You want me to swallow what? GU?

Sometime between the 4^th of July and my next race (if it can be called that- the Salt Lake Pioneer Day 5k, which had no timing, no real finish line, and a lame medal), I decided I was ready for the next level.  Maybe it was watching Kermit at a triathlon and being amazed that someone could swim 1.5 miles, bike 40k and run 10k and be fine the rest of the day.  Or maybe it was my insatiable desire to learn something new.  A year ago, if you would have asked me if I’d ever want to run a 10k, I would’ve said, you’re crazy.  Running 3 miles was hard enough- I couldn’t imagine going for 6 miles without keeling over dead.

But now, that’s all changed.  I don’t remember exactly how the thought got planted in my head.  Although seeing all the flyers made me think it might be fun.  Perhaps it was encouragement from Kermit.  But, I decided to start training for a half marathon.  Yeah, 13 miles is a leap from 3, it’s true.  But when Kermit offered to help me start training, I couldn’t resist- spending extra time with him?  Sign me up!

We decided on the Provo Halloween Half, the Saturday before Halloween.  Everyone has told me to train carefully for it, because it’s all downhill-down through Provo Canyon. That might sound easy, especially for someone’s first half-marathon.  But, it’s supposedly killer on your knees if you don’t train right.

In the spirit of training, and quenching my appetite to learn a new language in the world of running and triathlons, I delved into picking up all the lingo.  Near the end of July, we hiked Timp, a 7.75 mile hike one-way and you hit 11,783 feet at the summit.  That’s an altitude gain of about 4,652 feet.  Because there was so much time to talk, and because I was starting to absorb all the new words I was hearing between Kermit and all his triathlon friends, I tried deciphering all their meanings.  Because I couldn’t always pick up on definitions from context clues- you know, that trick your elementary school teacher taught you to try and figure out what all the big words the adults were using really meant- I started making up my own definitions.  Here are some of them:

Chamois Crème-(those special lubricants for your undercarriage)- some type of substance in a cream, gel, or spray, often very messy to apply (with often no place to wipe your hand on after application), which helps prevent super-uncomfortable owies in your nether-regions.  You may need to cowboy up and overcome those fears of sticking your hand down your pants (in front of everyone) right before a race if you forgot to apply it at 5am, still half asleep.

Tri- a shortened form of triathlon used before anything related to the sport, as in tri-tats, tri-gear, tri-bike, tri-training, tri-geek (one who is obsessed with triathlons and all the gear involved), etc.  Adds a certain level of prestige to anything having tri- before it.  Example- “My tri-bike is so much cooler than yours because I can ride in aero position.”

Aero handlebars/position- this is so much easier to show than explain. But I’m still learning the advantages of riding in aero position.  I assume it’s so you can take a little nap on long, flat courses… watch out for that cow!!! *crash*

Regular road bike handle bars:

Tri-bike handle bars: 

T1- Transition 1, an area of mass mayhem where $3000+ bikes are hanging precariously from wobbly metal pipes.  Meanwhile, hundreds of athletes are slipping and sliding around after coming out of the swim, trying to get out of their wetsuits, remember which isle their bike is down, suck down some nutrition, change into bike gear, get their bike off the rack, and head off.  All while not falling into the other athletes (or their bikes).   

Clip pedals- A device similar to a Chinese finger trap, which sucks in your $400 bike shoes.  The harder you try to pull your feet off as you head to T2 (definition of this below), the less likely you are to succeed.  Hence the number of triathletes who wind up barefoot at the dismount area, dragging those $400 shoes on the ground.

T2- Transition 2, while not as chaotic as T1, is nonetheless a place of mass fury.  Filled with the clip clop of people who managed to get their special shoes out of the clip pedals running down the isle with their bike, once again trying to remember which isle to go down.  You can often observe athletes throwing their bikes back onto the rickety pipes, ripping off their bike shoes, sliding into running shoes, sucking down more nutrition, and taking off for the final stretch of the race.  All while trying to avoid getting run over by bikers, and searching for their friends/family for a little encouragement for the home stretch when they are ready to jump in the hot tub already.  Unfortunately, they went whizzing by so fast on their bikes coming into T2 that their supporters couldn’t get down there in time to cheer them on into the run portion.

