Ironman Arizona 2009-The Photos

While I was running around shooting video, I shot a bunch of photos, too. Here are some of my favorites from IMAZ '09.

How to Make Athletes Dislike Your Race Before Even Participating: The Santa Cruz Triathlon

I am a fan of race-morning packet pick-up. In fact, I believe it should be an immutable truth of racing for all races that don't involve ridiculous planning logistics (like an Ironman). No Olympic distance race should be without this option.

What if your car breaks down? What if you get there late the night before, because you're coming from some other family/work obligation? What if you simply can't afford to spend the night in your race's location, but are willing to get up at the butt crack of dawn to enthusiastically participate?

Santa Cruz Triathlon, I hope you're listening. This race ironically opened itself up as a collegiate race, offering a student discount, hoping to draw competition, while at the same time making packet pick-up available only until 3pm the day BEFORE the race. I say ironically, because a student discount will not cover the price of a hotel in Santa Cruz, where the cheapest, crappiest motels start at $130/night in September. To cover that, you'd have to offer entirely free entries.

That is how to make athletes dislike your organization before they have even participated in your race.

It is clear that you've made a promise to bring revenue into the city of Santa Cruz, as giving back to the community is your non-profit race's primary goal, but by making packet pick-up available only until 3pm the day before the race, and making it mandatory, you are grossly alienating the one faction of athletes you were so enthusiastically courting: college students. And, for that matter, you're ticking off anyone else who loves triathlon, and lives close enough to make the trek to participate in your race--but not twice in two days. The cost in gas alone to make the double trek is ridiculous.

We will still spend money in Santa Cruz. We will eat at Saturn Café. And we will be glad to pay the entry fee, knowing that it will help the local community. And we might have even gladly shelled out the cash to spend the night, but being forced to do so only embitters what would have been an otherwise enjoyable decision. Let us decide if we'd like to stay or not.

So, Santa Cruz Triathlon, your race looks fabulous. It is sure to be a ton of fun, and to do a lot of good for Santa Cruz, as was originally intended. But do not force your athletes into difficult financial decisions beyond deciding whether or not to pay your entry fee. The only difficult thing you should be forcing us to do is jump into the freezing ocean at 8am on Sunday.

Deuces Wild Triathlon Festival

In times like this, my body is speechlessly pissed it got my brain for a partner. But deep down inside, it also likes the challenge.

And so coachubby and I are driving to Show Low, Arizona, tomorrow to participate in the Deuces Wild 1/2 ironman triathlon (DeuceMan), then follow it up with the Deuces Wild XTERRA on Sunday--just 5 days after riding 300 miles in less than 40 hours, massacring my quads and any ounce of focus my brain had left.

Smart? Probably not.
Fun? Definitely.
Plus, I'll get to see some of my favorite people (Xterra buddies) as well as two more of my favorite people (my parents) throughout the weekend.

The true test of just how much my quads can take, and how far I can go without inhaling caffeine in any form, will be under way at 6:30am on Saturday.

If you're in AZ, come cheer! The weather calls for highs in the mid-70s. Fabulous.

See you out there!

Clear! Athletes and Arrhythmias Part Deux

When I walked into the cardiologist's office Wednesday afternoon, I might as well have had a hand growing out of my face--the stares I got for being the only person under 70 in the room were intense. Even the check-in ladies seemed curious as to why I was there.

I could feel my heart beating funny from the anxiety of waiting for a diagnosis.

I was quickly led back down a dreary hall to a patient room that must've been fashionably decorated in the 60s. Maybe that's why all the 70-year olds like that office.

Then the Dr. came in, looked over all of my test results--the electrocardiogram, the Holter monitor, bloodwork--and said exactly what I heard 4 years ago: You have PVCs. Don't worry, they won't do anything to you. They're really just annoying more than anything. If you pass out, come and see me again.

Then he gave me a treadmill stress test to be sure.

