Go Get 'em, Sharon!

I had intended to do a post about the stuff I learned in the Salt Lake Masters Camp (which was a lot), and about my plans for the upcoming ice season (which at present don't exist).  But I just can't quite figure out what I want to say, and so I won't say anything.  At least about that.  Fortunately there are more fun things to write about.

My blog friend Sharon, of Speed Skating Mom, is doing her first-ever meet tomorrow.  It's short track, but I'll forgive her for that since there is no long track where she lives.  She's a little freaked about it, so I thought I'd send her some good vibes.

What I'd really like to post for her is a picture of my first race.  Unfortunately, our scanner is a bit cranky and since the race happened in '94 there is no digital version of the photos; thus, you'll have to settle for a description of the event.  However, I can tell you that the pictures feature me in two-sizes-too-big (very) used long track skates (which insured that I was skating completely on my inner ankles instead of just partially); wind pants and a windbreaker (which insured that I blew up like an inflatable car-dealership ornament the instant I started moving); and a complete lack of any discernible long-track technique (which insured that my opponents and the spectators at the small-community-winter-festival-fun-race observed my progress down the track with bemused horror).

A picture or two from that event would have made her feel pretty good.

Lacking that, though, I'll supply a couple photos from the local short track meet that I helped time today.  (Turns out that timing a short track meet is much like timing a long track meet, only without the wind and the sunglare.  Or the snow. But it's still cold).  Our short track meet included everything from the barely-older-than-a-toddler fellow who followed the rink official through his one lap race like an imprinted baby duck...

  ...to a "bucket race."

Really, how can you be nervous about participating in an event that might involve orange 5-gallon buckets?

Seriously, though...Good Luck Sharon!  After watching the short track races today (the ones with full-sized people and without buckets), I once again have to salute your courage.  I never have and (if I have anything to say about it) never will participate in a short track race; they scare the crap out of me.   So I salute you with a Diet Dew, and I hope you have as much fun tomorrow as I did in my first race, and I hope your speedskating obsession is strengthened by the experience.

Go get 'em!

Masters Camp Race Report

When we left off, I was contemplating cracking open a can of pre-camp-finale-time-trials Whoopass.  Usually it's not a good plan to try a new food, beverage, sleeping position, song on the iPod, or method of blowing one's nose right before a race.  But what the Hell, I was feeling adventurous.  So I added the Whoopass to my traditional pre-race McD's bacon-egg-and-cheese biscuit (I think that breakfast combination may have been a dietary low, even for me).  I've only had two energy drinks before, both Red Bulls, both bought in desperation on long post-race drives home from Milwaukee, and both times I was pretty sure that the gag-inducing taste was more responsible for keeping me awake than was the caffeine content.  By energy drink standards, the Whoopass actually didn't taste too bad-although I did only manage to choke down half of it.  Which was probably just as well; although the can extols the virtues of Whoopass (I just love typing that!) as a recovery drink, I can't imagine how much "recovery" one could gain by a beverage that contains 200 milligrams of caffeine.  

And half a can seemed to be quite enough.  By the time I finished my spinning bike warmup at the oval, I was obnoxiously perky and chatty--in fact, I reminded myself of my sister Energizer Bunny (she of the multiple pre-workout "energy enhancing" substances) when she's bouncing around before we head out on a trail skate.  On the 1-10 "mood elevation" scale, I give Whoopass an 11.  Good to know.

I was scheduled to do a 500 and a 1000, which seemed like quite enough.  My legs actually felt better than they had the previous morning, but that wasn't saying much. Still, I approached the start line for the 500 with, if not confidence, at least not nervousness.  After all, thanks to Derek Parra's excellent instruction I had finally managed, just the day before, to understand a critical aspect of start-positioning--maybe this would be my first "no goofy "ready" position, no frilled lizard sprint off the line" start.  OK, so I hadn't really had a chance to practice the new start technique much, but any bit I had managed to retain would be bound to be an improvement on this...

It's actually physically painful to look at this picture.

So, as Derek announced "go to the start," I glided forward to the line and prepared to assume the new-and-improved start position

"Ready." 

 I sank gracefully into the new, hips-forward-no-butt-in-the-air stance and waited for...

...the whistle announcing I had false started.

I looked questioningly at Derek--surely I hadn't moved?

"Your blade is over the line," he said, and I looked down and sure enough, it was.  (That's about the only thing right in the photo above--at least my skate is behind the line!)  Turns out I was so focused on putting my body in the right place that I forgot about where my feet were.

