Recovery, Postmortem, and Pancakes.

Hello, adoring public.  (Hi Michael!)

So, it's been just over a week now since the race, and much like a mother who desires more children despite having endured the ravages of childbirth, I now have only vague recollections of the massive mileage I did last Saturday and feel a sadness that I do not have another epic quest in the near future. I did learn that the headwinds I encountered on the bike ride pick up every year at the same time-- sadly, if I knew that, I might have gone ahead and abandoned my "curb your bike arousal" strategy for the first loop, and allowed recovery on the second windy loop, which was gonna suck butt anyhow. It kind of makes me want to do the course again. Weirdo! Am I obsessing over this? Yes. Do I accept that I still did well enough? Well... kind of. I finished, and I did a good job, and I need to relax about it.

This week, I took it easy: Mom and I did a little hike in Griffith and saw an observatory show on Tuesday, then I ran three miles (didn't do the bike) during the Wednesday brick, did 1.5 hour of awesome yoga Thursday, took Friday off for giving blood (learned my lesson and waited until AFTER the race!) and did the Saturday Valley ride, where I was the only girl, and the only person riding conservatively, which made me feel like a slowpoke. I was truly lagging, and this of course bothered me, because I had to represent for my gender, but of course I was down a pint of blood and had done an ironman a week ago, so I had every excuse... though my pride wasn't so much in line with this. Even with my heart rate up to Zone 5, I couldn't keep up... it was astonishing how hard it was. Of course, then I found out at mile 30 that my front brakes were on... the whole time. Once I took them off, everything got WAY easier. What a doofus. I do think, though, if I hadn't been saying "well, it must be the blood loss, or I need to recover more..." I would have checked the dang brake sooner. Ohhhh well. As my friend David says, I got some good resistance training.

Today was the ocean swim and run at Zuma, followed by the amazing Amy-brainchild of a potluck parking lot brunch. Everyone cottoned to the idea, and it mushroomed into this crazy amazing feast, complete with a kerosene camping grill, grace a Michael Ruhland, on which I made four batches of my family recipe pancakes. I got a little traumatized from my ocean swim (upon exiting, I somehow was caught completely unawares by some gargantuan ninja wave that beat the shit out of me-- tore my cap and goggles straight off my face, it was nothing short of terrifying) so our communal food love was a nice little healing moment. Were it not for the company, I would have flipped off the ocean and never returned. (I not-so-secretly hate the ocean. And now it's even more clear why. Bastard sea, trying to kill me!!)

I will take a minute to float into tangent land and pancake ruminations: making epic loads of these homemade pancakes has been a love of mine since college. Anyone who knows me for an extended period of time, will, at some point, experience the pure unadulterated gluten form of love that are these pancakes. So, what gives? First of all, they are undeniably delicious. I myself, having eaten them since I had teeth with which to do so, am still always surprised when I try them by how freaking awesome they are. Secondly, they hold a certain deep significance to me, and so I like to share them, not only because it's super awesome to share something that's delicious, because then everyone will love you, but because you're sort of taking this private love that you connect with the dish and are opening it up to a larger audience, which is just a nice gesture. Sure, you can get good pancakes at The Griddle, but is it a family recipe with cute pictures of little girls in the kitchen to back it up? No. It's all about heart. (And these are free.)

For those not in the know, my Dad was an East German refugee. Germans don't do big American breakfasts... for them, it's more like a soft boiled egg, a couple rolls with a sandwich meat slice or two, and perhaps a little Nutella. So when he first had a whopping stack of hotcakes with syrup and bacon, he became totally obsessed with discovering the perfect pancake recipe. My whole life, I remember him refining it, and every Saturday was pancake day. There are home videos of first my sister, then myself, respectively at around age three, making the pancake recipe in its nacent stage. (In the video of my sister, she is mixing the butter with the egg, which, as you will see in the modern version, is no longer how we do it. She kept licking the spoon and saying, "Delicious", even though she was basically just licking egg and butter. Ew. In my video, I taste the batter, solemnly look at the camera, and say, "It tastes like baking soda". I was more of a realist, I guess.) By the time I was in high school, we had hit the sweet spot for years now, and it was well known that Dad's pancakes were spectacular: when we'd have big brunches with my friends and their families, the griddle would be on for over an hour, and everyone would leave happy and stuffed to the gills. (It's impossible to eat just one.)

Since we all knew the recipe, we never wrote it down... so it was only a couple years after my Dad died and I was visiting my cousins in Germany that they said (in German), hey, look, here's the pancake recipe. It was of course, all in milliliters and, well, German, so I copied it down, converted it to cups, and made it again at home. It was incredible, like alchemy: after three years, I was tasting his pancakes again, and they were exactly as delicious as they'd been every Saturday.

Ever since then, I've been making these pancakes in my own version of big family brunches with the people I meet... I've made them in the basement of a Princeton dormitory, for my grad school friends in Cambridge AND in the dormitory in Moscow, in Brazil for the kids who'd never tasted a pancake, let alone syrup, and my fellow teachers, and now here, in the Zuma parking lot, with my tri friends. And they always come out delicious, and they always make the day just a little bit more wonderful.

(I actually woke up from a dream at like 4AM that I was making these pancakes with my Dad, and was telling him about the tri brunch. It has been a while since I had an opportunity to make them for a bunch of people.)

Here's the recipe, so everyone can carry on the amazing pancake love into their own family traditions. A good thing to eat after a big day of cardio.

Muller Pancakes

1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon (my addition)

3 tbsp butter
3 tbsp yogurt or sour cream (I use fat free greek yogurt and it works PERFECTLY)
1 egg
1 cup milk (I use skim and it's fine.)
1 tsp vanilla

Mix dry ingredients and fork butter into the mixture. Create a well. Add the egg, yogurt and vanilla and mix. Slowly add in the milk and mix until smooth (depending on how thick you like your batter, you might add less milk. You can decide as you're mixing.)

*Make sure not to overmix your batter, or you'll get a chewy pancake! It's almost better to err on the side of slightly lumpy-- once cooked, it's just fine.

On preheated griddle (med-hot) grease with butter and pour medallions of batter. Flip when bubbles appear and batter appears a little dry on the edges-- should be golden brown on the other side. If you want to add fruit (I recommend banana slices, chocolate chips, apple slices with cinnamon or blueberries) do so when the batter is still wet. Serve while fresh and hot with syrup!

One batch makes approximately six medium sized pancakes. To feed a large group of people, I generally make four batches and it's more than enough (and yet they all magically get eaten!)

A second finisher video...

A bit of a better angle... Mom's euphoric shouts can still be heard. :-)

Ironman finish: a video

Here's the footage of me from the end of my race. Mom is going nuts, rightly so. :-)

From the other side of Iron.

Well, I did it. I'm now an Ironman.

(Not a registered trademark Ironman, but anyone who says my 2.4 mile swim 112 mile bike and marathon don't count because my medal lacks an M-Dot deserve a swift kick to the groin.)

The first thing I have to say about the experience is, the people who say, "oh I could do the bike and the running, but the swim is what would kill me" are fucking idiots. That marathon was the most excruciating thing I think I've ever done to myself. (Except, perhaps, the previous marathon.) Also, when I started triathlon training three years ago, I hadn't swum laps since age 8 during swim team (where I always got last). My swim split was the most successful of the three despite the fact that I didn't do any drills and just plopped myself in the pool for 85 laps maybe twice a week. Go figure. End point: even if you're a shit swimmer, at worst, it will take you maybe two hours. A marathon after 112 miles of biking and the aforementioned swim, however, is nothing to cough at.

So. Let's talk results.

bib number:	774
age:	28
gender:	F
location:	West Hollywood, CA
division place:	16 out of 38
gender place:	88 out of 208
time:	13:48:39
pace:	0:
swim:	1:15:21
t1:	8:18
bike29mi:	1:53:54
bike84mi:	3:26:22
bike:	7:05:01
t2:	7:12

(this didn't paste, because the online tracking system is bullshit, but...)

run4mi: 55:34

run13mi: 1:37:43

run21mi:  1:53:30

RUN: 5:12:47

There were 269 women signed up, according to the participant list (a few probably didn't show, too, but I guess it was something like that. To give you an idea of what a total sausagefest tris are, there were 585 male finishers.) Of these women, 208 finished*. (And it IS enough just to finish.) Of these finishers, though, I was 88th. In my age group, 38 gals competed, and I ranked 16th. Not shabby for a budgety coachless kid like myself. (*it says 208 here, but on the main site said 214, so take your pick, I dunno why the discrepancy's there.)

