Shattering the Glass Ceiling - The Brain Rules!

A sure cure for post-Ironman aches and pains and the inevitable "letdown" of not needing to eat/sleep/train every minute of the day...

...Zip-Lining 200 feet above the ground in Alaska :) Steve took this as I was coming in from the longest of 10 runs - a quarter-mile length of line in the forests just outside Juneau.

Hey, Jen said to recover...this doesn't mean I was IDLE :)

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Wednesday I was in the pool as usual at o’dark-thirty – 5:15am. For some reason only about 10 athletes showed up to practice, which is funny, because Wednesday is Stroke Day – an “easier” day relatively speaking than Monday, which is Yardage Day. On a given Monday we’ll swim anywhere from 3,500 to 4,700 yards, many of them at “tempo” pace; some 25-30 athletes will show up for this grueling workout. It’s funny to see a mob on Monster Mondays and a scarce showing on “Walking” Wednesdays :).

I have several goals outlined for this season. I actually have them on cards that I either carry around with me or put on the fridge where I can see them. Like a persistent rash :), they are always with me.

Goals are meant to challenge and inspire discipline. It’s hard to adhere to any kind of endeavor without some specific “finish line.” A well-written goal will be one that is specific, measurable, and has a timeframe. The risk of not reaching the goal is a real possibility, but it is balanced by the prospect that it will be achieved. Sadly many people are ruled by fear and forever stay in their “recliners,” never taking a risk. There is a well-known story in the Bible about the apostle Peter who was a fisherman, out in his boat one day, and sees Jesus coming toward him walking on the water. Peter loves Jesus like a brother and because he is incredibly impulsive, he jumps out of his boat and also begins walking on the water toward Jesus. It was Peter’s faith that got him out of the boat regardless of the circumstances - he saw the “goal” which was to reach his Friend and took a risk to get there.

The point of the story is that you will never “walk on water” if you never get out of the boat.

One of my goals is to “meet or break 1:40 on the 100”, meaning consistently swim 100-yard intervals in 1 minute 40 seconds or less -- and to do this by May 1st, just a couple weeks before my first season-opener triathlon. It’s a short sprint-distance race but this only means the effort will be an extremely INTENSE anaerobic nearly-vomit-when-you’re-done kind of effort – the polar opposite of aerobic-effort endurance distances such as Ironman. One should not measure the ease of a race by the distance; there are pro’s who make serious money at either end of the spectrum and I have deep respect for anyone who makes a living as a professional athlete. The kind of mental focus required is as concentrated and demanding as any physical labor.

My swim times have come down appreciably from where I was 3 years ago. Though I took lessons when a kid, I’ve never swum competitively, so I’ve had to learn proper stroke technique as an adult. I won’t sugarcoat it – it’s been hard work and there has been more than one morning where I’ve been strongly tempted to stay under the blankets with Steve and bag the workout. However, I’ve never gotten out of the pool actually regretting swim practice – even on days when I was legitimately tired. It’s a fact I would regret blowing off practice. It’s also the proverbial slippery slope – missing a workout for selfish reasons opens the door and makes it easier to miss the next time. Ever tell a fib and suddenly find it easier to fib again the next time around? Human nature is like water – sometimes our natural tendency is to take the path of least resistance.

My current 100-yard time “best” is 1:52, which is not above-the-surface kind of fast, but it’s a long way from the 2:20 I was at 3 years ago. So we did 3,200 yards Wednesday morning. When I finished a short cooldown, Hap (my swim coach) told me to stay in the pool for a minute. Then…

Hap: “I want you to do a 100, but I want you to BREAK 1:40…”

Me (cross-eyed and wondering which of us is delusional): “HUH?? 1:40?? Now?? Okaaaay…I’ll do my berry best.”

Hap: “NO 'trying' - you should be able to do this, even tired. I want you to break 1:40, so get out and do what you gotta do to get there. We have a GOAL and if you can’t break it then we need to adjust the goal.”

