Mountain Biking Mania-When Your Brain Turns to Mush

I can't be the only person who does this.

Yesterday, about seven hours into a big-ass ride straight up and down and around the Santa Fe ski mountain, I had a conversation with myself. About table runners.

Maybe it was my brain's way of ignoring the cliff to one side of the loose single-track descent coachubby and I were pussyfooting down. Or about how that would be the perfect place for a mountain lion to take me out.

The conversation went something like this:
Me: What the f are table runners for?
Me: What do you mean what the f are table runners for? Watch your language.
Me: And why the f are they called table runners? They don't move.
Me: They tie the room together.
Me: Thank you, Erin Lebowski.
Me: It's just decoration. Why do people decorate? Because it gives their home a feeling of security and warmth.
Me: Table runners to do not give people a feeling of security and warmth. They're essentially pointless.
Me: Then why did you put one on the table when you had people over for dinner last night?
Me: I didn't, coachubby did. And it wasn't a table runner, it was a repurposed scarf. Why don't they call them table scarves? That's more appropriate. Scarves don't move.
Me: Why are you bashing household decorations?
Me: I'm not bashing, I'm asking an honest question.
Me: What?
Me: What the f are table runners for?

A few more rocky patches and near off-cliff endos, and I was back on the road.

Ironman Arizona 2009--Spousal Competition

When Iron-couple Jim and Meredith Davidson take on IMAZ together, competition takes a back seat to love.

Or does it?

Yoga for Dummies- The 3 Commandments of Yoga

I am getting older.

I can tell because the days when I thought people were crazy for expending any extra energy before workouts and races "warming up" are over.

I had convinced myself while on the high school swim team that every extra 100 yards of race day warm up was sapping me of potential forward thrust in sprint freestyle events.

That belief has been crushed by injury and age. The ominous hambutt injury from last year has left my right hamstring quite tight. Still unmotivated to stretch alone, I decided it was time to try yoga. Thus, over the course of an hour, I loosened up my hammie and discovered some very important truths about the ancient activity.


The Yoga Commandments

1. Thou shalt not wear short shorts or loose t-shirts. Unless you want to lay out your nether parts for all to see, wear something capri-length on bottom and form-fitting on top. That way, you won't offend, or eat your shirt.

2. Thou shalt not eat too much fiber before class. Should you disobey this commandment, downward dog will haunt you forever.

3. If seeking tranquility, or your own personal zen, thou shalt not practice yoga in a free class at 24-hour Fitness, where you will be separated from the meatheads by a paper-thin wall, and subjected to hearing their evenly-spaced grunts and the subsequent slam of heavy weights on the ground while you are in the (somewhat morbidly named) final resting pose meditating on the hour you have just spent with your bum in the air. (See commandment #1.)

Happy trying-to-achieve-your-teenage-flexibility!

5 More Signs You're a Cycling Addict

If you find yourself agreeing with one or more of these signs, you're certifiably bicycling brained!

1. When the Balneol commercial that makes your friends squirm appears on TV, you think to yourself, I wonder if that would make a good lube.
2. You've realized that chain grease on your right calf is not a "newbie mark", like those cocky crit racers once told you. You are not a newbie, but you still spend a significant portion of your shower time rubbing the grease off.
   
3. You have a mental inventory of which flatulent friends you will not ride behind in case of a headwind, or in front of in case of a tailwind.
   
4. You spend $100 at REI--just on PowerBars and Gatorade.
5. The frequency at which #4 occurs is ≥ 1x / month...and the checkout guy knows your name...and asks you what your favorite flavor is every time you go.

Maybe it's time to start making pb&js...

10 Signs You're a Cycling Addict

1. A 40-mile ride with 2000+ feet of climbing is a "recovery" ride.
2. You refer to Mondays as "Monday Gras" because you're usually too swollen to fit into your pants comfortably.
3. You are concurrently grossed out and proud when you cover the entire kitchen table with the food you will consume in a single day on a long ride.
4. Your body still pedals long after your brain stops thinking about cycling.
   
5. You enjoy watching your in laws squirm with equal parts disgust and amazement at how much you eat for dinner.
6. You can sleep on anything--including a snoring spouse.
7. Your parents have accepted your obsession and tell you to put your feet up and to eat something when you're done with a ride instead of directly questioning your sanity. (Even when they know you rode all day on a fractured foot.)
8. Everything on the road--cars, dogs, people, pebbles, squirrels, cracks, bark--is your mortal enemy.
9. Head winds don't bother you anymore because you're riding for time--double digit time (in hours).
10. You no longer obsess about the quality of your ride--if it's a bike, you'll happily ride it. Far. (Saddle quality, however, will always be a concern. Cycling's not all about the legs, you know!)

Happy cycling!

