Boot to Booyah!!

I look back on last year, and most of it was one disappointment after another. The season had started with the Go St. Louis Half Marathon in April, only for my IT band to be injured which hindered my running for the remainder of the year. The pain persisted for months when it moved from my left knee up to my hip, and running even moderately for more than 30 minutes invited the very real possibility of crawling back home in agony.

Then late last year an easy run with a friend in early October produced a stress fracture on my right foot's 3^rd metatarsal. Man! It hurt just to walk, and I was "boot-bound" for nearly 10 weeks, no running whatsoever. Seriously?! said my heart. Time to re-look at everything, said my head.

Which is precisely what I did: I changed my running shoes, raised my bike saddle a bit, swam my brains out, and began incorporating yoga consistently – the P90X stuff, hardly meditative. I couldn't even get through the first 20 minutes at first, and this by far revealed the most about my weaknesses that were likely the root causes of my injuries. Patience and persistence paid off in the months that followed. Yoga made the biggest difference, as holding many of the poses couldn't help but result in increased leg, hip, and core strength. The hip healed and so did the foot, and I gratefully laced up my running shoes for the first time in months for an easy run in January this year.

I ran pain free and was thrilled to be back in the saddle; however, I didn't fully appreciate the coming "harvest" from the sowing I had been doing the last 6 months. It started with a 5K race in the city a few weeks later where I blew away a 10 year old personal best by over 2 minutes, a huge margin for a 5K, and on the same course no less. I had a hard time believing the 9-to-10-minute-per-mile girl was solidly in the 8's, and on the nearer side of 7-something even!

This year's triathlon season was more of the same, knocking down one record after another, despite a brutally hot summer. From May through November I biked at least once a week at Babler State Park (where the hills are long and top out at 16% grade), and ran the gut busting hills at Innsbrook Resort as often as I could after open water swimming with friends. Not all my races were blowout finish times, but it was clear the days of sub-par running and biking were behind me.

After a banner tri season, I turned my attention to the monkey that's been on my back for 10 years – the half marathon and finishing it in under 2 hours. To me this is an important goal, especially when looking at it as part and parcel of the Half-Ironman event, where the run is 13.1 miles, half the distance of a full marathon. In nearly every Half-Ironman I've done, the negativity and self criticism has set in immediately on the run, mostly because I haven't gotten under the 2-hour mark in a standalone half marathon event, and the thought of slogging through a run after burning my legs on a 56-mile ride repeatedly put me in a very negative mental state; the run was "over" in my mind before I had even begun.

The only way to break through the glass ceiling was to face it head on. If there was ever a time I was going to reach this goal, it had to be now. So my coach put me out on the track late this summer, where every two weeks I would run a challenging (read "lung busting" :)) set of intervals that were designed to make me think about pace, form, and mechanics. The track does not lie; I worked my butt off and got a firsthand look at what my real capabilities were.

I signed up for the St. Louis Half Marathon just 2 weeks before the race. The course is not flat and not easy. There are 2 punishing hills at Miles 5 and 7, plus nearly the entire last 3 miles are climbs of up to 12% grade. I ran the race course 4 weeks prior to the event and while I nailed my goal pace within the training run, it was still an extremely hard effort. I wasn't entirely confident I could hold the same pace the entire distance. Would the self criticism in the pit of suffering return to do battle again?

My coach said to me "Embrace the pain." And a great quote from Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own also rang true: "Of course it's hard; it's supposed to be hard. If it wasn't hard everyone would do it. The hard is what makes it great." Up until now the voice of self criticism had drowned out the fact that suffering is expected. Suffering doesn't mean I haven't trained enough or that I don't have it in me to tough it out. It's a subtle but important difference in the mind.

Fast forward to race day, November 7^th. The weather was beautiful: 45F, sunny and breezy. I had slept 9 hours each night the last 2 nights – plenty rested; I had my race belt with 3 gels - 1 extra in case I lost one; I knew exactly where the aid stations were; I knew the course and warmed up well; I had eaten my familiar prerace meal of oatmeal, yogurt, small bagel with PB, and a little coffee; and finally, although I was a bit nervous, deep down a quiet confidence spoke to me: it's a done deal :).

The gun went off and so did we. The first mile was nearly all uphill! But honestly it was a perfect way to really get the blood going and get down to business. I ran conservatively at first, just like the plan, and when I passed Mile 1 I was spot on. Mile 2 was another bit of climbing but downhill on the backside. By Mile 3 I was cruising and feeling good. I looked at my watch and was running sub-9:00 pace. Okay, sparky, back it off a bit; there are some hills coming, and you're gonna have to dig. Mile 4 was thankfully flat. I didn't look at my watch again until Mile 6 and my time was 52 minutes – good grief! That itself was a personal best. Just hold this pace and it's in the bag! At Mile 10 the bottoms of my feet began to feel a bit numb, and I took some GU and hydrated at the aid station. At every water/Gatorade stop I slowed down just enough to grab the cup, thank the volunteer, drink it down, and push on. I was working hard but felt great.

The last 3 miles of this course are nearly all uphill, what the organizers call the "signature" of the course, where the real separation of the pack happens. I was ready and had left some juice in the legs for just this reason. At Mile 11 I let 'er rip straight up a 12% grade hill, glad I wasn't wearing my heart rate monitor :). I crossed Mile 12 at 1:48 and couldn't help but smile. Going home girl! Warrior! At Mile 13 there was one more short climb (gahh!! :)), and I emptied out the legs.

"Congratulations – you are a member of the Sub-2-Hour Club!" shouted the announcer as I triumphantly sailed across the Finish line at 1:58. Tears of joy streamed down my face as I hugged Steve and bawled my eyes out. It had been an arduous hard road to this moment, but it was surely worth it.

Sitting here writing this, it's occurred to me that had I not been plagued with injuries last year, I might not have scrutinized everything in my training. I certainly wouldn't have taken the opportunity to make some much needed changes that today have brought rewards and satisfaction I couldn't begin to imagine this time last year. I've come to more humbly appreciate that in every trial there is a great opportunity for real growth and improvement. I pray that we as a culture recover the lost art of patience and perseverance and take trials for what they are – an invitation to blessing. It's what made our nation great.

Romans 5:3-5 (English Standard Version) ³More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, ⁴and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, ⁵and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.

From Barge to Yacht

On my way to a personal record in the 200 Backstroke event at the 2010 Ozark Championship

My swim coach is some kind of wonderful. Two years ago if my triathlon coach hadn't shoved me out the door and into a Masters swim group, I might never have crossed paths with Hap, who gets up at o'dark-thirty several times a week to be at the pool and herd a bunch of driven (sometimes whiny J) athletes across the 4,000 yard goal line. The fact it's in excruciating multiples of 25 yards doesn't seem to faze him one bit. He hands out the swim sets like he's handing out candy; at least he expects us to receive them as if they were J. In our lane we often stand there, slack-jawed, and I can't tell if it's because it's only 5:15AM or we're in shock over the interval times he's given us to complete. You want us to do WHAT in HOW MANY MINUTES??

Inevitably we almost always end up finishing within the given interval. It's funny how he knows exactly where the "challenge" line is, which means he also knows where my "sandbagging" line is. I rarely get a pass to loaf. Putting on the Puppy Eyes alone doesn't work. I had to have raced or trained with serious intensity the weekend before to get a reprieve from the intervals du jour. Otherwise it's Go Big or Go Home, as my tri coach Jen likes to say J.

I'm holding my own in the water and to be honest it hasn't come easy; it's been a lot of hard work, and I'm still learning. However, as Tom Hanks said in A League of Their Own, "It's supposed to be hard. If it wasn't hard, everyone would do it. The hard is what makes it great." A good friend and former Junior Olympic swimmer once told me there aren't many good swimmers. It simply takes a lot of time, patience, and perseverance; and in today's microwave society, 2 extra seconds at the stoplight is too long, never mind 2 (or more) years in the pool.

The key to swimming is learning how to swim. The key to swimming fast is learning how to stop moving through the water like a barge and more like a yacht. A barge can carry a large load, but it's never meant for speed. A yacht is sleek and its rudder is tapered to a point beneath the water's surface; it's meant not only for comfort but also for remarkable speed, especially given its size.

This principle is key when wanting to go fast for longer periods, actually anything more than 50 yards. The muscles wear out rather quickly when they're consuming precious oxygen at a rate greater than the lungs are bringing it in; it is imperative to move through the water as efficiently as possible. This is not to say strength and power aren't important, they are, but using the water to your advantage brings big gains that cannot be had by simply muscling your way from one end of the pool to the other. You must be more on your side, ie, like a yacht, than on your stomach like a barge. This reduces drag and also has the added benefit of being able to "unwind" like a loaded spring when snapping the legs and hips, and initiating the roll from one hip to the other, thus producing forward propulsion from the power core of the body, not from using your arms to pull your way through the water. Think of the power generated by Albert Pujols when he slugs a home run over center field. The rotation begins at his feet and gathers momentum as he prepares to snap his hips, finally culminating in his arms/bat coming around to connect with the ball. If he stood still and simply swung his arms, there is no way he could put the same force behind the bat when it hits the ball. The same is true of swimming fast.

