What comes next?

It's been several weeks since my race and with no races coming up, the inevitable question must be asked: What now?

Well, I've been running 2 or 3 times a week since my race and doing a bit of riding here and there. I've avoided trips to the pool altogether. Swimming can get incredibly boring for me without a goal (in fact, boredom with swimming is how I got started in the sport of tri!) and after this last race, I have little motivation to maintain or work on my swimming. Last year's swimming motivation came entirely from my absolutely insane entry in the Little Red Lighthouse Swim (5.8 miles in the Hudson). Given how fast my swim was at the Mooseman and how much work the other legs of my race need, I feel I could do just fine on a once a week swim schedule in the future.

Anyway, the running and biking are soon to cease as well. Why? I'm going away for 3 and a half months!!! One week in Vancouver, one week in Seattle and three months in South America. The epic trip is now only 3 weeks and one day away and it suddenly hit me this week...I'm really doing this!

Yet, even though my brain is mostly filled with travel plans, a little room for thinking about my next triathlon season remains. Given that my next racing season seems to occupy at least as much mindshare as speculation over my next job, I must be officially hooked. I'm thinking of joining a tri team of some sort in the city, doing my first sprint (woah -- scaling down, what a concept for me!) and trying to add some serious speed to my olympic time. Maybe there will even be a new sister for Rocinante (no one tell my girlfriend this, please)! I'm backing away from the half for at least a year...or at least that's what I'm thinking right now, but given that I have 3+ months of potentially attitude-changing travel ahead of me, it's hard to say what will happen next.

Here's what I know for sure --

What comes next for Rocinante? A storage space :(
What comes next for the blog? Travel blog transformation!
What comes next for Jessica? A giant leap into the unknown

How I Spent 6 hrs of My Life

So I'm finally sitting down to relive and record what happened at the Mooseman Half Ironman two weeks ago.

Day before
Kate and I rented a car and drove up to Bristol, NH which took a little more than 5 hrs. At this point I'd already been checking the weather forecast religiously for a week, hoping that with each new glance the chance of thunderstorms and rain would disappear. After getting burned by the weather at my last race, I was freaking out. Seven months of training only to be shot down by mother nature!

I tried to calm myself by talking through everything with Kate during the car ride. I must be the luckiest person alive to have a partner who will humor my rants for 5+ hrs without once hinting at boredom or exasperation. Eventually I decided that I'd gotten a lot out of those seven months of training, race or no race. I also decided that being nervous was only going to intensify the one preventable problem that could possibly keep me from finishing -- my gut. So I spent the rest of the day up till bed time repeating a mantra of "it's just for fun".

Kate's cousin and girlfriend met up with us later that evening and we pitched our respective tents in a giant field of triathletes -- bikes and gear strewn about. We chatted and laughed till about 9:30 when I decided I should get ready for bed, only to find we were the only ones in the campsite still awake!! It also downpoured that night, cooling the air a good 10 to 20 degrees. It turns out, that was the only serious rain we'd encounter till the ride home.

Prerace morning
I awoke at 4:30 a.m. to a din of alarms going off all over the camp, one after the other. First on the agenda was stuffing calories into my uncooperative stomach. I love food and I did not want to eat a single thing. I downed a couple of Ensures and took forever to eat a bagel with almond butter and a banana as Kate braided my hair. We packed up camp and headed over to the race. I'd racked my bike the previous night and covered it in garbage bags to keep it relatively dry. After laying out my gear and pacing the transition area to make sure I knew how to find my stuff from every possible direction - swim entrance, bike exit, bike entrance, run exit - I grabbed my wetsuit and Body Glide, made my fifteenth visit to the restroom and headed to the beach.

I'd dipped my toes in the lake the day before and thought, "this isn't that bad!" I was thinking the same thing this morning as I eased into the water till I was in up to my shoulders and the water really started to seep into my suit. Suddenly the full sensation hit me -- "Fuck! This is cold!!" I took probably no more than five strokes before climbing out and finding my fans on the beach to console me.

