140.6 Whistler...on the home stretch

2010 was my "freshman" Ironman year.  I have incredibly fond memories of that summer - those long training days, the never-ending feeling of absolute exhaustion and some pretty interesting rookie experiences.

It was definitely a summer of firsts, notably:

• my first time being flipped by the wind like a piece of lettuce on my new triathlon bike, resulting in me quitting the sport immediately and subsequently being coaxed back onto my bike by my training partners;
• my first 20 hour training week;
• my first big bonk (root beer at the Bear fruit stand, anyone?);
• my first time abandoning a workout in favor of pie;
• and best of all, my first Ironman finish.

Being a rookie was terrifying and enchanting in equal parts.  While there was definitely a fear of the unknown (i.e., can I really swim/ride/run/crawl 140 miles before midnight?), there was consolation in the fact that many of my friends and training partners had previously completed Ironman Canada and were more than willing to share their tips.  Though it was a new experience to me, I had a lot of strong advice backing me up that I am grateful for in retrospect.

Three years later, and with less than a month to go until Ironman Canada in its inaugural location in Whistler, I am still consuming root beer during hard long rides, training ridiculous amounts, being flipped around by wind and regularly motivated through my workouts by dreams of ____(insert here:  pie, cupcake, slurpee, popsicle, burger).  There is comfort in knowing that I am supposed to feel this way:  endlessly hungry, tired, irritable and ready for the whole damn thing to be over with.  But I'm pretty okay with all of that. It's just Iron-normal.

The "first" this year is not the race distance or the training leading up to it, but the course itself.  And this time, there is no experienced advice to rely on.

Having trained in Whistler on several occasions over the last month, I have a pretty good idea what the race has in store.  While I certainly do not want to understate the difficulty of the venue, this is, after all, a race constituting 140 miles in a mountainous area (ahem...it's not supposed to be easy).  And yet, if I were to truly believe all the blog posts and course preview notes, I would be a total nervous wreck.

The hype is unreal...and terribly amusing.  There are complaints about everything from swimmer's itch to wind to rough road conditions.  Too hot.  Too cold.  Too hilly.  The water tastes funny. (what?!)  Scary triathlete-eating bears.  (Do you see any lycra in that bear scat?  No.  Just berries!).  Posted elevation not accurate compared to GPS.  Run route not lit with twinkly lights.  Seriously!    

It's all enough for me to declare a personal moratorium against all of this nonsense.

The one lesson I have learned about racing is to simply aim to deal with that which is under my control:  training, sleep, recovery.  Execute the plan, embrace the dark moments, deal with issues as they arise.  Accept that everyone else is racing the exact same course at the exact same time, and train to enable myself to race to best of my abilities on that day.  And as for the hype and the blogs and the facebook posts...it's time to forget about the things that simply are out of my influence.

So, off to Whistler I go for one last long training weekend.  Hills, heat, wind...bring it!  :)

The dog days

I love summer.

And not for the same reasons most people do.  Lazy days at the beach, patio time, picnics and fireworks are wonderful, to be fair.  But in addition to all those blissful things associated with the summer months, June through August represents the height of race season.  Sweat.  Bikes.  Sunshine.  Long days of training and the lure of all kinds of fun events to partake in.  

I returned from France / Spain at the beginning of June to the (joyful) knowledge that the next eight weeks were jam packed full of summer fun...of the triathlete persuasion.

Ride to conquer cancer 

Since 2010, the Ride to Conquer Cancer has been an annual event for me.  And this year, the sunshine even decided to show up!

It was two days and 310km of fast, sunny riding for a fabulous cause, the BC Cancer Foundation. This year marked my final turn as a co-captain for the KPMG team, and I am proud to have ridden with such a great group!  Our team raised a tad over $200,000 this year, bringing our total local fundraising to over half a million dollars in three years.

Participation in sport, to me, has to be about more than chasing fast times.  The philanthropic aspect is integral to time spent on two wheels, and to all those who have (repetitively) supported my ride with donations to the BC Cancer Foundation, I truly appreciate your dedication to a cause that is so important to me personally.  (That being said, you are not off the hook yet because I have signed up for my fifth year as part of the Wedgewood team!)  