Lying down, my heart beat funny. PVCs strewn all over. Standing up, it beat funny. But once I started walking, it beat perfectly. In fact, the Dr. had to ramp up the mph and incline higher than the test stated to in order to get my heart rate to 166. I ran straight up a mechanical mountain at 6mph for what seemed like an eternity until he was satisfied, all the while watching my heart beat beautifully.

Then, when I sat down again, the PVCs returned.

In conclusion: I am the human equivalent of the bus in the 1994 Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock classic, Speed. I can't slow down, or I will blow up. Or rather I'll feel like someone locked a 6 year-old in my ribcage for a time out, who then starts kicking to to be released, particularly when I would like to sleep.

Also in conclusion: Internet research is hardly a good thing to do when waiting for a heart diagnosis. I now know all of the evil forms arrhythmias can take, and all of the procedures done to try to keep them in check.

In particular, I freaked myself out reading about Greg Welch, who had to retire from triathlon immediately after finding out he had ventricular tachycardia.

A second opinion is in order, as the cardiologist did not fully grasp, I believe, exactly what training for an ultracycling event entails. My primary Dr., Dr. Ironman, does.

Also also in conclusion: It is impossible to fake your own brain out. I've been trying. If it freaks out or stresses for some reason, I try to cut off the info from reaching my heart, but so far the effort has been unsuccessful. I now have a truly important reason to meditate and try to achieve zen, besides trying not to blow up at people when they do stupid things.

Also x 3 in conclusion: Hallelujah! A huge thanks to God, who will be watching while I do my most monstrous long ride yet this weekend. I will be paying way more attention to fluid, electrolyte, and caffeine intake, and trying to get a lot of sleep the night before and after...heck, all of the time!

See you in the Santa Monicas!

A Disheartening Discovery--Athletes and Arrhythmias

I got up at 4am today to ride 80 miles.

I wish I could say I did it out of a passion for ultra training.

But I did it because I was hooked up to a Holter Monitor.

The little device, which tracks the wearer's heart rhythms for 24 hours straight, was scheduled to shut off at exactly 10:16am this morning, and I wanted to make sure it had a good record of what my heart does when I'm riding long...even though 80 miles is less than half of what I had planned to ride tomorrow with my ultracycling best buddy, and personal ass-kicker, Robyn.

Imagine getting a call from your doctor at 6:30pm on a Monday, during which he tells you that structurally, your heart is rad (as confirmed by an echocardiogram taken a week earlier), but electrically, your heart's cardiograph looks like a Mexican jumping bean.

Doc: When's your race?

ME: The bike race? July. But I have a double century coming up, and a half-ironman, an Xterra, and a long ride Saturday--

Doc: I want you to cut back on exercise until we figure this out. Your echo didn't look good.

ME: What's a cutback? Like, I had a 12 hour ride planned for Saturday. So, um... only ride 10?

Doc: Like don't move.

ME: HA!

Silence.

Me: No. Way. You're joking, right?

Doc: No more than an hour a day. Not too hard. I want you to get a Holter Monitor and see a specialist in heart rhythms.

Then I heard his kids in the background and knew I couldn't grill him much longer.

ME: Um...ok.

I hung up. I couldn't talk anymore anyway, my throat was already swelling up and I was crying in a busy Vons parking lot. I think I'm one of very few Americans who cries then they're limited to 1 hour of low-level exercise per day.

I had asked my Dr., Dr. Ironman (name has been changed to maintain easy Dr. access), to listen to my heart when I went in to have him diagnose my fractured foot, knowing el heart-o beat funny sometimes, and I was becoming a little paranoid about it with advancing age and subsequent growing sense of my own mortality.

It did beat funny.

He took an EKG. It beat funny there, too.

So I went in for an echocardiogram, basically an ultrasound of the heart, and stared at my baby as she made strong swooshing noises and beat along...to her own very unique rhythm.

"You see that--that's how it's supposed to look," said the tech as she pointed out a singular string of four perfect beats.

"I'm trying!" I said. The rest of the time it was totally spastic.

And so, having essentially failed one-half of the echocardiogram test--the beating part (A+ for structure!)--I agreed to look like an X-men mutant for 24 hours with electrodes all over my chest, and a monitor attached to my hip.