It was really hard to know what to expect of the race on the whole, given that it was my first time, and since I'd been swimming my 2.4 miles of monotonous pool laps in around 80 minutes, that wound up being the split I predicted on the nose. The others I was off by a half hour... which bummed me out, because, given that I'd decided to hope for sub 13, once I realized that was an unreasonable expectation, I got pretty disheartened, and that's not a good way to feel when you're running your marathon. I had sworn I'd save up on the first bike loop so I'd have energy to spare, and a book I read said to keep my heart rate at Zone 1 for the first THIRTY miles. Of course I was just dying to up my pace when all these people were zipping by me, but thought, "Oh, I will make up for it on the second loop." I did start going nice and fast post mile 56, but by then it had already been four hours, and I thought "well this isn't going to happen in 6:30." Of course, the terrible headwinds didn't help at all either. I kind of wonder if I should have allowed myself to go juuuust a little faster on the first loop of the bike. It was probably best to err on the side of caution, though, even if, while running, I was thinking, "there is nothing about me right now that feels fast... I shoulda just biked harder." My run would also have been better were it not for the extended pottytimes, but those are just the things you must accept. I did eventually readjust to thinking sub 14 would be just fine, since that had been my original guess, and simply aimed to beat the sunset, which I did. It did sort of feel like getting a B+, but that's because I'm a total overachieving d-bag to myself. I did better than a majority of people, yet it's always the fast girls who are better than me that I fixate on... pretty sure those girls aren't brokeass overcommitted actress-writer-comediennes, either. But such is my way. I guess it's good to never feel totally satisfied with yourself. That way you keep getting better, and achieve some humility. ("Have you tried the humble pie? It's delicious.") That said, I do still recognize that there are a million things out of my control that could have kept me from finishing, so I'm very, very grateful. There was a room full of people on stretchers that were not so fortunate... or even just those walking from cramps. While I wish I could have been faster, I did the best I could with my current training, and there's a lot that could have interfered with my best. So... hooray!

Now's the time where, for the very interested, I will take you through the play-by-play of the day. Note: it is often fairly gross, but I hope you'd expect that by now. No copious rectal bleeding, though! And how glad we all are for that. But don't say I didn't warn you. I'm not gonna censor this.

Since Mom and I were staying in Healdsburg, we had to wake up at 4:30AM to get over there by 6ish. We had a little scare when we discovered the dome light of the car was on (wouldn't that just be rich to miss my race because of a dead car battery???) but clearly some battery angel was working magic, because the car started without a problem. That's very, VERY lucky, since it was on since the evening before when I put my bike in. (Didn't notice the door was slightly ajar. Woof, that would have been tragic.) We drove the forty minutes through dusty wine country to find the swim start teeming with folks. Mom went to look for parking while I racked my bike and got ready... only then realizing how late it really was. I still hadn't had my prerace BM (it's a pretty essential part... so essential, that my friend Larry who was going to do the race with me requested that, instead of a marathon mile, this special moment be dedicated to him) and was kind of freaking out, since the line to the port-a-potties was, as it always is, huge. I waited for a second, but then realized this wouldn't work out if I timed it wrong and was still without my wetsuit and such. So I got my suit on, and I had a couple things for Mom to take, but then couldn't find her, so I ran back to leave it in transition, and then it was like five minutes before my start, and the line had vanished and the few people let me go ahead, so I got that taken care of right quick, and when I ran down to the swim start, where all the pink capped girls of my group were already swarmed, I finally found Mom, who'd been equally panicked, as she'd had to park far away and then didn't know where to find me. We hugged and I waded off just in time. Yeesh, so much for a calm collected race start. But you do what you can. I later found out that Mom snuck off somewhere and burst into tears from the stress. Poor Mom. Doing an Ironman is hard and all, but for her to be my only support, and this her first triathlon, it's a lot of pressure. Way easier if you have a couple of sherpas than just one. But she did a great job, and happily Mark (friend who introduced me to Dan and Julia, our hosts, to review) wound up coming out and totally saved the day, driving around with Mom and helping her find me on the course. Yay, Mark!

As evidenced by my time, the swim went very smoothly. The water was a mild temperature, though not warm enough to make wetsuits illegal (a yearly concern), and the usual shallow spots with people walking were there around the turn-around. I didn't walk, but scraped along the bottom with my hands like scoops. I figured, if I'm gonna scrape, might as well own it. The men on the swim were friggin a-holes, as they often are... very crawly-pushy-shovy. Bossy swimming. Lots of leg grabbing, or just swimming right into you for no good reason. I overheard a woman later commenting how nice women are on the course and what jerks the men were on the swim. I made up for this by crawl-smacking whomever messed with me. Or by passing them... I did pass a lot of these jerky dudes. In your face!

I knew I'd made good time when I exited, so I was all smiles.

Vineman T1 is weird because you have to put all your shit in a bag so it gets transported to the finish... I handed mine off to Mom (well, really to a lady, who handed it to Mom when I hollered at her) after getting everything together. It did take an annoyingly long time to transition, but whatever, c'est la vie. I was off on the bike soon enough... was supposed to be getting my heart rate low, anyhow.

I had some watch-related irritation throughout the race: I was wearing three different watches, since my Garmin isn't waterproof and only works for 10 hours, which of course is too short for the race (boo.) So I had my Polar heart-rate monitor (good ole Polar) and my Timex waterproof watch, so I could get the full time of the race. Of freaking course, when I put on my Garmin, it somehow pressed the timer button on the Timex, so I lost my time. BOO. I kept it on and just mathed out from 6:42 what my total time was. Made me grumpy. My Garmin also ticked me off by randomly stopping on the bike once I did turn it on, and then didn't start on the run even though I turned it on, so my distance was off by exactly a mile. I know that sounds like whining, but honestly, when you're used to using something, and you're doing a race of this magnitude, those small things effect you. At least it was a pretty precise mile, because if I had to do anything more than add a mile to figure out my marathon status, I would have burst into tears. (They don't really have very good course marking for that... just these every so often multipurpose markers that say 5-13.5-23.5, for example. I don't want to know 13.5, you bastards, I want to know 13! And 14! and all of them!!! See? The little things get you.)

Anyway, the first loop of the bike was spent curbing bike arousal and feeling lame when I got passed a bunch, and the weather was cool and damp, with cloudy skies... perfect IM weather. I got a lot of comments on my epic amount of Gu (I taped them to my bike, where they dangled like Christmas ornaments from the handlebars.) I told one lady that I referred to my bike as Gu-ernesville. Ha, nerd. (Guernesville's where the swim started, in case you were unawares.) I'd taped a recorder to my bike, because I thought it would be an interesting experiment to record some of the race, so every so often I'd turn it on and say stuff. I don't know how successful that was, since it would of course be windy, and a few times I probably didn't turn it on right, but I'm betting there's some fun things to listen to. Most of it, though, is me talking about peeing on my bike. Yes, bike peeing is evidently a time-honored Ironman tradition, and when I went to my first Ironman Q&A, the woman running it even gave advice on how to properly do it. I'm guessing it's more popular with women than men, since dudes can quickly pee on the side of the road, but it makes sense to avoid stopping. Of course, it's totally gross... and you wind up with a shoe full of pee. It's also really awkward... every time I was trying to relax enough to go through with it someone would pass me. You don't want someone to see you pee yourself, regardless of the circumstances. Plus, I knew that lady was down, but was pretty sure most folks would be judgmental. I'm not the fastest biker, so it probably seems silly to go as far to pee on the bike to save time. I just figured, hey, once it's done, you can keep doing it, thereby cutting down on multiple pee stops and avoiding longtime discomfort. Besides, there was never a port-a-potty without a line. You think I'm waiting for a toilet when I've got 112 miles to bike, you are wrong. So yes, I did that off to the right a few times... once there was a turn coming up after where a photographer was. I'm doing the "hah, you're taking a picture of me and I just peed myself like a minute ago" smile-- which I did not know was a smile until yesterday. This is why it's called the Ironman, not the Ironlady. There's nothing ladylike about it. Oh, but men, men are gross. Good thing pee is sterile, because I later had to use my right foot to perform impromptu surgery.

