Ride Along

I skate for fun.  The Hubster drives a modified Chevy Pickup through forests on really narrow bumpy roads as fast as he can for fun.  It's called Rally Racing, and I used to be his Co-Driver; the previous sentence should nicely explain the "used to be" part.

Actually, the following "in-car" video clip from my co-driver days will do a better job of explaining, and will be a nice segue into the real point of this post:
(Caution--the audio in this clip is definitely not G-rated...the Hubster gets a little profane when faced with impending death and/or disaster)

Yes, that's the in-car view of part of a race the Hubster and I did back in 2001...our second race, actually.  Yes, we rolled.  Yes, we landed back on the tires.  Yes, we kept going (and eventually finished the race).  Yes, I got back in the truck for more races after that, although I'm still not sure why.

And yes, that's me making the little whimpering sound you hear as the truck rolls over.

At any rate, the point of this video (other than the fact that it's pretty cool) is to lead in to what I was thinking about as I skated this morning:  what if I had a skating version of "in-car" video?  My fellow skater Andrew Love used to do this from time to time, with a hand-held camera I think, and others have probably used a helmet cam to show what it looks like from the skater's point of view.

But...what if, instead of just seeing the track from a skater's-eye view, we could actually do a Ride Along in the skater's brain?  What are they thinking during a workout like, say, the last 800 meters of my "3x200/200 rest, 400/400 rest, 600/600 rest, 800/8 minute rest" workout this morning?

Want to find out?  C'mon, climb on in between my ears...there's plenty of room!  (Oh...just step over that pile there; that's just my sense of humor.  I know; it looks a little warped...oh, sorry, you'll have to squeeze past this huge thing in the middle of my brain here...yeah, this is just my skating obsession...suck in a little and I think you can scootch past on the right...NO!  Don't step on that!  That's my coordination--I have little enough of that as it is!  Here, have a seat on my laziness...it's nice and comfy...there.  Ready?)

Note:  words in regular text are my thoughts; words in bold text are my thoughts yelling at my other thoughts; words in italics are what Coach TieGuy would undoubtedly be saying were he standing trackside with a walkie talkie.  Also, you'll just have to imagine the Darth Vader-like inhaling and exhaling that punctuate the thoughts...

So...we join the body already in progress, coasting out of the corner and preparing to launch into the final 800 meters of the interval workout.

"All right, time to go, just one more...Get it going!  Shoulders down!  C'mon, drive the knees..ooh, stopwatch!  Hope I pushed the button hard enough...drive the knees, drive the knees...set up the corner...and...in!   Tempo up!  Tempo up!  Tempo up!  More lean!  Tempo tempo arm to the hip short arm swing short arm swing lean lean lean  extra crossover...don't linger on that left foot...tempo up...tempo up, light and lively, ooh, that's right, shoulders right, damn, almost forgot and I'm almost to the corner, ooh, getting tired No you're not shut up shut up drive the knees!  Damn, too close to the blocks, tempo up, not tired not tired get it going lean Lose the chicken wing!  Oops, damn, there, wing in...drive the knees, drive the knees, STOPWATCH!  C'mon one more one more lap... Tempo up, drive the knees! Corner with the wind drive lean c'mon, tempo up!  Crossover, extra crossover, tired, tired, feels like a 43...Shut up no it's not, get going you need a 42!  Set up the corner!  Short arm swing!  Don't slow down don't slow down don't slow down I'm slowing down, 50 meters come on, come on...STOPWATCH!!  Don't puke breathe breathe don't puke done done done.  Damn, it was a 43.  Oh, well--DONE!

There...wasn't that exciting?  Aren't you glad you came along for the ride?

Fun, Fun, Fun

Today was fun.  I met up with my sister and a couple of her friends to skate the trails this morning.  I had planned to do only 3 laps of the (3.2 mile) trail, in deference to my upcoming Oval workouts this week. But after I had done 3 laps and everyone else had done 4, they were all heading out again (and even picked up another skater in the parking lot), and I couldn't resist.  I don't know when the last time I skated with 4 other people was--probably a couple of years ago.  We had a great pace line, the sun was shining, the trail was fantastic, I had a couple new songs on my iPod.  And, maybe best of all, I, at 47, was the youngest of the group--I love hanging out with other middle-aged obsessed athletes.

So it was a great day.  Nothing hurt, breakfast (McDonald's, but don't tell my dietitian) was happy to stay where it was, no strain, no pain, no oh-my-gosh-I-can't-keep-this-up.

And yet, as fun as today was, and as much as I was looking forward to it--I'm looking forward to tomorrow more.

A lot more.

So what am I doing tomorrow?  Getting up really early, eating a breakfast that is aimed at keeping my stomach rather than my tastebuds happy (unsweetened applesauce with protein powder, which actually looks like it already took a quick round trip to the stomach and back), driving 30 miles to the Oval, and then skating pretty much as hard as I can, off and on, for 90 minutes or so.   I'll collapse in relief on the Oval bleachers during the blessed 5-minute rest between each of the 6 German Endurance sets, and mentally steel myself to get up and do another set when the 5 minutes are up--just as I will, gratefully, stand up a bit and rest during the 2 minute "easy" part of each set, and then steel myself to get "down" and go hard again for the final 2 minutes.  During that time my legs will hurt, my lungs will burn, my stomach will (probably) churn.  In other words--just a standard day at the Oval.

And I can't wait.

So what is it with us "obsessed athletes?"  I read similar things from others' blogs--"I'm going to make myself hurt tomorrow, and I can't wait."  Are we masochists, or what?

Part of the enjoyment, of course, is trying to hit (or better) the goal times for the workout.  For those of us who are data-obsessed, there's always the fun of looking back at what we did before and looking forward to what we might do next time.  And for those of us who are approaching that dividing line between "getting faster" and just "getting older," there's a bit of urgency in the quest to better the times.

I think there's more to it than just bettering a time, though.  I know that the past three sluggish months, while I have missed being able to hit my target times in workouts (man, have I missed it!), I have missed just as much the feeling of pushing myself hard.  I remember this same frustration from the summer of 2005, when I was dealing with some heart rate issues and simply couldn't skate hard.  The thing I missed more than anything--more than nailing workouts, more than racing, more than winning races--was simply skating hard.  So hard that it hurts.

Weird, when you think about it.  What's to miss about pain?

The Hubster observed, when I was in the midst of thyroid-induced sluggishness last month, that "if you don't get fast again, now we'll really see what motivates you to do this.  Will you like skating as much if you can't go fast, if you don't improve?"

But I don't think that would be a fair test, because the thyroid issues not only prevented me from skating fast, they prevented me from skating hard.  And I'm not sure which I missed the most (I'm using the past tense here since I'm hoping that last week's--and today's--return to feeling good continues).

I guess I'll find out when I get old enough that--although I'm still giving it my all, making it hurt--my times are rising.  Then I'll be able to separate out the "getting faster" enjoyment from the "going as hard as I can" enjoyment.

And if I still enjoy skating just as much when I am no longer getting faster but am still working just as hard...well, then, I really have no rational explanation for that.

I just hope it's a long time before I can gather that particular data.

Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy

Well, today's "hellacious interval workout" was, indeed, hellacious--but in a awesomely, fantastically good way.  And, since this was my first "hellaciously good" workout since, um, last winter, I'm going to do something different.  Today's blog post will not feature the usual Carefully Crafted Prose (What?  You couldn't tell it was Carefully Crafted Prose?  Dang).  Instead, the rest of today's post will be me shamelessly wallowing in the glory of finally, at last, being able to skate until I almost puke. If you're not into athletes reveling in their latest workouts in agonizing second-by-second detail, you may want to hop on over to I Can Has Cheezeburger and check out some LOLCats or something...I won't be offended (heck, I plan to go there myself after I finish typing).  If, however, you'd like to celebrate with me my Return to Skating Like I'm Supposed to, then come along for the ride!