So we tried it again, and this time I heard the gun instead of a whistle.  So I lumbered off down the track, trying to remember all the things I had learned in camp.  Unfortunately, a couple of these things apparently displaced some previously-ingrained aspects of skating that used to have residence in my brain, and I realized, halfway down the first straightaway, that I had forgotten to breathe.

Once I rectified that minor matter, I rounded the first corner and headed down the backstretch.  Now, the backstretch was inhabited by Josh and Levi, two outstanding (and very patient) young skaters who had helped Derek with the camp throughout the weekend, and who were now loudly and enthusiastically screaming excellent advice as we skated by.

"Swing your arms!  Swing your arms!"

So, even though I'm usually a one-arm-only kind of gal (I find it best not to confuse myself by sometimes swinging one arm, sometimes, two, sometimes none...it's just so much to keep track of), I dropped both arms and started swinging aggressively.

Nice...I've got a rhythm going, I think I'm moving pretty good, I'm...

CRAP!  I'm entering the corner and I've completely forgotten how to do a crossover!

So I coasted into the corner on both feet.  And I continued coasting around the corner...past the apex...toward the exit.  My brain was simply frozen; I couldn't figure out which foot to pick up first, and what I would do with it after I picked it up.  I did, however, retain enough brain function to begin cussing extensively as I approached the corner exit.

I finally got a few synapses firing and managed to pick up my right foot, fling it over my left, and crossover my way out of the corner--still cussing--past a laughing Derek.  Not one of my finer moments.

Or, as it turned out, my finer times.  52.12   Might have been a decent time for a nice gale-force sub-zero day on the Roseville oval; mighty pathetic for the fast ice of Salt Lake.  Add another to the "Epic Salt Lake Race Fail" list...I think I'm up to four now.  At least this time I knew why I was so slow...it's hard to skate fast when you don't move your feet!

Still, I must have been on a residual Whoopass high, because I left the ice laughing about my  "oops."  And, on the plus side, at least the race drove the "I Like Girls That Drink Beer" earworm out of my head (note to self: be careful what song you listen to last before you take the iPod off) and replaced it with the slightly-more-appropriate (if more profane) "Hate My Life."  I don't (hate my life), and if I did it certainly wouldn't be because of a silly race--but it made me laugh at how quickly the song took up residence in my brain after the race.

So then it was time for the 1000.  By comparison with the 500, the 1000 was tame.  I didn't false start, I crossovered wherever I was supposed to crossover, and I even managed to remember a few bits of technical information, for a second or two.

I also got tired, really tired, at 600 meters.  But not that "I'm going as hard as I can, I can barely see, not sure I can hang on" tired that foretells a good 1000 time.  No, this was the "hmm, I think my heart arrhythmia just started and my legs just stopped" tired.  

Oh, well.

My 1000 time was slow, but not abysmal like my 500 time.  Actually, the saddest thing about the races was that they meant that camp was almost over.  When you've spent 90% of your waking hours for the last three-and-a-half days doing something you love, it's hard to see that coming to an end.

But it was coming to an end, and so is this post.  I had intended to go into some serious philosophical musings about camp and technique and the upcoming season, but I think I'll have to wait until tomorrow.

The Whoopass has worn off.

This One Time at Skate Camp...

(Ok, I must admit that I was a little concerned about using that title.  I'm old, and I haven't seen the movie from which the original quote came; I was afraid I may be missing some of its implications and sending an unintended message.  So, like any good middle-aged nerd in the information age who fears that there may be an unintended overtone to the phrase he/she intends to speak/write/text...I looked it up in Urban Dictionary.  While it appears that there were originally sexual connotations to the phrase, it has apparently fallen into common and innocuous usage.  So, if I misconstrued the Urban Dictionary and anyone came here intending to find something more exciting than tales of over-40 long track skaters doing dryland drills...sorry! :-)

Day three of masters camp is now done, and since I haven't even written about day two, I'm a little behind (well, based on what happened when I tried to wedge myself into my new skinsuit before coming out to Utah, I'm a big behind, but I digress...).  This morning as we warmed up for the first workout of the day a couple of fellow skaters joked that they wanted to see a 10-page post about everything that happened this weekend.  I don't think I can quite achieve 10 pages, but I do think it's time to hit on a couple of random highlights from the past three days.  So here, in no particular order, are some things that happened at skate camp:

• First of all, I have to confess that, one day into age 49, it's happened. I've fought against it for years; I've seen other people succumb to it as they've aged; I've sworn it would never happen to me.  And for the past couple years, though I may have faltered in my resolve once or twice, in general I have remained steadfast in my refusal to lower myself to one of the classic hallmarks of old age .  But now I think it's time to admit that I do, indeed, use the wheels on my rolly-wheel skate backpack.