At mile 56, I picked up my special needs foods (pretzels and a giant melted-then-refrozen PB Twix) and went to town, fueling my speed up. The sky cleared up and it was completely gorgeous, biking through those bright green vineyards with the blue sky overhead. I felt pretty strong, and was happy to get a move-on at long last. I also felt really lucky that I didn't have any bike trouble... there were scores of people on the side of the road fixing flats. One woman had commented, "I'm glad I don't have a fancy bike, it looks like they're the ones that keep breaking!" It was kind of true. I did nearly lose my chain at around mile 88 or so (I was a little concerned; it keeps coming off when I put it in the car and came off during a Griffith ride) but then I downshifted and it caught again (phew!) Also, the whole time, there was some weird sound from one of my tires... like there was something causing friction against it, as though I were braking, or there were a piece of paper on it or something. I checked at 56 and didn't find anything wrong, though. Later in the evening, Mark mentioned the front tire didn't come off properly, so it may have been that. Who knows. I figure we can give that a little responsibility for my slow ride. Heh.

The bike ride started getting pretty raw at around 90 miles. The clouds disappeared entirely, so the sun was beating down on us, and it was around 2 PM, when it's hottest. Then, as a special bonus, some insane headwinds kicked up, making my brilliant plan to make up time all the harder. I was dogging it at like 13 mph a few times. Lameo. Of course, there was Chalk Hill, which, the first time around, was okay, but the second time came at mile 100. What the fuck yo! That's some sadistic shit. I turned on my recorder for that one. The motivational posters on the side of the road were pretty necessary at that point... I especially like the one that said "bragging rights for life". Hell yeah. One lady ringing a cowbell asked how I felt, and I said, "you know what I feel like? Running a marathon. I think it'd really help me flush out my legs." Joking helps... but man, was I looking forward to getting the hell off the bike-- my neck was just killing me from holding up my head the whole time. I've never actually done a bike ride that long. And it was LONG.

I got aero and picked up some speed for the last few miles, zipping into T2, where I saw Mom and Mark cheering. That transition took a lot of time too, because I'd decided to change into my compression shorts, and if there's one thing that takes a while, it's pulling on tightass compression shorts onto your pee-wet leg of your wobbly sore body. Plus, I wanted to hand off my shorts to Mom instead of running back to my transition spot and then back out... of course then they fell out of the plastic bag I'd put them in and I had to double back. Annoysville! I tossed them at her and said, "don't touch those, there's pee on them!" and ran away. The glamor of being an ironmother.

I felt, as I was told I would feel, remarkably well on the run start. I kept having to slow myself down from a nine-minute mile, and while my neck hurt, I felt pretty fresh. This of course got pretty old, pretty soon. I started to slow when I got a bit of gastric activity, and stopped for the toilet, which in turn took for EVER... I don't know what was passing through me, but it felt like that, similar to this race, was iron. Needless to say, there was some strain involved, which did not do me well. There are a few things that can happen physically that will make running a marathon exceptionally more difficult, such as cramps and chaffing. Add to that list an inside-out asshole. Extremely uncomfortable. So yeah, I ran with a pretty serious rhoid for at least 6 miles until I literally had to push it back in. BWAH. (I warned you about the TMI, didn't I? If you didn't want to hear terrible butt stories, why on earth would you be reading this blog?) So yeah, the butt issue definitely put a damper on the run, and though I was able to eventually remedy that, there was no getting around the stress the run put on my body. There'd been a stand at the expo with the folks who designed my compression shorts, and since I'd been hesitant to wear them on the bike for fear of chafing, I asked if the guy thought it was worth losing the time in transition to change into them. He said he thought for sure, since they reduce the vibrations of the muscles and this would be an especially stressful run, given that it was hilly and on pavement. This was all I could think about with every footfall that jarred my entire aching body. I can't say for sure that the compression sleeves and shorts help, but I can't imagine how awful it would have been without them. So, I think I made a good call with that one.

Once I'd figured out on the bike that doing the race in under 13 hours seemed impossible, I'd gotten a little sad, and then once I'd wasted all that time with my poop issue, it seemed like even less likely, so I became somewhat resigned to my fate of a mediocre finish. I was, of course, supposed to go easier on the first loops and then really work the last one, but my muscles hurt so much, and my feet were killing me, even though my heart rate was relatively low. Every time I walked through an aid station, it would take so much effort to get started again, and there were about three pain in the ass hills (since it was out and back, I guess that'd be like five, since the last one didn't go back down?) that kept draining my resolve. So I did walk quite a bit, and found my running pace getting slower and slower... the idea of a negative split felt very far away. I stuck to my promise and tried to keep positive, thinking of those I dedicated the miles to, and it did actually help... I just wish I'd had a little bit more of a plan. For example, if I was not going to walk the hills, or what pace to aim for and when. But I did have the plan for the last six, which was not to walk at all, and thereby finish the way I'd hoped to, which is for real. Negative thoughts be gone: this was my ironman, and it's just one day, and you can't go back and do it better once you're done. So even if I didn't make my goal, I was going to finish well.

I started to kick it up a notch, totally ignoring the incredible burning chafing under my arms (damn LA Tri Club singlet!!) and ran through the aid stations, just getting water, having eaten my last Gu. (There is very little that compares to the sickening feeling of force-feeding yourself sugary energy gel for the 13th hour of a race because you know you must to avoid bonking. Happily, if my appetite did not agree, my body certainly did, and my digestive tract never gave up on me, and processed the sugar right well.) I thought of the people on my list, Jack and the doggy, my sister and her cross-country runs, and finally, with 2.2 miles left, I got to my Dad's mile. The visualization of my sister had helped-- to keep pace, I was chanting things in my head with my pace about not stopping and keeping running for her, and it bizarrely all started to rhyme without me thinking about it, go fig. I thought of my Dad and was chanting stuff for him (I run this mile for my father/so that I can bring him honor) and then I thought of the verse he'd written in the letter he wrote me for graduation, which epitomized the way he lived and therefore was what we put on his grave-- Ecclesiastes 9:10: whatever your hands find to do, do it with all your might. This has also been my personal motto, but for some reason I didn't think of using it as a mantra until this moment. So I just started chanting, over and over, "whatever your hands find to do, do it with all your might," and all that feeling of lethargy and pain just left me, and my pace went up, and up, and the last 2.2 miles, I was running faster than I had the entire time. I came to my mother's mile, and started running for her, but kept repeating the verse, and just pushed and pushed as hard as I could, and when I rounded the corner as the sun was setting and dusk started to settle in, I sped up more, and started repeating "do it with all your might, do it with all your might" and then "with all your might, with all your might" over and over. And then I saw Dan and Mark, and I was at the chute, and I ran as fast as I could, which was well faster than I ever could have imagined, and I ran through the Vineman banner, and they gave me my medal and took off my chip, and I came over to Mom and we both cried and cried. Which was perfect.

I later saw on my Garmin that my final sprint reached a 5:42 minute mile... of course, not for long, but still. That's kind of rad. I did it... with all my might. Just the way I wanted to.

Finisher medal, finisher tee shirt, and finisher burger.

Afterwards, Mom, Mark, Dan and I took pictures, I got a little food and did a 15-minute massage, and then we got all my stuff out of transition and headed home for my horrific ice bath and a champagne toast. I somehow managed to stay up past midnight (I know, what the hell?) and then woke up this morning at 5, and got up by 7 to write this (double what the hell!) Probably because I kept thinking up things I wanted to write here. I'm feeling sore, of course, but pretty great. To be fair, I also popped a painkiller when I first woke at 5ish, hoping it would sedate me back to sleep, so I'm not so sure how I really feel, but after that kind of work, I deserve a little soreness, and a little rest.

