In the Land of IKEA

Continuing my trend of "retro" blog postings (8+ weeks behind), here's what went down in Motala-town...

Pre-game

Elliott, my parents, and I arrived in Stockholm a few days early and stayed in an apartment my parents had arranged via house swap. Not only was this place free, we got to pretend to be yuppie Swedes in the Södermalm district, riding bikes everywhere, shopping at corner grocery stores, and drinking the local beer. (Full disclosure: we got lost pretty much every bike trip, and it took me two weeks to realize that the beer sold in grocery stores has low ABV and one must go to the "systembolaget" for the real stuff.) 

Here's looking at you, Stockholm!

They always say that you learn as much about yourself as the destination when you travel. I learned that I dislike museums. Especially when the entire museum is about a ship. That sank. Within 15 minutes of departing the harbor. I did learn, however, that I like free wifi, so I was able to entertain myself.

Back at the ship museum.

Making friends with the locals.

After a few days, Elliott and I met up with the Team USA group for a city tour and bus ride to Motala. Much to my joy, the city tour included *another* tour of the ship museum, so I kept myself busy doing other things.   Normally I avoid traveling with a group, but the Team USA package was pretty useful. They reserved several floors of a hotel on the main town square of Motala, just a five minute talk to the transition area. The USA Triathlon team also included a mechanic, doctor, masseuse, coach, and a few other people who helped handle logistics. Each of them was so incredibly helpful as all of the fun pre-race mini-crises unfolded: my bike didn't want to be rebuilt, my foot had a gnarly blister, the long plane ride had done a number on my back, and let's not forget the daily drama of whether the swim would be canceled due to the cold. Cue the ominous music. 

They must have known I'd be pushing the WATTS.

But first: a little background. Why was I in Sweden? What makes this race so special? And why on earth was it in Motala? As I've mentioned before on this blog, I won my age group at the long distance national championships in 2014, earning me a spot on Team USA in 2015. Unlike the Ironman world championships, people at this race compete as part of their national team. Therefore, rather than wearing my usual LUNA Chix kit, I had a Team USA onesie with TOBIN on the stomach and butt and my awesome sponsors, LUNA bars and Rose Physical Therapy, displayed on the front. As for why it was held in Motala, here's a fun bit of trivia for you: Motala is host to the world's largest bike ride each year, with over 23,000 participants. It also has a (very cold) lake and scenic paths for running. 

Thankfully, Sweden is not known as an earthquake hotspot.

Let the games begin!    

First off: All the athletes got to walk through the town square as a parade of nations, including flag bearers, cheering crowds, and an opening ceremony. It was an incredible experience, and felt like an "It Gets Better" ad to my 15 year old self, churning out the laps in the pool. 

I'm in a parade!

Race day was unusual. First of all, it wasn't pouring, for a change. Also, the race didn't start until 9, so I actually had a leisurely start to the morning. So strange. The official word was that the water was very, very cold--too cold for the planned 4000 meter swim--but warm enough to have us hop in the lake for 1500m before climbing onto our bikes for 120 km (approximately 74 miles). The swim is my strongest leg of the race, so I was bummed to miss the extra distance...until I waded into the water and lost track of my toes. Well then. The rest of the swim was pretty rough and aggressive, but I remembered all the times I shared a pool with the Aqua Zumba class and felt right at home (minus the Rhianna music). I exited the water, plodded on frozen feet through transition, hopped on my bike, and saw...

Stars, stripes, and a smile!

Yes, those cheering folks are my mom and Elliott, but they weren't the surprise. Sneaky sherpas, they had arranged for not one, not two, but THREE banners to greet me, one at each loop of the course. It was such a thrill, and the #sponsorlove gave me an extra boost up the hill. (Pics of the other two banners are at the bottom of this post.) The bike leg was 120 KM, nearly 75 miles. It was scenic, well marked, well paved, and well winded (how's that for spin?). Let's just say I was very glad to be done with that ride, especially after dropping a chain on the second loop. (Fun fact: LUNA bars still taste good when one's fingers are covered in bike lube. Mmm bike lube!)


The run comprised 3 x 10 KM loops, about half of which was on wooded trails. The scenery was beautiful, the aid stations frequent, the weather perfect...I think I would have absolutely loved the run if I weren't already so tired. At this point, I also started having some GI issues and faced a trade off: slow down, keep the gut happy, and finish, or run at the planned pace and risk exposing some bodily fluids and DNFing. I decided that I had already come so far, both traveling to the race and nearly 80 miles that day, so I played it safe. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Finally, the finish line. I looked behind me (coast = clear), grabbed an American flag from my mom and another flag from the Team USA coach, and ran through the finish chute, a huge grin on my face...until two other women in my age group sprinted past me. Sigh.  

So happy to be almost done!

Still, it was a good experience overall. 17th in the world in my age group isn't what I was hoping to do that day, but better than the 101st I placed at Ironman 70.3 worlds last year. I certainly wouldn't have been able to participate at all if it weren't from the support of Elliott, my family, friends, and fantastic sponsors, LUNA bars and Rose Physical Therapy. Onward!

And now, a few more gratuitous photos:

Total lie, but appreciated.

Rose Physical Therapy brings DC spirit to Sweden!

