Back in the Saddle

The end of the semester is finally here. In September, it seemed like this week would never come, but here I am, two final exams away from home. When I came out to LA in August, I couldn't think past November 7th - it was such a big date, a date I had been counting down to for an entire year.  It's hard to believe it's been four weeks. Recovery has been wonderful, and I will never forget the whole experience, but it's time to start working toward the next challenge.

Yesterday I used my car for the exact purpose that made me buy it. Equipped with my bike and a riding buddy, I drove out to Malibu. There are so many things that frustrate me about LA - the traffic, the pollution, the prices, the superficiality - but sometimes I focus only on what I don't like and I become blind to all the good. An overcast, drizzly Sunday afternoon on PCH shed light on the best of LA for me.

After driving through Santa Monica, PCH becomes everything I love about California, and America. There are some stores and restaurants, but the attraction is the landscape, where the hills melt into the Pacific. Obviously you're going to see Lamborghinis whizz by, but there are also a fair number of beat up station wagons with surfboards strapped to the roof - a rarity in the most image-driven city in the country. I don't need to plan a trip to Malibu. Park on the side of the road somewhere that looks like a good starting point and go.

Yesterday, that starting point was just past Will Rogers State Beach. We rode up to Pepperdine, climbed up to the top of the campus, then continued north on PCH. It started to rain as we descended out of Pepperdine, but it was kind of refreshing. I never picture rain when I think of riding in Malibu, but it was more enjoyable than you would think. This summer and fall, long rides taught me that I do my best thinking when I'm out pedalling. Without that weekly release for the past six weeks or so, I've been letting all this stress build up. Out in the rain, pushing a quick cadence over the rolling hills in Point Dume, I felt free again. Of course it's nicer to ride when it's 70 and sunny, but somehow the rain made me feel more focused and connected. We turned around where PCH juts back to the coast after Point Dume, and cruised back. The road flattens out as you get back towards Santa Monica, so the last five miles were really fast. Climbing up canyons, I hate my triathlon bike, but the feeling of being in aero and powering down PCH makes up for it and then some.

Yeah, LA can really suck. But for every skinny fake blonde girl in the hills, there is a surfer or a cyclist or a runner who puts up with it all because they think it's worth it to live the life of a laid-back Southern Californian, soaking in the sun in December. Life can be simple. Don't cry for me, I'll be just fine spending my weekends climbing in Malibu or Palos Verdes, running up Topanga Canyon, pulling on my wetsuit at Tower 26. And on that note, with a more optimistic outlook, I'm ready to saddle up.

The Untimed Run

I like to run.  I know it sounds obvious - I do triathlons therefore I must like running.  But seriously.  At first I ran for fitness.  Then I got addicted to the feeling of accomplishment at the end of every run.  Now, I've learned to just like the exercise in itself.  Through years of running, all the ups and downs of college, and months of ironman training, my mind has reached some twisted state where I actually enjoy the feeling of all my parts working together to propel me forward.  I love that part of the run where it all starts to hurt.

In high school, I ran for distance.  I had my easy three-miler, my regular ol' six-mile loop, and the ten-miler that always got in my head.  Trail running was always bittersweet for me.  While I got such a rush from being in nature and the constant challenge of the terrain, never knowing exactly how far I went ruined that joyous experience of adding up my weekly mileage every Sunday. When I was running, I would think about writing that number in the log book and that would keep me going.  I never even liked to wear my watch - thinking about paces stressed me out way too much.  At the end of a good run, I wanted to just feel like it was a good run, not look at my watch and define by a number that it was not a good run.

Triathlon gave me a new perspective, and ironman training really changed the way I saw running.  Training became all about hours, not miles, so I started running for time instead of distance.  I really took to it quickly.  That six mile loop might take longer some days, but an hour always takes the same amount of time.  It added some seriousness to my training.  When I ran on roads I had mapped out, I always knew my pace.  On days when I didn't run measured routes, I explored new places.  Trail running became my new favorite activity.  I didn't feel like timing was becoming any sort of burden, until today.

I'm in a strange place right now.  Right before the end of my semester, I find myself on the tail end of recovery and the beginning of spring base-building.  I'm not even sure what kind of workouts that entails.  So today I just went for a run.  I ran a five-mile route I used to run all the time as a freshman.  Today was a rare gem where I found myself on no particular schedule until the afternoon, so I took advantage of the free morning to run errands then go for a relaxing jog.  I know I left the house around 10:30... or maybe 10:45? And I know I got out of the shower at 11:45.  But I have no idea what my running time was.  I accidentally, and miraculously, left the watch at home.