One of these is not like the other ones.

Valley First granfondo Axel Merckx

Axel and his team put on a first class event!  This was my first year riding the 160k granfondo in Penticton, as in past years it has coincided with the Subaru Vancouver half-iron.  With a change in date for the Van half this year, the fondo was a must-do and a good excuse to make a trip to the Okanagan.

I have a soft spot for p-town, and traveling there in the summer evokes fond memories of my 2010 freshman year of racing, training and post-ride wine touring.  The friendly people in Penticton are incredible and welcoming, and make traveling there a worthwhile experience.  Particular props to the wonderful staff at the Penticton Lakeside Resort who simply cannot do enough.  Friendly service reigns supreme. 

My goal of a long, hard training effort...accomplished!  The highlight of the day was hanging on to the back of Trevor Linden's wheel for the better part of 100 kilometers (which I am sure he was less appreciative of), although I did take my turn at the front of the peloton as needed.  The lowlight was a tactical mistake at 120k that resulted in me putting in 20 minutes of solo riding through a fairly rough (literally and mentally) part of the course.  I'll chalk this up as good Ironman training :)

The very best thing about working hard on a ride is that it ends faster, and in 4:17 I was back at Gyro Park with a serious hankering for a slurpee.  Dan (aka sandbagger), at a distance exactly 60% further than he has ever ridden, cranked out a respectable 4:41.  There was grumbling that he would have been faster but for the *heavy* bike that I put him on.  If he continues to progress at this rate, I may have to weigh that bike down a little more.... :)

Team Wedgewood capped an incredible day with a fantastic dinner in scenic Naramata, where we celebrated our mixed and women's team wins over a glass of Hillside Estate wine.  A great evening of food, laughs and war stories!  

I won the bike draw!  How cool is that?

The kick-a** Wedgewood mixed team FTW!

Subaru Vancouver half-iron

I followed up the granfondo in the manner that any reasonable triathlete would, by racing the BC Provincial and Canadian national long-course championship a week later.  Sunshine, home-course advantage and provincials to boot?  I'm in!

Waking in my own bed a few hours before race start is a luxury, and possibly the most irresistible part about this race.  The streak of summer weather absolutely did not disappoint and we were treated to an incredible morning on Jericho beach.  Calm, serene waters with a backdrop of mountains...oh wait, that peaceful scene was before the herd of smashing, bashing triathletes got in!

For some reason (probably for a photo op), the organizers opt for a sprint-style beach start.  With just under 400 half-iron athletes plowing into the water at the same time, I have always found this start (particularly as a small person who is a nervous swimmer) unnecessarily violent and unpleasant.  This year, the congestion and bashing continued well into the second lap, particularly at the buoys.  Not fun at all for an average-at-best swimmer.      

What we looked like at the turn buoys.

Coach Bjoern was cheering at the mount line and yelled something to the effect of "now go do what you are good at".  That made me smile...and hit the gas.  For the next two and a half hours (exactly 2:30:00), I got to ride my wonderful new P5 like a crazy woman.  How fun is that!?

Because the event was a sell-out with 50 percent more participants than in the prior year (including sprint and Olympic distance races, as well as relay division), progress on the bike was not quite as uninhibited as I would like during a race.  Forward motion was brought to a screeching halt a number of times due to several no-pass zones and a lot of (what I hope was inadvertent) blocking in other sections of the course.  While frustrating in terms of overall bike split, my hope is that the other racers heeded the no-pass rules to make for a fair race.  On the plus side, the noodle through the no-pass zone was a perfect opportunity to eat and drink.

My fifth place out of T2 faded to ninth at the finish.  It was just one of those days that the engine was stuck in the middle gear - I felt ok puttering along, but had no speed.  Notwithstanding, I always enjoy the fantastic, soft gravel run course that loops around transition.  Passing through the crowd several times is definitely a smile-inducing pick-me-up, as is getting to cheer on the other runners and my teammates (who were kicking some serious times out on the race course).

Smiling through the pain!

Luckily none of those eight girls in front of me were age-groupers as old as me (!) so I was still able to salvage an age group win.  Not the most smashing of days, but a good consolation prize to retain my BC provincial champ status for a fourth year.  And besides, there are lots of dog days left to improve that run speed!