One of my competitors. I think he's still out there...

"Sir Taste-a-Lot"--alas, not really.

Picture 120 KM of more or less this view. There are worse ways to spend a day.

Challenge Poconos Race Report

Guess what guess what guess what: I got to wash my hair today. What does that have to do with Challenge Poconos? More than you'd think. The reason why I was so excited to wash my hair today is because it's the first time I've been able to do so in over two weeks. Because I had, according to the Ear-Nose-Throat doctor, "not the worst ear infection I've ever seen, but close." And that's why this race report is so short (and timely, for a change).

Ear protection for the shower

In case you're planning on also coming down with a nasty case of swimmer's ear (or, even better, wish to avoid it), here's how it went down: combine a lot of swimming with ignoring early symptoms due to being out of town for work, add a dash of pre-existing waxy ears and small ear canals, and then visit urgent care, where the doctor doesn't have the proper equipment to diagnose you and actually makes things worse by trying to flush chemicals into your ear. Let's just say that prescription-strength pain relievers are a wonderful thing. 

So what about Poconos? The awesome folks at Challenge USA let me defer to next year, so I hope to write a real race report in 2016. I also delayed the end of my tri season, adding Giant Acorn in September and USAT Aquathlon Nationals in October. Good thing I'll be cleared to swim again later this week!

As always, thanks to Rose Physical Therapy for making the *rest* of me feel good, and to LUNA bars for keeping me nourished even when chewing is difficult.

Perfect Is the Enemy of Good

Since my last update in February, I have written some fantastic blog posts: how to ride the bike trainer at 5 AM on a dark Tuesday and not feel too sorry for yourself, great running routes in DC, how to [not] race a half ironman in April when the weather is 50 degrees warmer than you've been training in, etc. But I wrote them all in my head and never had the proper time or energy to capture them here. So rather than having a series of awesome blog posts to amuse and inspire my worldwide fan base extended network parents, I have a blank space and a lot of guilt. (No golf clubs were harmed, however.) 

So let's try something different: a quickie. Here's the 90 second version of the past few months. 

• Winter. Yikes. Thank goodness for Trainer Road + Wahoo Kickr (create a workout ahead of time and the trainer adjusts the resistance so I just pedal mindlessly until my legs fall off). Calculating 95% of FTP for 1:30 intervals is just not going to happen at 5 AM. Also, I'm lucky enough to have similarly crazy friends who are also training at that hour, so we entertained each other by texting animated animal gifs and recommending shows on Netflix. 

Welcome to my winter.

• DC Rock 'N Roll Half Marathon: Why did I ever think this was a good idea? 40s. Pouring. My timing chip fell off so I somehow did a 5k in 45 minutes but a 10k in 25 (total). Careful, runners--there seems to be a space-time vortex somewhere on the Rock Creek Parkway. On the plus side, a hot shower after suffering mild hypothermia is pretty incredible. 
• Spring #1: I got to escape DC's never-ending winter at the end of March for the LUNA Chix Summit in Berkeley. For three days, the entire extended LUNA family--from professional triathletes and mountain bikers to sponsored amateurs (including myself) to the running/cycling/triathlon clubs across the country--all gathered near the Clif bar headquarters to eat, run, bike, learn...and eat some more. I think I came home with at least 50 Clif and LUNA bars stuffed into my suitcase. That weekend deserves its own post so stay tuned.

I made some in California.

• Summer #1: DC may have still been trying to hang on to winter, but it was early April and therefore time to start my race season. In Florida. Sigh. "At least it's not Panama in February" was my spurious logic when I signed up in the fall. I think this race can best be summarized by the following numbers:
• 50: The difference in temperature, in degrees fahrenheit, between DC and Florida
• 46: The one-way distance, in miles, between Orlando (where I thought the race was/where my extended family lives) and where the race was actually located (Haines City)
• 10: The number of gears my borrowed race wheels were designed to hold
• 0: The number of gears present on the wheels when I picked them up (lesson learned: the cyclist is expected to add their own cassette to borrowed wheels)
• 882: Number of watts my power meter said I pushed on the bike course. This is incorrect.
• 0: Number of beats per minute my heart rate strap said I was expending on the bike course. This is also incorrect. 
• 60 and 4: Respectively, the number of minutes and adults required to disassemble and pack my bike after the race.
• 0: Desire I have to do that race again. 

Not pictured: all the seagrass, salt, and mud that accumulated during the race

• Spring #2: DC finally flirted with spring in May. It was nice. 

This happened.

• Summer #2: And then DC decided that sweltering heat and humidity are more fun. Yay. 

And that leads us to today, where it was "feels like 90" for my 80 minute run at 8 AM. However, I'm not long for this town or this weather. In under a week, I'll be en route to Sweden for the ITU Long Distance World Championships. 

Me dress fancy one day.

As always, thanks to my fantastic family and friends, as well as sponsors Rose Physical Therapy and LUNA Bars. 

Thanks to Florida, I now have a Rose PT temp tattoo tanline!

I'm Number..Cough Cough...One!

