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August 30, 2006
Hint hint, love, IMNA
Dear ARIEL,We will be assigning race numbers to the 2006 Ford Ironman Wisconsin Triathlon this week.
If you are NOT participating in Ironman Wisconsin next week please let us know by replying to: -----@ironmannorthamerica.com with your name and contact information so we can remove your information from the database.
Thank You
Ironman North America
This is the second time I have gotten this email in two weeks. It does not instill confidence. It may as well have said this:
Dear ARIEL,We have been keeping an eye on you and we know your training for the 2006 Ford Ironman Wisconsin Triathlon has been, shall we say, a little shaky. You've gotten quite a bit slower this year and you're probably worried about making the bike cut-off -- we know for darn sure that you don't want to be out there on that saddle for 8 or 9 hours (or longer! our poor volunteers!). Either way, your run will be a death march. And if it's as hot in Madison as it was last year, you are seriously wondering if you'll be able to finish at all. So why not spare yourself the agony and drop out now, while it's not too late to cancel your hotel reservation?
If you are NOT participating in Ironman Wisconsin next week please let us know by replying to: -----@ironmannorthamerica.com with your name and contact information so we can remove your information from the database.
Thank You
Ironman North America
I'm a little nervous.
August 28, 2006
Another historic photo
Dave, powdered, 1996ish.
Maybe I'll make this a regular "from the photo vaults" feature. Kind of self-indulgent, but it has been fun digging up the images from the photo gallery site I built around 1996 (which I've since taken down).
I took this photo in college using a 1960s-era Hasselblad on loan from my dad. I gave the camera back to him recently, which of course I now regret. I think he sold it on eBay.
There's a funny story behind this. I was visiting Dave at his parents' house out in the suburbs, as I did every weekend in the summer to enjoy their air conditioning (and company, and bottomless pitchers of iced tea, and awesome cooking, and ever-gracious hospitality). Dave's mom was on her way out to the grocery store and asked if anyone needed anything, so I asked if she could pick up a couple pounds of powdered sugar for me. Bless her heart, she did, and she didn't even ask what I needed it for. Dave and I retreated to his bedroom, where he took off his shirt and I buried him in 10x.
I wish the tones in this print were a little bit better. I could have worked a little harder printing the highlights and shadows. But it's kind of fun. It was lit entirely by a single 60w bulb. I asked a lot of that camera. If I ever get my hands on a film scanner, I can work on a better "print," but for now this scan is all I have, standard disclaimer blah blah blah.
The white scratches and blips on the image are damage and fingerprints on the negative, although they arguably add to the grimy effect I intended. I processed the film by hand, and while loading 35mm film onto a processing reel is pretty easy, it's much harder to get this wide 120 film on the reel without flexing it or crinkling it the tiniest bit. Most of my prints were a lot cleaner than this one.
Or maybe some of the powdered sugar just seeped in through the old camera and stuck to the film. That's sorta what it looks like. That's a better story. I think I'll stick with it.
August 27, 2006
Kicking ass in Canada
I have two great friends who raced Ironman Canada today, Leishia and Christina. They both put in awesome performances! Leishia (whom I've nicknamed Dances with Sharks) finished the swim in 58:33, and was 120th out of the water out of 2000+ athletes! Wow. And they both negative-split the run. Amazing.
Both of these fine women have totally applied themselves to their training since getting into the race via lottery last fall. This was the first Ironman for both of them. They are hugely inpsiring to me.
I'm looking forward to hearing the stories -- you guys rock!
August 22, 2006
Garbage In, Garbage Out
Not exactly healing foods. Except for the ketchup. Ketchup is definitely a healing food.
Thanks to Jennifer for the GIGO reminder. I should really be eating better. I haven't worked out for two days, so what do I do? Eat the worst food on the planet. Dave got free Giants tickets, and I couldn't say no to a disgusting ballpark hot dog.
Dave: That photo doesn't really do justice to the size of my... my...
Ariel: Your giant weiner?
It was Irish Heritage Night at the Pac Bell Park. And what Irish heritage event would be complete without a Blood Sausage Eating Contest? Actually, even the three contestants seemed a little put off by the meat products laid before them.
The ballpark music people really went to town with the Irish-ish musical selections. It was weird to hear the Pogues blasting through the stadium. The snippet of the Chieftains also seemed out of place. On the other hand, songs by U2 and those famously Irish-American one-hit wonders House of Pain were no surprise. I'm pretty sure I hear "Jump Around" at least once every time I go to a game.
