The Last (Half) Mile

Having just completed Pedro's "The Last Mile" swim, I can safely say: Holy Shit, Man! 100 of us pre-Escapees decided that it'd be a good idea to sign up for this clinic, what is actually only 1/2 mile but when you're swimming against the 3 knot current, it feels a lot like a mile or more.
I did it more for the mental prep than the physical, hoping I'd get a few nuggets of inspiration to keep me going until Sunday. I got my $15 bucks worth when one of the
coaches said something that really rang true for me: the time between now and when you jump off the boat is far worse then the actual experience of the race.

The conditions tonight were pretty bad, swimming against the current is not fun and it was cold and gray; the kind of weather where normal people go down to the pub and gather for a beer. I was cruising along swiftly for about 15 minutes, savoring the aromas from the yacht club's kitchen and feeling content. And then, as I approached the big yellow buoy that I was siting off of, which I originally thought marked the completion, only to realize was not the finish, that's when I started to break-down.

I stopped to look around but even a few moments of stillness meant the current was carrying me backwards. I kept going, trying to get a glimpse above the swells of where the end was. I thought I saw it and it looked so close, but every inch forward was like watching an ant crawl across the moon. And that's when I noticed the switch, the positive thoughts turned negative. The black cloud formed over my head, and in a word, everything sucked.

It eventually ended and I made it to shore (I hope that is obvious), but I felt drained and uninspired. Maybe it was bound to happen, I've felt so cool and collected about this race over the past couple of weeks and then last night I turned into the lowest form of triathlete: the whiner. But maybe it's just been a long season and I'm ready to move onto something else. It's summer and I want to get to the mountains, I want to learn to swing dance, I want to drink heavily.

Which brings us to the final details at hand, the actual race! Those who are not in the beautiful city of San Francisco can track my race online, click here to find out how.

Despite the trials and tribulations of this season, I've had a great time, mostly because I train with great people who keep me smiling. Some random photos:

Our last team workout, a run down at Chrissy Field. We had a great time letting all the nervous energy out and feeling the group love. That's me in the green cap.

Practicing in the sand.













Matthes will be a little less hostile when I'm home more in the evenings.

The Lion's Looking Back At You

I can't believe how quickly the days are going by. With each passing day, the excitement builds just a little more. We had our final brick workout yesterday, a 1.5 mile swim followed by a 4 mile run on Treasure Island. It was a typical San Francisco summer day, the Bay covered by a layer of wet fog, but not bad conditions for racing. I'd choose fog over wind any day.

Yesterday's workout was a final chance to test some last-minute supplements for my race.
Test #1: Operation Satellite. The first thing I tried was using Brian's Garmin Forerunner GPS, as I'd really like to go back and look at my exact swim course after the whole thing is over. Since the device won't pick up a signal when under-water, I can't wear it on my wrist. Instead, I wrapped it in a zip-loc bag and put in inside my squid lid. Result: Success. I just have to remember not to let it drop on the beach when I take my squid lid off.

Test #2: Operation core warmer. One of the things I'm a bit worried about is warming up after the swim. While the body does adapt to the cold-water conditions over time, it takes a lot of energy and calories to stay warm. Not only am I physically drained after swimming in the bay, but my fingers and toes are completely numb. It takes a long, hot shower to thaw them out, a luxury I won't be provided on race day, so I'm trying to come up with effective ways to ensure that I can keep my core warm as I transition onto the bike. Adrenaline will play a big role, as will continual movement. But I want to have something that really makes me feel noticeably warm, this is where my Sport's Tea comes into play. Since I haven't owned a thermos since grade school, I went out and bought one; yesterday was it's debut and it performed beautifully. I must say, that hot tea was a wonderful treat after the swim. Not only did it remove the saltwater taste from my mouth, but I could feel it heating up my insides. A shot of whiskey might do the trick as well.

Test #3: Operation Bay Beard. I tried--unsuccessfully--to find a picture of this so you could all see a visual of the phenomena known as "Bay Beard". The Bay is filled with all kinds of micro-organisms, seaweed, and other forms of crud that stick to your skin. When you emerge from the water, it is quite common to have what looks like 5 o'clock shadow, but is really some unspeakable form of refuse from the water. If swimming in the water alone isn't enough to make you want to hurl, Bay Beard can quite possibly be the thing that pushes you over the edge. While I can't control Bay Beard from happening, I can be prepared to remove it quickly. I am bringing a wet wash cloth to wipe my face with at the transition. I experimented with soaking the wash cloth in boiling water and wrapping it in insulating material, but this didn't work, it was cold by the time I used it. I just want, for a few glorious moments, something that make me feel like I've bathed. Even if it adds another minute or two onto my transition time, I'd rather have the salt-water wiped off my skin before I go onto the bike than not. This one little act will make me feel like I am back to being the mammal that I am.

