We All Ask 'Why?' I Finally Figured It Out

Why? Why? Why? People who call themselves endurance athletes just love to ask themselves, and each other, this question. Why do we sacrifice our weekend mornings when we could be snuggling in bed...when the rest of the world is flipping pancakes, we are huffing up Mt Tam? Why do we think that riding a bicycle in the rain/fog/wind is a step towards spiritual enlightenment? Why do we spend thousands of dollars on gear when we could just give the money directly to charity? Why do we think that swimming in water so cold it hurts your face and numbs your feet is healthy? Why do we wear such dorky outfits in public? Why do we eat food that really belongs on a spacecraft?

Lance Armstrong answers this question. Dean Karnazes answers this question. And everyday individuals like you and me have answered this question. It sounds something like: "I do it because it makes me realize what I'm capable of." or "Because I need to experience discomfort in order to appreciate my comforts." Or some other equally profound concept.

Let's be honest. We are Americans. We are materialistic, self-absorbed a-holes. We want to save the world but only if we can look good while we're doing it. And only if it doesn't inconvenience us toooooo much. Yes, we do a smidge of good here and there, but even Angelina Jolie is getting an awful lot of PR for her acts of humanity. Insert: Oprah; Madonna; Alec Baldwin; Your Name Here Once You Become Famous.

It's a tough pill to swallow, but the real reason, ladies and gentlemen, is quite superficial. The real reason is that we want to look good in spandex. And the reason for that can be summarized in 2 words: The Bachelor. He's doing Wildflower and Lord help us, he might just have 1 rose left.

Andy Baldwin, whom my detective work has led me to believe has gone under the pseudonym Patrick Baldwin in previous Wildflowers, will be racing the long course and if that's not reason enough to get the ladies out there, I'm not sure what is. Last night at the Kezar track workout, there was a buzz amongst the females about Andy's participation. He's doing the long course and, what a coincidence, we'll be down there either watching or doing the long course ourselves.

On a personal note, I can't wait to see what this ultra-hunk really looks like. Will his Navy medals be pinned to his tri-shirt? Will he do the course with a stethescope around his neck? Former Bachelor Andrew Firestone looked good enough on TV (albeit, I thought he was a bit of a pretty-boy), but he's really about 5' tall. And Bob Guiney? Come on. With a name like that, I'm amazed they even let the guy(ny) on the show.

So I'm looking forward to a little extra drama this year...and, to wrap this up, I have one final wish, Dear God if you're listening: Please let Andy be one of the streakers.

Swim Start

While my running and biking have not improved one iota, although one person pointed out to me yesterday that my efforts still may have kept the levels from declining, I advanced my swim time trial by 2 laps, swimming 28 laps in 12 minutes. I felt great the whole time...the swim is really the only part of the triathlon where I actually feel that I can compete. I'm hopeful that I might be able to beat my swim from last year's Wildflower (27:34).

After the time trial, we did a simulation of a triathlon race start. It was good fun, bringing out our latent aggressive tendencies. There was kicking, dunking, and I even got tickled. I'd like to know which triathlon the tickling is going to prepare me for.

Professional Slacker

When I was born, the fixate dial was turned to 'medium'. It doesn't seem to matter what the venue is: work, triathlon, city-living, etc, I thrive on newness the way that dracula thrives on a fleshy, exposed neck. Clinicians call this ADD, I call it having a life.

The last two weeks have proved challenging in terms of keeping up the momentum with training. At first I thought I was slacking off, but upon deeper exploration, I've realized that it's not so much that I don't want to train, but that I want to do OTHER things as well. This further supports my belief that I was born to be a woman of leisure and this whole work gig is a bad fit all around.

I have still managed to get in about 4 trainings/week, but the struggle is there. I get home and the thought of going to Koret to complete the 4000 meter workout is overwhelmingly numbing. When I have a two-hour window, my mind says: get on your bike gear and go ride the Alcatraz course. But my gut says: it's too windy, too cold, too much gear to deal with...stay home and play with your attention-deprived kitty instead. I still feel good once I get going and even better once the workout is over. The eternal and un-original truth is that there just aren't enough hours in the day. In fact, I should be out doing something right now, but instead, I sit here writing this post.

