It’s now been my first month working with the new trainer. The swimming is progressing and I’m slowly but surely getting back into running mode; it’s time to start incorporating the bicycle into my workouts. So last week I unhooked my bike from its trusty resting spot hanging from the roof of the garage to discover that both of the tires were flat. I shouldn’t have been surprised, especially since it had been up there since last summer’s race, so I dug out a bike pump and feverishly worked to pump air into the tires. It seemed to work so I put it in the rack of my car and headed out to the trailhead.
While waiting at the last stoplight before parking, a man stepped into the crosswalk to pass in front of me. He shuffled along, certainly not in a hurry and looking mostly downward. I inadvertently smiled at him and apparently he saw me because he did a double-take and looked at me quizzically. I was in such a good mood, ready for an easy bike ride (I suspect I won’t be getting many such passes before Coach kicks them into painful mode) and besides, I naturally like to smile. The stranger didn’t return the smile but picked up his pace to the other side so I counted that as a win.
My own smile soon faded of course when I realized that the tires were flat again. Since riding the bike was out of the question, I turned around and went home to go for a run instead. My dog was especially happy about the change of events! Despite what I’ve said about running with him, I feel safer when he’s with me. He started whimpering with anticipation as soon as I put on my running shoes; I think he’s missed running as much as I have. We started out well enough, nice and easy just around the neighborhood in circles (since the patchwork cul-de-sacs seem to take away my sense of direction), and as we ventured out a little further the rain lightened up. Or so it seemed. Out of nowhere, I heard a woman’s voice call out to ask if I was training for the Tacoma marathon. Confused, I looked around to see who it was and stopped to talk to her. She was a Cub Scout mom, complete in uniform with her little guy in tow, and she told me she’s interested in running and looking for a partner. As we talked, the rain really kicked in so we cut it short, a new friendship forged. I couldn’t help but smile at my good fortune.
I shouldn’t have been quite so surprised by the quickly changing weather, rain of course is nothing new and I’m no longer surprised when it stars pouring as soon as I open my front door to get started, but this day I experienced a whole new scenario: it rained hail. It drenched my clothes and pelted my face, and Seamus finally stopped cold in his tracks, right in front of my legs, as if to ask me what we were doing. That would mark the end of the workout!
While telling my training partner about the chain of events, she questioned why the woman talked to me; I must not have had my "game face" on to ward off interruptions. I beg to differ; I think a smile is part of my natural presence. I love my smile, it's one of my best features, and I often smile while running because I enjoy it so much. I have some various words of advice and encouragement that are taped to my bathroom vanity that I read in the morning while getting ready. They offer a variety of advice for improving life's outlook, and more than a couple include smiling in their suggestions. A smile helps make a situation a little easier to bear, and is an easy way to acknowledge somebody or soften a situation when the need arises. It can brighten your outlook and is highly contagious to others. To quote Buddy the Elf, "I just like to smile, smiling's my favorite." My sentiments exactly!
So while training isn't always fun and enough rain can dampen anyone's mood, a smile can certainly make it easier to bear. I encourage you to smile more and see what develops!
Friday, April 22, 2011
Friday, April 8, 2011
Progress: No Matter How Small, It All Adds Up!
Dragging myself to the pool this morning at an early hour was a challenge, but thankfully I had a friend to join in the misery with me. The laps I struggled with just a few short weeks ago came easier, despite the wicked way the pool's bottom dropped dramatically towards a very deep end, a very different sensation from our standard lap pool that's currently out of commission. As I moved through the stages of my workout, able to complete all of it this time, I was energized to see how far I've already come. My mindset has slowly changed back towards training mode and I'm really starting to get excited for my events this year.
At a conference this week one of our lectures was on emotions and while the lesson was intended to be tied to the changes in the economy, it instead focused on the idea of how our emotions affect us as individuals. It was a simple enough concept but it really drove home just how much control we each have over our own lives. It all boils down to choices. Choose to be happy, or just go through the motions. Choose to be accountable, or let it slide off your shoulders as somebody else's problem. Choose your attitude, your mindset, the way you react when provoked. Every choice impacts another, each one shaping your journey. At the end of the day, it's your life and your responsibility to yourself to make the most of it. At some point we must all come to terms with what we're experiencing and let that direct our path forward. It's easy to get bogged down in the heavy emotions that come with the occasional painful encounters of life, but for each event that we're able to conquer comes some sense of self and generally a lesson or two to reflect on for future reference.