Blech. I still feel gross from that hot dog. I've really gotta eat better, especially since I am Extremely Tapering. It's the least I can do.
August 20, 2006
Benign condition
In the window of Mike's Bikes in Sausalito.
Costochondritis "causes pain in the chest that can be reproduced by pressing on the affected area between the ribs. This pain can be quite exquisite, especially after rigorous exercise. While it can be extremely painful, it is considered to be a benign condition that generally resolves in 6-8 weeks. ... Costochondritis symptoms are similar to the chest pain associated with a heart attack."
I had to stop running 30 minutes into my long run today. With every deep breath, I got the sensation that someone had shoved a spoon into my ribcage.
Benign or not, it may have a big effect on my upcoming race, which is three weeks from today. I think it's time for me to go into Extreme Taper mode, meaning I do the absolute bare minimum amount of activity required for me to maintain fitness and endurance. Whimper.
August 18, 2006
It only hurts when I breathe
The chest pain got worse.
I awoke this morning with a tight, achy feeling, like a small person (maybe a 4-year-old) was stepping on the left side of my sternum*. But, stubborn idiot that I am, I went to the gym and got in the pool and made an attempt at swimming my 5000m workout. After 1800m, it was just really annoyingly painful. My coach looked at me and told me to get out of the pool, take the day off work, call the doctor and get some rest. (She also noted that my lifeless eyes betrayed the lack of sleep I got last night. I was up way, way too late working on a fun project. Fun projects will be the death of me. Damn those fun projects.)
My sports-medicine doctor's office has an urgent-care clinic**, so I walked in and got in to see a doctor pretty quickly. She poked around and declared that I probably did not break a rib in the crash, but rather bruised or strained the rib-sternum connection point. The X-rays showed no obvious breakage. But the doctor was very sympathetic: "It feels kinda like you're having a heart attack, doesn't it?" She understood.
So now I'm back at work with a handful of prescriptions and a load off my shoulders (but not off my chest, har har). Even though the doctor basically confirmed what I knew, I feel better just for having gotten it checked out. No bones are broken, and I will not injure myself further by continuing to work out, but I WILL TAKE IT EASY. I will not ride 90 miles tomorrow as planned. But maybe 50. Or possibly 60.
* When we were little kids, my mom used to lie face-down on the floor and have my sister and me walk up and down her back in our bare feet. We thought she was nutso, but now as a sore and creaky adult I completely understand. Ah, to have a 40lb child at my beck and call for such needs.
** The office is inside Pac Bell Park, or whatever it's called now, where the SF Giants play baseball. Photos of the players hang on the walls. They have an X-ray machine in the office, which is so so convenient. As medical offices go, it is pretty darn cool.
August 17, 2006
Spare rib, anyone?
I've mentioned that I'm not a morning person. Last night Dave told me that every time I get up early for a workout, he is surprised and amazed. Every single time. So he must have been even more astonished this morning, when I got up at 5am even though my alarm never went off. I had intended to set it for 4:45, but set it for 5:45 instead. (Duh. Hop Kiln zin, I blame you.) I got to the gym a little late, but I got in my 2-hour spin/run workout and even had time to pick up a bagel on the way into the office. (Pats self on back.) I'm ready for my nap now.
The muscle soreness from my bike crash has gone away completely, but I'm pretty sure I cracked, bruised, or otherwise insulted a rib or two. I feel very low-grade pain every time I inhale deeply. It doesn't limit my activity, but it's annoying. If it gets worse, I'll go see a doctor, who will probably just confirm my suspicions and tell me there's nothing I can do but let it heal. Which is hard to do when you inhale every six seconds or so.
Thanks for bearing with me, folks. IM Wisconsin is in three and a half weeks, after which I presume I'll have other things to talk about. I hope.
August 15, 2006
Getting it out of my system
One-lane bridge over the Russian River, part of the Vineman bike course.
I should have known something would happen. I stumble, tumble or fall a few weeks before every big race.
The day of my final 112-mile ride before Ironman Wisconsin coincided with the Vineman iron-distance triathlon. Vineman has an Aquabike option that lets you race just the swim and bike. My coach and I agreed that this would be a perfect training day and race simulation. Riding 112 miles on a well-supported race course would be way more fun than another 112-mile jaunt around the usual Marin County haunts. This is the same course where my friends and I nearly melted into the asphalt three weeks ago. I'm glad to report that it was about 20 degrees cooler this weekend.