Me (getting severely agitated over “adjusting”): “No WAY, I’m not adjusting the goal…”

I gave it everything I had and flip-turned all but the last 25, which I could’ve done but didn’t. I was at 98% and my lungs/arms/legs were screaming at me, but I kept thinking I can do ANYTHING for under 2:00. My brain was saying “You got more, C’MON!!”

I came in at 1:39…an astonishing 13 seconds faster than my “best” 1:52.

Afterward…

Hap: “How did you feel with that kind of intensity?”

Me: “Well, I was throwing up in my mouth a bit…”

Hap (laughing): “I want you to start pushing yourself more. Monday when Patty comes in I want you to not only catch her, but start passing her. You’re doing a great job swimming steady, but it’s time to push on.”

Me (high as a kite): “Alrighty then! I wasn’t really throwing up in my mouth – I was trying to be polite to other folks in the pool, you know, keep it in my throat.” :)

(Big laugh from Hap and everyone in the pool)

Hap: “Now you know 1:40 is doable and possible.”

Just like Roger Bannister breaking the 4:00/mile. Once he did it, 20 others followed him within 2 years. He showed it could be done and lifted the ceiling. The brain is an extraordinary “governor” on the collective engine of our hearts and muscle fibers. Once the brain “knows”, it can convince the body to do practically anything – which includes shattering the glass ceiling and once in a while walking on water.

Friends, get out of the boat!!

Me and My Big Mouth

The above picture is where I swam last year in Bangkok, Thailand...25 meters on the 20th floor of the Marriott Mayfair. I would have the whole thing to myself at 6am -- sweeeeeet :)

I’ve gotten suckered – into blogging that is. There is no one to blame but myself. As you may have noticed, I enjoy getting things off my chest and writing is a natural outlet. I thought at some point I might run out of things to talk about, but that has not happened. In fact the opposite has occurred – I have no less than 10 posts “started” in draft mode, waiting to be completed and published on this site. Tons going on upstairs in my overactive brain! :)

This morning I was talking to my coach about Masters swimming and how I’m feeling pretty good getting back into the water after my septum surgery a couple weeks ago.

Here’s a snippet of the conversation (I’m Voice Dawg):

Voice Dawg : I saw the tri-bloggers swim challenge - nice! :) Someday in the not too distant future :)

Coach Jen : Oh, you could do that. Would you like to? I can write the 100s off a time for you...you'd have to skip masters 1 day for it?!

Voice Dawg : 40 x 100s??? um...sure... ;)

Coach Jen : You could do it.....! Do you want to??? CHALLENGED?

Voice Dawg : Man, I'm sorry I brought it up...kinda... :)

Coach Jen : Hee hee.....you must be interested if you brought it up. OK, let's do it next Friday. I will work on the splits for you...and add them in for Next FRIDAY. Done.....YEAHHHHHaw. :) Why don't you blog on Pendergraham's blog and tell her! So, you can be accountable to all of us. ha

Voice Dawg : You guys are all sub-1:30!!

Coach Jen : So.....? What is your point? HAHA And not everyone is sub 1.30...trust me...just the ones blogging about it are...

Voice Dawg : I'll do it :).

Coach Jen : YES! Ok, plan on it...next Friday.

Coach Jen : GO big or stay home.

Voice Dawg : Yeah, you can't be in the "recliner-zone" all the time :)

Coach Jen : HA! :)

Voice Dawg : My next post will be titled "Me and My Big Mouth" :)

Coach Jen : OH GOOD one...and yes it should be...but that is why we called it a CHALLENGE!!!!!! right?

Voice Dawg : No doubt :) I'm suddenly hungry just thinking about it...I'm going to get some vittles. Have an awesome day!

Coach Jen : Hee hee...thank you! YOU TOO!!! :) bye bye, Ms. Swimmer/Triathlete!