Endurance Training Question #1: Diabetes

It might not logically flow that I'd be concerned about becoming diabetic as a result of training for RAO (Race Across Oregon). So I'll let you in on the brain connection game that led to diabetic paranoia:

1. My dad, a runner, became a Type 1 diabetic within a year of running his first marathon.
2. If it skips a generation, I'd still get slammed from my mom's side.
3. If a list were made of the amount of food I shove through my face in a training week--or in a single, 200 mile ride day--the general population would be entirely grossed out.
4. Let me rephrase that, the general active and healthy population would be entirely grossed out.
5. My pancreas might have a genetic predisposition to becoming insulin resistant. Therefore, making it deal with 1000s more calories per day than a typical girl my size might catalyze the process of becoming insulin resistant.

In other words, I wanted to know if the massive workload of processing endless Powerbars, Gus, PB&Js, chocolate cake, etc... could possibly screw up my body's metabolic process.

Becci Twombley, Director of Sports Nutrition for UCLA, put my mind at ease when I spoke with her a few weeks ago.

Says Becci, "If you have a healthy pancreas, you have a healthy pancreas, and you can do a ton to it. The insulin resistance and stuff that we see is generally caused by weight gain."

Typically, excess fat alters the shape of the insulin receptors in the body, causing insulin resistance.

This was happy news to me, as the diminishing size of um...certain female parts that are the only female parts for which the motto, "Bigger is better!" usually rules, is proof I won't have issues with fat screwing over my body's ability to fuel monster workouts.

However, a MedecineNet.com article also cites a "strong genetic factor" as one of several causes of insulin resistance, along with stress.

I can't alter my genes, nor would I want to. I inherited some killer legs from padre, a fact that was confirmed today when I was hit on by a 70-year old German man while walking a friend's dog.

So I suppose the only thing left to do to ensure a safe continuation of monster workout fueling is to take up yoga. Or get one of those Pure Moods CDs.

Reaching a state of Zen will now be one of my RAO training goals, since doing "everything in moderation" (a practice that would keep my pancreas's abilities from ever being questioned) is obviously not.

The Race Across Oregon. It's ON!

I feel sick to my stomach.

Unusually, this has nothing to do with chocolate overload.

I just signed up for the Race Across Oregon ultracycling extravaganza covering 527 miles and 40,000 feet of climbing in 48-hours or less.

Why the hell would a girl want to do this?

3 reasons:

1. Cost consciousness. For approximately half the price of an Ironman, I can officially beat the crap out of myself for almost three times as long as Ironman would let me.
2. Time. I will never have as much time to train as I do now, considering I will start grad school next fall.
3. Fear. I have never ever signed up for a race I wasn't sure I could finish. When I first heard about Ironman, I thought, hell yea, I can do that! I have absolutely no idea if I can ride 527 miles in 48 hours. I love sleeping, suck at climbing, and am fully aware that most female endurance athletes hit their stride in their mid-30s to 40s, after pumping hundreds of thousands of miles into their legs.

Having owned a road bike for all of three years, I can safely say my legs have not been primed for a ride of this magnitude.

Neither has my brain.

Gordo Byrn, ultra athlete extraordinaire, once told me he thinks everyone who competes in ultra anything (triathlon, cycling, running) is searching for something. Having married my dream guy and found happiness, I can safely say the drive to spend endless hours pounding out this search for something has dwindled. The mental game will be tougher than it would've been three years ago.

And then there's the pain.

One ultracyclist rated the Furnace Creek 508 as infinitely more difficult than a 100 mile running race, which he had done. I ran 29 miles in two days last week, and couldn't move on Monday.

Therefore, I'm doing this thing. It's on. I'm officially going off the deep end into personally uncharted territory. Because really, if I don't try something that scares me once in a while, how will I grow?

I'll be tracking down the advice of the women who have gone before me, and sharing the mental and physical battles that come with training for this event, including a 24-hour race, and the requisite triathlons.

I am a triathlete, after all.

And hopefully after this event, Ironman will seem like a breeze. Kona, here I come!...in 2011?

The Camino Real Double Century 2009

Disclaimer: If you are a crotch, the following recap of participating in an ultracycing event may offend you, as crotch abuse is rampant in this story. Read on at your own discretion.

Just like a true ultramarathon starts at 50 miles, a true ultracycling event starts at 200. Therefore, in my quest to become an ultra cyclist (and in the future, an approximately ultra ultra + 3/4 ultra cyclist), coachubby, Robyn, and I set out at 6:20 am this past Saturday to rightfully earn the ultra title.

Although no sleep-deprivation training had been planned for months, I unintentionally started this masochistic technique on Saturday morning, beginning the ride on what I'll guestimate to be 4.5 hours of sleep.