The world does not stop turning just because I'm training for a triathlon. There's so much to absorb, to experience, and to bite off. Last Friday night, my high school friend Paul was in town, so we went out. Several drinks later I stumbled home and when I woke up the next morning to rain, I relished every moment of the self-imposed break from training. At least weekend's Alpine Damn ride, I lingered a bit too long at the rest stop inhaling the assorted snacks, and our coach yelled at me, "Keep moving, this is not a rest, it's just a re-fuel." I hustled onward, but in my head, I was thinking, "Man, sometimes you just need to stop and smell the Cheeze-Its."

So there you have it folks. To the disciplined triathlete, I am a slacker. But in my mind, I'm just trying to walk through life--a few days here and there anyway--in something other bike cleats, running shoes, or flip-flops.

The Slack

Forgive me for being Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde about Escape From Alcatraz, but I am riding a wave elation at the moment over learning that the race day currents are expected to be in the neighborhood of 4 knots, with an Ebb flow. It doesn't get much better than that. While I've been warned that "the tides don't read the tide book", I will take this good news and I will give it a big, wet, juicy kiss on the head.

As a result of this inspiring realization, I went onto have a great swim at Aquatic Park last night. The water was almost glasslike, the sun was setting, the sky a palette of pinks and orange, and I...almost...enj...oy...ed...it...almost. If it wasn't for the un-identifiable, but vile taste in the water (wretched sealions!), I might just call the experience pleasant.

One of the other swimmers turned me onto this tea, which she drinks just to get rid of the lingering water taste. It's good stuff. I think I'm going to have a thermos waiting for me at the transition area.

A couple of degrees warmer actually makes a noticable difference.
Conditions
Water temperature around 54-55 deg F (12.2-12.8 degC).
TIDES:
SLACK: 4:43 p.m.
MAX TIDE:7:51 p.m.- 3.3 knots FLOOD-7:51 p.m

The Sand Ladder

I'd like to take credit for this frighteningly funny (not so much funny ha-ha) write-up about The Baker Beach Sand Ladder, what some call the hardest part of the Escape From Alcatraz triathlon. I did this run on Sunday and can vouch for the pain. The course is eloquently described in the following excerpt from the Golden Gate Tri Club:

When you arrive back at the end of the beach where you entered but a few short minutes before, you are now confronted with the iron test of man and womanhood, the test you have read about and perhaps practiced in the weeks before, the evil and insidious and utterly loathed purveyors of pain....

The Sand Steps. Yes, it's all true what you've heard. They steal small children in the night, they are ugly and deviant and particularly vile. They alone are responsible for the collapse of about 34 dot coms. But you are Strong and Within Your Target Heartrate, and you aren't going to take it anymore. So get up there and climb, like you've never climbed before! Grab a fistful of rope and haul yourself up any way you can! If someone's in your way, push them to the side! I mean encourage them and keep going! Try your best to plant your feet on the solid wooden planks that serve as the foundation for the stairs, and if you can see no wooden planks, step in the footsteps of those who have gone before you, for they have compacted the sand and now you don't have to.

The dreaded sand steps are long and arduous but, despite what your lungs and quads are telling you, you will make it to the top. Once you do, pat yourself on the back, for they are one of the most difficult sections of racing in all of triathlon. Now you are burning for home, the sun is shining, and the pain is nearly over. The uphill continues after the sand steps, but not for long and soon you are coming back down the Coastal Trail the same way you went out. With tired legs and a mental focus bordering on mush, it is particularly important to concentrate on your footing as you descend - you've come too far to let a mental lapse result in a fall or an injury.

Dumpster Danish

There are a lot of things I could write about training weekend down at Lake San Antonio. But I think most of the training related commentary has already been said. We all know (or are tired of hearing about) the hills, the heat, the gritty camping, the mildewy showers.

The thing that made this year's training weekend unique, by far, was an incredible culinary discovery. One that will almost certainly be remembered for it's boldness and of course, flavor.

We were up at the crack of dawn on Saturday, eating a quick breakfast of bananas, bagels, coffee, and assorted pastries (please note foreshadowing) as the sun rose. At around 7am, we headed down to the lake for a chilly swim--albeit, bathwater compared to the Bay--and then onto our bikes to cover the bike course; both olympic and half-irnonman distances respectively.