Voice Dawg : Such a nice ring to it :)


So, this Friday I’m up for 40 x 100 yard intervals. With a 200 yard cooldown, that’s 4,200 yards of total swimming. I haven’t swum this distance since last summer when training for Ironman. If you want a real mindbender, 40 is more or less the entry-level challenge. I’ve seen 75 and one of Elizabeth’s latest posts is from a swim practice where they did 100 x 100!!

Jen said “Go BIG or stay home.”

She’s right – if I want to improve I’ll have to push the envelope. This is no time to stay in the “recliner-zone”…no such thing as Iron-Sissy’s :). There was a time not too long ago when I looked at “suggested” workouts on those whiteboards they sometimes have at pools. Some of them were 2200 yards or 2800 yards and I would think “Yikes! That is LONG…”

Man, that seems like AGES ago…

Me and my big mouth…hee hee :).

All Jacked Up and Nowhere To Go

The weather’s been lousy all week here – cloudy, cold, freezing rain, schools and businesses closed – except for one day, Wednesday, which was cold but not a cloud in the sky. It was breezy and sunny, and that night we got a PERFECT view of the lunar eclipse, a red moon with a sliver of turquoise on the edge. No telescope was necessary to see the progression of the earth’s red reflection taking the place of what we usually see which is the sun’s brightness displayed on the moon’s surface.

Amazingly Thursday morning I woke up to the same overcast and rainy weather as if Tuesday hadn’t missed a beat. In fact, the ice storm began early and continued through most of the day. Steve came home too as his office closed their campus and sent everyone home. Even the construction guys remodeling our kitchen took off.

We were in the same weather situation when I went to bed Thursday night. Though I was snug under the covers by 8:30pm I was in a deep sleep come Friday morning when the alarm went off at 4:00am (no bounding out as I did Monday!). I laid there for a few minutes and finally rolled out – before I fell asleep again! :)

I use a French press to make coffee since I’m the only one at our house who drinks it, and I like it rich and dark (Steve has at least one of those qualities – he’s rich! – in character traits like patience, kindness, compassion…traits I have to commit to every morning…what, did you think I was going to say something like MONEY???).

Since our kitchen is torn apart it’s been easier to humble myself and just use the coffeemaker. It’s too hard to boil water in the microwave and then try to pour it into the French press carafe. We have the microwave connected to an outlet in another room, which is a HOOT. This is a slide-in microwave with a built-in fan underneath, not one of those countertop jobs, so it doesn’t sit level. We have it propped up on a phone book sitting on two TV trays. To make things even more interesting, our fridge is sitting (plugged in and working fine) in our living room. We stocked it full of beer and suddenly we were able to fluently speak Redneck…it happened so fast…like a religious experience…we’re suddenly “filled with the spirit” (of Amberbock) and speaking in Redneck tongues!!

Steve started parking the Jeep in the front yard and our old kitchen sink is now sitting on the back deck next to the grill…

I’m KIDDING – but only about the Jeep and kitchen sink…and the religious experience :).

Anyway, I make coffee and it’s gooooood. I dash some peanut butter on a wheat bagel, swig some yogurt, down some water. Coffee tastes even better, so I start to drink another cup. I kiss Steve goodbye and practically skip out the door – I am totally jacked up on a LOT of coffee on top of very little food. The brain is firing on all cylinders…just how many scoops of coffee go into a 10-cup coffeemaker anyway???

…Ya know, it might not be a bad idea to check email, see if swim practice has changed due to the weather…

And there it is…”Morning CSPM practice is CANCELLED”

Wow, good thing I checked! It’s only 5:00am – back to bed!!

Um, yeah, that worked great – for about 10 minutes. Even with Steve wanting to “spoon” with me – among other things - I finally rolled out of bed – again – looked at my workout calendar and decided to do Saturday’s workout today, and go to Masters instead on Saturday.

Worked out great! I did a cadence workout and (courtesy of the coffee) I was all over pyramid sets of 95rpms, 100rpms, 110+ rpms – 5 minutes each. It also helped that my iPod served up Joe Satriani’s Surfing with the Alien tracks – all heart-thumping metal guitar music that has held its own for over 20 years – perfect to ride to. Some early Van Halen was thrown in there too.