At every stop light, I grabbed my wrist to press the stop button that wasn't there.  I felt so naked.  It was as though I was taking my first steps after a long bedrest or after losing twenty pounds.  A weight had definitely been lifted. I didn't think about time.  Or distance, really.  I just ran.  It ended when it ended.  And without any sense of time, I just enjoyed running.   Downtown LA did not provide me with clean air or nice scenery, but I literally just enjoyed the motion.  And that's when you know you like running.

Down Time

I trained hard, raced hard, and celebrated hard. Everything went as well as I could have planned. That moment, crossing the finish line, was undoubtedly the best moment of my life - a moment that only happened with my own hard work and the support of people who genuinely care about me. The whole thing exceeded by expectations, and the high has been unreal. Now what?

Neglected group projects, essay due tomorrow, normal sized portions at meals, that's what. I totally get the post-Ironman blues now. With my schedule all opened up, I'm free to do things I normally wouldn't have time to. But guess what I want to do? Swim, bike, and run. That's why I started Ironman training to begin with - because I like to train for triathlons. It's kind of weird to just admit that. For so long, I've been able to pull the Ironman training card to justify my ridiculous workout schedule. Should I be embarassed to tell people that I just flat out like putting myself through all that? I mean I was only training for an Ironman because I wanted to do an Ironman, but somehow that's more acceptable. At any rate, right now, while I am most amped up about my sport, is when I really should be on the sidelines. School provides a somewhat unwelcome distraction, and as the end of the semester nears, it's much easier to get caught up in the projects and papers and not miss training so much.

When I'm forced to have down time, like I am right now, my favorite activity is planning what I'm going to do when I get back out there. Fortunately, I have a lot to look forward to. A month in New England for winter break will definitely have its perks. I have always loved winter running - there's something so serene yet badass about bundling up and pounding the pavement while snow is falling. Then there's the potential for some quality cross country skiing and the certainty of at least one trip up to Maine to just appreciate the vacation. Coming back to 'SC in the spring will bring a new level of intensity in triathlon training as the team gets ready for Nationals in April. Junior year in engineering also promises to continue to hold new challenges, and hopefully new opportunities to get a job. The more I think about it, there's going to be a lot going on very soon.

Maybe this down time is just the calm before the storm.

Becoming Silver

I've been on about a month-long posting hiatus, and god was it an incredible month. It has just taken me a while to collect my thoughts to the point where I can put them in words.

My tapering period was uneventful, serving as just a short glimpse into life post-ironman. I was expecting it to be sort of a tease - a welcome period of no alarm clock on Saturdays and thirty minute runs. I had built it up in my mind as this magnificent three weeks that I had spent months working to earn. Honestly, it was a disappointment. Sure, it's easier to sleep in than go for a ride on the trainer at 5am, but what is there to gain from that? There's no test of character and commitment when I wake up at my leisure and do short, easy workouts. My whole training period has been defined by constant growth, and it all came to a halt during taper.

During the few days leading up to the race, taper all seemed to make sense. My legs were fresh and I was not mentally exhausted. By Friday, I finally felt ready and could envision myself succeeding. I drove out to Las Vegas with friends and just relaxed. Ironically, in the days leading up to the biggest triathlon I've ever done, the last thing I wanted to talk about was triathlon. I met my brother and on Saturday we picked up my Dad. All of a sudden, things got real and the race was actually about to happen.

Sleeping the night before the race was nearly impossible, but I managed to doze off for an hour or so at a time, and then wake up in a panic. I had been nervous about the hills on the bike for a long time, but the night before, I started to get nervous about everything - the swim start, the swim finish, maintaining motivation the beginning of the bike, getting spooked halfway through the course when I realized I still had to run a marathon. When the alarm went off at 5am, I was still in a frenzy. I hadn't bought everything I wanted for breakfast and I had forgotten to fix my bar tape. Little things I should have taken care of earlier were coming back to haunt me, so I found food and hastily made my way to transition.

Once I took care of my bar tape and pumped my tires, all that stress melted away and I was overcome with a total calmness. I chatted with other athletes getting ready for the long day ahead and basked in the moments leading up to my first ironman. My brother came down the hill and up to the fence of the transition area to see if I had figured everything out. I was just smiling, and told him that today, I was going to do an ironman. I felt incredible.