Ironman 70.3 World Championships, Mont Tremblant, Quebec. Where the best of the best come to duke it out over 70.3 miles of swimming, biking, and running, then make up the calorie deficit via vast quantities of poutine. Qualifying for this race was my big, hairy, audacious goal of 2014, so I was thrilled and a little nervous to be there. If you've never been to Mont Tremblant, it's kind of like a Disneyland + ski resort - costumed creatures (and in this case + a few thousand spandex-clad triathletes). The town is located next to a lake and at the foot of some ski lifts. As a result, the views are picturesque and there's even an adorable gondola between the bottom part of town (including the finish line) and some of the hotels. This also means the run course included some 25% inclines. Oh yes. How did I do? Well, if your unit of measurement is the amount of fun a person can have and quantity of joy at the finish line, then I probably won. If you're into actual numbers and placement, I was 101st in my age group. While that's slightly off the podium, if you think of all the 30-34 year old women there are IN THE WORLD, I'm pretty pleased with myself.

Probably the only time I'll take a bike on a gondola.

Keeping with the theme of fun vs. facts, rather than a traditional race report, here are some things that surprised and/or amused me. May they do the same for you:

• For some reason, I was originally placed in the women's 65-69 age group and got some really shady looks from the other women in my bike rack. ("What's my secret? Sunscreen, drinking lots of water...and actually being 35 years younger than you.")
• You know you've made it when a Japanese tourist wants to take a photo with you. In this case, however, it was my bike's water bottle setup that he cared about. 
• While there were volunteers with sharpies doing body marking, nobody actually had their age on their calf. Except me. No wonder there was no line. 
• The swim start included a Royal Air Force fighter jet flyover, though I think people enjoyed posing for photos with the Mounties more.
• The lake was eerily clear and I could see the bottom for a ways offshore. Sand...rocks...bigger rocks... SHIPWRECK! Actually, it was maybe an old dock or construction or something (I was too busy actually swimming to investigate) but it was definitely unusual.
• The level of competition was just incredible, and definitely a kick in the butt to get faster next year. I was holding the same watts as in a normal race and getting passed like I was standing still...by 50 year old women. 
• One year of college-level French is apparently enough to negotiate for a space blanket post-race. (Then again, as we know from Panama, my foreign language skills are apparently heightened by dehydration. Wish I'd known this in college.) 
• If your flight is delayed, delayed some more, and then ultimately canceled, be sure to ask for food vouchers from every employee you encounter. Bonjour, CAD $96 steak-stravaganza! 

Many thanks to my family and friends for the cheers, Elliott for sherpa-ing, Coach Kerri for getting me there (and beating me by 0:30--ouch!), and Rose PT for keeping me healthy and strong. Here's to a fun off season!

Mission Accompli

Old News is Good News

Hi, there. It's been awhile. As you may have heard, things have been busy for me since I last wrote. Where to begin?

USAT Long Course National Championships

Yes, that's me in the middle.

Well, there was this.


I had signed up for this race with the goal of seeing how close I could come to qualifying for Team USA -- more likely, a realistic goal for next year. However, my mentor, Terra, warned me not to psyche myself out and just go for it. Good advice. And go for it, I did! According to my power meter, I averaged over 500 watts on the 56 mile bike leg. (For those of you who haven't talked watts since high school physics, someone of my weight pushing 500 W over 56 miles would appear on a box of Wheaties, her massive thighs wrapping around the edges.)

Look out, Lance!

But as I learned from Maritime, data doesn't really matter. Actually, I didn't really learn my lesson then. I learned my lesson at this race, when my watch showed I crossed the finish line in 4:59:58 and my official time was 5:00:03. Note to self: ignore the gadgets and push until the end.

So what's next? As a member of Team USA, I will represent the United States at the ITU Long Course Triathlon World Championships in Motala, Sweden, in June 2015. Fancy. I'll post more details to this blog when I learn them, but in the mean time, it's time to practice some Svenska, ja tak!

Coming Up Roses

Exciting news! Here's a hint: 

I spy, on the upper thigh...

I'm partnering with  Rose Physical Therapy! Rose PT is a local practice focusing on athletes. Thanks to them, I'll be able to train and race harder, stronger, faster, and injury free.  Citius. Altius. Fortius. Gluteus Maximus!

Getting Back to My Roots

Believe it or not, I sometimes do things that involve neither swimming, nor biking, nor running, like spend a week in Alaska for my cousin's wedding. My family has lived in Alaska since the 1800s and I like to show my local cred by oh so casually mentioning to folks that I was born in Fairbanks...and then promptly lose said cred by thinking the North Slope is a ski resort. Sigh. But the wedding was a blast, my family awesome as always, and the scenery did not disappoint. But don't take my word for it...

Not the North Slope

There be moose! (Probably, somewhere, if you zoom)

Best. Treadmill. Ever.

Our rental car. Definitely not blending in.

Photo taken quickly to escape mosquitoes. And bears.

Maritime Olympic Triathlon: The Day the Data Lied

Pop quiz: which of the following happened today?

• This year's race had an exceptionally large turnout, with nearly 90 people in my age group.
• I was the first woman to finish the 1500m swim.
• The 10K run course was actually 6.7 miles.
• Despite this longer course, I managed to average 7:06/mile.
• None of the above, leaving me annoyingly dissatisfied with what was actually a not-terrible race.