Notice how this is TRI-Berry

Nutrition- This is probably my favorite one so far that I’ve learned.  Remember my earlier post about my fear of food and my temperamental stomach?  When I first heard the word nutrition plan flying around, I assumed that meant snacking on some fruit, chugging Gatorade, maybe even throwing back some nuts or something.  Little did I know… nutrition consists of a vast variety of powders, gel-like substances, mini shot-bottles of some sort of pure energy semi-liquids, blocks (supercharged fruit snacks), and something called energy beans (they want you to think you’re eating jelly beans instead of energy boosts).  The first time Kermit said he’d start me on GU’s when we were running 6 miles or more, I said, you want me to do what?!  Even the name implies fear of the thing which you are about to ingest.  GU’s and gels most often taste like something you wouldn’t feed the dog and are so thick I’m amazed anyone can swallow it while trying to navigate through a transition.  Having said all this, I’m told you get used to it, and if you time your nutrition right, it can make the difference between sprinting across the finish line and stumbling- making embarrassingly wimpy or in-pain faces for the camera (and boy have I done that!).  I have to admit my first gel experience wasn’t so bad- the taste was okay and if I drank enough water afterwards, I could wash down the thick sticky stuff.

Special Needs- At first, I thought this was a special station for those with physical limitations to pick up replacement parts or other special things they need that the other athletes don’t need.  However, I learned that by the time you get to mile 14 during the run portion of a full Ironman, everyone could be called a “special needs” individual.  From hallucinations, slower brain processing speed (Mandy, how many minutes are in an hour?  How many?! 60?  Okay, what is 40 minus 60?!), hobbling with blisters, losing the ability to sweat, looking like one of the many EMT’s need to check your blood alcohol level, and many other maladies, everyone needs an extra special treat to get them through the back stretch.

Finisher medals- Having seen Kermit’s extensive collection of medals hanging from two walls in his house from more than three years of countless races, I quickly learned what really makes a great race- the finisher’s medal.  They come in all shapes, sizes and colors.  The bigger, more colorful, and unique, the better.  Using the same medal design two years in a row, but with a different year imprinted, or simply slapping a sticker on a piece of metal is unacceptable in the eyes of a runner or triathlete.  The worst thing about watching the last group finishing a poorly planned race?  Watching a bunch of stumbling, sweaty bodies fight over the last medal.  Gross.

T-shirts- almost as important as the finisher medals, I have heard people say they didn’t want to run a particular race because the shirt was cotton rather than tech (one of those fancy ones that instantly wicks sweat off your skin, helping prevent the need for Chamois Crème in areas above the waist).  Again, after seeing boxes and boxes of Kermit’s old race shirts, it’s something athletes hang onto for years… and years… and years.  So they better be good quality.

Training- a varying amount of time spent out in the blistering sun, pelting rain or howling wind running for miles on end, biking to the ends of the earth, or swimming to the ocean on the opposite side of the continent.  A training schedule varies from day to day, switching up distance, pacing and rest days in such a manner that people unfamiliar with a training program get lost trying to keep straight.  This also means very early mornings, working out during lunch breaks, and/or late nights, trying to fit it all in amongst work, family, and little things like fixing the leaking pipe that’s been dripping since last winter.  For family and friends, this means giving a lot of love and support to the athlete, hoping they appreciate the support as much as the athlete hopes the non-athlete appreciates all the sacrifices they are making to reach their dreams.  Do you really think they like spending an entire Saturday sweating all day, trying to avoid copious amounts of chaffing and downing thick nasty liquids when they could be playing with their kids or relaxing with their significant other? 

Case in point- the Iron Cowboy, who will be completing 30 Ironman races by the end of this year-all in a 12 month period.  I had the pleasure of meeting and getting to know him at Ironman KY.  Not only was I amazed at his great attitude and down-to-earth friendliness, but the support his wife and 5 kids give him week after week amazed me.  If that’s not love and support, I don’t know what is.  

And this is the real reason why I decided to up my game- if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em!  What better way to get to know someone, build a relationship with someone, then to train with them?  I couldn’t let Kermit have all the fun!  Really, though, there is a lot more to it than that, which I’ll talk about in another post- as well as tell you just how high I decided to set my goals.

Running Through the Pain

Race #3 dawned on a gorgeous 4^th of July morning.  Even at 6am, the promise of heat hung heavy in the air-like a warm blanket at the wrong time of year.  As I walked down 900 East in Provo towards the starting line of the Freedom Run, each step carried a silent moan full of pain, and each breath held a prayer that I’d make it through this race. 

The few days leading up to this race, I’d been under extreme stress trying to complete my thesis by all the deadlines so I wouldn’t have to pay more tuition that I couldn’t afford.  Stress for me equals very little eating and GI troubles.  Then the day before the race, I had a doctor’s appointment that turned out to be very unpleasant.  Without going into too much detail, he’d had to scrape a sharp instrument over most of my legs from knees to the very top, leaving painful, bleeding spots dotting most of the area, especially the backs of my legs.  I wasn’t able to return to work and had to lie on my stomach in pain the rest of the day.  The doctor had said if I bandaged them up well the next day I could still go run my race.  But I was thinking, how in the world am I going to do this?  Tears threatened to fall most of the day as I tried to work from home and not worry about the next day’s race.  Because the previous race’s time had been slower, I really wanted to do better this time.