This morning's intervals, courtesy of Coach TieGuy's somewhat sadistic but extremely clever workout planning, were to go like this: 4x400/200-600/400-800/400-1k/8' @70%.  What does all that mean?  Four sets of 400 meters hard/200 meters rest, 600 hard/400 rest, 800 hard/400 rest, 1000 hard, 8 minutes rest.  70% would be based on perceived exertion and previous lap times.  Last year, 70% was about 43-44 second laps.  This year, 70% looks more like "start with a couple 44's and, by the end, try not to hit 50's."  (Used to be, when I recorded my workouts, I only had to type the "ones" digit--the "tens" was always a 4, unless it was, on a few glorious occasions, a 3.  Now I have to specify whether that "3.2" is a "43.2" or a "53.2.")  But today, based on yesterday's Pretty Decent But Not Quite All The Way Better workout, I was going to go for it. To heck with 70%--I wanted to see if I could hold the 43-44 second laps even if it took 100%. (Not that my sluggish laps this season were only 70%; although slow, they really were all that I was capable of at that point).

Melissa and I planned our strategy carefully--be skating by 7:30 so we could complete the workout before 9, when the first Skateboard Camp kids would begin scampering across the track (tomorrow is, thankfully, the last day of Skateboard Camp). For me, this meant setting my alarm for 6 am (on a non-working day!).  It also meant that I'd need to take my faster-acting thyroid med at 4:30 in the morning.  Unfortunately, when I spontaneously awoke at 3:40 I decided, in a sleep-induced dyslexia moment, that this was the correct time and so I got up and took my meds.  Usually 3 hours prior to a workout seems to be the optimal timing, but today I was a little off.

After getting up at 6 and walking the (still tired from the dog park) dog, I set off for the Oval, eating my Cookies and Cream PowerBar as I drove, and listening to my usual pre-skating iPod playlist (which, of course, includes "Digging Deep.")  Turns out I should have eaten first and then walked the dog, but who knew?  I haven't been able to skate hard enough lately to risk seeing breakfast again (or, since I've never actually puked from skating, to risk having to slow down to keep breakfast where it was supposed to be), so I've gotten a bit complacent about what I eat before a workout, and when.  That will have to change, I can see.

So I finished my PowerBar and ate a 100mg caffeine Clif Shot as I pulled into the Oval parking lot.  (Side note: I've noticed, in the triathlete blogs that I've been reading lately, that triathletes and other endurance athletes do not "eat" or "drink" during workouts or races; they "take in." As in "I took in a strawberry banana Power Gel at mile 84."  I think, given the amount of time some of them spend in detailing their various eliminatory bodily functions--both "pre" and "during" exertion--that they should come up with similar terminology for how they get rid of what they "took in."  Like, "at mile 65 I launched back the Power Gel, and then I dribbled out the GatorAde at mile 73." Seriously, though, I'm in awe of the amount of working out these folks are capable of; I can't imagine having that much mental toughness.  They'll bike or run for hours, while I need to mentally prep myself for a 2x10k or 5x6k workout.)  Anyway, there I was at the Oval, ready to go--the heat wave had broken, the Skateboard Camp wouldn't start for almost 2 hours, things were looking perfect.

Until the kid on the skateboard showed up and started riding his board the wrong way around the track.

Mel and I quickly assessed him as a relative newbie who would likely respond without fuss to our yells of "skateboards need to be in the park" as we cruised by, and so it turned out.  Back to perfection.

I told Mel my plan to go as hard as I could in the first set, just to see what I had.  To this end, I planned not to look at my stopwatch during the rest laps; I didn't want a slower-than-I-expected time to mess with my head and cause the rest of the laps to be even slower (yes, I'm capable of messing myself up with headgames like that).  So off we went.

The 400 is, of course, the easiest lap in some ways--it's the first one, and the shortest one.  But even though I know the 400 would be faster if I started "winding it up" 100 meters early, I always tend to wait until the last second and so I have to use more energy starting quickly.  The 600 is hard because of the short rest; 200 meters goes by awfully fast!  The 800 is a bit better, because the rest is longer, but it tends to require a quicker build-up of speed, which is hard on a body.  The 1000 really isn't that bad because, since I don't time the half lap, only the two full laps, I can use the first half-lap to get up to speed (I do this on the 600 too.  I know, cheater. Don't tell TieGuy.)

And that's the way the first set went--but it felt good.  I was skating hard, and I guessed the laps would be 43's or 44's.  So I was pleasantly surprised when I saw the laps...half were 42's, and the rest 43's and a 44.  

Despite the fact that the Cookies and Cream PowerBar was getting restless, I was happy.  Last time I did this workout, in late June, the lap times had been 45's and 46's in the first set, with one lonely 44.  Things were looking up!

I told Mel I wanted to go hard the next set, and then probably drop to 70% effort (trying to stay at 44's or less) for the last 2 sets; I didn't think I could keep up the 42's.  And the second set went well; again, half 42's, but this time with two 44's--and a 41!  I haven''t seen a 41 in an interval workout since last summer!  The PowerBar was now partying with the Clif Shot and the two were debating whether to make a break for it, but   even that couldn't put a damper on the day.  A 41!

In deference to the PowerBar/Clif Shot threatened "uprising," I decided to take a longer rest break this time, and reiterated to Mel my plan to throttle it back a bit in these last two sets.  In truth, I hadn't been able to skate with intensity in so long that I was a little afraid of trying to keep pushing for two more sets.  I can see that I need to get my mental game back in shape, as well.

So we went out for the last two sets.  Surprisingly, although I did get tired (and didn't see another 41), the last 2 sets went well...mostly 43's and 44's, a couple 42's, and the PowerBar and Clif Shot finally decided to give up and stay put.  And, for probably the first time this season, I could focus on some technical aspects of skating, rather than putting all my energy into putting one foot in front of the other.  Mel reminded me of my need to think about my transition from crossover strokes to straightaway strokes; TieGuy had focused on that quite a bit last winter, but I had totally forgotten about it.  And twice per lap I was reminded of another technical aspect; Mel was skating outside of me again, which meant I would usually get ahead of her on the corners and then she'd come flying (effortlessly) by on the straightaways. And every time she'd cruise past I would notice that, although she's several inches taller than I am, she is several inches lower when she skates.  TieGuy has spent just as much time yelling "shoulders down" as he has "lose the chicken wing," but with less effect.  I need to start working on that again.

So...a good morning on the track.  Followed by a good afternoon at a friend's pool, hanging with friends from work.  And a good evening looking at skate data, looking at upcoming workouts, and thinking about how fast I'll skate them...

Life is good.

Some Like It Hot

As anyone who has internet or TV knows, it's hot in Minnesota right now.  Really hot.  Really, really hot.

I do not like hot weather.  My sister does...here she is on our recovery skate on Sunday, literally dancing at the end of a lap of our favorite trail, glorying in the 98 degree heat and 300 per cent humidity.