At twilight, a group of riders gathered under the very overhang that coachubby had whacked with his bike seat the night before, when he drove under it with the bike on top of his car. (see reenactment, left)

Immediately, I had a few observations about the type of crowd drawn to these events:

1. Ultracyclists are generally way older than I am.
2. Ultracyclists have no sense of humor at 6:15am (...or throughout much of the day, I'd find out.)
3. Ultracyclists do not like pink arm warmers when paired with purple leg warmers, and reflective nipples. (See photo) They do not find this funny. This may have something to do with observation #1. TBD.
4. Ultracyclists must wear a jersey from the hardest ultracycling event they have ever done to every event thereafter. Plainclothes are not allowed.
5. (Discovered later) Ultracyclists do not like to acknowledge other ultracyclists participating in the same event, neither with a wave, nor a smile, nor a "hi". They seem to be participating out of a sense of self-hatred rather than one of adventure. But they're still in it for the bragging rights. (See observation #4)

We clipped in at twilight and tried to stay at the front of the pack. This effort lasted for about 20 minutes, then with each successive hill / stoplight, people got split up into smaller and smaller pelotons. We couldn't tell where we stood in relation to everyone else after an hour of riding.

I could tell, however, that neither my Silver Bullet aka Frankenbike nor my outfit were receiving their due appreciation. One rider asked if I had scoured my garage to throw the Bullet and my ensemble together. I laughed, then vowed to kick his ass. Then I couldn't remember what he looked like a few minutes later, in the sea of "Triple Crown" jerseys surrounding me.

(In my defense, the pink arm warmers and purple leg warmers are the only arm warmers and leg warmers I own. They must be paired with the blue jersey, because it is the only jersey I own with 3 back pockets, and the acid pee vest, because it is the only wind vest I own. The Bullet needs no defense; he's the radest paint-stripped, incognito bike on the planet.)

The Camino Real Double Century is a very urban event, with tons of stop lights. Running them is not an option, although a group ahead of us must've thought it was, and was subsequently captured by a motorcycle Sheriff stealthily dressed in a dark green jumpsuit--like a tree . He was hiding in a residential area plagued by multiple stop signs.

Robyn and I immediately moved up in the female finisher standings. Thank you, Sheriff Tree!

With a predicted high of 70 and clouds all day, we couldn't have asked for better weather.

But when we came upon the part of the route that put us out on I-5 for 7 miles, I could've thought of a better route. Like running through Camp Pendleton somehow. Probably dressed like Sheriff Tree.

I've ridden that stretch before, and couldn't believe I came out alive at the end of it. Doing it 2 more times for this ride probably shaved years off of my life. (Although judging by many of my competitors, who have all so clearly done many a ride like this before, I might still live as long as I want, which is 100 years.)

At each aid station, we drew a card from a deck of cards. The cyclists with the best poker hand at the end of the ride got neato prizes. It was a nice incentive to finish the ride.

Coachubby wore his Garmin and informed us when we had hit 100 miles. Amazingly, the first 100 hadn't been that bad. We had only had one flat in our little threesome, and were feeling pretty good.

Then at mile 120, coachubby's crotch began to rebel. Unlike at Ironman aid stations, there was no giant, germ-infested tub of Vaseline at ultracycling aid station #3 for competitors to scoop out petroleum jelly relief and slather it where the sun don't shine. A trip to the bathroom revealed someone had foreseen the 120-mile crotchal riding limit and brought along a little disposable tube of Chamois Butt'r. The used capsule was in the toilet. No help for coachubby.

We soldiered on, beginning to pass smaller groups as we went. It's amazing how 80 miles becomes "Only 80 miles!" after you've ridden 1.5x that far.

When we hit the last aid station, the awesomeness of my poker hand took a nosedive along with the sun and we set out to crush the last 24 or so miles in the dark. Blinkies activated. But we had only brought "legal" headlights--not road-illuminating lights--since we assumed this "urban adventure" would be lit by streetlights at night.

Not so.

In fact, 16 miles were on a 2-lane canyon road. It was pitch black.

Robyn was nervous. Coachubby was nervous descending, but later discovered he hit 37 mph anyway. And for some reason, maybe emboldened by my choice to bring a head lamp in addition to my bike light, I felt a strange sense of calm and euphoria riding at night.

Apparently, it takes 11 hours of exercise for the endorphins to kick in now; a few years of Ironman training have destroyed my body's sensitivity to working out. Or something like that. Had I, or coachubby or Robyn flatted or crashed, I'm sure the euphoria would've quickly turned into panic accompanied by a heart rate otherwise only induced by Red Bull.

We picked off one final rider moments before rolling back into the hotel parking lot around 7:20pm. (With, according to coachubby's Garmin, an approximately 11h30m actual ride time.)

(PIC: Robyn and I pose with road on our faces after finishing.)

WE DID IT!

