Ready…Set…GOOOOOOOOO!

Today starts my first day of triathlon training for the 2009 season.  Enough of the slacking off, drinking too much on Tuesday nights for no reason and eating whole boxes of Girl Scout cookies.

So I have decided to make a few changes.  I’ve increased my training a level this year to level 2.  (level 1-for those short on time or newbies, level 2-those who think they can be at least a little bit competitive in their age group, level 3-are people who have no life outside of working, working out and then obsessing about their races, times, heart rates, power output and wattage)  We will see where it gets me, if anywhere.

The other change to this year’s training is that our marathon is a whole month earlier.  That may or may not be a good thing.  We are also trying to go for a specific time, which is a little bit different than in my past attempts at running/enjoying marathons.  I pretty much know that this isn’t going to be one of those fun runs.

All that said, no more excusses to stop after thre miles for coffee or just blow off the swim.  It is written down and when it is written down on my to do list, it gets crossed off…or else.

This first week looks like this (this includes mileage for marathon training too):

• Monday:  Off  (I love starting this way)
• Tuesday:  run: 8-10 miles marathon pace, swim: 6×25 yard sprints (plus warm-up, cool down, drills)
• Wednesday:  bike:  8×30 second sprints
• Thursday:  swim: distance to be determined, run:6-8 miles and hills
• Friday:  bike: 50 minutes
• Saturday:  swim: 800 yards, run:  14-16 miles
• Sunday:  brick:  35 min. bike and 10 min. run

Off to the races.

Back to my hot Podiatrist

Marathon training has officially started for good, today.  And what I mean by that is, today, although not necessarily the first day, kicked my butt.  Moderate (which is a swift) pace for 7 miles with sprints at the end.  Needless to say, I realized today just how out of shape I am AND that I need to head right on back to the Podiatrist.

I can’t even think about my Podiatrist anymore without thinking of a conversation I had with Jen the first time I went to see him.  I got out of the office, picked up my phone and called Jen to give her the low down on the bunion and then I added that not only is he brilliant, he is HOT!

She said, well he’s your type.  I’m all like…WHAT…I have a type?  What do you mean?  I’ve been with the same guy for half my life. I don’t have a type anymore.

She continued on, yeah he doesn’t really do it for me.  You know, he looks just like Adam will in 10 years.

And damn if she isn’t right…my husband is sooo HOT!

I’m just not that into the Flush

Once again I found myself doing something I said I would NEVER do.  But this time, I was smart enough to stop.  Here’s my 24 hour journey.

Adam, as you may remember, does a Fat Flush every so often.  I have never wanted to do one, until I found myself maybe wanting to do one with him.  So, we got all the supplements and all the fresh food and Thursday morning we were off and running.

I started the day with a longevity cocktail (unsweetened cranberry juice and psyllium husk) at 5:00 am.  Then ran.  Then came home to warm lemon water, fish oil, flax seed oil and an egg white, onion omelet and feeling very drained.

Finding myself still excited at this point, I went to the gym to lift.  While at the gym my body was not really wanting to do much.  When I changed out of my gym clothes and into my swim suit, walked into the pool to find no lanes open, it took me no time at all to decide that was enough, thanked the sweet baby Jesus and headed to the shower.

I got KP from child care and we head home and directly to the fridge.  At this point, my head throbbed and my muscles felt like they were simply cannibalizing each other.  My lunch of sauted (with no oil) onions, lean ground beef and tomatoes looked and smelled great, but didn’t taste like much.

The downward spiral had begun.

The rest of the afternoon got no better.  In fact, I became a raving bitch.  I’m not kidding.  The rage that sits just slightly under my surface was coming out full throddle on anybody and anything that caught my path.

By the time dinner rolled around, I was so beyond hungry.   I had that nauseous feeling and couldn’t care less about even making food.  When I did finally muster up enough gumption to make it, I just swore at it.