I wasn't quite as excited.  When I stepped out of my car at the trailhead, my glasses immediately did this:

And the heat continued into the week.  By Monday, this is what my car said when I got in after my German Endurance workout (which I only survived by ducking into the hockey arena to cool off between sets):

No, I am not a fan of heat.  Neither is the Hubster.  And neither is Keira.  Despite the fact that she's young, trim, and reasonably fit, she is the laziest dog on the planet, and she has zero heat tolerance.  Any temperature over about 75 usually has her finishing her daily one-and-a-half-mile walk in what we refer to as "Trudging Dog" mode.

The last couple of days, though, the heat-induced lack of activity has driven even Keira a bit stir-crazy.  And I was right there with her tonight.  The good workout yesterday had me toying with the idea of actually trying a race tonight (the Oval has a summer inline race series called, strangely enough, "Summer Inline Series"). I have raced the SIS for years, but hadn't this year because I just couldn't face sucking as badly at it as I knew I was bound to.  Now, though, with my lap times improving a bit, I was willing to give it a try.  I checked the website continually as the heat climbed throughout the day--nope, all was well, races not cancelled.  So this evening I packed up everything I'd need and began getting my brain into "race" mindset again.  Then I checked in on the website one more time before I left--damn! Races cancelled!  

At that point, I shared Keira's obvious "get me out of this house now" sentiment, so I decided that, heat or no heat, we were going to the dog park (Hubster was off working with his business partner, so he was spared the necessity of coming up with a reason not to venture out into the heat with us).  

And it wasn't too bad.  Keira was so sick of being stuck in the house that she actually ran more than she usually does even on cooler days, thundering past me on the dog park trail like a small horse.  And she loved the pond, of course--she likes to lie in it like a small, bearded sea monster.

This is from a previous dog park adventure.  To pretend it's today, imagine her panting histrionically and surrounded by duckweed.

So now, post-dog park, I'm sitting in my (thanks to off-peak electricity) not-quite-cool-enough living room, smelling essence of dog park pond (it's one part stagnant water, two parts wet dog, and just a hint of stale dog urine to round out the bouquet) wafting over from Keira, who is, finally, happily passed out on one of her dog beds.  The heat wave is finally supposed to break tomorrow, just in time for a hellaciously long interval workout--and I can't wait.

Desecration, Revelation, Medication Kicking In

For almost three months, I've been waiting for the day I could write this post.  I had a lot of potential titles...

I thought about "I'm Baaaaack..."  Short, to the point, hopefully conveying all the relevant information in one pithy statement.

Or maybe "Wholly Thyroid, Batman;" this would be assuming, of course, that my "sluggish skating" issues did, indeed, turn out to be "wholly thyroid." I like a good pun (or even a bad one).

But now that the day is--I think, I hope--here, I'm going to go with "Desecration, Revelation, Medication Kicking In."  It's a line from a song called "Digging Deep," by the Melismatics.  I was introduced to the song this spring, via this YouTube video of the race action at our local velodrome (no, I'm not crazy enough to race there, but some of my friends are).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=44lTJ2c-Ql0
(I wanted to post the actual video but couldn't get it to work--so went with the link)

Since I was, at the time I first heard this song, both trying to finish out the school year and struggling mightily with my skating times, the song spoke to me.  I especially liked the line that became my post title, because I was hoping that MY "medication" would begin "kicking in" soon, and I'd be back to skating the way I should be.  Every day, just before I'd pull into the school parking lot in the morning or the Oval parking lot in the evening, I'd find that song on my iPod and play it loud.  Time to dig deep and plow through the end-of-the-school-year paperwork; the crazy schedule changes; the kids who are more than ready to leave the steamy classroom for some summer fun.  Time to dig deep and soldier through another slow, sluggish, torturous workout; to stay mentally positive as the lap times steadily rise; to convince myself that sooner or later it just has to get better...

Sadly, while the school year finished in very satisfactory fashion, the skating just would not come around.  Not after, when lab tests confirmed that my thyroid was low again, I got a med increase.  Nope, no change, even though labs were now roughly in range.  Then another doctor, and another med increase.  And I waited.

Generally, when you change thyroid med doses you wait a month or six weeks before re-doing the labs, because it takes a while for the  thyroid hormone that you are taking to start working in the body.  When I was first diagnosed last year, though, it was in April and I wasn't skating on the Oval yet.  And then, pretty quickly after I started skating, my doctor added a second, faster-acting thyroid hormone that took pretty dramatic effect, pretty quickly.  So there was no waiting through bad workout after bad workout, analyzing every lap time in hopes of seeing some tiny, positive change that might be the start of something big.  This time, though, waiting for a positive change was becoming excruciating.  Because if it doesn't change then it's not thyroid...and if it's not thyroid then I don't know what the problem is and whether it can be fixed...

Sunday, I thought I saw that change.  It was just a relaxed "recovery skate" with my sister and a friend, but it was the fastest I'd skated that particular trail this season...and it felt good.  So Monday I was very excited to go to the Oval and do my endurance workout...maybe, just maybe...

And yesterday the workout felt good; really good.  But she who lives by data dies by data, and when I got home I compared my lap times to previous years' similar workouts and discovered that Monday's times weren't as good as they had felt.  But there was water on the track and in one corner I had to skate in the outer lane to avoid puddles, but in the other corner I had to modify (as in "screw up") my corner entry to avoid a puddle but then had to skate a small part of the corner inside the inner lane.  So did all that mean that the laps were longer or shorter than they should have been?  Clearly, I needed more data before I would know whether I was skating well.

So today, I decided to do a couple of tempo ("as fast as you can") sets.  A 1000 meter and a 7-lapper (almost 3000 meters) because I had a fair amount of data on these, from previous years as well as from this year's slug-fest.  The track was dry, there were no "Skate Park Patrons" to dodge--I should be able to get clear, concrete data.

First tempo, the 1k.  I did a rolling start and used the first 200 meters to get up to speed, then just hammered as hard as I could for two laps.  My friend Melissa skated with me, but in the outer lane so as not to mess up my data.  I felt pretty good--no "die" at 300 meters like I've been feeling all spring and summer, no dead legs...and what's this?  Something new!  I'm skating so hard I'm actually out of breath!  That really hasn't happened yet this season.  And when I got done I had to coast with my hands on my knees for a bit, catching my breath...standard for past years, but again, a "Spring/Summer of '11" first.  And then I looked at my stopwatch--and yelped with delight, alarming Melissa who was coasting past dealing with her own oxygen debt.

39.7 and 41.4 seconds.

I have done 37's and 38's in 1k tempos in years past, but this was the first sub-40 of the season.  My last 1k tempo, just a week ago, featured a snail-like 42.4 and 43.8 second lap.

So far, so good--on to the 7 lapper.

The last time I did a 7 lap tempo this year, I started with a 43 second lap and finished with a 50.  50--what the heck?  I warm up with faster laps than that!  My past years' 7 lap tempos have averaged 42-second laps, and my laps are usually pretty consistent from the first to the last.  In fact, the "slow down one or more seconds per lap" is, I think, a hallmark of my "hypo skating." I really, really wanted to skate a good pace today, but I was also a bit scared.  I haven't been able to skate with any intensity for 3 months; I had used a lot of mental toughness on just putting one foot in front of the other to get to the end of the workout, but had used almost none to push hard--because there was simply nothing there to push.

So I took off on the 7 laps, wondering if mentally I could push myself enough to see what might, finally, be there physically.  I focused on the 3k race strategy Coach TieGuy taught me: relax the first three laps; work the corner exits on the next two; work the whole corner on the final two.