Swimming is a worthy sport for several reasons. The first is that a person can swim literally until the day he/she dies. In contrast to running or even walking, swimming has such little impact from the forces of gravity that one can still get a good workout due to the large number of muscle groups involved, despite the condition of many joints. This is heaven for weary knees and ankles, even weak hips.

Second, swimming is the only sport where you actually feel better coming out of the water than when getting in. The sense of cool water moving around you can be therapeutic and refreshing, thus further enhancing the overall feeling of satisfaction. This is usually not the case with other sports such as biking or running, where the workout almost always results in fatigued muscles.

Third, swimming promotes strength as well as elasticity in muscle fibers, which translates to less vulnerability to injury throughout a person's entire life. When properly taught, the body learns to stretch out in the water and use muscles in a way that causes them to work together to produce correct stroke technique. This can only be done by the brain telling the body exactly which muscle fibers to recruit for a given movement at any given time. The heavy involvement of brain activity keeps neurons fresh and firing, and may actually promote healthy cognitive functions well into the sunset years of life.

I'm still a student of swimming and will likely be one for the rest of my life. It's ok though. The rewards have been more than worth the price. Yes, people look at me screwy when I tell them the alarm goes off at 4:08 AM, and I'm in the water by 5:15. But I've made a lot of new friends, I'm more fit than ever, and I'm home from swim practice as most people are reading the paper and enjoying their first cup of java for the day. More importantly, the discipline of working toward a not-so-immediate reward spills over into other areas of my life and is always waiting with the gift of that lesson to be learned: many things in this life (and the next J) are definitely worth waiting and working for.

Let the Games Begin! – Maxtrax Duathlon Race Report

Thunder, rain… I read Saturday's forecast with some trepidation…but not too much J. I've been in much worse, such as finishing an entire triathlon in rain so hard it was coming at me sideways and I couldn't look straight ahead while on the bike. This was small potatoes in comparison.

I needn't have worried – the forecast turned beautiful for race day and it was spectacular indeed, 50F and sunny by gun time.

This is the beginning of my 6^th year racing triathlons. With no prior athletic background in any of the three disciplines of swimming, biking, or running, I had brazenly taken on the sport in 2004 when I watched the Ironman World Championships in Hawaii and wept over many of the athletes' stories. Pro or amateur, their unflinching determination to reach a goal was indeed something I could relate to in my life thus far. Suffice it to say 25 years ago I was an odds-on favorite to be a loser in a gutter somewhere, pissed at the world. That the pendulum has swung entirely the other way is due to the influence of many wonderful people in my life, particularly my husband who is the greatest man I've ever known, my family, and of course God Himself, who struck my brain with the proverbial lightning bolt 16 years ago and made me realize there's more to life than meets my finite and limited view of things. But that's another post J.

Last year racing was tough. By this time I was already suffering from a tendon injury near my left knee, and there was more to follow that took the trials of training from adversarial to positively ludicrous. I ended the season with a stress fracture in my right foot that made me relook at EVERYTHING I was doing to pursue this passion. I had no choice but to retreat to the basics and focus on getting stronger, period. Over the winter I incorporated additional swimming, core work, as well as yoga, and not the "meditative" stuff either. This was extreme, and it stretched and strengthened every muscle fiber in my body as well as my thinking. I had badly underestimated the power of yoga and its potential to elongate the body's elasticity.

I also changed my running shoes and raised the saddle on my bike which helped ease the compression on the tendons that run on the outside of the upper leg. After I healed up, the track became my new friend as I retooled my running technique and learned to land on my forefoot (instead of my heel), drive my arms to enhance forward propulsion, and toe off in much the same way a plane does when taking off from the runway. It sure didn't come about overnight and I'm still learning, but I'm miles away from where I was as a 10:00/mile runner.

Five months into consistent and patient effort, I reached a new milestone in my swimming and moved on to the next faster lane at Masters practice. Even I was bewildered at how much farther I could stretch an arm forward to "grab" more water. The days of swimming 3,300 yards were behind me as 4,000+ yards became a regular occurrence at Monday morning swim practice.

So this past Saturday I was pumped with fair excitement. It was the first opportunity to put my new skills to the test in an early-season duathlon.

I'm no newbie when it comes to triathlon, but the first race of the season always has a "blowing the dust off" feel to it. I had rehearsed my transitions, even my setup, and it still felt like I was forgetting something, though I actually wasn't.

We all lined up at the Start and the gun finally went off. Amazingly I was hanging with the pack and still feeling pretty good. When I could see the Mile 1 marker just up ahead I stole a peek at my watch and nearly soiled myself when I saw the first number was 7…what the?? No way, I thought; this must be mismarked.

I was wong J. On the way back I looked at my watch again after Mile 2 and was only a few seconds off from the first mile. Sure I was working hard, but…crikey! Well, alrighty then – let the games begin!

I took all of 1 minute in transition to fling the shoes off, put the bike shoes and helmet on, and fly onto my steed. The bike course was windy and hilly, but I was alternating between watching the road and watching the speed on my computer. Giddy up girl! It was exhilarating to fly down a hill at 30mph, pedal strongly and consistently up the next, and pass guys on the bike.

I flew back into transition to rack my wheels and pull on my running shoes one last time. This year I have Yankz, also known as speed laces; say goodbye to bending over and tying laces, these cool dudes make it possible to slip on running shoes like slippers.

And off I went in the hunt for more of the same speed. I was a tad slower this time but knowing I had a Personal Best in the bag spurred me on that much more.

The last hill coming to the Finish was a killer, but I absolutely left everything on the course and sprinted one last time to cross the line for a total time that was 2 minutes faster than last year – huge for a "short course" race.

I barely noticed the drive home – I am grateful beyond words to God, my family, and my coach. I realize not every race or workout is going to be top shelf, but I sure know the kind of potential that lives in a person when the heart and mind are in the right place.

Let the games begin! J

God is Holy

"Holy cow!" I said as we got to the top of the 11-mile trail and took in the jaw dropping vistas of the Alaska Range mountains. It was our first time to the state; it hasn't been our last J. Both of us being fans of the Great Outdoors, it's impossible to miss the evidence of God's power and majesty contained in these silent yet enduring giants of His creation.

Yet there is one trait of God that supersedes even His power, majesty, and His Name as Creator. Above all of these other magnificent ways to describe His character, the fact He is holy outweighs the others by a measure of significance. Most of God's traits such as loving, gracious, and just, are described by way of demonstration of these traits, ie, God shows this attribute by having an object (mankind) to which He directs it. Example: the Bible says in Romans 5:8 that "…God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us." There is a person or object toward which His love (and grace and justice) is directed. Indeed it would be difficult to comprehend a concept such as love if we didn't have someone to direct it towards.

God's holiness, however, is more abstract and it is difficult to give it proper attention in a short article. However, some key points can be made that will hopefully strengthen your understanding of this wonderful and supreme attribute of our Maker, and ultimately strengthen your knowing Him.

What does "holy" mean? We often use the word in rather common expressions, such as the one above, or even in more crass terms (we won't go there, but you get my drift). I find the latter expression rather interesting – we routinely think the crude is in some way mitigated by prefacing it with the sacred.

Wikipedia's description of holy is "…sacred, pure, without blemish…" but these are actually secondary meanings at best. Holy comes from an ancient word which means to cut or to
separate or to be above and beyond the rest. In contemporary language we could say it means a cut above the rest. When we talk of God's love we can say it is holy because it is a cut above or beyond human love. But when we apply holy to God Himself, we are saying He is separate, a cut above. God is higher than the world – He transcends it in His consuming majesty and power. More importantly, ascribing holy to God also points to the infinite distance that separates Him from us.

Why is this important? The reason is that God is inescapable – there is no place we can hide from Him. Not only does he penetrate every aspect of our lives, He penetrates it in His majestic holiness. No amount of passionate belief or fiery disbelief changes the fact that God exists. Therefore we must seek to understand what the holy is. God has declared in Leviticus 11:44 "Be holy, because I am holy."

Holy is one word in the Bible that is used three times in succession - a literary tool in Hebrew writing and a sign of major emphasis. The Bible does not say God is love, love, love or wrath, wrath, wrath. The triplicate use of the word holy gives it special importance and weight. In ancient Hebrew culture, using a term twice in succession indicated intimacy between two people. In Exodus 3:4 when God called to Moses from the burning bush, He said "Moses, Moses…" However, in Isaiah Chapter 6, when the seraphim called to each other worshiping God, they sang "Holy, holy, holy!!" No other word is used this way in the Bible.