Having the right mindset will be half the battle through my continued recovery, training, and competition. To maximize my fitness goals I will have to make the choice to focus on my progress on the road and in the pool rather than the negative pressure of worrying about how far I have to go even to catch up to the level of my training partner. As a tough competitor against myself, this will require its own level of effort as I'm torn between what I think I should be able to accomplish at this point and where I really am. Learning to accept the reality of my current abilities will enhance my learning experience, as well as motivate me to work harder and better appreciate my milestones. Being off my feet for an extended break has dampened my spirit but not the drive to continue racing, so while today's longest stretch of 8 laps is quite shy of the 20ish lap distance I'll have to do in my triathlon, it's already an improvement worthy of pride. As my late grandpa's favorite saying goes, "attitude is verything", which can't be emphasized enough!
At a conference this week one of our lectures was on emotions and while the lesson was intended to be tied to the changes in the economy, it instead focused on the idea of how our emotions affect us as individuals. It was a simple enough concept but it really drove home just how much control we each have over our own lives. It all boils down to choices. Choose to be happy, or just go through the motions. Choose to be accountable, or let it slide off your shoulders as somebody else's problem. Choose your attitude, your mindset, the way you react when provoked. Every choice impacts another, each one shaping your journey. At the end of the day, it's your life and your responsibility to yourself to make the most of it. At some point we must all come to terms with what we're experiencing and let that direct our path forward. It's easy to get bogged down in the heavy emotions that come with the occasional painful encounters of life, but for each event that we're able to conquer comes some sense of self and generally a lesson or two to reflect on for future reference.
Having the right mindset will be half the battle through my continued recovery, training, and competition. To maximize my fitness goals I will have to make the choice to focus on my progress on the road and in the pool rather than the negative pressure of worrying about how far I have to go even to catch up to the level of my training partner. As a tough competitor against myself, this will require its own level of effort as I'm torn between what I think I should be able to accomplish at this point and where I really am. Learning to accept the reality of my current abilities will enhance my learning experience, as well as motivate me to work harder and better appreciate my milestones. Being off my feet for an extended break has dampened my spirit but not the drive to continue racing, so while today's longest stretch of 8 laps is quite shy of the 20ish lap distance I'll have to do in my triathlon, it's already an improvement worthy of pride. As my late grandpa's favorite saying goes, "attitude is verything", which can't be emphasized enough!
Friday, April 1, 2011
Inspiration Comes in Various Forms
It's come up in conversation several times recently to wonder how long I’ve been running, and honestly it’s something that hasn’t always been a constant in my life. Some of the darkest times in my life were escaped with the help of running; many times it became a relief mechanism, a way to get out and think things through that somehow made whatever was so troublesome at the time seem less so, at least for a moment or two. Other times it was an activity I could do with a friend, which made it more enjoyable. But for every time I stopped for a bit due to a busy schedule or some other excuse, it seemed like it was more and more difficult to pick it back up and stick with it; the curve to return to where I had left off was steeper and harder to overcome. This is the longest consecutive streak I’ve maintained, and I’m doing more with it now than I ever have before, but I had abandoned all forms of exercise for quite some time before then. How I got back in the game this time is a story that I can laugh about now though it didn't have a happy beginning...
It was the summer of 2008 and that was the year I had finally done two things to be more active in my life: in February I had the opportunity to ski in Taos with one of the partners from my office and his wife. It was the first time in more than 20 years that I had attempted to ski, having sworn it off after a bad encounter in church camp that left me riding back down the ski lift, and it was the most athletic thing I had attempted in several years. Despite an initial snafu caused by too much vanilla vodka and crème soda the night before, it was generally uneventful yet thoroughly invigorating to just be active, although the initial panic attack I experienced on the ski lift certainly helped get my blood flowing as well! Secondly, at the encouragement of that partner, I joined the company softball team. I use the word "joined" loosely as I struck out twice in the first game, my bat swinging in full motion yet nowhere near the ball. It was humiliating, despite the team’s efforts to be supportive, and thankfully my prayer to never be called up to bat again was answered. I later found my niche as the team childcare provider, a vital position that I enjoyed immensely and found to be not nearly as painful as trying to catch the ball with my face in practice. It was during one of the games that a cute little girl named Abbie politely asked if I had "a baby in my tummy." I was mortified! I secretly suspected people had wondered that but were too polite to ask, especially since I generally dressed in baggy shirts and long skirts thinking it would somehow hide my ever-expanding frame, the product of too much convenience food and nowhere near enough physical activity. So while it didn't happen overnight, that was the final straw that prompted me to get out and get moving again. I started out slow and painful with a few 5ks and my first sprint triathlon, and it was many more months before I started tackling half marathons, but I have kept running or at least moving. Now that I've earned the title of marathoner, I don't want to stop.