The swim (1.2 miles, 29:01)
I was in the last wave of the day (5 of 5) consisting of women under 35 and relay teams. The only men around were, therefore, part of a relay and only doing the swim. I wanted to thump them all in the head.

I made me way to the center front. I always try to put myself in the front because, in all frankness, triathletes are crappy swimmers and I am not. I'm not being conceited here -- as will be seen when I get to the bike -- just a realist. I prefer not to get kicked or punched and because I'm fast enough, the best way to avoid it is to put myself at the very front and stay up there. I suppose in a way I've avoided a triathlon right of passage (getting beat up on the swim) by being fast, but I'm totally okay with that!

The water stopped feeling cold within a few minutes and I settled into what felt like a very easy, comfortable pace. The water was amazingly clear and fresh. A major change from all my Hudson River swims of late. By the time I reached the beach, I'd swum through loads of athletes in earlier waves and felt awesome. I flashed my fans a big smile and a thumbs up as I ran up the beach to transition. First leg done - check!

Transition One (3:52, total: 32:53)
I've never used a wetsuit stripper before but I couldn't resist taking advantage. I unzipped my suit and stripped it down to my waist, flopped onto a mat of turf, stuck my legs up in the air and two preteen boys grabbed the sides of my suit and, flip!, it was off. Okay, that was cool!

I made my way to the bike to see the usual scene -- most of the bikes were still racked, meaning their owners were still in the water. I took some time to wipe my feet, put on socks and shoes, buckle my helmet, put on gloves and stuff three packs of Cliff Shots in my shirt pocket. I grabbed Rocinante and we were off!

Bike (56 miles, 3:20:18, total: 3:53:11)
Miles 1-10: I feel flippin' great. Forgot my shades in transition, but that's okay. It's overcast, kind of lightly spritzing and I notice the hardcore types aren't wearing any either (as they fly by me). In the first couple of miles you can see the lake and there's still lots of folks out there. I feel strong and happy. I'm having fun and I start to eat my Cliff Blocks and drink my water. I pass the first aid station and don't take anything yet. At the bottom of the steepest climb on the course a devil dances to tunes as she screams "To the top!" and I laugh.

Miles 11-25: Life is bad. Life is awful. My stomach wants to reject everything in it and I can't stop thinking about how long this bike ride is. I dropped my water bottle along the way and I've been picking up a new bottle at every aid station. I'm forcing myself to eat the Cliff Blocks but I really don't want them. Everyone is passing me and I fear I'm not going to finish this race. I don't know it at the time, but this is to be my lowest point of the day.

Miles 26-35: Thank the heavens I kept eating! I'm no longer nauseated, I've finished one of the two loops and life is sooooo much better. I know that while I've been passed a lot, there's no one on the run course before I've finished my first loop so I'm definitely still in a respectable place. I'm drinking and eating as I should be.

Miles 36-56: My back hurts. I have to pee. This ride feels interminable. While my stomach is under control, I'm tired and feeling a little dejected. I'm averaging below what I thought I could do. I'm like one of ten people on this course without aero bars. The ride is beautiful so I try to think about that and eventually I get to an aid station where I can run into the port a potty and relieve my aching bladder. Scattered fans yell "you look great!" and do the wave. I love them all. And then I see the finish and I'm so overcome with joy I start to cry.

Transition Two (3:51, total: 3:57:02)
I choke back a few big fat sobs and get myself under control. I notice that this time, most of the bikes are racked, meaning a lot of people passed me on the bike course. No matter, it's done! I start to jog for the exit wondering how this is going to feel after I was so wiped out by the bike. It feels so great to be upright and on my feet that I almost start crying again! I make a pit stop at the port a potty and I'm on my way!

Run(13.1 miles, 1:58:50, total: 5:55:50)
The run course is two loops. Kate's cousin runs much of the first loop with me (apparently against the rules, but something we don't find out till about mile 5 and counter to the answer she'd received when she asked race organizers whether she could do it). It feels like I'm on auto pilot. I'd resolved to do the first loop at whatever pace felt comfortable and walk through every aid station (one about every mile) to drink a glass of water at each. To my surprise, that pace is about a 9 minute mile.

