Music

Better than a good cup of coffee, I’ve found that a solid track really gets me moving and motivated.  I’ve compiled a few of my favorites that I use in my playlists:

✓    Too Long / Steam Machine – Daft Punk

–This is easily my favorite track on the album.  It’s one of the few reoccurring songs on the multitude of running playlists.  The drop at 5:07 is fantastic, but I don’t recommend skipping straight to the drop as you’ll completely miss the entire point.  I’ve had multiple people ask me why I like electronica so much: I think it’s the playfulness and the ability to give the audience a different experience wrapped up in a system of beats.  This song is so useful for keeping me in a good running pattern, but it also builds and drops so effectively that my brain instantly amps up.

✓    Balto – Yasunori Mitsuda & Millennial Fair

I love flutes, simple beats, major chords, and all around “happy” music.  Balto (or バルト or ‘Bart’ if you want to translate this properly) is, as I’m sure most of you have heard, hands-down my favorite song of all time.  If I’m feeling anxious, I’ll throw this on and immediately feel better.  There were many, many times during the training season I was feeling frustrated or anxious about my injury, training speeds, or just general life, so I always kept this high on the iTunes playlist.

✓    Elements Of Life – Tiesto

Sweet geebus I love this track.  I use this song to write, blog, and run intervals.  Imagine flying at a 5:15 pace for 60 seconds; yes, this song is really that magical.  This particular video starts a little later from when it actually starts, so you miss the slow opening to the initial drop.  This video isn’t the full song, so go treat yourself to some Tiesto goodness and download the album.

✓    Superman – Goldfinger

Oh herro, 90s ska.
“So here I am
doing everything I can
holding on to what I am
pretending I’m a superman”

✓    Bubbleman (Megaman 2) – The Minibosses

Okay, so the video is the entire Mega Man 2 medley and isn’t even the same version of the songs that I have on my shuffle, but it’s as close as I could get.  There’s something epic about listening to remixed versions of songs from childhood while hammering out a long run or right before getting into the pool.  Pew pew, baby.

✓    Feather (Ft. Cise Starr&Akin from CYNE) – Nujabes

Most of the songs by Nujabes remind me of wandering the rainy streets of Osaka.  I listened to his albums on repeat years ago, broken umbrella in hand, leaping over puddles in my Rainbows.  I like going back to some places I’ve traveled to while I run, remembering the distinct smell of fish and business suits intertwined as soon as I step out of the subway exit, hearing the musical crosswalks, and feeling the bustle of people walking at five times normal speed to get “there” faster.  If I’m not training, I run to think, I run to remember.

✓    Kaine / Escape – Keiichi Okabe, Kakeru Ishihama, Keigo Hoashi, Takafumi Nishimura

This was my Ironman race song.

I had this in my head for nearly 14 hours.  At some point during the swim this 6/8 time signature song embedded itself my mind and stayed there until I was almost finished with the run.  Since it’s against the rules to use any kind of iPod/listening device during the race, I’ve been training (cheated on a couple runs) without music, so I’ve been treating my mind like a playlist: I’d think of a song and start playing it in my head.  This song was exceptionally useful in swims, too, as the rhythm allowed me to focus on technique and flow rather than the monotonous breathing and staring down at that never-ending dark blue line.

✓    Song of the Ancients / Popola -  Keiichi Okabe, Kakeru Ishihama, Keigo Hoashi, Takafumi Nishimura

I love Popola’s version of Song of the Ancients a) because it takes place in a library and b) it’s just so ethereal.  As you may have noticed, I listen to intense songs whether they’re soft and melodic or upbeat and catchy.  I think it works well with training, as it accentuates both focused and strong training sessions or when I’m taking the time to recover.

✓    Emil / Karma – Keiichi Okabe, Kakeru Ishihama, Keigo Hoashi, Takafumi Nishimura

Disclaimer: the crash at the beginning is pretty loud, so turn down the volume.

I get chills whenever I hear this song: it’s emotional, intense, focused, and so very, very dramatic.  …I actually have other words for this song.  Just listen for at least two minutes.  Really.

✓    Too Deep – Girl Talk

Girl Talk has always been a favorite of mine while doing something active.  I’m not usually a fan of mash-ups, but his are so smooth, so well put together that it’s impossible to not respect his work.  I used his entire Night Ripper album when I was training for my first half-marathon almost two years ago since the transition between songs is seamless.

✓    Helix Nebula – Anamanaguchi

Anamanaguchi’s entire album is just plain awesome.  I’m a big fan of 8-bit meets rock band, so Anamanaguchi is a great package.  They also did the soundtrack for the Scott Pilgrim game!  I used this song on shorter tempo runs, especially if I knew I wanted to go fast.

✓    Hanging Waters – Ecco: Defender of the Future

Besides a few glitches, a teensy bit of clunky gameplay, and a couple localization problems here is nothing wrong with Ecco the Dolphin, so stop right there.  Besides, this music was from the best level in the game! There were tubes of water suspended above an island and – … well, it’s a relaxing track.  I had this on repeat on the bus when we were driving down to the transition area on race day, and I frequently listen to it during runs.

✓    Bombs Over Baghdad – Outkast

…because sometimes you just need that one song that fires you up.

✓   Dreamer – Atmosphere

I used this on my longer runs before I started training for the Ironman.  Every time I heard it I caught something new or different, some word or verse that stuck out just a little bit more than it did before.  I’d be running, then all of a sudden there would be a line (i.e: “peace out keep out take the scenic route”) and it would lodge itself in my brain and I’d keep reviewing it over and over.  Running (with music) makes me think about things more, cut them down, analyze them for just a bit longer before I put them in separate piles and allow them to marinate in their own thought bubbles.