I am officially old.

See, here it is, looking like a normal (if slightly oversized; I have a penchant for large gear bags) skate backpack.

And here it is, showing its true colors as a glaringly obvious indicator of my inability to hoist great weights onto my aging back.

• Another indicator of my age: I have, in my little notebook in which I record things I might want to remember to blog about as well as bits of technical information from camp that I want to remember, this little reminder sentence: "most frequently asked question from day 2."  Trouble is, I have no memory of what the most frequently asked question from day 2 that I intended to blog about was.  "Am I doing this drill right?"  "How many laps did you say?"  "Outer edges?  What outer edges?"  "When is lunch?"  "Does my butt make this skinsuit look fat?"  I have no idea...it could have been anything.
• My motel experience has apparently been much tamer than that of some of the other skaters.  My biggest excitement has been needing to purchase a pillow from WalMart (best $2.50 I ever spent, but WalMart at 9:00 on a Friday night is an interesting place...) to prevent the neck-stiffening effects of the  ultra-firm-and-lofty hotel pillows.  Other skaters' motel nights have included midnight pajama-clad forays for  toilet-unclogging plungers, which sounds much more exciting than my pillow experience, if somewhat challenging for those with middle-aged bladders.
• Likewise, my rental car experience was quite uneventful compared to that of the two male skaters who claimed domestic partnership to avoid the extra fee for a second driver.  I'm sure the savings was substantial, and they'll have a fun story to tell their wives when they return home. (On the plus side, it's nice to find out that Utah is open-minded.)
• Derek Parra is an excellent coach.  He is also continually monitoring everything that is going on in the oval, even while he's coaching.  At one point, as he delivered dryland instruction, his ears caught the tell-tale sound of rental skates marching across concrete.  So he yelled across the oval at the two oblivious teenage girls, reminding them to keep the skates on the rubber padding.  Wonder if the little twits realized they'd just had the honor of being hollered at by an Olympic Gold Medalist?
• Skating has, for the most part, been going well for me.  (Well, my legs pretty much refused to participate in any semblance of proper skating this morning, but that was a temporary thing).  In fact, my biggest athletic fail this weekend was not on ice...it was my complete inability to catch (in my mouth) the shrimp tossed at my by the chef at the Japanese Hibachi grill.  In my defense, it's not something I've practiced (I don't get out much).  Thankfully, there are no photos of this.
• As usual, food has played an important role in my weekend.  I have my in-room stash...

The poptart box is now empty (apparently skate camp requires 2 poptarts per day), while the Endurox  recovery drink has been banished from my post-skate routine.  I have discovered that it causes unfortunate, um, gas issues, which is not good when  you'll be spending the next two hours doing dryland with 28 other people.

...and my bag-o-goodies for between workout snacks.

At least three people commented on my quantity of provisions...and this is after eating out of it for three days of camp!

• Good thing I didn't bring the Garmin on this trip; I like keeping my brain sharp by getting lost multiple times (per day, sometimes) and having to figure out how to get to where I'm going.  Fortunately, getting back on track is made easier by Salt Lake being laid out in a grid.  Tonight, Kim and Eric Kraan, who own the SkateNow shop in Salt Lake, hosted a dinner for the skaters (thanks again, Kim and Eric--it was great!).  I managed to get myself lost on the way to their shop, on the way home from the restaurant..and even on the way out of the restaurant parking lot (I'm blaming an unfortunate proliferation of large orange construction barrels).  I have also gotten lost on the way to the oval, back from the oval, and home from another restaurant.  On the plus side, I now have a pretty thorough understanding of the layout of the southwest Salt Lake City area.  You don't get that from following a Garmin!
• Tomorrow, camp ends with informal time trials--as did last years' camp, which resulted in my epic-fail, first-time-for-the-weird-new-heart-arrhythmia-pattern 3k.  This year I'm sticking with the short distances--500 and 1000 meters--which I think will be quite enough.  In fact, I'm thinking I may need to open my can of Whoopass pre-race tomorrow. Even if the ass I end up whooping will be my own.

See?  An actual can of Whoopass. Who knew?