My dad taught me a valuable lesson when I was 8 years old.  He took me to my very first softball practice.  Since I was at the age border, the Bobby Sox organizers had let me choose whether I wanted to play T-ball or fast pitch with the big girls… and of course I chose being around the big girls!  I was the shortest girl on my team- and the fastest.  Which meant the pitchers couldn’t pitch well to me, so I walked most of the time.  And I was so small and so fast that by the time they realized I was stealing second, it was too late.  But anyway, back to that first practice.  I was nervous, but excited at the same time.  My dad offered to be my partner in warm-ups, throwing the ball back and forth as we had countless times at home.  Then one throw went straight to my face and hit me in the head.  Man did it hurt!

I started crying and dad came over to check on me.  I said, “I want to go home.  I can’t do this, that hurt.”  My dad said, well, it’s your choice, Mandy.  You can choose to go home and I will still love you.  Or, you can choose to stay and you just might find that as you practice, you’ll get better, and discover softball is something you love.  Then you’ll be glad you kept trying and didn’t give up.  But whatever you decide, I’ll support you and love you.  Hmmm… to an 8 year old, this was quite a big decision.  Because I trusted my dad, and knew he was usually right about things, and because I didn’t want to let him down, I decided to stay and keep trying.

Little did I know then how that day would set the course for the rest of my life.  I wound up loving softball and learned that you can’t quit at the beginning of something new.  It takes time to learn something and to know if you love it or not, so you just keep going, bruises, embarrassments and all.  And that’s how I’ve always been throughout my life.

Thinking about this experience 25 years ago, I made up my mind that I would run in the Freedom Run.  I’d figure out a way to bandage all the sores so I could do it.  I wasn’t a quitter.

I barely slept that night because of the pain and being uncomfortable.  But I got up, wrapped gauze around most of my upper thighs (which made me look very strange in my tight black exercise capris), and headed down to the starting line.  The gauze thankfully cushioned the worst areas, but there was still pain and awkwardness.  I hoped the gauze wouldn’t fall down during some part of the race, especially considering we’d be going down the parade route for most of the way, and that could be very embarrassing.  Kermit was also running in the race, but he was doing the 10k so we wouldn’t see each other until he got to the finish line.  But he had encouraged me the night before and I didn’t want to let him down either.

Standing with my pace group, I was really nervous and my stomach was in knots.  This race was different because I knew that the lack of sleep, food, and abundance of pain would all affect my race.  When it was time to go, I took off, feeling pretty good for the first 1.5 miles.  Then I realized I’d gone way too fast at the beginning and had to stop quite a few times.  This race taught me the importance of pacing yourself, no matter how short or long the race.  The pain was bearable but I didn’t know how I’d make it to that finish line.  I was spent and worried the sweating and movement might make the sores worse.  But I didn’t stop.  Hearing cheering crowds helped quite a bit, as did knowing I’d see Kermit not long after crossing the finish line as well.  So I kept going, kept pushing, even though I felt like I had nothing left.

The last quarter mile or so was all uphill, and I had to stop 3-4 times to walk.  By this point, I didn’t care what my time was, I just wanted to finish!  As we got closer to the finish line, my body was screaming at me from everywhere to stop, but I couldn’t cross the finish line walking.  So, not only did I keep running, but I gathered up everything I had left and sprinted the last little bit and across that finish line.  I was so relieved to have finished, tears threatened to fall down my sweaty cheeks.  I did it!  I couldn’t believe it.  My time was atrocious- 33 min 10 sec for a 5k, much slower than my first two races.  But I didn’t care.  I was grateful I’d had the strength and tenacity to just keep going.

Not only did I learn to keep fighting through pain during a race, I also learned about something I’m guessing every runner experiences at some point- a tough recovery post-race.  Not long after Kermit crossed the finish line and we celebrated his amazing finish time, I started feeling soooo sick.  He tried to get me to eat and drink something (which I’d already done before he finished) but being stubborn, I wouldn’t.  I sat down on the ground instead and just sat there in a daze for a while.  I felt like if I moved, I’d get sick, and since we’d only known each other a couple weeks, I did not want to vomit in front of him.  After much more prodding and nudging and telling me I’d be hurting much more the next day if I didn’t get up and move, I finally stood up very slowly.  But I still felt woozy and sick.  After walking a bit, and trying to convince myself I was going to be fine, I started feeling better.  But that was not a pleasant experience.  And Kermit was right- the next day, I was really sore.  I don’t know if my hypoglycemia had anything to do with it.  But I never want to feel like that after a race again.  So, I learned the value of good nutrition and sleep.  Yes, you can run a race when you’re in pain.  But it’s much easier if you’ve been eating well and getting enough Z’s.