As I was sitting with Mom on the bench as she helped me take off my sneakers after the race, I realized: I really did that. I did it? I just did an Ironman? And I frankly still can't fully grasp it. Back in the apartment, as I sat on the floor half comatose, I realized: I just did two half Ironman races, back to back. I did a full Ironman. Half of that is a big race. I did a race for over 13 hours without stopping. What?! So yes, as much as it's insane to you, it's just as crazy to me. I guess really I didn't do an Ironman, I did it one mile at a time. During the bike and the run, that's all I kept thinking: just keep going, and eventually, you'll be done. And that was true. It was the same with the training: just get up and do it, one day at a time, and eventually, you'll be there.

Today we're going to go to visit Julia at Moshin and do a real bonafide wine tasting, when I won't have to worry about my hydration. And I can think about what my next race will be. But the Ironman is now a fait accomplit.

The day before.

So, in typical fashion, we lived up the wine country lifestyle bigtime with Dan, Julia, and Mark (the original connection between myself and Dan and Julia through my OTHER friend Carson, who I actually had never met... so that was nice.) We drank nice wine and ate crazy good food with butter galore. While it was super fun and awesome, I wound up not being able to sleep in what with my nerves (and constantly getting up for the bathroom... trying to hydrate and all) so by now I'm super tired from shuttling around, looking at the course, getting over to packet pickup, and trying to make sure my house is in order. I'm so ready to go to sleep even though it's just 8PM... maybe that's good. Not really giving me a minute to reflect on the enormity (and enormousness... yes, enormity means something is horrible, not big... nerd) of the undertaking I'm about to embark on. I do think I've got everything in place that I need, though I keep thinking "oh God, I'm going to forget my race belt... or my timing chip... or my bike shoes... or helmet." But that's just nerves and weariness, and I'm trying to idiot proof myself (got all the stuff laid out for the too early morning, got my bike all taped up with Gu... got my special needs bags with emergency inner tube and pretzels... don't forget the PB Twix frozen in the fridge (better not forget).

Poor Mom is basically more stressed than even I am at this point, but really all the work is done. We've only to sleep and wake (at 4:30 AM) and get this thing done.


So quick review from last time, doing half the course:
Overall time: 5.54.41
Swim: 00:35:44.
0T1: 00:04:49.1
Bike: 03:04:33.4
T2: 00:03:34.0
Run3: 02:06:01.4


So the big goal will be 75 swim, 6:30 bike, and a 4:30 run. Well, if that's humanly possible, those would be like the fucking BALLER results. So, add it up... that's around 12:30. Now, I think that's a little much in the optimistic department, though that's what my bud David deeply believes. I, at my most ambitious, am aiming for sub 13. Just like I got sub 6 last time. I think that'd be pure glory.


If you want to keep track of how I'm doing on reaching these splits tomorrow, it's evidently possible. Just go to this site and look for my bib number, 774. http://www.onlineraceresults.com/race/view_race.php?race_id=20336#racetop (The race you're looking for, dur, is Vineman.)


I just took an ambien and am about to fall over into a bowl of pasta... hopefully you will catch me on the flip side, and I will usher you back through time and we'll relive whatever this horror might be tomorrow, together (though tomorrow I must face it alone...)

The miles.

So I've assiduously assigned and reassigned my miles, and what it makes me realize, more than anything, is how lucky I am to have so many good people in my life. It's like a little sneak peek of how much it blows to figure out who to invite to a wedding. Anywho, I've tried to have a few more generic catchalls for groups of friends (all specific requests cannot be met, folks, though I tried) so no one got left behind. (I should mention, anyone who got their request in early totally got their request met. Just saying, it pays to be prompt.)  

The list probably looks like impossibly too much to remember, but if there's anything I've learned up til now, it's that occupying your mind is paramount during the painful sections of an endurance race... there couldn't possibly be ENOUGH to think about that isn't "goddamn when can I sit down!!!" That said, I think writing this out in detail will help me remember. I've got a brain like a sponge, but after biking for that long, I'll probably just be thinking of my numb ass for a bit.

This mile dedication experiment seems especially appropriate: despite the fact that I ultimately will be doing this race alone (terribly, terribly alone) I will be carrying all of you with me in spirit, especially everyone who's been so supportive the months leading up to this. It takes a village to run an Ironman.

1 This first mile goes to Gerardo, whose advice has never done me wrong. (Default, I'll be thinking of all my tri friends who hoofed it along through Griffith, too.) I do think I will be feeling "grateful and blessed to have both feet on the ground", as he says. :-)

2 This will be for all my Hometown Brazil friends... Minnie, I hope somehow to channel a little extra energy from thinking about your East coast racing! 

3 Per request of my friend Michael, I'm running this one for Jessica Kerivan. She's got cystic fibrosis and has been waiting for a lung transplant for months. I'll be sending some very positive thoughts in her direction, and thinking about how grateful I am for the air I'm breathing that keeps me moving forward.  

4 (First catchall! You don't like it, you come run this.) Mile four goes to my friends from the womb (TFC), the MXAT, and high school. You were all good and all nerds in a similar way that makes you special to me.

5 In honor of the class of '05, this one goes to my roomie for two years, Diana: for the HONOR of 641 Pyne! Everything about this mile is delicious. ;-)

6 Six goes out to Comediva-- gotta run strong to represent for the ovaries.

7 For my be fri Jay, who's known me longer than nearly anyone, and my godson Jason, who I hope will think I'm so cool for doing something badass and sporty.

8 Susie and Fle, for our eight grade memories (Trapper John and Twizzler Frank 4 life. Hah.)

9 Sarah Scanlon-- I'll be thinking of you, and trying my best to be strong AND graceful here, in honor of your amazing aerialist abilities. But yeah... my hamstrings won't ever allow me such grace. Nor will my astonishing lack of hand-eye coordination, probably. Oh, and since I won't have been eating much of anything except for sugar goo, I'll be fantasizing about that insane gourmet din at Oleanna. Let's go back  to Somerville for that... it's not too far, right?

10 German relatives: Matthias und Juliane, diese Meile werde ich fuer euch und meine andere deutsche Verwandten laufen. (Zu erklaeren, Samstag werde ich mein erster voll Triathlon machen—dass heisst, dass ich 2,4 Meilen  (3,86 km) schwimmen 112 Meilen (180.25 km) Rad fahren, und schliesslich ein Marathon (42.195 km) laufen. Es ist ganz offensichtlich, dass laufen am schwierigsten ist. Ich dachte, dass es helfen wuerde, wenn ich jede Meile fuer ein besondere Mensch—oder Paar Menschen-- meines Lebens laufen wuerde. Meile 10 wird auf euch (und auf Gunni, Heinz, Peter, Jutta, Steffi, Martina, Burkhard, Heike, Sebastian usW) aufgewendet. (Viele Gruesse an die Andere von mir!)

(For those who don't speak German, I promise I didn't say anything mean about you. But I don't promise that my grammar was 100% correct. That's deeply unlikely.)

11 Per Samara's request, this mile's being dedicated to our creative brainstorms of 2011. I therefore must also include, of course Aliza, and big time to Mister Stuart G. Murphy, who now on more than one occasion has been able to take the silly visions of my mind and make them into really really excellent viral vids… by the way, my mother just saw Slutty Girl Comedienne Rapper for the first time last night and was utterly horrified… )

12 This one goes Stirling, but as it's the mile right before the halfway point, I'm gonna have to add in another catchall for my LA friends (miss Yeo and Girard), especially those through the improv community and Sit n Spin. This is where I've met some of the raddest folks in a city I don't necessarily always love so much....

13 For my ladies, Jackie and Kristen, the least drama queen girlfriends I have, ironically from drama school. Bagel, no one else could have lived in a shoebox sized room for three months in Moscow without ever having a fight: for that you deserve my undying love and devotion. Kristen, I will start the second half of this marathon invoking your incredible Alaskan badassness. This mile's nothing like hitting an italian pickpocketer in the face with an umbrella or catching an LA serial rapist, but I hope it's badass nonetheless. 

