Haute Route Dolomites 2015 - Staring down the devil

There are so many fitting descriptors for my Haute Route experience. 

Fearsome.  Challenging.  Breathtaking.  Traumatic.  Staggering. 

Only days removed from ride, I am exhilarated, but also completely shattered.  It is not an experience I will be able to forget anytime soon, but it may take weeks, months, or maybe even years to fully appreciate the enormity of it. 

Why?

Several friends had ridden Haute Route events in previous years (the Pyrenees and Alps events) and in the fall had started discussing doing Swiss Alps-Dolomites 2015.  I was told exactly how hard these rides were, but doing Norseman last year left me with a taste for more adventurous, unique races, and this definitely seemed to fit the bill.  A cycling-only adventure also intrigued me, and the opportunity to share the experience with a group of friends made it even more attractive.  At best, a challenging ride with friends…at worst, there would be familiar faces to commiserate with.   

The organizers bill their events as the “highest and toughest” cyclosportives in the world – each ride being an amateur, 7 day stage race featuring a relentless mountain route.  The Dolomite edition further has a reputation for its brutality.  This is no leisurely countryside bike tour, and is definitely not a ride for the faint of heart.    

Winding the 900 kilometer route through the high mountain passes between Geneva and Venice was an unprecedented challenge for me.  To date, my endurance adventures have all been focused on single day events, granted not easy ones, but certainly nothing like the Haute Route.  I do not particularly excel at long, successive days, never mind the treacherously long days that the route promised.  The ride terrified me, but that terror appealed and intrigued in a way that only endurance / adventure junkies could possibly relate to. 

Based on several recommendations, I chose to travel with one of the organization’s travel partners to help navigate the impossible logistics of the week.  Race briefings, early starts, shuttles, routes changes, bike storage, luggage transport, long days, quickly sourcing quality food and recovery…it was all pretty overwhelming.  It seemed to me that negotiating rural areas of foreign countries was challenging enough, never mind when you are completely shattered after riding for 7 hours.   In retrospect, this was one of the best planning decisions I made and vastly improved the quality of my experience.  

Matt and Simon from Magic Places (a Victoria-based cycling experience powerhouse) expertly shepherded us through all the crazy logistics of the week and, quite honestly, saved the entire ride for me several times over.  I cannot say enough about their knowledge and assistance.  

The ride…abridged

It is practically impossible to relay the collection of feelings and experiences of the last week in a short blog post.  I also realize that not everyone is interested in hearing the fine details of my suffering.  As such, I have written the abridged version here and am slowly working on a separate longer version (the latter for my own memory more than anything else).

My trusty Garmin tells me that over 7 days, I amassed 30 hours of riding. 900 kilometres.  20 cols. 16,000 meters of elevation gain.  Yes, meters.

That’s a lot of sweat, a lot of grit and a lot of chamois cream.

The backdrop for this descent into cycling purgatory was stunning.  We rolled through bucolic countryside, winding our way to the end point in Venice via storied mountain villages – Andermatt, St. Moritz, Bormeo. Cortina. 

As expected, the landscape was also as treacherous as it was visually appealing. There was just no easy here.  Long days, long climbs, crazy descents, repeat. Each day featured several forbidding climbs, including some of the most emblematic and striking mountain passes in the Swiss Alps and Dolomites - Furkapass, the Gavia, Passo Giau, Sella, Pordoi, San Boldo.  These passes are as visually fierce as they are to climb - sharp, craggy ridges rising like devilish forms above you.  You are constantly reminded just how tiny you are in this universe as you inch your way up these goliaths. 

The forbidding and breathtaking Gavia

Tranquil beauty....and ice...at the top of the Gavia

Despite having raced in Europe before and (somewhat ignorantly) believing that I had some comprehension and requisite experience to manage what I would face, I was completely blown away by how difficult the week was.  Demanding terrain, talented competitors, temperamental weather.  The Dolomites have earned their reputation and command respect. 

