weeks, I felt awesome. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIARjdhqiXB3ShWs_whbDNl77X82KB4QWFxpmsFnDECv4RK7JUyja5-ilPqc3hvRd4KFWm01dRpI4UL2jFLf13KR4KN484XQRUi8iRh8MmvlWI3113J6FxwxDMjLH5TTCfzKABbCIjzVk/s1600/1155_018695.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIARjdhqiXB3ShWs_whbDNl77X82KB4QWFxpmsFnDECv4RK7JUyja5-ilPqc3hvRd4KFWm01dRpI4UL2jFLf13KR4KN484XQRUi8iRh8MmvlWI3113J6FxwxDMjLH5TTCfzKABbCIjzVk/s400/1155_018695.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Riding happy in an Ironman. Unicorns do exist.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
The second loop of the course was a bit more challenging, having come back around the end of the age groupers, and I was frustrated to be slowed down by traffic delays and congestion. I probably would have been more annoyed had I been "in" the race, but as it was, there was really little I could seek to gain by riding aggressively. My split read 5:09 at 180k (albeit with 4 miles left to go on the long course), and I have honestly never felt better during a race. In retrospect, I probably went a little too easy, having been out of view of the other female pros and not feeling terribly competitive, but it was a good experience.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The start of the run beckoned with the usual dead legs and "why am I doing this shit" narrative, but the yucky brick legs quickly warmed up with a bit of a nasty hill out of T2. With the complete lack of run training going into the race, I knew it was a matter of when, and not if, the wheels were going to come off, so I ran at a conservatively optimistic pace and tried to just keep it under 5:00/km.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzEy9nT9d4X9bAPm2lMQCK4FzPzDo_Ma445NOjSEkTsOqSf81fwMMNHo9GlqxdzPjHQJI4PE5yW6o17MZesUutPEQztgtdqxrHsUb0VL6Wp5UaSVwmv8eDOYkY2hO4Z1YH9sGubkGU9Us/s1600/1155_056577.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzEy9nT9d4X9bAPm2lMQCK4FzPzDo_Ma445NOjSEkTsOqSf81fwMMNHo9GlqxdzPjHQJI4PE5yW6o17MZesUutPEQztgtdqxrHsUb0VL6Wp5UaSVwmv8eDOYkY2hO4Z1YH9sGubkGU9Us/s400/1155_056577.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smiling out of T2</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
My legs decided to pack out for the day around 18k of the run, during a series of brutal hills (that we would have the pleasure of repeating), and the remainder of the day became a little walk / run adventure with the usual cola fueled soul-searching. A package of shot blocks placed in my special needs became the best food I had eaten all day, and I resigned myself to "just finish", albeit with a smile on my face. Walk, or no walk, it was in reach. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
While the almost total lack of run fitness was not ideal, it was not unexpected either. I would have been far more disappointed with my day had I believed I had put the requisite run work in, but knowing the base I had, I was pretty happy with the finish. Not every race needs to be a personal best to be a success. I realize that I am sometimes fine-tuned to being my own own worst critic, to ripping apart every aspect of a race execution, so very erroneously focusing on "fast" instead of "happy". </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Quite the opposite, finishing Choo was all about "happy" and having perspective. First of all, it was a finish. This is a crazy, hard sport, and 144 miles is a ridiculously long way. I realize that 10:23 and 24th place pro is not blazing fast, but I am truly appreciative of that result. It was an awesome learning experience to race with the pro women (at the age of 40 years young, no less), and one that I will always be proud of. Stepping back and taking it all in - my humble triathlete beginnings to the most un-ideal race prep possible to getting to toe the line with pros to shaking the DNF demon - I felt like what I did in Choo (even in a very limited perspective) was a pretty cool and amazing thing. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinmtA6HqhSxJoUnp_BzcMcqbf9llboWgcAIOxNMPGkTF7Z5pVsomasvOzRoQz2UdAtednI9DYzqsx4TRpqx4T3BupYWG_KxVGeY5JD3mRGq6WqbhC4WaPKlFGU68z5xMXNWBGxPrFEEJ4/s1600/1155_073321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinmtA6HqhSxJoUnp_BzcMcqbf9llboWgcAIOxNMPGkTF7Z5pVsomasvOzRoQz2UdAtednI9DYzqsx4TRpqx4T3BupYWG_KxVGeY5JD3mRGq6WqbhC4WaPKlFGU68z5xMXNWBGxPrFEEJ4/s400/1155_073321.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actually smiling in the finish chute...for real.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div>
Finishing Choo also saved me from the weight of failing The Plan, as ridiculous as that may sound. It didn't feel fast, and there was a lot left to be desired with my shitty run. However, it refreshingly felt like there was possibility once again, and that I actually had a place there. My "pro" litmus test was whether I could go under 10:30 (which I did) and whether I would have won my hypothetical AG (which I did).<br />
<br />
Oddly enough, I have never recovered more quickly from a race and my cold went away the day of the race. I was out and about only hours after finishing, and moving well the next few days - it was a strange thing to finish an Ironman and feel <u><i>better</i></u> than the weeks leading into the race. Perhaps this was because my brain was telling me it was off-season (foreshadowing...), the pressure was off, and the relief was enormous. Eat at will. Drink coffee. Dream of next season. Focus on real life. Appreciate. <br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
I cannot express enough thanks to both Jasper and Speed Theory for supporting me in this impromptu race, for talking me down from my panic, and for making sure I got to that start line with my head facing the right direction. <i><u>Thank you</u></i>.<br />
<br /></div>
richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-79405246891772834102015-10-19T22:30:00.004-07:002015-10-19T22:50:20.456-07:00Haute Route Dolomites 2015...the rest<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">“<i>If there is one thing I can pass on from my humbling experiences in life, thus far, I will tell you this, the next time someone tells you "the absence of expectations is the absence of disappointment, do not listen. Have expectations. Keep them great. It'll be a very bumpy ride. You'll even get bruised, sometimes very badly. Sometimes, you'll come to an abrupt halt or even fall off your ride. But you'll grow. And if you do not grow, you do not live</i>.” </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">― </span><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4715901.Pandora_Poikilos" style="background-color: white; color: #666600; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;">Pandora Poikilos</a><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
Splitting my recollection of the Haute Route between Day 4 and Day 5 was very intentional. My mindset up, and through, Day 4 was very naive. I really had no idea how my body would be affected by 7 days of solid, challenging riding, and even more importantly, how my mind would react. And, whether intentional or not, I had expectations of myself, of the ride, and how it would play out.<br />
<br />
Not surprisingly, the variances in weather and physically exhausting days left me feeling tired and on the cusp of being ill. I felt physically damaged. What was happening mentally, however, was quite the opposite. The adversity of the weather, the difficulty of the riding, was so absolutely humbling, harder than anything I had ever done before. If I allowed the difficulty to get to me, quitting was in reach. Stepping back and appreciating the ride, however, enabled me to grasp what was at hand. <br />
<br />
It is so easy to map out a plan for for the ideal situation, but when the race starts and doesn't go in the way of your expectations, you are left with nothing more than grit and resilience to get you through. There is a choice. It is at this point where you can allow all of the long hours of training and preparation to come into play, enabling the ability to endure despite resistance, reaching the point where your mind simply tells the body what it needs to do.<br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">Appreciate...</span>Stage 5 - Bormeo to Merano</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>I woke up on the morning of Stage 5 feeling awful. Uninterested in food, exhausted and coughing. If this had been an average, everyday training ride, I would not have hesitated in heading back to bed. Here, the choice was stark: the ride was leaving at 7am, like it or not. If I wanted to finish, it was go time.<br />
<br />
Layered up with every warm piece of gear I had packed, we rolled out onto the cold cobblestones of Bormeo. At a mere 4 degrees in the village, Stage 5 was the beginning of a theme that would persist for the next three mornings: climb cold. No warm up was afforded to us today, with the intermediate climb to the base of the Gavia beginning immediately as we departed Bormeo. The mood in the peloton was introspective, lots of steamy breath and no words, and no one rode very fast at all for the first 10k of neutral climbing before we reached the beginning of the "official" climb.<br />
<br />
Although we climbed from what is apparently the "easier" side of the mountain, I cannot imagine ever describing this climb as easy. As I had already learned, the 6.7% promised "average" failed to mention several double digit kickers where I am absolutely sure my bike was actually sliding backhill, and in particular featuring one section that I am grateful to have kept the crank moving, period. Whether it was the cumulative fatigue of the preceding days, the fact that I continued to feel under the weather, or the cold itself, this climb was downright hard.<br />
<br />
Despite the cold, however, it was a stunning bluebird day. It would have been very easy to get caught up in my pity parade and absolutely miss the wonder surrounding me, but instead I just soaked it in. Every section higher up the mountain yielded a scenic delight, beginning with emerald forest, yielding to carpets of green in the sub-alpine and finally a vast tundra of rock and snow in the alpine. Topping out at just over 2,600m, the summit was an icy and unforgettable wonderland. Ski touring at its most amazing...on a bike.<br />
<br />
Words don't describe the beauty of the Gavia as well as these pictures do. Heaven on earth on a bike.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdeJVutgGhcBwzT_z-v7e7TDC2Nq0sbGuVJJ5QtWy1TCiXfZbwB3-YhmIUO6Kw0RPalzuxfci7ATqpsEvgkoaOqau1gzrdVmlOPAYdDI0Mv4FdKCj__b1zBRJZUIzjtzLcAWDVWpXFzJ0/s1600/5-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-LB-431.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdeJVutgGhcBwzT_z-v7e7TDC2Nq0sbGuVJJ5QtWy1TCiXfZbwB3-YhmIUO6Kw0RPalzuxfci7ATqpsEvgkoaOqau1gzrdVmlOPAYdDI0Mv4FdKCj__b1zBRJZUIzjtzLcAWDVWpXFzJ0/s640/5-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-LB-431.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meandering through emerald green bliss at the base</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6yA25t9cLYqCyL1568E-VJFRIqs3-224Y1XoXE4rPZo5Wcxed5a7Sm4x8AJbkQTIszDKdP77rIsqZp2OBwZLtm0yYemsA9sarH6PJSyZeXv1J98ZRyLksytsPonqoqbj6kf92Eqib8cA/s1600/5-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-LB-436.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6yA25t9cLYqCyL1568E-VJFRIqs3-224Y1XoXE4rPZo5Wcxed5a7Sm4x8AJbkQTIszDKdP77rIsqZp2OBwZLtm0yYemsA9sarH6PJSyZeXv1J98ZRyLksytsPonqoqbj6kf92Eqib8cA/s640/5-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-LB-436.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Starting to get a bit punchy mid-climb...but the views never stop</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyMOmDGRzT2dgugT3tdHDE6N5T5FlT3oc-cfkcZdEez9k_5isaX3ng_KbcJB45klb3-EvwlwsWzMfFjtFF1uYYiY_djOmCJ8Sw2ZwFLOehNZnGR3BBFtudTwJmbu969IRnjjCXXi1ISKA/s1600/5-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-AD-405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyMOmDGRzT2dgugT3tdHDE6N5T5FlT3oc-cfkcZdEez9k_5isaX3ng_KbcJB45klb3-EvwlwsWzMfFjtFF1uYYiY_djOmCJ8Sw2ZwFLOehNZnGR3BBFtudTwJmbu969IRnjjCXXi1ISKA/s640/5-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-AD-405.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Otherworldly</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1icgEYfvjVEREHujp5PB1iBiAmB8sZzY6XtM6GzuYPRJtWrMNACpon5xH6XhvwSmmhDigKxgDknj3GQDno35QnoxR1j3zCWNr9xdjEtePUuQDjjBgojyy0rQS4_C1tJfwUH4IouarCIk/s1600/5-HAUTE-ROUTE-DOLO-201-RCL-532.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1icgEYfvjVEREHujp5PB1iBiAmB8sZzY6XtM6GzuYPRJtWrMNACpon5xH6XhvwSmmhDigKxgDknj3GQDno35QnoxR1j3zCWNr9xdjEtePUuQDjjBgojyy0rQS4_C1tJfwUH4IouarCIk/s640/5-HAUTE-ROUTE-DOLO-201-RCL-532.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rewarded with the crazy descent</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After cresting the summit and taking a short break at the top to layer up, we pitched ourselves over the top into a decent that was simply trancendental. That there are places like this in this world, so much larger than life, so captivating, so unworldly...I have no words. The icy rock once again yielded to emerald green expanse as far as the eye could see. Despite the cold, the terrible frigid cold, it was an absolute wonder to descend the Gavia. <br />
<br />
The rest of the ride really didn't matter, for the high of the Gavia would last me the rest of the day. The next climb, Passo del Tonale, was rather unforgettable, although the descent down it was an incredible amount of fun featuring perfect, sweeping turns on fantastic pavement that I enjoyed immensely. #nobrakesrequired <br />
<br />
In the usual Haute Route fashion, we had a long section of relatively flat interlude leading up to the last climb, most of it on a twisty bike path. Although many of the riders complained about this section, the weather was great and it was a fun section to ride with a group. Not a "road race" at all, but a nice change of pace to my mind. <br />
<br />
The organizers, however, completely undersold the final climb up the Passo Castrina and seemed to have some challenges in both correctly measuring the distance of the day's ride as well as appropriately locating aid stations. Dubbed as one of the "easiest" climbs of the week in all of the race literature, it was anything but. The heat had crept up through the morning, and it was approaching nothing short of downright hot. I peeled all of my layers - leg warmers, arm sleeves, vests - and jammed it all into my very tiny jersey pockets.<br />
<br />
The warmth of the sun was invigorating, and I realized that I had a lot of energy to spare. Recalling the final climb on the first day, I shoved down gel like it was going out of style and went for it. Unfortunately, there was nothing "easy" about this climb, and the mileage markers were about 8k off...meaning that I dropped everything I had with way too long left. Undeterred, I pressed on and had one of my best finishes of the week, promptly followed by an incredible, and equally uplifting neutral descent into Merano.<br />
<br />
South Tirol is stunning and the smooth winding descent through the village was the perfect reward to another difficult day. Castles, sweeping green valleys, cascading waterfalls, long sweeping roads. Simply magical. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrj7E342FeddhgR_q3pwErjK_wViPqieTBxg61UXN0FbnUsi158alHCbdXhwU79wsgpnLnLlK8YMZoSUS-H1DABmtDLyQMecISFP5GGiQSc-LPXD9wVqnQ_KBxcwCjsHEZSgPeYtoD2H8/s1600/merano-south-tyrol-schwarzschmied.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrj7E342FeddhgR_q3pwErjK_wViPqieTBxg61UXN0FbnUsi158alHCbdXhwU79wsgpnLnLlK8YMZoSUS-H1DABmtDLyQMecISFP5GGiQSc-LPXD9wVqnQ_KBxcwCjsHEZSgPeYtoD2H8/s640/merano-south-tyrol-schwarzschmied.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The stunning valley leading into Merano (photo credit: not my photo!)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Although my physical state had not really improved, the ride left me in an incredibly positive mental state, fit to overcome the odds. Where there had been dubious moments during the previous four days, at this point there was no question that I would finish...no matter what obstacles presented themselves. I was too close, having fun once again, having realized that all my expectations were so naive. At the same time, I realized that this ride wasn't about the finish at all - it was about the ride to get there, with all its bumps, and challenges, and horrible horrible demands. <br />
<b><i><br /></i></b><b><i><span style="color: blue;">Endure...</span>Day 6 - Merano to Cortina</i></b><br />
<br />
Waking to rain pounding on the balcony of my hotel was an abrupt return to reality. Summoning every bit of positive energy from the day before to head out in the rain, the start of Stage 6 evoked memories of the cold, damp time trial. To say I lacked enthusiasm as I rolled to the start was an understatement.<br />
<br />
The first climb of the day, Passo Sella, was listed at 8.5km, 7.5% grade. In reality, the climb started only 20km from the start, from the village of Bolzano - we would ascend for 60km, nearly 2,000m from the get go. At first, it was gradual, playful climbing, followed by steep, aggressive inclines before we even reached the listed "base" of the climb. Scattered showers and plummeting temperatures added to the mix, with visibility at nearing the top of the pass no more than a few meters. This was more than an honest effort, it was simply a beast - unrelenting, unrewarding. In fact, if you could design a cycling purgatory, it may well look like this.<br />
<br />
At the top of the Sella, the winds were whipping my face with ice fog. I have experienced similar days only on a ski hill in the middle of Canadian winter, and never in my wildest imagination on a road bike. The image of me at the top of this climb speaks volumes - devoid of pleasure, my face tells the misery. Hands frozen, barely functioning as I tried to maintain control over my bike. Teeth chattering. Toes like soggy icicles. Nerves stinging from the cold. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTVfVeVb-LdL5I5249L32lk-DVM-StTh7c0w6sQpTqfT-xdNZjKhrnPHM2paNMAw4k4FFjGYecScXcWHYj-f6-qn7ANtsQxkEE9LD8ruJeZTvHr47yX2B_t0xer3lf0kHHs6ZjD4E4N0/s1600/6-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-NB-AD-80.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTVfVeVb-LdL5I5249L32lk-DVM-StTh7c0w6sQpTqfT-xdNZjKhrnPHM2paNMAw4k4FFjGYecScXcWHYj-f6-qn7ANtsQxkEE9LD8ruJeZTvHr47yX2B_t0xer3lf0kHHs6ZjD4E4N0/s640/6-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-NB-AD-80.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
My entire body felt in crisis. I was too cold to fathom either stopping or continuing, as both seemed to be equally awful choices. Badly in need of fuel from the feed station at the top because I had grossly underestimated the time required to reach the summit, I hurriedly grabbed several of the much maligned eucalyptus-horror gels. I was quickly ushered back onto my bike and down the hill by several volunteers that were obviously tasked with hurrying us along. There was no need to explain this to me, as I knew that the longer I stopped, the harder it would be to go on. Much from being a reprieve, the steep and short descent to the next pass was vicious. Words cannot describe how cold I was, shaking uncontrollably, my mind focused on one task alone - staying upright. My entire body was rigid, fleeing the situation as fast as I could possible manage, not knowing if it would actually get better, but trying so hard to convince myself that it would get better...it sure as hell could not have gotten any worse. <br />
<br />
As I descended and immediately started upwards again to the Passo Pordoi, my miserable mind recycled these dichotomous thoughts: "this is stupid" and "I am not quitting". Powered by those two thoughts alone, disconnecting from my physical discomfort, my legs simply became an engine. I can only imagine that this place, with its towering limestone cliffs and steep valleys, may have been stunning on brighter day. On this day, however, shrouded in ice and fog, the Dolomites were nothing short of menacing.<br />
<br />
The timers marked my finish at what I thought was the intermediate timing mat with their usual pronouncement of "Chrono. Stop", but then tentatively added (in broken English), "Today". This confused me, as the route had us descending to the base of the Passo di Falzareggo before finishing our descent into the charming Italian ski town of Cortina. Simon met me at the finish and affirmed their statement - the race had been called due to weather concerns, with the Italian police threatening to pull the race permits if any remaining sections were timed. <br />
<br />
I am not sure if I was relieved or disappointed at this point, as the next section of the course (albeit shrouded in fog) was one of the most scenic. What the impromptu finish did have going for it, however, was a delightfully warm ski lodge that welcomed the legions of cold, tired, wet cyclists. Three delicious hot chocolates and many giggles later, everyone's spirits had improved. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSMvF0kjvsGxXDg0hJD_EolaD6YnERbD_i0i9pFtAJJjqVTn-4R4XuFqXYkwfh36Q_XXK-4oz3H5R_jJm1LwpHDSrr3eJXnamAjBjMgLwZL1vuTX3in4INfokv1qIFBxsmySC2px-66JM/s1600/Mountaintop.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSMvF0kjvsGxXDg0hJD_EolaD6YnERbD_i0i9pFtAJJjqVTn-4R4XuFqXYkwfh36Q_XXK-4oz3H5R_jJm1LwpHDSrr3eJXnamAjBjMgLwZL1vuTX3in4INfokv1qIFBxsmySC2px-66JM/s640/Mountaintop.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apres ski on the mountaintop...I mean, ride. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The organizers confirmed that the stage was called at the top of the Pordoi, and the riders had the choice of either being transported to Cortina (several buses were dispatched) or continuing along the route. Given my shaky health, the cold weather and my soaked clothing, it was simply the smarter decision for me to take the ride. Disappointed, yes, but also the smarter thing to do. <br />
<br />
Arriving in the ski village of Cortina, the air remained cold and it continued to feel mo<span style="font-family: inherit;">re <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">après-</span>s</span>ki than <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">après-ride</span>. The temperature hovered near zero for evening and into the morning, but thankfully our rustic lodging was warm, comfortable and welcoming. My suite even had a jetted tub (oh the bliss!) and the northern italian cuisine was warming comfort food at its finest...these simplicities, creature comforts even more appreciable given the conditions endured to get there. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5SUkbYKjM_ZcCikFoldV4fqm4Ny_rILZwFBWkp7XzysDv5fyAy1XLgJuOZEQnCk6dzKFAGy3TFn-rdFQIwJqkuulJbnFHTfbHTNlfpD7oiABcVuwQtdVh5YlecmZV_N77EXSVePBe_Ig/s1600/Cortina1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5SUkbYKjM_ZcCikFoldV4fqm4Ny_rILZwFBWkp7XzysDv5fyAy1XLgJuOZEQnCk6dzKFAGy3TFn-rdFQIwJqkuulJbnFHTfbHTNlfpD7oiABcVuwQtdVh5YlecmZV_N77EXSVePBe_Ig/s640/Cortina1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The soaring mountainous panorama of Cortina</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">Exalt...</span>Day 7 - Cortina to Venice</i></b><br />
<br />
As slow and drawn out as the journey felt at times, tens of thousands of pedal turns later, I awoke to realize that a "mere" 174 more kilometres separated Cortina us from the final destination in Venice. Incredible to believe, seemingly impossible in so many moments, and yet that final day seemed to appear in the flashest of flashes. <br />
<br />
It was almost as though Stage 7 greeted us, the reward for the resilience of the past days being a glorious, crisp, bluebird day. It is truly incredible how quickly the mind forgets the pain and exalts the task at hand, drawn by possibility of overcoming impossibility. A limestone wall could have well stood in my path at that point (well, in fact it did) and I would have embraced the challenge.<br />
<br />
The organizers once again pulled no punches and got straight down to business. We ascended straight into a first class climb, the Passo Giau, nearly 20k of climbing and our final ascent to altitude (2,236m) for the week. Whether it was the tired legs, the climb felt steep and never ending, but was as visually rewarding as it was difficult. Compared to the day before, when we were shrouded in ice fog and the mind was left to wander in grey misery, the stunning, sunlit peaks provided endless fodder for the imagination to run wild here. We began the base of the climb in the early morning shadows, poetically drawn by the sun streaming from the top of the summit, cresting the top just as the rays of the sun reached across the crisp dusting of snow. It was simply perfect, so perfect. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-xvCIOV_pFpgM3Oxpv62NrRiC0l7_cnAfPoqYi-7E9aCJOb-JHQt3Cbktm_1zsZULpubAOwHvSSjBhFjun38wA6esFbVA128-RpJiFDr6XN2hCENJJTKhdCUwma4O9vQTi45xZ0DVAyc/s1600/Giau.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-xvCIOV_pFpgM3Oxpv62NrRiC0l7_cnAfPoqYi-7E9aCJOb-JHQt3Cbktm_1zsZULpubAOwHvSSjBhFjun38wA6esFbVA128-RpJiFDr6XN2hCENJJTKhdCUwma4O9vQTi45xZ0DVAyc/s640/Giau.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bluebird morning over the snowy pass</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4X3cDtxmGRImoy9XU6N3WyrgmiPZAyCzy2h2RqiGGqaQV6v3N4bKb5S5REWM2jbWoYNA60v6VssgIToOKpmnD69D2VG5aZ3uBOgZk7IvPLXu8h8vclNpXtJjQSyMEWvGFsLrkXVXwTVI/s1600/Giau2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4X3cDtxmGRImoy9XU6N3WyrgmiPZAyCzy2h2RqiGGqaQV6v3N4bKb5S5REWM2jbWoYNA60v6VssgIToOKpmnD69D2VG5aZ3uBOgZk7IvPLXu8h8vclNpXtJjQSyMEWvGFsLrkXVXwTVI/s640/Giau2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Invigorated by the sun for one last monster Dolomite climb</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh3VWr_DmKzGnNZhlulxWzRTy8qkRQLjKhgrn6eduaK7YzsrrJHbrG1jLmuS11_Te5jR4I3aZ159TLlXeSbs47f-Vdb72gFJUtGv8YXxwA7isbDV0xfNKGg46pgR4mMjPuyz-LgbgU_yM/s1600/7-HAUTE-ROUTE-2015-DOLO-RCL-270.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh3VWr_DmKzGnNZhlulxWzRTy8qkRQLjKhgrn6eduaK7YzsrrJHbrG1jLmuS11_Te5jR4I3aZ159TLlXeSbs47f-Vdb72gFJUtGv8YXxwA7isbDV0xfNKGg46pgR4mMjPuyz-LgbgU_yM/s640/7-HAUTE-ROUTE-2015-DOLO-RCL-270.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The reward of the snowy descent</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The chilly descent was the final chance to let loose under timing - cold as all hell, but visually stunning and so rewarding after a long week of hard, wet descents. The steep descent yielded to a more moderate, but still screaming descent, leading us out of the Dolomites and into the Veneto region. Like a roller-coaster ride, you simply could not help but smile at the enjoyment of it all, essentially a carefree effort for the next sixty kilometres, provided you found a good group to work with.<br />
<br />
On paper, it was easy to dismiss the final climb up Passo San Boldo as a mere speed bump, but once again we were subject to the trickery of the "averaging" methodology...meaning that the "up" sections were actually well in excess of the posted 3.2% average. I can honestly say that I left it all out here, on this final climb on the final day, even though my speed was probably pretty laughable. Before I even realized it, one blissful final call of "Chrono. Stop." and the timed section was done, the last ascent complete. All of the negative thoughts and the mental trickery was beaten, having more appreciation for the power of belief in myself than I have possibly ever had before. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhPkV_brnzYJPDI6FAFGwP_dDJyIuyNCzjSy_aNl2RA7o6Fcba56EL9PoGmR7ldFQfxijgbXeTNw5ptiTgVBw0-z-u0TgLW82Ci2x5KgD9XUS0LEgV__L2M21Jztdjsj5Ej5wD65um298/s1600/Passo+san+boldo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhPkV_brnzYJPDI6FAFGwP_dDJyIuyNCzjSy_aNl2RA7o6Fcba56EL9PoGmR7ldFQfxijgbXeTNw5ptiTgVBw0-z-u0TgLW82Ci2x5KgD9XUS0LEgV__L2M21Jztdjsj5Ej5wD65um298/s400/Passo+san+boldo.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The very awesome descent of Passo San Boldo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We had to traverse another 70k of road before reaching the final destination in Venice, the final section consisting of a flat, social procession. The finish line was almost anti-climactic, minds turned from the challenge of the road ahead to recounting the tales of the days past. Those days already felt mythical and unreal, with reality slowly creeping back in. A medal and a finisher's shirt a mere souvenir, the memories being the true momento of the journey. <br />
<br />
The sense of personal achievement, the individuality of an event like this, is what makes it like no other. It is less a race than it is avoidance of attrition, and truly humbling. In seven stages covering 900k, resilience trumped pain. Presence of mind trumped disbelief. Belief in possibility trumped fear of the unknown. I feel a huge sense of personal achievement, regardless of the relative weight of my effort compared to any other endurance feat. It is the realization that this matters to no one but me - so many stories and anecdotes of these days will go untold, remaining only in my memory. At the same time, the experience makes me smile, a very personal smile, and my heart swells with the belief that I persevered. There were times that I simply hated it to the core - the cold, the pain - and yet, even days after, I longed for the days spent on my bike. <br />
<br />