14 For my other ladies, Rachel and Emma: I hate that I don't get to see you more! But I will be thinking about the times we've had.

15 Dan and Julia, my venerable hosts here in wine country, who generously hosted me a year ago for Barb's, sight unseen, and are now putting up me AND my mom. Never have I been treated so well by people who didn't know me at all. You guys deserve like, twelve miles. (And Carson... thank you so much for the intro. I am lucky.)

16 Audie gets this one... under the condition that she agrees to hang out with me upon my return.

17 Joe and Nina-- love you both, and couldn't have gotten through school without you. Nina, I'll be invoking our runs through the Englischer Garten in Munich. Joe, my state of physical distress will just be a shoutout to Artaudian theatre of cruelty. What's more of a theatre of cruelty than this race, after all? Though I doubt anyone ever rang a cowbell at an eyeball getting cut. THOUGH IF THEY DID... (let's do it. Write the grant.) Hahaha. 

18 To get over the hump, I'll be thinking of Ed, my stepdad, and the many times we've run together. (Also will be thinking of Scotty and Evo, inevitably, and our Feliz Navidad margarita night, which I hope makes me laugh-- remember Ed's hair? HA!)

19 Cheryl requested this one goes out to all the women in entertainment who've gone overlooked. I'm going to dedicate it to her and all my talented ladyfriends (hi guys!) with the thought that everyone will get their lookings soon enough. We'll make it happen.

20 The last six are where the race "really starts", says some book I read. So for the start of this race, I'm gonna be running for America and Emily and our kickass womance movie, the writing of which will occupy most of my recovery time, I'll bet.

21 For William-- you requested a fast mile, or a happy one, and since the only happy mile is the first mile in the car after the race, I'm hoping I will at least have saved up enough to deliver some speed. Though I'm not sure how effortless it will be. This one's for the waffles and burgers and many miles in between.

22 For a man who loves the gritty part of life, this ugly mile goes to Robert Woodruff. If not in reality, I will at least be shouting in Greek in my brain. OI MOI TALAINA!

23 For my excellent equipment manager and always moral supporter, Jack. You saw me through the hardest races before this, and I know all your thoughts will be beaming across the country right at me. I'll run this one extra hard for you. Feed Ronny a tiny bit of beer and then squeeze him til he pukes for me.

24 Christine-- my sis, the doctor! This one's for you-- and I'm imagining a time when your knee will allow you to run again. In the meantime, I'll invoke the spirit of you doing cross country in high school, when you'd run to the Ramones in your head and run so hard you'd puke in the trashcan and then keep running. 

25 This one's for my Dad, who I hope will give me the extra push I need from the spirit world. I imagine if he were here, he would first tell me that it was a very impractical thing that cost way too much money, but then would be very proud. I'll be thinking of finding his face in the crowd, shining with happy tears at thing.

26 Of course this one has to go to my mother, who I have to thank genetically for this nice long running legs, and who made the giant trip (AFTER being in Nebraska for my sister's phD defense just a couple days ago) to support me. So grateful you'll be there at the finish, Mom.

And lastly, of course...

.2 = for me

Was writing this self-indulgent? Absolutely. But isn't doing this race weirdly, sadistically self-indulgent? And at the very least, I've already achieved a goal I was hoping for, which is feeling no longer afraid, but excited. 'Cause I have a lot of people to keep me company.

Eat your veggies, run your miles.

When I was a little girl, I deeply hated eating my vegetables, and none of the usual tricks worked. The fork is an airplane? It's a train coming into my mouth tunnel? What do I look like, an idiot? But I did have a very strong sense of allegiance to those I cared about, which is the loophole my parents used to keep me from being nutrient deficient. Every bite would be dedicated to someone in my family, or, once we ran out of extended relatives, Sesame Street characters. And I'd simply have to eat them... out of respect for my Omi, or Nana, or cousin Martina, or Bert, or Ernie. Eventually, even though I hated eating vegetables, even I'd be suggesting family members we'd left off and eating for them. It was like the little kid version of pouring one out for the homies.

Recently, I read a little anecdote from an Ironman athlete, who said whenever she runs the marathon in her races, she likes to dedicate each mile to a different person in her life. This would basically be the running equivalent of my vegetable eating... whenever I think, "ew, I don't want to anymore", I have to say, "Do it for Mom," "Do it for your best friends", "Do it for everyone who's been there for you". And then I'll simply have to keep going, if only out of respect. So I've made a list (which I am trying to remember... maybe I'll need a cheat sheet, hah) with a person, or couple of peoples, for every mile. But the last 0.2? Those are for me alone.

I will put up the list once it's fully finalized. For future budgety endeavors (NY/NJ IM?) I'm thinking I'll auction them off to pay for the exorbitant entrance fee. Sure, you can't prove I'm thinking of you, but I am a woman of my word... and I bet there will be some strong vibes emitting from my weary body out into the world that would be worth paying for. People buy stranger things, no?

Limits.

During my run with my tri friends this morning, I was reminded of the incredible episode of Radiolab where Julie Moss is interviewed about her experience at Kona, where she had the famous super gnarly meltdown and somehow summoned the strength to crawl her way (yes literally) to the finish. This episode is one of the things that inspired me to go ahead and reach for the full length tri.. the idea of pushing up against a wall within yourself, breaking it down, and finding behind it what you're really made of... call me freakish, but that appeals to me deeply at a true fundamental level. I've always loved a challenge, and I always thrive under pressure... I guess it's because I believe who we are is forged in the fire. My life wasn't pressurized enough, so, I guess I'm creating this insane set of circumstances to test my mettle anew. It's been four years since I moved to Los Angeles, time for a challenge, right?

Here is a link to the podcast of that inspiring show... might not make you want to do an Ironman, but might help those who don't understand the whole torturous ordeal what kind of awesome nasty glory it really is.

The final countdown.

(Cue the music!)

No... but yes. We are under a week away, folks. And by folks, I mean, maybe Mom. (Mom, do you read this? No? Okay.)

If it was semi-taper time before, it's now full out hardcore "don't you dare overwork yourself, gurrrl" time. I know I'm doing it right because during yesterday's 44-mile Valley ride, I came to the front of the pack at the end, meaning my stamina's in a good way (gotta curb that bike arousal and save it up for the second loop, right?) and once I was done with the workout, I thought "maybe I ought to go do an extra run", which is of course what you think during taper, but you do not do. Save it up, yo.

What you can do is eat, and I have indeed been eating. Though in these past weeks I've been trying to be mindful, and perhaps drop some extra weight to help myself be faster (oh fine, I'm just being a woman-actress... Hollywood triathlete) I've decided it's probably for the best if I allow myself some extra calories this week. I'm going to burn a shitload on that day, I don't think I want to be in any way deprived. Of course this doesn't mean eat a bunch of crap or anything, but... you know. Not gonna be all "just a salad" this week. It's carb time! (Let us rejoice! Let's do Osteria Mama! Who's buyin?)

Okay, now it's late and I have to arise for my last ocean swim in the AM... the weekend workouts are probably the last "real"-ish ones before... oh Lord... am I really going to do this heinous thing? Quick, fall asleep before thinking about it!

More nervous ramblings certainly will follow soon.

Commence Tapering! Also, Long Bike/Run, Treadmill Marathon and Shoe Experimentation.

We're reaching crunchtime now, where the bulk of my work is done and if I try to work any harder, I'll just eff myself over for race day. Scary time for a girl who likes to work hard, having to say: chill the fuck out! But... shouldn't I be biking? Swimming? Running? Well, not as much as normal. It's July 11, and the race is on July 30th. Work any harder and we could relapse into another awful bout of strep.

I'm quite far behind on triblogging, though I blog for myself alone (was just revisiting older entries and thoroughly amusing myself... like my essay about my first ironman. Classic Muller, she says to no one but herself.) So there's a little bit to touch upon all at once in this here entry. Sure I could make a few entries, but why? I won't. Eat it.

