The Reluctant Triathlete

American Gladiator

2008-01-16T18:39:00.001-08:00

My parents were worried when, at 7 years old, I told anyone who asked that I wanted to be an American Gladiator when I grew up.

When at 13 I was still telling them I wanted to be an American Gladiator, the worry was elevated to extreme concern coupled with anxiety attacks and therapy.

Sometime after American Gladiator was cancelled, I shifted my attention to becoming a reporter, instead of drinking steroid cocktails and wailing on people while wearing metallic spandex.
But, as they say, you can take the Girl out of American Gladiator, but you can't take American Gladiator out of the Girl.

I was quick to sign up for the Women's Rugby team at the University of Georgia when it was resurrected in my junior year. And after a short stint at fly half where I was responsible for a lot of passing and ball handling I switched to flanker, where tackling was essentially the only job. I felt like it was the first thing in my life I was born to do.

I also picked up weight lifting in college and was amazed at how quickly my body responded. Some would say it was slightly too responsive as I dropped to 18 percent body fat and noticed that my lats could actually pop out and retract like ladybug wings. You can see them, there, in the rock climbing photo. Rock climbing, please note, is a lot like climbing the cargo net wall on American Gladiators. I also took up Adventure Racing and liked the obstacle course events, like the mud pit, the best.

So, long story longer, when I found out American Gladiator was coming back, I was freaking EXCITED. It's like I've been training for years. And now, I'm actually old enough and possibly in shape enough to compete.

Then I made the mistake of actually watching American Gladiator remix. Please, God, tell me it wasn't always this cheesy. I mean, it couldn't have been, right? I didn't have brain injury as a kid or anything and I had lived for this show. And I'd wanted to be a Gladiator. Lace, in fact. I wanted my name to be Lace (Was there a real Gladiator named Lace? I can't remember).

As I watched the show, I was distracted by that big guy, Titan, the absolute ringleader of cheese. Any kid without brain injury could never idolize that guy, I told myself? But then the wussy red contestant — a fully grown man, mind you — got hurt after his second basket in power ball after, who was it? Mayhem? laid the smack down on him. And the wussy red guy said: "Titan, if I don't make it back, you're the reason I got into weight lifting man." And Titan came running over and got down on one knee and cooed over the guy. "This guy's a warrior man. This guy's a true champion." Barf! I think the steroids have inflated the part of his brain that controls cheesiness.

At 6'3", 251 pounds, my guess is that Titan breaks down like this: 200 pounds muscle, 50.9 pounds cheese, .089 pounds brain and .001 pounds nutsack (you know what steroids do).

Then there's the Wolf guy. Wolverine, or Wolf man. Whatever. He howls. He looks really crazy. Where'd they find that guy? Skid Row? Seriously. Something's not right with him.

Plus you've got the Cheesy banter the Hulk is perpetuating between every event. Every event. "How'd that go?" "You were a maniac out there." "You got wet but you're not even worried because the bull rider lady stepped on your pedestal and you know that's illegal."

And don't even get me started on Helga. Seriously?

All of it: lame lame lame.

As an additional critique, they've redone the studio so that it's harder to see the action. Where are the lights? And the camera angles are less than satisfying. Then there's the pool. You have to swim under fire in the pool: fire that could never touch you because it appears to be burning on Plexiglas. What's the point? Several of the disciplines now end up pushing contestants or Gladiators into the water, including joust and assault, during which Gladiators are flung through the air via a cable attached to their cheesy, metallic costumes. Seems like a lot of effort for a cheap dunking booth stunt. And I love the way they celebrate the winners of the obstacle course while contestant No. 2 is still fledgling along. The poor bull rider lady who wanted to get her mom out of the trailer was just crashing through the wall when the fitness model red contestant was hugging her kids post Hulk interview in the stands. Mental note: if you make it onto American Gladiators, do not come in second in the obstacle course.

The only thing that was pretty great about the show was that when Helga got tossed during the assault, she did a full on belly flop from about 30 feet up into the pool. Production staff maybe should have practiced that stunt a couple times before launching the 205-pound Helga. As Steve Carrell says: Ouchy.

So despite my disappointment at the overwhelming cheese and the "lets-make-the-show-worse-than-the-original" changes, the allure of competing with and potentially beating down a Gladiator still burns inside me. There are casting calls and I'm making arrangements. And in the meantime, the Gladiators better start eating their Wheaties.

Yeah Helga. I'm talking to you.