So, I think that ends the non-skating camp reminiscences.  Tomorrow (with any luck), I'll have a race report as well as a more serious look at what I've learned...because I've learned a lot, and I want to record that as well.  For now, it't time for a nice restful night of sleep with my soft new WalMart pillow.

Camp--Day One

Day one is done, and I'm toast.  Which means that, instead of a blog post with some particular point or focus or theme...you're just getting a recitation of today's events.

You're welcome.

We started the day with two hours on ice, which was a lot of fun.  Mostly drills, working on getting the basics down.  I have a pretty extensive need to learn how to do a proper weight-shift, which will allow me to use body weight instead of just the leg strength I've mostly been relying on to skate fast (hey, I grew the body weight; might as well use it!)  Up until my "skating technique epiphany" of a year ago, I was pretty much incapable of  any weight shift and had more or less given up on being able to do it at all.  Now that I've seen a glimmer of ability to do a proper skating stroke, though, I think it's time to spend some effort on seeing if I can actually get to the point of doing it correctly, consistently.  Derek Parra is an excellent coach and he has some great skaters helping him out.  They were able to explain a couple of (very important) things that I've been struggling with, so I have some new stuff to work on when the Oval opens back in Roseville.

(Oh, by the way, there will be no pictures for today's post...by the time I headed to the Oval this morning I had lost my camera three times but only found it two.  It has now been found the third time, so hopefully I'll have some photos tomorrow.)

After the ice time we had a break for lunch--in my case, a peanut butter sandwich, chips, two brown sugar cinnamon poptarts, and a diet coke.  Lunch of champions middle-aged skaters with butts that cannot truthfully claim to be "all muscle."

The afternoon brought an interesting talk on weight training, which included some flexibility screening that highlighted the fact that I should not have stopped doing the hamstring stretches suggested by my chiropractor.  Then it was on to some dryland.  The exercises were all useful and beneficial, and Derek was good about having us do them only enough times to show that we understood how to do them...but still, two hours is a lot of dryland. By the time he got to the third-to-the-last-exercise--one-footed jumps with the jumping foot on a step--most of us were pretty pathetic.

"C'mon, jump high!  Remember that free leg just hangs there!  Let's see how high you can get!"  Derek exhorted.  (The guy never seems to run out of energy or enthusiasm).  Since I was, at that point, having a bit of difficulty just walking up the steps, let alone jumping up from one on one leg, I'm afraid I didn't exactly "get high."

Then it was off to dinner with about 10 other skaters, which was a lot of fun and a lot of food.  One of the other skaters and I have the same birthday, and it happens to be tomorrow--so the meal ended with the server bringing us each an ice cream sundae and the rest of the group singing Happy Birthday.  A great way to end the evening, and to enjoy what I suspect will be the last pain-free hours of the next couple days.  I'm tired now, but nothing (except my low back) is actually sore.  However, I expect that to have changed by the time I crawl out of bed tomorrow, after delayed-onset muscle soreness has had a chance to take up residence in pretty much any body part that moves.  Tomorrow should be interesting--two ice workouts and one dryland...hopefully I'll still be able to move!

SLC Camp--Pre-Day 1

Camp starts this morning.  I got to Salt Lake last night in time to get on the ice for a free pre-camp skate, which was definitely a good thing.  I am not one of those people who can, after a significant time off ice, step confidently back onto the oval and, with a casual push, glide gracefully away.  No, my re-appearance on ice consists of a hesitant step, a lurching push, and a tense, stiff-arms-for-balance wobble down the ice.  Best not to let camp leader Derek Parra witness that!

The skating was fun, though, and actually felt pretty good (aside from a ridiculously high heartrate and out-of-breathness).  I got to skate four laps behind Eric Kraan, who, with his wife Kim, owns the SLC skateshop SkateNow.  I don't skate behind people very often (Coach TieGuy's workouts are usually different from what others on the ice are doing) so I tend to suck at it.  Yesterday was no different; the poor guy who was behind me had to deal with my continually coasting when I got too close to Eric, then speeding up to close the gap again.  Still, it was a blast; Eric is one of those incredibly smooth, fluid skaters who are a joy to watch.  I think I should spend more time skating behind people like him!

I managed to rein myself in before I did too many laps and risked coming to camp already sore.  There were plenty of masters friends to catch up with before the 7 o'clock pre-camp meeting, so it wasn't too hard to get myself off the ice.  The meeting was fun, and Kim and Eric surprised us by giving all the skaters goodie bags containing some of  the things we will need most this weekend: good skating socks, energy chews and Honey Stinger energy waffles, and an energy shot.  Pretty cool!  Derek talked for a bit, and as always, held everyone's attentions riveted.  I expect to learn a lot again!