I was pouring sweat when I finished 90 minutes later, happy as a clam. I reached a new sustaining speed and my nose hardly ran at all. It was the first workout where I really pushed on my breathing since the surgery and it was awesome….so worth it.

Seems I was all jacked up – with “somewhere to go” after all :).

Tomorrow is Promised to No One

Two weeks ago we watched in stunned silence as the St. Louis newscast pre-empted CSI and began telling the sad story of Charles Thornton taking matters into his own hands and gunning down 5 people during a City Council meeting before being shot to death by police officers.

Lightning had struck – again – this time a mile from our house. We live on the very edge of Kirkwood, MO; I could throw the proverbial rock and hit the town line. The City Hall where the shootings took place is on my regular running route, and while I dislike how the media puts their own spin on news events, it seemed we were in our own Twilight Zone as we saw our familiar streets and merchant shops – with crime scene tape -- on national television.

The funerals were last week on consecutive days, Mr. Thornton’s being last, so that families and friends could attend all of them if they chose. A friend told me she was driving through town and was stopped in traffic by one of the funeral processions. She said it took a full 50 minutes before the entire procession of cars had passed by; hundreds of people were taking the time to share in this heartbreaking loss.

Once again we are confronted with the most important issue a human being will ever face – our own mortality. Like taxes, sooner or later death comes to us all and what’s on the other side is determined by how we’ve lived on this side. Among the myriad beliefs of the afterlife that are out there, one of them is that there is absolutely nothing on the other side. What a terrible risk to take. Compare two people’s lives – one lives for God, the other for himself. Both die someday. If there is nothing, neither will know it since, well, both are dead and that’s all there’s to it. However if there is something on the other side, suddenly both will care an awful lot about what happens to them. It’s a road worthy of investigation – how much “longer” is eternity than the maybe 80-something years we spend here?

I can’t help but wonder if the folks in the City Council meeting were at peace with their eternal destinations. It’s reasonable to assume not one of them went to the meeting that night thinking it would be their last few hours. Rather, most of us are inclined to plan out our entire lives – or at least the next few hours. Who wants to think about death?

The truth is not one of us knows when our last hour will be. There is a verse in the Bible that says

“…you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes.”

Hard words. We so want to be in control of everything, but these days we often have trouble reigning in even our time. It’s hard to think of our lives as being so brief, yet in the big picture that includes eternity they are short indeed. To put it into perspective, one day in eternity is probably the equivalent of 10,000 lifetimes.

There are endless and profound reasons why athletes train and race. Likewise I have many, but consider this Reason #1 why I do it: each day I get up at o’dark-thirty even if I don’t feel like it, each minute I spend with someone who’s discouraged and needs an uplifting hand, each time I take on a new challenge despite the fear, each workout/race I press on regardless of the discomfort or pain – all inevitably spill over into everyday living and teach me repeatedly how to persevere no matter what life hands me. Christianity brings with it the unique claim that the deity we worship has “been there” – he’s been glad, sad, betrayed, a social outcast, he forgave his enemies, he was unjustly accused.

Each day I wake up I’m grateful for yet another opportunity to live for a cause that is greater than myself. I look at my race wheels and think that at one time God was just one of the spokes -- next to my marriage, kids, job, hobbies, possessions -- with me at the center. I would call on Him only when I needed something – like salting your meal when it doesn’t taste the way you want.

Today God is at the very center of our lives and everything radiates out from there. Looking at life first through God’s eyes sure puts things into perspective. I’m no hero though; it’s far easier to write these words than it is to live them. I think about the example set for us by Jesus Christ and the life he lived – and that as a professing Christian I’m called to walk in his shoes and be like him.

I pray that each person reading this thinks about every moment of their lives and what they’re living for. Tomorrow is promised to no one.