The cycle of pain and reward is always present in endurance events, and you come to expect it.  Here, it was amplified, not only by the sheer audacity of the task at hand, but also by the progression of fatigue over the accumulation of miles and the treacherous weather.  There were many moments where I was so cold, so challenged, so physically tapped that I felt like I could not go on any further, wishing to be swallowed by the gigantic teeth of the rock face rising above me, only to be reassured by an exhilarating descent through the dazzling emerald valleys that would follow.     

The week was an indescribable roller coaster ride, a true battle with my mind, my body and the elements.  Unlike shorter distance races, which command attention for a specific period of time, this event demands patience and acceptance.  I learned to go into each day one moment at a time.  Start.  Warm up.  Climb.  Eat.  Drink.  Keep going.  Above all else, keep going.  The sheer distance between the start and the finish demanded a repetition of exhilaration, pain, fear, desperation and resilience.  The mind will take the body along with it, and make no mistake, simply finishing is victory alone.

In an event like this, the focal point of your existence becomes very narrow. I constantly reminded myself to take in the scenery, to appreciate the extraordinary surroundings - in fact, this was the mental battle I faced for all thirty hours.  It was easy to get distracted by my own mind, focusing internally on the brutality of the moment, my physical suffering, the cold, the pain...the typical "everything is wrong but nothing is wrong" cycle.  I stubbornly refused to get drawn into this cycle, instead focusing outwardly and appreciating the sheer of the climbs and the elements.  What an incredible privilege to feel such pain and to witness such beauty at the same time.   

Epilogue

Writing the post-script before fully finishing my introspective may be premature.  I expect I will come to appreciate different parts of this journey as time passes, and my feelings towards it will undoubtedly change as the imminent pain is forgotten.  I arrived in Geneva with equal parts enthusiasm and trepidation, and I left Venice exhausted but with an incredible sense of achievement. 

Whether completing the Haute Route is a remarkable accomplishment is all a matter of perspective.  I do not mean to downplay it - it certainly ranks amongst the most difficult, soul searching, shattering experiences of my life…and yet, you return to real life and it becomes difficult to assimilate into the realm of "normal".  The experience is almost incomprehensible to a layperson, the gravity of it so hard to comprehend without fully being immersed in the struggle.  

What did you do for your summer holiday?  I rode my bike from Geneva to Venice through some of the most staggeringly difficult and beautiful terrain in the world.  My heart just swells.     

But my head is firmly in check.  This matters to no one but me, and my finish pales in comparison to the accomplishments of many endurance athletes.  I cannot even fathom being one of the “iron” riders (who completed two weeks) or the “triple crown” riders (who completed all three events) who faced multiples of the adversity and distance.  My finish also pales in comparison to the very extraordinary Christian Haettich, who has now completed the triple crown multiple times...with one arm and one leg.

Will I go back one day?  I have no doubt I would never want to return as a mere tourist, for there would be no reward without the effort.  The brilliance of the mountaintop hot chocolate shared with friends after climbing 2000m over a mountain pass in sleet, rain and fog cannot be replicated without getting back on a bike and going through it all again.  Post-ride pasta has never tasted so good.  A hot shower has never felt so incredibly luxurious.  

I am certainly not ready to get back on my bike just yet...the experience is still months from being recalled as "fun".  However, when I watch the video and relive the event, there is an instinctive, visceral reaction.  Maybe.      
   

Black days

Whatsoever I've feared has come to life
Whatsoever I've fought off became my life
Just when every day seemed to greet me with a smile
Sunspots have faded 
Now I'm doing time

Despite the persistent Vancouver sunshine, there has not been a lot of light in 2015 thus far.  My dogged belief that things always turn for the better has kept me going, and as someone who can suffer through long distance races with the best of them, my persistence tends to be, well, fairly persistent.

So far this year I have blogged very little, and raced even less.  Training has been consistently inconsistent, due to various personal pitfalls, some expected, mostly not.  Each time, I pick myself up, lick the wounds, and start over.  And over.

