T minus 17 days. Swimming day.
First day at the town outdoor public pool. New pool, new routine. Figure out where to go. Make it to the designated adult swim lanes. Ok, this is fine....nice big pool, nice big lane....all set. Ease myself into the water. Psych myself up. I know what I have to do. Big deep breath and I'm off. Swimming, swimming, swimming. Swimming down the lane. Swimming back up. Swimming down the lane. Swimming back up. It is when I turn to swim back down the lane that I realize I am not alone. There is another swimmer in my lane. I have never swum with anyone in my lane before. It's my lane. I try to be unfazed by this new development but it causes me great concern. I am suddenly aware of my flailing arms and legs and the fact that I will now have to try to contain them in some fashion. This is no easy feat. My breathing starts to intensify with the sheer effort of trying to stay on my side. I am halfway through this new form of water torture when my lane-mate taps me on the shoulder. What the heck?? I stop, stand up and see that she is speaking to me. "We're going to swim in circles." Ok, I have suction cups on my eyes and water in both my ears so my senses are off. I must have heard wrong. "We're going to swim in circles, " she repeats, circling with her hands. She did say that. I pry the suction cups off my eyes and look her. And her circling hands. Except they are not hands, they are flippers. She has flipper hands. And flipper feet. A merwoman. A merwoman is telling me that I have to swim in circles. What is happening here? I am fatigued, breathing hard, and confused. Listen, flipper girl, I have no idea who you are, where you came from or why you are wearing so many swimming devices but I am still trying to master the art of swimming in a straight line. I do not want to swim in a circle, rectangle, trapezoid or any other pattern that your whim may dictate. Even if I did, I would not be able to keep up with you as you are wearing twelve pounds of rubber webbing and I have only my God-given hands and feet.
Public swim is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're going to get.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
T minus 18 days. Running day. Hallelujah.
Decided it was time to test my fin. Up with the birds. Literally. I was up with the screeching baby hawk. We have a screeching baby hawk. Hawks hate me. I don't really know why they hate me I just know that they do hate me. Yes, I have had multiple encounters with hawks. Close encounters. Of the terrible kind.
It was a dark and stormy night. Ok, no it wasn't. It was a regular old night and I was driving home from work. On the inside lane of a four lane busy thoroughfare. Through a busy town. At rush hour. I am driving along minding my own business, belting out "Landslide" in my best Stevie Nicks impersonation, happily heading home when BAM! I am struck on the passenger side window by a heavy, dark, flapping object. With eyes. A hawk has fallen from the sky, by-passed all other vehicles and decided to go all kamikaze on my car.
That hawk has been reincarnated. It's mission in this life and apparently in it's afterlife is perpetually to haunt me. He is now a screeching baby hawk. In my yard. Outside my window. Let's talk about baby hawks. The Red-tailed Hawk (Buteo jamaicensis) is a powerful and magnificent hunter. But they aren't born that way. They learn their skills from their parents. Baby hawks rely on their mother to provide food for them until it is time for them to fend for themselves. They screech and mommy brings them food. They screech some more, and mommy brings them more. And so it goes. Baby hawk grows and eventually mother says it's time for baby hawk to go out and get his own food. But baby hawk wants mommy to keep bringing him food. It's a lot easier that way. Baby hawk lets mommy (and every other living creature within a five mile radius) know this by emitting a high pitched, ear-splitting screech. A constant, high pitched ear splitting screech. Mommy flies off early in the morning. Baby hawk wakes. Where's mommy? Where's my food? Screech. Mommy flies overhead but doesn't bring food. Screech, screech. Mommy lands on a nearby tree. "Come, be powerful and magnificent with me" she calls to him. Screech. Mommy flies off again. Screech. SCREECH. All day long. For days and days. And days. Right outside my window.
Up for an early run. With the birds.
Decided it was time to test my fin. Up with the birds. Literally. I was up with the screeching baby hawk. We have a screeching baby hawk. Hawks hate me. I don't really know why they hate me I just know that they do hate me. Yes, I have had multiple encounters with hawks. Close encounters. Of the terrible kind.
It was a dark and stormy night. Ok, no it wasn't. It was a regular old night and I was driving home from work. On the inside lane of a four lane busy thoroughfare. Through a busy town. At rush hour. I am driving along minding my own business, belting out "Landslide" in my best Stevie Nicks impersonation, happily heading home when BAM! I am struck on the passenger side window by a heavy, dark, flapping object. With eyes. A hawk has fallen from the sky, by-passed all other vehicles and decided to go all kamikaze on my car.
That hawk has been reincarnated. It's mission in this life and apparently in it's afterlife is perpetually to haunt me. He is now a screeching baby hawk. In my yard. Outside my window. Let's talk about baby hawks. The Red-tailed Hawk (Buteo jamaicensis) is a powerful and magnificent hunter. But they aren't born that way. They learn their skills from their parents. Baby hawks rely on their mother to provide food for them until it is time for them to fend for themselves. They screech and mommy brings them food. They screech some more, and mommy brings them more. And so it goes. Baby hawk grows and eventually mother says it's time for baby hawk to go out and get his own food. But baby hawk wants mommy to keep bringing him food. It's a lot easier that way. Baby hawk lets mommy (and every other living creature within a five mile radius) know this by emitting a high pitched, ear-splitting screech. A constant, high pitched ear splitting screech. Mommy flies off early in the morning. Baby hawk wakes. Where's mommy? Where's my food? Screech. Mommy flies overhead but doesn't bring food. Screech, screech. Mommy lands on a nearby tree. "Come, be powerful and magnificent with me" she calls to him. Screech. Mommy flies off again. Screech. SCREECH. All day long. For days and days. And days. Right outside my window.
Up for an early run. With the birds.
Monday, June 27, 2011
T minus 20 days. Biking day (continued)
Yesterday's biking outing will be fodder for my psychiatrist's couch for years to come. You already know about the great bug incident of 2011. Now let me tell you about the most embarrassing moment of my life.