Christmas Swimming

2007-12-27T23:04:00.001-08:00

After JO and I opened stockings, drank coffee, made breakfast, opened presents, spent a couple hours on web cam with my family in Atlanta and put our 11.49 pound turkey in the oven, there was only one thing left to do.
We went swimming.
When we first started dating about 9 months ago, we swam at Aquatic Park in San Francisco every few weeks. But since I live farther away now, and since the oil spill and since the weather has gotten colder, we have been neglecting our little swimming park in the shadows of the Ghiradelli Square sign. And we have both missed it.
So we loaded up the gear in a new gear bag JO bought me for Christmas and headed to AP about 3:00 p.m. There was an inordinate number of tourists sauntering by en masse and staring as we disrobed and crammed ourselves into our wetsuits. The tourists were wearing scarves and hats and big, puffy jackets because it's aout 49 degrees outside -- which in Northern California is like polar ice cap cold. But not too cold for us, we thought.
The first step was deceiving.
"It's not that bad," I shouted to JO, to penetrate the earplugs and layer of silicon sheilding his head from the cold. But once we were in to our waists, I had changed my mind. My feet burned like touching dry ice. And my hands, too. But we were already there. JO took off for the buoy, without putting his face into the water, and I followed, trying to stir up some circulation to heat up my body. As the water seeped into my wetsuit, it took my breath away. So we bobbed for a few moments to try to catch our breath before heading for the orange flag that marks the end of the swimming course. Each lap at AP is a third of a mile, I think. So one lap takes less than 15 minutes to complete. John got brainfreeze within 30 seconds but he carried on. My face stung. But the pain all over my body did ease a bit as I scraped through the water.
One weird side effect: I swear I have never swum so fast.
Cold is like pure adrenaline. But we also clenched every muscle in our bodies against it as we swam. My jaw hurt for two days after I emerged from that half-hour swim. And my arms and back would be aching sore on Boxing Day.
We kept what I felt was a fast pace though I never did feel like I caught my breath, completing two laps in the last moments of daylight before heading to shore.
Looking like two latex-covered creatures making the evolutionary step from sea to land, we were greeted by a smiling man with an Eastern European accent who called us Superman and Superwoman. And we laughed at his sweetness but also because we felt like it a little bit. We would have really felt like superheroes except for a guy in a red swim cap and no wetsuit who we could barely make out, still swimming steady and stealing our superhero thunder as we dried off.
It took more than an hour for my core temperature to heat back up and I shook for awhile after deck changing into dry clothes and slipping on my Ug boots. But I also felt an amazing and almost misplaced refreshment. Our swim was invigorating.
When we looked at the San Francisco Bay buoy report post-swim, we found out the water had been 51.1 degrees, which is at least 15 degrees higher than a non-melting polar ice cap. I hope to make the Christmas swim a holiday tradition.

Maintenance Training

2007-12-05T21:11:00.000-08:00

.. kind of like getting hit by an 18-wheeler.
That's what I felt like after a 9-mile tromp through the Tennessee Valley in the Marin Headlands on Saturday. Coach Neil kicked my ass, as well as talked me up the 1.5 mile uphill that started our run. Coach Neil ruled. I didn't even know I could actually run up a hill. Usually I see them and I am intimidated and I resign myself to walking. But when your coach is running next to you, you can't stop. I felt nervous but remarkably not terrible for about the first 3/4 of a mile. After that it was a little painful, and Coach Neil was talking most of the time trying to keep my mind off of the feat. At one point he said: "Do you hate me and do you want me to just stop talking?" (Please note that Coach Neil was not even the slightest bit winded as he said that.)
"No.... huff... Coach .... I ... huff... just... .huff.. don't... huff... want... huff ... you ... to ... huff... think ... i ... huff... can ... huff... contribute."
About 1.25 miles into the run, Coach asked what my RPE was. For those un-tri-dorks out there, that's "rate of perceived exertion." It's a scale of 1-10 where one is lying in bed reading a magazine and 10 is a pulmonary seizure.
"I'm... a ... huff... 10... coach."
"No you're not a ten," he says.
And that's why I love my coach. Because even thoguh I feel like I'm dying, he knows I'm not actually dying. And he knows how far to push me.
Did I know I could run 9 miles with 4,100 feet of vertical elevation?
No. I didn't.
And if you would have asked me Saturday morning, I would have said, "No freaking way can I run that far."
And then I did.

My friend Neva is a rockstar BTW

2007-11-13T20:37:00.000-08:00

In all my sad self-loathing about my duathlon performance, I failed to mention that my BTF (best triathlon friend) Neva freaking rocked it. After up-close encounters with several scary things during training including, but not limited to, sealions and pavement, she pulled off an amazing race. She placed sixth in her spritely young age group. And she did the run in sub-10 minute miles which totally rules. Not bad for a former field hockey-playing, sorority girl East Coaster who didn't own a bike on our first day of training. In summary, Neva rules.
Tell your friends.

Is a triathlon, with only two events, still really a triathlon?