Brilliantly happy days are not so far behind that I cannot remember what it felt like to feel carefree, to feel loved, to feel fit.  And so I persevere...there is but one life to live after all.

I'm a searchlight soul they say
But I can't see it in the night
I'm only faking when I get it right

Happiness. Love. Health.

Ever present social media - the Instalife - waxes rhapsodic.  The "perfect life" is glorified, manicured, put on a pedestal.  Too shiny, too perfect, too cinematic to ever be real.

I care not for the #mylifeisthebestlookatme bullshit, and I shut those offenders out.  You don't get with me unless you have some humility about your own existence.

When you have felt happiness, felt love, felt strong, you never doubt their power.  I totally get the lure of wanting to scream it from the rooftops.  But, reality is, everyone has ups and downs regardless of what appearances may suggest.  To me, raw honesty trumps perfection, yielding a recognition that life goes both ways and can, at any moment, drastically change its trajectory.

The happiness, the love, the strength can be fleeting, and you don't always choose when they appear or disappear.  It was real, or was it?  Is it gone?  Maybe.  Yes.  No.  Possibly.  Uncertainty weighs on my mind at times, sometimes for days.  Moments can crawl by with hesitation, self-doubt, fear. And, in the fleeting absence of the things you desire most, you realize how your life transforms.  Nothing is wrong, but everything is wrong.  Those dark moments of fear, loneliness, uncertainty weigh heavy.

So I fake it, and sometimes it works. I become the very introverted version of me that is probably always there.  I bury myself in workouts and work, cereal becomes every meal, I avoid social interaction, I hunker down. I share only the parts that I want to share and hide everything else.  This is all ok, because I am human and not a screen shot - awkward, clumsy, failing, ruffled, imperfectly perfect.

In struggling (and recognizing that I am struggling), I recognize my potential to do better.  My expectations are usually brutal and self-imposed, but are at times realistic assessments of who I am and who I want to be. There is no harsher critic of me than me.  To date, the most vital lessons of 2015 have been learning to go easier on myself and learning to allow life to hurt.  Be patient, and trust that the black days will brighten in time.

So what you wanted to see good, has made you blind
And what you wanted to be yours, has made it mine
So don't you lock up something that you wanted to see fly

Small steps.  One day at a time.

This may all sound melancholy, but it is really not meant to be.  I am old enough to recognize my shortcomings just as well as I recognize my worth. I am not locking myself out and throwing away the key because I do still believe I can quite possibly fly.  Or maybe just ride my bike really fast.

Every day has renewed intention - a chance to be better than the day before, to breath more fully, to love more deeply, to forgive more wholly.  Having faith, each day, in the possibility that it will all work out.

The sun is there.  I feel it's warmth in ephemeral glimpses - the euphoric joy in racing (and sometimes inexplicably winning), the giddy silliness of a puppy, the true belief that I am somehow headed on the right path no matter how strange that path may seem to anyone but me.


**
Editorial note: in case you were not an angst ridden teenager in the 90's like I was, the references are to a Soundgarden song and not my own poetic genius.

Iron-y

My targeted first race of the season was a few weeks ago.  But, as happens in life, even the best laid plans go awry, and I did not race Oceanside as planned.

Suffice it to say, the 2015 season is a bit of a lemon so far in the racing department.

Certainly, my perspective on racing has changed.  The single-race-as-a-goal has realistically been replaced with a desire to be an athlete for life.  With 40 just behind me, there is a noticeable difference in how my body reacts to training volume and stress.  Being "in" for the long term demands a measured approach.  Recovery takes longer, and the abuses that my body once took in stride (hard back-to-back sessions, high weekly volume, cutting my sleep schedule to meet life demands, being less than perfect with nutrition) are no longer tolerated.

Work stress in December left me fighting a losing battle to the cold and flu season in January, followed by the loss of my beloved Bogey in January.  Add fatigue and stress to more stress, and you end up with a pretty unpleasant base.  Training was inconsistent at best, and each setback necessitated a few days or a week of recovery.