Mel again skated outside of me, which meant that I'd pull away from her on the corners and she'd pass me on the straights.  I concentrated on what I was doing each moment, trying to avoid falling into my usual trap of "how many laps do I have left?"  Stay down.  Hit the corner entry.  Drift wide on the exit, don't forget the extra crossover.  Go, go, go.

With 2 laps left I was really tiring and was, as in the 1k, very out of breath--like my breathing rather than my legs was the limiting factor. Knowing I only had 2 to go, though, I was mentally able to say strong and finish hard.  On the second to the last corner Mel was ahead of me and I worked as hard as I could to not let her get away from me...around the final corner...both arms down for the last 50 meters to the finish...

I looked at my watch.

44.5 for the last lap.

Much better than last month's 50!  As it turned out, all my laps were between 43.1 and 44.8 seconds--nice and consistent, and my last two laps were faster than the middle two!  Not my best 7 lapper by any means, but WAY better than any yet this year.

So I think...I hope...just maybe...I'm getting back to normal.  I've been meaning to call TieGuy for the past several day; I need to give him the weekly update and ask a few questions about upcoming workouts.  But I've been putting it off, not wanting to bore him with yet another "I'm slow and I can't do anything about it and it sucks" whinefest.  I kept thinking...just one more workout, maybe it will get better next workout and I'll have something positive to report.  And now...well, now I do!

It may be that the past couple of days have been a fluke.  Maybe I'll plummet back into the depths of suckdom on my next workout.  But right now...

...I'm really happy.  Really, really happy.  (and very sweaty)

Of Mice and, well, Pre-Adolescent Girls

OK, this one's by special request, and has nothing to do with skating (except that my skating friends requested it)...

I am not now, nor have I ever been, a "girly" girl.  (This should be abundantly clear to those who read my previous post).  Fashion doesn't intrigue me, jewels don't entrance me--and vermin don't panic me.  Bugs, mice, snakes, spiders--bring 'em on.  I had pets ranging from rats to skunks to goats as a kid (heh, heh), and grew up spending a lot of time at our cabin, a place which played informal host to a number of other small crawly critters.  I fed chipmunks by hand off the back cabin deck; tried to "tame" the eel pout (we called them "lawyers") that my dad caught while he was netting edible fish and then tried to throw to the gulls (my sister and cousins and I would rescue them from the beach, put them in pools on the rocks, and pet them--before surreptitiously tossing them back into the lake to freedom when no adults were looking); and I once had a wild mouse that I was trying to feed crawl halfway up my leg before his nerve broke and he scampered away.  And, I'm afraid I inadvertently horrified some (female) college friends on their first trip to our cabin by casually brushing mouse poop off of a bed as I showed my friends their room and invited them to plop their sleeping bags down onto the (now poop-free) mattress.

That's me in the middle, age 11, with my pet skunk.  Did I mention that I wasn't a girly girl?

Being a fairly durable child had its advantages in our family.  My parents are both very down-to-earth and rugged people, as well as being extremely tolerant (they let me get a skunk, didn't they?).  They also have rather unique senses of humor...once, when I was in high school, my parents and sister and I spent the (TV-less) evening at our cabin watching our cat pursue and fail to capture 3 different mice.  Or maybe the same mouse 3 times.  Either way, throughout the course of the pursuit we named the mice Ralph, Frank, and George.  My sister and I awoke the next morning to find that the cat had been busy later on that night, and so had our dad.  On the breakfast table, just in front of the cornflakes and slightly to the right of the orange juice, he had placed a piece of paper.  On the left side of the paper was a small bit of mouse--a liver, perhaps--with the name "Frank" neatly lettered below.  In the center was another mangled mouse-bit--perhaps a heart?--with the label "George."  The right side of the paper was empty, and contained the notation "Ralph got away."  My sister and I thought it was hysterically funny, if a little gross.  

So you can see how I ended up the way I am.

In addition to having an interesting sense of humor, my dad is the consummate self-made man.  He started his own woodworking business when I was 7, and did all steps of the process himself, including going out into the woods with his chainsaw to get the logs.  This, coupled with his time spent hunting and fishing in the north woods, meant he was also the consummate outdoorsman.  Whether he was leading us on a hike through the woods to look for trees for his business or captaining a camping trip in the Boundary Waters, he always knew exactly where he was in the wilderness.

Unfortunately, that's all he'd tell us when we plaintively queried our whereabouts or the distance to the truck, the portage, or the next meal--"I know exactly where I am."  And he always did...we'd emerge from the woods right at our truck, or our canoes would run aground right at the 10-foot wide portage landing in the middle of an otherwise unbroken stretch of trees.  However, despite evidence that my dad did, indeed, always know exactly where he was, his reluctance to let us in on the details always alarmed us a bit--and never more so than on a particular cross-country skiing trip.

My sister and I liked cross-country skiing, as did our parents, but to me and my sister "cross-country skiing" implied "on a groomed trail, where you know where the end is and how far you'll be going, and where a certain amount of speed and gliding is to be expected."  To my dad, of course, "cross-country skiing" was synonymous with "breaking trail through the wilderness on what are essentially really skinny snowshoes, looking for trees/hunting spots/other cool stuff,--and what is this "glide" thing you speak of?"  My dad called it "bushwhacking."  My sister and I had other names for it.

Still, there we were on a beautiful January day, skiing with our parents in the middle of the Northeastern Minnesota woods with no idea where we had come from, how far we were going, or how to get back to where we started.  Sure, I appreciated the beauty of the snow-covered spruce trees against the sparkling blue sky, but the repeated "I know exactly where I am," coupled with the standard refusal to tell us just where exactly that might be, was beginning to make the whole affair seem a bit Jack Londonish to my 13-year-old brain.  I glanced nervously at the surrounding woods ...what if my dad really didn't know where we were...what if we had to spend the night there...did I just hear something moving behind that tree...

And then I felt it.

Something was crawling--no, scampering--across my stomach.

Several thoughts sped through my mind in rapid succession: "Oh my god, there's a bug in my shirt!  A really big bug!  Wait! It's January!  There are no bugs in January!"

And then, right there in the middle of the pristine wilderness, I dove headfirst into "girly girl."

I screamed, probably the first--and thus far only--actual "scream" of my life.  I'm guessing I was still screaming as I wrenched my hands from my pole straps, flung the bamboo poles into the snow, and began frantically stripping.

Off with the down vest.  Off with the pull-over hooded sweatshirt (this was the 70's--we called them "hooded sweatshirts" back then).  As I was clawing at the straps of my corduroy overalls (don't ask--as I said, it was the 70's; it seemed like a good idea at the time) my sister paused in her chant of "It's trail fever--she's gone mad!" long enough to scream "Oh my god, a mouse!" I looked at the pile of clothing I had flung off, just in time to see the tail and hindquarters of a mouse dive from my vest and into the snow.

Maybe the mouse crawled into one of my pockets while my vest and sweatshirt were hanging in the cabin closet, then didn't see a chance to make a break for it until we were out in the middle of nowhere.  Maybe he jumped onto me during the ski and climbed up my corduroy until he got to my stomach.  Maybe...well, I really can't think of any other possibilities.  All I know is that, 34 years later, I can still vividly remember the sensation of the mouse trundling across my equator.

So, Melissa and Andrew...now do you see why I didn't want to condense this story into a Facebook post?

Hot

I am hot.

I do not mean because of the weather, although that's only to be expected when the high today is predicted to be close to 100.