2007-11-12T18:43:00.000-08:00

Answer: No.

Mood: Depressed.

Body: Sore like after a car wreck.

So after 10 weeks of training in the beautiful and uncharacteristic sunshine at the Aquatic Park in Fisherman's Wharf and at the former Naval base Treasure Island, the San Francisco fog and rain finally rolled in, clouding what was already a gloomy day.

The 58,000 gallons of bunker fuel that spilled into the Bay last week caused race directors to cancel the swim portion of the triathlon that I, the reluctant triathlete, and 20 others trained our asses off to complete. It also desecrated a coast we have come to know quite intimately, which fouled everyone's mood.

For the last 10 weeks, we have learned to navigate through the Bay's choppy, sea-lion-infested waters, and even to appreciate its heart-attack-inducing cold. We have ridden our bikes into the Headlands where we are rewarded for the pain of the climb with mesmerizing views of our ocean-enveloped city. And we've run along its shores dodging police on horses and packs of Blazing Saddles bicycles carrying kamikaze tourists, breathing in its salt air. Every day that we trained we were reminded of what an amazing place San Francisco is and we felt lucky to live here.

So it was especially hard to get psyched up for the duathlon that reminded us of our injured ocean, instead of the triathlon we had trained for. It was especially hard for those of us who count the swim as our best event. For me, I was hoping for a large enough lead so as not to be totally humiliated in the run.

But alas.

We started the race barefoot to simulate the transition we would have made if we had swum. Our pack of 30-and-under women and (was it?) 40-and-over women took off running to our bikes, threw on shoes and helmets and clogged out of the transition area.

The bike was OK though I couldn't find my pace and I kept getting blown away on straight aways. I found myself zoning out and would shake it off every so often and remind myself to speed up.

It was a six-loop, 40k course with no drafting allowed, so the long stretches into the wind felt like biking underwater. But I wasn't breathing hard. I kept wondering if that meant I should be going much faster? When I racked my bike, my legs felt like stones. And in six miles they never did loosen up. The good news was my calf did not bother me. Instead, as I told Neva who was at least a mile ahead on the 3-loop run course as we passed each other, it was the "out-of-shapeness" that bothered me.

Because I wasn't running before I started the 10-week training program, and because the pulled calf kept me from running for the past five weeks, I never did build up to a point where even three miles felt comfortable to me. So a 6.2-mile tromp -- and my first run in over a month -- was expectedly difficult. The first four-miles felt better than the last four-mile run I had done, despite being smoked by attractive women in tiny bikini bottoms (how do they keep those from riding up?), not to mention all of my in-shape and also attractive friends in our group. The last two miles felt increasingly long and torturous and I had no kick left when the finish line finally came into view. It took me about 1:15 minutes to complete the run, which amounts to more than 11-minute miles. It was disappointing given that during our half-distance training tri, I ran three miles at a 9:30 mile pace. I couldn't even look at my coach who had invested so much time in me and in making sure I was as ready as I could possibly be for this race. Instead, I burst into tears.

The duathlon did not feel indicative of what I'd trained so hard for. It was disappointing. And it was painful. And it was frustrating. And despite all of this, I still want to do a full triathlon. The adrenaline of it is intense and addictive. The camaraderie is the best part. I am sad that I won't be able to complete a triathlon before I turn 30 despite trying my damnedest. But maybe, at 30, in my golden year, it will feel that much more incredible.

Oil spill threatens triathlon

2007-11-08T11:46:00.000-08:00

A tanker spilled 58,000 gallons of fuel into the San Francisco Bay! There are oiled up sad ducks everywhere.
Here's what the triathlon is saying: Tri-California Events is aware of the Oil Spill effecting the San Francisco Bay. At this time, the San Francisco Police Department and Water Safety has determined that there is no oil in or around Pirates Cove, Treasure Island where the swim takes place. At this time, we have approval to swim in Pirates Cove. Please continue check the website for updated information. We are planning to continue with our regularly scheduled events.

Here's a link to the SF Chronicle story: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2007/11/08/BAD8T8PLU.DTL

Week 10

2007-11-06T21:23:00.000-08:00

Week 10 makes me want to throw up.

It's a "taper" week, though Coach Neil is on crack if he thinks swimming 1600 meters and lifting weights felt like a vacation today.

I promised myself that I would do full-length triathlon before I turned 30 and for the past 9.5 weeks, I have devoted my heart and soul and wallet to Coach Neil's Tri and Give training program. With the Treasure Island Triathlon -- no wait, it's now called the San Francico Triathlon at Treasure Island (like the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim) -- just a few days away, I've already begun having anxiety dreams in anticipation.

