Javalena Approaches: Thursday Thirteen

Dear Diary,

13)  Why weight-watchers works for me:  Because, I am, essentially, one of Skinner's pigeons. I will do anything for more points.  That way  I can eat the crappy food I love.  A 10-mile trail run is 15 points?

Peck, peck, peck. 

Now give me my damned kettle-fried potato chips.

12) It is now less than 6 weeks from Javalena.  I'm completely freaking out about this because my feet hurt so much last weekend.  How am I going to cover 100K, much less 100 miles, if 50K makes me whine and cry?

 

11) Now, having said that:. This stuff.  Hills Brothers sugar-free double mocha.  I've only been able to find it at WalMart.  Lately, it's getting harder to find.  I mean, it's essentially cocoa with a kick, but it's one point per serving.  They are going to seriously piss me off if they discontinue my warm chocolate morning fuzziness. 

10) Gordy Ansleigh, who essentially invented ultra-running, was at the event this past weekend.  I got to meet him (translation: I yelled "Good job, Gordy!" and he acknowledged that he heard me.)
It should be noted that on his person there was no shirt, no compression leg sleeves, no fancy hat, no hydration pack, no injinjis.  Nope, just a pair of 70s running shorts, running shoes, and a single hand-held bottle.

When he ran by Baboo in the middle of the night, Baboo looked at me, and said, "he started 45 minutes late, he's 63, and he's kicking my ass." This is what a big deal this guy is in the ultra-running community; there are are T-shirts with his face on them, looking godlike. 

9)  Here's Baboo at RDL.  When you are not at the back of the pack, you get your picture taken, did you know that?  I'd heard  about it.   

8) Also, apparently, some people smile while they run.

I'm envious of people who are photographed looking happy when they run.  I love running, but I'm always photographed on the downstroke, with a look of abject suffering on my face.  You have to get me standing still to get a smile.

7) It occurred to me that crewing is an all-night road party, without the vodka and "e".  It's 24 hours of sleep deprivation, trying to overcome disorientation with caffeine, slamming Red Bulls, driving while tired, holding your friend's hair while they puke on a trail, crappy food from the convenience store at 2 am, it's all a blast from the past,  but at least in the end, instead of just a hangover, there's a finisher's medal.

6)  While I was pacing Brian, he burping from all the ginger-ale. Apparently, this bothered him quite a bit. He would prefer not to make uncivilized noises around me. 

Thus, I make this promise: to anyone pacing me, you will hear and see some very ugly shit.  I won't feel bad about it.   Just look away, and plug your ears.  

5) This happened at work recently:

• Me: Okay, let's see. Now are there any religious or cultural needs that we need to take into account with regard to your child's treatment?
• Dad: Huh?  [confused]
• Me: Do you have any religious needs that we need to know about, any traditions, special needs?
• Dad: Well...I'm Muslim. (smiles).
• Me: OK. (writing this down)
• Dad; No! No!  I was just kidding.  That was a joke!  I'm not a Muslim!  I'm just a regular American!
• Me:  'Regular'?
• Dad:  You know, the usual.
• Me:  Tell me what 'usual' means to you. 
• Dad: Christian.  You know.  Regular.
• Me: 'kay.  (writing this down)
• Dad; (shifts uncomfortably in his chair)
• Me: Anything else you'd like me to know about your son?
• Dad: Just that...you know, we're just a regular family.  Regular. 
• Me: 'Regular.'  Got it. 
• Dad: We're not Muslim. 
• Me:  Okay.
• Dad:  I just--I didn't want you to think we were.  Because. We're not. 
• Me:  Right-o.  (writing in my notes: Father reports "regular" with respect to spiritual beliefs)

4)  Last night, it was 89 degrees when it was time for me to run, and I refused.  I'm mean, c'mon.  We had a long, cold, dark winter, 5 minutes of spring, and then a long hot dry summer.  What the hell?  Can I at least get a decent fall?

3) I wanted to give a big how-dee-do to Drs Cynthia and David, who I met at Rio Del Lago.  She gut checked the hundred-miler DID YOU HEAR WHAT I READ?  SHE GUT CHECKED A HUNDRED-MILER.  I don't know how far she got into it BECAUSE SHE HASN'T POSTED AN ENTRY SINCE JUNE.  Anyway, as we say in New Mexico: Cajones.  She gots 'em.  