Big hugs 

The dog days would simply be less awesome without some pretty incredible people.  Huge hugs and thanks to:

Speed Theory, and in particular Jeremy, not only for your incredible support but also for the hours at the Van half race site doing mechanical assistance.  I am proud to rock my Speed Theory kit for the most awesome tri shop in Vancouver!

Coach Bjoern for all the time you invest in making me as tough and fast as possible.

My teammates and friends who raced, cheered and supported at the R2CC, granfondo and Van half.  Those smiles out there make it worth it!

My training partners who willingly show up for whatever the coach dreams up.  Really, who doesn't want to run 30k in the blazing sun or be snacked on by a Kits harbour seal at 6am?  

Dan, Jill and Mark for your support, encouragement and for accepting that smelling like SPF50 and waking up at 4am is just my version of normal.

ITU long course worlds...channeling my inner polar bear

After a spring of rainy Saturday training rides, it was apropo that some decidedly Vancouver-ish weather accompanied me to France.  In the days preceding the ITU Long-course worlds, we saw lots of grey sky and rain clouds.  Indeed, it seemed fortuitous that the Canadian team uniform consisted of a rain jacket and wind pants.  We could have used some good-ol Canadian toques (note:  not beanies) as well!

Top 'o the mountain!  The (cold!) summit of the Ballon d'Alsace with my awesome teammates

Scoping out the run course and transition area.  Not even polar bears swim in that lake!

The pretty run course.

Pre-race was pretty low key as I tried to stay as warm and dry as possible, ignore taper pain and modify my body clock to the time difference.  3am jetlag insomnia...you suck!

I enjoyed gluten-free hotel camping with the best roomie ever, scoped out the course (hills, mud, gravel, cobblestone, oh my!), made a panicked trip to the local sports store (long undies! gloves! space blanket!) and sought out last minute physio for an injury of stupidity (damn you soleus!).  Spending time with my awesome, well-humored teammates was a great way to alleviate my normal let's-get-this-over-with pre-race anxiety.  In those three days, we firmly established the following to be true, for better or for worse:

• French public swimmers do not hide well their dismay for silly Canadians who dare swim in their lane of the 90 degree sweat-box of a pool.
• Steak frites may be the best pre-race food, ever.
• Chocolate coated rice cakes are highly underrated.
• Garmin GPS has no clue how to pronounce street names in French...nor give proper directions.
• French sports stores do not stock gloves nor clothing made from Merino wool in the month of May.
• Every street in Belfort is under construction.
• Acupuncture is awesome.      

Based on the frigid water temps, the ITU made the decision to modify the race distance from a 4k swim / 112k bike / 30k run to a long distance duathlon (9.5k run/ 87k bike / 20k run).  The term "duathlon" is a generous oversimplication of the race - winter riding / cross country running / mud slinging / cross racing is really a more apt description.  Kinda like an ITU world championship tough mudder.  Appreciating the absurdity and maintaining a good sense of humor seemed to be the best way of dealing with it.

The telltale sign of the duathlon.

Although it was not unexpected that the swim would be cancelled, the conversion of the race format brought along with it a bit of anxiety...how to pace, what to wear, how to transition.  It may sound dumb, but duathlon is really a different sport.  It took a bit to wrap my head around the whole thing.  Thankfully, coach Bjoern was well-equipped to deal with our panicky queries.  And, being the über-coach that he is, his killer run-bike-run workout two weeks previous looked like utter genius!

Thankfully, the weather folks in France as are poor at their jobs as the ones in Vancouver and race morning turned out not nearly as dreadful as initially predicted.  Under a 9 degree grey sky, the rain threatened but did not appear in any great amount.  It was humid and chilly - and a complete mud pit in transition.

Due to 90 percent humidity, I made the decision to run in my tri suit only and pull my newly acquired French polyester long underwear, gloves and vest on for the ride.  No point in being soaked with sweat.  Huddled at the start line in our garbage bags, Gen and I looked very much the idiot Canadians while channeling our inner polar bears in our skimpy tri suits.

Saving money on team uniforms at the start.  Who needs spandex when you have Glad?  