My other Vineman buddies, Pei and Henry, had one last long bike in their training schedule set aside for July 2nd, and so we resolved we could do the big haul up to Santa Barbara as a trio. Henry mapped out a route from Simi Valley (in my mind, I always call it Unseemly Valley, it is very hot) to UCSB, coming out to 97 miles on the nose. We began a bit after 8AM and made our goal of 4PM in time for the train with minimal bumps along the road. Getting out of Unseemly Valley was the most annoying part, what with us catching every red light and the heat of the weekend creeping up quite prematurely, but once we were down that steepass hill, the ride became much more tolerable. Given that I follow my ride leaders blindly without any sense of direction, I couldn't begin to tell you where we were or how we traveled there, so I believe I'll let the Garmin map tell the story for me:

(Don't ask me what's wrong with the elevation/pace thing at the end, it looks like I left it on or something.)

I recognized a bit of the long fast section through Oxnard as our final destination of the Zuma to Strawberry Fields ride (and even saw the strawberry stand with some Tri Clubbers in it as we passed by!) As my bike is a slightly odd fit-- such are handmedowns, no?-- I've never been able to comfortably get aero without fear of toppling over. (Once almost got CREAMED on the way back from a Valley ride... never again.) But after a little practice, I did get good at it, so I feel like I now have that option for my long ride.  Hooray! I also found that the moment I went aero, my pace went up from 16 to 20 mph. Woops! Henry and Pei kept apologizing for being "too slow for me", which made me feel like a total d-bag, but on the whole it was really good we kept our pace at around 16 mph, because I'm going to have to reign in that "bike arousal" for the first 30 miles at least. [I've been reading the book "Going Long" for last minute advice, and staying in Zone 1 for the first 30 of the bike is considered extremely important. I found the word choice funny when the author stated, "You're going to feel really strong on the bike after the swim, but it's very important to curb your arousal." Aroused is not something my bike seat makes me feel.  Sexually assaulted, yes. Aroused, no.] We picked up the pace near the end of the bike to make the train time, which was good practice for the race, but not so much that it burnt me out for good. After the bike, I was able to take a dip in the ocean and get some raw oysters, wine, and early bedtime by 9 something.  This was evidently early enough that I had enough juice for my longest run, which I was supposed to do at least 3 weeks before race day (so I was just making the cut off.) I got up a bit before 6, had some breakfast, and got out there by 6:45, running through Griffith and back home for a grand total of 22.7 miles. I was feeling quite good until around mile 16, when some ankle pain kicked in, and the sun began to broil, and as I started the run home around mile 18, I realized, you moron, the run home is straight uphill, what the hell! But I needed those miles, so I did a good bit of walking, made it up to top of Vermont, then turned around for a happy downhill home from Hillhurst, which actually put me over my desired miles. Let me just say that my neighborhood at 90-something degrees on a Sunday morning is very unforgiving shadewise. I was totally shot, but I had the long run under my belt, and I had a nice cold bath to keep me from dying immediately.

This being done, I could now safely say I'm ready for some taper. And of course, leave it to me to take that to mean "do a marathon on Friday". I'd signed up to do the Tosh.0 Treadmill Marathon Bit in Hermosa Beach, which I felt wouldn't be a full marathon as it would undoubtably end whenever the pinch hitter Kenyan completed his length. Then again, I don't like to half-ass anything, and so when Friday rolled around, I ran around a steady 6.5 mph the whole time until I couldn't very well feel my feet, one of which was forming a painful blister (thanks, Tosh! Without the bit, I might have stupidly not purchased new shoes in time!) I did step off for a second to pee, and took mini breaks without stopping the treadmill, so I'm guessing my 18 miles were more like 16.5, to be safe. Nevertheless, that's a crapload to do on a treadmill in the blistering heat (they started us at 11AM... brutal!) We made it into the papers; I'm the third one in in the first pic on the site. As silly as it was, it was definitely a workout not to be denied.

I finished off Friday by having to get a last minute smog check to avoid late fees (only now did I hear on NPR that I had a 30-day grace period... damn you, DMV! I could have showered!) before going to a commercial audition in West LA, where I somehow managed to spot clean myself into looking presentable despite my previous incredibly sweaty exertion. Miracle of being female: sometimes, even though I sweat a load, I will dry off and look totally fine. Just don't come too close or the charade fails. But a 30 second commercial audition? No prob. I'd also had my hair in a braid, so it wound up looking all nice and wavy. I'm an athletic girly ninja. And, when I was done, the CD said, "what a great way to end the day". As in: "you are so charming and great, girl I don't know who I would definitely not suspect of coming here having washed of in a gas station bathroom after an 18 mile run!" So that was nice. Hollywood triathlete!

Finally, though it's been well over a year since I first starting thinking about getting a pair of robot feet, the LATC has jumped on the barefoot running bandwagon and has started singing its praises. Everywhere I'm hearing "first time I can run without pain", "makes you feel so much stronger", "makes you more attractive to Hobbits"... well, most of those. So after our workout on Saturday, a bunch of us up and went to REI for a happy athletic impulse buy of our very own robot feet Vibram five fingers. Yes, they look silly, and yes, they are kind of really cool. I also got another pair of normal human running shoes from Arch and Sole, where Mahmoud said my ankle pain was probably due to striking midfoot, where all the extra support was in the shoe. This could be remedied by rolling through the heel more, or running on the balls of my feet more (a.k.a. using Pose, something encouraged by the Vibrams, but also nothing I'd like to try to do three weeks away from a race.) Instead of trying to do anything drastic, I bought a shoe with less of a dramatic slope by the arch and put an insert in, and I'm hoping come mile 16 on the race, I'll find myself ankle pain free. In the meantime, I'm doing short runs with the robot feet-- did one mile on Sunday and have some sore calves today, so I know not to overdo it. And of course, I ought not overdo it in general these days. I'm going to keep reading that crazy bike arousal book and see what last minute things I can do to help myself out without making myself too nervous about undertraining or what have you. We're in the final stretch, people! Whoooot!

Dating the Endurance Athlete

So, I'm in the thick of Ironman training... which I haven't even written down schedule-wise, but sort of have been playing by ear... as in, I'll do an effton of swimming in the morning, and try to do an effton of something else, later. This morning I did 2.4 miles in the pool in 1 hour, 23 minutes (thanks, Mom, for the handy laptimer for accurate data!) and am planning on doing... something... after work. Run? Bike? Perhaps yoga? (I loves the yoga.)

Meanwhile, the website I write for has put up an article I wrote about dating triathletes and other such endurance athletes. It's a good inside scoop for those not in the know.  Regard! 

Hope you enjoy... I will be back with more comprehensive updates soon. We're getting closer to D-day, and my Mom has bought her ticket out to LA. Yiiiikes!

Hollywood Triathlete, Macdaddy.

Remember that time I was sad because my iPod touch got stolen out of my car? Well, about a month ago, my window was broken in, and my LAPTOP was stolen.  (I don't think I recounted this here, because a. it was too depressing and b. I didn't have a motherfucking laptop to write on.) So if you thought I was all poor and shit, try me after I had to come up with over two grand for a new computer. Yes. Budgety. All woes now in the past, I finally got a new laptop and it's TOTALLY BALLER. 17 inch MacBook Pro, matte screen, quad core 2.2 processor! To quote Jessica Simpson as Daisy Duke, "I have no idea what that means but I want it." I figured if I was gonna get a new laptop, this one ought to be the last laptop purchased in a longass while, so getting it with all the bells and whistles means less updating.

In turn, I'm hoping this translates to cooler and more frequent bloggy stuff... perhaps even more videos! Perhaps. Or perhaps I will just try and fit in my fah-reaking training... it seems like my schedule just gets more and more intense, and somehow I still make less and less money, and still don't have time to adequately get in the gym. But my mom just shipped me a fifty pound kettleball (Lord have mercy), so at the very least I can shred up by legs at home in a few simple moves.

I leave you know with the data output from my Garmin Forerunner from the long course: I finally got the software installed on this shiny new computer, so now I'm good to go! Now you can witness the topography, my pace on the bike and run, and even a map of where I biked and ran! Boy oh boy, isn't technology swell???

Finishing Wildflower: A Video

"How is everything functioning" is probably referring to my butt.

Wildflower Long Course: The Epic Saga

Did anyone notice that I haven't been writing lately?