My First Ironman: Vineman, 2010

I’ve been putting off finishing this race report (that I had written most of last week), and I couldn’t figure out why I kept procrastinating the end of it- was I dreading the conclusion?  Did I want to make it too dramatic?  Was I just afraid?  Steve Wheat, an actual writer with real experience writing things that real people read and everything, read it and said, “The problem I see is that you’re trying to take an intensely personal journey and turn it into a kind of universal truth that everyone can get something from… but there are no universal truths.”  So I just buckled down and finished the thing.

Here’s my race report: long, rant-y, and chocked full of adjectives.

———

There were three major things “they” (the coaches, the mentors, the people who had actually done this before) had said about the race and I tried to keep those in my head while I set up my transition area.

2.4 mile swim
2 loops of 1.2 miles in the river

1) Enjoy it, they said.

We huddled together next to the swim start in a shivering ball of nervousness and excitement.  I don’t remember a single thing that I said to anyone before the swim, so I apologize if I made any dramatic promises or just stood there babbling.  The start of Vineman has all the athletes treading water before the airhorn goes off, which is actually really disconcerting: everyone awaiting the airhorn and trying not to think about the chaotic mess that is about to congeal in the water.  We waded (hooray for buoyant wetsuits!) and hollered encouragement to each other.

Airhorn.

Swim start

Sorry, did I say “swimming” earlier?  I meant “trying to move forward in the water while being swam over by the massive amount of athletes behind you.”  But 100 yards down, then 200, then 300, and I completely forgot I was racing.  I thought back to training weekend and the training swim we had in the river so I was honestly enjoying myself.  I relaxed into my “go all day” pace and just went with it.

The Vineman course has a relatively shallow portion at the turn around, where apparently the cool thing is to get up and walk.  Yes, really.  Was it easier?  Not sure (I was swimming), but probably not.  Ever tried wading through water versus swimming?  So the question is: was I passing people that were walking the turn around?  Yes, yes I was.  Were all of them males that looked down, saw my orange cap (all the women doing the full had an orange swim cap) and then dove into the water to try and pass me?  Yep, that really happened.

On the second loop I found a fellow orange capper in front of me with a solid pace and decided to try drafting.  I’ll say one thing about my first attempt at drafting in open water: it is not easy.  And like most things I think are mentally challenging, I simplified it and made a game out of it.  It actually felt like an FPS (first person shooter): just following the bubbles instead of aiming the AK-47 at CTs.  I managed to follow her bubbles fairly well and ended up staying with her until the next turn around point when I decided to pick it up a bit and hauled it for the last 400 yards or so.

People were walking. What?!

Out of the water, into transition!  I vaguely remember hearing tinges of surprise from the cheers of my teammates on the sidelines.

Transition 1 (T1):
2) You’re not allowed to look at times, they said.

But measurable success is soooo awesooomee, my competitive brain whined; yet calculating numbers means anxiety would take over on the bike, so I forced myself to settle down.  I heard a fellow athlete in a frustrated rage yell “TIME!” repeatedly to someone standing on the other side of the orange fence.  I focused on getting my suit off, shoes on (rocks and all, probably not the best of ideas), and thanking and handing my bag over to my mom who was hovering outside the transition area.

There’s a slight hill after transition and if you’re not careful, this could happen:

Ouch.

Yeah, that looks painful.

112 mile bike
2 loops of 56 miles around the vineyards

3) Go out slow, stay slow, come back slow, they said.

As soon as I got a steady cadence going on the bike, my competitive brain started fuming.  You’re only going 18mph and there’s clearly some tailwind going on here!  But I shut it out after remembering my talk with my coaches that my ego needed to stay in check if I wanted to make it through the entire race.  I could indulge in whatever self-inflated ‘that guy can’t pass me nosiree’ whims later; I didn’t have time today.

I think that was the most enjoyable ride I’ve had all season.  This is probably because of two reasons: 1) I did most of it in the small ring (higher cadence + less intensity = saving my leg muscles, even though I usually [read: stubbornly] trained in the big ring) minus the downhills and a couple times I treated myself with a big push or two.  2)  I actually stopped three times.  I got off my bike, hobbled around, and took it easy (I know, it surprised me, too).

I saw Carlos and Mark whizz past me racing the Aquabike, then came along Peter, not hammering it out but looking incredibly strong, then Robin, playing leap frog with me with the last couple aid stations, then finally with 10 miles to go I see Terry, who with Hamer was my cycling buddy for most of the training season.  It was good to see all of them positive and full of energy on the bike.

I also saw Joy who was sitting down at the aid station.  “What’s wrong?” I asked, confused, and a bit dizzy.  “I’m sick,” she said.  My mind didn’t really compute what she meant as I thought “sick” = “nauseated” (a common feeling during an Ironman), but I learned later she had been diagnosed with strep and attempted racing the Ironman running a high fever.  Our team is full of determined and stubborn folk.  Thankfully, she called her husband and was able to recover with her family.

On the bike!

Somewhere on the second loop my chain decided it didn’t like the erratic way I was shifting and popped off (I’m sure there’s a technical cycling term for ‘chain popping off’ but I haven’t a clue to what it is).  I pulled over, fought down panic, and verified that yes, the chain was off, and I even though I hadn’t ever had that happen before, I remembered Hamer and Terry’s words when they helped me change my back tire back when we were Crusin’ the Conejo (as a side, this was nothing compared to what my teammate Yvonne had on her Ironman race- two flat tires, yet she still finished strong!).  So if I just shift the back derailer and move it up like this…. oh.  That wasn’t so bad.  Carry on.

People in Guerneville did not like their traffic being stopped: drivers yelled, swore, and cursed us for racing.  I told my dad later that one of the best things I’ve learned while training is that there is never enough time to try and match anger with anger.  It a) doesn’t make sense and b) just zaps all your emotional/physical energy.  So I stood by one of my favorite phrases (“you can’t be grateful and hateful”) and simply thanked the police officers for doing such a great job and sped past the lines of stopped cars.

Transition 2 (T2):
After briefly forgetting where I had put my run transition gear, I threw my shoes on and grabbed my nutrition.  Ron, an Ironman triathlete who is nothing short of amazing, was outside the transition area holding a sign that said “Rachel Rules” which absolutely made my day.  I happily chatted with him before heading out for my first of three laps.