Real cyclists look like real cyclists. They pump their pedals a certain way, they hunch over their bikes a certain way, they hold their head a certain way. Picture a real cyclist in your head. You can see what I mean, right? The real clothes, the real bike, the real shoes. Now, think of a kid on a bike.....you know, a regular kid tooling around the neighbor on his bike. Sitting back, meandering up and down the street, standing up to get to the top of a hill, coasting down. Got that picture in your head? Now replace the kid with a grown woman. A grown woman riding a bike like a kid. A grown woman looking the exact opposite of a real cyclist. And there I am.
If I biked for years and years and years, I might start to develop the right biking muscles. They seem to be the exact opposite of running muscles. Whatever they are, I don't have them. Which is fine when I am cruising along a straight stretch of road. But not so fine when I have a hill in front of me. Because I still have not mastered the gears on my bike I figured the safest thing was to have it set in a middle gear of some sort. It helps going down a hill because I now am able to keep my legs attached to my body. Going up a hill, however, poses a problem. It is not an easy gear to use to get up the hill. Remember what the kid does to get up that hill? Exactly...stands up. And remember I am a grown woman riding a big bike like a kid? So what do I do? Exactly. I stand up. And peddle up the hill. Slowly. Very, very slowly. To do this, you must hold on tightly to the handlebars so: A. you don't topple over and B. you can get enough momentum to make it to the top. There was a hill on my ride yesterday. I saw it ahead of me. It was getting closer and closer. I was not really worried. I knew eventually I would get to the top....after every man, woman, child and turtle passed me along the way. But I'd get there. And I did. Pedaling, pedaling, pedaling. Getting to the hill. Reaching for my handlebars. Grabbing on tight. Psyching myself up. Taking a really big breath. Standing up to take the hill. And..... that's when it happened. What I will be trying to work through for the next twenty years. The most embarrassing moment of my life. The bottom of my pink running skirt (don't EVEN THINK about bringing up the ugly black shorts at a time like this) got caught on the back of my bike seat. I, of course, did not know this. Until it was too late. Until I stood up. And my skirt didn't. My skirt didn't. I was standing up, holding on tightly to the handlebars with both hands and my skirt was glued to the back of my seat. I was mooning the town of Simsbury. And every man, woman, child and turtle who had been about to pass me slowed down and stared. At me. And my moon.
Help me, Sigmund.
Yesterday's biking outing will be fodder for my psychiatrist's couch for years to come. You already know about the great bug incident of 2011. Now let me tell you about the most embarrassing moment of my life.
Real cyclists look like real cyclists. They pump their pedals a certain way, they hunch over their bikes a certain way, they hold their head a certain way. Picture a real cyclist in your head. You can see what I mean, right? The real clothes, the real bike, the real shoes. Now, think of a kid on a bike.....you know, a regular kid tooling around the neighbor on his bike. Sitting back, meandering up and down the street, standing up to get to the top of a hill, coasting down. Got that picture in your head? Now replace the kid with a grown woman. A grown woman riding a bike like a kid. A grown woman looking the exact opposite of a real cyclist. And there I am.
If I biked for years and years and years, I might start to develop the right biking muscles. They seem to be the exact opposite of running muscles. Whatever they are, I don't have them. Which is fine when I am cruising along a straight stretch of road. But not so fine when I have a hill in front of me. Because I still have not mastered the gears on my bike I figured the safest thing was to have it set in a middle gear of some sort. It helps going down a hill because I now am able to keep my legs attached to my body. Going up a hill, however, poses a problem. It is not an easy gear to use to get up the hill. Remember what the kid does to get up that hill? Exactly...stands up. And remember I am a grown woman riding a big bike like a kid? So what do I do? Exactly. I stand up. And peddle up the hill. Slowly. Very, very slowly. To do this, you must hold on tightly to the handlebars so: A. you don't topple over and B. you can get enough momentum to make it to the top. There was a hill on my ride yesterday. I saw it ahead of me. It was getting closer and closer. I was not really worried. I knew eventually I would get to the top....after every man, woman, child and turtle passed me along the way. But I'd get there. And I did. Pedaling, pedaling, pedaling. Getting to the hill. Reaching for my handlebars. Grabbing on tight. Psyching myself up. Taking a really big breath. Standing up to take the hill. And..... that's when it happened. What I will be trying to work through for the next twenty years. The most embarrassing moment of my life. The bottom of my pink running skirt (don't EVEN THINK about bringing up the ugly black shorts at a time like this) got caught on the back of my bike seat. I, of course, did not know this. Until it was too late. Until I stood up. And my skirt didn't. My skirt didn't. I was standing up, holding on tightly to the handlebars with both hands and my skirt was glued to the back of my seat. I was mooning the town of Simsbury. And every man, woman, child and turtle who had been about to pass me slowed down and stared. At me. And my moon.
Help me, Sigmund.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
T minus 21 days. Biking day.
What was I supposed to do? Honestly, you tell me. What exactly was I supposed to do? I mean, when you are biking along at a pretty serious clip (relative term; I prefer to think of myself as going at a serious clip. I would absolutely disagree with others who might offer up the term leisurely to describe my pace) and out of nowhere a bug shoots into your mouth and halfway down your throat what would you do? Isn't it anyone's natural tendency to focus on the crisis at hand and not on their surroundings? ? Because let's not sugarcoat it----this is a crisis. Who could possibly notice, let alone care about, the cars, joggers, kid on training wheels around them when they are waging a war with a bug that has just lodged itself in the back of their throat? In a situation such as this, you absolutely cannot be expected to have any control over which way your bike may turn or which side of the road you might end up on. You are simply trying to survive. And p.s: to those of blasting your horns that really doesn't help. Here's what would help: stopping, getting out of your car and coming to the aid of the bug infected cyclist. I know I am new to the cycling world but it seems blatantly obvious to this newbie that there needs to be a universal bike sign for bug in mouth / throat / ear / eye along with all your other weird hand motions.