I was exhilarated. Not only had we ridden that far, but we had also done it on very little sleep. I had also fueled properly, and felt good the entire time. Knowing that I can ride that far without much sleep and on completely dead legs from 2 straight weeks of psycho training is a great confidence booster going in to future ultra events.

My poker hand earned me a respectable bottle of Endurolytes.

Robyn got a flush, and won a ton of money to redeem toward future Planet Ultra events. She also, I believe, was the 4th woman to finish. And might've placed even better if she hadn't stopped to wait for me after every climb, and both I-5 sections.

Coachubby began making a mental inventory of the ointment he was going to buy at Target.

(PIC: How we really felt after finishing.)

Résultats: The Camino Real Double Century is a fabulous starter double. As long as traffic doesn't freak you out, and lights don't frustrate you, there isn't too much climbing, the aid stations are stocked full of awesome goodies, the poker thing is fun, and there are, contrary to everything I just said, some nice people out there--especially the people running the aid stations. I suppose I can't ask everyone to be joking around 150 miles into a 200 mile ride.

Other riders could smile, though. Although even facial muscles get tired, I suppose!

And be ready for chaffeage. Like you've never known. Forget a fancy, expensive bike fit--you'll figure out which side of your bike you favor after riding that far. How? Well, do it. You'll see...

P.S. Why wouldn't my car start? Because coachubby left the lights on!

How NOT To Start Your First Double Century Ultryacycling Ride

The term cluster f**k was invented to describe the horror that was Friday night--the night before coachubby, Robyn, and I were going to set off on our first double century ride in Irvine, CA.

Scenario:
I am PMSing.

I return from an attempted workout at 5:45pm at the two lane pool at my gym where old men hang out in the pool area to catch a glimpse of young ladies, many of whom are there to be seen in their bikinis, none of whom can swim a length of the pool, and thereby wind up floating about in the shallow end in my way.

I am not happy.

Coachubby is loading up the car outside of our place. When he sees me, he says, "Sparky won't start. There's no electricity."

Sparky is my car. The car for which I just paid a gagillion dollars to make sure he would be ok to drive to Phoenix on Tuesday. He worked fine before I brought him to my mechanic, I was just being cautious. Now he won't start?

I can't deal.

We load up and drive to Robyn's house--2 miles south of us. She follows in her car as we spend a good 30 minutes looking for the 405. Apparently, we're unable to find the only freaking freeway in the South Bay because we took off 2 miles off of our normal starting point. Most people can navigate fine within a 10 mile radius of their home. Not us. Not in LA.

We finally find the 405, and head to Irvine. We pick up our packets, which consist of a plastic baggie, a route map, and a card to get marked off at the aid stations to prove we were there. Simple. Low key. Nice. I like it.

Coachubby can't seem to find his way out of the parking lot, and I'm being a righteous beeotch, which isn't helping. His brain, I've decided, turns off when he gets in the car, and I let him know my theory.

Coachubby immediately rams the overhang of the hotel's entrance with his bike, forgetting it was on top of the car.

The bar warning people about the height of the overhang falls.

I am beyond pissed.

We drive to Irvine's Spectrum Center to get dinner at PF Changs.

Coachubby comes 1 inch from hitting the entrance of the parking garage before remembering his bike is still on top of the car. We jump out as everyone behind us honks obnoxiously. Coachubby stuffs the front-wheel-less bike in my hands and goes to park.

For 20 minutes, man after man walks by making the same totally unfunny joke, "Aren't you supposed to be riding that? Oh, well, looks like you can't. It's missing something."

You're almost as charming as the men in the 24 Hour Fitness pool area.

It's 8pm. The wait, the lady at PF Changs informs us, is 1 hour. So we zip on over to CPK, wait 10 minutes, then order right when we sit down.

At 9:15, we get our food.

I want to kill the waiter. On the bright side, our meal is free because the waiter and coachubby share the loss of cerebral function this evening.

Coachubby then gets lost on the 1 mile drive from the Spectrum Center to the hotel.

Finally getting to the hotel at 10 pm (there is no way I'm getting 8 hours of sleep tonight. On top of the no-sleep I got the two nights before because coachubby was snoring in my face.), coachubby goes to pull his bike out of the trunk, where it now resides.

PSHHHHHHHH!

Coachubby flats pulling his bike out of the car. How do you do that? I don't know. Leave it to coachubby to flat without having a tire touching the ground when I'm on the brink of a full-on mental breakdown.

Robyn witnesses the first petty, biotching fight coachubby and I have ever had. He knows now not to fight with me when I'm PMSing. Or when he has just displayed the inability to learn from mistakes made 20 minutes prior to another mistake.

I feel bad for Robyn.

We open the hotel room door and I jump straight into bed. Tooth decay be darned!

It's 11pm. I don't fall asleep immediately.

We wake up at 5am to get ready and drive to the beginning of the ride.