"You can do whatever you normally do with this on, just don't take a shower," said the tech as she stuck the electrodes on me.

"Really? How much exercise?"

"Whatever you want," she said.

"I exercise a lot more than most people...maybe you should check about that."

She went to ask my doctor what to do with me.

"Whatever you normally do," she said upon return.

And so I found myself up at 4am, climbing onto the Silver Bullet in a race against the clock to get in 80 miles before the monitor shut itself off.

The thing is, I've been through this before, 4 years ago as a senior in college. The results? I have PVCs, but they go away with exercise.

At that point, however, I had never dreamed I could ride my bike for 12+ hours straight. According to Wikipedia, PVCs are exacerbated by: adrenaline, caffeine, electrolyte imbalance, anxiety, physiological stress, and dehydration.

Boy did I become obsessed with the right sport for my heart's health!

If it all turns out to be a bad case of PVCs caused by the above, I guarantee I'll be riding with a Camelbak full of Gatorade every long ride from now on!

Let's hope Race Across Oregon can still be in my future!

Diabetic Endurance Athletes Article Out in This Month's Competitor Magazine!

Turn to page 70 to read the article by yours truly.
Turns out my arse-kicking by Team Type 1 was not totally in vain. :)

Xterra West Cup Championships--Like Riding on the Moon

With pretty much every Xterra race convenient to Los Angeles canceled this year due to the evil economy (Temecula, Snow Valley, Castaic...hasn't been on for a few years), the rise of the Xterra West Cup Championship at Lake Las Vegas was a godsend for off-road triathlon junkies.

And, judging by the turn out, it was also a godsend for off-road triathlon junkies across the country vying for a slot to the Xterra World Championships. The turn out was phenomenal--"the Caveman" Conrad Stoltz, Melanie McQuaid, Josiah Middaugh, & Shonny Vanlandingham were there, among a ton of other rad racers.

When Mr. Xterra '07, Will Kelsay, came up to Coachubby and me after preriding the course, he exclaimed, "Oh, it's so shady, and there's tons of single track!"

I looked at the completely barren hills around us. It looked like we were on the moon.

Will is a joker.

It's anyone's guess how long this race, put on by Sunset Racing, will last, as it was held on a scraped-off development site no doubt stalled in progress by the economy. There was no natural plant life, no nothing. Just dirt, and rudimentary roads that made up the bike and run courses.

I loved it, as the lack of much single track meant there wouldn't be too many slow-swimming dudes rudely yelling at me to get out of their way as they tried to get back with the pack on the bike. There was plenty of passing room on most of the course--and the dudes got a head start. There were wave starts at this Xterra, because the man-made beach at the Loews Resort (the host hotel) was dinky, and couldn't have supported all of the racers diving in at once.

I loved the wave starts, too; the ladies' wave was small, so I was never poked--not once!--during the swim. An Xterra first. (The Temecula swim, I recall, was particularly cutthroat.)

Then, the run. Oh sorrow. Terrible sorrow.

I didn't even put my running shoes into transition, knowing I'd want to run for it if they were there, and in doing so, set back the healing of my dumbass sesamoid bone.

I came in off of the bike, walked over to the timing people, gave them my chip, then hopped on Qeee, my mountain bike, and took her for one more loop of the bike course, while everyone else ran straight up and down a mountain--twice. In the middle of the day, under relentless sun.

I probably have a warped sense of how awesome the race was due to my not having run, but I loved the whole thing. Minus the very depressing dropping out part.

How many races have you ever started knowing you weren't going to finish? I'd say it definitely made me take my time racing to enjoy everything, rather than go for it. Not a bad way to enjoy a Saturday. It's just not any way to get a medal either. Or really push myself on the bike.

