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.  

Iron, man.

My surgery in November had a number of complications, one of which was blood loss that led to the modification of my "minimally invasive" procedure to one involving a lengthier recovery.  I lost nearly a litre of blood, which I have been told is approximately a quarter of the blood volume in someone my size.  Not ideal.

My focus had been almost exclusively on physiological recovery, and I had not given much thought to the implications on a cellular level.  When I started running and cycling in January,  I naively thought it would be back to business as usual.  Although I felt constantly fatigued, out of breath and terribly out of shape, I attributed the way I felt to the long period of inactivity.  Suck it up, buttercup.    

Short tempo runs were exhausting.  Leg speed was non-existent.  Getting out of bed was hard, but training was even harder.  I constantly had the sniffles, caught the flu three times and was cold...all the time.  Track and swim sets left me nauseous and out of breath.  Despite the sheer joy of being able to race again, understanding exactly how my legs had turned to lead in three months was a frustration.  With a couple of years of ironman training behind me, I have grown accustomed to feeling tired and kept telling myself to suck it up.  However, realizing that even something as simple as a track workout will leave you physically destroyed is not a good feeling.

Then, two weeks ago, came an "aha" moment.

Blood test results came back indicating my ferritin level was 19, a third of what it had been in the fall, pre-surgery.  While this is considered within low end of "normal" range for a female, it borders on anemic.  For a female endurance athlete, it is just downright too low (it is generally suggested that a level below 30 in a female athlete will cause performance issues).  Low iron means too little oxygen is being delivered to my muscles...meaning all of the symptoms I was experiencing make a whole lot of sense.

In general, I am pretty regimented with my diet and feel that I am quite knowledgeable about performance nutrition.  Even so, the last couple of weeks have been a bit of a crash course in damage control through diet!  While the low iron levels are most certainly due to blood loss from surgery rather than a chronic condition, my diet is the single biggest way that I can impact my iron stores right now. 

It has been interesting to learn more about the various sources of dietary iron and ways to maximize iron absorption through diet.  For instance, vitamin C is thought to enhance absorption (oranges...good!) whereas calcium and food with tannins are thought to inhibit it (large latte..bad!).  Always a sucker for developing meal plans, this new focus definitely makes my diet even more *weird* than before!  Low-sugar, high-iron, gluten-free, high-protein, low-fat, caffeine-free...anyone?  That really ought to make you want to come to a dinner party at my place. ;)         

My new morning and evening cocktail. 

Luckily, a diet in iron does not necessarily mean having to choke down liver and onions (sorry, mom, I really do hate that sh*t).  Iron comes in two types:  heme (the most absorptive), which is found in animal products, and non-heme, which is found in vegetables and grains.  I do eat red meat a couple times a week, but was excited to see that other types of protein (such as mussels, tofu and eggs) rate highly.  Green and leafy, another staple of mine, also factors well.   Moules frites...yes!  Chocolate...yes!  

While it remains to be seen whether the focus on diet will positively and beneficially impact my iron levels (the next blood panel is in May), the biggest lesson I have learned is that toughing it out is not always the right answer.   Distinguishing *good* fatigue from a real physiological problem can be a bit of a challenge, but I need to get better at it.  In retrospect, the nagging fatigue was a pretty good indicator that it wasn't just me being a softie (which, for the record, I kind of am).   Swim, bike, run may be on the schedule...but rest, recovery, diet and taking care of myself are equally important to my performance as an athlete.  

A spring surprise!

I did not know Mary Leliveld, but various sources on the internet tell me that she was an enthusiastic, talented runner, cyclist and age-group triathlete whose days of competition were cut way too short. She passed away, too young, at the age of 40 due to melanoma, but left behind her a legacy of inspiration.

Through Triathlon BC, the Mary Leliveld Fund finances a bursary to enable age-group triathletes to achieve their dreams through sport, and in particular, to help BC triathletes travel to Worlds.

Earlier this week, Triathlon BC announced that I am the 2013 recipient of the Mary Leliveld bursary. I feel grateful, humbled and appreciative. It is a privilege to be recognized, but also a challenge to live up to the expectation.

I would like to believe that I am the type of athlete envisioned when this fund was established – one who engages in the sport for the love of it. As a relative newbie to triathlon, I have been challenged without limit and feel incredibly lucky to have had the opportunity to train and race for nearly four years.

In learning a little more about Mary Leliveld's life and legacy, I am reminded of the reason why I chose to and continue be a triathlete. The opportunity to compete for Canada at the ITU long-distance World Championship in June in Belfort, France is a privilege, to be certain, but it is not what drives me. Long-term, the goal is not the personal best or the time on the clock, not the bragging rights to a crazy workout and certainly not the finisher medal or the Kona slot. To the best of my knowledge, no one has ever inscribed their Ironman time on their gravestone (at least I would hope not!). In the long run, it matters not.

What matters most is how I feel. Being healthy. Feeling alive. Those way-too early alarm clocks, the long brick workouts in the rain and the fourteen loads of laundry per week have a higher purpose and a greater reward in store. It's quite possibly the perfect life...to no one but me :)

I am a triathlete because swimming, biking and running to the best of my ability makes me happy, pure and simple. With any luck, I will be fortunate enough to continue to do so for years to come.

Huge thanks to Triathlon BC!