He missed the pole, don't worry.

26.2mi run
3 loops of 8.7 (or so) miles

Going on to the run messed with my head.  I was excited because I love running, but I was fearful of that entire month I had taken off of training only a few weeks prior.  Was I ready?  I had never run over 16 miles in my life!  Would my injury flare up?  My runs could hardly be categorized as runs at this point!  Would I just have to hobble the 26.2 miles?

The run was hard, the run was easy, the run was just that- a run.  I saw all of my teammates on the three loops.  I hi-fived, talked to, and smiled at everyone.  I saw Brad Hall out there, the coach I never really knew before going up to Vineman, and I  thought about those pear jellybeans that were in my run special needs bag, because sometimes it’s the little things that go the farthest.  Of my teammates, I saw Eric Becker, in pain but going forward; speedy Dash, looking like this was a walk in the park; Brad, giving out support; Peter, sometimes smiling and sometimes so focused I thought the runner in front of him would catch fire; Arkady, breezing through his second and third laps; Louis, who.. was that a different outfit?; Andie, grinning and catching her breath; Hamer, who said, “THERE she is!” making me burst out laughing; Matt Jackson, who lapped me with the grace of an effing gazelle; Sara D, taking care of Barb’s Race; Kim, smiling and running it so easily like it was training; Kevin Smets, looking strong; Gordie, absolutely killing his Ironman; Nurit, always Nurit-style, smiling with her floppy green hat; Yvonne, a pillar of strength and smiles; Robin, who I didn’t know well before but spent a lot of time with talking to on race day; Terry, my training buddy, still cracking jokes on the marathon of an Ironman; Sills, who I cried to (at? it was a drive-by [run-by] crying) but said I could do it; Eurie, pushing forward up that hill ; Sandra, going strong; Lilly- my heart broke as I saw her walking and saying she couldn’t eat anything or run any more, but she was still walking; Alé, so determined that she wasn’t running anymore that she kept jogging out of spite; Erik Sanchez, who said he tried to keep up with me, but I could have sworn he was going faster than me; Tony, running through, getting it done.  It was amazing (and so humbling!) to see the first place woman speed up on her third lap on my turn around of the first lap.

Writing about the run itself is actually much more difficult than I thought.  I wanted to write about it when it happened, right after it happened, and the two days of Ironman honeymooning I did after the race, but now my impulse is to store it in a box and save it for later.  It’s personal, it’s open, it’s one of those experiences that people build up so much that you really think after running it you’ll shave your head and sell all your possessions.  And it’s probably because of this I stayed in my head for a long time and wouldn’t let myself actually experience the run until mile 20.  I even had a running partner for the second half of the second and the third loop- Lauren, a girl who was struggling like me, yet she kept talking and inspired me with her positivity the whole way.  I’m almost positive I would have just trudged off into the sidelines without her.

If you want to know what I was thinking on the last mile of the run, that’s easy: nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  I was completely, utterly present.  I stopped thinking about finishing, how dark it could be, who was out there, or why I thought I could do this thing- I was just running because I could.  I remembered all of those times when I couldn’t run and thought of the people who would love to be doing what I’m doing right now but can’t because of an injury or an illness.

I went into this race knowing that I had taken a month of from training and there was a two week period that I didn’t think I would be able to race.  My doctors said I shouldn’t because of the foot injury and I was terrified.  But a few weeks before the race I talked to my coach, Paul, who asked me why I wanted to race Vineman.  I opened up so every gut-wrenching emotion flooded out and I realized that in order to understand a lot of what had been going on with me personally I had physically poured myself into this experience, trying to learn everything I could.

So I turned that corner to the 0.5mile stretch before the finishing chute focused, present, and confident.  With only minutes until the final turn into the start of the chute, I saw a runner out of the corner of my eye in pajamas, wearing a headlamp… no, wait, I think it’s a yellow jumper… oh hey, that’s Rich, a teammate racing IM Louisville, going into the dark with Louis’s Pikachu costume!  He yelled out my name and doubled back to run with me.  I dimly remember what he said to me, because at this point I turned my run into a sprint, picking up the pace faster and faster with every step.

De-chipping!

I don’t know how fast I was running when I finished, but literally felt like I was the most powerful person alive.  The adrenaline surged and I smiled, laughed, and forgot about the pain and nausea I had.

On July 31st, 2010, at 14 hours 26 minutes I became an Ironman.

The Los Angeles 2010 IronTeam Vineman Finishers

As for the lessons I learned:

I learned a lot these past 9 months, everything from how to change a tire to how to “dial in my nutrition” (that phrase will haunt me forever), so I’ll just focus on the two things that were the strongest:

Patience.
The way I was operating before, either running on impatience or forcing things before they were supposed to happen, wasn’t working.  I couldn’t live and be happy doing or feeling the same things, so I changed.  I learned patience the hard way: sitting with myself when everything was in chaos.  I realized I couldn’t control times, other athletes, how fast I could be right now this second, etc.  I learned where the impulsiveness and impatience comes from and by understanding those two things I started understanding patience.  I was still, I was present, and I listened- never perfect, but always determined.

Humility.
There were times throughout the training and the race itself I thought I couldn’t do it because I was in my head entirely too often.  Even when I would be with my training friends and I found I didn’t want to go faster, I’d be stubborn and push forward anyway.  My mind gets set on competition and tries as hard as it can without anyone else, because of course I can handle everything alone… except I can’t, and even though I’m proud of working hard, there’s a line between that and just plain destruction.  I’d been living as an ‘all or nothing’ person for so long I forgot that balance actually exists in places outside of Tibetan temples.  Whoa, crazy, you mean I don’t have to be the worst person inside and out  or the most perfect athlete ever?  You mean I can appreciate other people and be present for them while being there for myself?  What!  Sign me up.  I think I’ll try this showing up and being accountable thing for a while since the rewards sound pretty sweet.