Since you've all read the title of this blog post (or are hurriedly rereading it now that I called you out), you know the answer to this quiz. But here's the rest of the story.

I signed up for the Maritime International Triathlon (aka "Olympic distance," albeit non-drafting) on the advice of my coach, who said it would be a good opportunity to practice some speed to gear up for Long Course Nationals (half iron distance) next month. I hadn't raced the Olympic distance since October 2012, so I wasn't sure what to expect. Surprise #1 came a week before the race, when my coach noticed that my name wasn't on the participant list. Cue the frantic search for a confirmation email, followed by the even more frantic search for a record of the transaction on my credit card. No luck. Thankfully, there was still room in the event so I could (re)register. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that while all the waiver and payment pages had the cancel button on the left and confirm button the right, they were reversed on the final confirmation page. Therefore, I probably canceled my entry in the first round. Sigh. Web design, anyone?

Maritime is located in Easton, Maryland, about 90 minutes east of DC (without traffic; you couldn't pay me enough to attempt the drive on a Friday night in the summer). As with most of the races hosted by Setup Events, this one was small/medium sized with easy parking, packet pickup, etc. I overheard from one of the organizers that participation had doubled this year versus last, to over 400. (My friend Trevor has an excellent recap of last year's race, including some very important safety pins.) As I hopped in the water with my wave, one of the other women remarked that our age group had nearly 90 participants. Wow! That's a large chunk of the overall total, but the wave was big...and it's a popular age group... and it was still early in the morning and I did not have the energy to count that high. The swim started with the ubiquitous air horn and I started to sprint (I think the reaction is now Pavlovian, even on land). My philosophy on the swim is that first out of the water is for suckers; it's far better to draft off #1 and exit the water second with fresh legs. However, I must not have followed my own advice because as I ran up the dock and into T1, the announcer called me as the first woman. Awesome!

Most of the first leg of the bike, my mind was going over what it meant to be riding in the lead. Wasn't I supposed to get a motorcycle escort? Dude, where's my chopper?! What if I can keep the lead and wind up winning? Will there be a tape for me to break and hold up above my head? How far behind is everyone else? Answer: not very. I got passed by another woman about eight miles into the 24 mile course. And then saw another woman ahead of me at the turnaround. What?! (No motorcycle either, for what it's worth.) I tried to catch up but was wary about burning myself out. Normally I try to stay in high zone 3 (185-190 watts) for 56 miles and while I was pushing harder on the shorter course, I haven't done much hour+ training above 200 watts and wasn't sure what that would do to my run.

Answer: I couldn't feel my feet. The entire time. But no worries, according to my trusty Garmin, I was smoking it - sub 7:00/miles for the first two, and then around 7:06 for the remainder. So what if I felt like crap? So what if a few more women flew past me? Look at us speed demons! The run was a double out and back but rather than being boring, it meant I could see and high five/smile/thumbs up/nod/grunt/blink at Elliott, my teammates, and colleagues as we encountered each other. (Communication deteriorated as the race progressed.) As an added bonus, I also saw my coach, Kerri Robbins, in hot pursuit and I was determined not to let her catch me. My favorite moment was when I was running right behind my teammate, Emerson, on the final stretch. Elliott was running in the opposite direction, starting his second loop, and shouted, "I love you, darling! Kick it home!" Emerson, unaware that I was right behind him, mumbled a confused "thanks?" "That was directed at me!" I said as I ran past. It was a fun way to finish, and unlike Panama, no medical tent = always a plus. Kerri finished a few minutes after me and we compared notes on the race - the headwind from *every* direction on the bike, the gravelly run, and the 6.7 mile 10 K. We checked results and detected a theme -- Kerri got 2nd Masters (women 40+), and I got 2nd 30-34 age group, with a time of 2:22 and a nearly 22 minute PR (according to my post-race mental math). Not bad! Elliott finished shortly afterward, 3rd Clydesdale, making us both 4 for 4 on podiums, and in his case, 4 races in 4 weeks.

Which brings us back to the pop quiz, and the reason I'm writing this blog post. It's not to brag about my results, or to provide a course description for future racers. It's to remind us (or me, at least) not to overthink things. Announcers can't count. Or discern gender. Websites have confusing layouts, causing people to think there are 90 competitors in every age group. Garmins fail to pick up satellites and rely on footpod readings, leading to perceived longer distances and faster splits. But none of that matters. The point of racing is to have fun and see what we can do. And we are the only ones in charge of that.

And on that note, I'll be seeing what I can do next week at the menacingly named Mountains of Misery bike ride. Let's just say it sounded like a good idea when I signed up in February. Many thanks to Elliott, my DC Tri Club teammates, Coach Kerri, Smashfest Queen's smashing visor, and Rose PT for improving my run form--next time the 7:06/mile splits will be real!

Apparently first and third places didn't want to attend this Podium Party.