Deep water swim start

After getting my wetsuit on, I paddled around in the water for a few minutes and got acclimated. I treaded water at the deep water start line for five minutes or so while they played the national anthem and we all prepared ourselves. There was a bridge right over the start, and I looked up to see my family. Waving to them just seconds before the gun went off was so reassuring. From the moment we started, I felt great. I could not have imagined having a better swim. The entire course I felt relaxed and strong, trying to use only my upper body and save my legs for the long day ahead. I was out of the water in 1:18, the 80th fastest swim. I had expected closer to 1:30, so I was all smiles going into T1.

A quick transition and I was on the bike! I couldn't wait to get started on this long course, and I took it really easy in the first five miles to save myself for the next 110. Definitely a good decision. The first 25 miles were beautiful, rolling hills with breathtaking views of Lake Mead and I genuinely enjoyed every minute. I passed a lot of fast swimmers in the first ten miles, which was a huge boost for me. The next 87 miles were harder. The rolling hills miles 25-90 were much steeper and it was hard to maintain momentum. I would be spinning away in the little rings going up, then blasting down at scary speeds. There were some tough headwinds, but it seemed to even out more or less. I also had amazing course support. Between the USC Triathlon Team and my family, I saw someone at least every ten miles. Everyone else on the course was jealous of my rowdy fan club.

Big desert, small triathlete

Had the last 22 miles on the bike been like the previous 90, it would be a hard course. But Silverman is a brutal course. At mile 92, we turned onto a desolate desert bike path - literally just sand and power lines stretching for miles and miles. I reached the dreaded Three Sisters - three consecutive 18% grade climbs, of 200-600 yards each - and was happy to put them in my rear view mirror. The next five miles were straight into a strong headwind and on a false flat path. It is incredibly demoralizing to feel like you're on flat ground but struggle to maintain 10mph. With 10 miles to go, we turned onto the road again and a few rolling hills later, made our way to transition. I have never been more ready to get out of the saddle. I had been hoping to be around 7:30 for this tough course, and I came in at 7:14, the 110th fastest split.

Out of T2

Off for a quick run. The first six miles were very smooth – I stopped at every other aid station and maintained a decent shuffle up and down the hills.  I saw Kevin around mile 5 and I was still smiling – “There’s something wrong with you! You shouldn’t be smiling” he yelled. But I felt great, at least for a little while. The sun was setting and the magnitude of the twenty-six mile run hadn’t really sunk in yet. But I knew that in a few miles, I would be digging really deep, and I would have to find that strength in me to finish even when it hurt a lot. Knowing that there were tough miles to come, I focused hard on eating a Gu whenever I could and having Gatorade at every aid station I could stop at. I was tackling hill after hill, wondering when they would end. By the time I reached the eighth mile, I realized that there were going to be no flat parts. I hadn’t really been sure about the run course before since I hadn’t had time to drive it. This was a depressing realization and I hit a wall. I walked for maybe 100 yards then told myself to just make it to the halfway point then reassess. I saw the whole fan club and got a huge rush of adrenaline. Get through Mile 15. Then you can walk. I kept powering through and met up with a running buddy for about a mile. He was walking when I caught him, so I pushed him to run. When we reached a hill just after Mile 15, he started walking again, so I did too. It only took a few strides for me to realize that if I started walking I would never stop. By this point, it was completely dark and I really had no perception of where the course, went. I was just following the cones and trusting the mile markers.

By the end of an ironman, going down hurts more than going up. I saw my team every single mile, which provided a lot of motivation. With five miles to go, I realized I would definitely make it, and I started to get emotional. Unfortunately, I couldn't sustain the faster pace I started running at Mile 21, so I had to slow down for the last 2.

Trying to keep up with my running buddy Jason

Into the chute!

In the pitch dark, with only a glowstick for visibility, having exercised for 13 and a half hours, I saw the finish line. I had been in a good mood all day, always smiling for my team and family, but my happiness was literally unbounded as I ran my final meters to the chute. Crossing the line, breaking the tape, throwing my arms up in victory, I couldn't help but cry. 13:34:08. 1st Female 20-24, 6th Female Overall, 84th Overall.

Kevin and I at the finish, on the phone with Mom

The proud father

Hugging my brother, my dad, and my amazing teammates, and crying to my mom on the phone, I could feel the shared joy of the moment. I can say without any hesitation that that was the best moment of my life. I took a risk last Sunday. I have never worked so hard for something in my life, and yet I still went in not knowing if I could do it. Six months of training preceded this. There were a lot of sacrifices in those months, a lot of soul-searching, a lot of prioritizing. I don't think I have ever put six months of my life into anything like this. I know it's sickeningly cliché, but it's true - nothing worth having every came easy. Nobody can ever take that day away from me. Last Sunday, I became iron. No... SILVER.