———

So that about wraps up this chapter.  I leave for Shanghai, China on August 31st and will be there for few years, at least.  But hey, China has plenty of International Marathons which are all Boston Qualifiers, and let’s not forget about the newly established Ironman China…

I’m excited!

Thank you

I wanted to write an entry to thank all the people who have helped me along the way.  I had thought about writing it after the race as though I were tying up all the loose ends, but I feel that even if nothing goes as I plan on Saturday I want to make sure I express all my gratitude for the past 8 months.

To:

@PunkRockRunner Ron, who never fails to send me support via Twitter.  He constantly pushes himself to keep running (and now biking and swimming) and always manages to inspire everyone around him in the process.

@Run2SaveLives Chris, a motivating running coach that always reminds me 1) why I’m in Team in Training and how they’re simultaneously changing and saving lives and 2) that life is precious as he runs for his wife, @cretease, and all who continue to battle cancer.

@bemadthen Lisa, who with her strength and amazing resilience remind me daily to keep my ego in check and be present.

@ChrisSchauble Chris, for making me understand that it is possible to balance an unpredictable work schedule, a family, triathlon training for Kona, and time to support other athletes around all with a smile.

@goingforgoofy Emily, who crushed Ironman Coeur d’Alene and whom I think of every time I go for a long ride, run, or swim by myself.  “If you really want something,” she said, “you’ll find a way.”

@allen009 Allen, who encourages, not neglects or diminishes, enthusiasm in everyone around him, and is one cheerleader I wouldn’t trade for the world.

@FITtorrent Liana- I would not be the athlete I am if it weren’t for Liana.  Period.  She’s a coach with a focused, dedicated mentality bubbling with passion and enthusiasm for the sport that she loves dearly.  I’ve had the incredible opportunity to share some of my journey with her.

Richard, my fantastic roommate who has put up with everything from Clif wrappers and bike equipment strewn across our living room to changing his late-night console gaming habits to suit my (what he calls) “amish bedtime” and early morning training sessions.  He’s been such an incredible friend through this crazy, crazy time and I’m indebted to him.

Marirose, for being there for me when I needed someone to talk to about anything and everything; for never judging or telling me what I should do, but simply providing a different perspective.

Kasey, who is always there for me, and has been ever since I was born.  Even if we didn’t speak for 5 out of the 9 training months, I know she’s always there for me, ready to pick up and continue right where we left off.  I’m so grateful she’ll be one of those standing next to the finish line on Saturday.

Elizabeth, for being who she is and showing me that even if our interests, careers, or even the countries we live in are completely separate, the bonds of friendship can still remain strong.

Nurit, my teammate who reminds me that it’s okay to be who we are- when we finally figure that out.

Nichol, my mentor and great friend, who is going through her own journey and shares tidbits with me along the way.  She reminds me to be kind and grateful to everyone I meet, for they are fighting their own battles.

Julie, a girl I met once and saw twice before becoming fast friends with, who reminds me that it’s important to follow that passion wherever it may take you.

Birka, for being there for me along a rough road with unexpected twists and turns and reminding me that I wasn’t alone.

Steve W., for being there for me even when we live in the opposite ends of the world, but most importantly, for understanding me and letting me be who I am.

Elena T., for giving me excuses to visit new and exciting tea places and talk for hours and hours about everything nothing all at the same time.  She’s a true friend that will call my bullshit or give me support (sometimes all in the same sentence) and I couldn’t have finished my Master’s or this training without her.

Adam, for all those times I didn’t have to run alone and got to talk, laugh, and run with someone as who also gets up at 6am for a 10-14mi run.

Each and every one of my teammates for all their support and sharing their journeys with me.  A couple of months ago Paul asked me why I wanted to cross the finish line, and part of the reason was: “I want to cross that finishline with my teammates knowing what struggles and problems and just plain shit we’ve all gone through in the past months. I want to remember all of the crappy, terrible, gut-wrenching times combined with each ecstatic, elated moment we’ve all had during training.”  I’m so grateful I wasn’t in this alone.

My coaches Paul and Rad, who (really) understand what it’s like and (really) know what to expect.  Sometimes I’m pretty terrible about taking it easy and following direction, and I’m so immensely grateful for their patience, understanding, and motivation.

My family: Josh, Sara, and Jacob for their support, and especially my parents John and Kathy for being there when I thought no one else could: my dad for inspiring me to learn more, look higher, and never accept mediocrity; my mom for showing me that empathy, patience, and gratitude are the most valuable gifts one can share.

Every person who gave me support along these past months and cheered me on from the sidelines, whether they donated to my fundraising account or simply said, “You can do it!”  Contrastingly, I want to thank all those who said I couldn’t do it, that it was a mistake, that I didn’t understand what I was doing, that they didn’t understand or relate with me, that I would fail.  If it weren’t for those words, I wouldn’t be able to prove you wrong on Saturday.

So…

I’m doing this for anyone that has struggled to find solid ground between too much and too little, who has thought “balance” was just a sliver of hope teetering uncertainly between two raging oppositions.

I’m doing this for every person who thought they weren’t good enough, who let fear and anxiety rule their lives, who thought that there was no hope and that giving up was an option.

I’m doing this race to show how one person can change everything in eight months with a pair of running shoes, a bike, a swimsuit, a group of friends, and the drive to keep learning.

.

.

.

Thank you.

Negative Splits

“Go out slow, finish strong,” Coach Paul says.

As our workouts get longer and longer (last weekend was a century in the saddle on Saturday, then swimming a mile and running 18 [for the rest of the team, I did 6 from my foot injury] on Sunday.  This weekend is another century on Saturday followed by a 20mi run and 3k swim on Sunday), I’ve struggled to find a balance between “go hard”, “all out”, “take it easy”, and “all-day pace.”