What was I supposed to do? Honestly, you tell me. What exactly was I supposed to do? I mean, when you are biking along at a pretty serious clip (relative term; I prefer to think of myself as going at a serious clip. I would absolutely disagree with others who might offer up the term leisurely to describe my pace) and out of nowhere a bug shoots into your mouth and halfway down your throat what would you do? Isn't it anyone's natural tendency to focus on the crisis at hand and not on their surroundings? ? Because let's not sugarcoat it----this is a crisis. Who could possibly notice, let alone care about, the cars, joggers, kid on training wheels around them when they are waging a war with a bug that has just lodged itself in the back of their throat? In a situation such as this, you absolutely cannot be expected to have any control over which way your bike may turn or which side of the road you might end up on. You are simply trying to survive. And p.s: to those of blasting your horns that really doesn't help. Here's what would help: stopping, getting out of your car and coming to the aid of the bug infected cyclist. I know I am new to the cycling world but it seems blatantly obvious to this newbie that there needs to be a universal bike sign for bug in mouth / throat / ear / eye along with all your other weird hand motions.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
T minus 22 days. Rest day.
It has come to my attention that at some point in the next 22 days I will need to combine events in some fashion. You know, do more than one thing in a row. For training. So when the actual event day comes I won't finish the swim and be so used to simply collapsing onto terra firma crying with the pure relief of a still beating heart that I will forget there are two thirds of the race yet to go. So I am contemplating which two things to combine and logistically how to do it. I have heard tell of this thing called "transition." Apparently you are supposed to move smoothly from one event to the next: swim to bike then bike to run. Perhaps I should start with a combined swim / bike day. Let's envision how this might go.
The town pools have just opened so that is where I will now do my swims. (So the whole town can see me. Because swimming in front of the Y crowd alone wasn't wonderful enough, I now have the opportunity bring my Rubinesque self to the local pool and show off my patented flailing arm / leg doggie paddle to all my neighbors, friends and coworkers. It's fine. I'm sure I'll never see any of them again). So how does this work exactly? I peddle up to the pool already wearing my bathing suit, park my bike right next to a lounge chair, clamp my goggles / suction cups onto my eyes, jump in, do my fun fun swim, climb out, pry the suction cups off my eyes, put a helmet over my pink bathing cap, plop my soaking wet self onto said bike, wave to my new audience and ride off?
Why yes, that sounds like an amazingly smooth transition to me. I can hardly wait.
It has come to my attention that at some point in the next 22 days I will need to combine events in some fashion. You know, do more than one thing in a row. For training. So when the actual event day comes I won't finish the swim and be so used to simply collapsing onto terra firma crying with the pure relief of a still beating heart that I will forget there are two thirds of the race yet to go. So I am contemplating which two things to combine and logistically how to do it. I have heard tell of this thing called "transition." Apparently you are supposed to move smoothly from one event to the next: swim to bike then bike to run. Perhaps I should start with a combined swim / bike day. Let's envision how this might go.
The town pools have just opened so that is where I will now do my swims. (So the whole town can see me. Because swimming in front of the Y crowd alone wasn't wonderful enough, I now have the opportunity bring my Rubinesque self to the local pool and show off my patented flailing arm / leg doggie paddle to all my neighbors, friends and coworkers. It's fine. I'm sure I'll never see any of them again). So how does this work exactly? I peddle up to the pool already wearing my bathing suit, park my bike right next to a lounge chair, clamp my goggles / suction cups onto my eyes, jump in, do my fun fun swim, climb out, pry the suction cups off my eyes, put a helmet over my pink bathing cap, plop my soaking wet self onto said bike, wave to my new audience and ride off?
Why yes, that sounds like an amazingly smooth transition to me. I can hardly wait.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
T minus 24 days.
A long, long time ago I took a real vacation. With my husband. It involved a travel agent, an airplane and actual suitcases instead of grocery bags. We went to this amazing resort on the island of Eleuthera in the Bahamas. It was run by Italians and most of the guests were also Italian. Great food, good wine and plenty of things to do. One of the daily activities was a combination dance/aerobics class in the pool. We all know by now how I feel about water so naturally I avoided this class like the plague. One day, however, an unfortunately timed nap by the pool placed me in the absolute wrong place at the absolute wrong time. Sudden loud music wakes me with a start. Open my eyes to find the instructor of the aforementioned class making a bee line straight for me. Class is about to begin, she announces, and I simply had to join them. Trapped. Shoot. Absolutely no excuse / no way out. Make my way to the pool. Look around, lots of cheery women and even a few speedo-clad old men. Great. I'm in the middle of a gorgeous tropical island and instead of sitting at the floating bar having an umbrella drink I'm stuck in a pool with a bunch of loud, water-loving, too- naked Italians.
Class starts and it's all "move to the right," and "arms up high," and "step to the left." Loud, dance to the beat music. Ok, I'm ok. Not bad. I can handle this. I can shake my groove thing with these Italians. I think I'm even starting to have fun. "Right arm up." up goes the arm. "Left arm up." up goes the other arm. "Two steps right." hello old man. "Two steps left." hello other old man. "Put your hans on your fins." HUH? Put my what on my what?? Did she say put my hans on my fins?? "Put your hans on your fins," she repeats. She did. She did say put your hans on your fins. What the heck is she talking about?? Do Italians have fins and I'm now going to be let in on this life-changing secret? How will I possibly be able to keep it a secret? I tell everyone everything. Starting in the second grade when I told Lolly Lucier all about the surprise party her mom was planning for her birthday. This is too much. I can't handle it. Take it back. Please. I look pleadingly to my instructor. Help. Help me with the fins. Where, why, how?? I stare at her intently. She is standing shouting out instructions. Her hands are placed firmly on her hips. Wait. Those aren't fins, they're hips. It slowly dawns on me. She doesn't mean fins, she means hips. Put your hands on your hips. Oh, thank god. Thank god I don't have to keep the Italian fin people secret any longer.
Slight fin injury has me sidelined tonight.
A long, long time ago I took a real vacation. With my husband. It involved a travel agent, an airplane and actual suitcases instead of grocery bags. We went to this amazing resort on the island of Eleuthera in the Bahamas. It was run by Italians and most of the guests were also Italian. Great food, good wine and plenty of things to do. One of the daily activities was a combination dance/aerobics class in the pool. We all know by now how I feel about water so naturally I avoided this class like the plague. One day, however, an unfortunately timed nap by the pool placed me in the absolute wrong place at the absolute wrong time. Sudden loud music wakes me with a start. Open my eyes to find the instructor of the aforementioned class making a bee line straight for me. Class is about to begin, she announces, and I simply had to join them. Trapped. Shoot. Absolutely no excuse / no way out. Make my way to the pool. Look around, lots of cheery women and even a few speedo-clad old men. Great. I'm in the middle of a gorgeous tropical island and instead of sitting at the floating bar having an umbrella drink I'm stuck in a pool with a bunch of loud, water-loving, too- naked Italians.