These things happen.  After each setback, I hit "reset", and I moved on...although not without a few good pep talks from Coach Jasper.  I was pretty determined to make some lemonade out of those lemons.  After all, your mindset is one of the very few things that is absolutely in your control.

The head, the heart or the body...?

Repetitive bouts of fatigue and stress cumulatively sap even the hardiest of minds and body.  And, in trying to work a solution, it is always easiest if you understand the root cause.  

So, I spent the first two months of 2015 wondering what the hell was wrong with me.  The fatigue and constant sniffles were a pretty obvious sign that something was amiss.  Tired all the time.  So, so very tired.

Emotional stress and physical stress are really hard to differentiate.  Was it my body telling my head that it had had enough, or was my head influencing what my body felt?  I was doing nothing different than I had for months, years, before...and yet, the result I was getting was so very frustratingly opposed to what I had ever experienced.  I wasn't getting stronger, I wasn't getting faster...I was just getting tired.

Just don't tell me to eat a steak!

As Jasper puts it best (and an outlook that I am grateful for), there is no cookie cutter approach to planning an effective training program for an athlete.  A training plan is highly individualized, a puzzle that fits into the demands, capabilities and lifestyle of each athlete.  There is absolutely no perfect or singular approach that works universally for every athlete.

The high-volume, high stress plans that work for some athletes absolutely do not work for me, and they never have.  This bod simply doesn't do boot camp - it needs love.  Effectively training means being smart, and taking the time to listen to your body isn't being lazy or unmotivated.  Rest, recovery and head space have always been important to me, and are even more critical to me today.  Being an athlete does not mean that every spare moment of your free time needs to be consumed by training.

You are not supposed to be wrecked all the time.  Hard days are to be matched evenly by the easy days when your body is given the luxury of recovering.  And, when it is clear that something is physically amiss, you step back and figure it out.  

Mindfully shelving the race in Oceanside created space - it eliminated the stress of racing when my body was not ready to race.  It also offered the opportunity to plan a sunshine escape not involving race chaos...a simply lovely riding adventure to the Santa Monica Mountains over the Easter holiday.  Riding in the sunshine for no greater reason than because riding is fun.  

Incredible Malibu canyon climbing

Vitamin D + mountains + ocean views = bliss

Snap back to reality

Suffice it to say, it is somewhat relieving to arrive at the "why".  Along with the fatigue and general malaise, symptoms that had been somewhat resolved by my surgery in 2012 had reappeared. A blood test confirmed that my iron levels are the lowest they have been post-surgery, and borderline anemic.  The sneaking suspicion then subsequently confirmed by ultrasound.

There are many life experiences you would choose to repeat, given the opportunity.  An incredible vacation, a milestone achievement, a loved one's accomplishment, the unconditional love of a puppy, an unforgettable sunset.  Surgery, however, does not fit the bill, and wasn't exactly my grand plan for 2015.  But here we are.

And yet, I feel fortunate.  I feel fortunate to know that there is not only a path to recovery, but it is a path I somewhat understand the trajectory of.  I feel fortunate to know that there is a reason behind the fatigue, and fortunate to feel like I can control how I manage it.  I might not be fast, I might not be racing, but I am here, I am alive, and I get to do what I love, with the people I love, every day - and that's not all that bad.  

In love and loss and love

Fifteen years is a long time.  One's life evolves enormously over that period.  For a person, fifteen years takes you partially through adulthood, with all the lessons and realizations that come with it.

For a dog, fifteen years measures a life.

That life started in small town Alberta.  A precocious ball of fluff literally bounced into my life, with him choosing me and not vice versa, the beginning of what was an improbable and adventurous run for a little pet store mutt from rural Alberta.  

From that cold January day onward, Bogey graced (owned?) absolutely every moment of my adult life as I know it.  My sidekick, my companion, my monkey.  He filled my world with love - an infectious, silly, enthusiastic, crooked-grinned, impetuous and irresistible love.  He was a standout, simply one of the best people (yes, people) I have ever met, unconditional and unwavering in his affection, gracious for the simplicities of life, and spunky as all hell.