My ride was not fun. It was one of the most defeating days I've ever had on the bike. On the bright side, it has helped me make some important decisions about my upcoming race.
I started the day badly by getting to the race site way too late, with only 35 minutes to set up my transition and get into my wetsuit. I panicked when I saw 200 people in line for the 10 porta-potties. I am one of those geeks who always arrives at a race with 2 hours to spare, but since this was just a training day for me, I decided to get more sleep and not freak out about getting there early.
I did make it to a porta-potty, but I had just barely gotten my wetsuit on and was just getting into the tepid Russian River water as the horn for my wave went off. OK, time to swim! The water in the river was so shallow that my fingers brushed the bottom at a few points. Several people stood up and walked for stretches.
My swim time was 1:18, almost exactly the same as it was in my past two IM races. At least I'm consistent if not blazing fast. I got on my bike and the bad attitude started right away. I didn't want to be there. I was not comfortable on my bike. And was my rear tire flat or what? It looked a little low. I stopped and pressed the rubber. It felt OK. Hmmm.
Near the end of the first of two laps, I was sure that my rear tire was flat. I looked down at the tire to check it again. And when I looked up, I was headed for the edge of the road. The dirt shoulder was an eight-inch drop below the pavement. It was too late to correct and recover. I was going 16-18mph and I went down hard into the packed dirt.
I lay in the dirt as riders passed me and shouted at me to see if I was OK. I'm sure I was only lying there for a few seconds, although it felt like an hour as I wondered if my race and my season were over. I sat up and took inventory. I felt OK. After a few more minutes I stood up. I felt no pain other than the sting of the scrapes on my left leg and elbow. I took my helmet off and examined it. It looked OK.
My bike was only a little bit banged up, and indeed the rear tire was mostly flat. I got out my tools to fix the tire. By now it felt like most of the race had passed me, including several friends who had shouted condolences at my bad luck in getting a flat in a race. Of course, they had no idea that I had also crashed.
There was a teeny, tiny thorn in my tire, embedded in the thickest part of the tread, and it had created a slow leak in the tube. When I was almost done replacing the tube, a man in an SUV drove up and asked, "Did you see someone crash around here?" He had been sent back by the racers who passed me. I assured him that I was the crasher, and that I was OK. Although I wish I had asked if he had a bike pump in his car.
It took me about 25 minutes to gather myself back together, fix the flat, and adjust all the bike parts that had been knocked out of whack. I realized that I had a perfect excuse to drop out of the race mid-way, where the bike course passed through the finish area before heading out for a second loop.
But then I remembered dropping out of my first 100-mile ride of the season early, when I cut the Sierra Century short and only rode 80 miles. And I thought to myself, dammit, there is no way I'm cutting my last 100-miler short. No way.
So I got back on the bike and started pedaling. I was covered with dirt, and I had no water since my aerobar bottle had emptied in the crash (and also gotten covered in dirt). I felt pretty good physically, but I was mad and disappointed. I was not looking forward to riding another 60 miles. But I knew I would be far more disappointed if I dropped out. And I felt like I owed it to Dave to do the absolute best I could do. He had skipped a race he wanted to do, driven all the way up to Sonoma with me, and put up with my crankiness and panic that morning.
I rolled through the finish area and grabbed lots of extra water. I heard several people cheering my name, which was a sweet sound to my ears. And I did not drop out. I finished the damn race. My bike time was over 8 hours. Sheesh. Amazingly, I was 11th out of 14 in my age group. I fully expected to be last.
As a result of this miserable day, I've decided to ride my road bike, not my triathlon bike, in Wisconsin. My tri bike is sweet and cool and fast and fun, but I'm just not comfortable riding it farther than about 60 miles. I have been in denial about this; I should have made this decision long ago. I will put aerobars on my road bike. I will be happier. I have one more long ride (90 miles) to test my theory. I am cutting it close. This is a yuppie problem, I know.
You know what else was a yuppie problem? Deciding which of the 120 Russian River wineries to visit on Sunday. We were in Sonoma County, after all. Good wine has a way of making things better.
August 14, 2006
With a bang and a whimper
My biggest training week of the year ended painfully on Saturday. I crashed 50 miles into a 112-mile ride.
But I'm generally OK. I think. My left arm is so sore from the landing that I can't lift it above the shoulder, so I can't swim right now, but I think the soreness will go away soon.
After the crash I got up, fixed my flat tire, and finished the ride. I was miserable. But I finished.
Details to come.