Will we make it? Will coachubby's seat break off and shove his stem up his bum since he whacked the bike on an overhang? Can a PMSing nutcase who normally requires 8 hours of sleep/night to function and hasn't slept in 3 nights finish a 200 mile bike ride?

Stay tuned...

5 Tips for Long, Cold Bike Rides

Score! It's sunny!
Boo! It's freezing!

It has been deceptively cold in LA these past few weeks, but people on a mission (Ironman, road races, whatever) are still heading out in droves to get their bike training in and they seem to be enjoying themselves.

How is this possible? They have figured out how to dress for the weather, which, at 45-55 degrees, is really not that bad, especially if you compare it to, oh I don't know, the current weather in Madison.

If you've been frostbitten one too many times trying to ride in 50-ish degree weather, you're not alone. It wasn't too long ago that severe "cold wuss" syndrome had me on my trainer way more than I ever wanted to be.

A distaste for working out inside and an REI gift card brought about a quick transformation.

If one of the only reasons you enjoy working out is to be one with the outdoors, it's time to get on the layering bandwagon and back in the peloton. Here are 5 tips to keep you warm and happy for your cold-weather rides, even if they last 10+ hours.

1. LAYER- Under shirt, jersey, arm warmers, leg warmers, wind jacket, wind vest, skull cap, booties / toe warmers, thick socks, thick gloves. It sounds like a lot, but in spandex form, it isn't. Layering will ensure you have enough to keep you warm on descents and at the start of your ride.
2. Wear a CAMELBAK- If you sweat profusely out of your head (like coachubby) or hands (like coachubby) or all over the place (like coachubby) you might want a second pair of gloves, probably don't want a skull cap at all, and ought to carry a second jersey. These, along with the gallons of gatorade you're going to drink on a monster long ride, can easily be stored in a Camelbak like this MULE. (Be warned, though, your buddies will want to stuff their extra clothes in it, too, when they realize their pockets aren't enough for food and shedding layers.)
3. Shed and Dress- Shed for climbs or hard efforts, put your clothes back on for descents and high speed cruising. The idea is you don't want to soak your clothes. If you wear them all to go up, you'll turn into a human Popsicle coming down. Purple is not a pretty skin tone on anyone. Except a grape.
   
4. Cover your feet (and head and hands!)- Don't want to spend a fortune on booties? Toe warmers and wool socks (try these!) are a great idea. And if you don't give a hoot about what roadies think about your fashion sense, and would like to cruise by them all warm and happy, make your own booties. Take a pair of old ski socks, cut holes in the bottom for your cleats, and put them on around your shoes. They'll keep your ankles and toes nice and warm and happy--and they'll keep any non-triathlete members of the household involved in financial decisions happy, too.
5. Wear a wind vest- No, it doesn't have to be road-worker orange or yellow, although I am a fan because I have decided to forgo color coordination in favor of visibility. (If someone on the road goes, "Hey, you look like a clown!" smile and be happy that they SAW you instead of hitting you...and then pray they don't hit you for looking like a clown.) It's amazing how such a thin piece of clothing, which can easily be unzipped and stuffed into a pocket (or Camelbak!) can make such a ginormous difference in your comfort, particularly descending. Buy one. You can justify it by saying it's a lot less than a trip to the hospital for hypothermia. Or road rash from crashing because you were shivering so badly.
   

Happy cold weather riding!

Double Century Training--Can Your Brain Handle It?

Crazy ride ideas pop into my head sometimes. This Saturday's extravaganza was no exception.

Thank goodness for coachubby who, in the spirit of maintaining his manhood, can't back down from the crazy rides, and for my girlfriend, Robyn, who will not only help me carry them out, but royally kick my butt while doing so.

Therefore, the rides can't be too nutty, because I'm not the only one out there doing them. (That's called "Ultra Cyclist Logic". I don't know if it's made its way into the Psych books yet...)

When the weather decided not to soak LA on Saturday, as was foreseen earlier last week, the ride was on. We figured it would be about 10 hours of riding, possibly up to 12 hours of being outside.

This time, we had to build on our last DA ride (disappearing a**), adding 1.5 hours of ride time and about 30 miles. (The last time we rode 150 a few weeks ago, it was relatively flat.)

The route: Leaving Redondo, meet up at the Hermosa Beach pier at 6am in the freezing cold dark, then ride up the Strand to PCH to Latigo, up Latigo, descend Kanan, North on PCH to Mulholland, up Mulholland, down Kanan, South on PCH to Latigo, up Latigo, down Mulholland to Cold Creek, up Piuma, down Stunt, then descend Topanga Canyon and back home.

We made our own pre-dawn to after-dusk ride. It ended up being 150 miles, 10.5 hours ride time, 12.5 hours of being outside. (The extra two hours were accumulated dressing/undressing time for descents/ascents...and watter bottle fill ups, and potty stops.)