The second loop is a bit more deserted than the first, but I'm passing people and almost never getting passed. This is not an experience I'm familiar with and it keeps me pumped up as I start to feel exhausted. With three miles left I decide not to drink any more water or walk. I can finish this thing in under 6 hrs after all!

And then just like that, I'm across the finish line and it's all over.

1.2 miles of swimming, 56 miles of biking and 13.1 miles of running later, I'm half iron and all pride.

Half Iron, Half Pain

I've been a bad, bad blogger, but I chalk it up to being too busy exercising and socializing - as well as too damn worried about my race to talk about my race.

But now, the race is done! That's right, I'm half iron. Which begs the question, what's the other half of me made of? During the second loop of my 13.1 mile run, I was contemplating that very question. At that point I knew I was going to finish (not something I was totally convinced of during the entire race), it was just a matter of how fast. The first answer to that question? Hostess cupcakes!! I immediately became nauseated and pushed the thought aside, moving on to some other diversionary line of thinking. When the race was done and I was sitting waiting for my free massage sporting my moose antlers, I thought "pain! the other half is pain!"

The pain has subsided and now I wonder, is the other half of me made of perseverance or tenacity, or just sheer stupidity? (This is a rhetorical question, thank you.)

Given that it's getting kind of late, I'll leave off my full race report for later. For now, here's some eye candy from the race.

Cycling + BBQ = heaven

My weekend can be summed up quite simply: cycling, eating, more cycling, more eating, sleeping. And it couldn't have been a better weekend for it! It was amazingly beautiful out.

Saturday consisted of a ride with the NYCC through Connecticut, while Sunday was dominated by the 5 Boro Bike Tour. The tour is a huge extravaganza -- the biggest cycling event in the city. I heard this year's ride hit 32,000 riders!

The route takes you down the southbound side of the FDR, over the Queensboro Bridge, on the BQE to the Verrazano-Narrows and into Staten Island. Basically, the ride is full of amazing views, not the least of which is a sea of cyclists extending for hours and hours. Apparently my parents heard about it on Fox News and I even met a few SU alums in town for the ride on Saturday. (They were riding up St. Nick's and looking rather lost when I led them back to the west side trail -- building up my "helping lost and clueless and out-of-towners" karma!)

The tour is notoriously crowded and somewhat accident-prone given the number of riders packed together. I find it relatively easy to avoid collisions though. It just takes a little care, and I'm not out there to set any land speed records. That's why it makes me nuts when these "hardcore" cyclist types get all cranky about the tour...as though riding in it makes you less of a cyclist! Frankly, I can't imagine anything more empowering than taking over major highways and bridges with seas and seas of bikes. I say the more, the merrier!

The best part of the tour? Finishing it off with a gorging at Dinosaur BBQ. What can I say? Riding is great and all, but guilt-free calorie stuffing, now that's priceless.

Commuting as exercise

I've recently rediscovered the beauty of multi-tasking. A few weeks ago it occurred to me that I live about 8 or 9 miles from my office -- a distance that takes about 40 minutes door-to-door via the subway. Given that I was doing 10+ mile runs, it was thus not unreasonable that I could just RUN home! Of course running 8 or 9 miles was definitely going to take more than 40 minutes...but consider how many minutes it would take to go home, change and then run for 9 miles!

Since that revelation I've been able to space out long bike days and long run days by something more than 12 hrs. My legs love me for it.

Of course, the run home from work hasn't been perfect each time. Last week I ran a whopping 13 miles, but only after having allowed my doctor to give me a tetanus shot and eating like crap all day. Not the best decisions I've ever made. The result? Well, let's just say I have firsthand experience of nearly every public restroom on the west side greenway from 23rd to 148th. At least I learned something from my stupidity. This week's 15 mile run was executed with relative ease (in as much as one can reasonably apply the word "ease" to a 15 mile run).