Then the second longevity cocktail came around at 10:30,  I thought I was going to cry.  I did my best to suck it down.  Watching Adam chug-it like a champ, only made it worse.  I went to bed…mad.

The morning sun came up, I felt ok and had an amazing poop.  But then the rush to get all the kids up, fed and out the door in 30 minutes (due to over sleeping) put me over the edge.  I walked PJ to the bus and continued on with the morning ritual of bringing the dog on her walk.

As I made it back up the drive, weak, tired and hungry, I decided it was not worth it.  Not worth my sanity.  My energy.  My strength.

I may be a walking toxic bomb, but I don’t care.

So I went inside, made myself a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal with berries.  In a flash the Wicked Flush Queen transformed back into the nice girl from Minnie.

It feels so good to be back.

Making your friend feel welcome

KP had one of his school buddies, Big C, over for a play date yesterday.

When we showed up for school this morning, Big C’s mom just had to share a little story that happened at their house last night.

When Big C was being put to bed, he told his dad that he better go lock the doors and make sure they were locked.

When his dad asked why, he said, “I was playing with one of KP’s big brother’s toys.   He told me that I better not because he will hunt me down.  So can you make sure the doors are locked.”

Erika

I just realized today that Erika is the one person, next to my kids, who I photograph the most.

And since today is her birthday, I would like to show you a few of my favorites.  It was a hard decision, there are so many.

Happy 36th birthday beautiful girl!

A dog smelling its own ass

After my run on Tuesday morning, I walked down to Adam’s office to say good morning and chat for a little while.

Me:  Hi hon, I’m home.

Adam:  How was your run?

Me:  Good (my nose now up in the air sniffing around).

Adam:  What…do you smell something?  I really can’t smell anything, which is one reason Adam and I get along so well.

Me:  Yeah, it smells like something died down here.

Adam:  Really, like what?

Me:  I don’t know, but it stinks.

Adam:  Is it you?

Me:  NO!  It’s not me.

10 minutes later, Adam comes up to the kitchen after finishing his work.

Me:  Hey, I figured it out.

Adam:  You figured out what stinks?

Me:  Yeah, you’re right…IT’S TOTALLY ME!

Training mind games

I’ve hit the point in my training where speed and endurance collide.

It is this week where the speed workout, or “intensive” workouts as my training plan calls them, gain distance beyond a little 60 second clip. You ask your body to continue in full throddle the entire prescribed time, to then only allow it a few precious moments rest until you start it all over again 4 or 5 or 6 times.

It is during the past two days, while biking and while swimming, I have hit “something” during the third round in each of these intensive trainings. This “something” is a complete falling apart of everything I have, physically and mentally. It’s the point in time where my body is telling me to STOP and stop now, give up, sleep, cry anything but continue on. It’s at this point where everything breaks down, my body, my breathing, my consentration.

It’s right THERE, there is where you must bitch slap yourself into regaining control. THERE is the precise moment, if you continue, you get stronger.

I hate that moment.

And on some really sick and sadistic level…I love it too…but only when it’s over.

Mathematically challenged

Here’s the deal…when it comes to math, I ain’t so bright.

I realized last night, when I got woken up by some random two year old and then couldn’t get back to sleep, that I am embarking on a bigger deal than I ever realized.

That ½ ironman thing I signed up for. It became clear in the middle of the night why they call it the 70.3 race.

IT IS A TOTAL OF 70.3 MILES!

What have I done??? Reality is just now setting in.

Annual

Every woman gets to do it. That “once a year” visit to have your girly parts looked at.

Yesterday at my annual, I realized as I was disrobing that my socks were worn to the nubbin and hole laden on the right foot. I couldn’t figure out which was going to be better for my OB to look at while I was hang’n out in the stirrups, my hole filled sticky old socks or my nasty yellow callous filled raw feet.

I’m just going to believe that she didn’t notice my choice at all because she was so enraptured with my beautiful nether regions.

Morning run