Over the River and into the Woods

Did you know that there is more to Washington, DC, than the northwest quadrant? Or that one can mountain bike within city limits? And that deer sometimes outnumber people? Welcome to my neighborhood.

Since the usual DC training hotspots of Hains Point, Rock Creek Park, and Poolesville can become crowded or just boring after awhile, here are a few alternatives:

• Anacostia Park: Flat stretches with very little traffic--check. Outdoor pool--check. Free and easy parking--check. Sounds like Hains Point, right? Even better: no tour buses, no park service police ticketing people at stop signs, no flooding, and the roads are open 24/7. Plus, you can mix things up a bit by riding on the parallel trail west of the river. I like to do a route that involves crossing each of the four bridges. Oh, and there's also a pirate ship! 
• They Don't Call it Hillcrest for Nothing: Want to train on some steep hills? Behold Ward 7. The Penn Ave SE climb is just the beginning. Try Naylor Road, Fort Baker Drive, 31st Street, or Park Drive. If you'd rather stick with a group, Bicycle Space offers a Hills of Anacostia ride on Saturdays.

Why hello there, neighbor! Also notice the steepness.

• The Great Escape: The Fort Circle hiker-biker trail is city's best kept secret (or it was...oops). Think single track mountain biking amidst Civil War forts. I once went for a trail run here and saw nine deer and zero humans (present company excluded). 

No humans were harmed (or seen) in the making of this photo.

• No Cue Sheet Required: Want to go for a decent ride without writing down directions...or even turning? Just take Mass Ave the whollllle way, Goldsboro Road to Southern Avenue. It's nearly 15 miles and transverses almost all of DC, from the mansions of Palisades to the PG County border. 

Have you tried these? Any others I should include? 

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

Are You Faster Than a Buggy?

In short, yes, apparently so. For my birthday this year, my friend Tess and I decided to celebrate on two wheels in Lancaster County, PA. This was version 2.0 of a similar trip in 2006, when we happened to be biking through Tour de France "winner" Floyd Landis's home town the day after the doping allegations surfaced and all the news crews were clamoring to take action shots of "devastated cyclists." (We actually hadn't checked the news that morning, had no idea what was going on, and probably smiled and waved like dorks.)

Why Lancaster County? Our requirements were simple: easy drive from DC. Open roads for cycling. Some hills, but not too many. Good beer. As it turns out, Bicycling Magazine had an article about the top ride in every state and the Maryland and Pennsylvania routes were relatively close together. Weekend made.

Maryland boasted the Covered Bridges tour, which supposedly included three covered bridges. We found one, maybe two, and wound up hitting the first one twice because we got lost. Yay GPS! We also rode past a picturesque college that looked like a monastery from afar and, fittingly, offered classes in quilting. (Unfortunately, our schedules did not allow for such a detour. Next time...)

Actual covered bridge. 

We then drove to Lancaster via Gettysburg ("home of factory outlets...and some history, if you're into that type of thing") and a bunch of small towns out-boasting each other on their antiquing creds. If there had been more room in the car, I might have given myself an old wagon wheel as a birthday gift. Since who doesn't need a wagon wheel (singular)?! While Lancaster is traditionally a farming community with a large Amish/Mennonite population, a new crowd has sprouted recently: yuppies. We stayed at a boutique art-themed hotel that was way cooler than we were (hint: bikes and expensive hallway sculptures don't mix) and had dinner at a microbrewery. A flight of beers = carbo loading, right?

Why you can't take me anywhere.

The route on Sunday was called the Ice Cream Lovers' Ride. Awesome, right? Hot summer day, small farms, winding roads, local ice cream. Just one catch: everything is closed on Sundays. So it was more like the "get lost in the corn fields again" ride. But really, with signage like this, can you blame us?

This is why we packed a map.

All in all, a fun weekend. Special shout out to Tess for being willing to chase down some buggies with me, as well as Rose PT for keeping me riding pain free. (Strong glutes = happy cyclist)

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.

So You Think You Can Climb

Even though I've lived in DC for over 10 years (!), I still consider myself a west coaster at heart. I prefer In & Out to Five Guys, natural beaches to boardwalks, and will never get used to watching the Superbowl at night. This also means I'm a mountain snob. For example:

These are mountains.

These are not.

Do I appreciate the beauty of Shenandoah National Park? Of course. But there are trees at the top, and I don't have to backpack to get there.

So when I heard about the "Mountains of Misery" century ride in southwestern Virginia,  I figured it would be a fun training day. How miserable could some hills be? Also, when the ride's registration opened in February, Memorial Day weekend seemed far enough on the horizon that I was extra confident in my ability to defy gravity.

As training progressed, I actually did start to get better at hills. How?

• Step 1: Move into a house at the top of a hill. Decide you want to go home occasionally.
• Step 2: Tell yourself that you're good at hills. Suddenly, training rides are an opportunity to attack some climbs (woo!) rather than grumpily mash some gears. 
• Step 3: Reconsider gearing. For Ironman Tahoe, I upgraded to a 10-32 cassette with special derailleur. This means I have some extra easy gears when the climbing gets steep. 
• Step 4: Learn how to descend, preferably without melting a wheel (yes, that happened). Some cyclists, such as Elliott and Cat, can naturally whiz down a mountain without a care in the world. I, on the other hand, am afraid of plummeting to my death. The biggest ah-ha moments in my descend-ucation:
• Count out loud. To scrub speed, pull on the brakes for a count of four, then release for four. Counting not only distracts you from the whole careening off a cliff thing, but also no other cyclist will want to be near Count Brakeula and will give you a wide berth.
• The harder you push, the more stable you'll feel. On a turn, push down HARD with the outside leg; when descending straight down, keep your feet at 9:00 and 3:00 on the pedals and push your knees into the top bar. Voila, stability!
• Hands and feet work together. As you push down with your outside leg, also push down on the handlebar with your outside hand. This will get you around the corner safely and cleanly. Think of the hokie pokie if that helps.
• Look where you want to go...with all three eyes. #3 is your bellybutton. I challenge you to think about your bellybutton on a descent and not crack a smile. 

Thinking about my belly button.

So, how did it go? It was definitely not the Seagull Century, where you can stay in one gear the whole time. In fact, I think I used all of my gears today. But the one constant was the smile plastered on my face. Such a fun ride! Beautiful scenery, well marked course, (mostly) good roads, enthusiastic volunteers... oh, and a four mile uphill finish with 12-16% incline. To boot, I got to hang out with my awesome coach, Kerri, and some Bike Rack Racing teammates at the top.

Optical illusion: We are actually the same height; the hill is just that steep!

Am I reformed mountain snob? Let's just say I appreciate the fact that the east coast offers plenty of challenging cycling that does not require packing an oxygen tank. But the moment United starts offering a direct flight from DC to Tahoe, you'll know where to find me!

Where you can find me now.

As always, huge shout-outs to my support crew: Elliott, my family, DC Tri and Bike Rack teammates, and Rose PT for keeping me injury free!

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!