I tend to have anxiety dreams the night before big events like tests and rugby tournaments. Usually the dreams force me to awaken in the wee hours of the event morning. But this time is special. I started having anxiety dreams related to the triathlon last Friday night. In the dreams I am on my way somewhere. So far: a vacation, a wedding, traithlon training (that one was pretty literal) and a play. I have forgotten or lost crucial things including my luggage, then a dress and my biking shoes. In the play dream I forgot to memorize the script and I was the lead.
It has not made for a week of good sleeping.

I watched 4 of the 5-part Accenture Escape from Alcatraz clips on YouTube today to attack the anxiety head on. I saw the freakishly athletic professional triathletes coast 1.4 miles through the freezing, choppy waters of the San Francisco Bay, some in less than 30 minutes. My swim was not quite as treacherous in my gymnasium pool last night though, last week, there was a 5.6 earthquake centered down the road from me as I swam. (Of course, I missed the whole thing and was only slightly confused by the choppy waves in the otherwise empty pool.) But that's mildly treacherous, right?

When I'm watching the professionals, I am thinking: Is this really what I'm going to do?
I have worked hard over the last 10 weeks, practiced my transitions, adjusted and replaced my gear. I have completed my workouts and pushed myself to the point of bonkign. I have sacrificed weekends to training and recovery and eating. I have been injured: pulling a calf about five weeks ago that has limited my ability to train for the run. And I'm hoping the adrenaline alone will be enough to carry me through. I'm also hoping the anxiety dreams aren't foreshadowing. Instead, I think they're an indication that I care a lot about finishing this race and seeing what I'm capable of in the last fleeting moments of my twenties.

Then, in my 30s, I can work on winning or at least acheiving freakishness.

Wardrobe malfunctions

2007-10-29T18:44:00.000-07:00

Through training for our first triathlon together, Neva and I have become close. We started off doing our two-mile running pace test together and we've trained together ever since. So it was only fitting that it was Neva who shared with me that my tri shorts are see-through and that my butt crack is visible in the sunlight while I'm riding my bike.
I mention this because it seems to be the case with many women's triathlon shorts, though I haven't noticed it in men's. To avoid a wardrobe malfunction, I suggest shorts by Zoot.

These shorts seem to be more opaque than other brands.

You can get them through Coach Neil of TriMoreFitness here.

Or at sports stores during triathlon season but they are hard to find in Winter.

Remember: friends tell friends when their butt cracks are showing.

Lost in Transition

2007-10-16T21:22:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday Coach Neil of Tri More Fitness taught us everything we needed to know to transition smoothly and fastly during a triathlon. The advice was well-timed, as we had a training sprint triathlon in Sacramento the following day. So here are things I learned:

1. Get to a triathlon early enough to set up stuff, hang out, loosen up and head off any problems with forgotten or broken gear. Two of our friends, whose names I won't mention, showed up about 20 minutes before starting time and found it slightly nerve-racking. This was not enough time. We had to park really far away. Then figure out where to go, set up stuff and, to top it off, there was a 10 minute walk across a bridge barefoot to get to the start of the race. There was some tension. Borderline panic attacks. And, even worse, breakfast was not eaten.

2. Hang up your bike on designated bike racks by the seat. Sometime you're assigned a spot and sometimes the earlier you get there, the better spot you get on the rack. Good spots are those that get you in and out of transition areas quickly without having to maneuver around too much stuff. Set up your gear just below the bike rack on the long side of the bike (not behind the back tire). This will make it easier to free your bike and ride off during the swim-bike transition.

3. Make a transition sandwich: Towel, folded in half longways, on the bottom. Layer with bike shoes next to running shoes, hat &/or race belt* with number attached on top of running shoes, helmet on top of bike shoes, sunglasses in helmet, gloves* in helmet

Hot Technical Gear Tips:

Helmet: Place helmet with concave part up, and straps unbuckled and out. Put helmet and sunglasses if you wear them, on first. In a lot of races, if you leave the transition area without buckling your helmet, you can get disqualified.

Bike Shoes: untie laces and unbuckle straps in bike and running shoes enough so that you can get feet in comfortably and fast. There are cool bike shoes that are mostly Velcro and easy to fasten and if you're looking to purchase new bike shoes, I suggest getting some with those handy features. Coach Neil puts body glide (triathletes second favorite lubricant) on the tongue, ball and hell of his shoes so that they're easier to slip on.

Running shoes: Loosen or untie laces and push tongue toward toe of the shoe so that your feet can easily slide into the shoes. Buy lace locks. They are small and plastic and probably less than $3. Plus they come in an assortment of colors. Mine are pink. Yeah! Lace locks let you slip your feet into your running shoes fast, zip your laces and take off.