When my life changed, Bogey stayed a constant.  We left the prairies and embarked on what was initially a lonely and isolating move to Vancouver.  No matter what job or relationship turmoil ensued, what successes or failures arose, he happily gave unwavering, unconditional and non-judgemental friendship.  Together, we gradually made Vancouver our forever home.  Kitsilano was his 'hood, and he owned that beach like no prairie shih tzu's business.

The infectious, crooked Bogey grin.

Fifteen years.  My longest relationship.

Every day, he greeted me at the door with his silly grin and happy tail.  He was a character, a little imp, and his antics and goofy personality touched everyone who got to know him.  He ran like a mad-monkey-dog, especially at the beach, but started and finished each day curling up beside me for a cuddle. We embarked on adventures galore, took holidays together, ran on beaches, had picnics and shared ice cream.

Self-satisfied at the beach.

Bogey did not do anything half hearted.  He was all in.  He ran himself silly, stopped to catch his breath, then did it again over and over.  He chased squirrels and ducks and cats relentlessly, despite no hope of ever catching one.  He rolled in the dirt, sand, and grass without fear of looking silly or getting dirty.  He greeted me with zeal, whether I was gone for a minute or a day.  I can aspire to experience my life with such passion and fervour.

There is no judgement, no selfishness and no game-playing in a dog's companionship.  It is the truest relationship you will ever experience.  Bogey taught me not only to love myself, but to raise the expectations of relationships around me.  He taught me to be appreciative and live each moment with joy, be unwavering in my loyalty, and to be unafraid to show my heart on my sleeve.

And, unlike relationships with people, a relationship with a dog is co-dependent and unconditional.  Bogey was forever my responsibility, and after years together, we just "got" each other.  I learned his snurfles, his ear twitches, his mannerism, his tail wags, his barks.  When I was ill, and when I had surgery, he was "ill" too and never left my side.  That bond is irreplaceable and precious.  I only wish I had more time, for fifteen years was simply not long enough.  The decline of that precious friendship was too soon, much too soon.

In the last few years, Bogey gradually lost his hearing (sometimes selectively), his eyesight, and sometimes his balance as arthritis creeped into his back legs.  He started relishing belly rubs over long walks (and somehow conned his walkers into more of the former than the latter), but in his Bogey manner, remained graciously enthusiastic.

Then, last fall, he fell terminally ill with a liver tumor that threatened his life several times.  He bounced back, incredibly, and in his happy-go-lucky way challenged even the vet's best estimates of his life expectancy.  With this diagnosis, however, came the cognizance that every extra day was a gift.  We delighted when he was able to scamper down to the beach, do his "rabbit" hop down the block and play crazy games with Dan in the living room.  Those good days eventually became rarities, with the scamper reduced to a block, then half, then a few meters.

Our "two-block" walks in the late years.

And two days ago, the horrible comprehension that our time together had run its course.  The most difficult, heartwrenching thing I have ever done was taking my best friend on that journey.  Together with Dan (his Dan-Dad), we made it our very best, last day possible, with ice cream, beaches, walks and cuddles.  We told him over and over, how much we loved him and how grateful we were for the life he shared with us, and held him close until he peacefully slipped away.  

Simple pleasures.  A scoop of ice cream on our best, last day together.

I would not trade my heartache today for the memories of the last fifteen years. My greatest fear is not in losing Bogey, for I know that it was time for him to be released from his physical struggle.  My fear is that memories will fade, and that I will forget the feeling of joy he brought me every day, the unconditional love he afforded me, and how burying my face in his beautiful fur made the world disappear.  I fear I will forget, without his presence as a reminder, to embrace every day with silly exuberance, and forget, without his faithful lead, to follow my heart.
 
And, while this is certainly not a story related to triathlon, or training, or any endurance activity whatsoever, it speaks wholly to the title of my blog...which is about the lifelong process of being in transition, learning and evolving.  In love and in loss and in love.  