You would have thought this would have discouraged me from running more races- but just the opposite began to happen.  But you’ll have to wait until the next blog to hear more about that.            

Racing for Cancer

My second race was a much different experience than my first.  I wrote in my journal about how it was organized much better, I got better goodies in my race packet, and I had a real timing chip on my bib.  And I loved (and it’s still my favorite one) the shirt I got.  Feeling a bit more confident about this race, having done one already, and thinking I knew how these things work now, I went into it hoping for an even better time than my first.  True, placing 27/70 in my division on the first race wasn’t too shabby, but I knew I could do better.

There were tons of people at this race, the American Fork Canyon half marathon and 5k.  The reason being, the proceeds all went towards helping families trying to pay medical bills from cancer treatments and care.  When I signed up for this race, I didn’t have a special story to share.  I haven’t lost anyone really close to me from cancer, specifically, although some family members have had various forms.  However, in December 2009, I went in to the Dermatologist (after rescheduling 3 times- it’s so hard to get in to see one of those guys) to have him check this bump on my forehead that looked like a pimple, but wouldn’t pop.  I’d had it for almost a year and knew something wasn’t right.

He took a look at it with a special magnifying glass-looking thing.  And after only a few seconds, handed me the news, I’m pretty sure that’s cancer.  He took a biopsy to confirm, which confirmed basal cell carcinoma.  Although this is the least dangerous kind, they still needed to go in and surgically remove the cancer.  At this point in my life, I’d just taken the GRE and was trying to get into grad school.  I’d been divorced two years.  My ex-husband was about to get divorced from his second wife, and the events leading up to this had created a lot of stress for everyone involved.  I’d just changed jobs and was about to be in-between insurance plans.  And I was, for the hundredth time, trying to not fall in love with Don Queco (without a lot of success).  

On the one hand, my heart dropped when the doctor told me the news, and my mind started racing- wondering what it would be like.  On the other hand, for as long as I could remember, I always had this feeling I’d someday have some kind of cancer.  So I wrote in my journal that I wasn’t that shocked or worried, because I’d had a feeling this would happen someday.  I even wrote, “I think Heavenly Father’s been preparing me for quite a few years now.  And it still wouldn’t surprise me if I got breast or uterine cancer down the road.  So amazingly I’m not that worried or stressed.”  

First stitches Dec 2009

I went in three days before Christmas to have them remove the cancer.  It was right at my hair line.  It was painful and scary.  They removed a nice chunk of skin on my forehead, put a bandage over the area, and froze the removed section to see if they’d gotten it all.  It was very difficult sitting there wondering if they’d have to take more of my face off.  They didn’t get it all the first time, so the doctor had to remove the bandage and cut some more off.  That time was successful, thank goodness.  While they were trying to stitch me up, we learned my body burns off numbing agents very quickly (which makes sense since trips to the dentist had never been pleasant-the Novocain always wore off in record time).  The numbing shots were almost as painful as the stitches, though not as nasty smelling as them cauterizing one side that refused to stop bleeding.  Not having any vacation time at my new job yet, I had to go to work afterwards, bandaged and all.  By the time I left work, I was in so much pain, I’m amazed I drove home okay.  Some neighbors graciously brought over dinner and helped the kids bathe and get to bed while I moaned and cried in pain on the couch.  That Tylenol couldn’t kick in fast enough!

Christmas Day 2009

All the pictures around Christmas that year never saw the light of Facebook.  The swelling slowly moved down my face, swelling my forehead in time for Christmas day, then a week or so later turning the area around my eye a hideous blue/black/purple and eventually green.  Because of where they removed skin and pulled it together again afterwards, an age line I was getting across my forehead now peaked and went up oddly on that side of my face.  Needless to say, my experience with cancer, while not as painful and tragic as many stories out there, was still difficult for me.

Emotion got the best of me (far left)

So standing at the starting line for the race that day, I was thinking about that experience.  The announcer shouted just before starting time that with everyone’s registration, they’d raised $70,000 for those struggling to pay their medical bills.  Tears came to my eyes as I realized that this race was about a lot more than just my getting a new PR, a cool race shirt, or a real-life timing chip.  This was about helping others in my community.  I’d been on the receiving end myself so many times as a single mom.  And the feeling of being able to give to someone else was almost too much.  Feeling embarrassed at my emotion, I focused on getting ready for the race and took off when that horn blasted.

 

While my finish time wasn’t as great on this one- 31:53- I finished better in my division- 13/56.  Having completed my second race, I took away not only new knowledge about racing, but more than that, I felt good knowing I’d done a little something for someone else.  And that was much more satisfying to me than breaking a new PR.