And, in retrospect, as the post-traumatic stress and saddle sores heal, I miss being there. There is allure in the simplicity of it all, just getting on your bike and moving forward. Hearing my breath, challenging my own being, believing in the possible and having the incredible opportunity to admire the stunning world around me. No amount of training could have prepared me for the adventure, and no words truly capture the experience.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaSwmvhhpvgybE0gH9iOfrO89Nn9ywAwFoGbODQlMnAHwKb_81IsrWDm9y-FY6hCqq1gUuMX_IlSs5VhMwjOGdKkOswOmTGDZudeou1yMvKa5T5Ga_vewBCEDMdu3ozdIkcpbsxLM39zE/s1600/7-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-LB-969.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaSwmvhhpvgybE0gH9iOfrO89Nn9ywAwFoGbODQlMnAHwKb_81IsrWDm9y-FY6hCqq1gUuMX_IlSs5VhMwjOGdKkOswOmTGDZudeou1yMvKa5T5Ga_vewBCEDMdu3ozdIkcpbsxLM39zE/s400/7-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-LB-969.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We did it!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The journey is not without gratitude as well<br />
...to Roger and Geoff for convincing me that this amount of fun (read: suffering) was in fact possible, albeit not a very relaxing way to spend a vacation. <br />
...to Martina for gleefully agreeing to come along, for commiserating in the most positive of ways, and for making those low moments so much brighter knowing I had to chase you up a mountain.<br />
...to Matt and Simon at <a href="http://www.magicplaces.ca/">Magic Places </a>for being well-humored, and so expertly navigating the logistics, providing moral support and generally putting up with my shit. Cycling in Europe will never be the same without you.<br />
...to <a href="http://www.b78.is/">Coach Jasper</a> for constantly believing in the somewhat crazy plans I get myself into. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-85702651768962394222015-10-04T23:37:00.001-07:002015-10-19T21:22:06.893-07:00Haute Route Dolomites 2015...the first daysOn Sunday, August 31 at sunrise, I rolled out of Geneva in a peloton of just over 400 riders, commencing what would be a true roller coaster ride. Seven days and some 900km later, I rolled into Venice, completing an adventure that traversed the Swiss Alps and Dolomites, What transpired in between was a test of resilience, grit and fortitude that I could hardly have imagined when we rolled out of Stage 1. <br />
<br />
This post is long (the first of two), and full of details and photos that are probably most interesting to only me, intended to preserve my memory of an extremely challenging and introspective week on two wheels. The "fun" aspect of the race is starting to bubble to the surface, here and there, perhaps as the immediate pain subsides, and despite the fact that the immediately gratifying moments seemed at times to be in short supply during this week. As with all events of epic proportions (and I do not use the term epic lightly...it really does belong here), I expect that the not-immediately-apparent fun will seep out more in the days, months and years following. Remember when...? <br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="color: #3d85c6;">Hot hot heat...</span></i></b><b><i>Stage 1 - Geneva to Crans-Montana </i></b><br />
<br />
From the get-go, the organizers made it clear this was no cruiser ride. Stage 1 was 176km, the first 20k of which was neutral, followed by three peaks of climbing, a 60k neutral section through the beautiful green slopes of the Valais, and a final climb into Crans-Montana. On paper, this "seems" reasonable enough. Add heat, incredible scenery, relatively rested legs...shake it up a little with some over-enthusiastic ignorance...add a little more heat, and you have a hellishly hard day on a bike. I did, however, learn a lot about the <i>modus operandi</i> of the Haute Route that would serve me well in the following days.<br />
<br />
The first three climbs were in quick succession, and after stopping for a brief "nature break", I fell back into a small peloton 10-12 riders who were happy to work together as a group (sidebar...it is amazing how many riders do not realize that working together is actually better!) Although these initial climbs were comparative foothills to the behemoths we would face later in the week, I naively underestimated them. The first two were "third class" climbs and the third a "second class". This would be the first big lesson of the week: 6% may not be steep in isolation, but it deserves respect when you compound it climb after climb. I was pretty shelled by the time I hit the top of the first timing mat of the day...and the best (worst?) was yet to come. <br />
<br />
In my mind, I was 3/4 done the ride...and yet I had over 80k to go. For *most* people, 60k is a decently long ride, not an interlude between two races. The 60k of neutral between the timed climbs is what I learned to be pure Haute Route evil. The race itself was perhaps half of your day, but you still had to cover a substantial time and distance in the saddle to get from point A to point B. So while my race time shows 3-something hours...ride time was actually 7-something hours.<br />
<br />
The further unanticipated factor on day 1 was the heat. Hot, brutal, desert heat. As we rode through the vineyards in the Rhone Valley, the landscape made it pretty obvious that the heat should have come as no surprise. By noon, it easily in the thirties, and we found ourselves dipping our heads into the water fountains in the little villages as we passed through the Valais. Anything to cool down. <br />
<br />
When we reached the based of the final climb, the temperature was hitting 40 degrees. At the final aid station, I was not entirely appreciative of the gruff reminders from Geoff and Rich to eat and drink like crazy ("<i>eat like it is your job!!!</i>"), but nevertheless dutifully listened and stocked up my bike with more water and gel than I had reasonably expected to consume. I had completely underestimated my nutritional needs and had already consumed my pre-packed 6 hours worth of "treats", thus forced to dig into the nasty race-supplied gels. I would only make this mistake once...<a href="http://www.overstims.com/RED-TONIC-Sprint-Air-energy-gels-box">mint and eucalyptus-flavored gel</a> is simply AWFUL, akin to slurping on rancid toothpaste. Who thought that was a good flavour? <br />
<br />
I would love to say how scenic and lovely the climb into Crans-Montana was, but I really don't remember much except that it really hurt. Twenty-one fully exposed kilometres, close to 1,000m of elevation gain. Along with newfound respect for over-anticipating nutritional needs, came an understanding not to trust the elevation charts provided to us. "Average" 4.6% grade does truly mean average, so when partway through the climb the road starts descending, comes the horrible realization that the average must now be equalized <i>upwards</i>. What number makes -5% average to 4.6%? Something bad, very, very bad indeed. The "equalizing" 10-12% grade at the top was brutal, sheer brutal on some very shell-shocked legs. Diesel-engine-survival mode, which unknowingly would become my default for the rest of the week, kicked in...turn the pedals, forward forward, don't think about the pain, turn the pedals. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgxeut4ldho9KZAvBko6JRLFowfL0hdUU-ezzJVreYi3ZHgjWmA2AHzQsMTfjA5s1MylKkOcHN272yTM6cSLFWPkrOBE5qQvoSEa669PM8VGokoGqyPIYyTpv7Umn9N3CNCYJ-lkaU0DQ/s1600/1-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-AD-2559.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgxeut4ldho9KZAvBko6JRLFowfL0hdUU-ezzJVreYi3ZHgjWmA2AHzQsMTfjA5s1MylKkOcHN272yTM6cSLFWPkrOBE5qQvoSEa669PM8VGokoGqyPIYyTpv7Umn9N3CNCYJ-lkaU0DQ/s640/1-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-AD-2559.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The look on my face as I finish the day tells the tale: what the hell just happened? And I have 6 more days?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I realize that none of this sounds like an endorsement for the ride so far, but to be honest, my system was just shocked after Stage 1. It was one of the hardest, hottest days I have ever endured. I was more wrecked than I have been after some Ironman races. To say I was "enthused" about what lay ahead would be lying...I was terrified of what was to come. We weren't even really in the Alps yet! <br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="color: #3d85c6;">Finding my breath...</span>Stage 2 - Crans-Montana to Andermatt </i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
The organizers split the start of Stage 2 into three waves, separated by finish position for the day before. With my finish at 132, I was to start in the final wave. Unfortunately, this would prove to be my undoing as I was quickly dropped after the 60k neutral start by a group of over-eager hyenas racing up the intermediate climb to the base of the Furkapass. We had been pre-warned not to overcook ourselves on this section of intermediate climbs and false flats leading into two first class climbs for the day, so I sat back and puttered along by myself.<br />
<br />
In contrast to the day before, I was pretty cognizant that I was now riding at the back of the race, and even had the company of the Lanterne Rouge during the first timed section! There is little more motivating than being at the back of the pack, and I found my groove as I started spinning up the base of the climb. Bear in mind that we had tootled a "mere" 80k along the valley before reaching the first "real" climb of the day (wearing the legs down), and while I knew that the summit of the Furkapass would be a challenge, the first real look at the indomitable climb took my breath away. <br />
<br />
If you could fashion a mountain climb, it would look like this. Stunningly cinematic - sheer rock, switchback after switchback, exposed rock staring down, threatening to swallow me whole.<br />
<br />
What struck me most about Furkapass was not the stunning visual beauty, however, but the deafening peacefulness. I could hear my breath with every push of the pedals, occasionally a car passing or another rider, but then just my breath. Vacant sounds of cowbells resounding through the valley, like distant crowds cheering a race I was never in. Breathing harder as the switchbacks grew shorter, steeper, more frenzied. More breath, sharp gasps, as I looked above me and saw tiers of riders atop me...so many tiers of them...up up up.<br />
<br />
Sixteen unrelenting kilometres of breath. The 5k to go sign passed, and it grew steeper, unrelenting. 1k to go. The wind started, the fog, the cold. Breathless cold. <br />
<br />
At the top of the climb (and the finish of the first timed section), I grabbed every bit of spare clothing I had for the descent. I ate the best stolen breakfast croissant of my life. The wind was howling, and my frozen fingers could barely control my bike as I navigated the hairpin turns down. The steep grades and tight corners that made for such challenging climbing also proved brutal in the reverse. The road on the descent was barely wide enough for two cars, let alone a row of cyclists navigating the steep pitch. The Swiss also apparently feel it is unnecessary to have guard rails or any sort of crash protection, so needless to say, the descent was terrifying. The term "white-knuckled" got downright personal with me.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhIf3deyaXjiRNbHgH06BPr17Ftp8eGslHOtdPKebBRIKqKW-sqCvfKYHZ8Yh1-bHG4LaDuWyXD7gruq-qy4UsqC-7dRMXMmIXjcfRqeJy3iSr0uId7vLy06dJ7uaUU-mMMVPWr7eVMUs/s1600/2-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-LB-588.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhIf3deyaXjiRNbHgH06BPr17Ftp8eGslHOtdPKebBRIKqKW-sqCvfKYHZ8Yh1-bHG4LaDuWyXD7gruq-qy4UsqC-7dRMXMmIXjcfRqeJy3iSr0uId7vLy06dJ7uaUU-mMMVPWr7eVMUs/s640/2-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-LB-588.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Being seriously serious about the harrowing descent of the Furkapass. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I managed to thaw a little upon reaching the ski village of Andermatt, with the organizer's having devilishly planned a route that teased us with an out and back climb up the Oberalpass. Oh how tempting it was to simply stay, especially when realizing that the 144k posted route did not include the descent back to a warm shower. Bonus kilometres? At least they were downhill! Surprisingly, I managed to find my legs on this second climb of the day, finally warm for the first time all day, passing quite a few riders from my place at the back and even had a little left for a finishing sprint. <br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib6BKYW9u0rb0o3GuKk8vRgoqgEGMQZ4amdM6ZYCeeRVK7ajOdvJgA-E-fxzm6sCLrjciGYgltwpRnzN47v2TMnlPghEBICUOfqppp4AIXOxGwUt4Zqiti_wM1BguI7U_d2tx8_35BOuo/s1600/2-HAUTE-ROUTE-DOLO-2015-RCL-923.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib6BKYW9u0rb0o3GuKk8vRgoqgEGMQZ4amdM6ZYCeeRVK7ajOdvJgA-E-fxzm6sCLrjciGYgltwpRnzN47v2TMnlPghEBICUOfqppp4AIXOxGwUt4Zqiti_wM1BguI7U_d2tx8_35BOuo/s640/2-HAUTE-ROUTE-DOLO-2015-RCL-923.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The little engine that could.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Unfortunately, the day did not end with the descent into Andermatt as we had a long coach bus ride to St. Moritz to tag onto the next section of the route. In order to get the route from Geneva to Venice in one week while traversing the storied climbs in the Alps and Dolomites, this was a necessary evil, and unfortunately made for an irritating end to a very long day. What was waiting for us in St. Moritz, however, was almost worth the bus ride...a lovely family run hotel with the most wonderful, strange, amazing German / Swiss / Italian bistro. Impossibly inexplicable culinary genius to tired riders? Yes! Heaven only to me? Probably!<br />
<b><i><br /></i></b><b><i><span style="color: #3d85c6;">Soggy doggy...</span>Stage 3 - St. Moritz time trial</i></b><br />
<br />
Stage 3 was as furiously miserably rainy as Stage 1 was hot. The weather pattern had shifted, and mother nature had a very different day in store for us for our time trial up the Bernina Pass. In a word: heinous. <br />
<br />
This stage began our foray into not only the Dolomites, but into winter. At 2,330m, the top of the pass was forecast to be 5 degrees, with relentless driving rain ensuring that my entire body was soaked through by the time I reached the summit. No sooner than I had exited the first roundabout heading out of St. Moritz, than a garbage truck passed me with a large wave of water that engulfed every inch of me. My clear jacket clung to me, and I would have probably laughed had I not been too busy swearing to myself at the time.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhziYTRa5yf9VpoK9VdyAtZ6DX71Ejtycu08AFwK3oAtcNK7HV3K3g4rb7T86x9XAwKRniHvrhcgj9WO4c-2o1aXxedgt-6CL75XHr8c-qAuN0gCxCROJhXRkYq2OZrMBG6e9ch-HeAFPg/s1600/3-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-LB-375.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhziYTRa5yf9VpoK9VdyAtZ6DX71Ejtycu08AFwK3oAtcNK7HV3K3g4rb7T86x9XAwKRniHvrhcgj9WO4c-2o1aXxedgt-6CL75XHr8c-qAuN0gCxCROJhXRkYq2OZrMBG6e9ch-HeAFPg/s640/3-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-LB-375.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The rain is still funny at this point. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One would have thought that the smart thing, when utterly drenched and teeth chattering with cold, would not be to ride one's bike up a mountain pass. And yet, sensibility tossed aside, my brain had already fixed my legs into doing just that. Shut up and keep moving. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgireuTygTn8acJPIu07lSwT3OYILme98Ox4c_3dRQ0zIvkkKEXuw0VlkWlDdTaeXGE2CabM9Plav4VThc_lamEIVTwBbspIq2ExNC9lJrzR9A0N73NPsuKZn4UXk4ToYlmqfXv_oUS4V8/s1600/3-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-AD-533.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgireuTygTn8acJPIu07lSwT3OYILme98Ox4c_3dRQ0zIvkkKEXuw0VlkWlDdTaeXGE2CabM9Plav4VThc_lamEIVTwBbspIq2ExNC9lJrzR9A0N73NPsuKZn4UXk4ToYlmqfXv_oUS4V8/s640/3-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-AD-533.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Could be a smile, could be a grimace. I will never tell.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As I crossed the timing mat and started winding up the mountain, the game changed. The audacity of the task at hand became really clear to me. The Haute Route is big, it is bold, it is hard. <i>It is supposed to be!</i> And, if it were not already hard enough to get up each day and climb relentlessly, the weather was making the task even more brutal. I wanted to cry, I wanted to quit...and what I did was fight back. <br />
<br />
At some point during the time trial, I just made a choice. That choice was to stay in...no matter what, no matter how audacious this was, just stay in. It was no longer a race, but survival, and whatever it took to survive the ride, I was in for. While this certainly sounds melodramatic in retrospect, I can assure you that in 7 degrees and driving rain, after two long days and 14 hours in the saddle, with four more long days staring you down, it is not. As soon as quitting becomes an option, as soon as you allow that to happen, it becomes easy to do so. I was not making that an option. I was in.<br />
<br />
When I reached the top, I was soaked through and cold. Following Matt's instructions, I changed into warm clothes and put my bike into the van instead of doing the (optional) descent. For me to make it through the next four days meant making smart choices, like choosing not to descend into driving rain and dangerous conditions. Climbing into cold is so very different than descending into it, and as we drove down the hill and picked up another half-dozen hypothermic riders, it became pretty apparent that unless the weather changed that there would be safety concerns about upcoming aspects of the ride. When the organizers made the decision that evening to abort the Stelvio climb the next day due to weather concerns, I fully understood that it was a necessity. Disappointing? Yes. However, ultimately this was the right decision as we approached several days of unexpected winter.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9BkQIUZGioV2oX4khzWScKo7N6FMLm8PBD8H1ecsCm_7ki9TcYs4s5L61r2v0H6s9Kz22Awi8f8p_9Pztpn-M3fzW-ax1ggxIvUGdu-PzGJqGIYdK_kZKlFT4hxSe8lAtZRZYhshyphenhyphenAQo/s1600/Time+trial5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9BkQIUZGioV2oX4khzWScKo7N6FMLm8PBD8H1ecsCm_7ki9TcYs4s5L61r2v0H6s9Kz22Awi8f8p_9Pztpn-M3fzW-ax1ggxIvUGdu-PzGJqGIYdK_kZKlFT4hxSe8lAtZRZYhshyphenhyphenAQo/s400/Time+trial5.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still smiling! The summit of the Bernina Pass</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Ironically, the sun came out in the afternoon and treated us to a simply lovely afternoon to enjoy St. Moritz and warm up for what would be a cold few days to follow.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhknJvLzGapiRHIa8bMdq-6yPWlWfGvOKrJkb40YGR0FS0zGJOysDvYaBaeh9q_eOFSJog60B6WvvU2Df2TNqdP3InfNhJZUtBqQD9EiRHUUlTjZ3jQENAoR9o6OlFkRb0ka58OvRpy_IE/s1600/IMG_3455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhknJvLzGapiRHIa8bMdq-6yPWlWfGvOKrJkb40YGR0FS0zGJOysDvYaBaeh9q_eOFSJog60B6WvvU2Df2TNqdP3InfNhJZUtBqQD9EiRHUUlTjZ3jQENAoR9o6OlFkRb0ka58OvRpy_IE/s640/IMG_3455.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The fleeting St. Moritz sunshine</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i><span style="color: #3d85c6;">Resilience...</span>Stage 4 - St. Moritz to Bormeo</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
Despite my efforts to stay as warm and rested as possible, I woke on Day 4 to a head cold and sore throat. The furious weather and hard efforts of the previous three days had caught up to me, and I was firmly on the suffer bus. Feeling lethargic, stuffed up and more than a little miserable, I was thankful for small miracles that the horrific rain had departed. Moody, cold sky faced us, but at least it was dry.<br />
<br />
Safety concerns in mind, the organizers required all of us to wear the very awesome, race-provided yellow vests and equip our bikes with lights. Memories of Norseman flooded back as I pinned on my ill-fitted vest to prevent it from flapping in the wind. <br />
<br />
With the brutal Stelvio (disappointingly) out of the picture, Stage 4 was now essentially an extended time trial that did not play well to my strengths. Four second class climbs and corresponding descents, nothing too brutal, but a lot of punchy climbing and fast descending, favouring strong power riders. Not the ideal for a little diesel like me, even on the best of days, and particularly not the ideal for an under-the-weather diesel.<br />
<br />
It would be simply perfect if life were chock full of nothing but "hell, yes", but it is learning how to shake yourself out of "hell no" that drives character more. Stage 4 was about resilience, about continuing in the wake of a whole lot of "hell no", about springing back even as I knew I was losing time to the front of the field, about riding my own ride and listening to what my body was capable on the day.<br />
<br />
What riding a little slower gets you is an ability to process your surroundings. Admittedly, there are many races that I have done where the surroundings passed without notice because I was so focused on maintaining a hard effort. On Stage 4, my slower speed afforded me the ability to truly soak in the incredible surroundings. Again, a game changer. Not only was I in, but I was soaking it in, and if you have traversed the Dolomites on your bike without stopping to soak it in, you are truly missing out.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilfIz0tqoadEu_5OW5oW6zo_Ew8F7tc_zwYme_L5Hx-uSYLtVLGNiOA6zLGwSPxJfz00gQZn8TgTycVs4bsgLkoZ1GvkHVdRiRVODl4V7HiJ6fsFau_5z2ac8V_P7EcEmm-UMQbisTGZg/s1600/4-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-AD-305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilfIz0tqoadEu_5OW5oW6zo_Ew8F7tc_zwYme_L5Hx-uSYLtVLGNiOA6zLGwSPxJfz00gQZn8TgTycVs4bsgLkoZ1GvkHVdRiRVODl4V7HiJ6fsFau_5z2ac8V_P7EcEmm-UMQbisTGZg/s640/4-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-AD-305.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMMUGMEKpoehMW2-7q6fzUxD_mAAGZXkkZb1nF0JENmrsPiIKe7xKkpywA0fifP4-Ie6IvVFIxOy2gMv2nR7sfVTMmywwTM-mHIgA-iCTTy2IWhP8_yxK8fBfv1Uhb3Fi4C7P_GqeczQA/s1600/4-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-LB-759.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMMUGMEKpoehMW2-7q6fzUxD_mAAGZXkkZb1nF0JENmrsPiIKe7xKkpywA0fifP4-Ie6IvVFIxOy2gMv2nR7sfVTMmywwTM-mHIgA-iCTTy2IWhP8_yxK8fBfv1Uhb3Fi4C7P_GqeczQA/s640/4-HAUTEROUTE-DOLO-2015-LB-759.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Careening down roads designed like ski hills, the descents were short but exhilarating, hypnotically addictive, inducing complete amnesia concerning the last climb, and so absolutely worth facing what was coming next. It is no wonder the Italians are so fond of their race cars and race bikes - these roads simply beg to be traversed. <i>Fast.</i> The Dolomites stretched invitingly ahead of us, jagged grey teeth towering over a carpet of emerald green.<br />
<br />
I was not fast, but I rode smart and within what my body felt it could afford on the day. I preserved what strength and health I had for the next day, and I finished descending Passo Foscano with a smile on my face. The 20-something kilometre descent into the charming village of Bormeo was nothing short of dazzling - this is truly road bike heaven if there were one.<br />
<br />
In light of the aborted climb of the Stelvio, Matt and Simon graciously offered to take us to the summit to check out what we had missed. The highest paved pass in Italy (and second highest in Europe), the Stelvio features 48 hairpin turns, masochistically numbered at each corner, as though taunting you of the sheer brutality of this climb. Although we played car tourist on this day...you can be assured that I will return to conquer this one. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcOgCILbkO2zhaXWi6CDvJ1FM9FG24vDOGXzcTRhZ91WJDoj-hVuPX6Sh76HllnYhhnFNlrC16moKtG9rdf6qKtzXl6xIeATq_0jjVNSmEjCz0lRkxYjfgk8eHlNF8o8SyvsvmwKjahkE/s1600/Stelvio1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcOgCILbkO2zhaXWi6CDvJ1FM9FG24vDOGXzcTRhZ91WJDoj-hVuPX6Sh76HllnYhhnFNlrC16moKtG9rdf6qKtzXl6xIeATq_0jjVNSmEjCz0lRkxYjfgk8eHlNF8o8SyvsvmwKjahkE/s640/Stelvio1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Afraid of heights? Hope not!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZDnKbdbd-YLiqqTrPFbgjr0BkUuBI0ziaFChq-nIMLZ0FmsVZBMlFISPWakSlImhwf1jS5c1vHtITZagY_f7gqdvJS3FgE64dZPaVtB4c-I2Ra3hqNhr5njmgtwT-Jqq169jH4-whJiw/s1600/Stelvio2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZDnKbdbd-YLiqqTrPFbgjr0BkUuBI0ziaFChq-nIMLZ0FmsVZBMlFISPWakSlImhwf1jS5c1vHtITZagY_f7gqdvJS3FgE64dZPaVtB4c-I2Ra3hqNhr5njmgtwT-Jqq169jH4-whJiw/s640/Stelvio2.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy to be warm and not climbing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Our home for the evening, another lovely family run inn, was so warm and charming that I hated to leave. Continuing to feel under the weather, I gave up on conventional race prep and attempted to charm my cold with a couple of glasses of Nebbiolo. With cold weather forecasted for the next day's ascent of the Gavia, it certainly couldn't hurt. Besides, I slept like a baby. :)<br />
<br />
<br />richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-8565262183252817762015-09-09T11:16:00.001-07:002015-09-14T12:30:54.255-07:00Haute Route Dolomites 2015 - Staring down the devil<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There are so many fitting descriptors for my Haute Route
experience. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Fearsome.
Challenging. Breathtaking. Traumatic.
Staggering. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Only days removed from ride, I am exhilarated, but also
completely shattered. It is not an
experience I will be able to forget anytime soon, but it may take weeks,
months, or maybe even years to fully appreciate the enormity of it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Why?<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Several friends had ridden <a href="http://www.hauteroute.org/">Haute Route </a>events in previous years
(the Pyrenees and Alps events) and in the fall had started discussing doing Swiss Alps-Dolomites 2015. I was told exactly how hard these rides were, but doing Norseman last year left me with a taste for more adventurous, unique races, and this definitely seemed to fit the bill. A cycling-only adventure also intrigued me, and the opportunity to share the experience with a group of friends made it even more attractive. At best, a
challenging ride with friends…at worst, there would be familiar faces to
commiserate with. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The organizers bill their events as the “highest and toughest”
cyclosportives in the world – each ride being an amateur, 7 day stage race featuring a
relentless mountain route. The Dolomite edition further has a reputation for its brutality. This is no leisurely countryside bike tour, and is definitely not a ride for the faint of heart. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbkfwVO554aqcoZkgM73yNyTWblCZu-si1G9zf1EgsriH58_w_gbZdsSeIfGXb5sLmzPOsmgZZy_1RJrcoW70guFvtCdwXBeBACSvQdpXw-rj2VJGhfjF7_yuko1bHJ9HNzL0_bbpD__s/s1600/Dolomites_General_Profile_2015-01-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbkfwVO554aqcoZkgM73yNyTWblCZu-si1G9zf1EgsriH58_w_gbZdsSeIfGXb5sLmzPOsmgZZy_1RJrcoW70guFvtCdwXBeBACSvQdpXw-rj2VJGhfjF7_yuko1bHJ9HNzL0_bbpD__s/s640/Dolomites_General_Profile_2015-01-1.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Winding the 900 kilometer route through the high mountain
passes between Geneva and Venice was an unprecedented challenge for me. To date, my endurance adventures have all
been focused on single day events, granted not easy ones, but certainly nothing
like the Haute Route. I do not
particularly excel at long, successive days, never mind the treacherously long
days that the route promised. The ride
terrified me, but that terror appealed and intrigued in a way that only endurance / adventure junkies could possibly relate to. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Based on several recommendations, I chose to travel with one
of the organization’s travel partners to help navigate the impossible logistics of
the week. Race briefings, early starts,
shuttles, routes changes, bike storage, luggage transport, long days, quickly sourcing quality food and recovery…it was all pretty overwhelming. It seemed to me that negotiating rural areas
of foreign countries was challenging enough, never mind when you are completely
shattered after riding for 7 hours. In
retrospect, this was one of the best planning decisions I made and vastly
improved the quality of my experience. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Matt and Simon from <a href="http://www.magicplaces.ca/">Magic Place</a>s (a Victoria-based cycling experience
powerhouse) expertly shepherded us through all the crazy logistics of the week
and, quite honestly, saved the entire ride for me several times over. I cannot say enough about their knowledge and assistance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The ride…abridged<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is practically impossible to relay the collection of
feelings and experiences of the last week in a short blog post. I also realize that not everyone is interested in hearing the fine details of my suffering. As such, I have written the abridged version here and am slowly working on a separate longer version (the
latter for my own memory more than anything else).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My trusty Garmin tells me that over 7 days, I amassed 30
hours of riding. 900 kilometres. 20 cols. 16,000 meters of elevation gain. Yes, <b><i>meters</i></b>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That’s a lot of sweat, a lot of grit and a lot of chamois
cream.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The backdrop for this descent into cycling purgatory was stunning.
We rolled through bucolic countryside, winding our way to the end point
in Venice via storied mountain villages – Andermatt, St. Moritz, Bormeo.