Paul pulled me aside five weeks ago and we talked about my dizziness and nausea.  “You’ve been coming in too hot,” he told me.  “You’ve got to lay off.”  But, I reasoned, I thought I was just doing the time, taking in each workout.  He looked at me (sternly) and explained that I had been pushing each workout and forcing myself to go faster than the week before.  Yeah, I thought (ruefully), that does kind of sound like me, but I hadn’t consciously been aware of it.  Okay, I’ll take it easy.

And then the stress fracture came.  Taking four weeks off of my method of meditation, running, was killer.  On top of that, no bike, no run, nothing save swimming for three weeks.  And the cherry was: “Well, if we can’t get you back to training in two weeks, that’s your race.”

I was devastated.

Everything I’d done in the past 8 months- gone?!  Really?  I couldn’t do the race?  I found another doctor who had an even bleaker opinion of my foot.  After a few tear-soaked phone calls, I immediately thought of what I could do instead, maybe another Ironman, maybe I’d do Louisville, maybe I’d do one next year… or the next…   Before I realized it, I had let fear and anxiety cloud my vision over my main goal and my coping mechanism of “just make it work” kick in.

One night, I brought up possibilities to Paul, who stopped me and said, “Rachel, what’s your goal?”
“Well… Vineman.”
“Do you want to do it?”
“Of course!”
He then asked the question I hadn’t asked myself in a long time:

“Why?”

Why was I trying to cross this finish line?  Why was I putting myself through countless hours of training?  Why was I putting myself in more than uncomfortable emotional and mental places?  Why did I want to do any of this?  What was driving me?

In those muckity muck places we get ourselves into when things seem bleak, the best thing to do is to go back to the basics.  What is C and why do we want to get there?  Okay, so then where is A and what’s B to make C?  That’s it.  I had forgotten this.  Thankfully my coach verbally pointed to the rope to get myself out of that downwards spiral.  It was there all along, I just needed to be reminded.

When training for speed, athletes aim for “negative splits”, meaning the second lap is faster than the first.  Endurance training should be similar: start off the season slow, work into a groove, finish out faster at the end.  I’ve been pushing consistently hard all season, and it’s gotten me into trouble- pain is a powerful teacher.  I don’t regret how I’ve trained this season, but now I know there’s a more efficient and sustainable way to get to the end goal.  So what now?

Now I’ll be paying attention to when it’s time to rest, when I hold a constant pace, or when I can push myself faster.  I’m actually grateful my foot was injured, otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten this firm of a wake-up call to take it easy.

It’s as they say: “Train smarter, not harder.”

“This isn’t what I planned”

It’s interesting to see how people (including myself) will react in periods where we feel like we lack control.  For some people, they let it go; for others, they focus their energy to control another part of their life, whether that part is controllable or not.

I’d like to differentiate between plan and prepare.  To me, planning means I’ve set a schedule and am adhering to some sort of guideline or process.  Preparing means I’m ready to take on whatever it is because I’ve taken all the precautions to possible problems.  Noting that, I think if it’s unable to be controlled, then it’s impossible to be planned.  For example, I’m trying to remind this for the time it takes for my foot to heal, which includes the typical Google-ing of  all the different things I could do in order to make my foot heal faster, including talking to different people in the medical field: podiatrists, family doctors, orthopedic surgeons.

Rest, they said.  Take it easy.

As an athlete, I’d rather plan it out, fix it, get it done since that’s now training works.  Give me a list of actionable items and I’ll tick them off, one by one.  Executing things and following a plan isn’t tough.  But now I need to prepare rather than plan for something to happen, which seems to take much more patience.  I mean, I’m playing the waiting game.  I could do something stupid like run or bike on it prematurely and be out of running for much longer than 4-6 weeks, or not relay all the information from my doctor to my coach and cause more harm to myself.  I could also try and spend energy  other things that are equally uncontrollable and see where that gets me (lots of headaches).

…or I can rest and focus on what’s most important.

“Biking 100 miles isn’t a challenge for you,” my teammate Nurit Katz said to me, “but resting and waiting for your foot to heal is.  Here’s your mental training for your Ironman.  Ready?”

Lost

As far as physical activities, at some point in my life I’ve been called a basketball player, a modern/rhythm tap/jazz/lyrical/ballet/pointe/hip-hop dancer, a runner, an avid Bikram Yoga-goer, a rock climber, and now I can add ‘triathlete’ to that list.  I’ve practiced each of these with a group, but I’ve come to the conclusion that though athletes might train together, endurance triathlon teams are very different from anything I’ve experienced.

Before Wildflower, the Los Angeles Team in Training Ironteam consisted of around 70 athletes.  After the race, our numbers dropped to around 45.

It’s completely normal to have “runner’s blues” or other forms of depression post-race and I think it’s heavily underrated.  I mean, it makes sense: take athletes that are used to training hard, enduring bodily strain, and pushing through tough mental and physical challenges and put them in a place with no immediate challenges to overcome, no preparing for a 5hr bike ride on a Saturday morning.  So… what’s left?

Being in yourself.
That’s it.

Last Tuesday I talked to a friend of mine whose race was Wildflower.
“Hey!  How’s it going?”
“RACHEL!  HI!  How are you?!”
“I’m doing well!  How are you doing?”
“I’m… cleaning out my mom’s fridge.  And… yeah.”

There’s nothing with cleaning out the fridge (mine could use one), but further down the trail of conversation her tone showed how she was really feeling.

“I feel lost.”

…and she said it, too.  I talked to her a little bit about what she was doing, how life was going, etc and she responded that she hadn’t worked out since the race, she’s been spending a lot of time alone at home, and she felt disconnected.  I told her that’s completely normal and to look at the facts of what’s just happened:

• Isolation, an incredibly hard thing to notice if it’s subtle, is a sure sign of depression- BUT it’s important to note that this depression is completely normal and even physically understandable!  Before she had a chance to pick up the ‘I should be able to get over this, I’m stronger than that’ stick to verbally hit herself, I reminded her of the chemical reactions that happen in the brain during intense training.  Endorphins/seratonin/insulin/dopamine/everything all get affected when we exercise.  So relax, I said, the Grumpy Bear feeling is valid.