Lake Las Vegas is a strange place. It's a man-made oasis in the middle of the desert. And while it's gorgeous, and opulent, it's hard not to cringe at the complete non-eco friendliness / unsustainability of it all. (This coming from a Phoenician!) While Coachubby and I lounged on a bed on the hotel patio, I got a blast of air conditioning every 10 seconds from the roofed open-area of the hotel. No walls, 80+ degrees outside, and the air conditioning was what? Cooling the patio? Not cool.

If you want to forgo the opulent hotel, there's camping at Lake Mead for $10. Coachubby and I did that. It was very romantic, and very quiet. Until ridiculous winds (think 30mph +) came in around 9pm, when we went to bed, and continued to lash at our tent all night long. Sleep never came. Visions of lifting off like in the Wizard of Oz did, though.

And somehow, sand flew in through the windows. A veritable dust storm that somehow penetrated our tent. I woke up covered in sand, and had a nice microdermabrasion session around 1am, free of charge, courtesy of Lake Mead State Park.

If this race happens again next year, DO IT! The race organizers were super friendly. As always, Xterra people are helpful, kind, and crazy--a good mix. And the setting is equal parts gorgeous and strange, lush and lunar--all a 5 hour drive from LA.

Race on, Xterra people!

PS. Coachubby got 2nd in his age group, a freakin' awesome accomplishment made even more freakin' awesome if you have seen his bike--an old hardtail Klein. His handling skills are off the charts!

2009 Oceanside 70.3--The Ultimate Mullet-Race Video

Check it out!

Note: Eating before watching is probably not a good idea...some sections are molto shaky.

And the titles that were hard to read:
-Jimmy finished in 4:48. Freaking fast. He then ate a ginormous bowl of Cold Stone ice cream while being ogled by US Marines.
-Matty Reed dances a jig for Andy Potts.

Wishing you rad races and haircuts in 2009,
Erin

Recession Egg

Because everything--even Easter--has to be a competition if you're a triathlete, egg-bashing takes precedence over egg-coloring in my family.

(Plus, if you're a triathlete, art, even in the form of egg dying, may not be your thing.)

Now, you can get the need for Sunday competition out while simultaneously masking your inability to make that perfect, rainbow-speckled egg, by introducing "Recession Egg" into your household.

Don't forget this new, recession-cool way to dye your eggs! It's a post-modern art form! A revolution!















Step 1: Find a Sharpie somewhere in your house. Everybody has one.
Step 2: Draw on your eggs.
Step 3: Have an egg bashing contest. The egg left uncracked at the end is the winner!

(P.S. If you want to get all 100 % recessionista on the eggs, don't boil them to conserve energy--and win the contest. In egg bashing, unboiled eggs have traditionally been crowned champion. Somehow, they're just harder to crack on the end than the boiled, I-have-an-air-bubble-in-my-bum eggs.)

Saving the Fish

I didn't want to run today.

In fact, I didn't want to move at all today. Usually this happens when it's tremendously depressing outside, but it was a beautiful, sunny day. My brain has recently been unusually antagonistic against my body.

But a baby 25-minute run was on the schedule, so after doing everything I possibly could this evening that was not running--reading every online newspaper, magazine, and even PerezHilton.com, beginning to edit a FinalCut video, and kissing the cat--I got my cookie-dough-filled butt out the door.

And boy, was one little fishie happy I did.

I chose a loop that would bring me for a stretch on the beach, and right in the middle of it, a little fishie was flippity floppiting in the surf. He beached himself. (I say he, because, honestly, girl fishies are probably better with directions and hazard avoidance.)

Ignoring my gag reflex, I picked him up and hucked him back into the ocean, soaking my shoes in the process.

I didn't wait to see if he'd simply beach himself again, but I like to think I saved one little fishie's life today.

So there you have it.

Even if you feel like your workout schedule is all about you, and therefore extremely selfish, think again. Your workouts benefit your community more than you think.

Maybe you have a Tuesday morning run that you do religiously, and so does some little old man on your street. Maybe, just maybe, your guaranteed Tuesday morning smile and "howdy do" are something he looks forward to every week.

Maybe you're more fun to be around because you will actually eat ice cream with your kids, knowing you've earned it today.