I waited a long time to tell Abbie’s dad that story. I watched a similar wave of humiliation wash over his face as I repeated her innocent question and could see him mentally will the ground to open up and swallow him, but I was quick to assure him that it was just the push I needed to do something more and I had results to show how far I had come. After that, every time I finished a new race I would proudly show him my medal and hail the “inspiration of Abbie” that had given me that nudge to finally do something more and stick with it.
Sometimes it just takes something little like that to make a big difference. Other times it's something a lot bigger than that.
I will be running my next marathon in October - the Nike Women's Marathon in San Francisco. I've wanted to do this race ever since I read about it years ago in Runner's World, and even better than getting there will be that I'm doing it in honor of a friend that I lost last December, Dawn Thompson. I have the opportunity to help make a difference in the lives of so many, and that's an incredible inspiration as well.
It was the summer of 2008 and that was the year I had finally done two things to be more active in my life: in February I had the opportunity to ski in Taos with one of the partners from my office and his wife. It was the first time in more than 20 years that I had attempted to ski, having sworn it off after a bad encounter in church camp that left me riding back down the ski lift, and it was the most athletic thing I had attempted in several years. Despite an initial snafu caused by too much vanilla vodka and crème soda the night before, it was generally uneventful yet thoroughly invigorating to just be active, although the initial panic attack I experienced on the ski lift certainly helped get my blood flowing as well! Secondly, at the encouragement of that partner, I joined the company softball team. I use the word "joined" loosely as I struck out twice in the first game, my bat swinging in full motion yet nowhere near the ball. It was humiliating, despite the team’s efforts to be supportive, and thankfully my prayer to never be called up to bat again was answered. I later found my niche as the team childcare provider, a vital position that I enjoyed immensely and found to be not nearly as painful as trying to catch the ball with my face in practice. It was during one of the games that a cute little girl named Abbie politely asked if I had "a baby in my tummy." I was mortified! I secretly suspected people had wondered that but were too polite to ask, especially since I generally dressed in baggy shirts and long skirts thinking it would somehow hide my ever-expanding frame, the product of too much convenience food and nowhere near enough physical activity. So while it didn't happen overnight, that was the final straw that prompted me to get out and get moving again. I started out slow and painful with a few 5ks and my first sprint triathlon, and it was many more months before I started tackling half marathons, but I have kept running or at least moving. Now that I've earned the title of marathoner, I don't want to stop.
I waited a long time to tell Abbie’s dad that story. I watched a similar wave of humiliation wash over his face as I repeated her innocent question and could see him mentally will the ground to open up and swallow him, but I was quick to assure him that it was just the push I needed to do something more and I had results to show how far I had come. After that, every time I finished a new race I would proudly show him my medal and hail the “inspiration of Abbie” that had given me that nudge to finally do something more and stick with it.
Sometimes it just takes something little like that to make a big difference. Other times it's something a lot bigger than that.
I will be running my next marathon in October - the Nike Women's Marathon in San Francisco. I've wanted to do this race ever since I read about it years ago in Runner's World, and even better than getting there will be that I'm doing it in honor of a friend that I lost last December, Dawn Thompson. I have the opportunity to help make a difference in the lives of so many, and that's an incredible inspiration as well.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Pain Equals Healing, Right?
I just got my butt kicked by my new coach, and he wasn’t even at the gym with me. I suspect that if he had been supervising me in person rather than my subconscious, I would have had to crawl out of there on all fours rather than limping slightly as I did.
My warm-up started with the rowing machine and I was panting within 2 minutes. 20 minutes felt like an eternity. I stared intently at the digital display, mentally willing the time to move as fast as the meter counter. No such luck, but by the time it was over I at least had my breathing under control and wasn’t as concerned about passing out. I thought briefly about calling it quits right then, but the fun was only beginning.
Flutterkicks. I despise flutterkicks. Leave it to an Army Ranger to slip those into the mix, and first item of business no less. The first set of 20 were bearable, but by the third set my legs felt like concrete blocks and I’m certain my feet weren’t anywhere close to 6 inches off the ground, which is one of the first phrases bored into your memory at basic training. My push-ups were pathetic, though the one redeeming item of note was that I was able to progressively increase my ratio of “real” versus “girly” push-ups. I used to rock the push-ups in my PT tests back in the day, but it’s finally sinking in that those days were a really long time ago.
The core exercises weren’t much better, punishing me for all those Girl Scout cookies I inhaled in the name of supporting my troop. The sounds of Lifehouse and the Chili Peppers took me back to the last time my core got so much attention, more than a year ago when unemployment gave me the freedom to go to the gym every day with a friend; we would push each other to do a little more or try something new. The piece of paper on the ground next to me that contained my routine wasn’t nearly as convincing. Going forward, seeing results will be the motivation I need to keep at it, this time’s just for the right to say I finished.