I do not mean in the twenty-first century slang sense (would that be "hawt?").  No, I have no illusions about my "hotness" in that realm--although the Hubster seems to think I'm "all that," which is all that matters.  Besides, if I had illusions about "hawtness," I'd probably feel compelled to do something like wearing makeup.  Or getting my nails done.  Or doing...something...with my hair (OK, I had a perm once, but it was the '80's, after all).  And if I had illusions of "hawtness" I certainly would do something about the way I dress.

Usually, my attire looks like I found it at the intersection of "whatever is clean and fits" and "I forgot to match up my Garanimals tags this morning."  But I think I outdid myself on my "recovery" bike ride today.

Yes, that's an orange shirt, pink socks, and red shoes.

That was probably bad enough, but then it got worse.  I had changed my shorts to do some yoga, when the dog decided she needed to go out.  Since we got about 3 inches of rain last night and the back half of our 10 acres is somewhat low-lying, I decided I needed Serious Boots.

So I ended up with this:

Trust me, it looked even more impressive when filled out with chunky Minnesota-pale parts...

I'm assuming that my attire had nothing to do with the fact that the dog spent her whole time outside eating grass to try to make herself throw up.  Dogs are color-blind, right?

In my defense, I think I got my fashion sense from my parents.  Both somewhat iconoclastic free spirits, they wear what they damn well feel like.  My dad has 2 criteria for pants: They must fit.  They must cost less than $5.  When my sister and I were in high school my dad had a great pair of pants that met these criteria--corduroy pants made of big, bright, blue and green squares.  Those pants became the unofficial mascot of our high school girls'cross-country team (at meets, all the girls would anxiously scan the horizon for "Mr. Anderson's Pants," and would breathe a sigh of relief when my dad strode into view).  I'm pleased to report that, even at 16 and 18, my sister and I were mature enough (or geeky enough) to not be embarrassed by this, but rather to be pleased that our parents attended all of our sporting events, and that my dad had cool pants.

And my mom? Well, here's a picture of my parents arriving at our cabin for the 50th anniversary dinner my sister and I and our husbands made for them last summer:

Yes, she is wearing leopard-print leggings, and her shirt does, indeed, say "Nobody Listens to Me Until I Fart"

And here she is two months later, at her 70th birthday party, showing off her "Pain in the Rear" shorts

I want to be like my parents when I grow up.

So anyway, where was I?  (This, by the way, is why I like blogging so much...I can babble on, roaming from tangent to tangent, and I don't have to put up with any rolled eyes or exasperated sighs.  And best of all, when I completely forget my original point, I can scroll back up through the post and find it! )

Ah, yes....hot.  I simply meant that, the past two days, I have felt hot.  Not hot because it's hot out, just...hot. My skin feels hot from the inside, like it's slightly sunburned (but it's not).  I remember feeling this when I first got on thyroid meds last spring--and shortly thereafter, the meds started to take effect and my skating switched from "sucking" back to "fast."

I'm hoping the hotness is a prelude to something good.

One of Those Days

It's already "one of those days," and it's only 9 am.

We've had a lot of rain here lately, and that makes it hard to skate. Much as I'd like to be a badass and simply skate in the rain, it's just not possible--especially on the Oval. The Oval is apparently made of a substance that, while reasonably grippy when dry, turns into something resembling a Slip-n-Slide when wet. (The only surface I've ever skated on that's slicker than the Oval when wet is the Metrodome--you know, where the Vikings play and the Twins used to. The Dome has an indoor marathon every year--70 laps of fun around the upper concourse. The first year my sister and I skated it, we came out of one of the corners to see no less than 10 skaters sprawled on the floor in various stages of "crash," and we heard urgent yells of "water, water, look out." So I looked, and just had time to register--as my skate hit a slippery wet patch and almost went out from under me--the following facts: this is why skaters are not allowed to have water on the course; there is a wet, chunky patch on the floor; water does not have chunks; all of the downed skaters have crashed from, and then slid through, someone's exertion-induced puke; I did not want to slide through someone's puke; thankfully, I was not going to, although I did, undoubtedly, have some on my left skate. But, as usual, I digress...)

Anyway, the current soggy atmospheric conditions have made it difficult to get my workouts in lately. Ironically, one of the reasons I took up long track skating to begin with was that I was tired of having my sport (cross-country skiing at the time) be so weather-dependent. True, the Oval is outdoors, and some of the winter weather can be a bit interesting, but the Oval rarely actually closes in the winter. And Coach TieGuy is remarkably callous about bad-weather workouts. Many is the time that we'd step out the door of the warming house for a workout, into snow/rain/gale-force winds/sub-zero temps and, when I'd hesitate, TieGuy would say cheerfully "oh, it won't be so bad...I can still use the walkie talkie from inside the building and watch you through the windows." Nice. (He never actually did coach from inside, although he did hang out under the overhang on a few epically rainy--yes, rain in a Minnesota winter--nights.)

So anyway, I have one workout left to do this week so I decided to try the Oval this morning even though it rained yesterday and was supposed to rain again this morning. Now, going to the Oval for a morning workout is a complicated matter. It involves waking up around 5 to take my thyroid meds, going back to bed until 7, getting up and checking the weather stats online to be sure it hasn't rained/isn't raining at the Oval (which is 30 miles from home), packing my food/beverages/clothes/breakfast, and driving to the Oval while eating. Not a process to be undertaken lightly.

Today, all went well until I opened the garage door...at which point it started to rain. Oh, well, I thought, I've come this far in the process--I might as well go anyway. The Oval is east of me, I drive faster than the storm is moving; maybe I'll get half of the workout in, anyways...

So I drove to the Oval, and was greeted with this sight:

Notice the sprinklers in the background; I really don't think those were necessary, do you?

So clearly an interval workout was not going to happen, but there was enough room to dodge the puddles and I could make it all the way around the track without skating through any water. So that's what I did--dodging puddles on the backstretch, doing drills on the front straightaway.

After about 10 minutes of this, a new complication arose. Last week when I skated, I ended up in a figure skating camp. As I had sat on the concrete bleachers between sets, I was suddenly surrounded by coaches, pre-adolescent girls, and yoga mats. Yes, literally surrounded--one coach sat down on my left, one on my right, and the girls formed a semicircle around us...this despite the fact that I was only occupying one-twentieth of the available bleacher space and had the group moved 10 feet to my right, I would not have become an honorary figure skater.

Really, people, show some courtesy.

(In retrospect, it was kind of amusing. It was apparently the first day of camp and, due to my front-row seat, I got to observe the intricacies of dealing with little-girl figure skaters. The coaches were explaining to the kids that they would be divided into groups for the camp. The youngest group was to be the "Fantasy Princesses." Just as I began to internally snort with disgust, the two 7-year-olds in front of me looked at each other in amazed delight.

"Oh," gasped one, "we get to be the Fantasy Princesses!"

Clearly, their day had been made.

I however, had to resist the urge to ask if the oldest skater (me) could be the SCOWL (see this post) group, and since the princesses got crown-shaped Silly Bandz, could they perhaps look for a frowny-face one for me...)

So anyway, back to today...as I completed a lap, I looked up to see the Fantasy Princesses et. al. descending upon the bleachers again...and surrounding my gear again. By the time I got back to my stuff, I had to move two yoga mats just to get to get close enough to grab my water bottle. I wanted to take a picture of the carnage, but figured that would raise some awkward questions...

"Why are you taking a picture of us?"

"Because I want an illustration of how rude you are for my next blog post."

I decided to avoid the Minnesota Passive Aggressive routine, though. But just so you can picture it, here's a shot of my gear after the girls left. You can see it, right? The black bag and stuff? And you can see the empty bleachers to the left, right? Just checking.