Then it was back to the hotel, for a peanut butter sandwich, a protein bar, and an extended chat with the tech support guy for the hotel's wifi.  Apparently my Dell laptop likes to make connecting to wifi complicated, so the poor guy had to spend ten minutes walking me through the steps to connect.  He was very nice, but I think I first heard a hint of well-controlled exasperation creep into his voice when I answered his question "what's your operating system?" with "huh?"  Eventually (obviously), we got it handled and I was able to surf for an hour or so before going to bed.

Unfortunately, the sleeping thing didn't work so well.  For some reason I couldn't get to sleep, and finally got up at 12:30 and watched an hour of "Dodgeball."  Four hours of sleep before a nine-hour-day of workouts should be interesting!  Then it was waffle time at the hotel's continental breakfast--accompanied, unfortunately, by Fox News on the breakfast nook TV.  This is, after all, Utah.  I ate my waffle quickly and went back up to my room...blog update, packing, another PB sandwich made, and it's time to go!

B B B B

As in:
Bronko

Birdee

Belle

And (drumroll)...Boompa!

Yes, we spent last weekend at my parents'...and yes, they have another (their fourth!) dog.  His name is...well, I'm not sure how it's spelled, but it's pronounced "Boompa."  It's supposed to be Norwegian for "butt" (yes, my parents named their dog Butt.)  I'm guessing there's an umlaut or something involved...

Anyway, it was a fun weekend.  Boompa is tiny...

...as in "the size of my mom's shoe" tiny...

...but tough.

His bad-habit training is coming along nicely...

already begging at the table!

And, of course, Keira was relatively unimpressed (after her initial attempt to pounce on him like a squeaky toy)

"Really?  You're taking this thing for a walk?"

In fact, Keira spent much of her time attempting unsuccessfully to wedge herself into the coveted camo-pink bolster bed...

I enjoyed strolls with my parents and the pack...

...while the Hubster did some work...

Yes, she still thinks his tractor's sexy.

All in all, a fun (if dog-filled) weekend.

And now, I must go pack for camp!

This Should Be Interesting...

On Wednesday I leave for Salt Lake City, for a four-day Masters long track camp run by Olympic Gold Medal winner Derek Parra.  I went last year and had a blast.  However, it was a lot of work.  In fact, we campers just got an email from Derek giving us last-minute details--and reminding us that it will be a lot of work.  Derek does a good job of realizing that we are all, um, "mature" skaters, and thus are probably more interested in bringing home information about technique and instruction on how to do dryland exercises, rather than bringing home muscles screaming from having to do massive workouts of said dryland exercises.  Still, it's impossible to have two dryland and two-on ice workouts a day for four days and not do a lot of work.

And therein lies the problem, and the reason that this should be interesting.

I am not used to doing a lot of work.

As you will undoubtedly recall, workouts here at the Long Track Life have been a bit sketchy lately. I'm blaming bad thyroid and bad attitude.  Whatever the reason, though, my workout volume has been the lowest this summer/fall that it's been in 8 years.  (My rear end volume, conversely, is the highest it's been.  I think it's an inverse relationship.)  This, of course, does not bode well for 14 workouts in three-and-a-half days.

I did do a little dryland this past week; dryland is one of those exercises that, no matter how little you do when you first do it, will make you extremely sore for days after your first attempt at it (or your first attempt in more than a month). So I figured it would be best if that "first attempt" was not the first day of a four-day camp.  So last Sunday I did a quick 5-minute dryland workout with my friend Mel at the end of my (short and slow) skating workout.  And it went fine; no soreness the next day, no problem.  I figured I'd do one 10-minute workout in the middle of this past week, and then I'd be ready for camp.

My body apparently had other ideas, though.  In my Wednesday workout, by the time I straightened up from the second minute of exercises (squats) my quads were extremely unhappy with me--shaky, cramping up, and deciding to skip the "delayed" part of "delayed onset muscle soreness" and get right down to business.  And even though I cut the workout off at six minutes, my legs were sore--very sore--for the next three days.

So...my thyroid levels are still out of whack.  I can't do more than 2 minutes of dryland without regretting it extensively the next day.  I'm not sure which skinsuit I'll fit into.  My heart arrhythmia still likes to act up with exercise. And I haven't been on ice since last March.

Yup, I'm ready for camp!