The GumOut Effect

Today marks 2 weeks since my surgery to repair a badly deviated septum. The recliner and I were best friends for the first 7 days and I’ve been following the recovery plan outlined by my doctor to the letter. Truth be told I hardly remember the first post-op week, mostly the result of great meds and lots of sleep. I’m reminded once again what a profound work of art the human body is. It’s impossible to believe in anything but a Creator once one sees the body in action – at play in a race, gutting it out, but also at work, healing itself after injury whether intentional or not. The last 2 weeks especially, each day I’ve awakened I’ve thanked God for yet another opportunity to serve Him by serving others, but also for the beautiful gift of health which I’m aware is sadly not the case with everyone for a multitude of reasons.

I’m not 100% healed yet but I am well enough to return to training, even for light to moderate efforts. Last week I was biking on the trainer and running on the treadmill at home. No heroics, just moving the muscles and getting the blood flowing. Earlier in the week it had only been 7 days since my surgery but I could already feel a difference in how much better I could breathe.

My doctor had forbidden me to return to the pool until today. He’s been mainly concerned about sudden nosebleeds as well as all sorts of gack I could blow into the water. Fun for me to see the “jellyfish” in the water, hee hee, but less fun for my lanemates...such a drag :).

Knowing I was returning to Masters swimming today, I could hardly sleep last night. I was 12 years old the-night-before-going-on-vacation all over again, the excitement was that hard to contain :). Based on how I was feeling and breathing during my bike and run sessions, I had high hopes for getting back in the water. The main consideration was how well I could exhale (even lightly) with my face in the water. I’m still under orders (with punishment of death…ok, maybe not that extreme, but at the very least a setback in recovery, as well as a really bad headache) to NOT blow my nose. Doc says it’s “too violent” and I can see what he means. Going the other direction is just fine though. So I’ve learned to hoark with the best of them. Put it this way: if hoarking was a Dating Game question and I was behind the partition, I would put money on a bet that the asking party would not know I’m a girl – I can hoark like a guy. Even the word hoark is cool. Needless to say Steve is loving it – one more notch on his wife’s belt of “guy things.” Right up there with medium rare steak, shopping once a year for clothes, and outdoing him on the Decibel Scale for flatulence :). Sorry Jen, I love you Coach, but pink is just not up there for me :).

Anyway, I was awake at 3:48am today – 10 minutes before the alarm went off. On Masters mornings I wake up at 4:00am so I can eat something, drink some coffee/Gatorade/water, and do it with enough time to spare so I don’t hurl in the water later on. Today I bounded out of bed and practically ran to the kitchen. I was out the door in no time and tried very hard not to drive fast screaming in my car through the richy-rich sections of St. Louis on the way to the swim center.

We had a 500yd warmup, 20 laps of easy swimming. I sat on the wall for a minute, adjusting my goggles and started my watch’s timer. The minute I put my face in the water and pushed off from the wall with my head tucked and arms extended in a streamline, I knew I would be fine. In fact more than fine - I swam my first 100 yards nearly 5 seconds faster than my fastest 100 yard time before the surgery. Now, I’ll grant I’ve been on a nice 2-week “taper”, which means I’m well rested and haven’t forgotten my “feel” for the water, but every successive 100 yard split during the workout was a couple seconds even faster, and it seemed I could inhale/exhale at will with nothing in the way. I didn’t do flip turns, not today, but even my open turns were on the mark, something I’ve had trouble with in the past, especially exhaling through my nose before flinging my head back into the water at the wall. Inevitably I would get water up one or both nostrils, which would slow me down even more.

Not today :). Both airways were wide open, which meant my lungs were delivering maximal oxygen to my working muscles – booyaaahhhh!! About the only trouble I had was trying not to laugh at the recurring mental image of a carburetor in my old Dodge Dart when I was a teenager and spraying GumOut into it. In the days before fuel injection and the madness of fiberglass materials that make up some engine parts these days, carburetors were the supreme regulator of airflow into an engine’s intake manifold, and then mixing it with fuel prior to combustion which ultimately moved the car forward. The bigger the “barrels” on a carburetor, the more air could be brought in, which in turn translated to faster giddy-up on the muscle cars of times past. At times, carburetors would get “gummed up” with carbon from the air-fuel mixture, and a magic substance in a can called GumOut could be sprayed into the open barrels to remove the buildup.