Run #1 was a wave start, my wave which included all women up to the age of 44.  It was basically like a cross-country race, with a lot of pushing and jostling onto the gravel trail.  One poor girl wiped out within a few feet of the start, and was trampled.  Within a few minutes, we had caught the men's wave in front of us and it was extremely congested for the first kilometers.  My injury of stupidity nagged, particularly on the uphill sections, so I held back a bit, assuring myself it was better to finish the race than risk injury in the first part of the race.  The run course was tough, but extremely pretty.

Run #1.  Go Polar Bears Go!

T2 was "interesting".  My brain had not locked on to the concept of running before riding, and I made a couple of mistakes, including forgetting to take my runners off!  My body was not happy at me at all for the first 30-40 minutes of the ride.  Run, then ride like a woman possessed...what kind of madness is this?!  Furthermore, my equipment (Cervelo R5, no aerobars) initially felt like a poor choice.  With false flats and headwind, it felt like I was riding with two flat tires.  I even stopped at one point to check!

No females were passing me, though...so I rationalized that everyone must be feeling the same sluggishness.  That being said, a TT bike would have definitely been the better choice at the beginning of the ride.  My splits indicated I lost about 2 minutes compared to my competitors in the first section.  As soon as the up/down and technical riding started, however, I was very comfortable on the R5 and enjoyed a lot of confidence in the descents.

The wicked climb and descent of the Ballon d'Alsace was the highlight of the day.  The ascent started well in advance of the "posted" climb, and was about 25k of up, up, up including the last 11k kick up the Ballon.  Sweat inducing, seemingly never-ending climb (how can a 28 cog can feel so hard?  Did someone switch my cassette?  I feel like barfing.  Damn you Euro super-cyclists!), followed by an absolutely wild ride on the way down.  Flinging yourself down a pitch of technical switchbacks is really kinda nuts.

Stock photo of the ascent.  Fun!

The elevation profile of the ride...hilly awesomeness.  Why isn't every tri like this?!

Though I felt well-trained well for the climb given my recent training block, channeling a polar bear was really all I had on the way down the Ballon.  It was very much like the cold descents down Mount Baker or Cypress that I am accustomed to...minus proper cold weather gear.  My hands and bare legs were absolutely freezing as I descended the switchbacks, and my poor legs cramped viciously on the way down.  Though after the race, every racer I spoke to described the same wicked, uncontrollable cramping, it was quite disconcerting at the time.

T2 was incredibly slow - I picked up my bike a la cross racing to get through the mucky transition, and my frozen fingers and cramped legs declined to cooperate to put my shoes on.  A volunteer helped me put on my shoes, or I may never have left T2.  My quads, hamstrings and calves twitched in warning every step - if I stopped, they were stopping too. I talked myself along a kilometer at a time...running with quick feet and power-walking when I needed to.  Upon crossing the finish line, I found myself unable to walk.  Thankfully, my legs waited until 20.1 kilometers to give up!

The end of run #2.  Legs please don't fail me now!

The entire Canadian contingent showed great fortitude (and an equally great sense of humour), and my amazing roommate Rachel kicked a** with 3rd overall in the pro category.  Evidence of the power of chocolate rice cakes!  It was incredibly fun to race with teammates - huge thanks to Rachel, Gen, Lawrence, Don and the rest of Team O for their company, support and humour, Joyce and Dave for keeping us all in line, Coach Bjoern for his unwavering guidance and everyone from Vancouver who was out supporting during the day!

I'm chuffed that six months post-surgery I was able to compete somewhat reasonably at this level.  I didn't kill it...but it didn't kill me either.  A work in progress!  All in all, it was a fun, never-to-be-duplicated muddy and absurd experience made most memorable by my teammates, the rest of Team Canada and their support squads.

And, needless to say...when the race was over and the holiday began, I caught the first flight out to sunnier, warmer climes :)

SUNSHINE!!!!!  No polar bears here.

  

Triathlon is a team sport

As the packing scramble and grumpy days of taper begin, it's time to get down and serious about my race next week.  I leave for Belfort, France on Monday for the ITU Long Distance Age Group world championship on June 1st.