Cortina. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As expected, the landscape was also as treacherous as it was visually
appealing. There was just no easy here. Long
days, long climbs, crazy descents, repeat. Each day featured several forbidding climbs,
including some of the most emblematic and striking mountain passes in the Swiss Alps and
Dolomites - Furkapass, the Gavia, Passo Giau, Sella, Pordoi, San Boldo. These passes are as visually fierce as they are to climb - sharp, craggy ridges rising like devilish forms above you. You are constantly reminded just how tiny you are in this universe as you inch your way up these goliaths. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN0_uMn7vIqZFOoS4B6To2Jm7qo8Hyf3Qcdre3gZIWHBmkPalzNkV97teM6ugNQ0CeoSFlvEzwnFCzcllcnZuvQlisqODPju-SmqpHzoNkiZGo8Zr3ddTl8muzFZAkRE_2fnkJRfAkkd0/s1600/Gavia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN0_uMn7vIqZFOoS4B6To2Jm7qo8Hyf3Qcdre3gZIWHBmkPalzNkV97teM6ugNQ0CeoSFlvEzwnFCzcllcnZuvQlisqODPju-SmqpHzoNkiZGo8Zr3ddTl8muzFZAkRE_2fnkJRfAkkd0/s400/Gavia.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The forbidding and breathtaking Gavia</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1p-UYbKtlUNIqWCR7x8lJhTE3Bf1p3HRfj9TVjrgz2v7BztPIZTcC8-O0F0Rdv8Wb6cMX2N__6PXlDRga0YbSD5ua0GzQjOGINYiXwx-5KIimFcUeCh1tIyU7J76cgDDPxU4VcY5j8kM/s1600/_DSC2585.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1p-UYbKtlUNIqWCR7x8lJhTE3Bf1p3HRfj9TVjrgz2v7BztPIZTcC8-O0F0Rdv8Wb6cMX2N__6PXlDRga0YbSD5ua0GzQjOGINYiXwx-5KIimFcUeCh1tIyU7J76cgDDPxU4VcY5j8kM/s400/_DSC2585.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Tranquil beauty....and ice...at the top of the Gavia</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Despite having raced in Europe before and (somewhat ignorantly) believing that I had some comprehension and requisite experience to manage what I would face, I was completely blown away by how difficult the week was. Demanding terrain, talented competitors, temperamental weather. The Dolomites have earned their reputation and command respect. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The cycle of pain and reward is always present in endurance events, and you come to expect it. Here, it was amplified, not only by the sheer audacity of the task at hand, but also by the progression of fatigue over the accumulation of miles and the treacherous weather. There were many moments where I was so cold, so challenged, so physically tapped that I felt like I could not go on any further, wishing to be swallowed by the gigantic teeth of the rock face rising above me, only to be reassured by an exhilarating descent through the dazzling emerald valleys that would follow. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The week was an indescribable roller coaster ride, a true battle with my mind, my body and the elements. Unlike shorter distance races, which command attention for a specific period of time, this event demands patience and acceptance. I learned to go into each day one moment at a time. Start. Warm up. Climb. Eat. Drink. Keep going. Above all else, keep going. The sheer distance between the start and the finish demanded a repetition of exhilaration, pain, fear, desperation and resilience. The mind will take the body along with it, and make no mistake, simply finishing is victory alone.</span></div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In an event like this, the focal point of your existence becomes very narrow. I constantly reminded myself to take in the
scenery, to appreciate the extraordinary surroundings - in fact, this was the mental battle I faced for all thirty hours. It was easy to get distracted by my own mind, focusing internally on the brutality of the moment, my physical suffering, the cold, the pain...the typical "everything is wrong but nothing is wrong" cycle. I stubbornly refused to get drawn into this cycle, instead focusing outwardly and appreciating the sheer of the climbs and the elements. What an incredible privilege to feel such pain and to witness such beauty at the same time. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCfjukJE5TnPPIFR7Wqwy0penF7b7bZ1yaY0KBifHkARP-wwEF_wg8CuH06LLu9l-dzHGoqHQY7OMKxGbFNKxT1fQcYktUeCdnsqmxVBYkrf0T9FU39x2beuucWeBYpZUZ9zDuBOMcD2k/s1600/IMG_3577.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCfjukJE5TnPPIFR7Wqwy0penF7b7bZ1yaY0KBifHkARP-wwEF_wg8CuH06LLu9l-dzHGoqHQY7OMKxGbFNKxT1fQcYktUeCdnsqmxVBYkrf0T9FU39x2beuucWeBYpZUZ9zDuBOMcD2k/s400/IMG_3577.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Epilogue</span></i></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Writing the post-script before fully finishing my introspective may be premature. I expect I will come to appreciate different parts of this journey as time passes, and my feelings towards it will undoubtedly change as the imminent pain is forgotten. I arrived in Geneva with equal parts enthusiasm and trepidation, and I left Venice exhausted but with an incredible sense of achievement. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Whether completing the Haute Route is a remarkable
accomplishment is all a matter of perspective. I do not mean to downplay it - it certainly ranks amongst the most difficult, soul searching, shattering
experiences of my life…and yet, you return to real life and it becomes difficult to assimilate into the realm of "normal". The experience is almost incomprehensible to a layperson, the gravity of it so hard to comprehend without fully being immersed in the struggle. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What did you do for your summer holiday? I rode my bike from Geneva to Venice through some of the most staggeringly difficult and beautiful terrain in the world. My heart just swells. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But my head is firmly in check. This matters to no one but me, and my finish pales in comparison to the accomplishments of many endurance athletes. I cannot even fathom being one of the “iron” riders (who completed two weeks) or the “triple crown” riders (who completed all three events) who faced multiples
of the adversity and distance. My finish also pales in comparison to the very extraordinary
<a href="http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-30295759">Christian Haettich</a>, who has now completed the triple crown multiple times...with one arm and one leg.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Will I go back one day? I have no doubt I would never want to return as a mere tourist, for there would be no reward without the effort. The brilliance of the mountaintop hot chocolate shared with friends after climbing 2000m over a mountain pass in sleet, rain and fog cannot be replicated without getting back on a bike and going through it all again. Post-ride pasta has never tasted so good. A hot shower has never felt so incredibly luxurious. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am certainly not ready to get back on my bike just yet...the experience is still months from being recalled as "fun". However, when I watch the video and relive the event, there is an instinctive, visceral reaction. Maybe. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/YfNFhaBH1EU/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/YfNFhaBH1EU?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-42938366121732668352015-06-17T13:43:00.000-07:002015-06-17T17:10:59.480-07:00Black days<i>Whatsoever I've feared has come to life</i><br />
<i>Whatsoever I've fought off became my life</i><br />
<i>Just when every day seemed to greet me with a smile</i><br />
<i>Sunspots have faded </i><br />
<i>Now I'm doing time</i><br />
<br />
Despite the persistent Vancouver sunshine, there has not been a lot of light in 2015 thus far. My dogged belief that things always turn for the better has kept me going, and as someone who can suffer through long distance races with the best of them, my persistence tends to be, well, fairly persistent.<br />
<br />
So far this year I have blogged very little, and raced even less. Training has been consistently inconsistent, due to various personal pitfalls, some expected, mostly not. Each time, I pick myself up, lick the wounds, and start over. And over. <br />
<br />
Brilliantly happy days are not so far behind that I cannot remember what it felt like to feel carefree, to feel loved, to feel fit. And so I persevere...there is but one life to live after all.<br />
<br />
<i>I'm a searchlight soul they say</i><br />
<i>But I can't see it in the night</i><br />
<i>I'm only faking when I get it right</i><br />
<br />
Happiness. Love. Health.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ever present social media - the Instalife - waxes rhapsodic. The "perfect life" is glorified, manicured, put on a pedestal. Too shiny, too perfect, too cinematic to ever be real. <br />
<br />
I care not for the #mylifeisthebestlookatme bullshit, and I shut those offenders out. You don't get with me unless you have some humility about your own existence.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When you have felt happiness, felt love, felt strong, you never doubt their power. I totally get the lure of wanting to scream it from the rooftops. But, reality is, everyone has ups and downs regardless of what appearances may suggest. To me, raw honesty trumps perfection, yielding a recognition that life goes both ways and can, at any moment, drastically change its trajectory. <br />
<br />
The happiness, the love, the strength can be fleeting, and you don't always choose when they appear or disappear. It was real, or was it? Is it gone? Maybe. Yes. No. Possibly. Uncertainty weighs on my mind at times, sometimes for days. Moments can crawl by with hesitation, self-doubt, fear. And, in the fleeting absence of the things you desire most, you realize how your life transforms. Nothing is wrong, but everything is wrong. Those dark moments of fear, loneliness, uncertainty weigh heavy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
So I fake it, and sometimes it works. I become the very introverted version of me that is probably always there. I bury myself in workouts and work, cereal becomes every meal, I avoid social interaction, I hunker down. I share only the parts that I want to share and hide everything else. This is all ok, because I am human and not a screen shot - awkward, clumsy, failing, ruffled, imperfectly perfect. <br />
<br />
In struggling (and recognizing that I am struggling), I recognize my potential to do better. My expectations are usually brutal and self-imposed, but are at times realistic assessments of who I am and who I want to be. There is no harsher critic of me than me. To date, the most vital lessons of 2015 have been learning to go easier on myself and learning to allow life to hurt. Be patient, and trust that the black days will brighten in time.<br />
<br /></div>
<i>So what you wanted to see good, has made you blind</i><br />
<i>And what you wanted to be yours, has made it mine</i><br />
<i>So don't you lock up something that you wanted to see fly</i><br />
<br />
Small steps. One day at a time. <br />
<br />
This may all sound melancholy, but it is really not meant to be. I am old enough to recognize my shortcomings just as well as I recognize my worth. I am not locking myself out and throwing away the key because I do still believe I can quite possibly fly. Or maybe just ride my bike really fast.<br />
<br />
Every day has renewed intention - a chance to be better than the day before, to breath more fully, to love more deeply, to forgive more wholly. Having faith, each day, in the possibility that it will all work out.<br />
<br />
The sun is there. I feel it's warmth in ephemeral glimpses - the euphoric joy in racing (and sometimes inexplicably winning), the giddy silliness of a puppy, the true belief that I am somehow headed on the right path no matter how strange that path may seem to anyone but me. <br />
<br />
<br />
<i>**</i><br />
<i>Editorial note: in case you were not an angst ridden teenager in the 90's like I was, the references are to a Soundgarden song and not my own poetic genius.</i><br />
<br />richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-17124590618468937992015-04-15T21:08:00.002-07:002015-04-15T21:57:45.114-07:00Iron-yMy targeted first race of the season was a few weeks ago. But, as happens in life, even the best laid plans go awry, and I did not race Oceanside as planned. <br />
<br />
Suffice it to say, the 2015 season is a bit of a lemon so far in the racing department. <br />
<br />
Certainly, my perspective on racing has changed. The single-race-as-a-goal has realistically been replaced with a desire to be an athlete for life. With 40 just behind me, there is a noticeable difference in how my body reacts to training volume and stress. Being "in" for the long term demands a measured approach. Recovery takes longer, and the abuses that my body once took in stride (hard back-to-back sessions, high weekly volume, cutting my sleep schedule to meet life demands, being less than perfect with nutrition) are no longer tolerated. <br />
<br />
Work stress in December left me fighting a losing battle to the cold and flu season in January, followed by the loss of my beloved Bogey in January. Add fatigue and stress to more stress, and you end up with a pretty unpleasant base. Training was inconsistent at best, and each setback necessitated a few days or a week of recovery. <br />
<br />
These things happen. After each setback, I hit "reset", and I moved on...although not without a few good pep talks from Coach Jasper. I was pretty determined to make some lemonade out of those lemons. After all, your mindset is one of the very few things that is absolutely in your control. <br />
<br />
<b><i>The head, the heart or the body...?</i></b><br />
<br />
Repetitive bouts of fatigue and stress cumulatively sap even the hardiest of minds and body. And, in trying to work a solution, it is always easiest if you understand the root cause. <br />
<br />
So, I spent the first two months of 2015 wondering what the hell was wrong with me. The fatigue and constant sniffles were a pretty obvious sign that something was amiss. Tired all the time. So, so very tired.<br />
<br />
Emotional stress and physical stress are really hard to differentiate. Was it my body telling my head that it had had enough, or was my head influencing what my body felt? I was doing nothing different than I had for months, years, before...and yet, the result I was getting was so very frustratingly opposed to what I had ever experienced. I wasn't getting stronger, I wasn't getting faster...I was just getting tired. <br />
<br />
<b><i>Just don't tell me to eat a steak!</i></b><br />
<br />
As Jasper puts it best (and an outlook that I am grateful for), there is no cookie cutter approach to planning an effective training program for an athlete. A training plan is highly individualized, a puzzle that fits into the demands, capabilities and lifestyle of each athlete. There is absolutely no perfect or singular approach that works universally for every athlete.<br />
<br />
The high-volume, high stress plans that work for some athletes absolutely do not work for me, and they never have. This bod simply doesn't do boot camp - it needs love. Effectively training means being smart, and taking the time to listen to your body isn't being lazy or unmotivated. Rest, recovery and head space have always been important to me, and are even more critical to me today. Being an athlete does not mean that every spare moment of your free time needs to be consumed by training.<br />
<br />
You are not supposed to be wrecked all the time. Hard days are to be matched evenly by the easy days when your body is given the luxury of recovering. And, when it is clear that something is physically amiss, you step back and figure it out. <br />
<br />
Mindfully shelving the race in Oceanside created space - it eliminated the stress of racing when my body was not ready to race. It also offered the opportunity to plan a sunshine escape not involving race chaos...a simply lovely riding adventure to the Santa Monica Mountains over the Easter holiday. Riding in the sunshine for no greater reason than because riding is fun. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhduQ_q_XqcLjTRbGRT7w4TW57vzw0vRkNobcsLTGFFHOy98zqyyfFdj-y1Y8pXvs6tWFz4uPOiz13vhMz3oxanGKAaE5jD6Xjga9lhnfSg7LzG5Wb8U1oz2LZjsMwWiQCS3FD9jFnSmTw/s1600/Mulholland.jpg.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhduQ_q_XqcLjTRbGRT7w4TW57vzw0vRkNobcsLTGFFHOy98zqyyfFdj-y1Y8pXvs6tWFz4uPOiz13vhMz3oxanGKAaE5jD6Xjga9lhnfSg7LzG5Wb8U1oz2LZjsMwWiQCS3FD9jFnSmTw/s1600/Mulholland.jpg.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Incredible Malibu canyon climbing<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwGvmQnQBUasAWTbYJdxucJdjh6qV0AEBeDp0X6Mg3gHmDgxU3_pS5m3bDssYfabVZiK2bZ18-d_t-c-a5q-Qnnr_ZjNwZgrcNjExcE398MBHNj0ZnjkBbmvAiV3IoDeWAjpqYxHqHdKU/s1600/Piuma.jpg.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwGvmQnQBUasAWTbYJdxucJdjh6qV0AEBeDp0X6Mg3gHmDgxU3_pS5m3bDssYfabVZiK2bZ18-d_t-c-a5q-Qnnr_ZjNwZgrcNjExcE398MBHNj0ZnjkBbmvAiV3IoDeWAjpqYxHqHdKU/s1600/Piuma.jpg.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vitamin D + mountains + ocean views = bliss</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b><i>Snap back to reality</i></b><br />
<br />
Suffice it to say, it is somewhat relieving to arrive at the "why". Along with the fatigue and general malaise, symptoms that had been somewhat resolved by my surgery in 2012 had reappeared. A blood test confirmed that my iron levels are the lowest they have been post-surgery, and borderline anemic. The sneaking suspicion then subsequently confirmed by ultrasound.<br />
<br />
There are many life experiences you would choose to repeat, given the opportunity. An incredible vacation, a milestone achievement, a loved one's accomplishment, the unconditional love of a puppy, an unforgettable sunset. Surgery, however, does not fit the bill, and wasn't exactly my grand plan for 2015. But here we are. <br />
<br />
And yet, I feel fortunate. I feel fortunate to know that there is not only a path to recovery, but it is a path I somewhat understand the trajectory of. I feel fortunate to know that there is a reason behind the fatigue, and fortunate to feel like I can control how I manage it. I might not be fast, I might not be racing, but I am here, I am alive, and I get to do what I love, with the people I love, every day - and that's not all that bad. <br />
<br />richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-86444644616793590912015-02-03T13:00:00.001-08:002015-02-04T17:50:13.620-08:00In love and loss and loveFifteen years is a long time. One's life evolves enormously over that period. For a person, fifteen years takes you partially through adulthood, with all the lessons and realizations that come with it. <br />
<br />
For a dog, fifteen years measures a life.<br />
<br />
That life started in small town Alberta. A precocious ball of fluff literally bounced into my life, with him choosing me and not vice versa, the beginning of what was an improbable and adventurous run for a little pet store mutt from rural Alberta. <br />
<br />
From that cold January day onward, Bogey graced (owned?) absolutely every moment of my adult life as I know it. My sidekick, my companion, my monkey. He filled my world with love - an infectious, silly, enthusiastic, crooked-grinned, impetuous and irresistible love. He was a standout, simply one of the best people (yes, people) I have ever met, unconditional and unwavering in his affection, gracious for the simplicities of life, and spunky as all hell.<br />
<br />
When my life changed, Bogey stayed a constant. We left the prairies and embarked on what was initially a lonely and isolating move to Vancouver. No matter what job or relationship turmoil ensued, what successes or failures arose, he happily gave unwavering, unconditional and non-judgemental friendship. Together, we gradually made Vancouver our forever home. Kitsilano was his 'hood, and he owned that beach like no prairie shih tzu's business. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ZVZJubRGUbNsRY-L14WQWO7m-hXKPOz8cXdSa5VzsKs1oNkMnUIR1ZwaXG4rTpAOoV-1BiYXx9DjyWyQRbMOI3q7pJEvcPBslBqtzD2kFYyz2dYwZib69XIp6RMOMltw1CTzAvanD_g/s1600/Whistler+dog+beach+Jul+06_03+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ZVZJubRGUbNsRY-L14WQWO7m-hXKPOz8cXdSa5VzsKs1oNkMnUIR1ZwaXG4rTpAOoV-1BiYXx9DjyWyQRbMOI3q7pJEvcPBslBqtzD2kFYyz2dYwZib69XIp6RMOMltw1CTzAvanD_g/s1600/Whistler+dog+beach+Jul+06_03+crop.jpg" height="400" width="283" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The infectious, crooked Bogey grin.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Fifteen years. My longest relationship.</div>
<br />
Every day, he greeted me at the door with his silly grin and happy tail. He was a character, a little imp, and his antics and goofy personality touched everyone who got to know him. He ran like a mad-monkey-dog, especially at the beach, but started and finished each day curling up beside me for a cuddle. We embarked on adventures galore, took holidays together, ran on beaches, had picnics and shared ice cream.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4MUkDAZvfFUYzaufBPaHsDkXyhAd9_u3FR_CVG_m8LScg3i5qE3QjOVEOYvrnjCAUXVAyJjiLl9ac1SkrhUT6EmbE_yzPz6YO4_BEHXXy4lhvf4OfOimYNOsTjzCxbK98Lqov6UPdwLk/s1600/IMG_0930.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4MUkDAZvfFUYzaufBPaHsDkXyhAd9_u3FR_CVG_m8LScg3i5qE3QjOVEOYvrnjCAUXVAyJjiLl9ac1SkrhUT6EmbE_yzPz6YO4_BEHXXy4lhvf4OfOimYNOsTjzCxbK98Lqov6UPdwLk/s1600/IMG_0930.JPG" height="223" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self-satisfied at the beach.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Bogey did not do anything half hearted. He was all in. He ran himself silly, stopped to catch his breath, then did it again over and over. He chased squirrels and ducks and cats relentlessly, despite no hope of ever catching one. He rolled in the dirt, sand, and grass without fear of looking silly or getting dirty. He greeted me with zeal, whether I was gone for a minute or a day. I can aspire to experience my life with such passion and fervour.<br />
<br />
There is no judgement, no selfishness and no game-playing in a dog's companionship. It is the truest relationship you will ever experience. Bogey taught me not only to love myself, but to raise the expectations of relationships around me. He taught me to be appreciative and live each moment with joy, be unwavering in my loyalty, and to be unafraid to show my heart on my sleeve.<br />
<br />
And, unlike relationships with people, a relationship with a dog is co-dependent and unconditional. Bogey was forever my responsibility, and after years together, we just "got" each other. I learned his snurfles, his ear twitches, his mannerism, his tail wags, his barks. When I was ill, and when I had surgery, he was "ill" too and never left my side. That bond is irreplaceable and precious. I only wish I had more time, for fifteen years was simply not long enough. The decline of that precious friendship was too soon, much too soon. <br />
<br />
In the last few years, Bogey gradually lost his hearing (sometimes selectively), his eyesight, and sometimes his balance as arthritis creeped into his back legs. He started relishing belly rubs over long walks (and somehow conned his walkers into more of the former than the latter), but in his Bogey manner, remained graciously enthusiastic. <br />
<br />
Then, last fall, he fell terminally ill with a liver tumor that threatened his life several times. He bounced back, incredibly, and in his happy-go-lucky way challenged even the vet's best estimates of his life expectancy. With this diagnosis, however, came the cognizance that every extra day was a gift. We delighted when he was able to scamper down to the beach, do his "rabbit" hop down the block and play crazy games with Dan in the living room. Those good days eventually became rarities, with the scamper reduced to a block, then half, then a few meters.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEPdOwoKBLZys-fNhmAyL0jplSQxuTFhdIhgtAr-mYLl0iKEOfKMhKG4jBtxhaMTNnsB-X40vprfp71Fk0TALrGj9taqMTm3FeJXY0mlK23CI2k93pn4dE4i2S5g1Vq8lJb3APOHeNr5U/s1600/Kits+fall_4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEPdOwoKBLZys-fNhmAyL0jplSQxuTFhdIhgtAr-mYLl0iKEOfKMhKG4jBtxhaMTNnsB-X40vprfp71Fk0TALrGj9taqMTm3FeJXY0mlK23CI2k93pn4dE4i2S5g1Vq8lJb3APOHeNr5U/s1600/Kits+fall_4.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our "two-block" walks in the late years.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And two days ago, the horrible comprehension that our time together had run its course. The most difficult, heartwrenching thing I have ever done was taking my best friend on that journey. Together with Dan (his Dan-Dad), we made it our very best, last day possible, with ice cream, beaches, walks and cuddles. We told him over and over, how much we loved him and how grateful we were for the life he shared with us, and held him close until he peacefully slipped away. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0szKrilPhYE54tuLktBO0jBXhBPcS4odOsAVF046rmXbt7_WB4pQ1sWj2463d9K7uVmXD0v7TZmPMQxwE_2YmSzw3mpTlFbrZ7ULL5mdogCHpGLvm7NA3Xxb1w8mtKyPHALTYW9V1-5Y/s1600/013115_17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0szKrilPhYE54tuLktBO0jBXhBPcS4odOsAVF046rmXbt7_WB4pQ1sWj2463d9K7uVmXD0v7TZmPMQxwE_2YmSzw3mpTlFbrZ7ULL5mdogCHpGLvm7NA3Xxb1w8mtKyPHALTYW9V1-5Y/s1600/013115_17.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Simple pleasures. A scoop of ice cream on our best, last day together.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I would not trade my heartache today for the memories of the last fifteen years. My greatest fear is not in losing Bogey, for I know that it was time for him to be released from his physical struggle. My fear is that memories will fade, and that I will forget the feeling of joy he brought me every day, the unconditional love he afforded me, and how burying my face in his beautiful fur made the world disappear. I fear I will forget, without his presence as a reminder, to embrace every day with silly exuberance, and forget, without his faithful lead, to follow my heart.<br />
<br />
And, while this is certainly not a story related to triathlon, or training, or any endurance activity whatsoever, it speaks wholly to the title of my blog...which is about the lifelong process of being in transition, learning and evolving. In love and in loss and in love. <br />
<br />
I am determined to honor our love story, the wonderful life and the beautiful memories he chose me for. Embrace life in the enthusiastic, impetuous and honest way that he did. Love fearlessly. Show affection. Be silly and happy and love the world. Stop and sniff the surroundings. Take long walks. Run like the wind. Roll in the grass. Relish every treat and ask for more. Be a puppy forever.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDHzXwCPdE7KcMTfrS-yNbE-OklJw1ylcOfIFKhCOlix97jG04p3FWTCa8sWdBfR4SZx4T6UwrBIOggpQanW9EHsXtOLF7QYOvPua8FBY7o48EMj795BfqQ0OOr8W7pAvZNd_9pvNVWrE/s1600/IMG_1046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDHzXwCPdE7KcMTfrS-yNbE-OklJw1ylcOfIFKhCOlix97jG04p3FWTCa8sWdBfR4SZx4T6UwrBIOggpQanW9EHsXtOLF7QYOvPua8FBY7o48EMj795BfqQ0OOr8W7pAvZNd_9pvNVWrE/s1600/IMG_1046.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Run like the wind, bask in the sunshine, bounce through the puddles...always.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Bogey, Boo, B-man, Bogeyman, Man-man, Monkey, Mr. Magoo, Little Shit, Good Boy, Bee-boop, Mr. Shih Tzu, Bogeylicious.<br />
<br />
My Sweet Boy.<br />
<br />
My Little Man.<br />
<br />
Words cannot thank you for loving me so much. It was an amazing, one of a kind love that we shared. Rest well, my precious little friend. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDEKXJnhkxvkQVhBFkmMZexjhTS21BzyuOOdfWp3y7GiwIGHQFhnXRb7koF3ScZMRHN4MEUb-YA0pSQV3kWhWOP27UakvGIq_CYknhv8DeRqVivaBdSG8W1Kflbm59wG1BpHx9Jdb-s4E/s1600/Whistler+Oct+2014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDEKXJnhkxvkQVhBFkmMZexjhTS21BzyuOOdfWp3y7GiwIGHQFhnXRb7koF3ScZMRHN4MEUb-YA0pSQV3kWhWOP27UakvGIq_CYknhv8DeRqVivaBdSG8W1Kflbm59wG1BpHx9Jdb-s4E/s1600/Whistler+Oct+2014.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
***<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">“<i><b>No matter how close we are to another person, few human relationships are as free from strife, disagreement, and frustration as is the relationship you have with a good dog. Few human beings give of themselves to another as a dog gives of itself. I also suspect that we cherish dogs because their unblemished souls make us wish - consciously or unconsciously - that we were as innocent as they are, and make us yearn for a place where innocence is universal and where the meanness, the betrayals, and the cruelties of this world are unknown</b></i>.” - Dean Koontz (A Big Little Life: A Memoir of a Joyful Dog)</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<br />
***<br />
Huge thanks to the wonderful people that played a part of Bogey's life and care. Corinne, and his other friends at <a href="http://dogsvancouver.com/listing/print.php?id=51">Fetch N' Go</a>, who helped me manage his walks (and belly rubs); his friends at the <a href="http://thedoghouse.ca/">Doghouse </a>(of both the canine and people varieties) who were his companions during our 12 years in Vancouver; his groomers at Unleashed Dog Spa who kept him looking spunky; and finally, the doctors and nurses at <a href="http://www.bcpetvet.com/">Granville Island Vet Clinic</a>, who showed Bogey the utmost compassion and care. <br />
<br />richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-86457727821609565252014-11-28T16:48:00.001-08:002014-11-28T17:15:09.096-08:00Making plansA friend forwarded me a great<a href="http://triathlon.competitor.com/2014/11/race-coverage/brett-sutton-nicola-spirig-racing-ironman-cozumel_109950"> article describing Nicola Spirig's planned Ironman debut</a> in Cozumel this weekend. An Olympic medallist in triathlon in 2012, and an athlete of the infamous (and controversial Brett Sutton), Nicola is an incredible inspiration to me not because of what she does (aka race incredibly fast) but because of the manner in which she does it: her way.<br />
<br />
She is not only a triathlete and an incredible athlete period, but a professional (lawyer) and a mother. She has a life outside the sport and, much like any age-grouper, balances her passion for racing with real life responsibilities. It is incredibly refreshing to see someone at this level demonstrate not only an ability to balance life, but a desire to expand her focus beyond elite level ITU racing. By all accounts, the article indicates that the main reason she is racing Ironman Cozumel is purely curiosity. Because she can.<br />
<br />
<b><i>Born an original</i></b><br />
<br />
At the end of my "tri" season, I started making plans as I always do. End of season always brings reflection and finality, but reinforces the things that make me tick. <br />
<br />
I blogged in October about <a href="http://www.richelef-lostintransition.com/2014/10/dream-new-dream.html">dreaming a new dream.</a> I was genuinely surprised at the wide range of responses - from support and encouragement to incredulousness. But this process of creating intention should not come as a surprise. Just as I took the plunge into triathlon five years ago, I am driven not by repetitiveness in my future plans, but by life experience. Each year my motivation and goals evolve, and I expect will continue to do so over my lifetime.<br />
<br />
I race because I can, and because it lends to my life. I want to feel challenged, even a bit scared, of the things I take on. I am not interested in complacency or following a crowd - I was born an original, and intend to stay that way. I am also not a "bucket lister". Certainly there are experiences that I have simply tried and am not interested in repeating, but there are also experiences I will repeat because they lend something to my life that I need at that time, or represent activities that I have a desire to get better at. There is no rhyme or reason to this...it just is. If something happens to be one-and-done, it is because I chose it, and not because I checked off a to-do list. <br />
<br />
Two themes emerged from my race experiences last year: defining possible, and racing for me alone. These are themes I will carry into my goals for 2015. <br />
<br />
<b><i>Defining possible</i></b><br />
<br />
I was wholeheartedly and genuinely terrified of both Alcatraz and Norseman. That did not make them impossible - they simply represented the opportunity to me to rise to my potential. Did everything go swimmingly (pun intended)? No. But that is the amazing part of endurance activities. The fear is magnetic - being on the edge of your capability, learning how to adapt and realizing that you are capable of much, much more than you ever believed. Simply - it is defining possible. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbYa3bG00WNbFveV89-AdzUKsyK5GgAYTtKtqbQFKYi8jUvHUejzipupMggjzTONhWmR9yujT8UdHIiX9rxFZbRtwGyVTAFkhiGOSWTdVFs5HBrVCGOaHqa5hnxIlPjVScHEqBF0z_i9M/s1600/Impossible.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbYa3bG00WNbFveV89-AdzUKsyK5GgAYTtKtqbQFKYi8jUvHUejzipupMggjzTONhWmR9yujT8UdHIiX9rxFZbRtwGyVTAFkhiGOSWTdVFs5HBrVCGOaHqa5hnxIlPjVScHEqBF0z_i9M/s1600/Impossible.JPG" height="271" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<b><i>Racing for me alone</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>I have been, and will continue to be, very selective in the events I choose. Racing needs to have soul, an inherent attraction - whether it is the location, the terrain, the competition. The spandex parade interests me not, nor does the "flat, fast" mentality - I want finishing to be a question mark, not an eventuality. The reward to me is in the effort and in the experience - it matters not to me if I am fifth or first or fiftieth, how I placed in my age group, or what my time was as long as I put forth my best. The race experience I desire is me against me, the elements and the terrain. Period.<br />