Class starts and it's all "move to the right," and "arms up high," and "step to the left." Loud, dance to the beat music. Ok, I'm ok. Not bad. I can handle this. I can shake my groove thing with these Italians. I think I'm even starting to have fun. "Right arm up." up goes the arm. "Left arm up." up goes the other arm. "Two steps right." hello old man. "Two steps left." hello other old man. "Put your hans on your fins." HUH? Put my what on my what?? Did she say put my hans on my fins?? "Put your hans on your fins," she repeats. She did. She did say put your hans on your fins. What the heck is she talking about?? Do Italians have fins and I'm now going to be let in on this life-changing secret? How will I possibly be able to keep it a secret? I tell everyone everything. Starting in the second grade when I told Lolly Lucier all about the surprise party her mom was planning for her birthday. This is too much. I can't handle it. Take it back. Please. I look pleadingly to my instructor. Help. Help me with the fins. Where, why, how?? I stare at her intently. She is standing shouting out instructions. Her hands are placed firmly on her hips. Wait. Those aren't fins, they're hips. It slowly dawns on me. She doesn't mean fins, she means hips. Put your hands on your hips. Oh, thank god. Thank god I don't have to keep the Italian fin people secret any longer.
Slight fin injury has me sidelined tonight.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
T minus 25 days. Swimming day.
Can't move arms. Also broke calf muscle. In. the. water.
I thought I was making progress. I thought things were getting better. Wrong. Very, very wrong.
I made it to the pool without hyperventilating or crying. Progress. I made it safely past the noodle waving ladies. Progress. I found an open lane not surrounded by octogenarians. Progress. I swam a few laps without stopping and not doing the doggie paddle alone. Progress, progress, progress. I even shared the laser beam focus of the lifeguard's attention with the six year old in lane one. If that's not progress I don't know what is. So with all this progress I was feeling a bit, shall we say, Michael Phelpsish. I started to crank it up. Freestyle. Head all the way down. Kicking those legs. Cupping those hands and pulling that water through. Feeling that heart beating. Cutting through that water like a hot knife through butter. Faster, faster. Oh, yeah, baby, you are good. You are strong. You are...... OWWW!!! Pain. Pain in so many places. Pain all at once. Pain, pain, pain. Pain shooting out of my arms and legs. Pain in my head. Pain in my chest. Pain shooting out of my eyes. Yes, I said my eyes.
Progress? Yeah, I'm making progress, alright. Right to the convalescent home.
Can't move arms. Also broke calf muscle. In. the. water.
I thought I was making progress. I thought things were getting better. Wrong. Very, very wrong.
I made it to the pool without hyperventilating or crying. Progress. I made it safely past the noodle waving ladies. Progress. I found an open lane not surrounded by octogenarians. Progress. I swam a few laps without stopping and not doing the doggie paddle alone. Progress, progress, progress. I even shared the laser beam focus of the lifeguard's attention with the six year old in lane one. If that's not progress I don't know what is. So with all this progress I was feeling a bit, shall we say, Michael Phelpsish. I started to crank it up. Freestyle. Head all the way down. Kicking those legs. Cupping those hands and pulling that water through. Feeling that heart beating. Cutting through that water like a hot knife through butter. Faster, faster. Oh, yeah, baby, you are good. You are strong. You are...... OWWW!!! Pain. Pain in so many places. Pain all at once. Pain, pain, pain. Pain shooting out of my arms and legs. Pain in my head. Pain in my chest. Pain shooting out of my eyes. Yes, I said my eyes.
Progress? Yeah, I'm making progress, alright. Right to the convalescent home.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
T minus 26 days. Biking day.
Ok, 7 followers, you know I am a poser. I know I am a poser. And I am fairly certain that my pink running skirt, pink top and matching pink sweatband announce loud and clear to my fellow cyclists that I am a poser (sidebar: no, I have not been able to bring myself to purchase a pair of ugly black padded bike shorts yet. I forced myself to physically get in the car and go to a bike store today with the sole intention of buying a pair. I really did. Got to the store. Walked up to the entrance. And LANCE ARMSTRONG opened the door for me. I am dead serious. It threw me for such a loop that I couldn't focus on the shorts. How could I possibly care about - let alone try on -ugly black padded shorts when Lance Armstrong was standing right there. I mean, is this what he does now? Goes to bike stores in sleepy little towns and freaks out the locals??). But tonight, dear followers, tonight my inner goddess cyclist came out. I ON YOUR LEFT-ed someone!! omg omg omg. Do you realize just what this means?? It means I was going fast enough that I had to pass another cyclist. Left her in my dust. Hah! Take that, head to toe proper- cycle- apparel- wearing person. You lose. I win. Man did that feel good. Reveling in my new-found cycling prowess. Bike, bike, bike. Chance a glance back over my shoulder. Whaaat? Wild-eyed proper clad cyclist is bearing down on me on me with a vengeance. She is trying to on your left me! Well, I never! No way. Not going to happen. Not tonight. You picked the wrong pink skirted girl to mess with, lady. I turn on all cylinders and feel the burn. It's worth it. I pull ahead and let my cycle goddess fly.