In Matthew 6:9-10, Jesus instructs the disciples how to pray by giving us The Lord's Prayer. Notice the introduction "...hallowed [holy] be Your Name..." (emphasis mine). This is not a personal address; it is a petition. Every time we pray that prayer we are asking God that His holiness penetrate our hearts and minds, and that we come to understand that only He can make us holy. Without His direct intervention we are not holy, and in our culture where we pay homage to the god of independence that is indeed difficult to acknowledge. God doesn't have a standard; He is the standard and without Jesus' perfect life and subsequent death in our place on the Cross, we would be forever lost.

In the Bible no one who came into direct contact with God and His holiness came away unaffected. Not Moses, not Isaiah, or even Peter when he realized Jesus is God. In fact all of them became intensely aware of the great divide that exists between our sinful nature and the transcendent perfection of a holy God. Yet this is the amazing message of the Christian Gospel: that a holy and perfect God, infinitely separate from us, would look upon us in our brokenness, and instead of giving us what would be fair, which is His perfect justice that renders us guilty and sentenced to an eternity separate from Him (and everything about Him), He stooped down and became a human being in the form of Jesus, lived the perfect life we should've lived and died the death we deserved, substituting Himself in our place, and rendering a verdict of Not Guilty and eternal fellowship with Him for those who truly believe this in their hearts. All this because "God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him would not die but have eternal life." (John 3:16). The result is a life filled today with unfiltered gratitude and devotion to a God who truly is worthy of our worship.

How about you? Have you ever thought about what "holiness" means or is it an abstract concept? Are you now intrigued by God's holiness and His gracious sovereign reach to initiate a personal and intimate relationship with you?

Cook on High For 3 Years

On New Year's Day NBC Universal broadcasted previous years of the Hawaii Ironman World Championship all day long. When I tuned in, the 2001 championship was on, and it took me less than 30 seconds to begin weeping for the athletes -- their stories, hopes, fears, adversities, causes, pressures. I could relate to the feeling of deciding to "climb the mountain" and what it takes to persevere and empty yourself out in the process. It was exactly 5 years ago I had watched the 2004 World Championship and decided right then and there that I could climb said mountain. Three years later, on my 43^rd birthday, I finished my first Ironman – a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and 26.2 mile run, all in succession and within 17 hours total. Steve and I both cried our eyes out when I held my arms high, pointing towards heaven, as I stepped across the Finish strong and with a smile J. Nine months of training had come down to this race and despite the grueling efforts of the day, it was a blast.

Little did I know the real work had only begun. Of all 3 sports in triathlon, swimming is by far the most technical. Sure, Michael Phelps made it look easy when he raked in 8 gold medals at the 2008 Olympics. Though it can be argued he is really a fish in human skin, even Phelps has been training for years to get to where he is.

If it's true of the greats, then it certainly follows for the rest of us mortals: the pursuit of excellence is hard work and requires unflinching, unfailing determination to reach. People will spend their two most precious commodities -- time and money -- in the hunt for this sometimes elusive virtue. Indeed, one look at a person's calendar and checkbook will speak volumes about where his/her heart truly lives.

I'm no different than anyone else. Certain things carry weight with me and this is one of them. I have no illusions about admitting when and where I need help, and becoming a good swimmer is one of those areas. I love to compete and coming out of an open water swim with the bike and run portions of the race still ahead makes it absolutely necessary to be as efficient in the water as possible.

I didn't swim competitively in grade school, high school, or college, so it's not like riding a bicycle where foundational skills were built at a very young age and can be picked up again with relative ease. Sure I had swim lessons when I was a kid, but that taught me how to survive in the water, and muscle my way from one end of the pool to the other; I learned nothing about how to move through the water like a yacht.

In January 2007 my triathlon coach gave me a baseline test to do in the water so she could measure my current swim abilities and give me workouts that would fit my goals. The swim test consisted of a 500 yard warmup (about 20 laps in a 25 yard pool), and then (10) 100 yard intervals, all-out effort, with precisely 10 seconds rest between each 100 yards. The total time (minus 90 seconds for rest time) divided by 10 would be my average time per 100, or what is also called T-pace (Threshold Pace). T-pace is a useful metric in many sports to determine the threshold at which effort shifts from aerobic to anaerobic states. The goal is to raise T-pace speed while delaying the shift as long as possible, hence producing increased performance at the same or lower efforts.

I went to the pool with some trepidation, knowing the effort would be difficult but ready to get her done. Man, I really had no idea; ignorance was heaven for a short moment. By the end of the 2^nd 100, I was in enough shock to barely note the time and move onto the next interval. By the 5^th 100, I thought I was going to pee myself in the water (permissible at 5 years of age, far less so at 42 J). Crikey, 5 MORE TO GO?? By the 8^th 100, I was thinking what Al Bundy would often say on Married With Children "God, you can't kill me now??" J

I survived…and ended up with a T-pace of 2m15s (2:15) per 100. Not bad but definitely room for improvement, especially in pursuit of Ironman. My coach said to find and get into a Masters swim program. I fought it for nearly a year. By the end of 2007 with only incremental improvements in my swim times, I finally said Uncle and found the Clayton-Shaw Park Masters, less than 15 minutes from my house.

Despite it being a pool, it was out of the frying pan and into the proverbial fire J. The swim coach gave me TONS of feedback on my stroke technique, which truly did require a lot of work. But in the end it didn't matter if I was the SLOWEST swimmer in the SLOWEST lane (I was J). I was in hot pursuit of excellence and I was there to WORK. I have never said "quit" to anything in my life. My immigrant parents, who were refugees from a war, taught me the precious twin traits of perseverance and discipline. I knew if I quit the only thing that waited for me on the other side was mediocrity, status quo, the ordinariness of life, just getting by. My life has been anything but ordinary and quitting was not an option. I hung in there despite the 5:15AM swim times, lung busting sets, and routine disappointments of "I SO wish I was faster." Little did I know that in addition to a solid swim stroke, I was also cultivating much-needed patience, a sadly diminishing trait in our culture of instant GETification.

Fast forward to January 7, 2010. It's that time of year again – swim/bike/run baseline tests to gauge fitness for the coming season. That day I stood at the pool's edge, well fueled, nervous for the test knowing the brutal effort that lay ahead, but also healthily confident I would do my utmost best. 2+ years of consistent Masters swimming had produced an athlete who was 10 lbs lighter, noticeably faster in the water, and was actually showing definition in her now-45-year-old arms, shoulders, pectoral and lateral muscles, not to mention two outlines along her abs. It was hard to believe the girl in the mirror that morning was actually me J.

The test was truly hard, but all through it I held on and remained focused on the task at hand. It's supposed to be hard; that's what makes it great. At the end I turned out a 1:39 per 100 T-pace, a wild improvement over my 2:15 three years ago. I went home tired and immensely thankful for the gift of health, but also for the willingness to work and be patient that good will come out of adversity. The lure of "getting by" is a bond that tempts (and sometimes enslaves) us all. Trials in life are brought to burn those bonds away and produce the fine edges of character that only come with endurance over time.

At Masters practice, I've moved on to the next faster lane and some days it's a struggle to keep up. But I have a new goal, which is the picture at the very top. (Actually my swim coach has said 1:30 by this summer, to which I've said "Are you high?" J) But it's really me who needs to adjust the "temperature" of my goals. Everyone needs a cause greater than themselves, one worth pursuing that will not only leave you physically and mentally fit, but also spill over into other aspects of your life and create lasting, eternal rewards.

Wrecked For Good

Reading on the beach in Alaska at midnight J.

I haven't posted in over a year, the last update being about the beginning of the previous season in January 2009 with a bike test. That time of year has come around again for the annual swim/bike/run baseline tests - the chance to come dreadfully close to hurling my guts up while maintaining as high an effort as possible in each of the three disciplines of triathlon. Though daunting, these tests form the basis of training goals each season and provide an accurate point of reference, but one that is meant to be left behind as performance gradually improves over the months.

To be honest, 2009 was a year fraught with challenges, all of them good (the only kind really, in my book). In January I finally bit the bullet and struck out on my own in my career field of telecommunications, launching my own company, Creation Telecom Services, LLC (http://creationtelecomservices.com/). Business landed immediately on our doorstep, both an upside and downside to hanging out my own shingle. It meant I had work to do and fun people to do it with, highly desirable especially in today's economic times. It also caught me off guard, as I had actually planned on calling ALL my former customers to let them know of my new role, and figured I would be doing so for at least the first 6 months of being in business. A consultant's currency is his/her relationships with clients and this is something I've had to cultivate like a rare rose; it takes time, consistency, perseverance, and patience. Neglecting any of these puts any business on the express route to its eventual demise.

Which brings me back around to the subject of triathlon. In addition to the business challenges we've faced this year, I've also been plagued with training injuries. It started with a small twinge in my knee in April's St. Louis Half Marathon that eventually progressed to full-on Illiotibial Band Syndrome (ITBS), a condition of the knee or hip that makes it nearly impossible to run for long without severe pain around the affected area. This sidelined my running for several weeks, but miraculously I was able to rest and hold onto enough fitness to score several Personal Records in a few races such as Memphis in May (finishing 2^nd in my Age Group on the bike and beating my own course record by nearly 20 minutes), and a local Olympic distance race where I averaged over 20mph on the bike and still finished 4^th in my Age Group despite some faster runners in the same category.