Nothing tests mental endurance like the last two hours of a ride like Saturday's. It's like channeling the PMS gods. At some point, the mind goes blank, just wants to turn over the pedals, and anything that gets in its way from keeping the body zooming forward gets snapped at, or will snap its last nerve. And that was only 150 miles!

In a moment of sanity pre-ride, we switched out my 11-21 cassette for a 12-25, thus saving my quads from complete destruction as evidenced by their ability to ride again, and scoot me up a mountain trail yesterday.

What is all of this riding for? Well, I'm glad you asked.

Bring it on, Mulholland Challenge!

Also, this Saturday, coachubby, Robyn, and I will be at the Camino Real Double Century in Irvine. Come cheer, or come ride! The way the weather's been (freezing and drizzly) it's a guarantee that I will be wearing pink arm warmers, a blue jersey, acid pee wind vest, purple leg warmers, and possibly homemade booties (ski socks over the shoes with holes cut out of the bottom for cleats.) Roadies love it...Not really. (Photo coming soon.)

ALSO, stay tuned for the grand announcement of what all of this is for, including the double century. (But wait, there's more!)

Happy training and staying warm!

Rock Hard Runners Rarin' to Go!

Do you have chronic running problems? Like a relentless IT band that just won't leave you in peace? Or perpetual slow-runner syndrome? Want to go faster, or run injury free? Maybe it's time you got a professional run analysis.

While your chances of making it to this year's Olympics are over, maybe after receiving the gift that is a professional run analysis, you'll give Gebrselassie a run for his money at the next Olympics, provided it's not too smoggy.

And I know just the man for the job! Standing something like 6'5", 200lbs (I made that up. But he's a tall, muscular runnerman), Eric Skelley of Manhattan Beach is taking his passion for running and using it to help others achieve their fast-footed goals.

Rock Hard Runners is Eric's running company, based in Manhattan Beach, CA, in his garage. And there is absolutely no better place to have a run analysis--or person to do it for you. Skelley's passion oozes through every inch of him, which makes it impossible for any serious runner to be as passionate as he, just based on total human surface area.

Eric will take you through a 10 minute warm-up on his treadmill, then have you run at a comfortable pace while filming you--first from the side, then from the back, then close up on your feet.

Next, he'll have you cool down, then watch yourself on a giant flat screen computer monitor. Get excited, this is your Pam Anderson in Baywatch moment. Your movements will be shown in slo-mo and analyzed. Right away, you'll probably see what you're doing wrong. (And if your shorts really aren't that flattering.)

After figuring out what you need to work on so you can have your showdown with Gebrselassie in 2012, Eric will teach you core strengthening techniques that will not only flatten your abs in no time, giving you a flashy figure, but also help make you a stronger, faster runner.

What sets Rock Hard Runners apart from the rest? The man, and the location. Several other run-analysis companies in Los Angeles are incredibly corporate. They run you through the gammut, comment on your form, show you the video, and give you exercises. But could they care less if you actually get better? I got the feeling from one Santa Monica-based company that they wanted me to stay miserably mired in IT problems forever so they could prescribe their expensive run-specific weight-training packages to me in the future.

Eric and Rock Hard Runners is different.

Eric's "runner's den" is a very casual environment a few blocks away from the beach, and all the attractions Manhattan Beach has to offer. And, most importantly, the sole focus of your analysis is YOU. There is nobody else there, just you and the original Rock Hard Runner himself, who has a genuine desire to see you succeed as a runner. His enthusiasm for the sport is almost tangible.

Eric, a native of Pennsylvania, is a 3x Ironman finisher, and finisher of the annual 50-mile endurance run on Catalina Island, one of the toughest out there. A big proponent of strength training to stabilize your core to help you run faster and more efficiently, Eric has developed some super secret signature moves that you won't believe you were able to run without. (He's also an ER nurse, so if you happen to, I don't know, fall off of the treadmill, help is an arm's reach away.)

So if you're looking to amp up your run, without feeling like you're just another wanna-be athlete hanging out in a cold, impersonal gym, where it's the bottom line and not you who matters, GO TO ROCK HARD RUNNERS! It's all about you, and pure passion for the sport.

So refreshing.

XOXO,

Triathlete Diva

PS. If you want to meet Eric, email me! (Contact info is in the right-hand column.)

Training Gets Shakey--California Quake

Coachubby and I had an 11:45am track work-out lunch date yesterday at our local high school. Arriving a few minutes early, I watched pint-sized flag-football players line up for Subway sandwiches, then migrate to a shady spot on the bleachers. Then, when the sandwich delivery van (aka a mom-mobile) drove by, the ground shook. Like in a sea-sickening wavy motion.

"Geez," I thought to myself, "these bleachers aren't engineered very well if they shake whenever a car drives by."