Being a triathlete (even a part-time one with a pretty serious day job) has more to it than simply following a training plan, and executing the repetitive schedule of swim-bike-run-eat-sleep-laundry.   Whether the season goal is just to get to the start line fit and healthy or whether it is to crush an A race, I attribute my ability to participate in this sport not to execution, but to my bench strength.  It is everyone who so graciously helps me out that really makes a difference.  Bench strength, you ask?  You thought triathlon was an individual sport?  Think again.

You may not see them at the finish line, but there is a pretty incredible team that supports me in my tri-endeavors.  Without them, my triathlon exploits would be a little less inspired.

My people....my family and friends who so patiently listen to me rant about training, travel long distances to cheer me on and sometimes even cook me meals when I forget how to feed myself.  They roll their eyes and collectively sigh when I explain my race plans and new equipment and my new gluten-free diet...but they still unconditionally support the hobby that is really sort of crazy and foreign to them.  I could not race without them, period, and am forever blown away by their kindness.  (And to Dan and Jill, who are splitting the Bogey-sitting duties while I am away, I apologize in advance for my nocturnal raccoon of a dog.  I owe you!)     

The uber-coach...coaching is more than just designing the plan.  It's about knowing your athlete, and knowing how to make them the best athlete they can be.  Bjoern is really, really good at this, and that's what makes him not just a coach, but the über-coach!  He works me hard, he calls me out when I am not being accountable, and he enables me to be a better athlete.      

Technical support...Jeremy, Murray, Mike and the team from Speed Theory keep me on the road.  Amateur athletes are not "sponsored" - assistance is purely and absolutely a two-way street (and anyone who tells you otherwise misunderstands this concept).  The term "ambassador" is so much more appropriate, and any support is entirely relationship driven.   Thus, to be clear, I do not praise Speed Theory because of any "deal".  I make my equipment and store choices independently based on research, past experience and customer service - period.  I praise Speed Theory because they are, to me, the best in the business at ensuring I am training and competing on the best fitting and operating bike possible.  Similarly, Todd and the team at Forerunners provide the same exceptional service in the running shoe department, keeping my toes happy in the latest and greatest Mizunos.  Local shops are second to none!               

Body repair....Jess, my RMT, makes me hurt.  Of course, in the best way that hurt can hurt, and in a manner that somehow manages to keep these old legs going.  I battled through an achilles injury last year and can attest that having a great chiro (Aaron), physio (Timberley), GP and RMT on speed dial is absolutely, absolutely essential to being an endurance athlete.  You always hope you are not going need too much assistance beyond normal scheduled maintenance, but knowing that they are there to rescue me when I overdo things a bit (which is usually most of the time) is pretty awesome.

The other crazies...my training partners and teammates.  Need someone to get up at 5:15am on a holiday to accompany a metric century?  Need someone to slug through a 2 hour run in the rain, listen as I complain about self-inflicted fatigue or understand when I explain that I have eaten 5000 calories in a day and am still hungry?  Want to commiserate about training load, iron deficiency and chafing?  No problem.  While it helps that these amazing peeps are as nutty as me, it is more than that.  Being on the edge of normal (because who wants to be normal anyway?!) means truly understanding why others are driven to pursue endurance goals - and also being in a pretty good place to support someone else.  Last night, I saw one of my teammates jump in to help another with a last minute equipment issue - it is that very attitude of camaraderie, selflessness and team support that makes me enjoy this sport so much.  (Geoff, Dave, Jeanne, Hoz, Gregg, Greg, Gen, Kim, Doug and all of lane 3....thanks for suffering with me - I appreciate you all enormously.  It wouldn't be nearly as much fun without you.)  

So thank you...everyone on team Frank Can :)  I love you all.  Race season is almost here..yippee!!

Richele the swimmer (the paradox)

par·a·dox [pair-uh-ducks] - noun
1.a statement or proposition that seems self-contradictory or absurd but in reality expresses a possible truth.

2.a self-contradictory and false proposition.
3.any person, thing, or situation exhibiting an apparently contradictory nature.

****

At 4:45 am on most Tuesday and Thursday mornings, you will find me in a battle of will against myself.  Whereas sane human beings are happily cozied away under their duvets, you will find me (at times unsuccessfully) willing myself out of my warm bed to immerse myself in cold, chlorinated water for 90 minutes.