I am determined to honor our love story, the wonderful life and the beautiful memories he chose me for.  Embrace life in the enthusiastic, impetuous and honest way that he did.  Love fearlessly.  Show affection.  Be silly and happy and love the world.  Stop and sniff the surroundings.  Take long walks. Run like the wind.  Roll in the grass. Relish every treat and ask for more.  Be a puppy forever.

Run like the wind, bask in the sunshine, bounce through the puddles...always.

Bogey, Boo, B-man, Bogeyman, Man-man, Monkey, Mr. Magoo, Little Shit, Good Boy, Bee-boop, Mr. Shih Tzu, Bogeylicious.

My Sweet Boy.

My Little Man.

Words cannot thank you for loving me so much.  It was an amazing, one of a kind love that we shared.  Rest well, my precious little friend.

***
“No matter how close we are to another person, few human relationships are as free from strife, disagreement, and frustration as is the relationship you have with a good dog. Few human beings give of themselves to another as a dog gives of itself. I also suspect that we cherish dogs because their unblemished souls make us wish - consciously or unconsciously - that we were as innocent as they are, and make us yearn for a place where innocence is universal and where the meanness, the betrayals, and the cruelties of this world are unknown.” - Dean Koontz (A Big Little Life:  A Memoir of a Joyful Dog)


***
Huge thanks to the wonderful people that played a part of Bogey's life and care.  Corinne, and his other friends at Fetch N' Go, who helped me manage his walks (and belly rubs);  his friends at the Doghouse (of both the canine and people varieties) who were his companions during our 12 years in Vancouver; his groomers at Unleashed Dog Spa who kept him looking spunky; and finally, the doctors and nurses at Granville Island Vet Clinic, who showed Bogey the utmost compassion and care.

Making plans

A friend forwarded me a great article describing Nicola Spirig's planned Ironman debut in Cozumel this weekend.  An Olympic medallist in triathlon in 2012, and an athlete of the infamous (and controversial Brett Sutton), Nicola is an incredible inspiration to me not because of what she does (aka race incredibly fast) but because of the manner in which she does it:  her way.

She is not only a triathlete and an incredible athlete period, but a professional (lawyer) and a mother. She has a life outside the sport and, much like any age-grouper, balances her passion for racing with real life responsibilities.  It is incredibly refreshing to see someone at this level demonstrate not only an ability to balance life, but a desire to expand her focus beyond elite level ITU racing.  By all accounts, the article indicates that the main reason she is racing Ironman Cozumel is purely curiosity.  Because she can.

Born an original

At the end of my "tri" season, I started making plans as I always do.  End of season always brings reflection and finality, but reinforces the things that make me tick.

I blogged in October about dreaming a new dream.  I was genuinely surprised at the wide range of responses - from support and encouragement to incredulousness.  But this process of creating intention should not come as a surprise.  Just as I took the plunge into triathlon five years ago, I am driven not by repetitiveness in my future plans, but by life experience.  Each year my motivation and goals evolve, and I expect will continue to do so over my lifetime.

I race because I can, and because it lends to my life.  I want to feel challenged, even a bit scared, of the things I take on. I am not interested in complacency or following a crowd - I was born an original, and intend to stay that way.  I am also not a "bucket lister".  Certainly there are experiences that I have simply tried and am not interested in repeating, but there are also experiences I will repeat because they lend something to my life that I need at that time, or represent activities that I have a desire to get better at.  There is no rhyme or reason to this...it just is.  If something happens to be one-and-done, it is because I chose it, and not because I checked off a to-do list.        

Two themes emerged from my race experiences last year:  defining possible, and racing for me alone. These are themes I will carry into my goals for 2015.  

Defining possible

I was wholeheartedly and genuinely terrified of both Alcatraz and Norseman.  That did not make them impossible - they simply represented the opportunity to me to rise to my potential.  Did everything go swimmingly (pun intended)?  No.  But that is the amazing part of endurance activities.  The fear is magnetic - being on the edge of your capability, learning how to adapt and realizing that you are capable of much, much more than you ever believed.  Simply - it is defining possible.