Ok, 7 followers, you know I am a poser. I know I am a poser. And I am fairly certain that my pink running skirt, pink top and matching pink sweatband announce loud and clear to my fellow cyclists that I am a poser (sidebar: no, I have not been able to bring myself to purchase a pair of ugly black padded bike shorts yet. I forced myself to physically get in the car and go to a bike store today with the sole intention of buying a pair. I really did. Got to the store. Walked up to the entrance. And LANCE ARMSTRONG opened the door for me. I am dead serious. It threw me for such a loop that I couldn't focus on the shorts. How could I possibly care about - let alone try on -ugly black padded shorts when Lance Armstrong was standing right there. I mean, is this what he does now? Goes to bike stores in sleepy little towns and freaks out the locals??). But tonight, dear followers, tonight my inner goddess cyclist came out. I ON YOUR LEFT-ed someone!! omg omg omg. Do you realize just what this means?? It means I was going fast enough that I had to pass another cyclist. Left her in my dust. Hah! Take that, head to toe proper- cycle- apparel- wearing person. You lose. I win. Man did that feel good. Reveling in my new-found cycling prowess. Bike, bike, bike. Chance a glance back over my shoulder. Whaaat? Wild-eyed proper clad cyclist is bearing down on me on me with a vengeance. She is trying to on your left me! Well, I never! No way. Not going to happen. Not tonight. You picked the wrong pink skirted girl to mess with, lady. I turn on all cylinders and feel the burn. It's worth it. I pull ahead and let my cycle goddess fly.
Monday, June 20, 2011
T minus 28 and 27 days. Dear 7 followers,
I am sure by now you are all in a state of complete and utter panic, having checked back here countless times yesterday and perhaps even late into the night, waiting anxiously, anxiously for an update. Knowing it was my Open Water Swim Day. Perhaps you even considered calling out the coast guard having not heard from me all day. Well, dear followers, that panicky feeling you have, that pit in the bottom of your stomach, that dread in your heart, multiply it by fifty and you get a rough approximation of how I felt yesterday heading into Long Island Sound. With water temperatures hovering around minus 12 degrees, gargantuan pieces of black seaweed wrapping me in their slimy embrace and questionable forms of sea life coming out to nibble / greet me I made myself one with the ocean.
Or, more accurately, I closed my eyes, plugged my nose, tried to shut out the screaming in my head and suffered through exactly twenty minutes (and not one second more) of water torture.
Today is a well deserved mental health day.
I am sure by now you are all in a state of complete and utter panic, having checked back here countless times yesterday and perhaps even late into the night, waiting anxiously, anxiously for an update. Knowing it was my Open Water Swim Day. Perhaps you even considered calling out the coast guard having not heard from me all day. Well, dear followers, that panicky feeling you have, that pit in the bottom of your stomach, that dread in your heart, multiply it by fifty and you get a rough approximation of how I felt yesterday heading into Long Island Sound. With water temperatures hovering around minus 12 degrees, gargantuan pieces of black seaweed wrapping me in their slimy embrace and questionable forms of sea life coming out to nibble / greet me I made myself one with the ocean.
Or, more accurately, I closed my eyes, plugged my nose, tried to shut out the screaming in my head and suffered through exactly twenty minutes (and not one second more) of water torture.
Today is a well deserved mental health day.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
T minus 29 days. Running day.
I ran on unfamiliar terrain today. No big deal. New town. New run. Sounds like fun. An adventure. Sure, if you like your adventures right out of a Stephen King novel.
I am running along, running along, running along. Up a hill, onto a bridge, almost across the bridge. What does that sign say? Get closer...."DANGER! STAY OFF. LIVE WIRE." What the what?? I am not allowed on this bridge and you wait until I'm almost across it to tell me? Ok, deep breath, regroup. You've just survived an electrocution, good job...keep running. Running along, running along, HIT THE DECK! I am being attacked by some prehistoric 25 foot long winged creature (way, way worse than the Stone Harbor seagull incident of '96). It makes another pass and I debate going all Avatar on his a$$ but decide to forge on and hopefully just make it back alive. And aside from narrowly escaping those two grey skinned, toothless, cigarette smoking, overall wearing yokels emerging from deep in the woods I did make it home alive. Just barely.
But today was a good day compared to what is ahead tomorrow : open water swim. Save me, Stephen.
I ran on unfamiliar terrain today. No big deal. New town. New run. Sounds like fun. An adventure. Sure, if you like your adventures right out of a Stephen King novel.
I am running along, running along, running along. Up a hill, onto a bridge, almost across the bridge. What does that sign say? Get closer...."DANGER! STAY OFF. LIVE WIRE." What the what?? I am not allowed on this bridge and you wait until I'm almost across it to tell me? Ok, deep breath, regroup. You've just survived an electrocution, good job...keep running. Running along, running along, HIT THE DECK! I am being attacked by some prehistoric 25 foot long winged creature (way, way worse than the Stone Harbor seagull incident of '96). It makes another pass and I debate going all Avatar on his a$$ but decide to forge on and hopefully just make it back alive. And aside from narrowly escaping those two grey skinned, toothless, cigarette smoking, overall wearing yokels emerging from deep in the woods I did make it home alive. Just barely.
But today was a good day compared to what is ahead tomorrow : open water swim. Save me, Stephen.
Friday, June 17, 2011
T minus 30 days. Rest day. Theoretically.
Except for the walk I took. In the rain. On a search mission. Don't ask.
Ok, I'll tell you. Someone, who shall remain nameless, (Christie) learned that if you're going to leave something on top of your car it is better to leave your wallet than, say, a baby, but it is still not a really great idea to leave your wallet on top of the car.
Except for the walk I took. In the rain. On a search mission. Don't ask.
Ok, I'll tell you. Someone, who shall remain nameless, (Christie) learned that if you're going to leave something on top of your car it is better to leave your wallet than, say, a baby, but it is still not a really great idea to leave your wallet on top of the car.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
T minus 31 days. Swimming day. Really, I promise.
Here is my second warning to my fellow Simsbury residents: you know to stay far away from me when I am biking Now I am telling you to stay farther away from me after I have been swimming. First of all, I am crabby. But more importantly, I am blind as a bat and I am also deaf. (I also can't smell but that probably doesn't pose as big a problem to those in my immediate vicinity). I don't really know if you know this, but when you go swimming you get wet. Really, really wet. Everywhere. I drag my water logged body out of the pool, slosh my way to the car and attempt to drive home. I can't see because my eyes are burning and I can't hear because I have water in both ears. And I can't stop sneezing because I have so much water up my nose. And I am on the road. Driving.
As for the actual swimming....