I seriously envy my dog on those mornings, as he sighs in frustration that I dare stir at such an ungodly hour.  

My love-hate relationship (well, to be fair, mostly a hate-hate relationship) with swimming began at an early age, possibly somewhere around the time that my dad failed to catch me at the bottom of a kids slide on an Okanagan beach.  How ironic.  And no matter how many so-called swimming lessons or days at the lake I was forced to spend as a kid, dry land has always been more my thing.  Thus, 35 years spent avoiding contact with water at all costs.

Come to think of it, the only thing I can really ever remember hating more than swimming as a child was waking up early....  

So there you have it.  The combination of Richele + 4:45am alarm + 90 minutes of chlorinated bliss before 7am?  A paradox by its very terms.  But, alas, there is a third discipline in this sport...so swim it is.  

Not only is this contradiction terribly funny, but so is my complete inability to adapt to either the act of (a) swimming and (b) swimming in the early morning.  One would think that after four years that some adaptation would occur, no? 

Fact:  Swimming is quite possibly THE most frustrating sport to learn and practice as an adult.   Gliding through the water effortlessly?  Ha.  Picture a maimed seal, and you are getting a little closer to my reality.  I can either breathe or kick, but not both. Since these two actions are mutually exclusive in my world, I tend to choose breathing because it keeps me alive.  The act of kicking is simply my method of doing hypoxic drills and a pre-cursor to the "high-chlorine nasal hydration" manouvre, which is a highly advanced method of consuming water primarily through one's nose.  And once you get to the notion of flipturns or butterfly, you've just completely lost me.  I barely passed gymnastics in the third grade.  Add to that thirty-some years of inflexibility, and you don't exactly have a recipe for poise in the water.

Breathe.  No, kick.  No, breathe!

Fact:  None of my swimming inability is due to lack of trying.  In fact, the harder I try, the more I flail, and the slower I go.  Swimming is all about technique, muscle memory and grace - attributes I am seemingly devoid of upon immersing myself in water.  It is a sport where trying less actually yields results.  So odd.

Fact:  There is nothing sexy about goggle eyes or the smell of chlorine emanating from one's pores. Add to that the constant need to shake water from my ears, and it's just not pretty at all.  The one saving grace is that while I may lack the Lochte-esque ripped swimmer's build, I do have a solid grasp of the English language that makes up for my aquatic shortcomings.  Jeah.

Solving complex mathematical problems - 100m at a time.

Fact:  Early morning and I are not friends.  No matter how many times I promise myself that I will go to sleep no later than 9:30 pm in an effort to feel happy and refreshed at the pool, my amnesia concerning 4:45 am wake up calls is unfaltering.  You think humans can be conditioned?  Much in the way that hangovers are miraculously forgotten, I can attest that feeling like complete and utter garbage after having 4 hours sleep on Monday night is in no way recalled a mere two days later.

So why subject myself repetitively to something so frustrating, you ask?  Because not doing it would be a cop out.  Too easy.  I have discovered that although I may never be a mistaken for a Phelps, having a good sense of humor about things I struggle with (aka this whole swimming thing) is really useful in life.  I giggle when the swim coach tells me "200 race pace" or "800 race pace" because I know that moving in a forward direction while immersed in water, even at my one (slow) speed, is a huge life achievement for me.  

Moreover, despite the absolute battle to get to the pool and despite the fact that those ninety minutes pass ever so slowly, I can truthfully say that I have never regretted dragging my butt to the pool.  Yes, it is monotonous and difficult, but I feel like I win every time every time I make it through a swim workout.  Four years ago, I could not swim 25m...today, I swam 4300m.  And whether it is the brisk water or overinhalation of chlorine or simply the sheer joy at being done swimming for another day, by the time I get out of the pool at 7am, without fail, I am quite confident that I can conquer the world.  

You bet I can!

Yesterday afternoon, I received a FedEx package containing my team uniform for the 2013 ITU Long Course World Championship in Belfort, France on June 1.  It was terribly fun digging into the package of goodies, which included both my tri-suit as well as great warm up jacket, arm warmers, track pants and a running shirt.