All other systems go as we move onto the final countdown. I'll be tapering this week and just focusing on getting lots of rest, organizing all of my gear, and mentally preparing myself for race day. If I had to choose one word to summarize how I feel, it'd be "amped". There are moments when this takes the form of terror, other times when it's excitement. To say the least, it's going to be a day unlike any I've ever experienced. And the unknown doesn't always turn out to be a bad thing, right? Why the hell are we so scared of it? I'm going to wake up (at 3:30am, ahem) on June 3, look in the mirror, and see the lion. I hope the roar doesn't wake up my neighbors.

Countdown

2 weeks to go, tick-tock, tick-tock. I learned that the transition area opens at 4am. Does the torture of this race never end?

We are at the peek of our workouts and will maintain this level for another week before we start to taper. Yesterday's training included an intense run/bike/run brick in the beautiful Marin Headlands.





To simulate race conditions, we went for a jog on the beach (there's a .5 mile run from the swim to the bike transition), then hopped aboard our stallions to conquer 4 Marin Headlands loops.

This is a tough ride to hate...it reminded me (4 times) of how breathtaking the area in which I live is. By the fourth loop, my legs were getting a little tired, but I started out on the run feeling pretty good.


The Miwok and Bobcat trails were new to me, and I didn't know that it would start to go uphill at mile 1. I also did not know that it would keep going uphill, and that uphill would get steeper and steeper for 2 miles. I asked one of my teammates if they knew where the turn around point was. She replied: do you see those towers off in the distance? Yes, I saw the towers. They were on top of a mountain that was off in the distance. I was pretty sure our coach was trying to kill us.

My run performance was anything but impressive, but I completed the whole thing and knew that it was about the level of difficulty as I'll find on race day. It all adds up to building confidence and I can truly say that I feel very well prepared for Escape.

So what's on the agenda for the next 2 weeks? Consistent training, a couple more open-water swims, lots of rest (I even skipped Bay to Breakers, which I'm a little sad about), and eating right. I was originally flirting with the idea of giving up coffee, but clearly that's not going to happen. Brian is now roasting his own beans, so this is one sacrifice I'm not willing to make for some stupid race. And let's be honest, caffeine or no, I'm not going to win!

Purse Snatcher

This evening, I went shoe shopping, running shoe shopping that is, down at Fleet Feet on Chestnut St. As I was walking back to my car, this guy comes bounding out of a restaurant, jaunts across the street, and yells at this older, somewhat innocent looking woman: Give that purse back!

The woman's eyes drop to the ground, the purse falls from her hands, and she quickly disappears into the crowd of Marina strollers, labradors and otherwise self-absorbed populace.

A small crowd had gathered as the heroic man returned with the purse in hand. People had questions like, "Was she really stealing the purse?" "Is that woman the purse snatcher?"

The funniest part was that there were two cops sitting in the window seats of the Noah's, with a clear view of the entire episode and nary a budge. They must have been lost in a moment of profound enjoyment of their everything-veggie-schmear. And by the time the witnesses alerted them to what had happened, the deviant little granny was gone.

I had some deep thoughts on the way home. I thought that for every act of wrong-doing, there is an act of good. And even in the Marina, there are people who take a look outside of their racing goggles and notice when something is amiss (but I'd like to believe that this guy was from Nopa).

When I got home, I did some research and found out that this purse snatcher has actually been at large in the community for some time. She's hit the Mission, the Castro (lots of purses there, ladies!), SOMA, and now The Marina. She takes purses that are hanging off the backs of chairs and then goes to Bloomingdales to buy...a new purse? Too bad the cops were in the middle of their afternoon snack; otherwise today would have been the day that we cracked the crime. For now, keep an eye on your bag and don't go anywhere without your own personal hero.

Cold Feet

Both literally and figuratively.