Some solid and consistent physical therapy eventually repaired my knee/hip, and I resumed running and training for a last local triathlon in October whose course I knew well. I kept the heroics to a minimum on the run and ended up finishing 3^rd in my Age Group, 2^nd on the bike. I was happy with my season, especially in light of my injuries. The training/racing/hurting chapter of 2009 came to a close…or so I thought.

One early fall day in October, I was out running with my friend Debbie who's a marathon superstar. We had biked a couple hours and decided to go for an easy 30 minute run afterward, nothing fancy. 20 minutes in I had to stop due to a sharp pain on the top of my right toes; it hurt just to walk back to the car.

The next day an X-ray at the podiatrist's office revealed a stress fracture on the 3^rd metatarsal, a small crack in the bone that could result in a complete break if not treated. Even my untrained eye could see the line on the film. Diagnosis: a boot-cast and NO running for at least 8 weeks. I laughed out loud and the doctor thought I was positively nuts. What now? What else could go awry? Is God trying to get my attention, and well, I'm just not getting it? Tough personal reflection swirled in my mind as I searched my heart. Eventually I came to the inevitable question: am I wrecked for good?

The truth is Yes I am, but not necessarily in the way one might think. A profound change happened to me 17 years ago when I recognized the real reason God entered our world as Jesus Christ. Throughout my life I have had no difficulty believing in God. It's hard to miss His mark in the innumerable stars that are visible from a clear sky in the mountains of Yellowstone, or the look in a child's eyes when she holds her hands up to her father to pick her up, or the searing loss of a loved one who departed this world too soon. Whether we love Him or outright hate Him, God exists; even our resentment and sorrow is ultimately directed at Him. There is simply too much evidence in nature as well as in our own hearts that cannot be disproven despite our best efforts to deny His presence.

The uncomfortable truth of the matter is that on my own there is nothing I can do to be good enough to satisfy God's perfect standard. I often hear people say (and used to say it myself) "I don't think God would send me to hell for doing my best." A seemingly modest statement, there is a critical flaw and it is the word my. We are fond of diminishing our brokenness by substituting our own standard of what's "good". It is tempting to think God is being harsh by requiring perfection, but in reality we all want what's fair; we scream for justice when we've been wronged. Are we willing to turn "fairness" and justice upon ourselves in the same way when we have been the wrongdoer?

Sin (let's just get that word on the table now) and evil are very real and our fallen world is proof of this. Our sins affect one another in the here and now, but ultimately all sin is against God, and God rightfully requires restitution (payment) in the same (familiar) way we do when we've been wronged. If we are infuriated at injustice, imagine God's righteous anger when He is wronged countless times in one day, and then multiply that by billions of people and thousands of years. Because we are already fallen beings, we are declared guilty in God's holy tribunal; we are already in the red. It is a debt we cannot repay and it's bad news all around. Our unwillingness to embrace this awful truth makes it no surprise that Christianity and everything associated with it is under attack.

There is good news however, and it's better than we could possibly imagine. The purpose of Jesus Christ stepping into our world was to be the perfect substitute for our sins. He lived a perfectly sinless life and willingly went to an excruciating criminal's death an innocent man. He died in my place, literally became my sin, and God poured out His justified wrath on His own Son, sparing and forgiving me for eternity in an unimaginable gesture of love and grace. The God of the universe did for me what I could not do for myself. For anyone who embraces this beautiful truth, this is Good News indeed. In fact the word gospel means Good News. Like the day I married Steve, my heart was changed forever and I will never be the same. I am "wrecked" for good J.

Thank You Steve and Steve

This was taken 2 1/2 years ago at Memphis in May, my first Olympic distance race, and also 10 lbs heavier!

It's a new year – woohoo! - and a new season – again, woohoo! :)

It's also time for the ubiquitous baseline tests – all-out efforts of each of the three sports (swim, bike, run) to gauge base fitness when heading into this year's training and racing. These are done at the beginning of every year, since factors such as age, conditioning, illness, and experience all affect an individual's fitness level from year to year.

The tests are not for the faint of heart. Two years ago I was blissfully ignorant. I had just hired Jen as my triathlon coach and I didn't know what I didn't know. I went by faith in Jen's experience and knowledge into each gut-wrenching trial. Each test consists of all-out efforts for approximately 20 minutes, with long warmups beforehand and long cooldowns afterward. It's equally a test of mental endurance, as it's entirely the ruling of the mind that commands the body to find its breaking point. If you think 20 minutes of all-out effort isn't “that hard”, think again. Imagine a hill in your neighborhood, a nice long one, steep too, that may take you 1 minute to run to the top. Your heart is about to burst out of your chest when you get there as you gasp for breath and contemplate puking your guts out.

Now go do that 19 more times. Then call me and say “It wasn't that hard.” Dare ya :)

Today it was about the bike. I had a great night's sleep, over 9 unbroken hours in fact, and I was well rested. I was psyched about the test, crazy I know.

Steve decided to run on the treadmill at the same time, which only added fuel to my fire. He says he loves to watch me train and I can't help but be convinced of his heart when I see the gleam in his eye. I wish every wife had a husband like this. Though it isn't the primary reason I train and race hard, having his support and knowing he takes great pleasure in watching his wife improve year after year gives me the greatest pleasure to please him in this way. Training without the love and encouragement of my awesome husband would be a serious chink in the armor of my drive.

I had all my tunes lined up on my iPod and I clipped in and settled into a nice warmup. At 15 minutes I did some 1-minute accelerations to 100+ rpms, which are meant to “fire” the legs a bit and get them accustomed to rapid pedaling.

At 25 minutes I began shifting to bigger gears, sitting up on the Big Chain Ring and gradually increasing effort. When the 30 minute mark rolled up, I shifted to an even bigger gear that I knew was a serious challenge but one I could pedal at 90 rpms or above.

I was officially in The Test.

I held back a TINY bit for the first 5 minutes, not wanting to blow it out right away. It's amazing what a difference 5 minutes can make when you're pushing hard and suffering. My heart rate was sitting at 162 which meant I was hurting, but I still had plenty of headroom to climb further.
After 5 minutes my heart rate had climbed to 170 and I looked down at my bike computer. Immediately my head screamed “Don't look at that! You'll just trash your mojo!”

But I was not to be denied today. I alternated between watching TV (where Steve was playing Firefly, the TV series spinoff of the movie Serenity) and focusing on matching my cadence to whatever was playing on my iPod. I couldn't resist peeking at my computer to see the elapsed time and I would do a quick calculation of how much time I had left...11 minutes...9 ½ minutes...7 ½ minutes...

With 5 minutes left, I kicked it up into an even harder gear. As if in response, my iPod queued up Steve Vai's There's a Fire in the House. How appropriate - my legs were on fire! This is a high-cadence, nothing-but-guitar song that would make you get a speeding ticket if you were driving. You can't help but go overboard :).

It was more than enough to spur me on. I rocketed to the end, emptying out everything my legs had in them just as the song likewise went down in blazing glory.

Pedaling easy, I peeked at my heart rate monitor and my computer, pleased with the results. The best part was that I averaged over 21 mph – worlds away from my newbie speed of 15 mph 4 years ago.

Thank you Steve and Steve :)

Steve's Idea of a Cheap BOSU Ball :)

In case you're wondering what a BOSU (BOth Sides Utilized) ball is, I've included a picture above. It's a stability ball that's been cut in half and it takes "core" workouts to an entirely new level of challenge. My coach has given me an entire list of "moves" on the ball, designed of course to make me into the Six Million Dollar Woman ("...better, stronger, faster...")

The following is a conversation I had with Steve today about using one:

Catherine: “I’m going to the gym tomorrow for BOSU ball training…”

Steve: “What’s a BOSU ball?”

Catherine: “Looks like a giant breast lying flat...ya feelin’ me B?” :)

Steve “Oh yeah, I get it NOW…bouncy bouncy…”

Catherine: “So I’m going to the gym…to buy one is more expensive than I thought.”

Steve: “I could make one for you.”

Catherine (getting taken for 1 second): “Really? How?”

Steve: “We could buy a stability ball and I could cut it in half and – “

Catherine (regretting this conversation by the second): “Stop!”

Steve: “Hee hee, I think it would work…besides you look HOT in tri shorts.”

Needless to say I'll be hee-hee-ing myself to death while groaning on said ball tomorrow :)

Grateful For Commas

I lost my job last week. No way, you say. Unfortunately, yes way. Simply put, our company went through an acquisition and the new organization doesn’t have room for everyone. To be fair, I was offered to stay on for the remainder of the year and as well as an equitable severance package.