Socks: if you have to wear socks, and a lot of triathletes don't, place them in your shoes with the mouth of the sock open as far as possible. If you have to take a knee to put socks on, do it. It will save you time vs. falling over trying to stay standing putting on shoes and socks.

Race Belt: What's a race belt you say? A race belt is a black elastic strap with buttons that conveniently attach to race numbers. Rather than pinning your number to your clothes (which creates holes and prevents you from being able to remove the number easily) attach it to a race belt, snap it on at the bike-run transition and go.

4. Swim to Run Transition: Leave your cap and goggles on as you come out of the water and run to the transition area. That way, there's nothing in your hands impeding you from your number one goal: transitioning quickly. If it's a wet suit race, unzip on the way to the transition area and get your arms free. Once you arrive at the transition area, sling that sucker down, pull one leg hard and step on the wetsuit leg with the other foot. Pull the same leg again and it should be free. To free the second leg, pull once, step on the wet suit with the free foot, and pull the same leg again. Toss the wetsuit under your bike under the rack. Put on sunglasses, then helmet. Slip on shoes, right foot, then left. Snap your buckles. Grab your bike and roll. I had a hand towel on my bike handlebars that I used to dry my face but don't waste time drying the rest of your body unless it's really really cold. Make sure to check in advance if you are allowed to ride your bike in the transition area or not. You can be disqualified for getting it wrong.

5. Bike to Run Transition: Hang your bike on the rack. Remove helmet then shoes. Put on running shoes. Then run. Coach Neil suggests attaching race belt to your hat. If you choose to wear a hat and a race belt, grab those last. You can put them on while you're running.

Our training group, Tri and Give (or TAG), practiced transitioning the day before the race. Coach Neil made us do 20 seconds of push-ups then spin around in circles for 10 seconds, then throw on our gear. The dizziness mimics the disorientation one might feel when getting out of the water and running to the transition area for the bike. I discovered I get wicked dizzy if I don't wear earplugs but this isn't true for everyone. The simulation really helped in the Sacramento Triathlon and I felt like my transitions were smooth. My friend Nick taught me that making whooshing noises while putting on gear makes it seem like you're going even faster plus it can intimidate those around you. Nick makes one whoosh with each shoe and an extra whoosh for his helmet. Then, like lightning, he is gone in a flash. Whoosh.

So update on, what is this? Week five?

2007-10-03T18:23:00.000-07:00

Training for a triathlon is hard. And fun. And tiring.
I was in the pool last night outside of my gym. In the dark. The water was cold. And I was by myself.
I was not thinking: "What am I doing? Working out for two hours in the dark and the cold and alone after a long day of work when I'm hungry and tired?"
I was thinking: "Why did I forget my workout sheet that tells me exactly what I'm supposed to be doing? And was that catch-up out, closed fist back in? or the other way around?"
Despite a sore calf, aching feet, a slight twinge under my left shoulder blade and a general flu-like soreness covering my entire body, I find myself saying things to people like: "You should really try this. It's fun."
When the guy at the check out line at Trader Joe's remarks that I look like I just work out and that I'm starving, I proudly tell him I'm training for a triathlon, and that I am starving. And that if I don't get food in my system in the next five minutes, my two-hour workout of swimming and weight training will be all for naught. And then I drink a protein drink in one gulp before he's done ringing up my groceries.
I am eating better. And definitely more often.
And, I reluctantly have to admit, my run felt easier the other day. (Please note I said easier, not easy.) Which makes me think I might be improving.
Right now I'm missing my track workout with Coach Neil of TriMoreFitness and all of my TAG friends. I told Neva that she isn't allowed to run faster than me next time she sees me, else it will hurt my feelings.
I worked out at lunch so that I can attend an economic forecast conference VIP dinner where I will schmooze with accountants and economists and eat bad hotel food for the next three hours.
I have to say, I would prefer to be running.
And for me, that is progres.

Calf cramps

2007-10-03T17:59:00.000-07:00

My TAG teammate Graham and I are both suffering calf injuries this week. Coach Neil's first advice: "Don’t run!"

This is a good point. I tried to run today after feeling that sharp pain, like someone's stuck a fork deep inside my muscle, on Monday. The first 10 minutes felt great. And then.. the fork. And, you guessed it, I was done.

So I moved to the elliptical trainer and did 30 more minutes with only a few pangs here and there. When I got home, I got Coach Neil's response to Graham's e-mail asking if he could sub the elliptical for the running. How timely!

Coach Neil's second advice: "Not even on the elliptical for now."

Coach Neil says get a massage and sub an extra swim or two and maybe a strength training session to make up for the running.

"Its okay to back off a week to get things back to speed instead of pushing through and potentially aggravating the injury."

So thanks, Graham and Coach Neil. Helpful. Like three hours ago. Hope your calf feels better.