We trickled back to camp at around 1pm and had the rest of the afternoon to hang out in the sun, grazing on chips, cookies, and other tasty treats and chatting about whatever it is that people talk about when camping. Most of the topics revolved around the brutal long course and urination (most likely, the topic of a future blog entry).

Susan, being the good-natured and exceptionally organized mentor that she is, did a quick cleanup before we headed down to the pasta dinner. It wasn't until we returned to camp hours later with a yearning for something sweet, that we discovered she had disposed of an almost full tray of danish. After admonishing Susan about the thoughtless act of waste disposal, and then her rebuttal: they were sitting in the sun all day and they had cheese on them. "Cheese"? Really? In theory yes, but let's be honest, the stuff on that danish is as close to cheese as HD TV is to actual life experience, so the belief was that the danish was un-spoiled and sitting unlawfully in the dumpster.

A few members of our camp found this to be deplorable and decided to do something about it. They put on their headlamps and headed over to the dumpster. Of course, I went with them, as a good reporter would have a nose for news. They rummaged through a few bags before finding the glisten of the aluminum foil and inside, the helpless danish. I must say, it was a joyous moment. We were gleeful as we walked back to camp with the tray of danish and shared a few ideas about how to best consume the pastry.

In true innovative fashion, someone had the brilliant idea of putting the danish on the grill. Not only would it remove any lingering dumpster aromas, but a heated pastry is always better than one that is room temperature. This is just a law of the universe. I have to admit, I took a small morsel of the danish, but couldn't bring myself to eat the whole thing. The truth is, Susan was right. Those things had been in the sun all day and then in the trash. They were not fit for consumption and I was sure that the guys were going to realize this after it was too late. Turns out, I was wrong. They thoroughly enjoyed the danish, and they made it through the night, living to tell the tale of the legendary Dumpster Danish.

Nutritionally Challenged

I have always been of the school of thought that life is short, indulge in the small pleasures along the way. One of those most primal and visceral pleasures being food. Some day, when I'm in the cafeteria line at the old folks home, waiting for my no-salt, 1% fat, prune-flavored bowl of oatmeal, I'll take a mental inventory of all the things I miss about reckless eating...I'll be a bitter old woman for sure (if you are counting on knowing me for life, please be prepared).

But hopefully, that is a long way off and with a sprinkle of healthy living here and there, I have many plates of mac-n-cheese in my future. What, you ask, about the importance of nutrition while training for endurance events? Yes, this is a question creeping up on me as I realize that the burning of mass calories does not necessarily negate the ill effects of excessive fat consumption.

What a rude awakening.

I have been all about the glory of eating a big, fatty meal after a tough workout. Sunday brunches with the team: omelettes, french toast, home fries, In-N-Out Burger (animal style); North Beach Pizza after Kezar, burritos (yes, that whole thing ended up in my belly), and whatever else gets in my path. I can still fit into the same size jeans I wore in college, so who cares? The problem seems to rear its ugly head at around mile 30 of a bike ride...the dreaded bonk...and there's nothing else to blame a bonk on except poor nutrition.

I've been reading a lot of articles about nutrition and I basically know what I'm supposed to do. More fruit, more veggies, more whole grains, more hydration, and the right kinds of fats. I want to eat right, I swear I do. But I think I'm going to have to hire a live-in chef.

Here's a typical day: wake up, drink coffee (each cup of coffee apparently translates to 2 extra cups of water, that's on top of the base 60 oz I'm supposed to drink every day) rush off to work, drink coffee #2 (another 2 cups of water. Sorry, I can't get any work done because I'm spending 90% of the day on the toilet), eat a bowl of cereal with some fruit in it, lunch consists of leftovers usually pasta or something carb & cheese based, eat girlscout cookies or some other non-fruit snack at around 3pm, another snack at around 5 (pre-workout), then dinner which may or may not meet any nutrition criteria.

With work, working out, and staying on top of general life tasks, where the hell am I supposed to find the time to shop for and prepare all of these healthy meals? I either need to move back in with my mom, marry Chris Carmichael, or really commit to changing my habits. I'm not sure which of those options is the most realistic...