Racing for me alone

I have been, and will continue to be, very selective in the events I choose.  Racing needs to have soul, an inherent attraction - whether it is the location, the terrain, the competition.  The spandex parade interests me not, nor does the "flat, fast" mentality - I want finishing to be a question mark, not an eventuality.  The reward to me is in the effort and in the experience - it matters not to me if I am fifth or first or fiftieth, how I placed in my age group, or what my time was as long as I put forth my best. The race experience I desire is me against me, the elements and the terrain.  Period.

Up, up, up!

The "epic" in 2015 will come from the self-powered adventure known as the Haute Route.  A seven day, 900 kilometre traverse of the Alps and Dolomites - starting in Geneva and (hopefully!) ending in Venice.  There happen to be a few mountains in between...23,500 meters of climbing in aggregate.  You read that right...meters.   Am I scared?  Damned right.

A few hills there...

Moving out of the crowd

I seriously contemplated getting out of triathlon this year.  The age-group experience, particularly in my most recent race, was no longer an enjoyable one for me.  Large races with significant male participation create a very challenging environment on the bike for a relatively weak swimmer like me.  The swim is a beatdown, the bike is a congested mess.  Quite frankly...I was frustrated with my experience.

However, I have been a single sport athlete before and I recall exactly why I expanded my horizons - because I love the variety, I appreciate being able to move between sports, and I believe that each is a compliment to each other.  And while the Haute Route will certainly demand a focus on the bike, I realized I would be remiss to give up on swim/run so easily after working so hard.  I would honestly miss it all...yes, even the pool.  So the change I choose will not involve giving anything up...but will change the way the game is played.  (Because, after all, it is my game and I get to choose!)  

So I took the plunge out of age-group to become a forty-year old "baby pro".  I have no predictions on how this will go, no illusions of greatness, but am appreciative that the opportunity presents itself to race off the front with the fast girls (read:  chase the fast girls).  To my mind, you can never regret a decision you chose not to make. The anticipated ass-kicking will begin in March!  #yolo  

No turning back now!

 And with that...the planned (mis)adventures of 2015 are locked and loaded.  Things just got real :)

Take no prisoners

Last Monday marked the start line of the long haul back to some semblance of fitness.  After several years of taking a notable break after a season of racing, it should come as no surprise when I return feeling sluggish, slow and out of shape.  As I huff and puff and lament how my muscle memory has seemingly faded from existence, those first few workouts remind exactly how hard returning to swim/bike/run is after a over a month "off".

How do the other half live?

Off-season is the time of "normal", as though this hypothetical "normal" can be defined.  

My training friends, for the most part, are not exactly shining examples of this normal that I sought to achieve.  One even casually noted to me that he felt a 50k race was a perfect off-season activity to keep "things fresh".  Yeah right.

So absent any kind of real role model for normal, I free-styled for a few weeks...

An extra glass of wine (ok, maybe two) on a Friday night.  Sometimes Tuesdays too.  Sunday brunch with no run preceding it.  A weekday alarm later than 4:45am.  No pile of lycra laundry or packing around workout gear.  No training peaks schedule.  A (gasp!) holiday without a bike.  Drinks with friends.  Carelessness about food intake.  Shopping...of the variety where you go into real stores (not online), buy real stuff (not bike gear) and even buy girly clothing (not containing spandex).

And, like every other year, the beauty of off-season normal is that it makes me appreciate how absolutely not normal that lifestyle is, for me.  I want to sweat and breathe and create piles of lycra laundry.  I would rather stick pins in my eye than spend a Saturday afternoon in a mall, and quite frankly, I love to eat but really do prefer salads over chocolate and Perrier over martinis.  Perhaps that is just the sensibility that comes with age.  Or perhaps, the reinforcement of years of exercise that have taught me to appreciate that feeling awesome is a life premium worth seeking out.