Frozen feet syndrome -- It could happen to you

2007-10-03T17:56:00.000-07:00

A 1990's retro ironman p.r. guy I know says when he did his first race he was schocked that his feet never did regain feeling after swimming in the oh-so-cold San Francisco Bay.
"It was weird to not be able to feel them on the bike," he says. "But the run was downright uncomfortable."
His tip: "It might be worth it to take a second to dry off your feet and put on dry socks."

Saturday 9/15: If this is paradise...

2007-09-17T22:03:00.000-07:00

Today was our second group ride. We did Paradise loop again cuz Modest Mouse wouldn't let us onto Treasure Island. Neva was rocking it, urged on by her all-day partner, Coach Neil. She said she felt better already, didn't use her breaks as much on the steep, curvy downhills Tiburon is known for. And none of us were run over in the merge across the 101, which is always a bit hairy.
I tried to ignore the fact that my bike doesn't fit me. But then, as if trying to get my attention, it wouldn't let me shift into the easy gear wheel (that's the technical term). Coach Ed thankfully fixed it, after watching me struggle to the top of the first big hill and suggesting that I downshift.
"Um, great idea. But it won't let me."
At least my instincts in wanting to shift to a lower gear were right.
Worth noting, on the ride we passed about 1,000 people with garbage bags scurrying over the Bay like a determined horde of crabs. It was California Coastal Cleanup Day and the California Coastal Commission Web site says more than 50,000 volunteers statewide show up to what the Guinness Book of World Records says is the world's largest garbage collection.
"Since the program started in 1985, more than 750,000 Californians have removed more than 12 million pounds of debris from our state's shorelines and coast," the site says.
Me and my TAG teammates did our part by not littering and smiling at the cute little people participating.
We finished the ride in about an hour, stashed our bikes in our cars, and put on our running shoes. Then the evil tyrant made us run for 20 minutes to get used to the bike-run transitions.
My legs felt like lead after the 18-mile ride. Coach Neil says: "That never gets any better." We were supposed to achieve a "negative split." Neva and I ran 10 minutes out and 9 minutes back in. We never saw Kristy who probably ran twice as far in the same time. Then we were finished, sweating, sunburnt and STARVING. We went to the Dipsea Cafe (best breakfast in the Bay Area) afterwards to do the opposite of what the nutrition coach had told us. There was no red powder (a suggestion by the nutritionist) ingested, but lots of eggs and biscuits, benedict, waffles and coffee. And we all went home to take a nap.

Week 1: Meet my friends

2007-09-15T19:46:00.000-07:00

As I've never competed in an Olympic distance triathlon, I enlisted the help of Coaches Neil and Laura Fraser, who run Tri More Fitness multi-sport coaching and are part of San Francisco's Golden Gate Triathlon Club. I paid about $400 bucks to join the Tri and Give (TAG) program, a 10-week course that includes 3 coached workouts per week, plus weekly detailed workout schedules.
The $400 (which includes my annual Golden Gate Tri Club membership) insures that I will make it to every coached workout. Spending money is amazingly motivating when you're poor.
It also includes instruction in the kind of gear to buy, transitioning, dealing with injury and anything else that might be useful on the day of the big race.
Our finale event is the Treasure Island Triathlon Nov. 9-11, a 1.5 k swim, 40k bike and a 10k bike. This is the link.
There are about 20 of us in the TAG program of varying abilities. For most of us, there's one discipline we excel in, one we are mediocre at and one that keeps us up at night with worry.
For me, the order is swim, bike and oh my god, run.

SWIM/BIKE/RUN in that order
I never knew I could swim pretty fast until I started swimming this year and started timing myself against others. Sure enough, I find swimming fast pretty easy. As far as biking goes, I have more experience with mountain bikes than road bikes. I don't have the endurance part of road biking down yet, but I'm comfortable enough on a bike to feel OK on 20 mile rides. Running is a different story. My heart rate shoots up to about 187 in the first 20 paces of any run and it never looks back. So the funny part about me is I get increasingly slower as a triathlon goes on. How to beat the exponential frustration that creates with each passing minute of the race, will require Coach Neil's help.

RUN/BIKE/SWIM
In the first few workouts I met two friends who have their own anxiety-inducing disciplines. My new friend Kristy, 25, has never done a triathlon before. She, like I, was a rugby player in college. (A flanker, like me, for anyone who follows it). So while we have much in common, that (insert gender-based derogatory name here) is fast. She did her 2-mile test in well below 16 minutes. And she's even faster on the 200m, 400m, 600m, 800m, 600m, 400m, 200m with one-lap recovery laps between exercise we did in our second coached track workout. Kristy, however, calls the swim workouts: 'the drownings.' And that will be her biggest challenge. She plans to try and barter for a wet suite. "Otherwise, I'll just get the $400 one," she says.