<br />
<b><i>Up, up, up!</i></b><br />
<br />
The "epic" in 2015 will come from the self-powered adventure known as <a href="http://www.hauteroute.org/events/stages/dolomites-2015">the Haute Route</a>. A seven day, 900 kilometre traverse of the Alps and Dolomites - starting in Geneva and (hopefully!) ending in Venice. There happen to be a few mountains in between...23,500 meters of climbing in aggregate. You read that right...<i>meters.</i> Am I scared? Damned right.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjixMSCYyFcM2b6xajBuBemowCCBRFsKAeBwliTya8ZqqbE22Mn1J6RaXZzONBAeZEHsOnIIM1Z08eNeHk5M0Ckjc7wuv4AElfyvxTGL6UfilgCGv3Q5bWqM28-obAja4Zh9I65QEQkMpM/s1600/HR+profile.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjixMSCYyFcM2b6xajBuBemowCCBRFsKAeBwliTya8ZqqbE22Mn1J6RaXZzONBAeZEHsOnIIM1Z08eNeHk5M0Ckjc7wuv4AElfyvxTGL6UfilgCGv3Q5bWqM28-obAja4Zh9I65QEQkMpM/s1600/HR+profile.JPG" height="180" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A few hills there...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i>Moving out of the crowd</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
I seriously contemplated getting out of triathlon this year. The age-group experience, particularly in my most recent race, was no longer an enjoyable one for me. Large races with significant male participation create a very challenging environment on the bike for a relatively weak swimmer like me. The swim is a beatdown, the bike is a congested mess. Quite frankly...I was frustrated with my experience.<br />
<br />
However, I have been a single sport athlete before and I recall exactly why I expanded my horizons - because I love the variety, I appreciate being able to move between sports, and I believe that each is a compliment to each other. And while the Haute Route will certainly demand a focus on the bike, I realized I would be remiss to give up on swim/run so easily after working so hard. I would honestly miss it all...yes, even the pool. So the change I choose will not involve giving anything up...but will change the way the game is played. (Because, after all, it is my game and I get to choose!) <br />
<br />
So I took the plunge out of age-group to become a forty-year old "baby pro". I have no predictions on how this will go, no illusions of greatness, but am appreciative that the opportunity presents itself to race off the front with the fast girls (read: chase the fast girls). To my mind, you can never regret a decision you chose not to make. The anticipated ass-kicking will begin in March! #yolo <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4jbgwGcdYM5W1KzSVka-UdYGT1lPfksuB1BOFzzxT-8-XY1Th4cc3R0UAFrLuJhL2t_6qjf5B8McFkzM1peP-XyEYhpNSU6qemqxAiF7fT5QJZo4PlUNt6TWhdQQPebZBY9vpYaJ9ngM/s1600/Pro+membership.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4jbgwGcdYM5W1KzSVka-UdYGT1lPfksuB1BOFzzxT-8-XY1Th4cc3R0UAFrLuJhL2t_6qjf5B8McFkzM1peP-XyEYhpNSU6qemqxAiF7fT5QJZo4PlUNt6TWhdQQPebZBY9vpYaJ9ngM/s1600/Pro+membership.JPG" height="156" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No turning back now!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And with that...the planned (mis)adventures of 2015 are locked and loaded. Things just got real :)<br />
<br />richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-84057032136088714452014-11-27T12:42:00.001-08:002014-11-27T16:37:35.173-08:00Take no prisonersLast Monday marked the start line of the long haul back to some semblance of fitness. After several years of taking a notable break after a season of racing, it should come as no surprise when I return feeling sluggish, slow and out of shape. As I huff and puff and lament how my muscle memory has seemingly faded from existence, those first few workouts remind exactly how hard returning to swim/bike/run is after a over a month "off". <br />
<br />
<i><b>How do the other half live?</b></i><br />
<br />
Off-season is the time of "normal", as though this hypothetical "normal" can be defined. <br />
<br />
My training friends, for the most part, are not exactly shining examples of this normal that I sought to achieve. One even casually noted to me that he felt a 50k race was a perfect off-season activity to keep "things fresh". Yeah right.<br />
<br />
So absent any kind of real role model for normal, I free-styled for a few weeks... <br />
<br />
An extra glass of wine (ok, maybe two) on a Friday night. Sometimes Tuesdays too. Sunday brunch with no run preceding it. A weekday alarm later than 4:45am. No pile of lycra laundry or packing around workout gear. No training peaks schedule. A (gasp!) holiday without a bike. Drinks with friends. Carelessness about food intake. Shopping...of the variety where you go into real stores (not online), buy real stuff (not bike gear) and even buy girly clothing (not containing spandex). <br />
<br />
And, like every other year, the beauty of off-season normal is that it makes me appreciate how absolutely not normal that lifestyle is, for me. I <i>want </i>to sweat and breathe and create piles of lycra laundry. I would rather stick pins in my eye than spend a Saturday afternoon in a mall, and quite frankly, I love to eat but really do prefer salads over chocolate and Perrier over martinis. Perhaps that is just the sensibility that comes with age. Or perhaps, the reinforcement of years of exercise that have taught me to appreciate that feeling awesome is a life premium worth seeking out.<br />
<br />
The other beauty of off-season is that it reinforces how much balance training lends to my life. Dropping a training schedule out of my week does absolutely nothing to improve my productivity at life in general, in fact, it makes me feel sluggish and grumpy and absolutely aching to get back to my routine. Again, I realize that sounds strange, but taking breaks to workout energizes me to be productive in my career and at home. Those hours "gained" in off-season, quite frankly, make my soul feel a little lost. I'd rather be busy juggling it all than missing the sweaty parts. <br />
<br />
<i><b>Do it because you love it</b></i><br />
<br />
So I am back to juggling schedules and laundry and workouts. Off season is off. Not "fully" training, but at least sweating again. And I love it. <br />
<br />
Early season is its own beast. Time off certainly refreshes the mind, but is enough to make the legs a little rusty. Ask anyone who returns to swimming or running after several weeks off, and they will tell you how much of a struggle it is to return to simply feeling normal. The truth is, it really never gets easier... but is a matter of setting your mind to it. <br />
<br />
Those tough first workouts are tempered by the knowledge that race season is a long way off. In my view, intense training at this time of the year really does not lend to race season success. In fact, I believe that too much structure and intensity only serves to damage the opportunity to recalibrate. Forget FTP, heart rate, wattage, time trials, race pace...this IS the time of year to enjoy being active, enjoy moving, have some fun and not get too fussed about where it all is going. <br />
<br />
<i><b>Same, same but different</b></i><br />
<br />
I firmly sit in the camp that believes that the human body was not built to train serious, hard and fast year round. As important as rest days and recovery periods are in a cycle of training, an absolute break followed by a gradual return to fitness is absolutely needed for me to restore the mind and body for the next big adventure. And, upon returning to a regular schedule of training, my training week purposely looks a little different than the summer months.<br />
<br />
Strength, base fitness and balance are my go-to in the early season. Workouts are not long, but they are very focused and technique driven - good form creates a better base than anything. (<a href="http://home.trainingpeaks.com/blog/article/off-season-training-for-triathletes">I really loved this article from training peaks</a> that speaks to off-season training. Someone else gets it!!) <br />
<br />
One of my favorite off-season retreats is hot yoga. As the weather turns nasty and the long dark Vancity days persist (why is it dark at 3pm!?), the heat and comfort of the hot room is my cocoon. To be fair, I am not a very good yogi - I am definitely more linear than flowy, and my class preference tends towards more "athletic" styles of yoga like power or hot (I highly recommend <a href="http://runningintoyoga.ca/">Katherine Moore'</a>s hot class at <a href="http://www.yyoga.ca/">YYoga</a>...amazing!). But as a non-bendy athlete who focuses on repetitive movements and pavement jarring impact for much of the year, my joints and muscles are very thankful for the variety and freedom of movement. Not only does yoga promote greater flexibility and range in a body that is not used to being flexible, but I believe that yoga helps ward off injury and compliments running and cycling by honing in on mental focus. My head loves being in that place, and nowhere else, for the entire class - the world around just gloriously disappears for an hour at a time. <br />
<br />
It is also the season of balancing the things I really like (running for the sake of running!)...with the things-I-really-don't-like-but-are-good-for-me. Aka...weight training and swimming. I would really find any excuse in the book not to go to the gym or the pool, so this is a matter of scheduling it in and just doing it. And, true to my experience every year, the more you go, the easier it gets...but you gotta show up. <i>Don't over think it, just go!</i> <br />
<br />
<i><b>My version of fun</b></i><br />
<br />
And slowly, slowly, it is all coming back. I am taking no prisoners and doing things exactly the way I want to. I do this all because it is my version of fun, and as a consequence, I get to decide exactly what that looks like. And with that, comes the reinforcement that this <i><b>is</b></i> the way I like my life to be - the familiarity of the routine, the happiness of a workout achieved, and the joy of feeling healthy. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihX_61vLGz_eupUxW0wAOTUBB9GU9jtkSzKdvtSR8UtCtj1N-3eq-8JwQr-8GgygFwQaqU_9zquhnM3F_nsjErGDb7wnGfqhgocWWmq4BoaANA4NLAGwQBV3ZagKaG_t4cmJh8D3x7TLU/s1600/10606317_10152395216641691_1014873565186883059_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihX_61vLGz_eupUxW0wAOTUBB9GU9jtkSzKdvtSR8UtCtj1N-3eq-8JwQr-8GgygFwQaqU_9zquhnM3F_nsjErGDb7wnGfqhgocWWmq4BoaANA4NLAGwQBV3ZagKaG_t4cmJh8D3x7TLU/s1600/10606317_10152395216641691_1014873565186883059_n.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beach running...a perfect winter activity.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-72732044133205283382014-10-23T16:28:00.000-07:002014-10-23T16:28:48.410-07:002014 race log<br />
First Half Marathon 02/16<br />
Vancouver Sun Run 4/27<br />
Ironman 70.3 St. Croix 5/4<br />
Escape from Alcatraz 6/1<br />
Ride to Conquer Cancer 6/16-17<br />
Subaru Vancouver half iron 8/13<br />
Norseman 8/2<br />
Glotman Simpson Hill Climb 8/16<br />
SeaWheeze 8/23<br />
ITU AG Worlds (Sprint and Standard) 9/2<br />
Whistler Gran Fondo 9/6<br />
Ironman Mallorca 9/27<br />
<br />
...and that's a wrap for 2014!<br />
<br />richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-18151483457310668452014-10-01T16:39:00.000-07:002014-10-20T17:55:58.015-07:00Dream a new dreamAt the end of each race season, I take a break and look back. Every year's experience is unique, and certainly every season has ups, downs and surprises. So much time, effort and money goes into racing each season, I would be remiss not to reflect at where it has landed me.<br />
<br />
Arriving at a season finale DNF last week provided the impetus to come to terms with myself. At what point is it ever enough to simply walk away - not just from a race, but from the status quo? When does it become time to dream a new dream? <br />
<br />
Somewhere between the humble first 25m swim at the YWCA pool in 2009 and reaching the top of Mount Gaustatoppen in August, I have managed to chase some pretty lofty aspirations, and achieve what I deemed (at the time) impossible many times over. And in that time, there was a good share of angst, sweat, heartache and sacrifice, a tad bit of crankiness at times and certainly a lot of calories consumed.<br />
<br />
So how does this chase evolve? What is the next adventure? <br />
<br />
I came to terms last week with a pretty stunning realization: there is absolutely nothing to prove. Just toeing the starting line at a race requires intense focus and determination. You can give it everything you have, and the uncontrollable may prevent you from reaching the finish line. And that is just fine. A finish line medal is not a measure of one's worth. I certainly do not race for anyone except myself, and I have already discovered (many times over) that I am capable of pushing my head and my body to accomplish much more than I ever imagined possible. However, when it stops being <i>fun</i>, when the sacrifice becomes too much, it is simply time to dream a new dream. <br />
<br />
Racing and training, and all the routine that comes with it is addictive. So are the endorphins that come with it. And while it may certainly be as "healthy" as addictions can be (if that is possible), and pretty awesome to enjoy the benefits it reaps, doing the same races over and over, challenging the same course and the same demons, simply is not the lifestyle I choose long term. Yes, Ironman is a noble aspiration and was something incredibly worthwhile. However, you soon realize you are being "sold" a lifestyle and, as a lifestyle over the long term, it presents a lot of sacrifice that is simply not sustainable. <br />
<br />
I do very little without a plan and clear intention. It is just the way that I am, and part of the reason that I am in the profession I am and why triathlon has made a lot of sense to me. So choosing not to attend roll down at St. Croix in May, and not responding when my name got called for a Kona slot, was entirely intentional. It just was not my dream or goal to race in Hawaii this year. And yet, I was surprised at how many (complete strangers) were incredulous at the possibility that someone would not <i>want </i>to go to Kona. <br />
There are athletes that have raced Kona dozens of times. I salute them for their tenacity, energy and general awesomeness. My dream, however, diverges from this repetitiveness. Perhaps someday I will race on the Big Island again, and perhaps not - for now, three times is enough and I have no desire to make it an annual affair. It is simply not the singular aspiration that I want to consume the best years of my life.<br />
<br />
Instead, I chose this year to tackle what I felt was "impossibility", two races that quite frankly scared the shit out of me - Alcatraz and Norseman. In ramming headlong into some demons and finding out that it was possible to conquer them, these two races have simply spoiled me for the experience. True, grassroots, unique events where the <u>entire</u> focus in on athlete experience. Events that demand resilience, where finishing is not only an incredible test of will, a challenge not just against the mind and body, but also a battle against the uncontrollable elements. Races like these are in demand because they are simply unique. Neither are a spandex, "drive-through" parade where you clock in and clock out - you put your soul in, or you do not finish. <br />
<br />
While racing has instilled in me the belief that anything is possible, I do believe there are limits to its appeal. Perhaps I am too apt to becoming bored, but committing myself to something "epic" loses its lustre and appeal when it becomes repetitive and mundane. The satisfaction of achievement simply does not stick when it becomes routine or an expectation. So where does it go next? How do I upstage myself? Faster, further, longer, same same.. simply not sustainable or interesting to me. This may sound like disenchantment, but I promise you it is not. It is simply an unwillingness to accept the status quo as the bar that I set for the future. <br />
<br />
So as I embark on dreaming a new dream, I take stock of the things I know...<br />
<br />
I thrive on my personal (mis)adventures. <br />
I love riding my bike. <br />
I love the feeling of a workout conquered. <br />
I (sometimes) like swimming, but mostly just like hanging out with my lanemates.<br />
I believe the impossible to be possible <br />
I am not getting any younger...or faster<br />
<br />
Most of all, I am grateful to have been able to travel and race and chalk up some pretty ridiculous accomplishments this year. By no means am I stepping back, but it is clear to me that that way forward is definitely not the same path I have already blazed. I chose not to repeat the chapter. After all...it's my life!<br />
<br />
(I couldn't help myself...shameless inspirational 80's music....) <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/vx2u5uUu3DE?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-32282358671852352392014-09-28T05:15:00.000-07:002014-09-28T05:37:59.656-07:00UnfinishedBefore yesterday, dropping out of a race had never been a real consideration to me. I freely admit that I always felt that there was a way to finish what I started, even if that meant dialing down the effort or walking my way in. I don't consider myself a quitter (though realize this is not judged by me), and likewise tended to view the DNF as a pretty drastic measure. <br />
<br />
I was a late entry to IM Mallorca only a few weeks ago, after learning I needed to be in Spain for work. At the time, a friend had planned to race as well and it was an opportunity to add a race that I would never choose organically, arguably extending my 2014 race season a little past its shelf life. <br />
<br />
It is one thing being a little worn and edgy from the cumulative miles of wear and tear that a season of training brings. I have done late season races before (Cozumel, Kona) and know full well that it is demanding to be in full training load while the others are blissfully enjoying the spoils of off-season alternate activities...yoga, cross-country races, wine. I chose to continue the SBR routine, and I expected what that meant - early morning 30k runs, clicking off the 4 hour ride while the rest of the team is in coffee mode, and getting a little aggro in the swim lane (c'mon...3k is not a workout!!). In the weeks preceding the race, though, life outside of the training bubble occurred as it does - topsy, turvy, tumultuous, and emotionally draining.<br />
<br />
<i><b>Game face</b></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Ten days ago, I would have told you that if anything was going to derail this race, it was my emotional state. There is a dialogue that enters your mind during a race that you either control, or let control you. If you let yourself get emotionally charged, your mind will cause your focus and your body to fall apart in equal succession.<br />
<br />
And, perhaps, the outside criticism is that I was not fully invested. Perhaps that is at least partially true. It is obviously terribly difficult to be fully invested in a race when you are fully prepared to fly home at a moment's notice. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
When it became apparent that Bogey's health had settled sufficiently for me to race, however, the emotional outlet turned off. I showed up at the start line with my game face and a plan to stay in the moment, execute each section of the race methodically and forget (for just a while) what the future might hold. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<i><b>Engage!</b></i><br />
<br />
Having participated in a European race gives me all kinds of appreciation for the awesome races we have in North America. As the inaugural full-distance race in Mallorca (there have been 70.3's for a few years), there were some logistical kinks. With over 2600 starters, and less than 300 women - the field is male-dominated and fast. The small women's field, likewise, was Euro and scary fast (and, as one of the guests at my agriturismo commented..."<i>you seem awfully small compared to those other women</i>"...). <br />
<br />
The swim was a no-wetsuit, mass age-group land start, on approximately 150m of width into a shallow beach. It was pretty close quarters for 2600 people and I expected a rough start, akin to Kona. As a "40th percentile" swimmer, I never really get out of the shitty mess in these mass swims and it is particularly bad when it is predominately big, overenthused men doing aquatic WWF. Good swimmers know not this pain - in the pack, it is 3.8k of bedlam. Either I deal with it or suffer a bad time. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQLPo3zC38GFVHsQtOKJPkMZJAZuZq7HcoayKhOquQHQ5fzkrM86nDQak9sg05uLUNLHMJsDjEC-l4P-KqjC2VlKHMwqFf8Q3K_vF4c4oZNHCkawQQ3TyRcmleBlqsGegS-l-x7xBiEc/s1600/13im703mallorca+swim+1600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQLPo3zC38GFVHsQtOKJPkMZJAZuZq7HcoayKhOquQHQ5fzkrM86nDQak9sg05uLUNLHMJsDjEC-l4P-KqjC2VlKHMwqFf8Q3K_vF4c4oZNHCkawQQ3TyRcmleBlqsGegS-l-x7xBiEc/s1600/13im703mallorca+swim+1600.jpg" height="245" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo of the Mallorca 70.3 swim start to add some perspective. There were even boats moored in the harbour during the race!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My swim strategy was simple - stay "in", be engaged. Stay in the pack, stay in my head and don't freak out. Don't look around at the flailing mess, sight only when you have to and directly forward. Stay confident and know that everyone else out there is facing the same crap as you. <br />
<br />
I was speaking to a friend a few weeks ago about the imagery and mental cues that unconsciously occur in a race. Sometimes it is the song that you cannot get out of your head, sometimes it is a complete inability to recall ANY song or logical thought (this friend mentioned that the only song she could remember during Ironman Canada was "twinkle, twinkle little Star"...torture!). Counting. Repeating a mantra. <br />
<br />
The mental image / mantra that occurred to me yesterday was odd - laughably odd - but worth sharing. There is a scene in <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e686mVWXhY0">Top Gun</a> where Tom Cruise's character is about to enter into a gunfight, but hesitates in self-doubt. The radio tower shouts at him, "<i>engage, Maverick, engage</i>", In true Hollywood fashion, he comes to his senses, engages and kicks everyone's a**. <br />
<br />
So, as cheesy as it sounds, the mantra I had was simply "<i>engage, Richele, engage</i>". I'm no fighter pilot, and I have no idea why Top Gun came to mind in the swim, but it helped enormously. For the first time in a mass swim, I was cognizant that the other swimmers dislike contact as much as I do. Whereas in the past, I would move away and seek calmer water if I got bumped - I stayed in, held my line and fought back when I needed to. In most instances, the swimmer bumping me moved instead.<br />
<br />
The swim was a "M" shape, with a beach exit after 2600m to start the second piece. My energy really dwindled after going upright to the beach the first time, and the diagonal placement of the swim buoys was very confusing / disorienting so I battled the pack a bit to stay in line. <br />
<br />
I never wear a watch during the swim and I don't look at the time on exiting - as a relatively weak swimmer, I feel that this information has no positive relevance for me. Swims can be short or long, and what is more important is feeling ready to hit the bike - my litmus test is whether there are still bikes in transition! Effort wise, I swam pretty hard and, albeit not knowing my time at that point, had a great swim (for me) - 1:07.<br />
<br />
<i>Ride like you mean it</i><br />
<br />
I have had some frustration this season on the bike. Normally it is my strongest of the three sports, but for a variety of reasons it has not been my happy place. Not intent to let this become my achilles heel, I was prepared to ride hard and make it count.<br />
<br />
The course is shaped like a figure 8, primarily flat to rolling for the first 110k, big climb at 120k in the Serra de Tramuntana mountains in the northwest of the island (so spectacular!) and flat to rolling for the remainder. Some technical descents, rough road and wind make it an honest course - and one that pacing is critical on.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7bJ4ecSIThGj_s68BULN_4kFqfUIOWhyphenhyphen45Ju9Rr5fT9fMsmbw4xazfguBG7o8MhDtcS8kpH_8tBwO7pTFKGGWB-8aK5-oB6WdMI00BIajOiW7fPRphSf1lPSLikE91qSVDevGw-kHNLo/s1600/IMG_0786.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7bJ4ecSIThGj_s68BULN_4kFqfUIOWhyphenhyphen45Ju9Rr5fT9fMsmbw4xazfguBG7o8MhDtcS8kpH_8tBwO7pTFKGGWB-8aK5-oB6WdMI00BIajOiW7fPRphSf1lPSLikE91qSVDevGw-kHNLo/s1600/IMG_0786.JPG" height="113" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The stunning climb</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I took the first hour fairly conservatively, warmed up and got into a rhythm. I was, however, pretty shocked at what was laid out in front of me...it was impossible to get clear of other riders. With a predominately male field that exits the water in quick succession, I suppose this is inevitable. What I was not prepared for, however, was the general willingness to deliberately pack ride.<br />
<br />
I hate this and it creates a very unfair race for the women cyclists wanting to ride a clean race in a male-dominated race. I was absolutely killing myself to break off the front, and only succeeded in dragging a pack with me that would swallow me on the next downhill. Uphill and flat, break free, downhill swarm. It is unnerving, and makes me very uncomfortable to ride in my aerobars when I am being swarmed. What I really don't understand is the unwillingness of some of the participants to even try to ride legal - it is very simple to ride 10m back. Quite advantageous really. And if everyone plays by this rule, it creates a fair ride.<br />
<br />
The motorbikes started breaking the packs (or at least scaring them into riding legal), thankfully, and for an extended section before the climb I was able to find space to ride my own race in my aerobars. The crowd in Alcudia and Pollenca was invigorating and heading into the climb, I felt great - I had ridden the first section conservatively enough to attack the climb, and had lots of energy to attack the hill.<br />
<br />
At the base of the climb I quietly relished passing every single person in the draft pack that had whizzed past me around 80k. Climbing brings out the real deal...and I love that there is no faking it. There was also more shade and the slower pace meant having time to eat and drink. <br />
<br />
There is simply no way of dancing around what happened next, however, without a bit of criticism directed at the race organizers. And, to be fair, I really appreciate and accept that there are logistical challenges and experience that come into organizing a race of this size, particularly in the first year. However, the fact that the only bike aid stations were <i><u>30 kilometers apart</u></i> is inexcusable. Worse, the bottles we were being handed were half full of water. So if you were lucky enough to grab and rack two bottles...you still only had one full bottle. <br />
<br />
So assuming that, under normal riding conditions, you are a camel and can go an hour on one bottle of water in hot, windy conditions, you are getting a mere one bottle roughly every 50-60 minutes (I was averaging about 34-36 kph at this point). But what they are forgetting is that 115 through 130k features a climb, averaging 5.5%. So you are no longer averaging a bottle an hour - it is more like 90 minutes to the next bottle (if you are a good climber), after a hot, sweaty climb. Hydration failure at precisely the point in the race where you need it the most. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXw-Ch9oMP75OddzKdH_TwWCt5ZJLj2WuRkFJJzqBMenErTCiyGOaZJ0RksZrttpI6Ad0bjOdFvIkRUuhZ_7dAnzD_KQeIfLD5Xkg5rbebmDiCjkj18xJEKE08HMUqktI_mLwgpHvZEk8/s1600/Capture.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXw-Ch9oMP75OddzKdH_TwWCt5ZJLj2WuRkFJJzqBMenErTCiyGOaZJ0RksZrttpI6Ad0bjOdFvIkRUuhZ_7dAnzD_KQeIfLD5Xkg5rbebmDiCjkj18xJEKE08HMUqktI_mLwgpHvZEk8/s1600/Capture.JPG" height="281" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I went dry at the top of the hill - around 130k. Rather than avoid missing my nutrition as well, I decided to choke down both my gel and salt tab sans liquid. Bad idea in case you ever consider it. The salt tab stuck in my throat and I was parched. I have done enough racing to know that if you feel thirsty, you are already well dehydrated. This was an alarm in my mind and by the time I eventually reached the aid station, I felt dizzy and headachy. <br />
<br />
I decided to come to a full stop at the next aid station and do damage control - I drank a bottle (well, half!) of water immediately, asked for two FULL bottles to rack on my bike and drank a half bottle of Cola. My abdomen had already started cramping, as had my legs, but I chose a lower gear than normal and "spun" through the next 30k.<br />
<br />
I always find that the last 30k of the Iron distance bike are a bit of war of attrition under normal circumstances - you are hot, tired and ready to get off the bike. At the same time, I am mentally preparing to run and I usually ride more conservatively to spin my legs out. This is absolutely not the point at which you want to be in disaster recovery mode, and I knew that adequate nutrition and water into the last hour of the bike was imperative. <br />
<br />
All the people I had worked to pass on the hill whizzed past me as I was stopped to refuel, but I desperately hoped that the decision to stop would pay off. Every other athlete I spoke to after the race had run dry as well, and several had experienced cramping issues to boot. Certainly it was hot and humid - everyone was coated with white salt stains on the bike. Not a good sign.<br />
<br />
Time-wise, I had a great ride relative to the field even though I sacrificed some time at the last aid station and over the final 30k. I rolled into T2 about 40 seconds shy of the 2nd place girl in my AG (she passed me after the climb) and knew that if I could run, I could well challenge her for the position. <br />
<br />
<b><i>Full stop </i></b><br />
<br />
Thoughts of chasing were fleeting - my head was all in, but my body had started checking out. When I dismounted and started rolling my bike through transition, it felt like a knife was stabbing me in the gut.<br />
<br />
I breathed, and walked my bike to the rack. Walked to pick up my bag. Sat down in transition and slowly breathed, got dressed. I knew that if I let the cramp ease off that I had a chance. As soon as I started moving again, it returned vengefully. Not surprisingly there was no water and no aid in T2 - the vollies informed me that I was going to have to get to 2.5k on the run course before I could have a drink of water (seriously...aid stations every 2.5k on a hot, sun-exposed run?) <br />
<br />
I have been in tough spots before in races. The roughest race before yesterday was the 2012 ITU long distance worlds, ironically also in Spain. Searing abdominal cramps through the run forced me to walk/run 30k, doing yoga breathing through the searing pain. It was a horribly painful experience, and one I later attributed to dehydration.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So I knew this pain. Debilitating pain, not the mind-over-matter kind of pain that you expect during a race this long. I ran 500m and stopped. Held my side, breathed hard to get rid of the cramp. Brendan was cheering on the course and convinced me to give it 10k to work itself out. I wasn't emotional, I wasn't upset - I was focused on that moment and doing what I could to get to the next. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I made it to 2k, then 5k, then 7k. Slowly. Instead of getting better, the pain spread - from my left side to my whole abdomen. Then my legs, then my calves, and into my feet. My trusted "easy" run stride - the one that gets me through the start of the shit that is always the Ironman run - was not possible. I made a bargain to myself - run one kilometre, then walk for a minute. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was totally, and perhaps stupidly, optimistic that I could make it better. I wanted to race. I wanted to run. In retrospect, however, I recognize that I was on a slippery slide - my belly sloshed around with the massive amounts of fluids I was trying to replace, and it simply stopped accepting them. I felt nauseous and GI distress started. I got cold, shivering and goose bumps. I was dizzy and lightheaded. The knife pain in my chest started every time I moved. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I walked to just past 11 kilometres, deliberating my options. It may have been possible for me to walk the remaining 31 kilometres, but to me it was not a question of whether I could finish - I had nothing to prove. And despite wanting to go, my body was telling me it was done. The medical assistance at the aid station told me the same thing - go on and risk the consequences, and it was certainly not getting better until I had stopped and rested. It did also occur to me that putting myself in a place of needing medical assistance while essentially traveling alone in a foreign country was not the brightest decision. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The moment I handed by bib in, I felt nothing. There was a calm knowing I was making the right decision at the time. There was absolutely no point in pushing myself further - no race, no medal, no finish is worth seriously damaging myself over. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b><i>Dropout</i></b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I do not take the DNF lightly. With an endurance resume that over the past 10 years has 7 iron distance finishes, a dozen or more half-irons, various other distance triathlons, 15 open marathons and two dozen half marathons, quitting has not been part of my repertoire. I don't consider myself lacking in tenacity either - I raced an Ironman with pneumonia, another one with an injured achilles...possibly both very stupid things in retrospect. I have battled through physical and emotional distress to varying levels of success, and I really felt like I had nothing to prove yesterday. <br />