The last item on my list was my choice of pull-ups or chin-ups, as if one is somehow more appealing than the other; Coach was even generous by only requiring 5 of them per set. I am not tall, and I carry the bulk of my body weight in my lower half, so I was doubtful but in the spirit of the moment wanted to at least give it a shot. I eyed the bar above my head, and even though I could reach it with my fingers, it seemed like it was at least a foot over my head. After a couple lousy attempts, the best of which pulled me a measly couple of inches off the ground, I called it quits. Those feats of strength will take some time to master.
This was my first assignment: it was supposed to be a mostly "core and light leg workout" to see where I’m at and what I’ve got. It turned out to be a sharp slap of reality with the clear message that I’ve got some serious catch-up work to do. Especially humbling is that the workout was pegged to be at an intensity level of 4, on a 9 point scale. I don't want to admit what I would have really rated it for at this point in time. And this is the first workout; it’s only going to be more intense when he’s actually in the gym with me or gives me a serious routine!
I can’t believe I have so far to go already; it feels like just yesterday I was sailing over the finish mat in Tempe. Now I’m already battered and honestly just plain out of shape. Just about everything is sore now, to some degree or other. But as I reflect on the soreness, I realize that even though it hurts at first, it’s not a crippling pain. And it will continue to subside as my muscles rebuild and I grow stronger. I’m still taking it easy on the feet and not running, but I can continue to focus on my other muscles in the meantime so that when the time is right I’ll be ready to take on the road again. I just have to get out of this chair first...
My warm-up started with the rowing machine and I was panting within 2 minutes. 20 minutes felt like an eternity. I stared intently at the digital display, mentally willing the time to move as fast as the meter counter. No such luck, but by the time it was over I at least had my breathing under control and wasn’t as concerned about passing out. I thought briefly about calling it quits right then, but the fun was only beginning.
Flutterkicks. I despise flutterkicks. Leave it to an Army Ranger to slip those into the mix, and first item of business no less. The first set of 20 were bearable, but by the third set my legs felt like concrete blocks and I’m certain my feet weren’t anywhere close to 6 inches off the ground, which is one of the first phrases bored into your memory at basic training. My push-ups were pathetic, though the one redeeming item of note was that I was able to progressively increase my ratio of “real” versus “girly” push-ups. I used to rock the push-ups in my PT tests back in the day, but it’s finally sinking in that those days were a really long time ago.
The core exercises weren’t much better, punishing me for all those Girl Scout cookies I inhaled in the name of supporting my troop. The sounds of Lifehouse and the Chili Peppers took me back to the last time my core got so much attention, more than a year ago when unemployment gave me the freedom to go to the gym every day with a friend; we would push each other to do a little more or try something new. The piece of paper on the ground next to me that contained my routine wasn’t nearly as convincing. Going forward, seeing results will be the motivation I need to keep at it, this time’s just for the right to say I finished.
The last item on my list was my choice of pull-ups or chin-ups, as if one is somehow more appealing than the other; Coach was even generous by only requiring 5 of them per set. I am not tall, and I carry the bulk of my body weight in my lower half, so I was doubtful but in the spirit of the moment wanted to at least give it a shot. I eyed the bar above my head, and even though I could reach it with my fingers, it seemed like it was at least a foot over my head. After a couple lousy attempts, the best of which pulled me a measly couple of inches off the ground, I called it quits. Those feats of strength will take some time to master.
This was my first assignment: it was supposed to be a mostly "core and light leg workout" to see where I’m at and what I’ve got. It turned out to be a sharp slap of reality with the clear message that I’ve got some serious catch-up work to do. Especially humbling is that the workout was pegged to be at an intensity level of 4, on a 9 point scale. I don't want to admit what I would have really rated it for at this point in time. And this is the first workout; it’s only going to be more intense when he’s actually in the gym with me or gives me a serious routine!
I can’t believe I have so far to go already; it feels like just yesterday I was sailing over the finish mat in Tempe. Now I’m already battered and honestly just plain out of shape. Just about everything is sore now, to some degree or other. But as I reflect on the soreness, I realize that even though it hurts at first, it’s not a crippling pain. And it will continue to subside as my muscles rebuild and I grow stronger. I’m still taking it easy on the feet and not running, but I can continue to focus on my other muscles in the meantime so that when the time is right I’ll be ready to take on the road again. I just have to get out of this chair first...