SWIM/RUN/BIKE
Our other friend Neva had to sit out the first workout because she didn't even own a bike. Neva's a former field hockey player and matches me pretty well on the run. We both did the timed 2-mile test during our first coached track workout in 18:51. I am glad I have her to run with. Neva just bought a 49" Specialized and found the first 18-mile Paradise loop right pretty challenging.
"I pretty much spent the rest of the day in bed after that reading US Weekly," she said.
Despite her magazine preference and her weekly mani/pedi ritual post Saturday workout, Neva is hard core. During our swim workout last week we all practiced swimming en masse to get used to the scuffle that is triathlon open water swimming. I mentioned to Neva that I liked full contact swimming. "Yeah," she said. "I was dropping 'bows on the brown-haired girl the whole way." See what I mean?

Check reluctant triathlete frequently to follow our progress.

How to find a bike that fits

2007-09-09T21:03:00.000-07:00

Today I identified the scariest part about deciding to do a triathlon for the first time.
And no. It's not potentially drowning.
The scariest part about triathlons is buying a bike.
Seriously.
Bikes are expensive. And complicated.
I don't know anything about bikes.
I've purchased bikes. I've ridden bikes. And I can change and pump up the tires. But that's about where it ends.
So when I bought my $1100 Specialized Comp brand new from a dude on Craigslist I admittedly didn't know quite enough about it.
I had a 52" women's Trek in Chattanooga where I learned to ride on the road. And it had always felt too too small. So I figured a 54" frame would be fine. That's logical, right?
Ash Beal at the Sports Basement in the Presidio set me straight. He took one, long look at me holding my bike when I walked in for my fitting and said, "There's no way I'm going to be able to fit you on that bike."
I just stood there. Slightly shocked.
Then he said: "You have really short legs."
Man.
It's bad enough he's just told me I spent $1100 on a bike that doesn't fit me. But does he have to insult me, too?
Actually, Ash was fabulous. He took my measurements and tried to advise me on the size of bike I needed.

Sure enough, mine was a good 5-7 cm too tall for me.

I told Ash about the Trek I used to ride and how it always felt too small. He said that was because I have a long torso and the aforementioned short legs. He told me no matter what, I need a men's bike which will have a longer cross bar.
"Anything long and low," Ash said.
And he told me that the most important measurement was from the middle of the seat to the middle of the handlebars. Mine is supposed to be 654 cm.
Basically Ash talked me into selling the bike and trying to get another that fit me better. Ash said I could call him if I found a bike and wanted to know if it would work. And because he couldn't fit me to my bike, he didn't charge me for the fitting. So now I'm off to Craigslist, looking for a 49" men's bike with a 654 cm seat to handle bar measurement. My boyfriend prefers carbon fiber, but at this point, I'll just take something that fits.
My advice: Go get fitted for a bike BEFORE you buy one.

Progress?

2007-08-22T21:46:00.000-07:00

My boyfriend and training partner Johnny and I did a ride we do a lot, up to this random two-story tall rock sitting in this field at the top of Lucas Valley Road. You can't miss the rock, and I'm sure it has a real name, but I like to refer to it as the dreaded rock, or Mount Random Rock, not to be redundant.
I dread the rock because it's at the top of a hill and the climb isn't fun for someone not yet in biking shape -- though I'm always glad to see the rock when I finally get there. I have no idea how long or steep the road leading to the rock is, but at this early stage in my training, it feels like 15 miles straight up. John says the whole ride from his house to the top of the rock and back, is only 17 miles total, so that's impossible. But it still feels like it.
The first time I did the climb, it was July 4th. And I had grand plans of riding from John's to Point Reyes Station even though I hadn't been on my bike since pre-surgery sometime in early March. Unfortunately it was 90 + degrees outside when we left the house. And about 1/2 way up to the dreaded hill, I had to pull over. And not just pull over, but potentially pass out. I sat down on the scratchy dirt in this tiny patch of shade provided by a scratchy tree, and fought through the big dark cloud that was stifling my vision.
A nice car with two attractive foreign biking men -- possibly Swiss -- stopped to ask if I was OK. They'd even passed on the curvy hilly road and then turned around to check. That was nice, though as I was sweating and ill and generally not feeling attractive. John thought it was nice, too. I assured them I was fine but it took me 15 minutes before I could get on my bike. I finished the climb, but we only made it Nicasio, still 13 miles from Point Reyes, before I had to turn around. The ride home was hard, needless to say.
So that was my introduction to Mount Random Rock, which leaves me with an enormouse sense of accomplishment every time I mount it now, if you know what I mean. I've crested that hill three times since and it is starting to feel better.
But this time, I made more progress by keeping up with John on the flats. He charges the hill, and there's no way I'm keeping up with him there yet. But he swore to me he was riding at his normal pace on the flats this week and I kept up.
It was a baby step, but an important one. I can't be a great training partner if he has to slow down for me all of the time. So the results are a big triumph -- a two-story, random, rock-sized triumph.