Joy.

Last Sunday, I went 140.6 miles and learned that people don't have limits.

Last Long Run

Running long is what got me into running. I liked track and cross country for the team experience, but training for and racing 5ks never really excited me like a good trail run or ten-miler. Even at age 15, I knew there was something special about the feeling you get when you're hitting your runner's high at mile 10 and you don't ever want to stop. Unfortunately, I think almost everyone finds it tough to muster the motivation to run long without a training goal. Sure, I'll occasionally run ten or twelve miles for no particular reason, but I'll never step outside and think Let's shoot for eighteen, it's been a while. Ironman training has evoked all those feelings I first felt before my junior year of high school when I was training for my first half-marathon. There's the excitement, the nervous energy, and the little bit of dread before every really long run, and it's not often I am able to have that much emotion about a workout.

I woke up at 6:00am today. The past few weekends, I've been realizing that it really does get light out much later than in the summer. The absolute blackness outside did not make it any easier to crawl out from under my warm covers. A banana later, I was pounding the pavement, running aimless loops around campus in the dark. I was timing myself and also using my new best friend, the MapMyRun for iPhone app. I haven't planned my own route in weeks, and it's so refreshing to just get out there and explore, but still get to know your mileage at the end of the day. The first eight miles were sort of a blur as I plodded around half-asleep through the morning mist. The next six were the highlight. I got some odd looks as I picked up my pace in downtown with a huge grin on my face. I felt powerful, and the miles melted underneath me. I was in that place where magic happens. I had company for the next six, which always seems to make the time pass faster. Before I knew it, I was on my own again, finishing out my last two miles in a perfect drizzle. I guess it's a little odd that the feeling of glory at the end of a really long run is what I associate high school with, but I really did feel like I used to in high school, when every long run was a new personal best and an achievment to be proud of.

So by 10 am, as the rest of USC was rolling out of bed after a long Thursday night, I had clocked 22 miles. And I almost immediately realized it would be my last run of more than an hour before my big day. Who knows when the next time I'll run twenty two miles in training will be. I'd like to think I'll find myself on beautiful trails this summer and want to put in a twenty mile day, but realistically I probably won't run more than ten or so without a marathon to train for.

I am still having very mixed emotions after today's run. I have a 100 mile ride in store for me tomorrow, then it will officially be taper time. On one hand, taper is a chance to regain energy for the day I've been working towards for seven months, on the other hand, it's a bittersweet taste of what life will be like post-Ironman.

College requires balance. I like having fun and I'm grateful to be at a school and in a situation where there are more than enough social opportunities. This is definitely the time to take advantage of those opportunities, and after Ironman, I'm sure I will. I just hope that I never forget that there is an incredible sense of inner peace, pride, and genuine happiness that comes from a twenty two mile run.

Biggest Weekend Yet

The past few weeks have been crazy. Sometimes fun, often stressful, never dull. Working around exams and endless unforeseen and unwelcome responsibilities, I have tried to get in all my training. And here I am, six weeks away from the biggest race I have ever attempted.

Saturday was a long ride as usual. Got on the trainer at 5am and hopped off at 8am. It's amazing how you can get used to almost anything - even 3-hour stationary rides. It was so refreshing to hop off the trainer and hit the road with some teammates after for a nice, easy 50-miler. Downtown felt like an oven, but there was a nice breeze off the water, making for a very pleasant ride along the coast. I spun out another half an hour on the trainer before transitioning into my real triathlon: shower, eat, sleep (and study somewhere in there too maybe?).

No helmets on a trainer.

I've done hundred mile bike rides before. I know it can hurt and be boring, and be more of a test of how much you can stand to eat while pedaling. It was today I was nervous for this week. I had a 20-miler on the schedule, but the marathoners-in-training on the team were planning 22, so I decided to hop in on their run. We started in Santa Monica, ran up through Culver City, hopped on the bike path for a little more than 6 miles, made our way through Marina del Rey, then finished up through Venice Beach and Santa Monica Beach. Sometimes everything just comes together. You pack the right number of Gus, have all the best places planned to stop for water, ate just the right amount at just the right time beforehand. I'm proud of this run because nothing came together. I didn't bring any water or gu. I ate way too late and had to go to the bathroom the whole time. I only stopped for water once, and by then my face was caked with salt and my throat was dry. It was too hot. If there were ever a day when I would just completey fail, today was that day. But I didn't. I didn't even think about stopping, that just wasn't even an option. My first ten were slow, then a teammate and I broke away and the next six were a little faster, then I broke off and the last six were fast, right on that pace where I feel strong but controlled. By the time I was 16 or 18 miles in, I knew the pain wouldn't get too much worse, and admitting this made it a lot easier for me to suck it up and run. I could be hurting and run for another hour or be hurting and run for forty minutes. Seemed like an obvious choice.