Well, the reason I was able to get this shot of the empty bleachers is that, about five minutes after the girls and their coaches surrounded my gear, there was a flash of lightning and crack of thunder. The girls dove indoors, I got the picture, and then I reluctantly decided that I better leave the track as well. I really wanted to get a picture of the Oval completely covered in water, but the rain--despite the lightning and almost continual thunder--refused to appear. By this time I was cranky and hungry, and had decided to remedy both of these issues with an Egg McMuffin on the way home. (Yes, I know. Egg McMuffins are not exactly on my diet plan. Yes, I know. It's best not to "medicate" one's emotions with food. I'm a Board Certified Behavior Analyst; I know how reinforcers work. But dammit, an Egg McMuffin will make me happy. I'm getting an Egg McMuffin.) I finally decided that I couldn't wait anymore for a rain picture, and I headed for the McDonald's.

As I crested the exit ramp and looked ahead for the Golden Arches I saw...nothing. Or, more accurately, I saw a pile of dirt and a construction trailer. And a lonely red-and-yellow McDonald's "enter" sign where the driveway to Heaven used to start. (I would have gotten a picture of that forlorn little sign, but the traffic light into the McDonald's wasn't triggering for the direction I needed to go and I didn't want to have to come back through the malfunctioning light after taking the picture. So you'll have to imagine it. It was really sad.)

Now, rather than taking this as a sign that perhaps I'm not supposed to have McDonald's today--I am, after all, planning on pizza for lunch with a friend later today--I simply became hungrier, crankier, and more determined to get my McMuffin.

And I finally did, 5 miles from home.

And it was good.

When I got home, Keira greeted me effusively at the door. Usually, her greeting goes something like this:

Me: walks into house after hours away

Keira: opens one eye without lifting head from doggy bed. Yawns in my general direction.

Me: "no, no, don't get up; I insist."

Keira: goes back to sleep

But today when I stepped in the door, it was all waggy-waggy snorty-snorty bouncy-bouncy (the dog, not me). Then I realized--she's freaked out by the thunder. Which, of course, means that she won't go potty if I take her out now, even though she hasn't gone since 6 o'clock last night and it's now 10 am. And I'm leaving soon for lunch, and Hubster will be heading out soon, too...and now I really have to get going, and I'm not done typing...

OK, I'm back...didn't manage to finish the post before lunch, which was actually good because I'm not done whining. To make a long story short (which I rarely do): It rained. I forgot where the pizza place was and went to the wrong part of town. It still rained. Called my friend for directions. Drove back to correct place. It rained some more. Ate pizza. Started to drive home (in the rain). Encountered huge traffic jam; I assumed due to another malfunctioning light. Sat (briefly) in traffic jam--in the rain. Took another route home. It rained. Arrived home to find the power out. Took the dog out...in the rain. She finally "went." In the rain.

Now, all is quiet. The power is back on, the thunder has stopped, the dog is asleep.

And it's still raining.

But I still have an interval workout to do before the end of the weekend--a weekend in which both days are expected to have a heat index of 110 degrees.

I feel the need for another McMuffin coming on.

Everybody Needs a Nap (or at least, I do)

I had a nice post all prepared yesterday, some profound musings about the mental aspects of athletics. Unfortunately it was only prepared in my head as I was driving, and I fear that the post leaked out my ears at some point and is now languishing in a ditch somewhere north of Blaine and south of Isanti. Which really tells you all you need to know about the current mental aspect of my athletics.

Sadly, the physical aspect of my skating is matching the mental at this point--kind of scattered, not too reliable, not a lot of "snap." Yesterday there was a glimmer of progress; my 4x6k workout (60 laps, for those of you who don't hang out at 400 meter ovals) did segue into a 2x6k, 2x4k workout (a decrease, I must add, that was approved ahead of time via phone by coach TieGuy--I prefer to have permission before I wuss out), but it went fairly well. I was actually thinking, after the workout yesterday, that I might do part of today's "tempos" (race-pace laps) in my morning workout and part at the evening inline races tonight--races which I used to compete in regularly but which this year, because of extensive suckage, I have thus far only spectated and volunteered at.

Then I got on the oval this morning.

Granted, I only had 4 hours of sleep last night (in retrospect, the night before I had to get up at 5am to go to an ice arena to try out my new long track boots and then go right to the oval to skate probably wasn't the best night to go watch Hubster's weekly broomball game and then hang out in the parking lot afterwards until 12:30). Granted, I skated 50 laps hard yesterday. And granted, I'm old and somewhat chunky. Still, this morning's tempos (1000 and 1500 meters) were truly, horrifyingly slow. So slow--and yet, paradoxically, so painful; something that slow shouldn't hurt that much--that I couldn't bring myself to do the final tempo, a 2k, and it's highly unlikely that I'll do it at the races tonight, either. So now I'm tired, disappointed, cranky, and slightly sunburned (who knew you need suncreen at 8 am?). And I have a horrible earworm of the song "Everybody Needs a Nap"--from a Barney video.

So I think I'll take a nap.

Data, Data, Data

My friend Melissa skated my workout with me this morning. Here's the oval, resplendent in the early-morning sun, and delightfully Skate Park Patron free at the moment...

Anyway, as we got ready to skate I couldn't help but notice the difference between our equipment.

Besides clothes, of course, here's what Mel wears when she skates:

Clockwise from the top, we have a helmet (with sunglasses inside), and skates.

And here's what I wear:

Clockwise from the top, we have skates, "string thing," helmet, stopwatch, dorky prescription glasses with "transition" lenses, heart rate monitor, and palm sliders. Missing from the photo is my Timex "IronMan" watch, which I forgot to take off my wrist for the photo.

When I skate on trails, it's even worse. Subtract the stopwatch, add in a Camelback--complete with mace dangling from one shoulder strap--a pair of kneepads and an old-school first generation iPod shuffle, and you've got a skater who needs a Sherpa to shlep her gear around.

Part of the reason that I dress like a Girl Scout trying for a Preparedness merit badge is, of course, that I like to be prepared (I'm the one that slept with a flashlight in her hand when the power went out, remember?). I only recently shed the kneepads when skating at the oval, and I never even stand up on my skates without a helmet and hand protection.

Quite a few of the items I wear, though, relate to data collection. (That's "data" with a long "a," like the guy in Star Trek. Just so we're clear on that). I believe I mentioned, in a preceding post, my numerous 2-inch binders of workout data. Well, all that data has to get collected somehow, doesn't it?

Actually, the data collection is a 4-step process. It all starts with this:

This is the "raw data" notebook, a battered little 200-page "Fat Notebook" (and let's just keep our comments to ourselves, shall we?) In it I write the date, temperature, wind speed (which usually is adjusted up after I skate a few laps; I'll write "light wind" and then cross that out and replace it with "windy"), timing of thyroid meds, and the workout for the day. Then I fill in lap times as I do them, and any other pertinent info (today's entry contained the reminder "DVD;" I was supposed to bring a DVD of a local race for Mel which, thanks to the reminder, I did). The beauty of the raw data notebook is that it holds data from all the way back to a year ago, so I can look up a similar workout from a year ago and quantify exactly how badly I suck, before I even get home to look up the info in Step 2.

Step 2 is a transcription of the raw data into a Word document, which I print off each month and put in the mighty 2-inch binder. I also put in narrative info in these entries, such as what technical skills I was working on that day, how many SPP I had to dodge, and what bits hurt more than usual during the workout.

I got fancy with the current 2-inch binder...