Or maybe, just maybe, you could save someone's life. I rescued someone's cell phone just last week from almost certain death in a mulch pile along a running path.

And today, I pulled a solid for the marine world and returned one of its missing fishies before his family had to start postering anemones with his slimy, silvery face.

Rockin' the Mullet at Oceanside 70.3

If you see this man tomorrow at Oceanside 70.3, you'd better run faster.














He's going to kick some mega ass; recent wind-tunnel tests have proven that mullets are, in fact, the most aero haircut a triathlete can have. Something to do with turbulent flow.

Even better than bald guys with dimply heads.

See you out there! I'll be documenting the race, if I don't freeze standing around.

Triathlete Diva Goes Straight to Video

Doing my part to help a friend create a kick ass run-coaching website, I agreed to let him film me running on a treadmill and doing a bunch of funny looking core exercises last October.

Behold the results at RockHardRunners.com, under "video gait analysis".

It's a pretty spiffy website all around if I do say so myself. And that has nothing to do with my pigeon-toed stint on the treadmill.

Rest Week Anxiety in Triathletes

Rest.

I need it.

In fact, I don't want to move. My body and brain are toast from 3 consecutive weeks of going longer, faster, harder. I've even skipped 2 rest-week scheduled workouts.

So why, oh why, do I spend my days anxious about not moving?

In the beginning, I looked forward to rest weeks. I'd have more time to devote to things that get pushed to the side, like dishes, and Sir Gallahad. But with my first superultracycling event on the horizon, not moving makes me anxious, even if all of my being truly wants to sleep and read all day. So anxious, in fact, that I can feel my heart beat irregularly.

It's a tougher brain battle than riding solo back to back hundos. Or getting myself to swim in the South Bay's preferred hook-up area: the 24 Hour Fitness pool.

Perhaps at the root of this anxiety is an identity crisis. Who am I when I'm not biking, swimming, running? Having devoted so much time to fitness, I'm unsure of who I am when I'm not carrying out the physical acts associated with being a triathlete / aspiring ultracyclist.

When I signed up for my first tri, a sprint in Tucson in 2005, I couldn't wait for it to be over. I wanted to be a triathlete. I was excited to affect my new identity. I could be on the couch, watching crap-o reality TV. I was happy; I was a triathlete.

Slowly, however, proclaiming my chosen identity to the world became unnecessary. I didn't want to be labeled. As anything. I am unlabelable. I have never filled out my Facebook "About Me" section, other than to say that I am a "writer/triathlete". Now it just says "writer". I figured that's un-boxed-in enough.

So maybe all of this anxiety comes from separating myself from a previously chosen identity that I secretly still latch onto, despite the desire to be undefined--always searching, always learning about myself, never settling.

Aspiring to a kind of fluid identity is anxiety-producing in itself.

Or maybe, I'm just anxious because my chocolate cake cravings are always the fiercest when I'm not doing enough to justify the indulgence. :)

Only Cycling in LA...

Could you see the following--during a single ride.

• relentless fog
  
• people setting up to film an episode of "The Biggest Looser"
• a Peacock farm
• another farm called the Bony Pony
• a ditzy blonde in a BMW wondering where the Rock Store is
• A biker hang out in front of which said ditzy blonde is filming a commercial
  
• a giant bull and a buffalo living peacefully together in a pen
• a stream of Lamborghinis so long, you realize you've just seen the sports car equivalent of 30x more $ than you'll ever make in your lifetime
• a peacock blocking the entire road
• a peacock charging you as you take a bathroom break
• a Middle Eastern cyclist with a flat who just blew a Mexican cyclist's last CO2 and is in desperate need of yet one more cyclist's aid. Good thing flatting is a universal language spoken by all cyclists

If you can get over the traffic (i.e. bring your heart rate, which is sky high from simply thinking of riding on PCH, back down before mounting your bike), riding in LA is a worthwhile, quad-busting adventure every time.