I will miss my friends, which includes both my colleagues and clients. I’m in the telecommunications field, and there are no two carriers alike which in turn has made my job challenging and interesting both from a technical and business perspective. The variety of people I’ve met has taught me valuable lessons in working with different personalities and abilities. I’ve had to become more patient, knowing when to push and when to back off, as not everything happens in the way or timeframe I always want them to.

The telecom industry has been and continues to be a male-dominated field. I say that strictly from a gender perspective. Early on in my career I took an advanced training class in a specific area of technology, and I was the lone female. More recently I spoke to a group of clients at one of our user group meetings, and I was once again the only woman. Countless times I’ve been in meetings or spoken to larger audiences, the percentage of women has rarely risen above 1%.

Though the ratios continue to give the Equal Employment folks nightmares, I’ve never been treated any differently than my male counterparts – including career advancement as well as compensation. In fact when I left a previous position, I was fairly certain I was the highest compensated engineer, male or female, out of more than 300 engineers in our organization. I’ve worked as hard as my male counterparts to earn high marks among my peers and have what I’ve affectionately termed “good coin” - credibility - with all my clients. Clearly it’s been a fun and rewarding ride.

The equity ownership I had in my company is now defunct, a logical outcome of being acquired in the current economic climate. Last week I was joking with my stepmom that all 262,000 shares I owned would be worth more now as 262,000 squares of toilet paper :). We lightly commiserated about our investments and I noted that while my chances of accumulating some wealth through company ownership have been put on hold, at least our investments, though down, still have decimal points and more importantly commas behind them.

Sitting at dinner that night another thought bubbled up in my mind. If a person’s life is seen as a sentence, it would seem that each chapter or major change in life could be considered a comma, marked by the inevitable period or death at the end. In a sense, I consider losing my job to be a comma - a pause or break in the sentence of my life, not at all The End.

I didn’t always feel this way. I’ve lost a job before and at the time it indeed felt like a death. After the initial shock and subsequent sobbing was over with, I fell into a state of apathy as if nothing else mattered but the roots I had put down in my job that had been suddenly and involuntarily pulled up. I had lived a conservative lifestyle, well within my means, so it was not a money thing. Rather, I had to admit that nearly my entire identity was wrapped up in my job and to lose it so abruptly meant I lost who I was as well. No comma for me back then; though my body continued to live, it clearly felt like a period that signaled the end of my sentence or value as a person.

These days I’ve come to understand that one must live for a cause greater than oneself. Though I gain great joy from cultivating and using the wonderful gifts and talents I’ve been given, they are no longer the foundation of who I am. My view has shifted considerably from “playing Gameboy sittin’ in the middle of the Grand Canyon” (as Steven Curtis Chapman so cleverly sings :)) to deriving my identity from the One who made the Grand Canyon.

If I get wrapped up in the penalties of losing my job, I think about God who gave up His rightful position in heaven and pierced our world in the form of Jesus Christ - a man who lived a perfect and sinless life, and in the end was abandoned by his friends, unjustly accused, and finally died a humiliating and excruciating death – all to pay a debt I could not pay on my own. No job loss compares to that kind of love - “…that a man would lay down his life for his friends…” (John 15:13)

Believing this in my heart stretches my perspective on life well beyond the 80-something years I may spend in this body. The implications are huge. It turns not only a job loss but my entire life into a comma. Though the body I Iive in today will someday perish, my life is far from over – eternity stretches out before me, wildly more beautiful than I could possibly imagine, so that even bodily death becomes not a period but just another comma.

In all our job losses, rollercoaster investments, and even squares of toilet paper, I’m grateful for commas :).

The Perfect Storm - STL Half Marathon Race Report

With an exuberant finish at Sunday’s St. Louis Half-Marathon, my 2008 racing season has officially come to a close. To be honest I have mixed feelings about it. What athlete doesn’t? On the one hand I am GLAD to be able to sleep past 5am, worry less about finding a pool when I travel, take a hiatus from the two-a-day workout schedules, and revel in being able to stay awake past 8:30pm (even on weekends). The most trying (and possibly amusing for family and friends to watch) was the constant need to eat and subsequent feeling of not being satisfied. (A friend at church has a t-shirt that says “Always Hungry” and at one point I was breaking the 10th Commandment – I was seriously coveting the shirt! :)). I could (and did sometimes) go all day grazing from the fridge or my briefcase, depending on what city I happened to be in that week. One night at home I was so tired of having dinner and a dessert (always chocolate-something) and not feeling “full” that I took an entire box of miniature peanut butter cups and simply sat on the couch watching CSI, eating them slowly, pausing for a few minutes to take it in, then resuming – just to see how many I could eat before it was too much.

30 cups later I was done - like a turkey in the oven - but at least I found the end of the rope :).

All joking aside, to do all of the above for 10 months straight is not only physically draining but takes its toll mentally as well. Coach Jen has repeatedly explained to me the mark of a class-act athlete is recognizing downtime to recharge is equally important, if not more so, as the all-out laser focus demands of training and racing.

On the other hand, a small part of me is already thinking about 2009 and the fun out there waiting like a good friend of many years. There are endless races to choose from, and 2 of the 3 A-races on my calendar will be new venues for me, places I’ve never raced. I can hardly wait…really…

This past Sunday was what I call The Perfect Storm. I’m fit from racing all season, leaner than I’ve ever been in my life (this year I took off 9 lbs from my 135lb frame and now weigh what I did in my 20s, except I have wads more tone thanks to swimming 10-12K yards/week), the weather was an outstanding 50F and sunny, I knew the course, and Daylight Savings was ending Saturday night giving me a rare extra hour of sleep the night before the race. It didn’t get any better than that.

We woke up early and drove a whopping 15 minutes to the race site, where I picked up my number and walked back to the car to get ready. I warmed up 2 miles, listened to my Fave Five tunes, prayed earnestly out of gratitude and for a safe and strong race, visualized my finish repeatedly, and finally walked to the Start.

The gun went off and I executed on my plan to run conservatively the first 3 miles. The entire course was hilly, some of them lonnnnnngg. I didn’t care about everyone around me, how fast/slow they were running. I just saw the ground and upcoming mile markers and stayed focused on the plan to leave it all out there, like a fuel gauge slowing running down to Empty. Because it was the last race of the season, the goal was to finish feeling like I couldn’t take another step. Immediately following the Finish is an entire week of NOTHING – no swimming, biking, running, bricks, track workouts, intervals, Masters, NOTHING. Just REST and possibly another week of NOTHING after that :).

I felt great until Mile 7 when fatigue in my legs, ankles really, began to set in. It was hard to keep going but the visualization of finishing, my mantra of being “fireproof” (not blowing up), and knowing it would be terribly difficult but gutting it out anyway – all of that is woven into the fabric of who I am -- and the entire challenge spurred me on.

The last 2.5 miles had some small plateaus but were mostly uphill. I remembered walking this portion of the course when I ran this same race 8 years ago at the age of 36.

Not today. Although very challenging, I dug deep and ran on legs that felt like stilts to the Finish where from 100 feet away I could see Steve waving. I forgot all about the pain and fatigue, and sprinted to the Finish where I promptly lifted the wrong leg for the volunteer to remove my timing chip :).

It was all I had left but I finished in exactly the same time as the spring race and on a more difficult course. I was thrilled.

Time to hang up the shoes, the swimsuit, and the bike for a couple weeks and REST.

It was a fantastic year, and I learned a TON. I’m amazed I’m still getting fitter and faster at 44 years old. I know this won’t be the case forever, but for now…

…I’ll take it :).

Good night everyone!

Cross Country Surprise - MattoonMan Race Report

Though the title may sound more like a Chinese meal than a race, it’s still official: in addition to being a triathlete, I’m now a cross-country runner too. Saturday’s MattoonMan Duathlon brought with it spectacular weather and also the bombshell of the run course being changed from pavement to GRASS. I must’ve been smokin’ some to think I could blaze these trails in the same fashion as the road.

Steve and I had gotten up bright ‘n’ early Saturday morning at 4:00am to make the 2 ½ hour drive to Mattoon, IL where the last multisport race of this season was to take place at 9:00am sharp.

The race distances were admirable, even a bit sneaky -- as in play it wrong and I could end up a hurtin’ puppy – a 4 mile run, a 40 mile bike, followed by another 4 mile run.

We arrived with time to spare and on the way I had fueled aplenty with my traditional meal of coffee, water, oatmeal and yogurt. Packet pickup was straightforward and uncomplicated, and I even received a USAT windbreaker in my goodie bag – nice!

I setup my transition area and went off for a warmup.

Pavement, sweeeet…grass, gahh!!! It was an act of step-bobble-rebalance-step-bobble, repeat as necessary.

Well this was going to be fun. I could hardly wait to get onto my bike. At least that portion of the race was on paved roads.

I warmed up for about 25 minutes and headed back to my transition stall for one last check. Shortly thereafter we all gathered for some last minute race details; then the gun fired and we were off.