Funny, carbs carried an entirely different meaning 25 years ago. Amazing to see how words and their meanings have changed over the years in just our lifetimes.

Not nearly as amazing though as how much better I can breathe – thanks to the GumOut Effect on both barrels in my nose :).

How I Spent My Vacation

Last Monday I had surgery to repair a badly deviated septum and other “tissue issues” that had come about as a result. My nose was hit hard twice before I was 5 years old and my septum (the dividing line between the left and right nasal cavities) was shaped in a near-perfect S-curve by the time I finished growing – kind of like the twisting backroads of Missouri :).

I’ve been aware of it all my life and have learned to deal. Though I don’t snore at night (so says Steve…yeah really, ask him), I am a card-carrying mouth breather. A sure way to tell if I’ve passed away is to listen for the absence of sound whistling past my teeth. No need to take my pulse or any other heroics like de-fib’s. Hey, I’m all about low-maintenance :).

As I mentioned, I’ve learned to deal with nearly 90% blockage in my nose…that is, until Ironman 2007. I was on the bike for 7 hours, which is not bad, but eating anything solid is going to happen while you’re on the bike. Ever try chewing food while your heart is pumping at 155 bpm and breathing through your mouth at the same time? Not gonna happen, at least not very well. During the bike portion of the race, I was single-mindedly focused on pedaling, eating, drinking – and getting rid of the congestion forming in my nose from not being able to breathe through it, not to mention the hordes of dust created by the corn being harvested in nearby fields. Finishing the race with a smile was the experience of a lifetime, but the bike portion was something I don’t want to repeat in that condition – ever.

My surgery was on a Monday, and I was not allowed to eat or DRINK ANYTHING after midnight Sunday – who were they kidding, telling a triathlete she couldn’t do the thing she loves to do the most which is eat? (ok, besides being with my awesome best-est friend/husband :)…ok, AND training AND racing…)

To take my mind off food, I went to Masters swimming the morning of my surgery, where I flip-turned my heart out and focused on long strokes. I had my first swim meet ever the day before, where I blew away my mile-time by almost 3 minutes and nearly perfectly paced every 100yd split to the second. Steve ran my lap counters, so he had a ringside seat and said I looked as though I could’ve gone all day long. Truth be told, I was holding on right beneath anaerobic threshold – that zone where you are nearly all-out but not quite. How else am I going to get faster than by pushing the envelope? Racing is not for sissy’s – you can stay in the “recliner-zone” of your workouts all you want – but you will never improve or get faster. You must test your abilities – and that means you must race.

After Masters I went home and ogled my husband while he ate his cinnamon-coated oatmeal, chocolate milk, and orange juice…I ached for a cup of coffee but was denied – repeatedly…I didn’t get it – I don’t have to work like this for sex; usually the ogling is more than enough…

…but I digress :)

We went to the hospital where they admitted me right on time and asked me tons of health questions, took my vitals, and started an IV. Apparently it had been a VERY long time since they had anyone healthy into the surgery center – the comments I kept hearing were wow, you’re really healthy, your resting hr is only 60; you take NO meds?; you have no current health issues? No, I don’t. I’m your average Joe…well I thought I was average…sadly, according to the hospital staff, the “average” condition nowadays of most patients my age (early-mid 40s) is not without issues like being overweight, diabetes, sky-high cholesterol levels, high blood pressure, etc.

Once I was moved to pre-op staging, they came and injected my IV with some valium, something that made the room go sideways for a minute. Remember that scene in The Matrix where Neo and Friends are in the matrix and realize Something Bad is going to happen because the “scenery” just repeated itself with the black cat? That’s how I felt.