Triathlete Diva Takes on Stanford

I am super thrilled to announce that 2 years of Ironman training, in addition to this year's Race Across Oregon training, have not zapped all of my brain cells. At least they hadn't by last October when I applied to graduate schools; I'll be studying at Stanford in the fall.

Let us pray that the actual event of Race Across Oregon does not fry whatever brain cells I have left before classes start in September.

Woo hoo!

P.S. As Stanford has a triathlon team, I have every intention of rocking the collegiate tri scene next year, an exciting opportunity I never had as an undergrad.

Woo hoo!

XOXO,
Tri "I'm not as blonde as I look" Diva

The Solvang Century...A Day Late

Coachubby's Timex beeped obnoxiously at 4am on Saturday.

Neither of us moved. For 4 more hours.

So much for bandit riding the famed Solvang Century!

A week of intense training left me in much need of sleep, and a late night watching Paul Rudd and Sean William Scott in Role Models just couldn't be followed up with a 4am wake-up call.

In an effort to be cost conscious about racing this year, coachubby and I were fully prepared to drive the 2.5 hours north to Solvang, home of the celebrated wino film Sideways, jump out of the car, and join hundreds of other people on the rolling route north to Santa Maria and back.

(Note: The key to respectful bandit riding is to have all the provisions you need with you. No stealing from the ride's aid stations, no matter how many extra bananas they seem to have. Using a ride-provided porta potty is fair game. However, on a country route like this, there are plenty of places to hide in the bushes.)

Riding with hundreds of other people makes me feel like I won't be the one to get hit by a car, given the hundreds of other options on the road, and our greater visibility in numbers. Kind of like swimming in the ocean during Hermosa Beach's pier-to-pier swim during the summer; there are lots of yummy shark meal options flapping on top of the water with me. My odds of becoming an Erinburger are therefore greatly reduced.

However, when coachubby's Timex beeped in my ear at 5am yesterday, we both actually got up. I needed 100 more miles to round out my week of self-inflicted pain and mental training for RAO. I wasn't going to miss out on the brain game that would be pedaling 100 more miles on top of an already brain-melting week of riding, swimming, and running.

We arrived at the pretty Danish tourist trap that is Solvang around 7:45 a.m., waltzed into the host hotel like we knew where we were going, changed in the bathroom by the pool, and were off.

It was 45 degrees outside. The insta-process of becoming an Erincicle took place.

On the bright side, at least coachubby didn't hit any hotel lobby overhangs with his bike this time. The carbon fiber beauty that is his triathlon bike (the "F Bomb") secured a place inside the car. His road bike (the Leader) only wishes he could have such preferred treatment.

On the even brighter side, the sun began to shine, illuminating rolling hillsides of bright green grass, vineyards, and the white butts of random deer.

The last time I rode through Solvang, I was having my butt handed to me by a professional cycling team. I did not enjoy the scenery. In fact, I never saw anything but road, the backsides of other cyclists, and the interior of the team car that drug me along half of the ride.

This ride was much better. I felt like I was on my way through the Austrian countryside to meet Maria von Trapp for a glass of wine. I had time to stop and take it all in.

In fact, I stopped a lot, making what should've been a sub-6 hour ride about a 7 hour ride. Coachubby's total ride time, as shown on his Garmin, was 45 minutes less than mine, though we finished at the same time. Oops.

On the brightest side, the ride never went anywhere near roads that were very busy, and it warmed up into the high 60s. The road that did have traffic (the 101 up by Lompoc) had a huge shoulder. I was thrilled that we had accidentally come a day late. It was the most peaceful, beautiful, leisurely, rolling, easy century I have ever ridden.

It was a blessing to have the country roads of Foxen Canyon and Santa Rosa practically all to ourselves. Quite calming. Super romantic. It would've been a shame to have hundreds of people around ruining the zen that is riding in Santa Barbara County.

It was also a blessing to ride a century without any sustained climbing. I didn't think I could reach my zen moment so early in training, but the next time I need to get in an extra 100 miles without fearing for my life for half of the ride (riding up PCH in Malibu, or down the 5 in Oceanside) I will drive to Solvang.