When I finished, I started walking back down toward the beach to wait for my teammates to come around. I passed a Jack in the Box and decided to stop and get some water. It took me literally a solid minute to ask for a cup of water. After staring aimlessly into space while the guy at the cash register asked me what I wanted three times, I finally said, with conviction, "A cup. I want a cup." It was obvious that I had no money on me, so he just kind of looked at me for a few seconds then I finally realized I should specify. "Water." Cup in hand, I contentedly strolled down towards the beach, shuffling a little bit as my muscles tightened up. I came up to an obviously flustered woman walking 3 very large dogs. Normally, it wouldn't be hard for me to figure out that I should walk around her and forfeit my side of the sidewalk to her giant animals. But in my delerium, I stood there like a deer in the headlights and waited for the dogs to move. She kept yelling at them and tugging their leashes but they continued to jump all over each other. After enough commanding to walk, the one in front of me finally sat. For some reason I decided it was easier to step over the sitting dog than to just walk around. Even the hobos were looking at me weird. About half an hour and one mile later, I found one of my teammates coming up off the beach. I ran with him for his last mile then called it a day. A huge breakfast helped me out of my dehydration-and-electrolyte-deficiency induced dimensia and before I knew it I was forming coherent sentences and feeling ready for a nap.

So today I learned that I can run over 20 miles with no food and very little water but that if I plan to do basic tasks or talk to anyone after I probably shouldn't.

The First Bad Brick

In the past four months of Ironman training, I've had less-than spectacular bike rides, agonizing runs, and painfully boring swim sessions, but it seems like every time I go out for a bike-run workout, I hit my stride and just fly. Until today. Traffic in LA is infamously unpredictable, so it can be difficult to get in a really good ride going for time. I decided company would be the only way to get through this one, so I invited the team and led a group of about 10 out to the beach and to the north end of the Palos Verdes peninsula before turning around. At 7am on a Sunday morning, I can't really complain about the traffic I suppose. Compared to any other time of the week, it was a breeze riding out there today, but compared to quiet winding roads in New England, the stopping and going was tedious. Plus, the fog hadn't lifted yet by the time we got out to the beach, so we weren't even rewarded with the beautiful panoramas I have come to take for granted in California. Despite the disappointments of the ride, I was evenly matched for pace with another team member, so at lease I didn't pull the group alone.

Looking east at downtown from Figueroa Corridor.

But the trouble didn't really start until I got off my bike, at which point I realized in over three and a half hours of exercise, I had drank only half a water bottle and eaten 2 Gus. I had run for less than 10 minutes when I felt cramps in my legs and a slight dizziness in my head. I had company for the first 40 minutes, which kept me motivated to keep going, but my pace slowed to a crawl once I was left solo for the last 20. Those last twenty minutes felt longer and more painful than the entire previous four hours. Fortunately, I have had enough training experience to be able to pinpoint exactly why it didn't go well, and now I know what I need to correct next week. And I better correct it - next weekend holds a 100 mile ride on Saturday and a 16 mile run on Sunday.

I wouldn't say my brick today was all a loss; I did enjoy some of the ride. But I have noticed such a big difference in my attitude towards my training in the past three weeks. All the power I felt during the summer seems to have dissipated and I feel like I am waiting for the next 62 days to pass as quickly as possible (not that I'm counting...). I've found I dread running solely because of how much smog I'll breathe in and how many crude comments I'll get from the people in the community, which is so disheartening after my whole attitude toward the sport of triathlon changed this summer as I enjoyed mile after mile. I'm questioning why I signed up for this race, why I chose this city, why I always force myself to do things that are so extreme. When I think about the alternative - accepting mediocrity - I can answer the third question. When I walk around campus with a friend, I can answer the second. And when I look at my photos from the summer, from all the trips and rides and runs taken in the name of training, I know precisely the answer to the first. In over 2000 miles of riding, 350 miles of running, and 60 miles of swimming, I have experienced highs so euphoric I cannot stop smiling, and I have also been brought to tears to the point where I can hardly see the road in front of me. I found a reason to do what I do. And the reason has never been a finish line.