Of course you didn't. Because... well, no one reads this.

But I noticed. And I felt bad. Like the person who avoids the doctor's office when they're sick, I avoided blogging about my training because I knew I'd have to fess up to how neglectful I've been. Not only did I move apartments two weeks before race day, I also got a gnarly sinus infection that put me out of commission for days. The Saturday before race day, I took my first long bike ride, about 45 miles with my LA Tri Club friends in the Valley. That's it. That, and some indoor cycling, and some running, and maybe once a week swimming. Bad triathlete! Bad, bad, bad!

I thought, "I'm not going to jinx it, so I won't write until I'm done."

Apparently, that was the right thing to do, because I did way better than I deserved to, when considering my neglectful behavior. Body, you deserved more prep. But you really came through. That is what you were built to do, I guess. No waifs here.

The long course at Wildflower is dramatic enough, but with all my hijinx, the suspense was all the greater. So let me take you on the EPIC journey leading up to this Hollywood Triathlete's Wildflower race weekend.

Monday I did a morning swim, went to work, went to tutoring, and then did a kickass spin class at LA Fitness at 6:30PM. Note to everyone: the Hollywood LA Fitness spin instructor on Mondays will kick your ASS. So hardcore. Even for me. And I'm like, pretty hardcore. So I felt good about Monday.

Then, for whatever reason, I decided to give blood on Tuesday. Make it interesting, right? I'm a regular good karma addict, and once every eight weeks I get my customary harrassment from the Red Cross to return and give them some of that sweet O+ krovvy. I don't really ever feel lightheaded or really negatively-effected after, just sleep really well, pretty much. Last time they checked in with me, I was sick with my sinus infection, so when my coworker mentioned he was off to the Elks Lodge, I thought, boy, I ought to stop in too! Granted, this would maybe throw off my hydration schedule, but I'm robust, and I felt that four days was enough to get back in gear. Plus, I was tapering, right? (Though how do you taper when you've never fully been training? Yeah.)

So that was Tuesday. Wednesday, I skipped working out to get my car's oil changed (gotta have it ready for the long drive), so I had to hustle home and try and fit in a run before my ukulele set at Trip Tease, as I do once a month (2101 Lincoln Blvd 10PM, playing again May 18!). I did feel extra sluggish and salty, which I chalked up to the missing blood pint. Then it was a quick dinner (ravioli: carb loading week, yesssss) while practicing my newly-learned chords for an acoustic version of the raw food slow jam (per request of my friend David, whose culinary arts studying brother was turning 21 and would be in the audience.) Trip Tease is fun, but it's a late show, it's in Santa Monica, and you don't get out of there until midnight, and it's hard to avoid the beer... the delicious, refreshing beer. So yes, hydration schedule again modified slightly to incorporate my very favorite German lager, Spaten. Mmm. The set went well, and that was great, but then there was some drama on the 10, which met a late bedtime of 1:30AM. Moo! Body needs sleep to make more blood!

Thursday morning, I loaded up on some Gatorade (G2: eff that sugar) which was joyously on sale at Ralph's:  how did YOU know I had to hydrate, Ralph's! I drank a mix of Gatorade and water all day (peed like every thirty minutes) to ensure my blood would be nice and rewatered. After work was my last shot at working out before driving up to Paso Robles the next morning, but all I got in was a 30 minute swim before being displaced by the rotund crew of Aqua Aerobics ladies. (Does anyone else notice that only the morbidly obsese do Aqua Aerobics? What's up with that? I literally have never seen these women anywhere in the LA Fitness... it's like they materialize from the pool like some mystical giant Ladies of the Over-Chlorinated Lake promptly at 6PM on Thursdays...) I took it as a sign that I was to cut it short and went for the sad panda party of one Italian dinner down the street at Micelli's, where I got to feel bitter about being a better singer than the waitresses but not getting a job there while consuming way too much cheese via garlic bread that should have been cheeseless. I was dragging ass, and once I got home I fell asleep IMMEDIATELY, passing out until ten, only waking up to brush my teeth and put together some triathlon essentials. Did not seem to bode well.

Friday, equipment manager/sherpa/chauffeur for the drive home Jack and I hit the road at 10:30AM, getting to our destination at around 3:30. We set up camp by the other LA Tri Clubbers, got the decent cardio of the long walk to registration and packet pickup, and settled in for an early night. At the Expo, some seasoned dude was talking about the brutality of the course and the various rapey hills that would assault you, which of course made me feel swell. It was helpful to keep in mind, though... I knew where to save up my energy, where to gulp a Gu ahead of time, and when I should gear down in anticipation for NASTY GRADE, the longest hill in the history of races, even the Tour de France. Okay, no, but... it sucks.

Back at camp, I got to chat with other LA Tri folks, who reassured me that I'd be okay, having done Piuma. Those in the Angeleno biking know would recognize Piuma as the rapiest hill available in the Santa Monica Mountains. All sorts of hardcore biking people tackle it on the weekends instead of sleeping in and eating pancakes. I'm pretty sure last time I did it, the ascent took me a full hour, an hour into the cold mists of Middle Earth. (It really did look oddly Lord of the Ringsy for a mountain in LA.) It's unpleasant, to be sure, but not insurmountable. So I was told, "it's not that bad". And yeah, it wasn't Piuma bad... but it was BAD. And Piuma is followed by waffles, not a hilly mothafuckin half marathon.

But I get ahead of myself.

Bundling up-- the wind made it feel downright icy this year-- we called it an early night with my customary Ambien sleep (last one in my script, oh health insurance fairy, please come and give me a new one?) to be awakened by some obnoxious fat dude hollering "Good MORNING WILDFLOWER! It's TIME to GET UP!" over and over. At 5:45AM. WTF. And he was just like, some dude. Not someone's coach, not some official "I wake up people in case" dude, just some dude. We all had our cellphones ready to do that, sir... a half hour later. Douche.

Morning at the finish line... not to return until afternoon.

So, up and at em, it was time to get my transition site readied, and down we went with all the gear in tow by 7:30. (Race waves started at 8, mine at 9:10. Hate that hour lull.) I had a banana and a coffee to encourage a prerace move, and then hung around while waiting for Jack to return with my forgotten sunglasses-- the bike woulda sucked a nut without them, so it's very good he went! I still dreaded it all a bit, but felt, here I am, time to do this. Nothing left to do but race. And maybe hydrate some more. (Last minute wetsuit pee is not only expected, but a tradition.) I was feeling strong and fully restored to my previous levels of Nikki ability after my long long sleep, and was no longer worried about having given blood.
And here's where it gets even more interesting.
 
[Before I begin, just be aware that this section is most def TMI and has to do with some nasty physical shit that happened in the bathroom. So you can always just skip ahead if you'd rather know less about my goings on.] As you'd want before a 7 hour race, a coffee-inspired BM took place, giving me one less thing to worry about, though it was, let's say, a little efforted. While I'm getting my sunscreen on and getting my swim gear together, I notice I feel some... wetness... and reach down to my shorts to find my hand covered in blood. The entire seat of my shorts. I squeeze the lining of my shorts and it drips blood. So, you can imagine, I freak the fuck out, but as I am still me, I put on my cap, my goggles, my ear plugs and the bottom of my wetsuit so I can still make my race time while I rush to the port-a-potties with the shortest line. I grab a bunch of paper towels and try not to hyperventilate in a panic. In the stall, I sop up ALL the towels and find that blood is actively pour from my behind like a bloody nose, and, horror of horrors, find an actual piece of tissue, like, some kind of body matter, has emerged. I think I've lost nearly a cup of blood, and don't know what it's from, but I know if anyone saw how much I was bleeding that they wouldn't let me race. (It didn't hurt.) I don't know what's going on, if this is some sign of a serious disease, but I know it's not going to be resolved sooner than later. So I try to just wipe it up as much as I can, pull on the rest of my suit, try to stop crying, and go to start my race, because traumatic and deeply embarrassing rectal bleeding be damned, I was gonna do it no matter what.

Jack took this picture right before my race. Trying not to cry... can you tell? No. Because I'm a Teuton.