Then I overheard a teenager talk to her boyfriend. "I am not crazy!" she said. "It wasn't just me!"

"Did you just feel the ground shake?" I asked.

"Yes!"

"Me too, you're not crazy."

Finally, coachubby shows up, unaware that we were all just in an earthquake. My first. At least, the first I really noticed without being told by the media that I should've noticed it. Coachubby missed it entirely, since he was already bobbing up and down as he ran over.

The quake was officially measured at a magnitude of 5.4 on the Richter Scale, and lasted only 30 seconds. The epicenter was apparently 29 miles east, southeast of Los Angeles and 7.6 miles underground.

Technically, it was kind of a baby. But it gave the media something to talk about around here besides Brangelina's twins. In fact, ABC even interrupted Oprah to show still camera shots of toiletries on the floors of Wal-Marts, and off-kilter photos on the walls of the homes of random Los Angeles families.

The moral of the story is, if you ever want to surf on land right before you do a big, painful track workout, move to Los Angeles.

And that is today's word.

How to Look Like an Airhead on a Long Run

Despite the fact that the long run is typically known as a transcendental personal journey, one that's often completed in contemplative solitude, it is still possible to appear like a ditz if you follow these steps:

• run the same 14 mile loop you've done a million times, only to realize you've never made the final turn back to the car on the first try


• identify neon-yellow clad bike cops ahead on trail


• ask cops for directions to desired trailhead


• follow cops there


• find cops standing in a circle around a dirt inscription that reads "This way, cutie! -->"


• acknowledge cops' firm admission that they did not write the direction


• run right by trailhead anyway, despite neon cops, dirt marking, and trailhead sign


• turn right around when cops call you back as you wonder aloud how you got there so fast


• say "thank you" as the cops tell you "Only 6 more miles to go!" in a tone that suggests they fear you won't make it and they'll be called back later to find your rattlesnake bitten ditsy self somehow lost on a single-track downhill trail--the only trail in that area


• it doesn't hurt to have blonde hair bleached from previous such noon-time excursions

These steps may have been taken from personal experience, that may have occurred while running up the Temescal Canyon Ridge trail to the Backbone Trail and back down to Will Rodgers' State Park where it all started. And this may be the only instance in which somebody's husband's directional savvy actually outdoes her own.

Happy trail running! And may mountain bike cops magically appear should you get lost!

Injury + Stress + Hormones = TriathleteDemon

If you are currently experiencing any of the following, please cease all social contact immediately, as you are probably unintentionally being an ass.

1. Stress at work

2. Confusion about your calling in life

3. Flat feet

4. Uteran wrath

5. Loss of a loved one

6. Split ends

7. Crappy gas mileage

8. Ingrown toenails

9. Enlarged chocolate intake

10. Sweat-induced acne

When you have calmed down enough and taken some sort of action to make yourself presentable, it would probably be beneficial to talk to someone. Until then, hiding somewhere with your chocolate stash may be the best option…or a long ride.

Happy Friday!

Flexible Flat Feet? You MUST Read This!

Can you touch your thumb to your arm? You have flexible joints. Got no arch? You have flat feet. And while there are several athletes that stand as living proof that you can still pull off some awesome run times—and even win some races in the run—your fun flexible body might just have a few things hiding under its skin for you.

Flexible Fact #1: You’re probably a great swimmer, with feet that flippity flop like giant paddles.

Flexible Fact #2: You’re probably pretty fun between the sheets.

Flexible Fact #3: You might just have an extra bone in your foot.

That’s right, an “auxiliary bone”, if you will. This little sucker has up and taken your tibial tendon’s connection away from the strong navicular bone, and made this important tendon attach to it’s little bony self.

What does this mean? If you twist your ankle—or even just run a lot—you can tear / aggravate the ligaments that are holding your “bonus bone” to your navicular. What does THAT mean? Your arch will feel like it’s on fire and determine for you that you must stop running. You may even have to get a cast put on to take the pressure off of this area and allow it to heal.

What does that mean? Pool running. But how can you pool run with a cast that can’t get wet stuck to your foot? You must buy a big ugly blue boot with a pump that will literally vacuum seal your foot inside of it, and also make you the nerdiest, strangest looking Smurf-person at your aquatic center.

On the positive side, should this become a chronic problem and a little bit of time off just doesn’t do the trick, you can get your evil little “accessory bone” removed, and have your tendon reattached to the navicular bone like a normal person.

On a more positive side, maybe a week in a cast with an ugly blue bootie will calm your little bone down. It got the attention it was asking for. Maybe now it’ll shut up.

So if you’re having arch pain, and have flat feet, and can put your feet behind your head, perhaps a little extra bone is to blame for your pain. Have it checked out before you do any more damage!

Happy Pool Running!