Working Hard in the Big Easy

So read my out of office reply at work. This trip was my first time in New Orleans, or anywhere in the South other than Florida (and some folks will say that doesn't count outside the Panhandle). I had chosen this race last fall as part of my master plan to qualify for the Ironman 70.3 World Championships in Mont Tremblant, Canada. Yes, I actually wrote that sentence. For those of you who have known me a long time (hi, Mom!), you understand that this is what we call a "stretch goal." I'm the girl who struggled with tee-ball in elementary school, and was so far behind the pack in middle school cross country races, she got lost. (Ever wonder why I never mention that I tried cross country for a few weeks in middle school?) Even with swimming, I trained up to 20 hours a week in high school but never qualified for nationals. Or zones. Or regionals. So when I told my coach last fall that I'd like to try to qualify for Worlds, I was shocked when she said, "Ok, let's do it!" She must not know me very well, but here goes nothing... 


For my readers who are not triathlon-obsessed (hi again, Mom!), there are actually several world championships each year. The most iconic (and televised) one is the Ironman World Championships at Kona, Hawaii. This is for the full iron (140.6 mile) distance, sponsored by the World Triathlon Corporation, aka Ironman. There's also an Ironman 70.3 (half iron distance) championship, which was held in Vegas for several years but is now moving around annually -- Quebec in 2014, Austria in 2015, etc. Between 1-3 men and women of each age group qualify per Ironman 140.6 or 70.3 race, regardless of nationality. There are also world championships for non Ironman-branded events, in which athletes represent their countries, (amateur) Olympics-style, ranging from sprint to international to half iron distances. (I'll be competing for a spot on Team USA this June - stay tuned.)


So this takes us to New Orleans, April 11, 2014. Elliott was busy leading spring break rowing camp so I traveled solo, bike case in tow. I think the cab driver from the airport thought I was nuts. "I'm here to race in the half Ironman on Sunday... It's a triathlon... You know, swim, bike, run? Like, a race? A marathon but actually more total miles...? No, they don't pay me to do this; I pay them... Um, nevermind." For those of you considering this race, I have two pieces of advice: 1) Rent a car 2) Stay at the Hampton Inn Garden District. Free parking, gorgeous neighborhood, quiet streets, two blocks from a local version of Whole Foods, delicious breakfast, pool that is cold enough to be wetsuit legal and cloudy enough to practice sighting, free wifi, etc. This was my first solo out of town race, so I had to assemble my bike by myself. Success! Well, almost. When I stepped back and admired my handiwork, I noticed an extra washer on the table. Hmmm now where was that supposed to go?

 And for my next trick, I'll make my bike hover in midair!

While I had traveled to NOLA solo, I wasn't totally alone -- several Team HPB athletes whom I'd met at Smashcamp in February were also doing the race. Hooray, familiar faces! And hooray, extra space in a rental car so I can take my bike to a mechanic! (Thank you, Marc!!) Finally, I was ready to ride and excited for the day.


However, race morning was bittersweet. A group of triathletes from Atlanta was hit by a car while test riding the course. One athlete was killed and another seriously injured. I reminded myself that no matter what happened to me that day -- flat tire, blisters, or nausea -- I was lucky to still be alive and racing.


Swim: Yum, diesel!


We swam in the (in)famous Lake Pontchartrain, or more specifically, in a harbor in the (in)famous Lake Pontchartrain. The harbor swim was necessary because the main lake has a tendency to become violent. The harbor, however, has a tendency to become gross. One of the athletes who had done the race last year said she looked like she was sporting a beard in her race photos, thanks to all the silt and gunk from the lake. Awesome. To fit a 1.2 mile swim within a harbor, we wound up jumping off the dock in groups of 7-10 ("time trial start") and then swimming in a crazy M shaped pattern. The smaller start group meant it was hard to find someone to mooch draft off, but I did get to turn all kinds of tricks.

Bike: Hello, wind!

Before the race began, the announcer said that it was our lucky day -- no winds. Now, either the situation changed or he was just being mean because it was definitely windy out there. This is why I love my power meter; as long as I kept my watts in the right range, I was fine. Sometimes that meant 15 mph. Sometimes, 35. (That part was fun.) The course was mostly flat, except for a few overpasses, going past a deserted amusement park (creepy), bayou (no gators, sadly), and memorial for the Atlanta triathlete (heartbreaking). To keep myself occupied, I dedicated five mile stretches to my family, friends, colleagues, teammates, and replayed some random words of encouragement I've received over the years. (A favorite: "Pretend everyone you're passing is wearing an ascot!") I think these events are an exercise in mental endurance as well as physical.

Run: Well fine, then.

I was feeling pretty good by the end of the bike. I'm usually toward the front of the pack after the swim and had only been passed by one person in my age group on the bike. So either I was in second or there were some speedy swimmers who stayed ahead of me on the bike. The first few miles of the run felt pretty good. And then the sun came out. No shade, just miles and miles of flat concrete ahead of me. I started to get the niggling sensation in my stomach that I had ignored in Panama and wound up in the medical tent. I willed it to go away, and it did--if I slowed down. It was this cruel compromise with my stomach and heart -- stay at an 8:30/mile pace or slower, and I felt fine. Venture south of there, and my heart rate would spike, along with the urge to puke. I really didn't want to return to the med tent (after all, the coke they serve has high fructose corn syrup!), so I slowed down and kept going. A girl in my age group passed me around mile 8. Nooo... must...catch... burp....ok then. At mile 11, I decided I could suffer through to the finish and picked up my speed a bit, but not enough to catch her. Oh well, I finished with a smile on my face, which is my #1 goal for any race.