• No more team = a few basic human needs taken away and a couple Maslow tiers shaken up.  As a general rule people are drawn to other people, and not having that sense of belonging and self-identity around others can be pretty damaging.  As athletes, people are used to white-knuckling depression and will themselves to be more independent, but it’s human nature to want to be around others.

• Loss of a goal means no longer physically working towards another milestone.  No race, no goal, what now?

People ask me what I’ll do after I stop training for Vineman- that’s simple: I won’t be training for Vineman.  I’ll keep running because I love it, and probably keep the biking/swimming up with friends who also love the sport.  I’ve met so many people who love training for the sake of training so I have a hard time believing I’ll be doing it alone.  Will I be sad when I’m finished?  Of course.  Will I sign up for another race?  Of course!  I’m already signed up for Nike Women’s Marathon in October, and I’m sure there’s another triathlon in my future.

I won’t always have a race in my life.  I won’t always be training as hard as I am now.  I can’t say for sure what I will be doing in the future, but I do know that it’ll be something I love to do.  There will be times where I’ll feel lost and unmotivated, even outside of training, but thanks to support from loved ones and an internal focus to keep driving forward I know those feelings will never last long.

Doing the Footwork

Be responsible.

Usually the sentence above is used to motivate us.  We are taught that attaching certain adjectives to our personalities such as “responsible”  will make us better people.  Sure, but it seems to me like a subjective blanket term used in resumes, so what kind of actions make a responsible person?

Maybe you have your own formulated idea of “responsible” or feel like you already fit into that category so this might be useless to you, but I decided to break it down for myself.  What does it mean?  I felt that in all cases “responsible” is used while talking about a project or a person, and there are specific things surrounding each that needed to be done.  So then to be responsible all comes down to the basic act of getting things done.  That’s it.  No mystery here, just the act of completion.

I thought about the parallels between Ironman training, learning a language, typical office work, and household chores.  People look at an Ironman or look at Chinese and say, “no way, I can’t do that” yet they’re essentially doing the same thing in their own lives: putting in time towards completing a project.  A 14 mile run is no different from washing the dishes, finishing a 3k yd swim is the same as finishing sides for a presentation.  So being responsible is getting things done, no matter how big or small the task.

If that’s all there is to it, then why isn’t everyone considered responsible?

Fear and anxiety are powerful deterrents.  They cause a lack in confidence and/or endless distractions, but I wouldn’t call either of them “bad” or “wrong.”  They’re human reactions to things that we feel we’ve lost control over.  I’ve spent time worrying if something is ready, acceptable, good enough, or perfect, all of which are completely subjective and fuel the fire of fear (and that’s all the alliteration I have for this post, I promise), burning up any faith I had in myself of completing it.

If the main goal is accomplishing a daunting task that causes fear or anxiety, I’ve found the most efficient way for me to deal with it is to acknowledge I’m feeling anxious (denying it, I’ve noticed, leads to harboring resentment and ultimately shoving everything in an emotional bottle that uncorks itself at really inopportune times), let it go, and focus on what I can get done now- whether it’s translating a couple sentences, doing a few laps in the pool, or just getting my shoes on for a morning run.  Getting small, simple things done is still getting things done.

Get the time in.
Do the footwork.

Those sentences are much more motivating to me.

My First Triathlon – Wildflower

Half-Ironman distance – 70.3 miles in 7:01:09.

Three things I learned overall:
Endurance races are humbling.
Support of any kind is incredibly powerful.
If you know anyone that second-guesses themselves constantly, recommend that they do a triathlon.

Race lessons I learned:

• Don’t have a protein-heavy breakfast.

– This is a no-brainer, but I forgot it and paid dearly on the swim.

• Take salt tablets at the end of the bike/beginning of the run.

– This might have curbed the nausea/dehydration I felt.

• Assume the racer next to you will kick your stuff around and put their wetsuit on top of your bike rack…

– … so plan accordingly.

• As far as getting through a race, mental nutrition (support) ≥ physical nutrition (food)

– I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: I could not have done any of this without the team.

The swim – 1.2 miles:

I felt terrible several hundred yards into the swim.  My stomach felt like a stone, the buoys were hazy in the distance, and I didn’t want to get kicked in the head anymore.  I told myself I couldn’t do it and there was no way I could do this 1.2 miles and have 69.1 left.

So I changed my mindset.

I stopped thinking it as a race and started thinking that we were all being chased by a giant sea monster from Dr. Who.  I’m serious!  It changed my mentality from ‘I need to get in front of this person’ to ‘we’re all in this together, trying to get ahead of this Big Evil Scary Thing ™ as quickly as possible’ and allowed me to concentrate on swimming and less on the race itself.

Transition 1 (T1):
While we were prepping to get into the water for the swim we were all fearful of running up the giant asphalt hill in our bare feet, but as soon as I got out of that freezing cold water I ran up that hill.  Dizzy, disoriented, and unfocused, I stopped thinking about anything else but the transition area at the top.  Liana Lehua, an amazing friend and inspirational athlete, ran with me with a camera and cheered me on the entire way, shouting words of encouragement.  I barely recognized her and didn’t understand what was going on while it was happening, but I am so grateful for her support.

The reason I said “if you know anyone that second-guesses themselves constantly, make them do a triathlon” is simply because transitions are the best lessons in not second-guessing; you just don’t have time to doubt yourself.  I ran into transition, stripped off my wetsuit, put on my socks, shoes, sunglasses, helmet, racebelt, sunscreen, grabbed my bike, and ran out of the transition area.  Done.