<br /></div>
<div>
The place where I chose to race was at the edge. I wasn't cruising the race to finish - I was going hard, or going home. I knew that, and accept the consequences. Racing in that place, particularly over 10+ hours, requires diligence and precision in maintaining pace and effort, recognizing the signs of exertion and managing nutrition. I am pretty (brutally) honest with my self and my self-assessment. The race was fully "on" and then it wasn't - and it took 10k of horribly bad "running" to convince myself to quit. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And despite not finishing, there were small victories in the day - I stayed in my head, I stayed engaged, had a great (for me) swim, and I rode well. My confidence in my cycling is somewhat restored (and pretty chuffed to be the Canadian that out-rode the Euros in their own backyard). That being said, a triathlon is three events and failing to run after swimming and cycling well is really not the point. So I do need to get to the bottom of the problem before I race again. </div>
<div>
<br />
To me there was a recognizable difference between "hitting the wall" and what transpired yesterday - all the stubborn will in the world does not trump a body that stops functioning. At the same time, I take full responsibility for not managing my hydration on the bike, and you can bet I will be extremely diligent about managing the fine details of aid stations going forward. Would I enter another hot race knowing aid stations are that far apart? Will I race a WTC event in Europe again? Both highly unlikely.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
I am very thankful for the people who have reached out in the last day, knowing my disappointment. Athletes who I respect and look up to, who listened to my explanation of the situation and understood my decision. I feel a much less emblazoned with the scarlet letters D-N-F than I did yesterday. I am also very thankful that Brendan convinced me to put 10k into the run before deciding - it sealed the decision. I may have regretted not trying. </div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I see no point in regretting or looking back. Was it truly dehydration? Or perhaps a subconscious culmination of that and everything else - emotional toil, lack of investment, fatigue? What I do know is that I need a break to recharge and take the time for the other parts of my life that are, quite frankly, more valuable to me than swimming, riding and running. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I believe that racing adds an element to other aspects of your life that is truly irreplaceable - focus, determination and a belief in yourself. However, my life simply does not revolve around a finish line or a singular goal. If and when I choose, there are more adventures, start lines a plenty and never ending sweaty pursuits to dream up. However, there are also rainy morning sleep-ins, doggie beach walks, fun runs sans watch and Sunday morning football brunches that pique my interest...starting today!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-31500359815036635242014-09-23T01:08:00.001-07:002014-09-23T15:04:48.301-07:00Inner dialogueThe draw of endurance training and racing is different for everyone - whether it is the adrenaline rush, the escape from the every day, a path to fitness. For me, training largely feeds my introversion. While long rides and runs can certainly be social affairs, my preference is actually to do much of my training alone. It is my time to reflect, focus and be with myself. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The downside of training alone, however, is that sometimes the inner dialogue gets really challenging. I never really unplug from my own mind, and as a result, what I tell myself has an incredible way of either lifting me up or tearing me down. I am well aware that whatever mindset I create is the one that will pervade my consciousness and actions for the time to come.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have learned to trust the struggle my mind has at times, and accept where it leads me. Whether it is real or contrived, urgent or trivial. And, as happened several days last week, I accept that training on those days can sometimes end in tears. <br />
<br />
I am reflective today, as I sit halfway around the world from the place where I most wish to be now. Despite being in a beautiful (but rainy) city on the Mediterranean, my mind is firmly fixed on home.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjn6X0oWXRak6rGrDmg-74qr8hYtx1wodc9zNkh7gUpWJhuvQayjbFM21veaKLSy7iT0W9XQ-8cKDyVjjREAGLHuld0tPuT3fY1QHCKUOlLrDL5Rwjypng3Rm1-XbztGyVZHGtHkjB0dU/s1600/IMG_0700.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjn6X0oWXRak6rGrDmg-74qr8hYtx1wodc9zNkh7gUpWJhuvQayjbFM21veaKLSy7iT0W9XQ-8cKDyVjjREAGLHuld0tPuT3fY1QHCKUOlLrDL5Rwjypng3Rm1-XbztGyVZHGtHkjB0dU/s1600/IMG_0700.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moody skies in Barcelona</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
Though life can overwhelm at times, it is not impossible. Running, cycling, yoga and even swimming provides an incredible outlet for me - even if just as a reminder to let go and breathe, recalibrate and reaffirm. It is on the busiest and the most stressful days, when time is crunched, that this outlet is most needed for me - a getaway from the grind, a chance to refocus and invaluable perspective. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And there are days that certainly <i>feel</i> impossible - painful, difficult and unavoidable choices need to be made to move forward. You don't always have the choice of the fairy tale ending...but dwelling on hard choices does not prevent the inevitable. Discouraging at the present? Yes. But there is always a way to move through it. Impossible yields to possible.<br />
<br />
Everyone has their outlet, whether they are cognizant of it or not. But I believe you have the power to choose that outlet, and specifically, whether your outlet drowns your inner dialogue or lets it flourish. You choose whether that outlet is a destructive one or a positive one, and whether it is sustainable as a life choice. You also choose whether you are going to let yourself defeat yourself, or find the possibility and strength that most certainly resides in your mind. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I start each day in the life that I choose, and make choices that will impact the next moment, the next day, the next year and my lifetime ahead. I have learned put a huge premium on feeling good physically, nurturing myself mentally and facing each moment with the mindset that I chose. Sometimes, however, the things I choose - whether something as simple as getting up early or more major goals like a race, a work project, or a relationship - cause stress and require a lot of conviction to stick with. It's not rainbows and unicorns or an easy ride, and anyone that tells you that life IS easy is either lying or simply not challenging their own potential. <br />
<br />
So I move forward, not necessarily choosing the path of no resistance, but the one that has the most reward to me based on the priorities that I choose. I am well cognizant that, sometimes, the things most worthwhile to me in this life are those that are going to inevitably cause pain. Racing. Owning an aging dog. Engaging in a demanding career. Is it worth it? You bet. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbN8F2WQO2zHmvvK7h9kjJxO7bNoWw2xfmErbJtC-a7TxauUX4i9_3gnrLlmFTrQxoIz-G4oU0BJCCpBK_ZlcAyQIR20YJFvbT5wJ7F0ctrAO7UCTQClzbqvtyv7XuPnvxyRRY5SM3sew/s1600/nowornever1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbN8F2WQO2zHmvvK7h9kjJxO7bNoWw2xfmErbJtC-a7TxauUX4i9_3gnrLlmFTrQxoIz-G4oU0BJCCpBK_ZlcAyQIR20YJFvbT5wJ7F0ctrAO7UCTQClzbqvtyv7XuPnvxyRRY5SM3sew/s1600/nowornever1.jpg" height="305" width="400" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-85568521524261182752014-09-05T15:48:00.000-07:002014-09-11T10:53:22.302-07:00A lifestyle...not a bucket listThe weeks following Norseman have been interesting. The post race high is gone, but so is the fatigue. I am back in the routine of career and day to day obligations, and it is almost like the adventure was a dream. My heart beats, and my legs are coming back to life. <br />
<br />
What has been most interesting to me in the many conversations I have had about the race is the common thread of "<i>aren't you glad it is over</i>", "<i>now you can have fun</i>", and "<i>now you don't have to train".</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Wait, what?<br />
<br />
It is easiest to reply to this with a simple analogy. This IS my fun. If I were I dog, I would not be a lap dog. I'm an active dog - a retriever or a border collie. One that needs to move, to run. Starve me of exercise and I wilt. <br />
<br />
Though there is certainly a little bit of post-epic-race letdown, the finish line at Norseman was not the end of anything at all. Getting to a finish line is about the process, and all of the ups, downs and sideways that it delivered. But it does not end with the medal (or as the case would be, a t-shirt). There was no bucket, there was no list. To me, there is a continuation of a lifetime of dreaming, goal setting, processing and execution. <br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is a cliché: have fun when you train and it will not be work. As anyone who has trained for anything will attest, this is not always true...there are many days where starting is a challenge. Some days you glow, some days less so. But on balance, I train because I love it. There are choices in life that, to me, are simply not choices at all - eating well, exercising, sleeping. I don't want it any other way. I chase start lines because it is inextricably part of me and it empowers me to approach the rest of my life - the serious part with deadlines and clients and demands - with a level head and a happy heart. </div>
<br />
Every race is not an A race, nor is every event epic. It is not always about reaching limits or challenging the impossible...the Norseman's of this lifetime are well worth chasing, but it is a means rather than an end. Certainly that adrenaline rush is part of it, but the other very real motivation is to embrace athleticism, at whatever level, as a way of life: it is the comfort of consistency, routine and endorphins. It is being able to move, to breathe and to love how it sometimes hurts.<br />
<br />
So no, it's not over. I know that the adventures ahead will evolve and challenge me, but where they will lead are for the most part still a delicious mystery. Training goes on with boundless possibility. What I do know, however, is that every single drop of sweat I expend adds up to a lifetime of awesomeness.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidcwr8eZ-TmJFycTocA_hmQEgnFGMLpdkBC-bHmgGmCmzMYOcDl6zAmGNW1kkgCX4DyA4L_xNltTxo96KZQVDDOR0AH1M7vdwEityU9vDa2k-Q1WifdZxhrggQrqj9QHVh4tJQRhSsrBA/s1600/wake+up+and+be+awesome.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidcwr8eZ-TmJFycTocA_hmQEgnFGMLpdkBC-bHmgGmCmzMYOcDl6zAmGNW1kkgCX4DyA4L_xNltTxo96KZQVDDOR0AH1M7vdwEityU9vDa2k-Q1WifdZxhrggQrqj9QHVh4tJQRhSsrBA/s1600/wake+up+and+be+awesome.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-55128818661661741302014-08-14T16:13:00.000-07:002014-08-18T19:49:21.960-07:00Norseman...the gritty detailsIn preparing for Norseman, I relied heavily on blogs and race reports from years past that offered tidbits on what to expect, how to prepare, and how to gear up. Some of the more comprehensive race "reports" - the ones that are long and detailed, not the ones you write for your mother - were the best sources of information. I also really appreciated some direct input from a number of Norseman finishers, who were so helpful and forthcoming about preparing for the race (in particular, Ann and her "<a href="http://helpmetri.blogspot.de/2013/08/over-4000m-of-climbing-20-gels-and-1.html">Norsemanifesto</a>". So awesome!!). <br />
<br />
Hence, this post is about paying it forward. It goes into detail about what worked, what didn't work and what I would do differently...more of a play by play compared to <a href="http://www.richelef-lostintransition.com/2014/08/heia-norseman-2014.html">my highlights reel that I previously posted. </a><br />
<br />
Every race is unique. Even if you have raced the same race, year after year, the day itself is guaranteed to be different each time. So much goes into getting to the start line...and hopefully a finish line. You aim only to control what you can control, and accept what you cannot. I write here solely about the controllable factors - nutrition, gear, training, mental preparation - and not at all about the uncontrollable...weather, competition. <br />
<br />
(Editorial note...if you are not planning to race Norseman, this is a lot of detail you may simply not be interested in.)<br />
<br />
<b><i style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;">Logistics</span></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
My biggest takeway from the day was that specificity and experience matter. On this race course, in these conditions. Though I aimed to replicate the course in my training, without having actually trained (or previously raced) on the Norseman course, I was disadvantaged. <br />
<br />
Driving the course and pre-hiking Gaustatoppen was smart and worthwhile. It was the least I could do to gain some specificity before race day. If you are doing the race for the first time...get to Norway in advance and experience first hand what you are going to see on race day. I am pretty damned happy my first view of Gaustatoppen looming over me was not 10 hours into my race!<br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">Support</span></i></b><br />
<br />
You do not survive Norseman without your support. Don't misjudge this. Your team (be it one or more persons) is participating in the race every bit as much as you are. Communicate with them, be clear about what your expectations, and be prepared for <i>anything.</i> With good planning and a bit of luck, they will not choose to leave you out there to fend for yourself! (Particularly after seeing you all shrivelled and naked in transition. Sexy, this race is not.)<br />
<br />
Emotions fly high on race day. Everyone is a little sleep deprived, overinvested and eager. Be prepared to let things slide (even if they do forget to deliver you a gel precisely 15 minutes into the run, <i>damn you!</i>) and be flexible. Consider having two people on support...a nice buffer between you and your spouse / best friend forever who is so very excited to help you. Furthermore, if your well meaning spouse / BFF has never done a tri before and/or has no idea how to change a flat, it is probably best to have some additional support. Likewise, the person you choose as mountain escort should fully understand the physical demand that Zombie Hill and Gaustatoppen requires, and understand that when the going gets tough that you will need them to keep you in the game. Trust me, if your support goes soft and offers the way out to a DNF when you are being pummelled by the inevitable (choose one: cold/wind/rain/brutal weather/fatigue)...you will take it! <br />
<br />
(That being said, as an athlete, I was truly not appreciative of mass support teams bogging up the road with multiple vehicles and trapping me on the trail up Gaustatoppen behind six people. Be mindful of your footprint and how you are impacting other athletes.)<br />
<br />
You've invested long hours of training and god knows how much to travel to Norway, the land of the $6 bottled water. Don't start skimping when you get there, and stop converting NOK into your home currency. Save the sticker shock for the moment you open your credit card bill, and by all means, rent a car big enough for all of your crap. Repeat this....<i>rent a car big enough for all of your crap</i>! Because you WILL have a LOT of crap. Get the car organized and tidy, so your support team does not have to sit on top of your smelly wetsuit for hours on end and can actually find the water bottles you are yelling for.<br />
<br />
Things that seem obvious may not be so on race day, so think about your plan in advance. Make a list. It may seem silly, but will make total sense on race day. For instance, put something on your car on race day so that you can differentiate it from all of the other black Scoda wagons (a Canadian flag did nicely in my case). Have your support wear clothing that stands out. Get gear bags or bins to sort your stuff (blue for "bike", red for "run"!) Accept that you will not be sustainable for one day and buy individual servings of drink mix so your support team needs not measure sticky little scoopy cups into bottles. Little things. Think it through! <br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">Gear</span></i></b><br />
<br />
Did I mention how much crap you will have? Let me highlight that. Running races are simple...you put on a pair of shoes. Triathlon is more complex than that, particularly over longer distances. But Norseman is in a league of its own when it comes to gear. Kid yourself not...this is no tri, it is an adventure race.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1a2Wpzl9O2AmLqkzirQ2IuLcy0kg5ExfoL2IWP6LBEhUgAOZ8aFwYd3hO0WorzX622hfozhiXnl7hyphenhyphenWCdEWy0PKLXVfiao1RTm6jpRkkbRN3_nFh0mxus0_KspM-RPl7Jbt6dAJ8YU_4/s1600/crap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1a2Wpzl9O2AmLqkzirQ2IuLcy0kg5ExfoL2IWP6LBEhUgAOZ8aFwYd3hO0WorzX622hfozhiXnl7hyphenhyphenWCdEWy0PKLXVfiao1RTm6jpRkkbRN3_nFh0mxus0_KspM-RPl7Jbt6dAJ8YU_4/s1600/crap.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So much stuff to pack!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i><b>Bike</b></i><br />
<br />
I chose to ride my <a href="http://www.cervelo.com/en/bikes/p-series/p5.html">Cervelo P5 Six</a> with mechanical shifting, standard crank (53/39) and 11/28 cassette. Bear in mind that I am five foot five and weigh about 115 pounds...not exactly a lot to drag up those hills. I can totally see how a compact crank would be beneficial here, provided you can keep the desired power for the flat sections.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUL36fSOKxiPaoUzbir2GXlZgEI3CHoHdduvf9Jh9T2ivNQa_5lVRyCMOpItg1KBgmtAOyoxrvF4YGhS9Q9lY8IQvqq8QiXAd0Zaz7PgbGfYm8f3RM1brHyvj6mQmM-e_P1T-rYtM9YkQ/s1600/P5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUL36fSOKxiPaoUzbir2GXlZgEI3CHoHdduvf9Jh9T2ivNQa_5lVRyCMOpItg1KBgmtAOyoxrvF4YGhS9Q9lY8IQvqq8QiXAd0Zaz7PgbGfYm8f3RM1brHyvj6mQmM-e_P1T-rYtM9YkQ/s1600/P5.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gratuitous P5 fjord photo.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I am usually pretty comfortable on my P5 but found that I was fighting it on this course - there is quite a bit of side wind, and there is also traffic to contend with on the road. The final descent is also pretty rough - technical and steep, with some rough pavement. Based on this, I think there would have been a lot of benefit to having a road bike with tri bars. I would have much preferred to be on my R5 on that sketchy last section, but there is definitely some give and take with the aero advantage of my P5 on the windier / flatter sections. So in my mind, the decision to ride a tri bike here is not a given...do the research, go with what you are comfortable with. (Or, be like <a href="http://www.slowtwitch.com/News/Tim_DeBoom_s_Norseman_Day_2247.html">Tim DeBoom and ride a hybrid!</a>) <br />
<br />
I rode <a href="http://bike.shimano.com/publish/content/global_cycle/en/us/index/products/wheels/road_wheels/product.-code-WH-9000-C50-CL.-type-.wh_road.html">Shimano DuraAce C50 clinchers</a> with <a href="http://www.conti-online.com/www/bicycle_de_en/themes/race/Grand_Prix_4000_S_II.html">Conti 4000S II tires </a>(23mm) and latex tubes, and felt they were a perfect choice. The C35 would have been equivalently good, shaving off some climbing weight but offering less aerodynamic advantage in the wind. I have been riding the C50 for a few years, and bucked the trend to put on carbon wheels. Quite simply...braking capability is a good thing. The life-screeching-before-your-eyes experience of hauling down a hill in the rain on carbon wheels is not something I voluntarily put myself into (been there, done that...goodbye carbon wheels). As for 23mm vs 25mm tires and the rolling resistance debate, beggars cannot be choosers - I am just happy that 700cc wheels and 23mm tires actually fit onto my tiny little size 48 Cervelo! <br />
<br />
I went with the <a href="http://www.specialized.com/ca/en/ftr/helmets/mens-road-helmets/sworks-evade">Specialized Evade</a> as my helmet, not necessarily due to aerodynamics but for comfort. This it not a true TT bike course, and comfort factors heavily. My aerohelmet is heavy and uncomfortable, and as such, my preference was the Evade. However, a comfortable aerohelmet would be an appropriate choice as well. <br />
<br />
Due to the remoteness of the race, my bike tech kit was beefed up from what I would usually travel with. In the support car, I carried an extra tire in addition to spares, extra CO2, a floor pump, extra chain, extra brake pads and miscellaneous stuff like electrical tape, zap straps, teflon tape, etc. Jeremy (my mechanical guru slash support team) also had with him a pretty robust toolkit, including a torque wrench and a chain break. My crew also carried with them several litres of bottled water, wet wipes and sponges, extra chamois cream and sunscreen.<br />
<br />
<i><b>Footwear</b></i><br />
<br />
On the bike, I wore my trusty old (read: smelly) Specialized tri-vent shoes with Pearl Izumi thermal toe covers, with Solestar inserts and Icebreaker wool socks. In retrospect, my road shoes (<a href="http://shop.pearlizumi.com/product.php?pc_id=43&product_id=2107427&outlet=">Pearl Izumi PRO Leader II</a>) would have probably been warmer and just as comfortable. The road is rough in places (both sections of chip seal as well as some rough road), so the carbon sole was perfect. <br />
<br />
My <a href="http://shop.pearlizumi.com/product.php?mode=view&pc_id=91&product_id=1964045&outlet=&color_code=4GB">Pearl Izumi E:Motion Tri N1</a> were awesome for the first 37.5k of the run. I just started racing in these shoes this year, and am really impressed by them. They feel light and quick, are comfortable and the built in elastic laces make them easy to slip into. The elastic laces also manage swollen, sore feet really well, stretching with your feet but never feeling too loose or tight. There is absolutely no reason to be in a light racing shoe for the first 37.5k provided you are an efficient runner - the pavement is in great shape, and your tired legs will appreciate having a lightweight shoe on.<br />
<br />
At the 37.5k checkpoint, I opted to switch into <a href="http://shop.pearlizumi.com/product.php?mode=view&pc_id=91&product_id=1949971&outlet=&color_code=4GB">Pearl Izumi E:Motion Trail N1</a>. These shoes are as responsive as a road shoe, but offered a bit more traction and feel on the trail leading up to Mt. Gaustatoppen. It was also just really refreshing to put a clean pair of socks and new shoes on! <br />
<br />
<i><b>Clothing</b></i><br />
<br />
I chose not to dress "tri" for this race and opted out of the traditional lycra tri suit, feeling that it was not a particularly good choice for any leg of the race. It's a long day and I chose instead to wear very specific, technical gear for each section of the race. Given how wet we got, the opportunity to change into dry, comfortable gear was very much welcomed! <br />
<br />
Here is a run down of what clothing I chose, and why.<br />
<br />
<u><b>Swim:</b></u><br />
Orca RS1 Predator wetsuit<br />
Double silicon cap, earplugs<br />
Blue-tint Aqua Sphere Kaiman goggles<br />
Ratty old training swimsuit<br />
<br />
Wetsuit choice is just a personal one - I like how the Orca fits and feels in the water. I chose not to layer up with a neoprene cap or booties, again a personal call based on the stated 16 degree water temp and my training swims the days before the race. The water was brisk, but certainly not worth the discomfort of either booties or a neoprene cap. It was a good choice and I was totally comfortable for the swim. Besides...Canadian girls are like polar bears, right? ;) <br />
<br />
I chose blue tint googles to trick myself into believing I was in a lovely Caribbean sea. Not entirely effective, but I did really like the brightening effect of the goggles. Someone tipped me off to this after swimming Alcatraz in clear tint. Blue is just so much better! <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixzSb66FMnNasoL0tPkK-fh5SKqwJ2isCe8JSGONEVAim9io8fUis_BLJKvr3iMq2chBRxw3ygCVEE0rvSJ4xae3Dm6hvrV5pDZQfAvKctEpf2TMxAObqHFXLYwTMVz7xA5heKmfA0tNw/s1600/setsuit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixzSb66FMnNasoL0tPkK-fh5SKqwJ2isCe8JSGONEVAim9io8fUis_BLJKvr3iMq2chBRxw3ygCVEE0rvSJ4xae3Dm6hvrV5pDZQfAvKctEpf2TMxAObqHFXLYwTMVz7xA5heKmfA0tNw/s1600/setsuit.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No booties required.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<u><b>Bike:</b></u><br />
Icebreaker 150 base layer<br />
lululemon sports bra<br />
Pearl Izumi <a href="http://shop.pearlizumi.com/product.php?mode=view&pc_id=106&product_id=2210809&outlet=&color_code=021">PRO In-R-Cool Shorts</a> and PRO jersey<br />
Pearl Izumi arm sleeves<br />
Pearl Izumi <a href="http://shop.pearlizumi.com/product.php?mode=view&pc_id=491&product_id=1964379&outlet=&color_code=021">PRO Pittards gel glove</a><br />
Pearl Izumi <a href="http://shop.pearlizumi.com/product.php?mode=view&pc_id=105&product_id=1945092&outlet=&color_code=508">Elite Barrier vest</a><br />
<a href="http://www.vestifriends.com/Product.html">Vesti friends reflective bike vest</a><br />
<br />
Dressed as a roadie! This is my tried and true Vancouver, all-weather training "uniform". The wool base layer works magnificently whether hot or cool, and the choice of a high quality chamois and appropriate bike kit for the long 7 hour ride was a good one. Wearing good bike shorts compared to terrible tri shorts made a huge difference. As a relatively small person, I find it challenging to find gear that fits well, and made it a priority to have bike gear that was fitted and not flapping in the wind. As we were required to wear a bike vest and anything off the shelf totally hung from me, the proprietor of the bike vest company was so kind as to send me a small sample size. Given how long we were eventually required to wear the reflective gear, it turned out to be a good decision to get something of good quality.<br />
<br />
When the weather went south, I swapped my vest and fingerless gloves for the very awesome and water protective Pearl Izumi <a href="http://shop.pearlizumi.com/product.php?mode=view&pc_id=105&product_id=1886906&color_code=3UT&outlet=0">WXB jacket</a> and <a href="http://shop.pearlizumi.com/product.php?mode=view&pc_id=491&product_id=2041954&outlet=&color_code=021">PRO softshell gloves</a>. Fresh gloves made it possible to hang onto the wet aerobars and keep my hands warm on the treacherous descent. <br />
<br />
<u><b>Run:</b></u><br />
Pearl Izumi PRO tech top<br />
lululemon sports bra, <a href="http://shop.lululemon.com/products/clothes-accessories/shorts-run/Run-Speed-Short-32138?cc=15528&skuId=3568707&catId=shorts-run">speed shorts</a><br />
Headsweats visor<br />
<br />
What can I say? I dressed like I was going for a run. Lightweight and comfortable. The lulu shorts are ideal insofar that they have several pockets and I could pre-load with gels so I did not have to worry about grabbing nutrition out of T2.<br />
<br />
I had arm warmers and warmer layers available to me lest the weather dictate otherwise. As it was humid and warm, I did not need these and was able to go light, fast and comfortable on the run.<br />
<br />
<u><b>Hike:</b></u><br />
<a href="http://arcteryx.com/product.aspx?language=EN&category=Packs&subcat=Daypacks&model=Aerios-7-Backpack">Arc'teryx Aerios 7 pack </a>with water bladder<br />
<a href="http://arcteryx.com/product.aspx?language=EN&gender=Womens&category=Shell_Jackets&model=Cita-Jacket-W">Arc'teryx Cita wind jacket</a><br />
lululemon speed shorts...pair #2<br />
Icebreaker <a href="http://ca.icebreaker.com/en/womens-tshirts-tanks/aero-short-sleeve-crewe/101003.html?cts=D87%7CL81%7C501&dwvar_101003_color=501">short sleeve run top</a><br />
Icebreaker wool long sleeve technical layers, gloves, hat<br />
Petzl headlamp<br />
<br />
As Dan was my only mountain support, we kept things minimal and light. Arc'teryx gear is, quite simply, the most amazing, weatherproof, lightweight mountaineering stuff out there (and made in Vancouver!!) so we chose it for its functionality. The daypack was perfect - it fit a 1.5L water bladder, as well as extra clothing and some nutrition. I packed all of my extra clothing in a ziplock bag to keep it dry and ready for use...as it was humid and damp, this turned out to be a great choice.<br />
<br />
I did not use my wind jacket or the long clothing layers until I had actually finished, as I found the wool run top and my run shorts to be sufficient. However, other athletes were ascending in thick layers including jackets, pants and even down vests / jackets. It seemed overkill for the day we had...but warmer layers could be a worthwhile precaution if you are susceptible to cold.<br />
<br />
At the top, I did regret that I did not have my down jacket with me as it was very windy and cold after the finish. We had left our <a href="http://arcteryx.com/product.aspx?language=EN&gender=womens&category=Insulated_Jackets&model=Cerium-LT-Jacket-W">Arc'teryx Cerium LT jackets</a> at home...I wished I had mine! <br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">Nutrition</span></i></b><br />
<br />
Nutrition plans vary wildly between athletes, so I will be brief as my plan may not be relevant to yours. In short, I failed miserably on nutrition and needed to absolutely be more diligent in eating and drinking according to my plan. My failure was more related to execution rather than the products I used.<br />
<br />
On the bike, it was my intention to carry 60 to 90 minutes of nutrition and top up from support as required. I had two bottle cages - one downtube and one behind my seat, carrying bottles of<a href="http://firstendurance.com/nutrition/efs-drink.html"> EFS drink</a>. Although the EFS carries a pretty solid dose of electrolyte, I found myself getting dehydrated, with salt residue on my bike shorts, and started supplementing with one Saltstick tablet every 30 minutes.<br />
<br />
On the bike, I aimed to eat every 15 minutes and drink a minimum of one bottle of EFS per hour. Wind and course conditions (and then pure stubbornness) mixed up my plan quite a bit, and the solid food I had intended to consume on the first half of the bike just was not going down the way it did in training. I used a combination of GU Gels (salted caramel and vanilla-orange roctane; aiming to balance out the caffeine intake), EFS liquid shot (carried in a flask on the run), Prima nutrition bars, PowerBar smoothie bars and chocolate rice crisp bars (of the grocery store variety). I also ended up eating some of Dan's honey stinger gels, some watermelon supplied on the run course and flat cola on the run.<br />
<br />
Coming from a failed nutrition plan, my only recommendation would be to go with what you know...and barring that, have alternatives. I found that the bars I ate in training, while effective once I could choke them down, were just not going down very well. <br />
<br />
My other recommendation would be to eat and drink early, even before you need it. There were several sections later in the course that were so challenging due to the elements that I was too terrified or occupied to eat and drink. I estimate that I failed to eat anything during the final hour of the ride. <br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">Attitude</span></i></b><br />
<br />
Leave your expectations and your ten pieces of Ironman finisher gear at home. You don't just punch the ticket to a finish here, and quite frankly no one here cares about your fourteen iron finisher medals at home. I can guarantee the Norwegians racing this for the second, third, sixth time on their home turf really are tougher than you. <br />
<br />
There is a lot to be said for being confident and believing in yourself, but this race is simply <i>different</i>. To master it requires not just experience at triathlon, but experience on the course itself. Be open minded, and be mentally prepared to deal with those ups and downs...for longer than you have probably ever dealt with them before. <br />
<br />
Respect the locals, respect the location. Pick up your garbage, thank the volunteers, don't be a jerk tourist and appreciate every quirky and awesome little detail of this race.<br />
<br />richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-35790814526961144592014-08-07T14:38:00.005-07:002014-08-13T14:19:50.548-07:00Hēia! Norseman 2014Racing Norseman
was a powerful experience, and is a day that I struggle to find the words to
capture. The distance, the terrain, the
weather – spectacular, daunting, primal, impossibly possible. Like the scenery we experienced in Norway, it
is challenging to find superlatives that adequately capture the experience.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The media you have undoubtedly seen - the videos and photos - do the race justice. Norseman,
quite simply, is spectacular in every imaginable sense. Scenery so perfect that it could be computer
generated, unfathomably difficult in its abrupt climate changes and elevation
gain, and precise in its organization.