It took about 20 minutes for me to get my medal (handed out by pro winner Andy Potts--so classy), some food, and some beer(s). I finally staggered wandered over to the bag check area so I could get my backpack and cell phone. So many text messages! Including one with a screenshot of the results page, showing I'd placed third in my age group!!!! I jumped up and down, then realized that was a terrible idea, and sat down to call Elliott and my parents instead. But there was still an unknown -- if there are only one or two Worlds spots available for my age group, what happens if the first and second place finishers claim them? This is what happened in Panama -- I placed third but since the top two took the spots, nothing "rolled down" to me. I nervously waited until the award ceremony -- the deadline for the first and second place finishers to claim their spots.

If you ever race an Ironman-branded event, it's worth sticking around for roll-down. First of all, it's really fun to watch. Second of all, you might wind up with a ticket to Worlds. The announcer will go through each age group and say how many spots are available. If one or more spots are unclaimed, the announcer reads down the list, giving each athlete about five seconds to come forward, Price is Right style, and claim the ticket. Sometimes it doesn't roll down at all (ahem, Panama). Sometimes, it rolls deep. Like today. "Women, 30-34. Two spots, zero taken. First rolldown spot goes to #3, Katherine Tobin." To say that I "informed the announcer that I'd be interested in claiming the spot" is a bit of an understatement. I was standing about 10 feet from him, with some friends from camp, screaming and jumping up a storm and rushing up to the front to high five the announcer, the race director, and anyone else who would let me. To make things even better, two other people I know from DC also got rolldown spots. Party in Quebec!

Many, many thanks to Elliott (of course!), my family, Coach Kerri, DC Tri Club teammates, colleagues, and friends. You like tolerate me even though I'm usually sweaty and/or hangry. Here's to the next adventure!

We Interrupt this Frigid Winter to Bring You the Panama 70.3 Race Report

For those of you not in DC, it has looked a lot like this lately:







Polar vortex, global weirding, groundhog's revenge -- whatever you call it, it has not been fun. Aside from commuting, I've done nearly all my riding on an indoor trainer, and most runs on the treadmill to boot. The result: pasty skin, a habit of using my aero bars primarily for balancing an iPad, and a well honed ability to tune out and keep going. Note that last bit, as it will be important later on.

The day after #Snowchi dropped a foot and closed the airports, Elliott and I hopped on a (surprisingly punctual) flight to Panama City. As in, Panama, the Central American country. Hello, humidity! It was around 90 degrees and I started sweating through my compression tights and cycling jacked almost immediately. Awesome.

I'll do a separate post on travel logistics for this race, in case anyone is interested in making the trek next year. But in the meantime, I'll cut straight to the chase race.

About a week before the race, the athlete guide was released. These things are usually pretty straight forward -- schedule of packet pickup, standard drafting rules, pro prize purse, blah blah, oh HELLO BRAND NEW BIKE COURSE! Rather than an out and back along the Panamerican Highway with 2000 feet of climbing, it would now be a four loop, multi-turn, highly technical course through the city with only 200 feet of climbing. Hmmm. Oh, and one aid station. Awesome. Surprisingly, this didn't come up during the athlete briefing, so I asked one of the organizers. "Honestly, if we tried to explain the bike course, it would make people's heads explode. Don't look at the map too hard. It will be signposted. Just go with it." This will be fun.

Normally, I like to spend much of the day before a race scoping out the course. What's the swim like? What does the swim exit look like from the water? How does my transition spot look when I am coming in from the swim? What does it look like when I'm returning from the bike? How far away from the finish will I actually see the chute? I then bike the run course and drive the bike course, noting patches of rough road, sharp turns, hills, approximate locations of aid stations, etc. This time, however, not so much. We didn't have a car and much of the bike course involved going backward against normal traffic flow (on closed roads) so even taking a cab wouldn't help. And after hearing some horror stories about biking around the city from some Canadians at check-in, I decided to play it safe and turn "bike the run course" into "bike the parking lot area near transition, make sure my bike doesn't fall apart, rack it in transition, and then drape myself over an a/c unit the rest of the day."

Outswimming the Fishies

Ah, race morning. One of the few times it seems totally normal--and actually exciting!--to wake up at 3 AM and start eating bagels. Today was no exception. (Yes, Panama has bagels! Check the freezer section.) It was really fun to chat with the international crowd in transition. Most athletes were from Latin America or Canada, with a few Europeans or Yankees sprinkled in the mix. I borrowed a bike pump from an Edmontonian and speculated with an Ecuadorian about what was splashing around in the water below us. (A Colombian helpfully suggested they were stingrays. Gracias, dude.) The swim was a point to point 1.2 miles down the Panama Canal, wetsuit and current assisted. Wheeeeee! We had to hang on to the dock to avoid getting swept beyond the start line before the gun went off. I had a great time with the swim, watching the buoys and following some fast feet. (Pro tip: if someone wears Swedish style goggles, they are probably a good swimmer so follow them!) However, my lack of doing a practice swim came back to haunt me, as I dutifully followed the buoys...past the swim exit! I saw it as I swam past it, then had to make a hard left and fight the current to get to the stairs. Ugh. Then again, had I known what great inferno awaited me, maybe I would have lingered in the water a bit longer.