The bike – 56 miles:
The hardest part about the bike was the initial 20 miles.  The protein from my breakfast still sat like a stone, and I felt like I had no energy left after the first climb after transition, Beach Hill.  I’ve never been in a cycling race, so watching everyone whizz past me in waves deflated my ego, but kept me centered and grounded.  Ryan Schneider, a triathlete friend of mine, yelled, “go Chaibot!” as soon as I passed, causing me to grin and focus on the race.  I saw Gaby Uribe, my supportive mentor, on the bike course within the first 20 miles and it was a welcome surprise.  I honestly didn’t expect to see much of my team considering how many participants entered the race.  A few brief exchanges then she passed me and powered off, and I was so grateful for seeing her smile and reminding me to stay inside myself.  After downing my first bottle of G2/Carbo-Pro around mile 15 all I had in my head was my coach’s voice repeating ‘this is your time to be eating and drinking to set you up for the rest of your race.’  It took me a while since I’d only used them once previously, but I finally got the hang of my aero bars and relaxed into the ride.  As I wrote before in my training weekend post, Paul warned us hitting the bike too hard too early could cost us, so I kept a fairly even pace until Nasty Grade at mile 42.

We haven’t trained in the heat.  We’ve had a rainy, windy, cold season.  Nasty Grade in the heat was completely different from Nasty Grade in cold weather.  I saw Louis Kwan already battling the hill, pushing upward towards the top.  I thought of my teammate David Hamer and how we got ourselves up those steep hills during a windy training ride, and “Lollipop” once again filled my head. This is how I passed people on Nasty Grade, this is how I keep a steady cadence up big hills, and no, I didn’t know there were actually lyrics to it, so it was just the refrain for 3-4 miles.

I knew my nutrition was on when I took the huge downhill, the rollers, and the last stretch into camp with nervous excitement for the run.  I felt giddy with anticipation and couldn’t wait to do (what I thought was) my favorite part of the race.

Transition 2 (T2):
For the most part my gear was still in its place, minus one or two items, but the racer next to me had thrown her bag over my shoes and tossed her wetsuit where my bike needed to be.  I didn’t have time to be resentful, so I just pushed it over, swapped my gear out, and got it done.

The run – 13.1 miles:
The run was agony.

The first 2-3 miles of rolling hills were annoying but manageable since I took it slow.  I knew that the steep hills were coming so I steadily ramped up my nutrition but made the terrible mistake of not hydrating properly, which hit me later.  Around mile 4 I walked up the giant hill with Matt Sills, who was struggling against nausea but was so determined and didn’t give up.  I kept hiking up the trail and ran into the speedy Jamé Quinn who gave me an entire pack of Clif Shot Blocs (which ended up getting me through till the end) and reminded me that I needed to take it easy and walk if I needed.  During mile 5-6 I ran into Sara Tung, Kevin Smets, and our amazing honored teammate still fighting against cancer, Gordie Lat, all pushing along the path and getting the race done.  I kept pushing until the bottom of a hill around mile 7, where I saw Efren Vasquez jogging strong.

“I’m gonna walk this,” I told Efren.
“No way,” he said.  “C’mon, let’s run this- they’re all at the top!  You got it!”

There is absolutely no way I would have made it up that hill without his support.  Once up there I kept going until the top of Heartrate Hill, which overlooks The Pit, somewhere around mile 9.  The nausea set in so deep I couldn’t think straight, so I grasped the skin on my stomach or forearm and pinched as hard as I could while I jogged.  Apparently I started telling people I wanted to throw up, but I honestly don’t remember that.  Chris Schauble came and hugged me at the top of the hill, followed by a “catch me, Rachel!” from Carlos Pineda who was hiking up the other side.  After I u-turned at the bottom of the hill and started climbing up I saw Kevin Smets again and realized what Carlos meant: Kevin looked like he was running so fast I thought he’d pass me within minutes.  I saw a runner retching at the side of the road and briefly thought about joining him, but then I saw Sarah Craig running strong down the hill, who yelled some words of encouragement before she flew past.  After I reached the top I know there were a few more hills and long stretches, but it’s all pretty hazy until the last mile: running down Lynch Hill.

This is it.
Just get down the hill.
I briefly wondered if I could just tuck and roll, but that probably fell under the ‘crawling’ category, which is apparently a penalty.

Legs flailing and arms waving, I reached the bottom of the hill, but… oh yeah, I had forgotten about the finishing chute.  I tried sprinting the chute but for the first time in my life I couldn’t will myself to go all out.  It was such an odd feeling.  I mentally pushed myself on but my legs cramped up and I couldn’t push myself to do a full-out sprint, so I settled into a run.

After I had crossed the finish line my legs gave away, but some of my teammates were there to help me.  I remember wanting my medal so badly as it physically showed I was finished with the race.  It was over.  I could stop now.  I dimly remember hugging people, getting ice on my knees, and weakly saying, “did you see it? I sprinted the chute!  I sprinted it!” to Arkady Hagopian who replied, “I am so proud of you!  You did it!”

I didn’t know what a ‘good time’ was so I had no expectations for myself this race, but I did have one goal and I’m proud to say I accomplished:  I successfully said “Go Team!” to every single Team in Training member I passed.

Wildflower was amazing, but the road getting there with the team was more rewarding than the race itself.  The whole team, once again, waited for every single member to cross that finish line and ‘tunneled up’ for them to pass through.  I couldn’t be more humbled by and proud of the 2010 Los Angeles Team in Training Ironteam – we really are the best… around.

Next stop, a full Ironman – Vineman, July 31st, 2010.

Wildflower Training Weekend

We got our jackets this weekend!

If the Los Angeles Team in Training Ironteam camps in the forest, does it make a sound?

Lots of laughing, screams of ‘buffalo’, stories about trolls in closets, acoustic versions of “I Like Big Butts” and “You’re The Best Around” rang throughout the woods at Lake San Antonio this weekend.  Needless to say, it was a pretty epic bonding experience.

—–

Swimming:

A coach from a different team explaining the swim

Before this weekend, I’d been in my wetsuit once, and we ended up not swimming.  For those of you that haven’t been in a wetsuit in freezing cold water before, three emotions will hit you your first time no matter how well you mentally prepare:

Shock.  Panic.  Fear.