Step 3 is also in the 2-inch binder--a simple calendar page for each month, on which I record my morning weight, morning heart rate, a 1-10 rating of how I feel about the workout before I do it, and a 1-10 rating of how it went (lately the workouts have been scoring 1's and 2's, which is way to the "suck" end of the scale). The ratings and the morning heartrate are intended to be indicators of possible overtraining; the morning weight is an indicator of definite overeating.

Step 4 is new--a Google Document spreadsheet (prepared by Coach TieGuy) of the year's workouts (subject to tweakage as the year goes on, of course). I fill in data as I complete the workouts, and TieGuy can look up how I'm doing if he's ever bored.

Obviously, there's a bit of obsessiveness going on here; TieGuy frequently mumbles things like "you're overanalyzing again." And I admit, I do like my data.

I do think there's a logical argument for collecting all that info, though. I recently read a blog entry by a triathlete coach about the difference between training using qualitative versus quantitative data (his training program is called QT2 Systems, Quantitative Triathon Training Systems, so you can guess which side he was on. I'd post a link, but I don't know how. Heck, I just figured out how to put the pictures where I want them...). I agree with his premise that, to really know what's going on, you need to measure it. And having all these measurements to look back on has been extremely helpful for me in troubleshooting my 3-year-long (so far) battle with the misbehaving thyroid.

For example, today's intervals felt decent. Not fantastic, but decent; a little snap, a little drive, a little need (for the first time all season), to actually put my hands on my knees and gasp for air after some laps. I gave it a "5" on the 'ol 1-10, and there haven't been many 5's the last 2 months. Lap times were 43's and 44's, which I knew were a bit slow...but I didn't know how slow until I paged back through the Fat Notebook. Hmm, last year a similar workout was 40's...but two weeks ago a similar workout averaged 46's. So, improving--but certainly not there yet. And I've got the data to prove it.

Sure, I know there are times when you need to go by "feel," or perceived exertion. And I do a pretty good job (when I'm skating normally, anyway) of throwing down the right lap time by feel, thanks to thousands of laps where I heard the time in my earbud immediately upon completing the lap. But for me, right now, I need the numbers, I need the heart rate data, I need the lap times.

And, in a very few days, I'll need a new little Fat Notebook.

Get Your Motor Runnin'...

I went to a new doctor yesterday, a guy with a sports medicine background who was recommended to me by a contact of Coach TieGuy's. I'm not convinced that my thyroid meds are optimized, and my regular doc (who I really like) really doesn't want to adjust them more. The new doc said he'd also want to look at the possibility of overtraining or other athletic-related factors, which seemed like a good idea from the "covering all bases" aspect, even though I don't see how I could go from "great ice season" to "month off" to "overtrained one month into the new season."

Anyway, after the consult (during which I'm sure I gave him way too much info, including whipping out my 2, 2-inch-binders--yes, 2 of them--of my workouts from '09 to the present, and deftly looking up answers to questions about such things as resting heart rate, from any given month since March 2009...I did leave the other 4 2-inch-binders, from '04-'08, at home...)...where was I? Oh, yeah, after talking to me, reviewing my labs and med history, etc, he said "I really don't think your thyroid is performing as well as it should. I'm going to up your meds... sounds like we just need to get your motor running."

I was very happy to hear that (although not as happy for the "Born to be Wild" earworm that I've now had for 2 days). My "motor," as evidenced by yesterday and this morning's workouts, is certainly not "running."

Yesterday was "German Endurance," a workout consisting of alternating periods of harder and easier skating. Yesterday was 7 X 7 minutes (1 easy-2 hard-1 easy-2 hard-1 easy). I used to hate German Endurance; I always dreaded hearing TieGuy's laconic "yup" in my earbud--the signal to go hard again. Of course, that was when I actually could skate hard, back when easy laps were 50 seconds or so and hard laps were 43's to 45's. Yesterday, the easy laps--which were not easy--were a minute or more, and the hard laps--which were very hard--averaged just under 50 seconds. Yes, that's right...this year's hard laps are last year's easy laps. Nice.

Today was tempos--race pace stuff. I had 2x500 meters, one 1000 meter, and a 1500 meter on tap. Fortunately I was able to skate first thing in the morning today--any time it rains after 2:00 or so, the oval staff isn't able to start squeegeeing the track until it opens the next morning and it usually isn't dry until after noon. And afternoon is when the Skate Park Punks, er, I mean, Skate Park Patrons (SPP) show up. Our oval has an aggressive skate park in the infield--ramps, rails, all sorts of stuff guaranteed to send anyone over age 21 to the hospital with multiple fractures. Unfortunately, the kids who use the skate park have a hard time reading and following the rules posted on the JumboTron alongside the track. They continually cut across the track without looking, try to drag the rails onto the track to practice on, and practice their Ollies and Stale Fish Saran Wraps on their boards and bikes in the middle of the track. I have to scream "watch the track" an average of twice per workout, which I'm sure endears me to the SPP but, with my lack of ability to turn or stop, it's better than the alternative.

Anyway, 8 am is way too early for your average teenage SPP to roll out of bed, so I try to get to the oval right at opening whenever I can, and especially when I have speed work to do--I dodge even less-well when skating all out. Today the oval was dry and, as a bonus, a friend of mine was skating this morning as well. I've probably done 99% of my training laps by myself over the last 5 years or so and, while I like skating solo--it makes it easier to keep data such as lap times, and to focus on technique rather than on keeping up with or not running over the person in front--it's fun to have someone else at the track to talk to. Since TieGuy left the state for greener pastures, I've been by myself at the oval (unless you count the SPP) the vast majority of the time, and it's getting old. So it was fun to have someone to talk to, to compare notes with, to get pointers from, and to skate with (and she was kind enough, even though she's way faster than I am, to skate behind me so my "data keeping" could proceed appropriately!).

This is from an inline race a couple of years ago...to pretend it's from today, picture me fatter, slower, and not lycra-clad...

But back to this "motor running" thing...today's tempos were slow. Full laps in the 500's were a 40 and a 41; in the 1000 a 42 and a 43; and in the 1500, 43's and 44's. The scary part was, I felt OK about this until I looked back (in my 2-inch-binder) at tempos at this time last year. Yeeeaaaah...full lap in the 500 was a 37; 39's and 40's in the 1000 and 1500. I seem to be starting to get used to how slow I've become; when I hear "44" in a 1500 tempo now, I think "hmm, not bad" rather than "who tied the piano to my skates and why didn't I notice it?" If I don't get back on track, pretty soon I'll be smiling approvingly at my stopwatch as I transcribe 50-something-second tempo laps into my 2-inch-binder...I know that will be a reality at some point if I keep skating until I'm "old," but I'm not ready for that yet!

So, up with thyroid meds, and down with lap times...let's get that motor running!

How I Spent My Recovery Week

I used to hate recovery weeks. My “going to the oval” routine was disrupted, my legs felt funny, my appetite increased, and I always felt like a slug by the time I was allowed back on the track again. I knew recovery weeks were necessary and so I did them—but I didn’t like them.

Now, though…well, now that my skating is sucking pretty extensively and pretty consistently, I was actually looking forward to a recovery week. Especially since Coach TieGuy was kind enough to synch the week with the Fourth of July holiday, when the Hubster and I were heading to the family cabin in Grand Marais.

In the past, recovery weeks—even those at the cabin—have come with a set of workouts: biking, yoga, Wii, and so on. This time, TieGuy gave me free rein to do whatever I wanted to do, even if that ended up being nothing. For the first time in 4 years, I was looking forward to that. Mentally, I need some time away from the reality of how much I suck.