August 10, 2006
Junk mail
All three of these arrived on the same day.
(Plus a fourth identical envelope, in Dave's name, from USA Cycling.)
Funny? Sad? A hideous waste of paper? An indicator that I should find a new hobby?
They are all being shredded and recycled.
August 9, 2006
I could learn to like mornings
My friend Marissa and I rode 37 miles this morning. We crossed the Golden Gate Bridge just as the sun rose over the East Bay hills. The Bay gleamed as the orange light poured over the water, and there was not a wisp of fog in the sky. Life is good.
August 7, 2006
Ironhigh
Intoxicating. That's the only way to describe the whole Ironman experience.
Not just the race itself, but the training and the mental wind-up. Arriving at work having already finished a 3-hour workout and logging a 22-hour training week are intoxicating. Same with feeling good enough to put in a decent run after a 110-mile bike ride.
The past week has been a scheduled recovery week for me. It's pretty funny to do just over 10 hours of exercise in a week and feel guilty about it. My piddly 7.5-mile "long" run yesterday felt like nothing at all. I realize that in the scheme of things, and compared to what normal people do, this is still a lot. But that's the effect ironman training has on a person. It warps one's perspective. I actually felt bored and burnt out during the recovery week. I wasn't motived to train at all. But now that I'm back with a full load of workouts, I'm ready to take them on.
This week I have over 20 hours of workouts on the schedule, and next week will be the same before I start to taper so I'm rested for the race. Over the next two weeks I will be swimming a total of 21,000 meters, biking 280 miles plus a few hours of trainer time, and running 60 miles. And I'm doing a little race, which I'll tell you all about next weekend.
I started the week with a 4,500m swim this morning. My skin is still offgassing chlorine fumes. When I get home after work, my husband will probably still smell the pool chemicals on me. When you marinate for over 90 minutes, it takes a while for that aroma to go away completely.
The funny thing is, I know that I will miss this. A couple of months from now I will look back at these few weeks of peak training and remember how focused I was on my goals. I will remember what great shape I was in (although right now, I don't feel particularly fit -- probably because I'm tired all the time). I'll miss the boring, endless pool workouts, and I'll fondly recall the despair I always feel when I'm 60 miles into a bike ride and I still have 50 miles to go. I'll miss having the motivation to get out of bed at 5:30am. That longing is what made me sign up for Ironman Wisconsin three months after finishing Ironman Coeur d'Alene last year.
But this year, god help me if I sign up for another one. I want to do fun things on weekends again. I want to go to brunch on an occasional Saturday morning. I wonder if there's a 12-step program for triathletes. I'm only partly joking.
Four weeks and six days to go.
August 3, 2006
Ancient history
The topic of my musical taste as a teenager has come up several times in light of the Fire Woman revelation. Several of my friends were shocked to hear that I identified as a bit of a goth in my youth.
Here's some college-era evidence of that aesthetic. Self-portrait, 4"x5" gum print on Rives BFK paper, circa 1994. This is the only scan I have, so sorry, you can't zoom in to admire the fine grain of the contact print or the even finer tailoring on the cloak (which I made myself, ahem renaissance fair cough cough).
This is something I miss with digital photography. Gum printing. In college I developed a love for alternative printing processes -- printing photos outside the darkroom. This print is the result of adding a light-sensitive chemical to watercolor paint, brushing the paint on regular (not photo) paper, placing the negative on top, and exposing it under direct sunlight for 20 minutes or so. It's called gum printing because you also add gum arabic to the paint, which hardens as the light-sensitive chemical is exposed to sunlight. You rinse the whole thing in water, and the hardened paint stays on the paper while the rest of it washes off, revealing an organic-looking image of surprising depth affixed to the paper. You add another layer of color and repeat. (This was a black-and-white negative, but I have seen gum prints in four colors using color-separated negatives that stunningly replicate full-color images.)
I love my digital cameras, but getting this intimate and hands-on with my photos taught me lots of things about photography that you just can't learn from pixels. When photography was new, every single image was a labor of love like this one.
I haven't taken a film photo in a few years. But I still have the box of watercolor paints and gum arabic, and the little vial of bright orange powder to make the paint do its magic. I just can't bring myself to throw them away.
August 2, 2006
Swing bridge over the Waiau River
I opened my Flickr Pro account one year ago today. This is one of the first photos I uploaded on Aug. 2, 2005. I took it in New Zealand in March 2004. Happy Flickrthday (Flickrversary?) to me.