The race organizers have painstakingly created an elusive and exclusive
event. It is not just the lore of the
event that captures attention. This is a
top-notch race – all logistics magnificently handled, incredible volunteers,
and the Norwegian locals are welcoming and friendly. I am absolutely in love with these pure, grassroots events,
similar to Alcatraz, where the entire focus is on athlete experience. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even more extraordinary is that the race is not a solo effort - your team is as much vital to the day as your own efforts. Without them, you simply cannot get through the day. Your crew provides all your aid and nutrition, and in my case, a voice of reason. I am not sure if Jeremy and Dan fully understood the wild ride they were in for...but by the end of a long Saturday, we were indelibly a team. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg442kCtTEcnc_OkvUxQNU4HD-U4XaDVO_G3NU4pobLhrS-Pg9Sgkh2V2pReGlQ_mCx462LuhaOTtT9I8Grc_Jw25UB2vEtY8UOiNvUubrspF1Q9cQuVHVZmeTZODQWCPoUdgClcKaNVXk/s1600/IMG_0258.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg442kCtTEcnc_OkvUxQNU4HD-U4XaDVO_G3NU4pobLhrS-Pg9Sgkh2V2pReGlQ_mCx462LuhaOTtT9I8Grc_Jw25UB2vEtY8UOiNvUubrspF1Q9cQuVHVZmeTZODQWCPoUdgClcKaNVXk/s1600/IMG_0258.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My rugged support team...the race entirely impossible without them!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-CA"><b>Swimming in the dark<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">Looming
against the dark fjord, bright lights of the car deck ablaze, the infamous
ferry is even more ominous in person than it appears in photos. Almost without exception, the athletes
boarded at 4am in nervous silence. <i>Stay warm, stay calm, soak it in. </i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizHYcnu36uRHh3yMA1_16IlvPcuazPae5wyer9mOIAx9WNzIvHz1B14NoO6bR_iitdBi0GPdRWbLnIVFlkgoFQh67boc3crCQ3i5rf23CAv4G5888kAxa1CPP6Ms1hItuD6GCnUbMv4Ck/s1600/Norseman+start.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizHYcnu36uRHh3yMA1_16IlvPcuazPae5wyer9mOIAx9WNzIvHz1B14NoO6bR_iitdBi0GPdRWbLnIVFlkgoFQh67boc3crCQ3i5rf23CAv4G5888kAxa1CPP6Ms1hItuD6GCnUbMv4Ck/s1600/Norseman+start.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start captured by sports photographer <a href="http://www.sportsphotography.com.au/">Delly Carr</a> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It took about 40 minutes to reach the “start line” in the fjord – being a line of kayaks in the water. I approached the edge of the car deck tentatively, where they were allowing about 20-30 athletes off at a time. Not a fan of heights, my “jump” was more of an awkward bobble…hurling myself awkwardly from a seated position on the ferry deck into the dark water below. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With water temps hovering around 15 to 16 degrees, the water in the fjord was temperate enough to allow me to swim as I would usually at home in English Bay – double cap, earplugs, no booties or neoprene cap. Nonetheless, the shock of the cold water and fear involuntarily invoked panic. It was a scene to behold – swimming in a dark fjord, the ominous deck of the ferry glowing behind me - and yet it was incredibly tranquil and otherworldly. <i>So unreal.</i><br />
<br />
The swim course itself is pretty challenging – no buoys, no markers, just an L shaped swim along the shore back into Eidfjord. You truly do get dropped off in the middle of a fjord. There is but one turn, at a small boat about 3k into the swim, impossible to see from the start line. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Although I am usually a very nervous swimmer, I managed to compose myself during the 400m swim to the “start line”, and found the swim start to be very tame in comparison to the thrashing 1000+ person events I have previously experienced. Despite some cold sections of water and the foreboding darkness of the steep rock face reaching above me, swimming in the fjord was trance-like. There were few swimmers around me, no panic, no stress – it was luxurious, and I took it easy. Swimming in a fjord is, after all, a life experience to savour. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-CA"><b>Go time</b><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">Whereas the
swim was the calm, the bike unleashed a storm.
Stripped down, redressed and kitted up, Jeremy had me out of T1 efficiently and I was on my way up the mountain. The first 35k of the bike course is simply incredible, traveling from the base of the fjord to the Hardangervidda plateau
nearly 1,200m above. The course
traverses narrow bike paths, candle-lit tunnels and steep inclines before
reaching the first opportunity for aid at Dyranut. In a word:
primal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjsm3KOoMk5IFjNekMoifhNIuVLYvgiPrKtTjn-jaO2ct7hqD7pSHfMoTeCVLwjmkk4Xj2-Y4EWVsvVWtsVCjTTstXQ0JsqVHjFu44IJZomZAZw4mUU6iCYluLwMEg_3XEQBVbTKDNWpE/s1600/IMG_0139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjsm3KOoMk5IFjNekMoifhNIuVLYvgiPrKtTjn-jaO2ct7hqD7pSHfMoTeCVLwjmkk4Xj2-Y4EWVsvVWtsVCjTTstXQ0JsqVHjFu44IJZomZAZw4mUU6iCYluLwMEg_3XEQBVbTKDNWpE/s1600/IMG_0139.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The start of the bike course...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP-QhmLA7iJB-hWGT_vlXCbXmAkdlR5p_Tn5FUeaFrif0Hk7sOZvJ6dRzaRH017IxEsFWGu8FRZtgGaKFSGiP1uBT-uGg758epuUsJB7f1xi1dIxPHSMY8goitrIXYnYff7lo5jw58ByM/s1600/IMG_0062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP-QhmLA7iJB-hWGT_vlXCbXmAkdlR5p_Tn5FUeaFrif0Hk7sOZvJ6dRzaRH017IxEsFWGu8FRZtgGaKFSGiP1uBT-uGg758epuUsJB7f1xi1dIxPHSMY8goitrIXYnYff7lo5jw58ByM/s1600/IMG_0062.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...compared to the barren, but spectacular Hardangervidda</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">I reached
Dyranut in just under 2 hours (yes, two hours of climbing). I quickly ditched my reflective vest,
replacing it with a wind vest and arm warmers for the traverse across the
Hardangervidda plateau. In vast contrast to the breathtaking climb, the plateau
itself is windswept and rather bleak.
Head- and crosswinds cropped up, and the cat and mouse with several of
the other women began. I felt strong
during this section, and found my cycling legs around 60k of the course. </span>The omnipresent cheering (Hēia! Hēia!) spurned me forward - I felt amazing, confident and buoyant (and was even in fourth place at this point).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">At Norseman, however, comfort is fleeting. It was more humid than I had anticipated, and halfway through the course (near Geilo, and before the start of the heavy climbing) I felt tired, dehydrated and hungry. The gels I was consuming were insufficient, and the amount of fluid I was drinking was inadequate. Too late to save my climbing legs, I started taking salt tabs and solid nutrition. Whereas normally I feel strong on the bike, I struggled to find my legs and my spirit soon followed. I carried on stubbornly, with the trademark <a href="http://www.b78.is/">Jasper Blake optimism </a>that perhaps the next moment, or the next one, would offer some reprieve. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">At the
halfway point at Geilo, the Norseman bike course goes ballistic. Climb after relentless climb, with no
reprieve on the downhill due to sidewind, traffic and rough roads. I consider myself a “climber”, and yet during
the last major climb at Imingfell, I honestly felt that picking my bike up and
walking would have been faster. Jeremy
and Dan were doing their best at leapfrogging me to provide support, both of
the nutritional and the emotional varieties, but the slippery slide had begun. At the top of
Imingfell, I was completely spent.
Almost 6 hours in, and we were being instructed to put on reflective
vests and turn on our bike lights…a giant black cloud loomed ahead. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">What should
have been the start of a fast ride across the plateau and descent into the last
section of the course became a hellish battle against the elements. Battered by heavy wind, I kept turning my
crank…edging slowly along the plateau.
12 kph on a flat. And it only got
worse. Torrential rain started, visibility was limited to a few feet.
Soaked through, tearful and no longer able to feel my fingers or toes, I pulled
over and let my support team layer me up with a rain coat and new gloves. I was physically exhausted, nearly
hypothermic and incomprehensible…leading into the most technical section of the
course. Featuring hairpin turns in heavy rain, with extremely limited visibility, the descent was harrowing. I was terrified, spent and had lost all confidence in my bike handling skills. I pulled over, and asked to quit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ9Yt2IVAc9-qDczi-vF8ewZuX0vSn7o4Afi_TYnOWTg1TAq_Rnpx2MuMGW-JQJLg2QVAOK-qVQoetw8zGov95xKqZhiq9q2UYXdavxjFlh5P5hfQ3sgmUDuj2YEZfSQlFIIzkramQR9s/s1600/Imingfell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ9Yt2IVAc9-qDczi-vF8ewZuX0vSn7o4Afi_TYnOWTg1TAq_Rnpx2MuMGW-JQJLg2QVAOK-qVQoetw8zGov95xKqZhiq9q2UYXdavxjFlh5P5hfQ3sgmUDuj2YEZfSQlFIIzkramQR9s/s1600/Imingfell.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The heavy fog captured by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Delly-Carr-Sports-Photographer/251419854919722?hc_location=timeline">photographer Delly Carr</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My team knew in advance that it was entirely possible the day would come to this - the point at which my emotional and physical investment would overwhelm me, and I would be unable to rationalize through it. Jeremy and Dan, despite seeing me shivering in the cold and terrified, urged me on. <i>Ride slow. Take it easy. Just get through this section. </i>To be honest, I thought they were crazy.<br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i>
And yet, their candy-on-a-string strategy somewhat worked. I limped into T2. Too cold to care, too scared to take my hands off my bars to eat or drink. It had been over an hour since my last drink or gel, 3000 meters of elevation gain, and over seven hours in the saddle. (<i>Seven freaking HOURS. My last Ironman ride was a 5:14!!!</i>) I simply got to a point where, despite being cognizant of the root cause of the problem, was simply unwilling to do anything about it. Full bonk, in all its splendour.<br />
<br />
<i><b>Zombie slayer</b></i><br />
<br />
Getting to Norseman was a dream and a journey and an investment. To have nine months of sweat and dream culminate in a wild, frustratingly slow 7+ hour bike ride, in the most terrifying conditions possible, was maddening. I had worked myself into a deep funk...a cruel by-product of failed nutrition combined with a technically difficult course. But this, I reasoned, this was exactly why I wanted to race Norseman. <i>Because it's freaking Norseman! This is no free ride! <b>It is not </b><b>supposed to be easy!</b> Suck it up and check your expectations at the door, Richele.</i><br />
<br />
Changing into dry clothes and runners in T2, I forced a mindset change. <i>Thank you, Coach!</i> I was in control of the outcome. Nothing ahead of me - be it hills full of Zombies or a bloody typhoon - could be worse than what I had endured. Forget winning, or podiums, or seeded status...it was now about surviving, getting to the top, and getting that damned black t-shirt.<br />
<br />
I composed myself, and I ran. <i>Light steps, calm, easy, move forward. </i> In the first hour, on what any other day would be a lovely rolling lakeside run, I stubbornly kept my head down, forced back 6 gels, cola, water and ran my heart out. It was not fast, it was not particularly graceful, but it was full of determination. Every problem had a solution and, surprisingly, the more I moved forward, the easier it became.<br />
<br />
Miraculously, buoyed by sugar and caffeine, I came alive on the aptly named Zombie Hill. It became a game of repetitive execution and stubborness: forty running steps, walk fast, repeat, over a brutal 12k of steep, paved incline. Dan, knowing full well my limited mental capabilities, joined me, and we ascended without speaking. We even managed to pass a dozen other athletes. It was much too little, too late, but every painful step was one step closer to the top - that was all that mattered. My determination to finish transcended the staggering pain in my legs, the fatigue, the urge to stop moving.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijmNK7y52YIRLeLlA7BOsmt4PI1lBGs5alJtgDrK9wWydiPxpMv-qT8Qva2rLyyelgJBsriFnrxJ05igDPPbC307CUqZCJGBfU6qix-bEJT5FFSwL038yQXOXDu-CXbbZPWHogkX6HGnE/s1600/Norseman+run.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijmNK7y52YIRLeLlA7BOsmt4PI1lBGs5alJtgDrK9wWydiPxpMv-qT8Qva2rLyyelgJBsriFnrxJ05igDPPbC307CUqZCJGBfU6qix-bEJT5FFSwL038yQXOXDu-CXbbZPWHogkX6HGnE/s1600/Norseman+run.JPG" height="225" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The elevation profile of the "marathon"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The mountain checkpoint at 37.5k presented to me not only the best watermelon of my life, but one of the most incredible opportunities...the summit of Gaustatoppen. I passed the checkpoint with flying colors, swapped out into my Pearl Izumi trail runners (fresh shoes...oh, the bliss!) and happily moved up the rocky mountain trail. The pictures and accounts of the day recount high winds, fog and cold, but to be honest, I do not recall feeling any of it. I was wearing just run shorts, a short-sleeved wool t-shirt and my backpack, and felt no chill at all. It's pretty incredible what determination does to the way you feel.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxsMm2ZDhsHrxbj9RoxmqOTrRfjdflBDraKuX6ySyqRqqBqZIY-Ijsjb5tgDD4KEzd1BspFiffagjz5qmTi9hxCcIVMe_OhS10rw3nG6ukqDLDZOSu2NGI4LJkVfzV-nY1vtKi1_cjPSc/s1600/Norseman+summit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxsMm2ZDhsHrxbj9RoxmqOTrRfjdflBDraKuX6ySyqRqqBqZIY-Ijsjb5tgDD4KEzd1BspFiffagjz5qmTi9hxCcIVMe_OhS10rw3nG6ukqDLDZOSu2NGI4LJkVfzV-nY1vtKi1_cjPSc/s1600/Norseman+summit.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ghostly summit - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Delly-Carr-Sports-Photographer/251419854919722?hc_location=timeline">Delly Carr</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Step after step over cobbly, rocky and steep terrain, Dan and I made our way to the summit in less time than we had tourist hiked it the week before. Fourteen hours, seven minutes after jumping into a fjord at 5am that day...I was the proud owner of the very simple, but very sought after black t-shirt signifying the Norseman finish. Best finishers shirt of my life!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz6QdgNxSXkDX5SnMwHuEH1br1ITmEvADX2LBcfj_FMwqLcCkoA4NWghJ6eqxM14UzNZrtRVt65fgKl-r7VSRm1bjsCs2Bfy21EemlzYZcyN8wIBl33l5fxXvLTwW8vBhbQX_Nm_bfq3M/s1600/IMG_0163.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz6QdgNxSXkDX5SnMwHuEH1br1ITmEvADX2LBcfj_FMwqLcCkoA4NWghJ6eqxM14UzNZrtRVt65fgKl-r7VSRm1bjsCs2Bfy21EemlzYZcyN8wIBl33l5fxXvLTwW8vBhbQX_Nm_bfq3M/s1600/IMG_0163.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The black tee. Thank goodness it fits!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><i><b>Epilogue</b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">I am most certainly capable of racing faster here – it was definitely not a day I would characterize as being “full potential”. But, as anyone who has experienced the race will attest, this course has a very fine way of diminishing you – simply finishing is a lofty goal in and of itself. It is beyond humbling when <i>survive</i> becomes your goal within 3 hours of the start. Am I being melodramatic? As the pictures of the day and my support team can attest…not in the least. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">My biggest takeaway? Norseman is a race that rewards experience and specificity – not just racing experience, but experience on the race course and in the brutal conditions that the Norwegian landscape delivers. I vastly underestimated this. </span>To do well here, it is not enough to be fit and have raced the distance before. You absolutely need experience on<i> this </i>race course and in <i>these conditions</i>. There is simply no other race like it, and in retrospect, I vastly underestimated exactly how much this specificity would matter on race day. As it was impossible for me to spend any meaningful amount of time on the course in advance, my principal weapons on race day were determination and a certain measure of naivety. </div>
<br />
<span lang="EN-CA"></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">Last Saturday, I found layers of myself that I knew not existed. Certainly, I entered the race knowing that grit and stubbornness would factor heavily, but there was also fear, anguish and triumph in volumes more than I ever expected. </span>It was an incredible, soul-seeking, defining experience...arguably the toughest physical and mental challenge I have ever faced.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
**</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Congratulations to every other athlete who braved the day, and the support teams that made it possible for you. The amount of bravery, heart and dogged determination out there was simply awesome. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Huge thanks to the Norseman organizers for giving me the opportunity to race here, and for putting on an incredible race.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And, most of all, huge thanks to my entire support team...Jeremy, Dan, Jasper, my family and my training partners. This simply was not possible without you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-60709637476196839392014-07-29T02:02:00.000-07:002014-07-29T02:23:40.289-07:00Jetlag and fjords<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
The last few days, our first in Norway, brought to memory the sleeplessness of Al Pacino's character in <i>Insomnia</i>. Incessant, never ending daylight streams through, my circadian clock so utterly confused and refusing to cooperate. Dead tired in the afternoon, wide awake when the light starts streaming in at 4am.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
(Ironically, I just learned that <i>Insomnia</i> was actually a remake of a 1997 Norwegian film of the same name.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Our arrival was delayed 20 hours courtesy of various British Airways mishaps, followed by a sweaty, sleepless night in Oslo. Though remarkably modern and design-oriented (I guess I should not be so surprised...this is Scandinavia), our Oslo hotel was ill-equipped for the recent heat wave, and the room was rather tropical to say the least. As it turned out, the extra day lost to travel delays meant one less day in the sweat box / hot yoga room, which was just fine by us.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Once in Oslo, the travel stress diminished greatly. Bike and bags appeared in moments, and getting through the sleek airport and into downtown on the high speed train was effortless and efficient. Dragging a bike bag down cobbled streets is somewhat more challenging. Feeling thankful for Dan's help already! </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Commencing the long road trip to the Western side of the Norway, we travelled to Mount Gaustatoppen on the second day for some race course recon. Two hours of driving led us to the base of the mountain -approached from the road below, the summit menacingly looms overhead. Admittedly my heart dropped into my feet on first sight of the daunting peak, rising sharply to 1883m over the countryside. It would be the first of several of those moments over the next two days as I began to fully grasp exactly what the Norseman entails. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizWZfRVEv-KHFwF4IHOA6PKo9TYYa5qvXeDe-XOka9AKDvrcshsWNyIluNWcoQbay7ION4_73oQU1V1f1yiAjplBeM0CuyV4eHUxixSD-mkfg07OJbsD-b_0VGHHnGUxo_yvzWLtSRZZI/s1600/IMG_1154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizWZfRVEv-KHFwF4IHOA6PKo9TYYa5qvXeDe-XOka9AKDvrcshsWNyIluNWcoQbay7ION4_73oQU1V1f1yiAjplBeM0CuyV4eHUxixSD-mkfg07OJbsD-b_0VGHHnGUxo_yvzWLtSRZZI/s1600/IMG_1154.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gausta looming over the road below</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
The peak was shrouded in cloud as we ascended the switchbacks and checked into the hillside chalet at Gaustablikk. Having driven through all manner of threatening skies, driving rain and lightning on the way from Oslo, my expectation that we could reach the summit was well in check and we set out with our backpacks to check out the hiking trail on a best efforts basis.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A steep section of road links the town of Rjukan at the base to the trailhead at Stavsro. This section of switchbacks and 8-10% incline paved road is known as "Zombie Hill", and is essentially like ascending Seymour before you even <i>begin</i> the hike. Daunting? Yes.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRmZ2F44m35ldlet5lNlFUL578DrjY6cpBbPBT3AFt_RBxAqWn_zHewytYejY-TufmegeLN35Ye5Ar2jfFp_DyFq1tKS2PHX8I0ZA2KS1s4aJhx-5dwqLAY5BBDO5UC_JeQJpevbiSsw4/s1600/IMG_1160.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRmZ2F44m35ldlet5lNlFUL578DrjY6cpBbPBT3AFt_RBxAqWn_zHewytYejY-TufmegeLN35Ye5Ar2jfFp_DyFq1tKS2PHX8I0ZA2KS1s4aJhx-5dwqLAY5BBDO5UC_JeQJpevbiSsw4/s1600/IMG_1160.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading up Zombie Hill...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
The hiking trail to the summit is a well marked, rocky incline, about four and a half kilometres in total. My goal was to get a sense of the terrain in advance of race day. I am a creature of routine and find great comfort in familiarity. Knowing this about myself, I wanted to know exactly what I was in for (fingers crossed that I will have the opportunity to ascend for the black t-shirt!). </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSIkhRFKh_idaoS2ufsjTgAg0eOw6HBsZJHy7k8KOtCKJWzDEP3zy96B533bb2U7dnvg5yebELRdik4d7h89QtVaslMmOzSRBTkxLoZsH650_mMqQD_sBVoA16f7h0hrLMV1xT7ojtaOM/s1600/IMG_1173.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSIkhRFKh_idaoS2ufsjTgAg0eOw6HBsZJHy7k8KOtCKJWzDEP3zy96B533bb2U7dnvg5yebELRdik4d7h89QtVaslMmOzSRBTkxLoZsH650_mMqQD_sBVoA16f7h0hrLMV1xT7ojtaOM/s1600/IMG_1173.JPG" height="223" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Grouse Grind pales in comparison...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Amazingly, the clouds cleared as we started our climb and we were treated to incredible 360 degree views of the Norwegian countryside from the summit. Our guidebook told us (and I will trust it on this) that 1/6th of Norway is visible from the peak on a clear day. Whatever the expanse of the view truly is...it was undoubtedly incredible.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0lDU9eO4llPgPaAvmwsLibaGlcOxFT4uUmN95u6uooMZwxL4JqZCCaNeTh5tbTCbsFRbIgEGVhOFK8AtXeF2YoP-kQws0VY3QM14yplK3AQ716ZpeoZm9WKmObUsVVvD1Tk4CuZ70VAI/s1600/IMG_1177.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0lDU9eO4llPgPaAvmwsLibaGlcOxFT4uUmN95u6uooMZwxL4JqZCCaNeTh5tbTCbsFRbIgEGVhOFK8AtXeF2YoP-kQws0VY3QM14yplK3AQ716ZpeoZm9WKmObUsVVvD1Tk4CuZ70VAI/s1600/IMG_1177.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The top!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My takeaways from our hike to Gausta? Up is definitely better than down, and the Grouse Grind will never seem hard again! And as for how long it took to summit...I'm not telling :)<br />
<br />
The glorious sunshine held over for the next day (omnipresent at 4am, streaming in the hotel window to disturb any possibility of sleeping in). We justified the early wake up as race day acclimatization and accepted caffeine as the way forward through the day. Luckily the Norwegians seem to be very fond of strong, strong coffee :)<br />
<br />
Our day beheld driving the race course, lunch in Eidfjord, followed by a scenic drive along the fjords to our final stop in the coastal down of Bergen. In one word: stunning. The further west we drove, the more incredible the scenery became. Norway is expansive and wild (not dissimilar to the west coast of Canada), and is arguably one of the most beautiful countries I have ever been to.<br />
<br />