2) Baboo bought a movie, "100 miles to 40" about the Western States run. In the movie they talk about this woman who started her training at the Las Vegas marathon in 2007.  They showed the running Elvi taking off in 2007.  Guess who was framed in that shot?  Guess?  Go ahead, guess.  

THAT'S RIGHT.  I'M IN A RUNNING MOVIE.  

I'm walking, in a dress and a wig, but I'm in it.  

1) Here's a tip from your Aunt Misty: If you're standing around waiting for the race to start, and commenting on how beautiful the morning is right that moment, perfect for running, then you're overdressed, and your day is going to suck after the sun comes up.  

...

My weakest link.

I didn't run this weekend, even though I love it. Instead I rode my bike, which I hate, with Tiger Lily and Sweet Baboo 70 miles around the Albuquerque area--down Route 66 and back again, climbing over 3500 feet on the trip - slow, grinding climbs. I was happy to note that I didn't feel like I was going to pass out from lack of oxygen. The heartrate stayed low, most of the time. The legs held up.

But gosh, I hate the bike. So why was out there, instead of running? I was out there because it is my weakest link. The bike caused me, more than anything, to go over the usually allotted time of 17 hours at Ironman Louisville. I hate it. HATE. IT. Cycling causes me pain in several areas and makes me feel bad about myself. It makes me cry and rant like a lunatic to my friends and loved one. I have never cried or felt like throwing up while running. Only when cycling. Consistently.

And like a battered wife, I keep going back. I keep forgiving the bike, because maybe this time things will be different. (I can joke about that because I was a battered wife, once, and humor is how I dispell all the bad demons. That, and running)

On long rides, I watch enviously as Sweet Baboo cruises easily in front of me, waving his arms and drinking from his water bottle with no hands on the handlebars. For him, cycling is second nature. His bike is part of him. To me, a bike is a tumor. I feel awkward and 99% of the time, I'm tense and nervous.

And then there's the pain: after about 20 miles it starts with a sharp pain in my left wrist that I only have when I'm trying to do three things: 1) opening a jar, 2) pushups without barbells, and 3) riding a bike. The sharp pain eventually spreads to little lightening sensations in my fingers. The best way to make said sharp pain go away? Lean forward, into the aerobars, assuming the aero tuck, taking the pressure off my wrists.

Ah. The aero tuck. It sounds nice, doesn't it? Like a literary character: The Adventures of Aero Tuck and his little dog.

But 40 minutes of aero tuck later, I'm missing skin in the upper front part of my crotch. So then I sit up but lean into the drops, straightening my wrists - sparing my crotch and my wrists, but there's only so long you can do this. You can't hold one damned position for 80 miles.

The pain compounds everything else: my feeling of being trapped on the bike, the feeling that it's so much easier for everyone else so WHY DO I SUCK. SO. MUCH?? and the feeling that, any moment, the front tire will blow or I'll be forced off the road into the sand or hit a pothole and then WHAM! endover onto my back and shoulder, like I have before, landing in a bed of thorns with a sprained shoulder and knocking the wind out of me.

And, because it is painful, I don't train as I should, and because I don't train as I should, I am slow, and I stay slow, which makes the pain last longer.

When I run, I'm slow. There's no pain, so the slowness doesn't get to me. I can run off the path or just stand still, or sit down. I'm tied into my shoes, yes, but they aren't likely to suddenly suffer a mechanical failure and head off the road, taking me and my body with it. And there is the inexplicable feeling of goodness I have after a good run.

And swimming. I love swimming! Pirate might puzzle at this declaration because I'm hard to get to go to the pool, but when I'm swimming, I feel clean and strong. Bilateral breathing? No problem. True, I'm not terribly fast, but I have good form, I've been told several times.

By the time I've been on a bike for 60 or 70 miles I'm hurting so much I sound like a psychotic woman with tourette syndrome on crack. I'm swearing loudly, and ranting about how much I hate it. It is my weakest link. It is my white whale, my archilles, all those crappy analogies about those things that will, eventually, bring me down.

But here I am. Committed to an Ironman, and I always follow through with my commitments. I only today found out that places will let you try out saddles (DUH, why didn't I know this before?) so hope springs eternal. Maybe next time things will be different. Maybe.

Meanwhile, thanks for letting me rant and bitch and moan.

And, it occurs to me as I'm writing and thinking about this that maybe there are other people out there who hate one of the three events as much as I hate cycling.

Who are you? What do you hate?