It was hard from the beginning. I was thinking am I just tired from racing all season or is this NOTICEABLY harder? I looked down at my heart rate monitor – 178 after one mile – eeek! I was planning on running the first segment conservatively – more like 170-ish – just on the edge of being uncomfortable. I was already in the zone reserved for the later half of the second run.

Nevertheless I made it through the first run with worthy mile splits, grabbed my helmet, ran my bike up the hill out of transition (with one hand on the saddle, mind you, a trick I’ve mastered this season that allows me to keep running w/o being hobbled by holding onto my aerobars…besides it looks way cool too, ha ha), and nearly threw myself onto the saddle to get going and get busy.

The road was pristine – smooth with beautiful rolling hills. Absent was the corn harvest dust from last year’s Ironman that had me sneezing and blowing snot rockets every five minutes.

Absent also was the WIND, no small miracle in the cornfields of Illinois. I had warmed up on the bike course so I knew what was coming in terms of grade and terrain.

I was cruising at over 20mph and I was in heaven. The sun, the warmth, the lack of wind, and the smooth roads all made for one sweet ride and it was a joy to reap the benefits of late-season race fitness. My heart rate stayed nicely in Zone 3 and it felt like I could go all day.

The bike course was 2 loops of 20 miles each and Steve practically leapt out of the car when I showed up nearly 15 minutes ahead of my estimated time on the first loop to make the turnaround. We grinned stupidly at each other, the way a couple of 18 yr olds might on a first date, dontcha know :).

I was determined to hold the pace and finish the 2nd bike loop in either the same time or a bit faster if the wind didn’t show up.

As the sun rose higher and the temps warmed, some headwinds did appear but they weren’t bad and I could hold a decent speed.

Around Mile 25 my hamstrings began to tighten up and hurt, right below my butt, and it occurred to me that I had not really stood up to pedal for most of the race. Standing up helped me stretch out and felt much better; I had been down in the aero position for a long time.

I finished the second loop just a couple minutes off from the first, happy as a clam, and then dreaded racking my bike for the second run. It was only 4 miles, but man, on grass 4 miles felt like another 40 :).

In addition, the temps were now in the low 80s, and it was hot. I slogged through 4 miles and sprinted to the Finish where Tony the Race Director said “I think you got one more [loop] to do…”

“BITE ME”, I said, and we all had a good laugh.

Then Steve said Look they have pizza, and it was all I could do to NOT hurl :). I left it all out on the course, determined to surrender everything. Last race of the season, I had nothing to lose.

Oh, and by the way, I won my Age Group too :).

Running With Ike

This was taken by the International Space Station and is credited to NASA.

We knew it was coming. For days I’d been watching the weather forecast and it wasn’t getting any better - one day of precipitation sandwiched in between 10 days of mild temperatures and “abundant sunshine”. That one day’s weather prediction went from “showers” to “rain” to “HEAVY wind, rain”. Hurricane Ike was about to slam the Texas coast and then head straight for Missouri.

Was I still game to run the Lewis & Clark Half Marathon? You bet! With the magic word “lightning” missing from the weather forecast I was in the hunt and undeterred. I’d been through similar conditions at the Evergreen Triathlon in July where the rain came down so hard I couldn’t look straight ahead while on the bike segment of the race. I remember my “transition towel” consisted of a little plastic grocery bag that acted as a mud-shield for my shoes, race belt, and ball cap. Why bother with anything else? I was soaked within seconds of getting on the bike.

Sunday morning we woke up at 4:15am and I looked online at the National Weather Service’s radar. After plowing through Galveston Island in Texas, Hurricane Ike had overnight roared up the Mississippi Valley and was blanketing the entire state of Missouri. It was actually smaller than it had been when making landfall on the Texas coast, but still unbelievable. I had trouble imagining a storm system over 250 miles wide; when it reached Texas, Ike was estimated to be anywhere from 600-900 miles across!

We arrived at the race site at 5:45am, a full hour before the Start, and cars were already backed up to both main entrances in the parking lot. The rain was coming down in torrents and after parking we just sat in the car and stared straight ahead - me longing for (more) coffee and Steve possibly wondering what he was smoking when he agreed (enthusiastically) to accompany us to the Start before heading off to church later that morning. The good news was that we had prepared with the right gear both before and after the race – Gore-Tex rules :).

Finally we got out of the car and within seconds were drenched and sloshing through standing water. He wore a poncho, and I had on Gore-Tex pants and jacket, and also brought a post-race change of clothes stuffed in a plastic bag. We met Patrick and Kristin at the bag drop tent and just stood there under the umbrella…waiting. I thought (for about 2 seconds) about warming up but laughed it off – sheets of rain were blowing sideways and winds were gusting at 50mph. There would be no Personal Records set today, but at least we would all have a great “Running With Ike” story :).

6:45 neared and Steve headed home while the three of us sloshed our way to the Start. There were pace corrals (flags with per-mile-pace times) to help us get organized according to running speed. Patrick and I stood in the 9:00 corral and Kristin moved up to the Supersonic corral :). It was a sea of plastic – all of us wearing trashbags with holes punched in them to conserve body heat while standing around.

They delayed the Start nearly 30 minutes and we were all shivering and grumbling, wondering if the officials were debating canceling the event altogether. We would later find out the reason for the delay was that the police were not in place yet on the course because they were still dealing with numerous traffic accidents due to the weather.

The gun finally fired and we were off. All things being equal I felt pretty good. Patrick and I had agreed to run together and not talk – during a race the heart rate is so jacked up, one needs every bit of oxygen shuttled to working muscles and talking interferes with that process.

The first 6 miles were insane, but I was surprised how quickly the mile markers came. My mind was busy dealing with extremely adversarial circumstances but they were external and it made it easier to deal with fatigue and discomfort. A pathway opened in my head and I could clearly focus on running steady, holding back just a little in the first half so I could build and pour it on in the last 5K.

It worked for 8 miles and then Patrick said “hey, we were supposed to turn right here, but we turned left…” Sure enough, the course was shortened to 10 miles for everyone, including the marathoners – a disappointment for all. The south side of the course was flooded and entire trees had fallen onto the street. I applauded the wisdom of the officials to hold a challenging event but still take safety very seriously.

I crossed the Finish line still quite strong despite the weather and was very pleased. We were bussed back to the parking lot where modesty was momentarily ancient history and hundreds of athletes were changing into dry clothes.

Patrick drove me home where I promptly discovered we had no power. I let myself in the front door and realized it was Decision Time. I was already late for church but not too late. Would I give the same importance to serving God and others as I did to my fitness pursuits that morning when I woke up at 4:15am to slog my way through a 10-mile road race?

I showered in the near-dark, drank a tall glass of chocolate milk and stashed some more vittles, manually raised the garage door, and carefully backed the Jeep out. 5 minutes later I arrived at church to discover they had no power either! 300 congregants were in the lobby area of the auditorium we use – Steve and his team had scrambled to find chairs anywhere they could and it was still Standing Room Only. Turns out we had a lot of visitors from other churches who canceled services due to power outages.

I was so glad – glad to have run in the driving rain and finished strong anyway, to have made the effort to see our friends and help other folks on their spiritual journey (our church is called The Journey for that reason), glad to see Steve’s face as I came in the door.

By 1:00pm Ike was outta here, and we spent a relaxing afternoon reading and playing – how old are we again? :)

Kristin and I before the Start - check out our fashionista bags and Patrick's umbrella!!

Double Deux Deux

I turn 44 today (Sept 15th) :). The title for this post was inspired by a friend and coworker who sent me the Italian version of “Double 2 2” which I simply translated into French as “Double Deux Deux”. The fact it sounds like the familiar euphemism “do-do” (at least in American English) isn’t lost on me either, hee hee :).

Like the popular phrase “It seems just like yesterday I…” shared by so many, I must admit I am not immune to this sentiment either. It does seem very recent that I officially became “middle-aged”, though I’ve also heard the phrase 40 is the new 30, and I can’t say I disagree.

That being said, I’ve spent some time in personal reflection and have come to understand there are dueling forces at work in my mind. On one side of the fence is the acceptance of the process of aging (death and taxes, right? :)) and the inevitable consequences that come along with it. The other is the realization I’ve been given the beautiful gift of health and my unmitigated fitness pursuits have yet to reach their peak. All that to say I may be getting older but I’m still getting faster :).

So I’ve compiled two lists (Steve would be proud – he’s the Uber Master of Lists) that represent each side of the aforementioned fence. Here they are.

List 1: Inevitable Signs of Aging I’ve Noticed in the Last Year:

1. I have more gray hair, way more than last year, way more than Steve and he’s pushing 50! At first I noticed only one, but I’ve given up trying to count.

2. The ability to read anything in smaller than 8pt print is gone. I officially need magnifying glasses to read smaller stuff. In addition, I need more light to clearly see print of any size. It’s not that I can’t read in reduced lighting, I have just noticed the print seems to come to life when I apply more illumination.