I don't think the lifeguard realizes that when she focuses on me and only me when I am in the pool it makes me a teensy bit nervous. I mean, there are other people in the pool after all. Why isn't she looking at them? I don't think it really matters that the octogenarians on either side of me are swimming three times as fast as me (one with full apple juice containers in either hand. Is this a real thing?? Did I miss the memo on apple juice swimming??) or that the man in lane three was in the Olympics because he is swimming at the speed of sound and half his body comes out with each breaststroke and after he executes a perfect turn he disappears for one second then emerges more than halfway down the pool. You never know, something could happen to one of them. Like a juice mishap in lane one.
Here is my second warning to my fellow Simsbury residents: you know to stay far away from me when I am biking Now I am telling you to stay farther away from me after I have been swimming. First of all, I am crabby. But more importantly, I am blind as a bat and I am also deaf. (I also can't smell but that probably doesn't pose as big a problem to those in my immediate vicinity). I don't really know if you know this, but when you go swimming you get wet. Really, really wet. Everywhere. I drag my water logged body out of the pool, slosh my way to the car and attempt to drive home. I can't see because my eyes are burning and I can't hear because I have water in both ears. And I can't stop sneezing because I have so much water up my nose. And I am on the road. Driving.
As for the actual swimming....
I don't think the lifeguard realizes that when she focuses on me and only me when I am in the pool it makes me a teensy bit nervous. I mean, there are other people in the pool after all. Why isn't she looking at them? I don't think it really matters that the octogenarians on either side of me are swimming three times as fast as me (one with full apple juice containers in either hand. Is this a real thing?? Did I miss the memo on apple juice swimming??) or that the man in lane three was in the Olympics because he is swimming at the speed of sound and half his body comes out with each breaststroke and after he executes a perfect turn he disappears for one second then emerges more than halfway down the pool. You never know, something could happen to one of them. Like a juice mishap in lane one.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
T minus 32 days. Running day. I promise tomorrow will be a swimming day.
Set off for a nice six mile run to give myself a much needed boost of "take that, swimming and biking days, at least I can run" confidence. Headed off into the bright, warm, summer evening. One lesson I learned tonight is that blue skies and bright sun can be misleading. Another lesson I learned tonight is that thunder, lightening and an impending torrential downpour can be great motivators in shaving time off your mile pace.
Ok, so in a sort-of nearby town this past week a car struck and killed a mountain lion. Did you hear what I said?? A mountain lion. As in claws, fangs and ROARRRRR. Many Connecticut residents have said for years we have mountain lions but the DEP has always denied their existence in our state. I guess they think we have all we can handle what with the bears and don't want to stress us out any further. Even after identifying the mountain lion this past week as a true mountain lion the DEP is insisting it had been a "captive" mountain lion that had escaped. Captive? Okaaaay.
So keep the mountain lion in mind.....
I'm out there running, running, running. Getting further and further away from home. And for some reason it's getting darker and darker and darker. I am on a long, lonely stretch of road that eventually turns into a dirt path running through the woods. It's very, very quiet. I am the only person for miles. Now, I am used to sounds in the woods. Animal sounds. And as I run along I hear quite a bunch that I recognize.....squirrels, chipmunks, birds. Small. Ordinary. Nothing much. But then....something different. Something bigger. Stealthy. Not dainty like a deer or lumbering like a bear. (sidebar: I am used to bears by now. We have many bear tales, like the time our sweet old westie charged a bear when she thought he was about to come after Mike or the time a bear came up to our side door as if to knock and come on in or the time I was home alone and three bears come to our yard at once and I insisted on being called Goldilocks for the next week. So I don't freak out at bears anymore). No, this was not an animal in the woods sound I recognized. And I know now we have mountain lions in Connecticut. And I have read that mountain lions like joggers. And I am a jogger. And I am jogging right now. And the noise is getting closer. And closer. And....
Let me pose the following question to my 7 followers: Don't you think if your heart rate accelerates excessively during your run it counts as an addition to your workout? I mean, the extra cardiac effort is worth something, right? It doesn't really matter whether what you thought you heard that caused your heart rate to skyrocket wasn't actually what it turned out to be, right? I mean, theoretically, a beagle could just as easily have been a mountain lion and so the increased heart rate still counts, right?
Set off for a nice six mile run to give myself a much needed boost of "take that, swimming and biking days, at least I can run" confidence. Headed off into the bright, warm, summer evening. One lesson I learned tonight is that blue skies and bright sun can be misleading. Another lesson I learned tonight is that thunder, lightening and an impending torrential downpour can be great motivators in shaving time off your mile pace.
Ok, so in a sort-of nearby town this past week a car struck and killed a mountain lion. Did you hear what I said?? A mountain lion. As in claws, fangs and ROARRRRR. Many Connecticut residents have said for years we have mountain lions but the DEP has always denied their existence in our state. I guess they think we have all we can handle what with the bears and don't want to stress us out any further. Even after identifying the mountain lion this past week as a true mountain lion the DEP is insisting it had been a "captive" mountain lion that had escaped. Captive? Okaaaay.
So keep the mountain lion in mind.....
I'm out there running, running, running. Getting further and further away from home. And for some reason it's getting darker and darker and darker. I am on a long, lonely stretch of road that eventually turns into a dirt path running through the woods. It's very, very quiet. I am the only person for miles. Now, I am used to sounds in the woods. Animal sounds. And as I run along I hear quite a bunch that I recognize.....squirrels, chipmunks, birds. Small. Ordinary. Nothing much. But then....something different. Something bigger. Stealthy. Not dainty like a deer or lumbering like a bear. (sidebar: I am used to bears by now. We have many bear tales, like the time our sweet old westie charged a bear when she thought he was about to come after Mike or the time a bear came up to our side door as if to knock and come on in or the time I was home alone and three bears come to our yard at once and I insisted on being called Goldilocks for the next week. So I don't freak out at bears anymore). No, this was not an animal in the woods sound I recognized. And I know now we have mountain lions in Connecticut. And I have read that mountain lions like joggers. And I am a jogger. And I am jogging right now. And the noise is getting closer. And closer. And....
Let me pose the following question to my 7 followers: Don't you think if your heart rate accelerates excessively during your run it counts as an addition to your workout? I mean, the extra cardiac effort is worth something, right? It doesn't really matter whether what you thought you heard that caused your heart rate to skyrocket wasn't actually what it turned out to be, right? I mean, theoretically, a beagle could just as easily have been a mountain lion and so the increased heart rate still counts, right?