Today, I only needed an hour of riding which was covered by riding to and from work, a distance that takes the same 40 minutes as my subway commute. Check!

As an aside, I am now reasonably certain I'm going to lose my left toenail as well. Just in time for sandal season!

Computer held hostage by mean graduate student

There have been no blog posts for a while now, and lest you think that means I haven't been working out, let me set the record straight. I've been working out like a fiend still, though I've lost my appetite for logging workouts (my appetite for food remains ferocious). Last week I completed a 12 mile run and did a 65 mile group ride that zoomed down the LIE service road at a frightening 22+ mph. I even scored myself some sweet bike glove sun burn lines (no picture, sorry).

No, the reason for my long absence on the blog is the girlfriend. The thing is, I have to use the girlfriend's computer to bring you these lovely little tales each week. She, however, has been selfishly hogging all the computer time in her quest to finish her thesis and graduate with a degree in less than a month.

At least it will be over soon. Which means I can post here more often and, much more importantly, I won't have to do all the dishes around this place!!

Somewhat disturbing side effects of long runs

Yesterday I ran 10 miles -- hallelujah!! I'm only 3.2 miles away from half ironman glory. That's nothing! However, I must admit that these long runs are exacting a tole on my body in ways I never expected:

1. Willingness to jump into a cold bath. I discussed this new habit last week, but I have a picture to add this week! I can't actually say that the fleece and the hat make me any warmer but it helps with the psychological pain of these baths.

2. Relentless hunger. I'm actually somewhat nauseous immediately after a long run but the next day -- watch out food, here I come!

3. I'm all alone! The girlfriend was running with me till I topped the 7 mile mark. After that she bailed. I thought this was a pretty reasonable decision on her part given that her only workouts were these long runs once a week, but I miss the company after 60 minutes.

4. Unusual scabs. The most alarming one is on my sternum where the bottom of my sports bra rubs against my skin. Initially I tried putting Body Guide and/or Vaseline on, but after 8 miles or so it still hurts. Now it's just a little scab :(

5. Impending death of my toe nail. This is disgusting, so avert your eyes if you are faint of heart. I think I'm going to lose the nail on my big toe. Yesterday after my run I took off my sneakers and noticed the nail on my right big toe was rather dark. I pushed on it and it did NOT feed good. I even had to keep it out of my ice bath because it felt really uncomfortable under water. Today is no better, so I'm preparing for the worst -- this sucker is going to fall off, I just know it.

Taking the plunge

Yesterday I went for the longest run of my life -- 9 miles. If you had told me before January 2005 that some day I would run 9 miles, I would have laughed my ass off. If you had told me that some day I would run 9 miles, then climb into a tub of freezing cold water and marinate in it for 10 minutes, I would have started to cackle till I fell over mid cackle and continued cackling as I rolled around on the ground for a while.

In case it's unclear, that's exactly what I did yesterday (only after having swum for 45 minutes at 7 a.m. on a Sunday and only before an hour and a half of yoga and in between consuming three times my body weight in food).

It's torture. Just look at this gnarly rugby player who is clearly struggling with the overwhelming urge to jump out of his ice bath, chase down his trainer and beat him/her to a pulp. I decided to endure the torture simply because getting out of bed the day after a long run was even more torturous. I was going to try icing all my joints (knees, hips, ankles) instead, but that just seemed like way too much of a pain. It does seem to make a difference, even if every child within a three block radius has been corrupted by my copious amounts of swearing during the immersion process.

Besides, if Runner's Magazine says it's so, it must be!

Redefining sexy

The fashion and cosmetic industry experts would you have believe that a woman is most attractive and alluring when she's swathed in the latest haute couture and painted to perfection. I have to report that a little spandex, a sports bra and copious amounts of sweat have always produced more consistent results for me!