Friday, March 18, 2011
A New Course of Action
I went to the pool this week, the first time in a very long time. As I looked at my legs through the water they seemed especially pale, and it seemed I had lost quite a bit of my muscle tone. Or at least that's what it looked like through the greenish tint. My teammate had showed me her regimen already handed down from our coach, who I haven't met with yet, and the concepts buzzed through my head as I quietly let it all sink in while she got started. I've never put this much thought into swimming before, though it makes perfect sense. Counting laps and timing them, marking the starting point to be able to document progress; this certainly appeals to my nature. Before I was just concerned about form, with the hope of not getting so tired (or drowning) during the swim portion of a triathlon, and I've never tried to correlate it with the pressure I put on myself while running to obtain a certain race time that's dependent on maintaining a set pace. I'm sure I'll get more excited about those parts when I do get in the pool with our coach, but for that first day it was just about seeing where I'm at, what I've got in me to get from one end of the pool to the other. It wasn't even a very big pool, only 25 meters, but considering how long it had been since I last swam, it felt a lot longer than that.
I can get talked into most things, which is how I ended up at my first triathlon, the West Plains WunderWoman, in August 2008. I had high hopes going into that, not to place but to have it at least fare well; I had taken swimming lessons with a friend and we went for one long (more than 10 miles) bike ride. What a terrible experience. First I had to get off my bike and throw up on the side of the road thanks to the harsh lesson that you never try anything new on race day, especially fancy looking electrolyte pills that come in the goody bag. Then it warmed up to 100 or so degrees, they ran out of water, and I had to walk a mile back to my car after missing the shuttle busses. But like most bad days, once I had recovered I was ready to try it again. With a foot race, I aim for certain finishing times, but for a triathlon I merely try to make it to the finish line without dying. Literally. There are always photographers on the course, and I can belt out my best smile when I can see and expect them, but they have managed to snap quite a few pictures of me that look like I barely escaped with my life. These races are no joke, no matter the distance.
It's not that I don't know how to swim; I just can't swim efficiently or maintain good form for more than a few good sets of strokes which tires me easily. But I got started, first one length and slowly building up to a continuous lap; two laps would be the most I could do that day without stopping. I realized that despite their appearance right now, my legs are still powerful. I haven't been able to run for two months now but the strength I built up is not completely gone, and it will sustain me in a different way until I can get back out on the road. I tried not to think about how different the open water is from the pool environment, which compounds my anxieties, or even the fact that the distance of my little sprint triathlon in July will still be the equivalent of many more laps than what I had eked out. Instead I finally realized that I can only start with where I'm at today and build up from there as I train. In time the muscle definition will return, my form will improve, and I will be able to swim better than I can today.
I have a new goal for this event; it's not based on time, certainly not on placing, or even survival or not throwing up (though of course those are still crucial components). This time, I don't want my pictures to look quite so pitiful!
I can get talked into most things, which is how I ended up at my first triathlon, the West Plains WunderWoman, in August 2008. I had high hopes going into that, not to place but to have it at least fare well; I had taken swimming lessons with a friend and we went for one long (more than 10 miles) bike ride. What a terrible experience. First I had to get off my bike and throw up on the side of the road thanks to the harsh lesson that you never try anything new on race day, especially fancy looking electrolyte pills that come in the goody bag. Then it warmed up to 100 or so degrees, they ran out of water, and I had to walk a mile back to my car after missing the shuttle busses. But like most bad days, once I had recovered I was ready to try it again. With a foot race, I aim for certain finishing times, but for a triathlon I merely try to make it to the finish line without dying. Literally. There are always photographers on the course, and I can belt out my best smile when I can see and expect them, but they have managed to snap quite a few pictures of me that look like I barely escaped with my life. These races are no joke, no matter the distance.
It's not that I don't know how to swim; I just can't swim efficiently or maintain good form for more than a few good sets of strokes which tires me easily. But I got started, first one length and slowly building up to a continuous lap; two laps would be the most I could do that day without stopping. I realized that despite their appearance right now, my legs are still powerful. I haven't been able to run for two months now but the strength I built up is not completely gone, and it will sustain me in a different way until I can get back out on the road. I tried not to think about how different the open water is from the pool environment, which compounds my anxieties, or even the fact that the distance of my little sprint triathlon in July will still be the equivalent of many more laps than what I had eked out. Instead I finally realized that I can only start with where I'm at today and build up from there as I train. In time the muscle definition will return, my form will improve, and I will be able to swim better than I can today.
I have a new goal for this event; it's not based on time, certainly not on placing, or even survival or not throwing up (though of course those are still crucial components). This time, I don't want my pictures to look quite so pitiful!
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