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
T minus 33 days. Due to very poor planning on my part, today started out a swimming day but ended up a big fat day of nothing. Did you hear me?? I said day of nothing!! Will one of my 7 followers please give me a serious talking to?? T minus 33 days and I sit around after work doing nothing?? Well, I take that back. I wasn't doing nothing. I was stuffing food into my mouth. Lots of food. And not the good-for-you / give-your-body-fuel kind either. It was the other kind... you know, junk that tastes good.
I am going to be the last one out of the bay in 33 days and it will all be because I came home tonight and ate a bag of potato chips. I just know it.
I am going to be the last one out of the bay in 33 days and it will all be because I came home tonight and ate a bag of potato chips. I just know it.
Monday, June 13, 2011
T minus 34 days. Biking day.
Here is a warning to all of my fellow Simsbury residents who may happen upon me when I am out on my biking day: STAY AWAY. Far, far away. I have literally no idea what I am doing. I find myself going in random directions because I have no idea how to move with the traffic. I never know where I will end up. I know where I want to end up. I have about a 50/50 chance of making it there. Tonight I went two miles out of my way. Don't ask. It involved a few left turns I couldn't quite handle. Plus, I have not even come close to figuring out how to change gears properly. I know my legs should not be spinning so fast they are in danger of flying off my body when I go down that hill but fixing that little problem has eluded me thus far. I do try. Once tonight I changed gears and landed in some horrible low gear (or high gear, I have no idea what the proper term is) that made is so so hard to actually peddle that I come to a complete stop. on a flat stretch of road.
Consider yourself warned.
Here is a warning to all of my fellow Simsbury residents who may happen upon me when I am out on my biking day: STAY AWAY. Far, far away. I have literally no idea what I am doing. I find myself going in random directions because I have no idea how to move with the traffic. I never know where I will end up. I know where I want to end up. I have about a 50/50 chance of making it there. Tonight I went two miles out of my way. Don't ask. It involved a few left turns I couldn't quite handle. Plus, I have not even come close to figuring out how to change gears properly. I know my legs should not be spinning so fast they are in danger of flying off my body when I go down that hill but fixing that little problem has eluded me thus far. I do try. Once tonight I changed gears and landed in some horrible low gear (or high gear, I have no idea what the proper term is) that made is so so hard to actually peddle that I come to a complete stop. on a flat stretch of road.
Consider yourself warned.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Saturday, June 11, 2011
T minus 36 days. I am ready to talk about it.
I don't know if anyone has picked up on this little tidbit or not, but I am a wee bit apprehensive about the swimming part of this triathlon. Surprise! So it took a lot for me to psych myself up enough for my first swimming day. An actual swimming day, not a pretend swimming day. But I did do it, I did psych myself up. I packed my suit, my towel and my hot pink bathing cap (did you expect anything less) into my big "peach" tote bag and brought it to work. I heard tell of a gym and pool across the street that we are allowed to use so the plan was to head there after work. I decided it would be helpful to check it out first so on my lunch break I went in search of my not-enemy pool. I found the gym no problem. I walked further to find the pool. And walked. And walked. And walked. In the hundred degree noontime heat. Well, guess what? Yes, there was a pool. Ten years ago. It is now the basement of some random building in lovely downtown Hartford.
And that, my friend, was my first swimming day.
Today was my second swimming day. I am happy to report that I finally did get wet (from actual pool water this time, not sweat). I am also happy to report that I did not drown. I'm a little bit happier about that latter part.
I am not a member of the "Y" but last week I found two day passes stuffed deep in a junk drawer (in my opinion where they rightly belong) and remembered they have a real pool. So this rainy Saturday morning I head out. Rain / water / wet = fitting. I fumble my way through the locker room / shower area and find the pool. As some kind of cruel joke they have the entire pool area surrounded by glass walls so you are on display to every single person in the place in all your jiggly glory. I figure out which end of the pool I am supposed to enter and make my way down the ladder. "Oh, hello, dear! Welcome to our class!" an elderly bathing beauty greets me. Er, um.....noooo!! I smile awkwardly and somehow make it past the noodle wielding ladies to find an empty lane.
Well, here it is. Swimming time. No more excuses. Me vs. water. I take a deep breath, try to calm my already racing heart and kick off. And.......
Alright. A few things.
Number 1. the lifeguards get surprisingly concerned if you develop a teensy-weensy little cough from a tickle in your throat, not because you have swallowed buckets of water and are in danger of not breathing in the very near future.
Number 2. you get very thirsty while swimming. I didn't know this and I found it slightly ironic, what with being surrounded by all that water. Water, water everywhere.....
Number 3. Scrawny little old men in the lane next to you can lap you (literally) about a gajillion times. And they are swimming in slow motion.
Me vs. water. All in all ...a tie. Which I will gladly take for my first swimming training day.
I don't know if anyone has picked up on this little tidbit or not, but I am a wee bit apprehensive about the swimming part of this triathlon. Surprise! So it took a lot for me to psych myself up enough for my first swimming day. An actual swimming day, not a pretend swimming day. But I did do it, I did psych myself up. I packed my suit, my towel and my hot pink bathing cap (did you expect anything less) into my big "peach" tote bag and brought it to work. I heard tell of a gym and pool across the street that we are allowed to use so the plan was to head there after work. I decided it would be helpful to check it out first so on my lunch break I went in search of my not-enemy pool. I found the gym no problem. I walked further to find the pool. And walked. And walked. And walked. In the hundred degree noontime heat. Well, guess what? Yes, there was a pool. Ten years ago. It is now the basement of some random building in lovely downtown Hartford.
And that, my friend, was my first swimming day.
Today was my second swimming day. I am happy to report that I finally did get wet (from actual pool water this time, not sweat). I am also happy to report that I did not drown. I'm a little bit happier about that latter part.