The total drive time, at 5-ish hours, is still less than the total ride time, at 6-7ish hours, it's a legal getaway in my book.

My final advice? Strap on a Camelbak and do the Solvang Century a day late. The route markers are still out there, so you won't get lost (the century was orange this year, 50-miler was yellow).

A Sunday ride through vineyards with hardly any traffic is like something straight out of a movie. A movie filmed in France.

CA is cheaper.

Vive la Californie!

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?

When Will Google Recognize the Existence of Triathletes?

I know triathlon, in the grand scheme of things, is a relatively new sport.

But if Google can manage to make daily amazing technological advances, can't they add "triathlete" to their spell-checker?

It's a simple request from one triathlete Google-lover to one ginormous superpower company--a request that I'm sure is not above Google-ability.

So to be more concise:

Dear Google,

Please add "triathlete" into your spell checker so as to cease the appearance of a dotted line every time I type the word into Blogger or Gmail.

Thank you.

Love,

Erin

Taking the Plunge or Off the Deep End? How to Tell if Endurance Sports Have Stolen Your Sanity

I love exercise.

Exercise makes me feel in tune with my body, with nature, and with my friends. Call it an obsession, but I get jazzed wondering just how far I can push myself. Yes, I am addicted to endorphins.

It's offensive when nonbelievers write off a passion for exercise by negatively referring to it as "compulsive". No great athlete could achieve her full potential without being a little obsessive-compulsive about her workouts.


However, even I have been known to question the motives of some friends and their never-ending need to push themselves mentally and physically. I usually call their sanity into question when social activities, like eating dinner with friends, or family time, like eating dinner with family, gets pushed back indefinitely to make way for massages, ice baths, and the third (or more!) daily workout.

So how can you tell if you or your friends are simply taking the plunge into becoming the best endurance athlete you can be, or if you're sinking fast into the deep end, leaving your sanity floating above you? What could make two people doing the exact same workouts be separately categorized into "Plungers" or "Sinkers"?

Four years ago, I developed a very simple litmus test of athletic sanity that has held strong to this day. Ask yourself this simple question:

Is my passion (in this case for exercise and endurance competition) adversely affecting:

1. my health?
2. my happiness?
3. my relationships?

If the answer is no to all three things, you're doing just fine. Soldier on, Ironman, ultrarunner, ultracyclist, climber, adventure racer, etc! But if you can answer yes to any of these, maybe it's time to take a breather and work something out--without going for a long run or ride to clear your head!

There are a lot of subcategories that might fit in the three listed above. Is your passion hurting your finances? That might affect your happiness and relationships. Are you unhappy? Maybe you overdid your training. Backing off might restore your happiness and save you from wreaking havoc on your health.

Here's where the word "compulsive" truly takes on a negative connotation. If your body is destroyed and trying to tell you so by making you moody and unhappy--and you don't back off out of compulsion--you may have a problem (this being the negatively charged "exercise addiction") that needs to be addressed.

For me, at this point in my life, endurance sports have simply giveth. There has been no taketh-ing away. A love of triathlon has led me to my closest friends, and to my husband. It has blessed me with a sense of accomplishment, love and admiration for my body, and the self- confidence I was sorely lacking before taking the plunge.

It doesn't hurt that coachubby shares my exact same passion. It has made our relationship stronger, as we push each other to achieve more than we ever thought we could. (This includes peeing on the bike.)

Endurance sports have brought my family closer; madre's and padre's role as a perma parental cheer squad means almost every time we see each other, we have something fun to do and something to celebrate--and a reason (besides Jesus-related events) to get our bi-state clans together in the first place. Even padre got in on the action when we did a triathlon relay together last July--and won our division!

However, I know that if I made the same exact choices I'm making now regarding my training and race calendar and I had kids (sorry, Sir Gallahad, you're an independent kitty who can take care of himself for hours on end), I would be a Sinker, not a Plunger. It's all about priorities. And the three golden life factors: happiness, health, and relationships.

Have a kick butt, happy, healthy, friend-filled 2009 season!