3. One night I realized I couldn’t clearly see my bowl of chocolate ice cream I was cradling in my hands while watching CSI. Yikes!! If I held the bowl about a foot away all was crystal clear (but who wants heavenly elixir moving in the opposite direction?? :)). I’m still nearsighted but anything in close range (within a foot) is blurry and now needs magnification.

4. I need more time to recover from hard training days. Dara Torres (41 year old Olympic swimmer) expressed the same sentiment during this summer’s events. She may be as fast as the young studs, but as the body ages it needs more time to recover from hard efforts. I’m not supersonic by any stretch, but I’ve come to realize I can’t bounce back unaffected like I could in my 20s.

5. I have a greater sense of urgency (and not when going to the bathroom :)) for my family, friends, and everyone who comes into my path to receive meaningful and accurate information about God and who He really is in a sensitive, compassionate, and real way, when/if the timing is right.

6. I have a deep peace that I don’t need to financially plan for 70+ years any longer; 40-50 will do it!

7. I have more hair on my face! The first subtle yet visible sign of shifting hormone levels has left its imprint in the form of fine peach fuzz above my lip and along my jaw line. I’m still “safe” though – Steve can grow a full beard in about an hour! :)

8. I’m a “cheap date” when it comes to alcohol – one beer and it’s over!

9. I’ve started opting in for more sleep in the mornings and at times delaying workouts to midday or late afternoons. It’s harder to get going at 5:00am, though I still enjoy a long swim in the pre-dawn hours :).

List 2: Aging’s Alter Ego (aka “I’ll Go Down Fighting! :))

1. One year ago exactly today, on my 43rd birthday, I trained for and completed my first (but not last) Ironman triathlon. I wrote a story about my race experience and it became the catalyst for this blog :). To this day I still hear from folks who have been touched or inspired by that first post now over a year ago. Awesome!

2. I got my first (quite possibly my last – man it hurt BAD) tattoo – the red M-Dot Ironman symbol is permanently etched above my right ankle, not so much as a public symbol of my achievement but more as a reminder to me that I actually finished the race.

3. My desire to love God with all my heart and to know Him more than ever is off the charts this year. Along with it has come a deeper longing for heaven and a certainty that this is not my permanent home. Don’t get me wrong; I LOVE my life and everything about it, good and bad. However, it would be a terrible gamble to think this is all there is – and be wrong about it in the end. The very idea of God is worth investigating; He promises those who seek Him with all their heart (as in an open heart) will find Him.

4. Steve and I are celebrating our 10th anniversary tomorrow. This year more than ever I have been deeply grateful for every day we have together. He is my best friend, the buddy I never had as a kid, and there is nothing we don’t share. We are completely open and vulnerable to each other, and I treasure being known by another, warts and all.

5. I play more, as in kid kinda play. I ran a race last Sunday and in the goodie bag along with my race number was a mini Frisbee – cool! Tonight after dinner I picked up the Frisbee and said to Steve Hey, it’s my birthday – I wanna PLAY :). So we threw the Frisbee around – inside the house – around corners – in slippers – on hardwood floors! What a blast. Thank goodness we’re empty-nesters; we are a terrible example for kids at times :).

6. I have trouble comprehending that I was already in college when many of the folks we interact with in everyday living were born. It’s not that I think of 20-somethings as being “so young”; it’s that I have trouble believing I am “that old” :).

7. My fire for living life to its fullest hasn’t waned at all. In fact it’s only grown and I’m constantly thinking of how I can make the best use of the most valuable commodity I have – TIME. How can I invest whatever precious hours I have left in this lifetime and use the gifts I have been given to better the lives of those around me?

8. I boldly take on more risks and challenges – I have absolutely nothing to lose except the later regret for passing on the opportunity :). A recent survey taken of senior citizens produced the following answer to the question “If you had a chance to change something in your life, what would it be?” Answer: I would’ve taken more risks. I want nothing left when I pass from this life. I want to meet God someday completely emptied out, having given it all away – my time, talents, finances, possessions, even my body.

Quotable Quotes

I was out running the other day (what else!) and one of the following quotes (can’t remember which!) came to mind…another followed, and then another. I decided to compile and share a list of some of my favorites. Some are profoundly thought provoking, others are downright funny – especially the ones by Steve :).

Enjoy!


“It’s supposed to be hard. If it wasn’t hard everyone would do it. That’s what makes it great.” – Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own

“You run like a GIRL!” – Steve Aubrecht

“You can’t coach desire.” – Jennifer Harrison

“A church is a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints.” – Abigail Van Buren

“Prayer is what you would’ve asked for had you seen everything God sees.” – Tim Keller

“To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift.” – Steve Prefontaine

“You can’t fake the distance.” – Jerome Harrison

“You don’t see no hearses with luggage racks.” – Don Henley

“That’s gonna leave a mark.” – Chris Farley in Tommy Boy

“The Prime Minister of Sweden visited Washington today and my tiny little nipples went to France…I do da cha-cha like a sissy girl…” – Steve Carrell in Bruce Almighty

“We buy things we don’t need with money we don’t have to impress people we don’t even like.” – Anonymous

“For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son…” – God

“Shut your pie-hole woman!” – Steve Aubrecht

“Perfection is not attainable, but if we chase perfection we can catch excellence.” – Vince Lombardi

“Everyone has the desire to win, but only champions have the desire to prepare.” – Anonymous

“HTFU!!” – Jennifer Harrison

“Men are not prisoners of fate, but only prisoners of their own minds.” – Franklin D. Roosevelt

“Self-righteousness is the last idol that is rooted from the heart” before becoming a Christian. – George Whitfield

“In a week, I train the same or less than the average person spends watching TV.” – Catherine Button

“I know God created me for a purpose, but He also made me fast; and when I run I feel His pleasure.” – Eric Liddell, Chariots of Fire

The Sovereignty of the Track

I finished my last A-race of the season two Sundays ago, the Timberman 70.3 Ironman, and it was truly a blast. The course was not easy (they never are). Jen’s adorable hubby Jerome summed it up best when he said “You can’t fake the distance.” He is so right. The half-Iron distance of a 1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike, and 13.1 mile run will cut you wide open and reveal the stuff inside; everyone is susceptible – age-grouper, elite, or pro.

I may be finished with triathlons for the remainder of 2008, but the season is far from over. I’m registered for a ½ marathon in a couple weeks and in the hunt for a new Personal Record. I’m in the best shape of my near-44 years, including the time I played fast-pitch softball for 12 years in school. Though playing ball taught me nothing about elementary skills in each of the three triathlon disciplines such as balance in the water, proper pedaling skills on the bike, or the “falling-forward” motion needed in running to maximize momentum (all of which are second nature now), it did teach me incredible hand-eye coordination (some girls could hit the ball really hard and line drives would fly at 100+mph to me at shortstop – either I learned to react or I would lose an eye) and a willingness to take on challenges. This last trait has been key to moving forward in this awesome sport of triathlon that I’ve grown to love (or it’s a bad addiction and I’m up that Egyptian river called Da Nile…:)).

So now it’s back to core work with weights and the track. I did my first strength session this past Monday and my legs were still “talking” to me 3 days later. Thursday I also had a track workout with five 1-mile intervals, bracketed by 2 miles each warm-up and cooldown – a total of 9 miles of running -- with legs that are 11 days post-Timberman, still pissed off from Monday’s strength session, and even more furious from Tuesday’s visit to Babler Park where I climbed 15 lungbusting hills with Kristin in the early pre-dawn hours.

It was 70F and 90% humidity when I headed to the track at 5:45am. My legs were saying What the…??? Are you insane?? Have you forgotten how you’re hobbling down the stairs to your office?? :)

But my mind was into it…maybe I am insane…

I had just enough in the tank for the workout and it wasn’t easy, but I got ‘er done and trotted home.

I ran with no iPod, which is a habit I’ve begun in the last couple months. I am amazed at how much material my mind has during a workout, not the least of which is to FOCUS on the purpose of the session and how I’m doing.

Other thoughts came to me as well, and I realized that while I’m in an extremely uncomfortable state when training like this, it’s not the first time I’ve felt this way and lived to tell about it. It occurred to me suddenly that the track and God have a LOT in common, such as the following:

• The track never lies – neither does God. It’s one thing He’s incapable of.


• You don’t want to go to the track, but you know you must if you want to improve. Having a relationship with God is the best (and only) way to live as a professing Christian.


• Going to the track sometimes involves pain. Going before the Almighty in honest and open prayer is sometimes painful.
  


• There is no end to the track itself – it’s a perfect oval. There is no end (or beginning) to God. He has been around since before the beginning of time as we know it.
  


• The track requires preparation before stepping on its hallowed (and rubberized) surface. It’s a good idea to prepare your heart prior to going before the majesty of the Almighty’s throne. Whatever you believe about the authenticity of the Bible, none of the people who personally encountered God in history came away unchanged.
  


