Jetlag and fjords

The last few days, our first in Norway, brought to memory the sleeplessness of Al Pacino's character in Insomnia.  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.

(Ironically, I just learned that Insomnia was actually a remake of a 1997 Norwegian film of the same name.)

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.

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! 

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.  

Gausta looming over the road below

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.

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 begin the hike.  Daunting?  Yes.

Heading up Zombie Hill...

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!).  

The Grouse Grind pales in comparison...

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.

The top!

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 :)

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 :)

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.

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 ride this thing.  Picture the north shore mountains all strung together, and you get pretty close.

There are a few hills here.  This isn't even all of them!

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 bleak and stunning come to mind.

The daunting Hardangervidda plateau, with glaciers in the distance.

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.

The breathtaking Hardangerfjord.

 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.

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 nothing. Fingers and toes are crossed for a few good nights of sleep before we return to Eidfjord and get ready to race!

Quaint Bergen.

  

The 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.

The truth is...I'm tired.  

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.    

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.   

And in that perspective, what I am most appreciative of right now is tolerance.

...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.      

...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.

...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.  

...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. 

   

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.

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 :) 

Whatever adventure awaits, with whatever result it yields, is perfect.          

Escape!

Racing Escape from Alcatraz was an intimidating, challenging and interesting experience, unexpected in so many ways.

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.

Road trip!

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!!

Swimming with the sharks

First things first...that swim.

When I "won" the lottery into the race, I posted about how terrified I was about the swim.  As race day approached, that fear blossomed.  Jumping off a ferry into the shark-infested, frigid bay was getting pretty real.

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. #betough      

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.

Maybe it really is that bad...

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.

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. #notgraceful

2014 swim start photo from Escape from Alcatraz facebook page

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.

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.  Done!

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.

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.    

The swamp monster emerges

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.

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.

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?"

So, I'll save the T1 swamp-monster photos for myself and share a happy bike photo instead.  

No more swimming = happy girl!

Happy is infectious

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.

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!

Just out for a stroll on the sand ladder.  

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!

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!

Check out my matchy #pearlizumi kit and shoes.  So awesome!

Podium!  Oh...and more spanky #pearlizumi :) Girls need matchy shoes!

Big thanks...

Coach Jasper...for keeping the focus on the right things - being balanced, being positive and living the experience.  Keep being so awesome!

My cheer squad - Dad, Dan, Marlene, John and Hilary.

Jeremy, Erin, Murray and Mike at Speed Theory

Elladee and Doug at Katana Sports...if you look good, you are fast! #pearlizumi #shimano

The sunburn trifecta

The 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!

Playing bikes in Maui

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.  Bikes!  Beaches!  Birthday boy!

The road to Hana...a ride like no other!

One of the most stunning rides in the world, for sure!

Upcountry vista

Beach time!

Recovery cocktails

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.

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!

Onto St. Croix....

A quick repack, some laundry (the recurring theme), and I was off to St. Croix for the Captain Morgan Ironman 70.3.  Such a gorgeous place...such a tough race.  But alas, you don't come to St. Croix expecting to come by that finisher medal easily. 

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!  

My "fruity" sun protection!

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!

Race goodies.  Didn't fit in my bottle cage.

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 Endurance Sports Travel.  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, Ken is a Kona legend!)  Far from the "solo" race I thought I would have, the race course was full of newly acquainted friendly faces!

My pre-race run "buddy".  I'm pretty sure he wanted to eat me.

The swim course...displaying its calmer side.  Not as lucky on race day!

Wind?  Hills?  Sun?  Check!!

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.  

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.

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.   

Ouuuuuch.  Sunblock fail!

Homeward bound...via Miami

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!  

You guessed it...more sunburn!

The South Beach life was brought to a screeching halt with the "12 weeks to Norseman" e-mail from Coach Jasper.  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!   

Four days back...and already well into the next laundry pile!

Dazzling

Returning 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.      

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 here.  In this headspace.

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.

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.

This year, I am here alone.  And yet, not alone at all.

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.    

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.

Not a postcard...the view from my patio.  

So much blue in the harbour.

The beach...to myself.

Seaside riding...with views for miles.

Even the dogs are blissful.  Rolling around happy!

Rum sponsor...and a 26 in the race packet!

Getting started

I 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.

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.

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.

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.

So, how did this all work out last week?

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.   "Halfway would be good enough".  "Maybe I could go slower".  "Maybe I can rest longer".  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!       

Not blazing fast but the splits don't lie...hanging in there leads to good things.

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.

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. Stop over thinking it and just go!

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.

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 not starting is not an option at all.

Nelson Mandela perhaps captured this most perfectly, "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"

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.    

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.

So, I choose starting.

Coming up for air

I had a good chuckle at a comment from Canadian triathlete extraordinaire Heather Wurtele, "we have entered the "I'm not f*cking grumpy!" stage of training.  Things are going well."

Being "in training" is not perfect or pretty or glamorous.  It is, however, in equal turns sweaty, sticky, awkward, hilarious, fun and rewarding.

Life in four week cycles

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.

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 nothing is actually tantamount to doing something.  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!

Rest week = eating week

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.

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!

"What would you like to do this evening?"
"Eat."

Hungry is a happy state...because it means things are going as they should.

Yummy post workout eats, including treats from Krokodile Pear juice bar!

Fresh start

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.  Oh the places I will go! 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.

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.

Honey, I shrunk the P5!

(PS...Big thanks to the incredible team at Speed Theory for magically shrinking my P5.  This mini rocket ship is just itching to hit those (dry) roads!)

Evolution, baby

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.

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, new coach, new races, new challenges, new age group (!!), new gear.  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.