Then I was having a really intense dream and I woke up because I was unable to breathe. I was out of surgery – already. Man, this IS The Matrix…

My nose was packed full of stuff. Steve gave me some apple juice and it was an oasis to the Sahara Desert of my mouth. They wheeled me to recovery and I was feeling alright enough to PEE. I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything in over 15 hours. I needed to drink about a gallon of Gatorade and eat an entire pizza by myself.

A short time later we went home and I planted myself on the couch. 2 stacks of DVDs and books were waiting and I was looking forward to drinking/eating/sleeping/movies/books for a week straight.

Around 5pm the pain level suddenly went from a 4 to a really sharp 8, and I’m guessing the rest of the pain meds wore off. I suddenly wanted/needed Vicadin in the worst way - killing someone was looking more reasonable by the minute. Steve brought me 2 tablets and I headed for the recliner in our bedroom. Suh-wheeeeet…

The night was a little rough. Every hour I was changing the drainage pad under my nose. I was bleeding profusely, a consequence of the network of veins/capillaries running through my nose that had been cut and/or sutured. To add some interesting drama to the mix, on one of the numerous trips to the bathroom I banged my wrist on the doorknob - right where the IV had been located…it was really hard not to let loose the screaming/cursing/horror movie impersonations.

The next morning the bleeding had mostly stopped and I felt a bit better. What day is it? I have no idea. More couch time. That night the recliner is my friend again and would be for 4 more nights.

Each day feels better, except for one day when I lost the ability to taste anything at all. I about went over the edge and quickly learned one of my weak spots – without the ability to enjoy food/drink, my appetite went out the window and nutrition became simply functional, no longer one of the top joys of daily living. It was hard to simply eat because I had to. How my former-Marine husband got through 13 weeks of this during Boot Camp, I’ll never know.

It’s now Sunday evening, nearly 1 week since my surgery though it seems like 1 month. Though not 100%, I’m well enough to go back to work tomorrow. I’ll spin easy for 30 minutes and see how Tuesday looks for an easy run. About being able to breathe…man, it’s as if someone turned on a switch – I can easily breathe through my nose despite some “leftovers” that will dissipate with healing.

I’ve watched all the movies in the stack and made my way through some great books. For fun, I’ve included a short review of each below. Enjoy!

Movies:

3:10 to Yuma – If you like Russell Crowe or Christian Bale, this is a great drama about the concurrent goodness and utter depravity that can coexist in human beings

War – sheer action drama with Jet Li and Jason Statham (the guy from Ocean’s Eleven), never knowing who is trustworthy and who will betray you any minute

A Good Year – Russell Crowe romance (big surprise), filmed in the stunning vineyards of Provence, France

The Last Legion – great action flick of the Roman Empire’s last stand with Colin Firth (guy from Love Actually who marries the Italian girl)

Underdog – fun family flick about my favorite childhood cartoon, and how Shoeshine came to be the superhero canine

Eastern Promises – Viggo Mortensen in an accurate portrayal of Russian mob prostitution trafficking. Tension reigns supreme in this film.

The Hunting Party – true story about 5 reporters who go into post-war Serbia and capture the Bosnian War’s Most Wanted war criminal; Richard Gere and Terrence Howard star.

A Farce of Penguins – hysterical sendup of March of Penguins, done with the actual footage from the original with voiceovers, narrated by Samuel L. Jackson

Bordertown – true story with Jennifer Lopez and Antonio Banderas investigating the rapes/murders of hundreds of women factory workers in Juarez, Mexico

Days of Glory – WWII story of Muslim Algerians who fight for France after the Allies pushed the Germans out of Africa; in French/Arabic w/ English subtitles

Books:

Brain Training for Runners - by Matt Fitzgeral, incredible book (about ¼ through) that will revolutionize how I engage my brain to really control my body, perfect off-season winter reading

Whatever Became of Sin? – by Karl Menninger, an accurate look at how we’ve rationalized our “Nobody’s Perfect” natures, applicable even 50 years after it was written