At the wee hour of 7am Saturday morning, 12 of us climbed aboard "The Dauntless" and motored out to Alcatraz, led by our half-fish-half-human beloved Coach Pedro. Pedro has a list of credentials that makes me wonder if he's fit to teach, including being one of the only people to live through swimming the Straights of Magellan, over 400 Alcatraz crossings (493 to be exact), The Beagle Channel between Chili and Argentina (water temp is 39 degrees), and he is currently training to swim the Bering Straight. When you complain about how cold or choppy the water is, this man just looks at you as if you are speaking another language. It's like you've insulted his home.

All of us on board are training to do an Alcatraz crossing and we know that every morsel of information will help make our chances of success more likely. I suspected going into the clinic that the swim will probably be the toughest part of the triathlon for me; now, I know that for sure. But it also has the potential to be the most exciting. Either way, I feel lucky to have someone like Pedro to show me the ropes, I can't imagine doing this swim without a dry (no pun intended) run.

After a briefing on swim strategy, which included some mental strategy plus technical tips like what to site off of, breathing on both sides, etc., we jumped off the boat and did a "warm-up" swim off of the East side of the rock, where the water is a bit calmer. I expected the jump to be harder then it was, the water was cold but I was able to adjust quite easily and was swimming normal strokes within a minute. That's about where the pleasant surprises ended.

It was a rough day out there. The wind was howling and the sea was choppy. When we jumped off the boat for our second swim, which was the actual start location of the race, it was like trying to swim around inside of a washing machine. Every time I lifted my head to breathe, I got a mouth full of sea-water. I know sea salt is a culinary delight, but I may never eat it again after this is all over.

On top of that, my goggles were leaking so I pretty much felt like I could barely see and I could barely breathe. That's when the panic set in. I took a good look around me (big mistake) and what I saw in every direction was a lot of nothing. I was bobbing out there in the middle of the bay, nothing to hold onto, and the final destination seemingly beyond reach. If you've never experienced this before, it is a freaky feeling. What you do with that feeling is the choice you face when you take on any challenge that goes outside of your comfort realm. While I know that I'm physically capable of swimming the distance, I am well aware that how I control my mind is what will make or break me.

Speaking with people who have done the swim before offers little reassurance. They usually say, "It's very hard, but you can do it." The coaches during the clinic gave us some mantras, which I plan to use:
~No matter what, I can swim and I can breathe.
~Focus on what's going on inside me, don't obsess over the conditions.
~Just keep swimming.
~And since it's Mother's Day, this one is from my mom: Don't get attached to any of your thoughts. Just observe them.

This final pictures shows some of us standing on the beach that marks the end of the swim (I'm pretty sure I was pee-ing as the photo was being taken). I cannot wait until the next time I stand on this beach! I fully expect this race to be both terrifying and exhilarating. Who's planning to come watch? June 3 is three short weeks away! And a more important question, who will have the champagne ready at the finish line?

I Hate Starbucks

I really do. So much so that I am moved to write a non-triathlon related blog entry about it.

Here are my top 10 reasons why Starbucks deserves my hatred (please feel free to augment):
1) They make terrible coffee.
2) They put Torrefazione out of business.
3) My local cafe now charges $1.85 for a cup of coffee. This seems to be the going rate in the urban coffee-scape of San Francisco. Has the coffee changed? No. Are we fighting a war in Iraq over coffee? I think not.
4) Just the thought of being asked "Do you want a vente or a grande?" by some 22 year old political science major whose exposure to the word "vente" was Starbucks training camp makes me want to sneak up from behind the perky little chipmunk and strangle them with the strings of those green Starbucks aprons.
5) It makes me want to end my career in marketing.
6) They really know how to fuck up a cappuccino.
7) If I wanted to be greeted by a chipmunk before I've had my coffee, I'd be drinking herbal tea.
8) Do Americans really need more whipped cream in their diet?
9) There is always a line...even when there's a no-name coffee shop within a block radius. And as much as I hate Starbucks, I hate waiting in lines even more.
10) (Do I have to stop at 10?) Everybody in the world is so damned "proud" to serve Starbucks coffee. Hotels, airplanes, restaurants...it has become the universal symbol for the-best-half-assed-coffee-we-can-pull-off.

Why so bitter, you ask? I had a Starbucks incident this morning. I was in, of all places, the coffee capital of the US, Seattle for work this week. After a lovely morning jog along the waterfront, during which I passed 0 coffee shops, I decided that I would need to get my caffeine fix from the Starbucks in the hotel. I waited shamefully in the line, hoping I wouldn't be recognized (that's the nice thing about only getting Starbucks when traveling). I decided I would get the same thing I always get at Starbucks, a cappuccino.