It never ceases to amaze me the reactions that my workout attire, messy hair and flushed face can elicit from the male population in my neighborhood. They stare, they whistle, they yell "hey baby" and "good lookin'". Tonight I got a few calls as I walked from Riverside to my apartment and another "hiii, darlin" once inside my building. When I walked in, I immediately went to the bathroom to blow my nose for another 10 min, but when I looked into the mirror my hair was a sweaty, awful mess.

Now, I believe I look good in my running clothes (that's my standard running ensemble pictured there, minus the hat which was a celebratory flourish for my New Year's run in Central Park) but I have no illusions about my overall appearance. Looking in the mirror tonight just confirmed my suspicions that men could care less about your face or your hair or your expensive shoes. They just want to see some curves!

Back in the saddle

I've been completely knocked out by a cold for the last week and completely avoiding my blog for the last month. Five days with no exercise. It's been quite a while since that's happened! Tonight I climbed back on Rocinante for a light 60 min spin during my Northern Exposure viewing in the hopes I might sweat the last of this cold right on out.

I remain unconvinced that my exercise alone is going to do the trick so I just added some NyQuil to the equation. I must type quickly now before coherent thought becomes an impossibility.

These five days have also provided me with an opportunity to really examine my whole triathlon quest. The first few days I was racked with guilt over the workouts I was missing, as though a few days without biking, swimming or running were going to land me back at square one after months of diligent work. As my cold continued to get worse and I began hurtling toward total despondency, the girlfriend stepped in with some sage words, "Baby, it's supposed to be fun."

It hit me like a ton of bricks. I choose to do this. Presumably, I choose to do it because I like it. No one makes me do it. I'm the only one who cares if I miss a workout - the only one who'd be crying on race day if I didn't cross that finish line. While my friends and family cheer me on, they only care about how I do because they know I care.

The question is, am I having fun crossing that finish line? And more importantly, am I having fun during the long quest that it takes to even reach the starting line?

Those workouts where you can feel your fitness building are definitely fun. Even the totally exhausting, pushed yourself a little too hard workouts are fun when they're over and I know I toughed it out. What isn't fun is the guilt whenever I miss one. So I'm saying to hell with the guilt.

If life gets in the way of a workout because I wanted to hang out late with friends or take advantage of some event in this wild, crazy city, then so be it. If it means I don't cross the finish line on race day, then I'll know it's because something else was more worth my while. If the only thing I can say about six months of my life is "I did a half Ironman" then that is NOT time well spent in my book. And I accept the consequences of that decision, with a smile on my face.

A week without running

My runs last week sucked. There is no other way to put it, really. They blew chunks. I was in pain; I felt slow; I was sure I was never going to be able to do that damn half ironman. So I took drastic measures -- I cancelled all running for a week. I swapped a bike for a Sunday run and added some extra swimming.

I wanted to see if, after a week of no running, would it at least not hurt me to walk. I hobbled through most of last week, desperately cluching the hand rail on stairs and trying not to wince as I walked down the street. I even dreamed that I had to do a half ironman in reverse order (half marathon first) and was trudging along ever so slowly while thinking "I am never going to be able to finish this!" Eventually the pain in walking went away. Today, I ran.

I ran free as a bird -- no heart rate monitor, no treadmill, no outdoor track. I ran down Riverside Drive after dark all by myself and I could not have been happier. It felt like a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I don't know what's going to happen next with my running, but for the first time in a LONG time I had a run that I actually enjoyed. Tonight I go to sleep with a big fat smile on my face. Maybe tonight I'll dream of finishing that f-ing half marathon!

Failing and being okay with it

I typically have an extremely hard time failing at anything, especially my self-inflicted goals. I have an even more difficult time accepting any type of failure, coming to terms with it and moving on. I'm not sure how I overcame this personality quirk (is it those fish pills I've been taking -- apparently they are supposed to "stabilize mood"!!), but I am totally okay with the fact that I did not complete my 14 hrs of training last week.

First of all, I was sick and decided that resting was a higher priority. This ended up being a pretty good choice, I think.

Secondly, I only missed that 14 hour mark by one lousy 45 minute work out (deducted from my least favorite sport, running).