Basic Christianity – by John Stott, a rational intellectual look at Christianity, great for anyone who’s peeking over the fence, thinking it’s “just another religion”

The Bible: Book of Job – my favorite book to read when I’m feeling sick or blue, this guy weathers it all and still doesn’t blame it on God

Back to the Treadmill

A couple weekends ago I attended a triathlon camp. It was held in Chicago by my awesome triathlon coach Jen, her rock star (and adorable :)) triathlete husband Jerome, and pro triathlete Spencer Smith. The weekend was encyclopedic in the volume of information shared, not to mention the collective decades of experience between the three of them that they also generously shared.

The weather was surprisingly nice for January in Chicago. Normally temperatures dip into the negatives overnight and may make it above 10F in the afternoon. Last weekend it was in the teens in the morning, in the 30s Saturday afternoon, and a sweater-only 47F Sunday afternoon when we left to drive home. A nice gift for a weekend of concentrated information, efforts, minds -- and pain.

The camp hurt – a lot – and not just physically. We biked moderately hard for 2 hours Saturday morning, did core exercises after lunch, and then ran for 40 minutes outside. My quads were already burning from the morning ride, and I had a hard time with some of the core exercises. 10 of us went out for the run and I was relatively certain I would be among the slowest – and I was. Spencer came around to chat with us for a minute and then he ambled off (even his ambling was faster than my “tempo”) to join the rest of the herd. With a sinking heart I watched the group pull away. One other athlete ran with me; she was recovering from a 2-week bout with the flu as well as some other health issues that made it understandable for her speed to be limited. My legs were churning away at 88 footstrikes/minute, heart rate humming along in Zone 2-3 – and I was still being left behind.

I headed back to the gym after 35 minutes, discouraged to say the least. The group returned within 5 minutes and we assembled in the aerobics studio. Spencer said “Anyone have any questions?” It was the only entry I needed. I shouted “I wanna know why I’m slow!” There is a verse in the Bible that says “Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks” and this was a perfect example of the truth rising from the deep well of my heart. My heart hurt – and so did my ego. From Ironman to this? I had more demons that I wanted to admit.

Turns out all the marathons (7 of them) that I’ve completed since 2001, and all the other endurance running – including Ironman -- have taught me to run LSD-style…no, not the drugs (though sometimes I’ve felt higher than I’m sure any artificial substance could deliver), the other runner-kind of LSD – Long Slow Distance. Endurance is my middle name. Life’s circumstances, as well as my chosen sport, bestowed that gift on a silver platter. I can go all day long. I just can’t go all day long fast.

At least not right now. So it’s back to the treadmill for some technical work – footwork, that is. The treadmill is boring, YES. In fact I’ve often put in my training log the words “I really hate the treadmill” – who wants the same scenery going by for 45+ minutes? But the treadmill also keeps you honest in terms of your cadence, grade, and overall speed whether you like it or not. If the treadmill is properly calibrated - and most of them are - the numbers don’t lie. If you want to get faster, your body has no choice but to learn a “pawing” footstrike, speedy leg turnover, upright posture, and a correct toe-off – a perfect recipe for becoming a more efficient and FASTER runner.

It’s not only the physical side. The mind is the command center of pushing to performance peaks, and I’ve yet to master this important aspect of athletics as well. During tri camp weekend, another athlete also recommended two books that deal with the mental side of running. They are The Mental Athlete and Brain Training for Runners (thank you Stacy!). I’ve bought them both and have begun reading. For years I’ve underestimated the power of the mind to affect performance; as with most people, I am my own worst enemy.

It’s February and the dead of winter – plenty of time to work on my skills both physically and mentally. Will I miss running outside every chance I get? You bet, but there are endless hills, grassy trails, and the spectacular solitude of early-dawn mornings waiting for me anytime, not to mention a magnificent opportunity for self-improvement that comes along whenever I’m ready to handle it.

“The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena…who spends himself in a worthy cause…”