The quirky part about the uniform is that "Canada" is abbreviated into "CAN" on the front of the tri suit - so I am sporting the phrase "FRANK CAN" across my chest.  This of course has led to a lot of humor at my expense.  I'm just grateful it doesn't say FRANK CANNOT!

With less than a month until race day, I've adjusted my expectations but am looking forward to my first tri of 2013.  I will show up on race day as well equipped as possible for the day - this may not mean an A race is in the cards, but at the same time, I am extremely thankful that my health is starting to bounce back a little.  Coach Bjoern has been really awesome at adjusting my training schedule and intensity, and for the first time in six months, I am starting to feel more energetic.  The understanding that sometimes sleep and rest is as, or more, important than putting in training hours is an epiphany.  I also expect the welcome addition of sunshine and extra daylight training hours helps enormously...as does the "I have a new bike so I must ride" phenomenon!

Introducing....Pepper!

Pepper the P5 joined the Frank bike stable in March, and is finally seeing some off-trainer riding thanks to the recent sunny weather.  Yes, she is fast.  Yes, she is pretty.  And yes, I did have to give her a (stupid) name.  I wouldn't have it any other way!  Huge thanks to Jeremy and Murray at Speed Theory for all their patience and time in getting her ordered, fit, assembled and ready to ride.

Along with the joy of sunny training days and new equipment to try out, the fun of experiencing season "firsts" is also incredibly motivating.  The first century ride, the first Cypress climb, the first ride without toe covers (!!) and the first hot weather brick workout bonk. :)  With the long, rainy days hopefully behind us for another season, I remember well why I love riding and running so much!

Thoughts on Boston

I gave a lot of thought as to whether it was appropriate to express my reaction to Monday's events at the finish line of the Boston Marathon.  So much has already been written without having answers to the questions that we all have, and I expect that in the coming days, months and years we will continue to ask questions even as we learn more.  I feel it is wrong to speculate, and I also feel that words cannot even begin to express my sympathy to those impacted by what has happened.  However, it just feels inauthentic to write about anything else, feign happiness or ignore what for the last two days has weighed heavily on my mind.

The horrible details we do know (from various news sources) are absolutely heartwrenching.  As the story unfolds, I am in equal parts saddened, confused and shocked.  To call what happened a tragedy, particularly where small children are amongst the victims, is an incredible understatement.  I respect and understand that violence occurs all over the world, all the time, and for many meaningless reasons.  In no way do I suggest that we interpret what happened irrationally or imply that an exaggerated reaction is appropriate, nor is this intended to be political rhetoric.  All I am saying is that what happened in Boston, quite simply, makes my heart feel extremely heavy.    

What unfolded Monday evoked a profound emotional impact reaction in me.  On Monday night, I woke three times in a sweat from a repetitive nightmare where I was unable to find my father at that finish line, where he stood only 5 years ago.  I am fortunate to be able to have crossed that iconic finish line four times, and each one of those years had friends and family supporting me and/or racing with me.  The thought that the devastation unleashed on Monday could have as easily been directed at my friends and family absolutely destroys me.  No one should die or suffer violence while spectating at a race.

Anyone who has experienced Boston on race day, as a runner or a spectator (and, for that matter, any race, anywhere) understands the energy and the magic that happens there.  Marathons are the culmination of dreams, sweat and effort beyond comparison - a testament to the human spirit, and to me, everything that is right about life.  The sport encompasses people of all origins, all nationalities, all orientations...such that I am hard pressed to imagine what could have possibly motivated such an attack.

There were people who could not understand why yesterday I wore my Boston finisher's t-shirt to work, or why I shed tears on Monday afternoon.  I get that.  Those are, however, the same people that will never understand why I lace up to run in the rain, log solitary mile after mile, endure through injuries and sacrifice to reach my athletic goals.  Yet, I am not dissuaded.  In the aftermath of what has happened, runners and the endurance community have banded together.  After all, we are endurance athletes.  We pick ourselves up and persevere against the odds, and we know how to continue moving forward even when it gets tough to do so.

Will I live in fear?  Will I stop racing?  No.  I'll keep doing so for the same reasons I always have...because it helps me make sense of a world that is at times senseless.

My first Boston finish.