I used my new "reality-based" attitude on a grueling 1 hr and 40 min run yesterday, to great success. My ankles were killing me, so at the 1 hour mark I decided that I'd complete the last 40 minutes by doing run/walk intervals. I stopped briefly to stretch and wallah, my ankles were like new again! It was truly amazing. After I stretched, they completely stopped hurting. After 10 min more of running the pain would be creeping in again, at which point I'd walk a little and stretch again. Presto! Back to normal again. Usually the day after these long runs are incredibly painful for me. I usually swing my legs out of bed and as soon as my feet hit the floor -- PAIN! Today, the hurt only a little and it went away completely by the middle of the day.

This whole moderation thing is really mind-blowing.

The $30 Solution to My $450 Problem

While I didn't completely ignore the podiatrist's advice from a few weeks ago, I never called to make a follow up appointment during which I was supposed to have molds of my feet made for orthotics -- specifically $450 orthotics.

I'm not in favor of ignoring medical advice in general, but in this case, I've decided to at least try taking things into my own hands before I lay down that kind of cash. With this can-do attitude I headed for my local running store and looked for orthotics that tout arch support as their key attribute. The most expensive ones were Powerstep Pinnacles, coming in at a whopping $29. Even better, these suckers came with a 30 day money back guarantee, for any reason, and had some fancy seal saying they were "podiatrist designed". I was sold!

I'm happy to report an exceedingly high level of satisfaction with these insoles. I took the soles out of my running shoes (who knew those things came right out??) and slipped these ones in. Since then my runs have been relatively pain free.

Typically the first five to ten steps are sheer misery for me, sending pain coursing through my lower legs and feet. During my first (and every subsequent) run, that initial pain had completely disappeared. I still get a bit sore and at the end of long runs and the day after those long runs, but I ice and heat every night and it's mostly under control. The dream of Half-Ironman glory lives on!

Oh, and in case you were worried about my big toe joint as well, it seems to have subsided into a subtle ache at times, pain free at other times. I keep taking my over the counter pills, as prescribed by the girlfriend/medical savant, as they seem to help. Whether it's a placebo affect or actual chemistry I cannot know, and nor do I care, frankly.

Reassessing my luck

Earlier in life I complained bitterly of having bad luck. When the outcome of anything I cared about came down to chance, I always seemed to tip to the losing side. As I got older, I complained less but instead adopted a more fatalistic, resigned attitude.

My belief that the gods of chance hated me has stuck with me and perhaps even increased through my triathlon-related injuries and pains.

The girlfriend has long told me that my bad luck mantra was misguided. Personally, I've always thought that this was just something that any person with extraordinary luck feels obligated to say to someone with continually bad luck.

My life philosophy, however, was turned on its head this weekend when the girlfriend was struck with a comical string of bad luck. It actually doesn't sound that dramatic in the telling, but when you watch someone who's always been the golden child of the universe knock her full glass of wine over, shattering it into a million pieces, one evening and having the handle on her mug of coffee come clear off in her hand, sending her coffee all over her clothes and chair, the next morning, you start to question your black and white assumptions about good and bad.

The girlfriend's recent string of bad luck doesn't mean mine has turned particularly good, but I have uncharacteristicly high hopes.

A depressing visit to the podiatrist

Last year I suffered from some tendinitis in my right ankle. I went to physical therapy for about four months and managed to control the pain enough to get my workouts in and bust my goal for the New York City triathlon. After that, I stopped running and took some time off, hoping it would finally cure my ailments.

Now that I've been ramping up running again, I can say with authority that the pain in my ankle has not disappeared. In fact, it's spread to my other leg. It hasn't been debilitating, but the first 10 or 15 minutes of every run really suck.

Then, a few weeks ago, my big toe joint on my left foot started giving my grief. On the girlfriend's goading I made a doctor's appointment. I had a feeling my ankle problems were the product of falling arches, but I hadn't a clue what was causing the toe joint issue. The doctor told me to take a Motrin after each meal and referred me to a podiatrist.