The bike course is simply wild. I have no words. The terrain is a study in stark contrasts - from the sublime (lush valleys, bucolic farmland, rustic towns) to the relentless (steep climbs, technical descents, the wild plateaus) to the painstakingly engineered (tunnels and switchbacks galore). Finding superlatives to describe it all is a challenge in and of itself, never mind contemplating that I am actually going to <i>ride</i> this thing. Picture the north shore mountains all strung together, and you get pretty close. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmX1eOBYi8WHnTUicRmFZpcUX7AN-MMS68SD371Q5GELxHsZgB2pVqBs-bzLBZnWcDxviOwHS3G4M9VzYSkii8W9UFFO4nppMS7kxr_xV4YtFqY6lKlHinZf0hjEUF_ITe-776qxQmfU4/s1600/IMG_1228.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmX1eOBYi8WHnTUicRmFZpcUX7AN-MMS68SD371Q5GELxHsZgB2pVqBs-bzLBZnWcDxviOwHS3G4M9VzYSkii8W9UFFO4nppMS7kxr_xV4YtFqY6lKlHinZf0hjEUF_ITe-776qxQmfU4/s1600/IMG_1228.JPG" height="223" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There are a few hills here. This isn't even all of them!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The flattest section of the course is also the highest, winding through the barren and windswept Hardangervidda plateau. Picture the moon, with some glaciers thrown in. In the theme of contrasts, the words<i> bleak</i> and <i>stunning</i> come to mind.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUufGVFIzDyFwYS6yqWk2EB6QaMNXTTm_-Y10FTBQcXqaAbkLkoFxlGuvTn7_Pr3VS4EuxCmnfXsmeasW1tteY63HdAqvV6Wp1zXOWpSLqhRmXTa5LsmYBz1KsGswblRQUy8lxR8PlTLM/s1600/IMG_0063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUufGVFIzDyFwYS6yqWk2EB6QaMNXTTm_-Y10FTBQcXqaAbkLkoFxlGuvTn7_Pr3VS4EuxCmnfXsmeasW1tteY63HdAqvV6Wp1zXOWpSLqhRmXTa5LsmYBz1KsGswblRQUy8lxR8PlTLM/s1600/IMG_0063.JPG" height="208" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The daunting Hardangervidda plateau, with glaciers in the distance.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Bleak did not last long, however. Following a harrowing descent into sheer cliffs, including several lengthy tunnels (the Norwegians are really into tunnels!), the town of Eidfjord and the Hardangerfjord appeared. It is like being magically transported into Rivendale. In fact, I swore to Dan several times that I was absolutely sure that hobbits live here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq4IVJq4TnZsnaUd8ndUHVjlvI9t1DS_3qepnHX7c5n2LoLayQohrlEJxyYh5Z7KNo-xyFWz2yCR4xgBfA7KzruaoC9qzT40kgsTKDM3w56SdFyOSi2iQahCp7MkSE4n029CHh87ViRUY/s1600/IMG_0065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq4IVJq4TnZsnaUd8ndUHVjlvI9t1DS_3qepnHX7c5n2LoLayQohrlEJxyYh5Z7KNo-xyFWz2yCR4xgBfA7KzruaoC9qzT40kgsTKDM3w56SdFyOSi2iQahCp7MkSE4n029CHh87ViRUY/s1600/IMG_0065.JPG" height="204" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The breathtaking Hardangerfjord.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
We enjoyed a lovely patio lunch, and dipped our toes into the water...then continued on our journey along the fjord. The magical, breathtaking scenery of the fjords simply never stopped. Rainbows, waterfalls, calm water, sheer cliffs, cute villages. So real...and unreal. It is remarkable to have the opportunity to travel to such a place, never mind have the chance to race in this setting.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Next up...a couple days of down time in Bergen. We have checked into the most lovely little B&B and have plans for a good dose of <i>nothing. </i>Fingers and toes are crossed for a few good nights of sleep before we return to Eidfjord and get ready to race!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEAkIA3PrCOnhOkBI-oL6YXvr43s4OnS_yfeqczYQm9P9Xs2o3lMpHirQ1jF9UpXbaDqP7L_96Uy3raDkuJLc7AoS2Ta8KQFXOvoKh6V7KrgOj_S7sPtp0xttuok7zMrtPptrk1G2Dv2s/s1600/IMG_0082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEAkIA3PrCOnhOkBI-oL6YXvr43s4OnS_yfeqczYQm9P9Xs2o3lMpHirQ1jF9UpXbaDqP7L_96Uy3raDkuJLc7AoS2Ta8KQFXOvoKh6V7KrgOj_S7sPtp0xttuok7zMrtPptrk1G2Dv2s/s1600/IMG_0082.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quaint Bergen.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
</div>
richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-78240040496901771182014-07-14T18:22:00.000-07:002014-07-15T10:24:53.353-07:00The devil I know...Over the past few weeks, I've had little time (or energy) to blog. Despite long hours of "me time" and flowery blog posts that draft themselves in my head on epic training days, actually getting the words down between eating / sleeping / cramming workouts has simply escaped me.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The truth is...I'm tired. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In little over a week, we will be boarding a plane to Norway for the adventure that Norseman promises to be. The last few weeks have thrown a little bit of everything at me to prepare me for the challenge ahead - hypothermic mountain runs, sketchy TT bike descents in the pouring rain, and, yesterday, a scorching hot tempo workout. Quite frankly, I am ready to tip the balance back to being more "normal"...no 7 hour rides in the schedule, time to spend with friends and family enjoying the summer, a glass of wine or three. </div>
<div>
<br />
None of this is new. The lead-up to an A race is the devil I know - it messes with my head as much as it does with my body. And as much as I know full well that I have put the effort in, the self-doubt creeps in from time-to-time. The panic to cram workouts in. Being frustrated when my tired legs do not fire on all cylinders. The feeling of not having done enough. At times, I have to make a concerted effort to step out of my head and force some perspective. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And in that perspective, what I am most appreciative of right now is tolerance.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
...tolerance from the friends who have agreed to participate and endure some of the recent escapades I have put them up to, and at times, even raised the bar on crazy. I am grateful for the inspirational and uber-talented athletes I am lucky to have as friends, who are willing to run up Mountain Highway in a downpour, sit on a road bike for 5+ hours to keep me company, and swim in (slimy) Kits beach water at the crack of dawn. I am thankful that you help me define that "normal" means being adventurous and willing to push limits, even if at times it is just my limit that gets reached. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
...tolerance from my boyfriend, who is still willing to climb a mountain in Norway on his vacation, (using HIS air miles no less). He has graciously supported me week in and week out, accepted that some workouts simply need to end in tears (or shivering in the tub), and understands that the grumpiness is usually cured with food.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
...tolerance from my coach, who is a voice of reason and sanity, who has a reasonable explanation for every quirky trick my body plays on me. For patiently explaining why things are the way they are, even though I probably already know that but just need to be told for the fourth time. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
...tolerance from my body. It has accepted more ounces of sodium, sports drink, nutritional bars and strawberry popsicles than one should reasonably subject themselves to, and despite the occasional RMT fix-up, has so far managed (miraculously) to stand up to the constant load / recovery cycle. </div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
So why am I writing this? Because everything that I feel is real, it is not sugar-coated, and because I see it in the eyes of the people around me who are training for their upcoming A races. <br />
<br />
There is no logic in what you feel, you cannot cram anything more in, and the only thing you can do now is to remain positive and let your body complete its final adaptation for race day...the adaptation that occurs when you let it recover. No one said it would be easy...but I promise it will be worth it :) </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Whatever adventure awaits, with whatever result it yields, is perfect. </div>
richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-3819343225719273782014-06-10T12:41:00.000-07:002014-06-10T16:06:54.941-07:00Escape!Racing <a href="http://www.escapefromalcatraztriathlon.com/">Escape from Alcatraz </a>was an intimidating, challenging and interesting experience, unexpected in so many ways. <br />
<br />
Coach Jasper's views on staying grounded in the moment, being positive and having fun made the difference. This was a race built on a foundation of being resilient...trusting in myself to keep moving forward, and knowing that even if things were not *quite* going well in that particular moment, that there was always an opportunity to change the trajectory of the day.<br />
<br />
<b><i>Road trip!</i></b><br />
<br />
I decided to make a holiday out of the trip down to San Francisco and check off a Highway 101 road trip off my life's to-do list. My dad, Bogey and I made the drive down the coast, then Dan traded spots in San Fran and made the return trip via CA and OR wine country. Amazing drive!! <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhffeWfcRYx1b9GRDyuBumcMXoDBzVAHBjTPkPq7YgHz7j-LN6oi57MDBLgjc55EulheNOcCzOhbT-vHECAD-ORWiVB_6btzuBgl2gPkxTgWSJpl1HDqTBK3WagPrI-5PioNmhIATKo_O4/s1600/IMG_0922.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhffeWfcRYx1b9GRDyuBumcMXoDBzVAHBjTPkPq7YgHz7j-LN6oi57MDBLgjc55EulheNOcCzOhbT-vHECAD-ORWiVB_6btzuBgl2gPkxTgWSJpl1HDqTBK3WagPrI-5PioNmhIATKo_O4/s1600/IMG_0922.JPG" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzPrcBIYHziJNZlHmCEz6FbITMpm1zZRIghgq1c2iJ3Gmkc_C0-FtgLu6jViHq3upRZCY55Z9_Xfw7Lo_kjw7ZqVZUMsqnJllILXQHN9gSkqNBaUx4RNkdWGshYgT-oya9Jc_BDNA2cn0/s1600/IMG_0988.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzPrcBIYHziJNZlHmCEz6FbITMpm1zZRIghgq1c2iJ3Gmkc_C0-FtgLu6jViHq3upRZCY55Z9_Xfw7Lo_kjw7ZqVZUMsqnJllILXQHN9gSkqNBaUx4RNkdWGshYgT-oya9Jc_BDNA2cn0/s1600/IMG_0988.JPG" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt8RhyphenhyphenjWtC7NAa4BjjpZzmCUitImgUaWInoiHcj-Fx_QRv58frxWEDL1w_htodCuW9RpD1jv6O484Mwj7VAosUSS0BtClm6X0l42P_8RAq2C1giYvy4K-QBtjKV2FFQvO02zQZfK0-ytg/s1600/IMG_0998.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt8RhyphenhyphenjWtC7NAa4BjjpZzmCUitImgUaWInoiHcj-Fx_QRv58frxWEDL1w_htodCuW9RpD1jv6O484Mwj7VAosUSS0BtClm6X0l42P_8RAq2C1giYvy4K-QBtjKV2FFQvO02zQZfK0-ytg/s1600/IMG_0998.JPG" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicK-iB26t9DEh_I0kb3YI63PwkhUBGjnuu_pahUJBRDyUXvgBsWeG1WdkqapxexOtMILQermt8hC7tfdi2QGlLRf-lL1cNlPGW4dAd9xu6SI2fxA1OhXxb7AiRvmEZd33pPeRQpubiFjc/s1600/IMG_1061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicK-iB26t9DEh_I0kb3YI63PwkhUBGjnuu_pahUJBRDyUXvgBsWeG1WdkqapxexOtMILQermt8hC7tfdi2QGlLRf-lL1cNlPGW4dAd9xu6SI2fxA1OhXxb7AiRvmEZd33pPeRQpubiFjc/s1600/IMG_1061.JPG" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<b><i>Swimming with the sharks</i></b><br />
<br />
First things first...that swim.<br />
<br />
When I "won" the lottery into the race, <a href="http://www.richelef-lostintransition.com/2013/11/scary.html">I posted about how terrified I was about the swim.</a> As race day approached, that fear blossomed. Jumping off a ferry into the shark-infested, frigid bay was getting pretty real. <br />
<br />
The first thing I did upon arriving in San Fran was to grab my wetsuit and head down to the aquatic centre to see how cold the water really was. There were about a dozen triathletes getting ready to head into the water, and I discovered I was the only person gearing up that (a) did not have booties and (b) did not have a neoprene cap. Stepping into the water, however, I realized that being from Canada is advantageous in that it warps perception of cold water. The water in English Bay a week previous was definitely colder. <i>#betough </i> <br />
<br />
So the Aquatic Centre is not exactly the centre of the bay and the race director did indicate that water temps could vary up to 5 degrees based on the tide pattern, but at this point, confidence was gained. Hype was forgotten...it's just a swim. Mind you, I did skip the aquarium tour in favor of remaining blissfully ignorant as to what else may have been swimming in that water. <br />
<br />
<b><i>Maybe it really is that bad...</i></b><br />
<br />
Race morning was auto-pilot. Ride to transition, set up transition, get on the bus, stay warm. I was really happy to have the company of Martina and Paul on the ferry to alleviate the stress and take my mind away from the task at hand. As relaxing as the ride over was, it still did not stop the involuntary shaking once the ferry arrived at Alcatraz and the wetsuit-lemmings started hurling themselves off the boat. <br />
<br />
Once you cross the timing mat on the boat, there is no turning back. In fact, if you don't jump at the count of three...you are getting pushed. So over the edge I went. <i>#notgraceful</i> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAuN9_Q9NXDO_0nZoa0AdjdfEGbeb-yeK1kq8tmC8Cd5HPpf_QqSKM_kxnoFV_pKj2WnEUAqCNRoo1Kv8_EPM_ScvmUfvdDl1KDq48BTPFJe04QxxRp03uFt-RyIMX9WC8aTieplJ2eOE/s1600/escape+swim+start.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAuN9_Q9NXDO_0nZoa0AdjdfEGbeb-yeK1kq8tmC8Cd5HPpf_QqSKM_kxnoFV_pKj2WnEUAqCNRoo1Kv8_EPM_ScvmUfvdDl1KDq48BTPFJe04QxxRp03uFt-RyIMX9WC8aTieplJ2eOE/s1600/escape+swim+start.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2014 swim start photo from <a href="https://www.facebook.com/EscapeAlcatrazTri">Escape from Alcatraz facebook page</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was already in shock, so the cold water did not really register. Focused on the task at hand, I swam off, reminding myself to stay on the left. Sight to the left. Breathe. Stay calm.<br />
<br />
After ten minutes of what I would call "manageable chop", the bay turned very rough. At that point, it was the scariest swim I have ever done, and I panicked. Every time I put my face back in, I would get flipped around (at one point even swimming backwards). I drank water. I breast stroked. I hyperventilated. Two other swimmers got thrown into me by waves. I drank more water, was disoriented and was coughing. It was at this point that I gave up. I saw a kayak and I started swimming for it. <i>Done!</i><br />
<br />
Giving up does not come easily at Alcatraz, however. After swimming toward the kayak without success, I realized I was actually fighting the current to get over there. Quitting was futile.<br />
<br />
I remembered what my coach said about racing...be a flat line, refuse to get emotional, stay in the moment and it will improve. And you know what? It works. After keeping my head down for 5 minutes, the water got calmer. As promised by the race director, the current dragged me into the shore. And, as promised by Jasper, things improved. <br />
<br />
<b><i>The swamp monster emerges</i></b><br />
<br />
With a disproportionately long (and tough) swim and a short bike course (only 30k), the Alcatraz race course does not play to my strengths. Long, hilly, wear-those-fast-girls-down bike courses are more suited to me. <br />
<br />
Knowing this, from the get-go my mentality towards this race was as a life experience, not take it seriously, and have as much fun as possible. Thousands of people apply for the lottery, and getting "picked" is a pretty incredible opportunity to do something [insert here: wacky / brave / stupid]. During my "I quit" moments on the swim, I rationalized why I was there. I chose to enter the race, and I was going to finish with a smile on my face.<br />
<br />
So it was with fun in mind that I emerged from the bay to rip up the Presidio on my R5. Dan indicated that my T1 photos were of a goo-covered sopping wet girl he was not sure he knew...to which I replied "did you see what I swam in?"<br />
<br />
So, I'll save the T1 swamp-monster photos for myself and share a happy bike photo instead. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2zLYUfrXGksVhnd9vLj548sG3eyYl6W_8YrIRWmBv-MOSjZEXE8JlVHi2gibVhfIBdCEjV56lKKphf6oQsbhh9sphFDx0COfphqplDgnZ_NmwuYRnJSqew8uaYWSnKg6QOWgv8iODR3o/s1600/766088-1013-0018s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2zLYUfrXGksVhnd9vLj548sG3eyYl6W_8YrIRWmBv-MOSjZEXE8JlVHi2gibVhfIBdCEjV56lKKphf6oQsbhh9sphFDx0COfphqplDgnZ_NmwuYRnJSqew8uaYWSnKg6QOWgv8iODR3o/s1600/766088-1013-0018s.jpg" height="400" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No more swimming = happy girl!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i>Happy is infectious</i></b><br />
<br />
Once rooted on dry land, I cannot remember ever having so much fun at a race...which is entirely the point of this whole triathlon thing. It is awesome to feel great, have fun and be able to smile at the finish.<br />
<br />
I was so fixated on the swim that I had not focused on what the bike and run would bring. While that swim is pretty serious, the bike and run courses are no joke either. Both are fairly technical, very undulating and extremely fun. Did I say fun? It was so much fun! <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Y17teJ6Dkl1t9M_jNxo9zK3Tm5tDouHOurRtaYnBX4k2-vA7mtxFbQVRy59FpGiYGvYPS7CdfvQObEwpfts5pENZdQdWWX4iK7nHZ7N6fB09Fm_2i7RwYrLoxcv0vlmkd7jVbBOyr6Q/s1600/766101-1006-0014s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Y17teJ6Dkl1t9M_jNxo9zK3Tm5tDouHOurRtaYnBX4k2-vA7mtxFbQVRy59FpGiYGvYPS7CdfvQObEwpfts5pENZdQdWWX4iK7nHZ7N6fB09Fm_2i7RwYrLoxcv0vlmkd7jVbBOyr6Q/s1600/766101-1006-0014s.jpg" height="400" width="260" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just out for a stroll on the sand ladder. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Escape from Alcatraz was an incredibly tough, but fantastic experience. It was also a good lesson that the best races are those approached with an acceptance of "bad" moments, resilience and an open mind to make the next moment better. Settling out to have fun, challenging what seems to be impossible at the time and relishing in the moment yields very positive results! <br />
<br />
As for the event itself...do not let my swim description discourage you. This is a must-do, first class race. 2000 athletes, but very little of the pretense or pomp that tends to attach itself to races of this size. The race director is incredible and upbeat (and everyone gets to finish!), the organization and volunteers were fantastic and the course...well, you can say you escaped Alcatraz!<br />
<br />
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheV7uVDnuy42qs3qmICxGzQXWu5wyglIEUg-6dkhyphenhyphenXWll-bHpXFBMszzRvoSVh_RqDxxKn51Xx4iTYmbV51NssuKpy7_oyG2vCDWuB0b_JV0CSfKm8FatAcTQzEINBxjG-_sJ8Y8T9_BU/s1600/766103-1009-0042s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheV7uVDnuy42qs3qmICxGzQXWu5wyglIEUg-6dkhyphenhyphenXWll-bHpXFBMszzRvoSVh_RqDxxKn51Xx4iTYmbV51NssuKpy7_oyG2vCDWuB0b_JV0CSfKm8FatAcTQzEINBxjG-_sJ8Y8T9_BU/s1600/766103-1009-0042s.jpg" height="400" width="263" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Check out my matchy #pearlizumi kit and shoes. So awesome!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSlqXr8Yi0-SxcDi8c470-oob8TlV7G0KvSlEmPVsDs2HLjtI9oTR_fDGd1NDxamTcbBCfvxPExAhE8OefpWCkrL_Yi5NB3ZXwV-6pijMwgUwPrkBTGzuafqgT9a9wiv1A6FbnZTX6Yd4/s1600/awards.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSlqXr8Yi0-SxcDi8c470-oob8TlV7G0KvSlEmPVsDs2HLjtI9oTR_fDGd1NDxamTcbBCfvxPExAhE8OefpWCkrL_Yi5NB3ZXwV-6pijMwgUwPrkBTGzuafqgT9a9wiv1A6FbnZTX6Yd4/s1600/awards.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Podium! Oh...and more spanky #pearlizumi :) Girls need matchy shoes!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCVmLD1Y2w-5I9i2o_aM-77DfxHN9MCxjvxGGV2VQh91Tu1BVx0UEZwGIX_hOrDpU5WzpG7wCJ8jMDjFzX1ARz0_RPjMhL81vBFQKp3PpM77K9wYf0D1JnxurVd4c8mFkRZArnbMk1olw/s1600/IMG_20140601_165206.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCVmLD1Y2w-5I9i2o_aM-77DfxHN9MCxjvxGGV2VQh91Tu1BVx0UEZwGIX_hOrDpU5WzpG7wCJ8jMDjFzX1ARz0_RPjMhL81vBFQKp3PpM77K9wYf0D1JnxurVd4c8mFkRZArnbMk1olw/s1600/IMG_20140601_165206.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<b><i>Big thanks...</i></b><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.b78.is/jasper/">Coach Jasper</a>...for keeping the focus on the right things - being balanced, being positive and living the experience. Keep being so awesome!<br />
<br />
My cheer squad - Dad, Dan, Marlene, John and Hilary.<br />
<br />
Jeremy, Erin, Murray and Mike at <a href="http://www.speedtheory.ca/van/">Speed Theory</a><br />
<br />
Elladee and Doug at Katana Sports...if you look good, you are fast! #pearlizumi #shimano<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-70998272883822798542014-05-13T20:19:00.000-07:002014-05-13T20:47:34.911-07:00The sunburn trifectaThe comfortable routine of [train, work, eat, process laundry, sleep, repeat] was interrupted in mid-April for a triple threat of travel to sunny locations...one stop which included the kick-off of the 2014 tri season. Whereas in previous years, these trips may have been worthy of multiple blog posts, this single post will serve as the full run down of the Maui-St.Croix-Miami sunburn trifecta. Who has time to blog...I have two weeks of laundry to do!<br />
<br />
<b><i>Playing bikes in Maui</i></b><br />
<br />
Easter long weekend meant a whirlwind trip to Maui. A much needed battery recharge and dose of aloha. Is there a better place to vacation/train on the planet? Not a chance. <i>Bikes! Beaches! Birthday boy!</i><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaNoFshl7uTQgUIc4MgI0UfOKDCGYPR_aOJtaIUC7u5ULS646Y2s7Q6F5FMjAeSagMIBEtlwLQP87I9bz-ClZ0xm3alkkcttUUPWuyddDOJhajrfAoAV4deb_Eqc4Im_F2YVWlx5jxxOA/s1600/IMG_0827.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaNoFshl7uTQgUIc4MgI0UfOKDCGYPR_aOJtaIUC7u5ULS646Y2s7Q6F5FMjAeSagMIBEtlwLQP87I9bz-ClZ0xm3alkkcttUUPWuyddDOJhajrfAoAV4deb_Eqc4Im_F2YVWlx5jxxOA/s1600/IMG_0827.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The road to Hana...a ride like no other!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXjoo773gp1fN2Dp3ptZ9fpDeTS0XPmnexI5BsZDWmgWqvCPQUftst_EW15vjYNzrS55FCn_4JgavXzYKifQ_plfps63IrWpfV-tOec1QBcKY-U_j2sAKfieIvanMgljt1soby13_qzJM/s1600/IMG_0826.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXjoo773gp1fN2Dp3ptZ9fpDeTS0XPmnexI5BsZDWmgWqvCPQUftst_EW15vjYNzrS55FCn_4JgavXzYKifQ_plfps63IrWpfV-tOec1QBcKY-U_j2sAKfieIvanMgljt1soby13_qzJM/s1600/IMG_0826.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the most stunning rides in the world, for sure!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPYIzbd7CGoEadFOEp6jRLquiZITCIUl7bh7tDiCyZ5b3OmBePCFrfI5GzroMnIJTEYAHKZZuQZlcikdq8mKYW9uzadqfSdQrCmHz4KsTLFSgGgmwE6QIbsBtftkSGs6qAxj3rEKgWlto/s1600/IMG_0779.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPYIzbd7CGoEadFOEp6jRLquiZITCIUl7bh7tDiCyZ5b3OmBePCFrfI5GzroMnIJTEYAHKZZuQZlcikdq8mKYW9uzadqfSdQrCmHz4KsTLFSgGgmwE6QIbsBtftkSGs6qAxj3rEKgWlto/s1600/IMG_0779.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Upcountry vista</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnousEQqaOy16xOqGO0ooHNwaLFjbz20rzFwBWQpd-b05ROWCBdf9njm4esU2QU-rbSm8WhX8WRuYyF3lhPi__Vcj8WmqUgf-MIEr9IS_m9t7YIPR2q5F9b0ffO0mpbJlNqndWd0Cevg/s1600/IMG_0807.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnousEQqaOy16xOqGO0ooHNwaLFjbz20rzFwBWQpd-b05ROWCBdf9njm4esU2QU-rbSm8WhX8WRuYyF3lhPi__Vcj8WmqUgf-MIEr9IS_m9t7YIPR2q5F9b0ffO0mpbJlNqndWd0Cevg/s1600/IMG_0807.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beach time!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6biQLoUBST99yhGvuPEjVhG-AqB9PfhPI7xqR881fmTbQZF8sRA3W1Oox-CmPqwjDrIhGghxYrO2EV-xcjJbfhirEUClM7E2t6nKeXEWvHiQnNYc8zhmYAVITKl9WmyvRskKqq5IXmfQ/s1600/mamas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6biQLoUBST99yhGvuPEjVhG-AqB9PfhPI7xqR881fmTbQZF8sRA3W1Oox-CmPqwjDrIhGghxYrO2EV-xcjJbfhirEUClM7E2t6nKeXEWvHiQnNYc8zhmYAVITKl9WmyvRskKqq5IXmfQ/s1600/mamas.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Recovery cocktails</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In addition to a little R&R, several days of fantastic riding and (ahem) a few fruity cocktails, Maui was a good reminder that training in Vancouver spring rain does nothing to prepare you well for heat, humidity and wind. The Paia blast furnace with gusts up to 55kph was a pretty stark contrast from the early season riding I had done to date.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The road to Hana is seriously one of the most gorgeous rides I have ever done. While driving it in a car is certainly impressive (albeit nausea inducing), slowing down a little and relishing it on a road bike is an entirely different experience. The road is twisty, hilly and seriously awesome to zip around on. A road bike enables the full experience in 3D...the glorious smell of the lush greenery, the sounds of the birds and the feel of the road. Trust me, that roadside coconut water tastes even better when you have earned it. Amazing!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b><i>Onto St. Croix....</i></b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A quick repack, some laundry (the recurring theme), and I was off to St. Croix for the <a href="http://www.stcroixtriathlon.com/">Captain Morgan Ironman 70.3</a>. Such <a href="http://www.richelef-lostintransition.com/2014/05/dazzling.html">a gorgeous place</a>...such a tough race. But alas, you don't come to St. Croix expecting to come by that finisher medal easily. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I love this race and it is an absolute must-do. It is totally low-key with a fantastic Caribbean vibe, yet attracts a Kona-quality field like no other I have experienced outside Hawaii. A good early season a**-kicking courtesy of the elements, and a seriously fast group of women to play with! </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOWRKInT8kC2KiNtSwCGVpMCI_trG1zO_05gUlg0QWky6KEt3YGwYz_dXMUvcZJhNIEj99AJEiVvM6b6ttgxP2aY3_A1tqNL_J1k-UnR6H2B29V4OyBguxGZgfCklwUWmGczxfDOJk5S4/s1600/ocean+potion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOWRKInT8kC2KiNtSwCGVpMCI_trG1zO_05gUlg0QWky6KEt3YGwYz_dXMUvcZJhNIEj99AJEiVvM6b6ttgxP2aY3_A1tqNL_J1k-UnR6H2B29V4OyBguxGZgfCklwUWmGczxfDOJk5S4/s1600/ocean+potion.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My "fruity" sun protection!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In my attempt to remain as lily-white as possible before the race, I picked up some SPF 50 children's sunscreen. Unfortunately, the "fruity fragrance" meant that I smelled curiously like rum punch. However, I can attest that I did not actually dig into the 26er of spiced rum that came along with the race packet. Odd choice for a triathlon...but it is the Caribbean after all!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuYsRMA0Jyx9bsJBJ67mctj-vAe_us7QeXjvqGz0jDeDRQcLnWm4xGuD8Mwto8h3DUQ9LtdrvzyWYaiA9m5NrRM_GFEIqvp556mGFKKbxptS1yyrlqbzhXk9_JIYbWJSx6NdjNlIvHUH0/s1600/captain+morgan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuYsRMA0Jyx9bsJBJ67mctj-vAe_us7QeXjvqGz0jDeDRQcLnWm4xGuD8Mwto8h3DUQ9LtdrvzyWYaiA9m5NrRM_GFEIqvp556mGFKKbxptS1yyrlqbzhXk9_JIYbWJSx6NdjNlIvHUH0/s1600/captain+morgan.jpg" height="400" width="363" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Race goodies. Didn't fit in my bottle cage.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The days preceding the race were really relaxing, and a lot of fun. Because St. Croix was a solo mission, I chose to travel with Ken Glah's<a href="https://www.endurancesportstravel.com/"> Endurance Sports Travel.</a> Having heard all the hype, I was intrigued by the "show up and race" philosophy and really appreciated having all of the details taken care of. Ken, Christine and Randy were incredibly helpful, supportive and made my entire trip to St. Croix seamless. Along with them was a group of inspirational, accomplished and wonderful athletes. I'm pretty sure that amongst them, there were at least 10,000 Kona finishes...9,000 of them Ken's alone! (Well...possibly an exaggeration...but seriously,<a href="http://www.slowtwitch.com/Interview/Ken_Glah_-_30_straight_at_Kona_3975.html"> Ken is a Kona legend!</a>) Far from the "solo" race I thought I would have, the race course was full of newly acquainted friendly faces!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIVul0EcHCDe7vuCY9J1TlAkMdDJdRYGCy5OJKKn4GT9D6xZSOw4Y_XpFMqs_sqvMRuSD-RKKpFJrrJuEZu8gGAp3vtKjAc8Zp06-QsGqfZdTgWztSpxG63dKAJYJBUPHxYASIysM4ykc/s1600/IMG_0904.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIVul0EcHCDe7vuCY9J1TlAkMdDJdRYGCy5OJKKn4GT9D6xZSOw4Y_XpFMqs_sqvMRuSD-RKKpFJrrJuEZu8gGAp3vtKjAc8Zp06-QsGqfZdTgWztSpxG63dKAJYJBUPHxYASIysM4ykc/s1600/IMG_0904.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My pre-race run "buddy". I'm pretty sure he wanted to eat me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwaQ0vq1GBGWsWk5iKyGOca_f6gduh4LJiFdQJvi6mEksHn8_QEilf8bPD3zeZ0DgX1obIQZXLpMfkytn3t80d0dpCt2zo05IiBx0ZNv7PoclbF-A5yNfvOlGbjaiDwcO2S4eRHuoLy3Q/s1600/IMG_0864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwaQ0vq1GBGWsWk5iKyGOca_f6gduh4LJiFdQJvi6mEksHn8_QEilf8bPD3zeZ0DgX1obIQZXLpMfkytn3t80d0dpCt2zo05IiBx0ZNv7PoclbF-A5yNfvOlGbjaiDwcO2S4eRHuoLy3Q/s1600/IMG_0864.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The swim course...displaying its calmer side. Not as lucky on race day!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicmHsmO8zjWqtQ9JNqcOKeGHJ3emNk90F97YLGMbton9UITCWzdIMtu8VfHxI4kiZcBTwqoBbPaxSwCbFko2rCtsA7Rruh158lxxmUY92hqUleahLBj-ywz5WcakYGppZV9U30BcSSrrw/s1600/IMG_0856.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicmHsmO8zjWqtQ9JNqcOKeGHJ3emNk90F97YLGMbton9UITCWzdIMtu8VfHxI4kiZcBTwqoBbPaxSwCbFko2rCtsA7Rruh158lxxmUY92hqUleahLBj-ywz5WcakYGppZV9U30BcSSrrw/s1600/IMG_0856.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wind? Hills? Sun? Check!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