• The track doesn’t care about your accomplishments, your looks, your job, your possessions, or the latest trends. Neither does God; what he cares about deeply is your heart.
  


• The track reveals who you really are. Going before God produces the same result. He knows everything about us (he made us remember?); there is no “faking it” with Him. Could this be why we run from Him sometimes?
  


• Believe it or not, the track is there for our good (did I just say that? :)). Though it seems a blatant incongruity, God’s heart toward His children is for their good – always. I don’t write this flippantly. Right now members of our family as well as several close friends are in terrible pain, and God’s goodness is hard to see through the curtain of grief. Steve and I have experienced a fair share of anguish in our own lives, and we have also experienced the healing hand of God leading us through dark valleys of sorrow. We pray for God's comfort and strength to bear them up during these hurting times.
  


• There is a definite end to the track workout. There is a definite end to our lives (though not to us) and it is at this end we meet our Maker.
  


• Coming away from the track can leave you drained but gratified and joyful with your accomplishment. Coming away from the presence of God can (and does) leave you with joyful gratitude about your life and what your purpose really is :).
  

The Three D's: Dig Double Deep - Timberman 70.3 Race Report

Kristin (left) and I minutes before Timberman Start - I'm licking off the remnants of the Clif Bar that would later give me fits during the race :).

“No, we don’t have anything like that here,” said the lady in response to my query of whether the town of Laconia, NH boasted an IHOP or Denny’s. “But there are three Dunkin’ Donuts nearby…”

No way!!

Way!!

Nice. I knew Dunkin’ Donuts had at least expanded their menu to bagels and they have AWESOME coffee. Where there are bagels, there is usually peanut butter, and I had plenty of Clif bars to fill in the gaps if necessary for a pre-race meal Sunday morning.

As it turned out my rabbit food wouldn’t need to pinch hit that day. Dunkin’ Donuts is making a serious effort to introduce “healthier” choices – funny for a sweets-mainstay of a company with “donuts” in their name isn’t it? – and they mean business. Sure enough, at 4:00am their doors were open, lights were on, clerks were friendly and efficient. Steve and I walked away with coffee, juice, grain bagels, peanut butter, and a delightful flatbread sandwich of egg whites, a sprinkling of turkey sausage, and some skim mozzarella. This was no greasy McDonald’s egg and cheese sandwich. It was “dry” and just the right size and combination of the right nutrients for a pre-race meal.

I downed the triangle at 4:50am sitting in the parking lot at the race site. Though the dawn was coming, it was still dark and the transition area was not very well lit in my corner, so I relaxed for a few minutes in the car with Steve and sipped my coffee. Still more than 2 hours til Start and I had already racked my bike the night before and tested the water (with my new wetsuit – woohoo!).

I had done my homework and prepared well for this race – well almost (more later). Steve, my supersonic-triathlete-friend Kristin, and I had driven the bike course the day before, and of course it looked tough. I’ve come to accept that none of these races are “easy.” But at least we knew what to expect and where.

I mixed my special potion of Carbo Pro with water and Gatorade. Carbo Pro is a white powder that contains complex carbs to help maintain calorie intake on the bike and/or run without having to eat solid foods that could upset the stomach. It also strongly resembles cocaine in its appearance and I find that rather funny. Since I don’t pay extravagant amounts of attention to self-image and, hence, like to mess with those who do, I’ve often thought about (very visibly) dipping my pinkie finger into my baggie of “white powder” before a race and rubbing it on my gums, maybe “accidentally” get some above my lip – just to see what people around me would do.

But, alas, not today. Like Dunkin’ Donuts new healthy menu, today’s race was serious business and I needed to focus.

I went to find Kristin, and we blasted out on our bikes for a quick warmup on the run course. Good thing we did so I could see where the early porta-potties were – more on that too.

After we got back, we got into our wetsuits and Steve took some pictures. It was time to walk to the swim start so the three of us hiked along the sandy beach along with a couple thousand other lemmings, I mean people, to the Start :).

There was a Clif tent on the beach and the rep was giving out free Shots and Shot Bloks. Kristin and I looked at the flavors. Hmmm…espresso…2x caffeine…one of my favorite GU (competitor brand) flavors and one I reacted to very well. I was thinking Clif might taste the same, maybe? I grabbed one, tore it open, and took some.

I wasn’t hungry at all (the sandwich filled me nicely) and instantly I remembered why I’ve never connected with Clif’s flavors. It tasted terrible but by then it was too late – I’d eaten it all. There was no water to wash it down either.

Beeg Meestake Number 1 – Never ever EVER eat within 30 minutes of the swim start. I did this at Memphis – one would think I learned my lesson.

I regretted it 20 minutes into the swim. The same lump rose in my throat as it did at Memphis and it would be a constant struggle the rest of the race.

My swim wave was crowded and I often ran into the feet of someone ahead of me. This is something new this year. Usually it’s been the opposite: someone runs into (sometimes over) me from behind.

This time a person’s leg bumped the side of my face and knocked my goggles clean off. It didn’t hurt and I reacted quickly, raising my head above the water and adjusting them back onto my face.

I made the final turn, rolled to breathe, and promptly gulped in a mouthful of water – the water was rough and it was impossible to breathe on my right side. I very briefly rolled onto my back to clear my nose and another’s swimmer’s hand came across my face and clipped me right under the nose. Gahhh!!!

Finish this swim and get out there on your steed! I thought to myself. I clawed my way to the shore and tore into transition, the pain in my throat already showing its bad ugly self. Why did I eat that Clif Shot? What was I thinking?? I scolded myself for being so casual about deviating from what I knew to be right.

Right out of the park the bike course turned into a long climb but surprisingly I wasn’t too bothered by it. I knew it was coming and I alternated between standing and staying seated, which uses different muscle groups and spreads out the load. I learned this from riding with Kristin, and it has had a significant impact on my mental approach to hills overall. Thanks Kristin! :)

By Mile 30 the painful reflux in my throat was becoming more persistent. Drinking or eating anything was nearly out of the question and I had to force myself to do it. Instead, pulling over to force myself to hurl was looking pretty good. Anything to move whatever was sitting in there.

The course was hilly but it didn’t seem as bad as Ironman Kansas. Maybe it was all the people, the support and traffic control on the road, the road conditions themselves – all of it was wonderful and it helped me deal with the challenges at every turn.

At one point we were screaming down one of many hills, and I actually peeked at my bike computer – 45 mph. I nearly soiled myself. A crash at this speed wouldn’t leave much of me to clean up. But halfway down I pushed away any doubts and screamed YEEEHAAWWWW!!! with childish glee (or utter terror?)…I don’t remember. I just tucked my knees into my frame, got down into my aerobars and flew past people who were tapping their brakes. I could see all the way down to the bottom and it was clear sailing the whole way. No brake-tapping for me…

After Mile 40 I looked at my watch and realized if I held on for just a bit longer I would actually come in under my goal time. And I did! I could’ve lain down on the grass – I was happy with just my bike time. Amazing what the mind can drive the body to do despite being sicker than a dog.

Once on the run I had delayed puking til I saw the first porta-potty. Kristin and I had warmed up on the run course, so I knew exactly where it was.

It’s one thing to sit down in a porta-potty to do business. It’s another thing entirely to bend over and vomit into one. I had seen Kristin on the run course as she was starting her second loop. I told her I was sick, and she said what I needed to hear “Do what you gotta do to finish.” Her words came back to me as I stood inside the porta-potty. Just close your eyes and do what you gotta do…you don’t want to WALK the whole run course do you????

I made myself wretch and felt a bit better as I came out. I jogged a few miles and the pain began to make its way back after Mile 5. Man, 8 more miles to go…the letters DNF (Did Not Finish) danced in front of me like a dark-chocolate sundae with dark hot fudge sauce…seriously tempting. It wasn’t that I couldn’t finish, I simply didn’t want to resort to walking the course.

At Mile 9 an aid station had banana slices and I took some. The pain actually abated a bit, and I could lightly jog. I upped my cadence and opened my stride a bit more. So far so good.

When I reached Mile 11 I was hurting again, but there was music playing up ahead. It was U2’s In the Name of Love and it was loud and the best thing I had heard all day. I began weeping (of all things) and said to myself Puke or not, you’re GOING!!

I ran the rest of the way to the Finish and this was a BIG race with hundreds of people on the sidelines. Our names were printed on our bibs so people could shout your name as they cheered you on. Total strangers yelled Go Catherine! as I sailed by.

I ran while weeping and forgot about the pain, the hurling, hot spots on my feet, my body nearly emptied out of physical and emotional strength – and just poured out whatever I had left.

I crossed the Finish crying my eyes out and there were Steve and Kristin. I hugged them both, so glad I had dug DEEP to FINISH and didn’t give in to DNF.

There will definitely be other days adversity comes to take me down. Not today. I dug deep alright, and just when the demons thought I would give in, I buried them instead :).