The podiatrist x-rayed my foot with the ailing toe joint. He also measured the flexibility of my big toes by pushing them backward which, on my sore toe, hurt like hell. I actually felt like it was going to break. It turns out I had about half the range of motion I should on that toe. He thought I must have jammed it or something, but there also is a structural problem. My feet are bony, is basically my diagnosis. So bony, in fact, that my toe joints are ramming painfully against my shoes with every step, and there's not a thing that's going to change that. Great.

Even better, the ankle/falling arches issue can be resolved with $450 orthotics which my insurance doesn't cover. Awesome.

I didn't make an appointment to get orthotics yet. I might try a cheaper insert first. The girlfriend also did some research about my toe ailment and has prescribed fish oil supplements for me.

Two days after this really depressing visit, I went for a record-breaking 1.5 hr run. It actually felt really great with very little pain. Go figure. For now, I'm going to press on doing two runs a week and seeing if perhaps the elliptical wouldn't be a good substitute for one run a week. After that, maybe I'll just work on popularizing the sport of aquathons!

Fare thee well my Pearl Izumi shorts

As previously discussed, my cycling shorts were getting a little worn around the edges. Still, I pressed on, paying only lip service to a trip to the bike shop for new shorts. After all, shorts aren't cheap. I continued riding each and every ride in the same shorts, washing them with Woolite in the sink after each workout. And such it might have continued but for a tragic accident in the bathroom sink, the site of my short's untimely end.

The tragedy was the result of a home improvement project taking place at the same time. The girlfriend had just coated a few boards with a sealant (to make new shelves for the bathroom) and was soaking the brush in lacquer thinner. Unfortunately, she had chosen a cheap plastic cup as the container for this soaking. Even more unfortunate, she had placed said cup on previously mentioned bathroom sink. Upon returning to the sink to fish out my shorts I found that the lacquer thinner had chemically melted the plastic cup and proceeded to run all over the sink.

My shorts, thus, had been marinating in a chemical hazard for a good 10 or 15 minutes. One sniff of the shorts and I knew, it was too late to save them.

What an anticlimactic way for my shorts to go. It's like a great warrior being stabbed in the back while he's sleeping. I had expected them to bite the dust in some epic fall (an experience I've yet to have, but that's another post), or finally wear a whole after a gnarly century ride.

Rest in peace, my shorts. Thank you for protecting my tush and bones for all those thousands of miles. You will be remembered as a steadfast, trusty companion who met your tragic end far too soon.

Pop culture confessions

I have some embarrassing habits which I go to great lengths to either paint in an endearing light or simply hide. The girlfriend, I can assure you, is well versed in all of them by now. Only she could tell you, for instance, how often I have watched Bend it Like Beckham while riding my bike on the trainer.

It's cold(ish) and dark out during most of the hours I can ride now. This weekend, it would be warm enough to do my 4.5 hrs of required riding outside, except that it's raining and forecasted to continue raining the entire time. That means most of my logged biking time is on the trainer.

Whenever possible I watch something new from Netflix as I ride. We get no TV reception, so actual programming is out of the question. Ultimately, I end up relying on our DVD collection for entertainment during most of my rides. I'd say one out of every five rides or so I watch Bend it Like Beckham. Since I have enough time to watch about 2 or 3 movies this weekend - it's almost a guarantee that it's going to be part of my weekend.

I confess: I am addicted to a pop-ish movie about girl athletes set to undeniably poppy music.

Just wait till I tell you what's on my running mix. As a preview, can I just say, George Michael ROCKS!!

This woman CAN run

I ran across this article while at work for reasons completely unrelated to running or triathlon. While it makes little sense that compact fluorescent bulbs led me here, I don't feel the need to justify this tenuous connection, except to say, the world wide web is weird sometimes.

Should you have no desire to read this article, let me sum it up for you: unless you look like a man, women, you shouldn't be running.

Thanks Michael Boyle, this is just the genius analysis I've been looking for -- a position that none of my physicians, physical therapists or friends in those professions has agreed with. Because what's a PhD when you have conviction and a paying speaking gig?