The race itself delivered pretty much as promised. A hard, choppy swim. Relentless hills and wind on the bike. Heat, humidity and sun on the run. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I had wicked good fun on the swim and the bike (the Beast is best climbed in the 28...!), and suffered the run. It was fantastic mental training to drag my slow rear end around that sauna of a course for two loops. A slow, personal worst...but an achievement nonetheless. Even the uber-runners in the field were clocking 10-15 minutes off their "normal" times, and my AG was even further disadvantaged by our late wave start. <br />
<br />
As the "back of the pack", so to speak, the women contended with more of the direct mid-day sun than anyone else in the race. My Castelli bike jersey did a fantastic job of keeping me covered on the ride, but the sun was a force on the run. Needless to say, the Ocean Potion SPF50 did not fare well...and I was totally scorched. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimfg2PjvwMFo9_Z71hOGCx-22YdTKveBlA9aLFB1yp46OHN46GdZN77GHA8lmcTNp8bTtDePZVqLc-_NxVhvFl7Q4U_scWaaEAfAAEIGVKs8voBSy8IY1KXsxrFLtnA0oycZc_nn3VeKg/s1600/sunburn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimfg2PjvwMFo9_Z71hOGCx-22YdTKveBlA9aLFB1yp46OHN46GdZN77GHA8lmcTNp8bTtDePZVqLc-_NxVhvFl7Q4U_scWaaEAfAAEIGVKs8voBSy8IY1KXsxrFLtnA0oycZc_nn3VeKg/s1600/sunburn.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ouuuuuch. Sunblock fail!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<b><i>Homeward bound...via Miami</i></b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There are certainly worse ways to recover than spending four days in Miami...I just can't think of many. Late nights, overindulgent food, too little sleep. At least there is a pretty boardwalk for recovery runs! </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0DeyZzkuTOYzsPJC4-FLqY5NPxnrMNLRc2paU8qpPVHL3w3gvkUqyMAEw-455qEnYjKaP1S29h9H5t3bo0Z50Lr6ADNAnH-ZYkK-Gk-5Dt2OJUlqTLKT_Td8du3ml8Rr36ywvKXgNe0k/s1600/Miami+beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0DeyZzkuTOYzsPJC4-FLqY5NPxnrMNLRc2paU8qpPVHL3w3gvkUqyMAEw-455qEnYjKaP1S29h9H5t3bo0Z50Lr6ADNAnH-ZYkK-Gk-5Dt2OJUlqTLKT_Td8du3ml8Rr36ywvKXgNe0k/s1600/Miami+beach.jpg" height="237" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You guessed it...more sunburn!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
The South Beach life was brought to a screeching halt with the "12 weeks to Norseman" e-mail from <a href="http://www.b78.is/">Coach Jasper</a>. Maybe he subliminally detected the poolside cocktails. At any rate, snap back to reality...and bring on the laundry. I have some training to do! </div>
<div>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjCOv6HpHiiyJqLknCNKyJ88m645S-RgxK8qCdfabz1kbDqmFEEeCxmjdJ9njNxfrix8J4pqWZl3pVcJ6Oq30jGrNzet3nsAxMtmdcPUzkhzQlpZ80FAKL7x24Vqe7aSqr8at6EDMf6w8/s1600/laundry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjCOv6HpHiiyJqLknCNKyJ88m645S-RgxK8qCdfabz1kbDqmFEEeCxmjdJ9njNxfrix8J4pqWZl3pVcJ6Oq30jGrNzet3nsAxMtmdcPUzkhzQlpZ80FAKL7x24Vqe7aSqr8at6EDMf6w8/s1600/laundry.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Four days back...and already well into the next laundry pile!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
</div>
</div>
richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-3798702098155781702014-05-02T20:57:00.000-07:002014-05-03T14:04:35.174-07:00DazzlingReturning to a familiar place evokes memories. Arriving in St. Croix on Wednesday quickly took me back exactly two years - the humidity, the smell of the Caribbean air, the familiar surroundings. The best adjective I can conjure for the sea here is simply dazzling. Sparkling azure lit against a backdrop of hot sunshine, and lush green. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE8Wah6x29weoKXG-7Mt-BfFL1yap6N_09uKVjQ_SeFR1EcEquFD04QbMQyPebU0bvwfmgfCyKiG9Bvfp4wRJGQQIKi6x2qpxVEfgJCb84D0_AHUqyHbd3JheIRqRDfRp2N34ub2STdaQ/s1600/Dazzling.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE8Wah6x29weoKXG-7Mt-BfFL1yap6N_09uKVjQ_SeFR1EcEquFD04QbMQyPebU0bvwfmgfCyKiG9Bvfp4wRJGQQIKi6x2qpxVEfgJCb84D0_AHUqyHbd3JheIRqRDfRp2N34ub2STdaQ/s1600/Dazzling.JPG" height="204" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
And yet, to think back two years, it is remarkable to not only find myself here in this physical space, but also to find myself <i>here. </i>In this headspace.<br />
<br />
There are times in your life that you are simply holding on. It is not so easy to see at the time, but very clear in retrospect. The illusion of physical strength can hide a great deal of emotional disability. The last time I was here, I may have raced well, but was deeply bruised on the inside. Despite being here with friends in 2012 (and having an incredible race-cation), the world felt terribly alone.<br />
<br />
And, while my fear of the "Beast" and the treacherous humidity that beholds me out on that race course Sunday, there is so much I am no longer fearful of.<br />
<br />
This year, I am here alone. And yet, not alone at all. <br />
<br />
What has blossomed over the last two years is more than I could have ever wished for, and a life that I am grateful for every day. <br />
<br />
As to how the race goes on Sunday...it matters not. Do not mistake this for ambivalence, this is contentedness. I feel grateful to have the opportunity to race once more in the dazzling Caribbean, for being healthy enough to race, and for the people in my life who add boundless positivity. You know who you are...and you are simply dazzling. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6Vo0OfaXPxzdRku3uSqIuzGt9Gpe8oMBaFc4XloPNJ7L5PICDai407difPykptlc_lexASO_EpWY9ndGsJrkg7JfZK8mgW8YOlI_QFo7udZHt3cwGLhBAux8K6ay_IcvbUhwLhwWGPw/s1600/IMG_0855.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6Vo0OfaXPxzdRku3uSqIuzGt9Gpe8oMBaFc4XloPNJ7L5PICDai407difPykptlc_lexASO_EpWY9ndGsJrkg7JfZK8mgW8YOlI_QFo7udZHt3cwGLhBAux8K6ay_IcvbUhwLhwWGPw/s1600/IMG_0855.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not a postcard...the view from my patio. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOX04if0a-M3tNvL9BpQvJNQ_WnJ_8QGWcXeYj6TyTwSy5tjxopiuUcyVqBVccJ-N_n1m_3GWQ-8377bvyJzasMyHtPExZxkv7yXAELPB8Wixi-euuypMojlpUgofdHZOITgfxRIjFiE/s1600/IMG_0864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOX04if0a-M3tNvL9BpQvJNQ_WnJ_8QGWcXeYj6TyTwSy5tjxopiuUcyVqBVccJ-N_n1m_3GWQ-8377bvyJzasMyHtPExZxkv7yXAELPB8Wixi-euuypMojlpUgofdHZOITgfxRIjFiE/s1600/IMG_0864.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So much blue in the harbour.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6AJGovkXKhwDbdAoA87om0gpkPVzi8OeyqoFLAVq-UMRililMMRnDACVPtbgdI6XjF1DeSPnT2x5KIwBFKLOQt982iAo2JfbbhtM94QBjIlzVCMSyQjt80p0Rw_QZqkexqEEu-WbvcTw/s1600/IMG_0876.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6AJGovkXKhwDbdAoA87om0gpkPVzi8OeyqoFLAVq-UMRililMMRnDACVPtbgdI6XjF1DeSPnT2x5KIwBFKLOQt982iAo2JfbbhtM94QBjIlzVCMSyQjt80p0Rw_QZqkexqEEu-WbvcTw/s1600/IMG_0876.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beach...to myself.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvI9G2Oy_s6Odv0htpIV7Qu7eXddrBRYTRiJskYhlEp9eI6gDbgqjQwwCXcfllOTZxVxKrwJOi2r4Y77VYl9lCuaPOXeBfSOMWSWyZ2cBLbe8tB214cwHVc3WpIuAS2DwpwGhgYtgGt7g/s1600/IMG_0856.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvI9G2Oy_s6Odv0htpIV7Qu7eXddrBRYTRiJskYhlEp9eI6gDbgqjQwwCXcfllOTZxVxKrwJOi2r4Y77VYl9lCuaPOXeBfSOMWSWyZ2cBLbe8tB214cwHVc3WpIuAS2DwpwGhgYtgGt7g/s1600/IMG_0856.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seaside riding...with views for miles.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWDbNnxWqimHU2mjP843o1GFIHB6BFkxMbvae3_EgejQKF7xEbptwtroIwSOjtH9m8y2d5RTmREWQyumqtZfXalQ5RnsCPHCJpIQwE1TBM5Jn_9YqC5EXYi6d4PdvfMekHlp27KcMGNJU/s1600/IMG_0857.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWDbNnxWqimHU2mjP843o1GFIHB6BFkxMbvae3_EgejQKF7xEbptwtroIwSOjtH9m8y2d5RTmREWQyumqtZfXalQ5RnsCPHCJpIQwE1TBM5Jn_9YqC5EXYi6d4PdvfMekHlp27KcMGNJU/s1600/IMG_0857.JPG" height="211" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even the dogs are blissful. Rolling around happy!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMW-i491QcIce8bmgR5oMDYelwE8mxm49d4IFJUZeZiQucoFuRWGzTn0_72K11LNcGvgyn7nU6sUkzBKChK24RqqMrrnhRgWJXlwYW6NB7qbTS6-Mc6GQ2H5mDROPujJenXdPLptvnqIY/s1600/IMG_0911.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMW-i491QcIce8bmgR5oMDYelwE8mxm49d4IFJUZeZiQucoFuRWGzTn0_72K11LNcGvgyn7nU6sUkzBKChK24RqqMrrnhRgWJXlwYW6NB7qbTS6-Mc6GQ2H5mDROPujJenXdPLptvnqIY/s1600/IMG_0911.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rum sponsor...and a 26 in the race packet!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-25109740486828455522014-04-15T17:13:00.001-07:002014-04-15T17:35:06.745-07:00Getting startedI find that the hardest part of a workout is simply getting started. It is so simple to find, and justify, the barriers - feeling tired, bad weather, too much work.<br />
<br />
Not every session turns out to be a success (and to be fair, in retrospect, some are utter failures!), but if I don't start, I will never know. Sure, there are those rare occasions when taking the rest is important (see "reasons" vs "excuses" below). But most of the time, the things that get in the way are only those things that I am allowing to get in. Starting is a choice and I can only accomplish what I will myself to do. <br />
<br />
Last Tuesday was a perfect example. The session on tap was a 75 minute run that included 8 x 800 on the track. I was feeling exhausted after a big volume weekend, in my third week of a build and dealing with a pretty hectic month at work. I was running on sleep deficit from my 4:45am swim alarm. Feeling tired when I got home from work, it would have been so easy to find an excuse to simply sit on the couch instead. <br />
<br />
However, I believe that the body goes where the mind leads it. I will go (literally or figuratively) absolutely nowhere unless I set my mind to something otherwise. And, while the option to stop is always there if the need truly arises, it is clear to me that it is impossible to stop until I start.<br />
<br />
So, how did this all work out last week?<br />
<br />
The 8 x 800 hurt like hell. It would have been so easy to give up. My head screamed thoughts disguised as reasons at me on each interval...but I knew deep down they were just excuses. "<i>Halfway would be good enough". "Maybe I could go slower". "Maybe I can rest longer".</i> Yet, something very curious arose out of starting. Working my my way methodically through the repeats, the cobwebs broke away. My pace settled in, I stopped overthinking, my heart rate adjusted to what I was asking of it, and, I actually got faster over the set. Not breaking any land speed records, but incredible considering how brutal I felt at the start! <i> </i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgtxN2BELhNfPPzsdIsat7y9rKeWROVt4E0JOjq-PwqxzRXP2cfUwhRU0mm4iGDrmpTU6h9rFHXGK3PcOvFQQukBANUb-i6UojQm2Kz0wNLl34t0T6C5-yNhXiz1Xq4Va3BE7PNguahVU/s1600/8+x+800.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgtxN2BELhNfPPzsdIsat7y9rKeWROVt4E0JOjq-PwqxzRXP2cfUwhRU0mm4iGDrmpTU6h9rFHXGK3PcOvFQQukBANUb-i6UojQm2Kz0wNLl34t0T6C5-yNhXiz1Xq4Va3BE7PNguahVU/s1600/8+x+800.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not blazing fast but the splits don't lie...hanging in there leads to good things.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
I find training, and endurance sports, to be analogous to life...so my commitment to starting filters through to all aspects of my life. I realize this is not earth shattering, and that I am not the first to point this out. And, because this is not a fairy tale, I do freely admit that starting doesn't always turn out so well as those 800's. (Ask me about my Saturday brick run sometime, or my last attempt at baking cookies). You don't have to be great at something when you start, but you do need to start in order to find out.<br />
<br />
Being committed to starting empowers me and creates energy towards the task at hand. I commit myself to starting the workout every single time, and I commit to exploring the possibility that beholds me. Nothing more, nothing less. <i>Stop over thinking it and just go!</i><br />
<br />
To be fair, there is nothing "natural" about me as a (tri)athlete. I was not an elite swimmer or runner as a child (actually...I did neither until decades later!), and I need to work really really hard at just keeping up. Pushing myself physically never gets easier, those early mornings never feel any better and those cocktails on the menu look awfully tempting sometimes. <br />
<br />
Starting is not the easiest option, and it is clearly my choice. However, each time I consider the alternatives, it is pretty clear to me that <i>not starting</i> is <i>not an option</i> at all. <br />
<br />
Nelson Mandela perhaps captured this most perfectly, "<b><i>There is no passion to be found playing small - in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living</i></b>"<br />
<br />
There is a huge difference between reasons and excuses, and sometimes there can be very good reasons for not following through (an injury, for example). However, I am quite cognizant of the difference between the two. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
It would be so very easy to justify skipping one session, then another, finding excuses, and before long, finding myself a long way from the goal I set out. It would be easy to justify not having to relentlessly juggle family and work and training and life, settle for the lowest common denominator and accept life "as is". Do I think sitting on the couch would be easier? Yes! But imagining an existence without ever reaching, or sweating, or struggling, or embarking on adventures (including those I am not really entirely sure I am capable of) is pretty hard for me. There is no passion in that at all. Quite frankly, that is just not my idea of living - that is just giving up on myself.<br />
<br />
So, I choose starting.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_o8IoNIQND5a6KOX1lP4ZceQ7RsSIdVuJBAlmKe2lvTsN3mPOLuyrIpSjy2ySEOAmYp4hw4-P-GVwkIIuzRryaFVX7D1zSL5_1qou5lbvPqeEF0Djg9yzRCUPYG-lyfPbr8lz0brDfnY/s1600/Commit+yourself.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_o8IoNIQND5a6KOX1lP4ZceQ7RsSIdVuJBAlmKe2lvTsN3mPOLuyrIpSjy2ySEOAmYp4hw4-P-GVwkIIuzRryaFVX7D1zSL5_1qou5lbvPqeEF0Djg9yzRCUPYG-lyfPbr8lz0brDfnY/s1600/Commit+yourself.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-45550814766869977462014-03-25T14:58:00.002-07:002014-03-25T16:45:19.640-07:00Coming up for airI had a good chuckle at a comment from Canadian triathlete extraordinaire <a href="https://www.facebook.com/heather.wurtele.3?fref=ts">Heather Wurtele</a>, "<i>we have entered the "I'm not f*cking grumpy!" stage of training. Things are going well.</i>"<br />
<br />
Being "in training" is not perfect or pretty or glamorous. It is, however, in equal turns sweaty, sticky, awkward, hilarious, fun and rewarding. <br />
<br />
<b><i>Life in four week cycles</i></b><br />
<br />
Where on earth did the last three months go? Forget blogging...keeping up with the laundry is enough! I've settled into the familiar routine of build, build, build, rest, repeat. Each day, each workout, each build cycle is a little puzzle piece, small goals adding up to a bigger picture.<br />
<br />
Week 3, Day 7 is always a bit of a tipping point, followed by a week of aches and pains known as "recovery". Ironically, the rest weeks are sometimes the hardest, particularly convincing myself that sitting on the couch and doing <i>nothing</i> is actually tantamount to doing <i>something</i>. Yet, miraculously, the aches and pains and moodiness that surface always (and incredibly) yield progress in the form of gains in fitness, mental strength, motivation and commitment. It is knowing, and trusting (albeit sometimes requiring a reminder) that this cycle is all part of the process that is key. It's just really important to remember to come up for air and have a look around from time to time!<br />
<br />
<b><i>Rest week = eating week</i></b><br />
<br />
As days get longer, along with the duration of training weeks and workouts, I am well (re)acquainted with not only the grumpy part of training, but also the hungry one. At this point, I am principally in the "highly motivated by food" stage of training. Pity Dan, who gets to deal with this ravenous she-beast. He now knows it is totally normal for me to dust off a homemade burger, sweet potato fries, HIS sweet potato fries, followed by two Cadbury caramel eggs (which ironically, I don't even like, but they so happened to be in the line of fire), only to complain moments later that we have no snacks in the house. Cue trip to Whole Foods.<br />
<br />
Rest week is that glorious time when exercise load gets reduced to everyone else's version of reasonable, but somehow the metabolism keeps right on burning. Spare time means lots of time to refuel!<br />
<br />
<i>"What would you like to do this evening?"</i><br />
<i>"Eat."</i><br />
<br />
Hungry is a happy state...because it means things are going as they should.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjlS-0V9m7coPMjh-X-xEXqS3rhYsAB6tPEueGsoCc27uDfpeil46sA0JLZGTHb5hQq4DKWtvwtjiwDYGJjVJbAcVS0TAVOfE8TE6C-TssEruoTwU3ilaZJv5JSkGOhjuUnxjNnur30h8/s1600/IMG_00000045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjlS-0V9m7coPMjh-X-xEXqS3rhYsAB6tPEueGsoCc27uDfpeil46sA0JLZGTHb5hQq4DKWtvwtjiwDYGJjVJbAcVS0TAVOfE8TE6C-TssEruoTwU3ilaZJv5JSkGOhjuUnxjNnur30h8/s1600/IMG_00000045.jpg" height="294" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yummy post workout eats, including treats from <a href="http://www.krokodilepear.com/">Krokodile Pear </a>juice bar!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i>Fresh start</i></b><br />
<br />
It has rained (or snowed) every Saturday since the beginning of January. Not to be deterred, at the beginning of each week, I excitedly look at the 7-day forecast and eagerly plan my ride route for the following weekend. <i>Oh the places I will go!</i> With clockwork precision, however, each Saturday morning yields a nasty little rain cloud icon on my weather app, give or take a wind warning or two. Ride route scrapped...hello stationary trainer. <br />
<br />
I'm not daunted. Trainer time is efficient and effective. The sweat and suffering is ample...but so is water supply. Besides, there is always a restroom (and much needed chamois cream) nearby and never any wind or mud! It has also been a fantastic way to make subtle changes and experiment with position on my wonderful (tiny) new bike.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCVFVHB4or8jgz4Xyf7UBx5VgH1keOeO9nwjFIrt8DwUOhbABOpRMbeQcSEjWeJ81rYB_FF9EBCf59eNTz0VTnFhIvgplCoQM8hyx_SGorXuini9FKOfDdYchnrgPpqwPI9UhyphenhyphenvwIeezY/s1600/IMG_20140213_170320.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCVFVHB4or8jgz4Xyf7UBx5VgH1keOeO9nwjFIrt8DwUOhbABOpRMbeQcSEjWeJ81rYB_FF9EBCf59eNTz0VTnFhIvgplCoQM8hyx_SGorXuini9FKOfDdYchnrgPpqwPI9UhyphenhyphenvwIeezY/s1600/IMG_20140213_170320.jpg" height="234" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Honey, I shrunk the P5!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
(PS...Big thanks to the incredible team at <a href="http://www.speedtheory.ca/van/">Speed Theory</a> for magically shrinking my P5. This mini rocket ship is just itching to hit those (dry) roads!)<br />
<br />
<b><i>Evolution, baby</i></b><br />
<br />
But far from the literal nowhere I am traveling on those trainer workouts - I'm evolving, in four week cycles! I chose to make some changes this year, not because anything was broken per se, but because I believe that truly progressing demands a willingness to try new things.<br />
<br />
Five years ago, I was a triathlon newbie. That seems like a long time ago, and I feel like I have learned a lot so far. And yet, I feel that the learning process never really stops provided that I am willing to embrace it. As such, this season is equally a freshman season...new bike, <a href="http://www.b78.is/">new coach</a>, new races, new challenges, new age group (!!), <a href="https://www.facebook.com/KatanaSportsLtd">new gear</a>. The plans are made, the race fees are spent and the holiday time is booked. It's time to put my head back down and put the work in. Tri season V5.0 is fresh, evolving, and promises to be chock full of new faces, fun ideas and awesome adventures. <br />
<br />richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1659021469585055863.post-8289850256166785522014-01-28T11:03:00.001-08:002014-01-28T14:18:00.858-08:00Get real<div class="MsoNormal">
Life seen through social media seems to imply that most
people are buoyantly happy. The words “epic”, “awesome” and “amazing” abound in tweets, status updates and blogs. No one posts
selfies when they are tired, stressed, overwhelmed or at wits end, much less when times of suffering or sadness are more debilitating than seems manageable in a lifetime. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And while positivity is certainly engaging, and conventional wisdom will tell you that "everything will be OK" in the long run, the reality is
that life is not always positive at all times. It is even further daunting when the seeming “norm” is of unicorns, baskets of puppies, savasana and love,
love, love. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Most of us hold ourselves to pretty high standards – at work,
and at play. Faster, stronger, higher,
smarter. And that pressure can come at a price.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today is <a href="http://letstalk.bell.ca/en/">Bell’s “Let’s Talk Day” </a>– a day dedicated to
creating a positive conversation about mental health. And yet, as much as initiatives like this
one encourages awareness, understanding and treatment of mental illness….the fact
is that most people do not talk openly about the stuff that’s real. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So for today….be real.
Spreading sunshine is lovely, but take it one step further and engage in
the conversation. We can all learn to stop
asking “how are you” without expecting a real answer, learn to ask better
questions, and learn to listen rather than speak. You might be surprised what you hear. </div>
richelefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545460139971140235noreply@blogger.com0