I am not a member of the "Y" but last week I found two day passes stuffed deep in a junk drawer (in my opinion where they rightly belong) and remembered they have a real pool. So this rainy Saturday morning I head out. Rain / water / wet = fitting. I fumble my way through the locker room / shower area and find the pool. As some kind of cruel joke they have the entire pool area surrounded by glass walls so you are on display to every single person in the place in all your jiggly glory. I figure out which end of the pool I am supposed to enter and make my way down the ladder. "Oh, hello, dear! Welcome to our class!" an elderly bathing beauty greets me. Er, um.....noooo!! I smile awkwardly and somehow make it past the noodle wielding ladies to find an empty lane.
Well, here it is. Swimming time. No more excuses. Me vs. water. I take a deep breath, try to calm my already racing heart and kick off. And.......
Alright. A few things.
Number 1. the lifeguards get surprisingly concerned if you develop a teensy-weensy little cough from a tickle in your throat, not because you have swallowed buckets of water and are in danger of not breathing in the very near future.
Number 2. you get very thirsty while swimming. I didn't know this and I found it slightly ironic, what with being surrounded by all that water. Water, water everywhere.....
Number 3. Scrawny little old men in the lane next to you can lap you (literally) about a gajillion times. And they are swimming in slow motion.
Me vs. water. All in all ...a tie. Which I will gladly take for my first swimming training day.
Friday, June 10, 2011
T minus 37 days. Aaaahhh.... Friday. Finally. Crazy day at work. Got out late. That's ok, it's Friday, all is good. Remember where I parked my car (no small feat), jump in, start off and.....thump, thump, thump. Well that can't be good. Nope, not good at all. Flat tire. Now, technically I do know how to change a tire. I do. But I am in a really cute red flowered skirt and strappy black sandals. So you see my predicament (well at least you girls out there see my predicament.) Seek help from security guy. Encounter ends badly (thanks, mister...so nice to know you've got my back). Stand by car waiting for inspiration. And then....along comes an angel dressed in scrubs (these super heroes lately really do choose the funniest disguises). Thank you, Doctor Dave for saving me. And yes, your dad will be very proud of you for changing your first tire. (btw, aloe lotion does work to loosen those thingamabops if you don't have WD-40...and you get the added benefit of having the best smelling tires in town. Thank you, Peg).
I get home in time to go for a quick run. Yes, a run. I know, I know. I promise this weekend at some point I will get wet.
I get home in time to go for a quick run. Yes, a run. I know, I know. I promise this weekend at some point I will get wet.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
T minus 39 days. (mastering the lingo!). I love when life cracks you up. When random things happen that make you smile. Such a thing happened on my run tonight. (Sidebar: for my astute readers who have picked up on the fact that I have yet to have a swimming day, I have one thing to say: I have astute readers who have picked up on the fact that I have yet to have a swimming day? Today was supposed to be my first swimming day. It did not happen. And I am not ready to talk about it yet). It's hot. Really hot. So hot the schools have already made tomorrow a half day. And for some reason I thought I could run in this heat. And not keel over. And make it home in one piece.
All I have to say is thank goodness for Super Heroes disguised as ice cream truck drivers.
All I have to say is thank goodness for Super Heroes disguised as ice cream truck drivers.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
triathlon training day 7. Bike day. Let's just say I really, really need a pair of those ugly padded shorts.
Headed out for an early ride....enjoying the peace and quiet of a new morning: the calm awakenings of the new day, the unhurried pre-rush hour traffic, the not yet too hot sun, the beautiful pink and purple wildflowers lining the bike path, the birds DIVE BOMBING INTO me, the chipmunks MADLY DASHING IN FRONT of me, the squirrels PLAYING TAG UNDER MY TIRES and, oh, let's not forget the not- Bambi GIVING ME THE EVIL EYE after I apparently should have known she was around that corner.
All creatures great and small..... out to get me.
Headed out for an early ride....enjoying the peace and quiet of a new morning: the calm awakenings of the new day, the unhurried pre-rush hour traffic, the not yet too hot sun, the beautiful pink and purple wildflowers lining the bike path, the birds DIVE BOMBING INTO me, the chipmunks MADLY DASHING IN FRONT of me, the squirrels PLAYING TAG UNDER MY TIRES and, oh, let's not forget the not- Bambi GIVING ME THE EVIL EYE after I apparently should have known she was around that corner.
All creatures great and small..... out to get me.
Monday, June 6, 2011
triathlon training day 6 for real. We watched a really bad lifetime movie last night, you know, the kind that is so bad it's good? Heather Locklear went around all pretty and nice on the outside, totally crazy on the inside. She had the perfect life: handsome doctor husband, cute little daughter, picture-perfect house....or so we thought. Turns out she was one hundred percent psycho and it was all a figment of her imagination sixth sense-ish. So I channeled my very own Heather tonight during my weight training. Had Jillian Michaels right there next to me, yelling at me, pushing me to do just one more. Man can she yell loud.
In reality I lifted my measly little five pound weights a few times then had some more sweet potato chips.
In reality I lifted my measly little five pound weights a few times then had some more sweet potato chips.
Triathlon training day 6. um. well. yes. Does thinking about training count? Because if so, I am working up a good sweat / burning a gazilllion calories. I can literally see my body morphing into a super athlete / model. Oh, wait, that's Kourtney Kardashian on the cover of Shape magazine I'm reading.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
triathlon training day 5. Sunday. Day to give thanks. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU for being a running day. Sweet, sweet running. Trusty old friend. Thank you. Thank you for restoring the microscopic amount of faith I have in myself that if, and that's a big if, I survive the swim and bike part of this crazy thing, I will sail through the run. At least I have that. Thank you, chicken legs.
triathlon training day 1. panic.
triathlon training day 2. panic more intensely.
triathlon training day 3. locate pool. think about swimming. hyperventilate/cry.
go home. google "cute triathlon clothing." feel better after putting pink flowered tri top and skirt into my virtual cart.
triathlon training day 4. take cute pink flowered top and skirt out of my cart after Carla tells me I need some weird padded ugly shorts. Go for my first bike ride. Understand why I need weird padded ugly shorts. Break gears of Robbie's bike within 1/2 mile. Get help from Jim and Dave (yay, west street liquor), refrain from grabbing a nice merlot and head back out. Manage to stay on the bike, ride a few miles, and get words of encouragement from fellow bikers as I huff and puff my way to the top of a hill. (Yes, it was so a hill. It was most definitely not a bump in the road).
And so it begins......
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