Logically I knew it was just swimming; I’ve done this a million times before, I told myself, so why would swimming in open water be any different?  It is.  It was.  I gasped for breath at the beginning, struggling to keep panic at a minimum and concentrated on my form.  It’s just swimming.  I’m swimming in a lake.  About a hundred feet in I told myself I couldn’t do it: the wetsuit was constricting on my neck, I still couldn’t breathe well, I wasn’t sighting properly, and I might as well just give up.  You’re swimming, Rachel, I told myself.  You’ve always said how annoying those sides of the pool are

I'm out there, somewhere

and how they’re always getting in the way.  Harden up.

So I did.  I concentrated on the swim caps ahead of me and focused on passing them.  I envisioned myself as a shark that said “om nom nom nom” every time I passed someone or saw a foot in my face.  Eventually I looped around the third buoy and swam the 1.2 miles.

I swam in a lake.

—–

Cycling:

Listening to Coach Paul talk about mile 42

“I’ve seen pros fly through the first part of this course,” Coach Paul begins, “but they all end up losing it at the same place: mile 42.”

I don’t think Douglas Adams was a triathlete, but 42 really is the answer. Wildflower has this hill nicknamed “Nasty Grade” which rears its ugly head around mile 41.5 or so and goes straight up.  I started feeling the burn a bit and looked down: 42.  Coach Paul was right on.  I actually didn’t think this was too bad of a climb, but that’s probably due to two reasons: 1) we’ve trained harder hills for much longer and 2) I coasted the first 40 miles, not knowing what to expect.  People around me were huffin’ and puffin’ while I grinned up at my teammate Louis, who stood at the top of the hill taking pictures while wearing his Pikachu outfit.

Around mile 44 the most common reaction is: Okay, Nasty Grade’s done, so that means the race is over, right?

I made this mistake, too.

The last 12 miles aren’t a joke: rolling hills, an intense downhill (Carlos hit 53 mph and Kevin blew out his rear tire- somehow he’s still alive!) that I still get chills thinking about, and a couple false flats don’t make the end easy.  Keeping nutrition on and pacing energy throughout the race are key.

I rode a bike through some hills.

——

Running:

Coach Paul explaining the course

Trail running is very different from running on the pavement.  Logically this makes sense, but experiencing it is a completely different beast.  I haven’t been doing enough trail runs, so that’ll be changing in the next three weeks.

Right out of transition you run up stairs.  Stairs?  After swimming 1.2 miles and cycling 56 miles?  Are you kidding me?  But don’t worry, that’s just the start of the warm up hills.  Small ups and downs that I took at a 10:15min pace, fearful of burning out.

I am so glad I took the beginning easy.

A downhill

“If you’re going up a huge hill saying, ‘wait, this is even before mile 4- this can’t be right’ you’re on the right path,” Coach Rad said, explaining the course.  Miles 1-7 are hills.  That’s it.  You get a couple down hills and a few flat parts in between, but it’s mostly straight up.  Since I’m a Chai, which means I’m made of both German and Korean stubbornness, I refused to walk the hills like I’d seen some of my teammates do.  I can assure you that’ll probably change on race day, though, since walking part of them will most likely be faster.

My running splits got faster, though, and I was averaging a solid 9 for most of the race after that.  The “Heartbreak Hill” is pretty annoying, coming in around mile 10 and is another straight up.  Luckily Terry, who used to be a running coach, started incredibly late and flew up right behind me at the bottom of the hill, so I asked him to pace me.  He took off shortly after, and mile 11-12 was a pure mental game: get it done, get it done.  You’ve come this far, now there’s only a downhill to the finish.  I ended up almost PR-ing my half marathon time and came in at 1:58 with some change.  I’m pretty proud of that- but I can assure you race day will go differently.

I ran on a trail.

The 2010 Los Angeles Team in Training Ironteam!

Lessons learned:
- Sit on your hand while playing the drinking game ‘buffalo’.
- Bring an air-mattress while camping.
- Rather than physically pushing through, endurance training is even more about learning mental focus and achieving a state of complete serenity.
- Turkey sandwiches might be my favorite thing to eat post-ride.
- The two mascots of this team so far have been wind and rain.
- I still don’t know how to answer people when they ask, ‘how’s training going?’
- “The best athlete is a relaxed athlete.” (Coach Paul)
- I’m on an amazingly supportive team that waits for every single member to finish their race.

Control

Athletes are all about control: nutrition, training, rest, gear, everything.  I think I’ve met more type-A people while training in these few months than I have in the past two years of traveling all around central and southeast Asia.

…but there are so many uncontrollable factors during training.

Last weekend my team did a 56-mile ride with an insanely long repeating climb.  Our coaches told us it was more difficult than Wildflower, the 70.3 half-Ironman that we’ll be racing on April 30th.  But what really made it hard was the wind.

That freaking wind.

Never mind the fact I got knocked off my bike, that wind was brutal to everyone.  Downhills were terrifying on our carbon, or even aluminum, frames.  Uphills were just ridiculous.  Nearing the end of our ride, we had one final stretch before heading to base (and a 15-minute run).  I ran out of nutrition because I miscalculated and I was out of carbs.  Done.  My spine felt like there were knives carving into it, legs were crying out, and my arms wanted to give up.  But it was only 5 or so miles back to camp- not that bad, right?

That freaking wind.

I grunted, swore, and yelled at the wind.  After the ride I talked to a few of my teammates about it- some of them had full-on screamed.

I constantly think I can control outside influences: the outcome of a race, how the day will go, someone’s actions, or even something like the wind.  Like most goals in life, training follows a rhythm of plan, prepare, execute.  But there’s one last part of the cycle that helps me accept the things I can’t control: simultaneously letting go of my ego and being proud of my results.

It’s a tough lesson, but thankfully I get multiple chances to re-learn it.