The other beauty of off-season is that it reinforces how much balance training lends to my life.  Dropping a training schedule out of my week does absolutely nothing to improve my productivity at life in general, in fact, it makes me feel sluggish and grumpy and absolutely aching to get back to my routine.  Again, I realize that sounds strange, but taking breaks to workout energizes me to be productive in my career and at home.  Those hours "gained" in off-season, quite frankly, make my soul feel a little lost.  I'd rather be busy juggling it all than missing the sweaty parts.    

Do it because you love it

So I am back to juggling schedules and laundry and workouts.  Off season is off.  Not "fully" training, but at least sweating again.  And I love it.

Early season is its own beast.  Time off certainly refreshes the mind, but is enough to make the legs a little rusty.  Ask anyone who returns to swimming or running after several weeks off, and they will tell you how much of a struggle it is to return to simply feeling normal.  The truth is, it really never gets easier... but is a matter of setting your mind to it.

Those tough first workouts are tempered by the knowledge that race season is a long way off.  In my view, intense training at this time of the year really does not lend to race season success.  In fact, I believe that too much structure and intensity only serves to damage the opportunity to recalibrate.  Forget FTP, heart rate, wattage, time trials, race pace...this IS the time of year to enjoy being active, enjoy moving, have some fun and not get too fussed about where it all is going.

Same, same but different

I firmly sit in the camp that believes that the human body was not built to train serious, hard and fast year round.  As important as rest days and recovery periods are in a cycle of training, an absolute break followed by a gradual return to fitness is absolutely needed for me to restore the mind and body for the next big adventure.  And, upon returning to a regular schedule of training, my training week purposely looks a little different than the summer months.

Strength, base fitness and balance are my go-to in the early season.  Workouts are not long, but they are very focused and technique driven - good form creates a better base than anything.  (I really loved this article from training peaks that speaks to off-season training.  Someone else gets it!!)

One of my favorite off-season retreats is hot yoga.  As the weather turns nasty and the long dark Vancity days persist (why is it dark at 3pm!?), the heat and comfort of the hot room is my cocoon.  To be fair, I am not a very good yogi - I am definitely more linear than flowy, and my class preference tends towards more "athletic" styles of yoga like power or hot (I highly recommend Katherine Moore's hot class at YYoga...amazing!).  But as a non-bendy athlete who focuses on repetitive movements and pavement jarring impact for much of the year, my joints and muscles are very thankful for the variety and freedom of movement.  Not only does yoga promote greater flexibility and range in a body that is not used to being flexible, but I believe that yoga helps ward off injury and compliments running and cycling by honing in on mental focus.  My head loves being in that place, and nowhere else, for the entire class - the world around just gloriously disappears for an hour at a time.

It is also the season of balancing the things I really like (running for the sake of running!)...with the things-I-really-don't-like-but-are-good-for-me.  Aka...weight training and swimming.  I would really find any excuse in the book not to go to the gym or the pool, so this is a matter of scheduling it in and just doing it.  And, true to my experience every year, the more you go, the easier it gets...but you gotta show up.  Don't over think it, just go!     

My version of fun

And slowly, slowly, it is all coming back.  I am taking no prisoners and doing things exactly the way I want to.  I do this all because it is my version of fun, and as a consequence, I get to decide exactly what that looks like.  And with that, comes the reinforcement that this is the way I like my life to be -  the familiarity of the routine, the happiness of a workout achieved, and the joy of feeling healthy.  

Beach running...a perfect winter activity.

2014 race log

First Half Marathon 02/16
Vancouver Sun Run 4/27
Ironman 70.3 St. Croix 5/4
Escape from Alcatraz 6/1
Ride to Conquer Cancer 6/16-17
Subaru Vancouver half iron 8/13
Norseman 8/2
Glotman Simpson Hill Climb 8/16
SeaWheeze 8/23
ITU AG Worlds (Sprint and Standard) 9/2
Whistler Gran Fondo 9/6
Ironman Mallorca 9/27

...and that's a wrap for 2014!