One of the elements in this article that really antagonizes me is his highly dismissive, sexist manner of addressing this issue. For example,

You can't run to get that cute little runner's body. It's actually reversed. You have to have that cute little runner's body to survive running.

Right. The only reason women run is to get that "cute little runner's body". None of us like our breasts or hips. We all want them gone!

And further,

The bottom line: Running is not good for most females. If you want higher-intensity exercise, ride a stationary bike. Take a spin class, use a stairclimber, and don't run.

Oh, a stationary bike! Can I? Can I please?! I just love the bike that doesn't go anywhere.

Putting my sarcasm aside for a minute, when I was suffering from some knee pain in my first year of triathloning, it was actually caused by cycling, NOT running. But I suppose since that was outdoor cycling, rather than the safe little stationary bike, Mike is still right.

My advice to the ladies with curves? If you want to run, friggin' go running. If you're in pain, go see a doctor. Whatever you do, don't take advice from columnists with no medical cred.

How the other half sweats

My trusty (and cheap!) gym at Columbia University is closed this week. It's not a catastrophe really; I only hit up the gym for my weekly yoga class and two weights sessions each week. While I have a plan for dealing with the yoga -- take a short break and then start taking lessons at my instructor's house -- I was forced to come up with a different solution for the weight lifting sessions.

Fortunately, I had a couple one-week trial memberships to two of the fancier gyms in the city. I managed to lose the one for Equinox but I had safely stashed the one for the Reebok Sports Center in my wallet months ago. (It came out of my NYCC century ride registration packet.) I dug it out, called the number on the card and set up an appointment for yesterday after work.

I anticipated a full dog and poney show and a pretty aggressive appeal to join, but it was fairly low key. They just gave me a pass, a map of all six floors (!!) and a schedule for the 150+ weekly classes. Oh, and they did give me an additional paper with membership prices on it. The monthly membership (just under $200) is a little more than I pay for a full school year of access to Columbia's gym. I actually thought it would be worse, but it turns out the real kicker is the "initiation fee". I can't help but think of the cost of joining some exclusive frat or sorority in college when I think of this gym. We're talking $1200 -- for the priviledge of joining!!

There's no denying the gym is beautiful and insanely spatious, however. I'm always intimidated by the trappings of wealth, but I was so ridiculously uncomfortable in this place. I took the elevator to the sixth floor and started working my way down till I found the equipment I needed. It ended up being a room the size of all the three tiny rooms at Columbia in one (and mind you this was repeated on several floors).

There were probably no more than 6 people in the room when I walked in and all of them were men. Worse yet, I swear they were all staring at me. Since this is getting long, I'll relate my experience with the staring folks later. For now, let me just say this gym is ludicrous and I'm not going to let these rich folk intimidate me out of making good use of my free week there.

And on the theme of saying good things about my workouts, I busted that training goal of leg pressing 130 lbs. My glutes are crazy sore today, but the satisfaction of having lifted 160 lbs lives on!

The holidays are taking a toll

I'm going to take a minute here just to whine a little. It's great to have lots of fun things to do during the holidays -- people to see, parties to attend, family to visit -- but it's really cramping my triathlon style and it's definitely killing my blog.

I spent this past weekend in my hometown with my parents. The holiday weekend fell over the end of my "prep" period, requiring 8.5 hrs of training a week, and the beginning of my "base 1" period, which requires 10 hrs of training. Meanwhile, there's not a pool or a bike trainer in sight. So I resigned myself to running. I actually ran roughly 16.5 miles that weekend and I can say with utter certainty that it sucked.

My body still hates to run, and running sans rest days does NOT help. My parents also live on top of one long, steep hill which ends each run in utter agony. If I were in a positive mood I'd refer to this hill as "icing on the cake", but I'm more inclined at the moment to describe it as hell.

Ok, whining done. The upside is, I'm still getting the hours of training in, even if I'm not really getting the blog posts done.