So how did I end up spending my recovery week?

Well, I managed to come up with a few workouts...

Day 1

Endurance Workout

1X (packing an Avalanche full for the cabin)

1X (5.5 hours @ 70 mph )

5X (carry load of stuff up 25 steps to cabin on top of cliff)

Day 2

Interval Workout

2X (walk dog one mile)

1X (drive to town for more food)

Rest of day: sit in cabin reading, eating, and glancing smugly at outdoor thermometer, which is reading 50 degrees, as opposed to the 100 degrees back home right now

Day 3

Morning Workout:

20X (fetch tools/hold tools/look for tools for Hubster and Brother-in-Law while they work on cabin plumbing and construction projects.)

3X (Remind Hubster and BIL that “hey, Wrench Wench” is not the proper way to ask for a tool)

Afternoon Workout:

4 hrs. Endurance workout—off road motorcycle ride, with intervals of:

100X (stand up on motorcycle. Hold “static sit” 30 seconds through rough terrain. Sit down on motorcycle)

1X (tip motorcycle over on right leg)

1X (bench press motorcycle off right leg)

1X (Explain to Hubster that yes, I know I fell over because I grabbed too much front brake and leaned too far to the inside when trying to navigate a 90 degree downhill turn—it’s kind of a signature move of mine)

Cooldown:

1X (hobble back up hill and up 25 steps to cabin)

1X (hobble/tiptoe up to window and peek in, hoping to see “Separation Anxiety Hound” sleeping peacefully on her bed)

1X (see “’No Separation Anxiety, I’ve Found Something Fabulous’ Hound” lying peacefully on dog bed, surrounded by garbage and up to her eyeballs in an empty soup can)

10X (pick up garbage from floor, deposit back in kitchen garbage can)

Evening Workout:

1X (cook dinner for parents, Hubster, BIL at our cabin)

1X (walk down to parents’ cabin to watch Twins game)

1X (regret not having brought camera to parents’ cabin while watching 4 dogs play while waiting for Twins’ rain delay to end)

MinPin Puppy Intervals

20X (remove biting MinPin Puppy from lap)

5X (remove biting puppy from sleeping big dog)

1X (scoop up puppy in mid-pee, carry down stairs, attach leash, place puppy on ground, wait for puppy to pee again)

5X (chase puppy/grab puppy/remove newspaper-pillow-sock from puppy’s mouth)

1X (breathe sigh of relief as puppy collapses on father’s lap in a dead sleep)

Storm Sprints

1X (watch one inning of baseball before satellite reception fails due to incoming storm. Realize that it might be best to get back to own cabin before storm truly hits)

1X (run, with Hubster and dog, from parents’ cabin, across beach, up stairs to top of cliff, and into own cabin. No need for flashlight; continuous lightning provides sufficient illumination)

20 mn (stand in cabin doorway watching storm and holding screen door to prevent it from blowing violently open every 5 seconds. Wonder why cousins turn off all lights in their cabin simultaneously; realize that power just went out)

20 min (dwell on possible repercussions of power outage, including melting ice cream, spoiling milk, and the implications of sleeping in a pitch-black room)

1X (find flashlight in purse, remind self to smack the next person who mocks me for having a flashlight (3, actually) in my purse, and take flashlight to bed with me. Explain to Hubster that yes, I actually DO intend to sleep all night with the (turned off) flashlight in my hand)

Day 4

Morning Workout:

1X (wake up with flashlight in hand)

1X (meet power company truck entering cabin driveway)

2 min. walk

1X (meet power company truck leaving cabin driveway)

2min. (wonder how power company was able to get power back on in less than 2 minutes)

3X (drag bits of cut-up spruce tree from area just under the powerline it had fallen on, to beach for later burning)

“Gofer” Circuit Training:

1X (walk down stairs and across beach to where cousins are working on rebuilding sauna that was washed away in storm last fall and Hubster is working on fixing water system damaged in storm)

10X (walk across beach, up stairs, along cliff, into cabin basement to get tool)

10X (out of basement, across cliff, down stairs, across beach, deliver tool)

15X (lift camera to eye, aim, take picture, replace camera in pocket)

10 min (stand and watch the skilled people work)

Repeat set 5 times

Post –Workout Recovery

Icing—4X (jump into Lake Superior from rock, swim to shore as rapidly as possible)

Keira demonstrates proper icing technique.

Evening Workout—Beach Roast Fartlek

120 minutes (circulate among 22 relatives and 9 dogs at the pot luck “Beach Roast” dinner. Intersperse random intervals of roasting brat/lifting fork to mouth/engaging in short bursts of conversation with various uncles, aunts, cousins, and cousins’ kids/removing food wrappers from dogs’ mouths/taking pictures)

Refueling:

Diet Dew

Brats

Chips and Salsa

Beans

Potato Salad

“Mexican Fudge”—cheese/salsa/egg thingy

Day 5

Morning Workout:

Repeat “GoFer Circuit” from yesterday

Afternoon Workout

Only “Real” Workout of the Week:

40 minute easy bike ride with Hubster (also on bike) and cousin (on Rollerskis)

Evening Workout:

1X (drive to Grand Marais to pick up pizza for dinner)

20 mn (listen to local musicians while waiting for pizza on outdoor patio of pizza place. Also listen to locals discuss the condition of mountain bike trails we had been planning on for Day 6 workout—“the muddiest I’ve ever seen them.” Make mental note to relay this info to Hubster and cousin)

1X (bring pizza to parents’ cabin, eat)

Night Workout:

1X (leave “Loud Noise Averse Hound” in cabin. Leave kitchen garbage can behind closed door in cabin)

1X (walk down to beach in front of cousins’ cabin. Watch kids set off fireworks)

45 mn (reminisce with cousins after kids leave to go to bed)

Day 6

Morning Workout:

1X (Repeat “muddiest I’ve ever seen” comment to cousin and Hubster. Decide to forgo mountain bike workout)

60 mn (sit on beach with various relatives and dogs, talking about this and that)

Afternoon Workout:

180 mn (watch Twins game with parents)

MinPin Puppy Interval set

Night Workout

1X (drive to Grand Marais with cousins and cousins’ kids)

2 mn (watch Grand Marais 4^th of July Parade. It’s a very small town)

90 min (Walk out breakwater with Hubster. While waiting for fireworks, make up for regrettable lack of “moonlight on Lake Superior” this trip by looking at “harbor lights on Lake Superior.” Watch fireworks. Stumble back across breakwater in the dark. Wonder why I didn’t remember to bring one of the three flashlights from my purse)

Cooldown

1X (see lightning, hear thunder. Before going to bed, place flashlight on nightstand by bed “just in case.”)

Day 7

Warmup

1X (walk dog)

1X (walk all 4 dogs with father)

Endurance Workout

70 mn off-road motorcycle ride

Main Workout

20 mn pack

30 mn clean cabin

10x (carry load of stuff across cliff, down stairs, load into Avalance)

Cooldown

5.5 hrs @ 70 mph

Second Workout

Reverse Avalanche packing process

Survey mound of laundry and decide to do it tomorrow

On the plus side, a Recovery Week like this one makes me appreciate that I have lots of good stuff and good people in my life that are completely unrelated to whether or not I can make the lap times in my next interval workout—and I need to remember that when I start stressing about my suckalicious skating.

On the other hand, I’m beat. I wonder if I could talk TieGuy into scheduling a Recovery Week for me to recover from my Recovery week?