Go Go Speed Racer!

As I mentioned, the bike course was challenging. I spent the first loop figuring out where I was going, navigating how quickly I could do the 180 turns without falling (answer: unclip but don't put a foot down), and spotting the rough patches of road. I was able to ride more confidently the next three loops, chasing down some women who had passed me earlier, and watching my watts. By the end, I was having a pretty fun time whizzing down the freeway off-ramps. Others, not so much; there were quite a few bike accidents, collisions, people losing water bottles (hence the accidents), drafting penalties, etc. Considering the number of people on a 14 mile loop, 75% macho male participant rate, "a la izquierda" is much harder to say than "passing left" and aid station water bottles too small for our bottle cages, it's not surprising it was so messy. PS, the 200 feet of promised elevation gain was actually 1750. Even if they meant 200 meters, that's not the same thing.


The run. Or, "things that make you go UGH"

If you've done a triathlon, you know that the first mile or so of the run feels like poo. Your legs are wobbly, you're ready to be done, and yet the finish line is oh so far away. Now picture that feeling for 13.1 miles. Backing up a moment to the swim: as was the case last year, the swim start was delayed about 45 minutes because cars were still parked on the bike course. This means--you guessed it--the sun was high in the sky by the time we hit the run course. And what a run course! We ran along a narrow causeway connecting Panama City to some islands that used to be pirate hangouts. So perhaps it was appropriate that it felt like I was running on wooden peglegs. Water stations were few, the wind was strong, and my body constantly reminded me that I'm not from around these parts. Even though I had planned to run the whole thing, I started taking quick walk breaks at the aid stations, or if my heart rate went into zone 5. After around mile 6, however, I managed to figure out a good system: get ice, stuff down bra (sorry, dudes, ladies only!), grab a cube for each hand, hold ice until it melts, recommence fishing around my personal ice chest for more, etc. I haven't seen the race photos yet, but I probably look pretty well endowed. (Maybe that's how all the Venezuelan beauty queens do it?) And still, the run would not end. I pulled out all the mental games -- "Keep running to the next aid station," "Catch that dude up there," "Tomorrow you'll look back on this and know you could have run the whole thing," "Remember that time on the treadmill where you didn't stop?" etc. Then I hit mile 12. This was great, except I couldn't for the life of me remember hitting mile 11. Oh boy. Focus, Katie, focus. The fastest way to cool down is to get to the finish line. They have cold things there. So I kept running. I turned the final corner into the finish chute, saw the balloons, and sprinted. But that wasn't the finish line. Nor was the next set of balloons. Not funny, Panama, not funny. Eventually, I reached the finish line. I think.

The next hour or so was a bit of a blur. There were volunteers at the finish line assigned to "catch" each athlete and ask them some questions to see if they needed medical attention. In Spanish. Having gone to high school in California, I actually do speak Spanish, but there's reading a newspaper/"Sí, me gustaría una cerveza, por favor" Spanish and post-race, thoroughly dehydrated, rapid-fire medical question Spanish. I was not up for número dos, so off to the med tent for me. They set me down on a cot, covered me with ice bags, and handed me a Coke. I asked, in Spanish, if it had real sugar or high fructose corn syrup. I got a blank look. ¡TOMALO! ("Drink it!") So I did. And promptly vomited. (Guess sugar vs. HCFS didn't matter after all.) Out came the IV drip with a saline solution. I first made sure my GPS watch was turned off while I had two hands free (priorities!), and that I was indeed wearing a finisher's medal. Oh good, I can relax now. I slept for a bit, then woke up enough to ask about my finish time and try to convince a bystander to try to track down Elliott. ("He doesn't have a cell phone or speak Spanish but he's blond, wearing a blue shirt and should be by the finish line or transition." Shockingly no luck there.) Hats off to the med tent volunteers, because I was probably a handful. Also, a huge GRACIAS to my high school Spanish teacher, since without language skills, this whole experience would have been a big mess. (As it turns out, English skills are not required for medical staff at international races, so come prepared. Or just don't wind up in the med tent. Whatever's easier.)

Eventually, Elliott found me, rescued my gear from transition (turns out my back wheel was flat, whoopsie), and I worked my way through the saline bag so they cut me loose. I tracked down a finisher shirt and hat (normally I don't care but felt I really earned them this time), ate some pizza, and took the bus back to town. According to the preliminary results, I got 3rd place in my age group (yay!!) but there were only two spots for 70.3 worlds (boo!!), though if one of the spots went unclaimed, it was mine, all mine. I showered, napped, donned my patriotic Smashfest tank, and returned to the convention center for the award ceremony and rolldown. As I had feared, both worlds spots were claimed by the two winners. Oh well, considering they got 2nd and 5th overall respectively (I was 18th), I'm sure they'll kick ass at Mont Tremblant. As for me, I have another shot at 70.3 New Orleans in April, with Leadman 125 in Bend as an awesome Plan B. But first, Smashfest Camp in Tucson at the end of this month!!