I have had a lot of disappointing experiences with the Starbucks Cappuccino. In fact, it never ceases to be a let-down. There are a myriad of ways that they destroy what is one of the simpler creations on their menu...either the double-shot is really equivalent in volume to a small cup of coffee, or they put way too much milk in, or the foam is runny, or burned. I could go on, but I've already completed one top-ten list. I decided that the only way to get a normal cappuccino was to request that they use half the amount of milk and a double shot in a small cup (yes, "small". I am one of the Starbucks lingo rejectors). What follows is the dialogue I had with the barista.

Me: I'd like a double cappuccino in a small cup with half the amount of milk, please.
Barista: (young white guy. slightly artsy. slightly richie cunngingham) Huh?
(It would seem that while the Starbucks menu includes just about every frikkin' variation of coffee, decaf, soy, skim, whipped cream, etc...these poor robots have not been schooled in the variation of ingredient proportion)
Me: Repeat above.
Barista: Do you want me to just put it in the child's sized cup?
Me: I don't think so. The espresso and foam parts are still the same.
Barista: (in tone that resembles a mom asking her young child if they really don't want to sit on Santa's lap at the mall) You only want half the milk? Are you sure?
Me: Oh yes, I'm very sure. I've really thought this through.
Barista: Well, I really think you need the child's sized cup. I just think there will be too much space left in the small cup.
Me: Whatever you think is best. You're the expert.

I laughed just a little, my own little private joke. And my cappucino wasn't half bad. But I still hate Starbucks. Please, if you want to give me a coffee card for a holiday, make it Peet's.

Dear Wildflower

Dear Wildflower,
We've had some good times, you and I. I remember how things were in the beginning. You used to make me feel good about myself. You were so much more forgiving, more gentle, more tender.

After our first year, I could look towards the future and see you in it. Then, at year two, we had some rough times, but I thought I was strong enough to overcome the thorny patches. I came back--willingly--for more. But, my little poppy, I cannot come back anymore. When I look at you now, I only see defeat. I see your beauty and respect your power, but while your flowers once smelled like intoxicating nectar, now I only smell the bitter stench of wilting petals.

I came to you this weekend, wanting to give you my all. But you scorned me with 95 degree heat, with choppy water in your otherwise still lake, and with howling winds. I wanted to get inside of you, wildflower, but you wouldn't let me in.

Maybe I'm fickle, just like you. Maybe I didn't try hard enough. But Wildflower, you have stripped me of my pride. I need to walk away before I am barren of all sense of dignity. I'm sure you'll have others...far greater than me...and I hope they are strong enough to live up to your expectations.

Wildflower, I say good bye.

Little Wildflowers

Looks like the weather is going to be knocking on perfect's door, the forecast for Saturday has a high of 72 and Sunday shows a high of 78. Unfortunately, I'm racing on Sunday, but it could be a lot worse.

My wave starts at 10:35am and results should be posted by the end of the day for anyone who is stalking me.

Times from last year (to beat):
Swim: 27:47
Bike: 1:43
Run: 1:05

Here's a picture of the long course bike, the infamous 'nasty grade' strikes at mile 42.


Brian is doing the long course bike on Saturday as a relay, and I fully expect him to kick some nasty grade ass.

As I get my mind in gear for this race, I've decided that my true goal is to have fun and to race every single mile with a smile. This means that I have to smile, even if I'm not meeting my time goals. Even if my legs feel like lead. Even if I get a flat tire. Even if it's scorching hot as I climb out of the pit of despair.

I had a great race last year up until the run, when I completely bonked in the heat. When I crossed the finish line, instead of joining the celebratory throng, I had to take a few minutes to myself to walk off my 'mood'. What is up with that? Did I miss getting my cover page on Triathlete Magazine? Did I get the bronze instead of the gold? I wasn't even injured; the only thing that was hurt was my ego and I didn't really realize that until I looked up and saw a Challenged Athlete crossing the finish line...with a smile on their face. That's when it hit me that, ummmm, I'm so damn full of myself.

I guess it's easy to get caught up in the competitive aspect of triathlon, but really, I am only competing against myself. Everyone else will still love me (or hate me) despite my performance. And so, it would seem that the only way to win that competition is to be happy with doing my best.

Group hug?