The Pros and Cons of Living With Your Training Partner

Perhaps you have recently acquired a coachance. Or a boach or a goach (boyfriend/girlfriend + coach). After reading every Cosmo quiz to determine if now would be a good time to move in together, you realize Cosmo doesn’t know everything—and they certainly haven’t addressed the question of moving in with a training partner. Read this before you take that big step!

3 Reasons To Live With Your Training Partner (TP)

1. You don’t have to get up earlier to meet them.


2. They will KNOW if that last giant piece of chocolate cake is missing from the fridge, possibly deterring you (or not) from downing it after a stressful day at work.


3. A 3am text message will not get you out of a workout. Instead of receiving a “You lazy butt, fine. See you on Thursday” message back, you could potentially get a bucket of cold water dumped on your head by a TP who doesn’t want to get a late start. You’ll feel better about yourself if you don’t miss your workout. Just keep repeating that statement all morning until your hair dries.

3 Reasons Why NOT To Live With Your Training Partner

1. You thought your work out clothes stunk up your place. Sweaty spandex x 2 = deadly b.o. stink bomb…especially if you live somewhere humid.


2. They will KNOW if that last giant piece of chocolate cake is missing. Blaming it on your fat cat only works once.


3. If neither of you is a bike rack building genius, you’d better get some very comfortable saddles, because you’ll be sitting on your bikes to watch TV in the living room…and to eat breakfast…and to read the newspaper. 3 bikes was doable. Now you’ve got 6+. Might as well open a shop!

Now that you’ve analyzed the pros and cons of moving in with your TP, you’ll be able to make a more responsible and informed decision if it is right for you. Like if you’re moving in together and buying a nice big house at the same time, and in a dry area, 2 of the 3 cons will become irrelevant.

Happy Training!

Injured? Don't Do This!

When injury strikes, we stubborn triathletes tend to ignore the pain--or we freak out about it. No matter which end of the spectrum you're on, these mantras should help you jump on a sane road to recovery:

1. I will allow my body to heal.

2. I will not overtrain another sport to make up for time not running/swimming/biking.

3. I will not freak out that I will become fat in my new state of lower volume training.

4. I will religiously put frozen peas on my injury, and take Advil.

5. I shall not whine to my friends about my injury, lest they ban me from future training sessions with them. Or from all social activity.

Chill! The worst thing you could possibly do is to train through your injury. Doing this will never let it fully heal, and you'll only to have to take loads of time off later when it leads to something bigger and more evil.

Happy Injury-Free Training!

10 Triathlon Truths to Live By

10 Triathlon Truths to Live By

1. You do not have to race all of the time to be a triathlete.

2. Gu tastes better than PowerGel.

3. USAT rankings don’t mean anything. Just like when you were ranked in the top 10% of your high school class. Who has asked you about that in the last 10 years?

4. There is nothing sexier than salt-marked spandex.

5. It’s OK to spend hours cleaning your bikes, and then refer to the 1 inch thick dirt layer on your car as it’s “chocolate icing”.

6. It’s normal to find the sex issue of a triathlon magazine to be more interesting than Cosmo ever has been.

7. If you’ve ever wondered how the race director for that last Olympic distance race spent your $125, you’re not alone. That’s a lot of Powerbars, and you didn’t eat a single one.

8. 8pm is a perfectly acceptable bed time.

9. 2,000 calories can be considered a “snack”.

10. Bugs swallowed on descents are good for you.

Happy being a Triathlete!

How to Get Out of a Training Slump - Mountain Bike Style

You've logged so many miles on the roads around your town, the next town over, and maybe even all over your entire state. The thought of doing one more "morning loop" makes you want to turn off the lights and set the alarm to "never". Before you throw in the towel and start eating massive amounts of chocolate because your slumpish state of mind has you feeling like you'll never be an athlete again, TRY SOMETHING NEW!

And I don't mean something new like doing your loop backward (although sometimes that helps).

Put away your aerobars, your skinny tires, and fear of small cracks in the road, steal a friend's mountain bike, and hit the trails! Not only will you still get a great workout in, you'll feel reinvigorated, and realize there's a whole different world of skills you need to work on. Isn't that fun!? And instead of avoiding every little crevice and bump in the road like the plague or getting yelled at to "hold your line", you can slam into everything in your path--you can even swerve off and create your own!

Nothing's stopping you now!

Any complete lack handling skill can be greatly masked by a nice full-suspension bike with disc brakes.

Just sayin'.

And if the freedom of the open fire road wasn't enough to get your blood flowin' again, consider this: chicks and cool dudes alike dig mountain biking scars. So if you're ready, forget the full suspension and disc brakes, bust out that bike your dad bought you when you were 13 because it was "pretty" and get flying down those hills! Sign up for an Xterra event while you're at it--it'll make you get better fast so you won't look like a weenie come race day.

And possibly, you will soon look as cool as this dude:

Happy alternative training!