At the risk of making this race report even longer, I will add a quick PS. Did you know that Panama has stuff other than a half Ironman? Since our flight to DC wasn't until the evening, we rented a car and spent most of the day in Soberanía National Park, hanging out with howler monkeys, cherubic capuchins, noisy birds, and some tapir-like creature that made us wish we'd bought a wildlife guide. Next time...

Special thanks to Elliott for his continued awesomeness and support, Coach Kerri for pushing my limits (and convincing me to take rest days), Athlete Studio for keeping me injury-free, and of course  my friends and family who encourage me every day--especially the 4 AM trainer twitter parties!

Giant Acorn International Race Report 10/6/12

Coming into the Giant Acorn International, I was fairly confident and excited for the event. Due to a lighter fall work schedule, I was able to get back onto the swimming horse, and my (still very questionable) swim form felt like it was improving. Cycling was going well, though without much interval (read:any) interval work, and I was getting in short runs every morning, though nothing at the 5 mile or longer distance.

        Conditions were fantastic at the course. Temp was in the high 60s/low 70s, and the start time was a gloriously late 10 AM. Check in was quick and easy in the morning, transition setup was fine (though my rack was at the swim end of the area, about 100 yards from bike out), and nothing felt rushed or weird. Breakfast at 90 minutes before wave start - bagel with lox and cream cheese as always. The water temp was 79 - felt fantastic without a wetsuit, and there was an open warmup area, so I ended up staying in the water for about 20 minutes before the start, floating and swimming a bit. Given how chilly people looked on-shore, I think this was the right call.

        Clydesdales went with the 50+ men this time, in the 2’nd-to-last wave. Right from the beginning, swim form felt strong - after a bit of a revelation at the National Harbor 3K swim a few weeks back, I was feeling much more confident with kicking effectively, and I felt like I was much further to the front of the pack than usual for the swim. After going stroke for stroke with another guy for a hundred meters or so, I decided to not be an idiot, drop back 5 feet, and draft off of him instead. This worked out great, and I never felt particularly taxed during the swim. My head working the way it does, I would occasionally get concerned that I wasn’t working hard enough, pull out of draft, and try to move up in the swim pack, only to find myself going stroke-for-stroke with my draft buddy. I finally reigned in my idiotic need to do more work to go the same speed, and settled back into draft for the rest of the swim.
Steps with rubber matting and volunteer support coming out of the water were nice, I felt very stable, though I saw some folks slip a bit.
Swim Time: 30:03 - 2’nd fastest non-wetsuit lake swim
Rank: 45/293

T1: Apparently, I moved so fast in T1 that I warped time and space. This is my only explanation. It was a normal T1 - shoes/socks on, helmet/glasses on, grab bike and sprint - but somehow it took 3 minutes. No clue on this one, but it’s clearly a weak point that I need to fix.
Time: 3:00!
Rank:207/293

Bike: I was looking forward to this bike course, as it is a fairly flat 2-loop ride, and I was hoping to push the pace a bit. I felt more rested and less dizzy than usual after the swim, and my legs were ready from the get go. This... might have led me to overdo things a bit. The Garmin beeped at the 5 mile mark, and I looked down to see an 11:47 split. That seemed a bit quick, and I tried to throttle back a bit. I never really got my body to buy into the new plan, though, and when I got passed at around mile 11, I slipped back into cyclist-knucklehead mode (even though it was a relay guy, so it didn’t even matter. Argh). I ended up chasing him for the next 5 miles, following just behind draft range, and occasionally passing him on the upslopes. He would blow back though me on the flats. As a side consequence of this, I was not keeping up well on nutrition, though I did work through two bottles of gatorade on the ride.
Ride time: 57:01
Rank: 3/293

T2: Transition again seemed fine, again went long. This is something that has to change before next year.
Time: 2:00!
Rank: 217/293

Run: By the time I had gone a mile, I knew I was going to pay for being a nitwit on the ride. Heart rate was very high for my effort level, and it felt like it was 100 degrees out on the road. (It was, in actuality, maybe 80). The course was 2 times through an out-and back, mostly on the same road as the bike course, with a long, gradual uphill at miles 2 and 5. The first lap was fairly unpleasant - I walked 30 seconds at each of the mile markers, to try and get my HR back under control, and walked through the aid stations. The second lap was much worse. I started to feel chills at mile 4, and made the decision to throttle back as much as necessary to not become a medical DNF. Even with that, I could feel cramps threatening in both quads and calves, and I knew that if they hit in force, the sprint on the next day would be difficult at best. I ended up walking about ½ of the uphill, and jog-walking even on the downhill back to the finish line. The only bright spot on the run was that the multiple turn-arounds let me run by my [teammate/girlfriend Katie] multiple times, and that always perked me up a bit.
Run time: 1:03:12
Rank: 207/293

Final Time: 2:35:17
Rank: 80/293
3/13 Clydesdale
      After the finish chute, I found Katie, who was still feeling the effects of her 70.3 the week before, and we staggered around and drank gatorade while waiting for results. As it happened, we both did better than we had thought, each picking up 3’rd in category. If I had matched transition speed with the 2’nd place finisher, I would have taken him by a comfortable 30 seconds. Argh.
Lessons learned:
1. Swim drafting is good. Don’t get impatient with it.
2. Better control of bike speed/pace.
3. FIX TRANSITION SPEED!