Bike and build

2007-08-22T21:35:00.000-07:00

I met this cool group of college students who rode their bikes from Providence Rhode Island to San Francisco, stopping to volunteer at Habitat for Humanity sites all along the 3,500-mile route. There are actually several different routes for cross-country bikers that you can see at their Web site: www.bikeandbuild.org.
Shockingly, most of the 31 riders who did te Providence-to-San Francisco trip, were not bikers when they started the trip.
And not shockingly, they became bikers along the way.
Fun facts I learned about their trip at their celebration party at Buca de Beppo in San Francisco: Everyone got flat tires though one girl made it all the way to Nevada before getting her first -- which I think is akin to pitching a no-hitter until the bottom of the ninth.
One trip leader, Jeff, had 13 flat tires in one day. But fellow riders say he is a "patcher" and not a tube changer. Of all the spills, and apparently there were many, only one person had to go to the hospital after a particularly nasty fall that knocked him out for a few minutes. He ended up in the hospital a second time, too, but it was precautionary. He returned to finish the ride with the group. Most of the women on the trip said they gained weight during an entire Summer of cycling. I asked how this was possible and one woman said: "Well, muscle weighs more than fat. But we also ate a lot."
Theroup was inspiring. And it was a good reminder that will -- even moe than skill -- goes a really long way.

Just so we're clear on what "beginner" means

2007-08-12T15:18:00.000-07:00

I ran 3.2 miles on Friday. It took just a little more than 30 minutes.
My heart rate hovered at like 165-170. My max was 173.
I do not feel fast. My stride is cramped. I did not enjoy it.

My first tri

2007-08-10T12:38:00.000-07:00

It was a stampede.

Or at least that's what if felt like, when the two or three dozen people I'd passed during the bike portion of my first sprint triathlon -- The 2007 Tiburon Triathlon to support the Tiburon fire district -- booked it past me during the last leg of the race.

There was nothing I could do to fend them off, this pack of Heat 5 triathletes, with their exceptionally vented triathlon clothes and their ridiculously efficient strides.

But I had promised myself I'd do a full-fledged triathlon before I turned 30. And as of today, I have 173 days left. The Tiburon Tri was a warm-up to making good on that promise.

There's really only one problem.

I'm what some might call a "burst athlete," a fast sprinter with exceptional heart rate recovery. I've earned this identity through a lifetime of team sports -- soccer, volleyball and rugby. And as hard as I played those sports, I have never found anything as challenging as overcoming my endurance running slowness.

It is painful how slow I am. And I was reminded of that during the Stampede. It was hard to swallow.

After it passed, I focused on the girl in the pink yoga outfit about 30 yards ahead of me and told myself that if I let her beat me, it'd be hard to forgive myself. But I wondered if she was thinking what I was thinking? Am I really this slow?

Coach Neil Fraser, of TriMoreFitness in San Francisco says, "What if I am the slowest?" is the most common question beginner triathletes ask.

Doubt and fear of failure are all common feelings, he says.

I wanted to tell him that I eat doubt and fear of failure for breakfast.

But, Coach Neil persuades:

The excitement and thrill you will feel at the start of your first triathlon are right up there with graduating college, falling in love for the first time or getting married.

"When was the last time you felt this nervous about anything?" he says.

That's often one of the best signs that what you're about to do, is going to be awesome.

And he was right. It was thrilling. Look how thrilled I was even before it started!

It was thrilling to be part a group of thrashing swimmers all trying to make a tight turn around the buoy in the middle of the Bay -- To reach out and touch someone else's feet in the murky cold water and to know I was close enough to pass. It was thrilling to pick off people on the bike and race down the windy Tiburon road faster than I knew my bike could go, to put distance between myself and the people I passed.

And after the stampede, it was thrilling to turn that corner and see the finish line and all the people clapping and cheering.

I finished the race in 1:11:19, good enough for 190th out of 320. I did well in the swim, shockingly since I've never competed in swimming before, completing the half mile in 12 minutes and 45 seconds. I'm confident I can take minutes off of that with a little more experience swimming in a pack. I finished the bike in under 39 minutes. And as I've only ridden a road bike a handful of times, I'm pretty sure I can get better at that.
As for my run time.. well... At just under 10-minute miles, we'll mark that as an area that "Needs Improvement."

By the next time you read me, I already hope to be faster... Or at least, I'm gunna tri.

Get it?