[Okay you can start reading again if you didn't want to read about that stuff.]
The swim was good, but choppy: the wind was all up in our grill, and for whatever reason, these motorboats kept passing and stirring shit up. Annoysville! But still beats the ocean anyday. Despite that, and despite my poor swimming track record, and my broken ass, I felt incredibly strong and good. My last few races have seen a marked improvement in my swimming... I think I got the hang of breaking through the pack. Something's working out for me, because I was with the leaders of the purple caps, and passed more than a few girls, who were stroking way faster than me. Must just be my incredible guns, propelling me along.
 
By the end, my lungs were burning, and I'd exhausted my rhythmic inner chants that keep me going through that leg, so I couldn't really dolphin leap my way to shore, but my time wound up being quite good, under 39 minutes. That's better than Oceanside! Good job, me!

 
After getting through the moving-like-I-had-a-stroke phase of post-swim sea legs, I got myself wiped off, shorts on, heart rate monitor in place, helmet buckled and my bike gloves on (those sheisty things do NOT like wet hands, let me just say), I gulped my CHOCOLATE RAGE Gu (the name always makes me laugh) and headed out to RAGE up some evil hills. Jack taped me on the way out, cheering "Hiroshima, bitches!" (My bib number was 1945... pretty sweetass number right?? The people next to him looked disturbed. Heh.)

 
As expected, the bike course was strenuous, only today nature decided to make it interesting, just in the way I prefer. So instead of just assy ass difficult hills on assy crap pavement (oh for some smooth asphalt, can I get a witness, my biking friends?) we also had assy crap evil headwinds nearly the entire time (to quote an LATCer: "how can you bike a loop and windup having headwinds the whole time?") Unless they were blowing from the side, as I flew downhill at 40mph, while my tire hit a groove in the assy pavement, causing my whole bike to rattle and shake and my mind to say "okay Muller, you're about to die, how do you like these triathlons now, uninsured dumbass?" That one happened after my midbike pee break, around 28 miles, I think (where I discovered no evidence of previous bloody scares, by the by.) 
 
All told, as tough as the climbs were, I sort of preferred those to the respites that came after: flying downhill with wind blowing you around is unsettling, even if you make up time and miles. The wind was so bad it ripped BOTH stickers off my helmet. I saw several of those dead soldiers glued to the road... good thing our bikes had numbers twist-tied.
 
To review, we all know 56 miles is a longass bike ride, so I won't show the map. The data that's interesting is the topography:

Oy.

Mmm. See those juts up and down? Yeah. That's what I was dealing with. You see that nasty shit at MILE 40? That's Nasty Grade. And you see how there is ANOTHER hill at the top? Yes, that was the cruelest surprise du jour. The downhill following featured a terrifying moment where I was forced to pass a white sedan on the left, for he was driving like an idiot (less than thrilled to have to do that on the assy pavement, no less). Another good reason to have closed courses...
 
As exhausting as it was, I felt good about the bike ride, too. I felt pretty strong and happy, and the views were, as they always are, spectacular: gorgeous rolling hills, and when Lake Naciemento comes into view, it's just stunning. Even when you're thinking you're gonna die, and have the same random songs playing in your head. (This time around, it was some song by Usher, which I'd rather forget, and randomly David Bowie's "Moonage Daydream", which I definitely mind less.) I believe I have Grane to thank for my bike success. (Did I mention that Grane, aka Bruennhilde's steed, is what I call my super kickass secondhand bike? It's totally battle worthy.) That bike can take hills like nothing... even though it's technically a size too small, with the modifications, it works like a dream. It's so nice after a season and a half of riding the Tank to have a bike that's super efficient... every little inch of pedal stroke was going into moving me ahead. Hills? No problem, g.
 
The last hills after Nasty Grade were no small chickens (um, is that a phrase? If not, it is now) and so once I reached Lynch Hill for the scary descent back to the transition area, I already had the crazy euphoria of "oh oh oh, I'm getting the fuck off this bike soon!", which I knew was misplaced euphoria, as I still had a hillyass half marathon to tackle. (It's pretty devestating to see the men of earlier waves already in their sixth mile of the run as you are just getting back from your bike... not to mention those who are actually finishing. Yikes.)
 
But back I went, and I felt happy, because I'd done it in under four hours. Go me! For a person with colon cancer, I was doing great! [Note: I don't have colon cancer, turns out I "passed a clot", which is harmless and not worth all the fuss. But blood loss is still blood loss and the doctor was impressed I was robust and hydrated enough to not feel ill affected. Thank you, overdose of Gatorade from previous days!] I hung up my bike, got my visor on, slipped on my shoes and out I ran.
 
Only upon reaching the port-a-potty for my second pee break did I realize I was running in two sets of shorts (my bike shorts over my tri shorts), so I took them off, tucked them into my pants, and ran with a big old weird looking cloth bulge until mile 8, where I ran up the hill into the campground to cheering LATCers and abandoned them on a rock near my campsite. Before this, the thought of mile 8 was helpful... I'd think "specifically directed moral support is just five miles away!" at mile 3, and so forth. And once that was done, it was only 5.1 miles to the finish. But sweet Lord, those were long miles.
 
To get an idea of what I was up against, here's the topography on that shiz:
 

 
I had given myself explicit permission to walk to hills and had been doing so, trying to run so long as I could walk and keep my heart rate low, and had managed to jog a decent 6 mile per hour rate for at least a few stretches, but then that last stretch, which went out into a desolate meadow, down a looooong hill that you then had to run BACK up in the hot sun, and then the last three miles just isolated in this dusty shadeless route... it was definitely a trying experience. Felt more like I was in some surreal existential hell than a race. At one point, I was just staring at the cracked, parched dirt road ahead of me, jogging steadily, saying to myself, just keep going, just keep going. I even closed my eyes. All I wanted was a sofa. But little by little, I made it, and soon I was over that last time check and the dude DJing Michael Jackson was announcing that Nicole Muller (pronounced correctly here) from West Hollywood (well, sort of) was on her last mile! YEAH BITCHESSSS!

If you see that little intense decent on the topography map, that's the end of the run, which goes straight down. Me and my long legs took off with the help of sweet gravity and loped down, not holding back at all. (Again, as with the trail marathon, my years of running around in the woods enabled me to bound downhill fearlessly.) I passed a load of more timid people, including the one guy I kept up with the whole time, a forty-something dude with Rocktape on his left calf, who said to me as I'd sprinted up a little hill earlier, "you're going to pass me on the final sprint to the finish, aren't you?" I was feeling pretty raw at that point, so I said, "More like crawl to the finish." We'd gone back and forth with who's in front, who's walking this time, not in a competitive way, but in a good for pacing way. Sure enough, there he was, happily raising his arms in victory to people passing on the shuttle uphill, and sure enough, there I loped by, resisting the urge to say "You were right!" lest it come off as bitchy. We were both in our last half mile... he was soaking up the victory, I was trying to finish strong as I could. With the help of the hill, my pace was up to 8 miles per hour. Booyah! Sure beat my 3.5 mph walk.

Down to the bottom, giving it all I got, I reached the chute to the finish line and did what best could resemble a sprint in that condition, urged on by a "yeah LA Tri! Finish strong!" (I love the LA Tri support, who needs a name when you got a team?) Sunglasses in hand (want to see that face for the picture, am I right?), I crossed the line to victory! (With my last name pronounced "Mueller". Why do they always mispronounce when it counts?) And immediately, breathlessly wanted to burst into tears, but was immediately asked by the girl taking the time tag off my ankle "are you okay?", which they always do when you look emotional, which I always look, because I just finished a half marathon after a 56 mile bike and 1.2 mile swim on this difficult-ass course, woman. So yes, I'm fine, let me put my damn cool towel on my face and weep for a second! No one better keep me from crying after my Ironman, is all I'm saying. Tears of joy to not be running anymore, and to have achieved something. Allow me that!

Jack got a little video at the end... I do not look so into being interviewed at that point, for obvious reasons. (You can see it in the next post.) But I felt surprisingly well considering all the drama, and the lack of training, and the moving, and the illness. I think Vineman's gonna be allllll right. But I WILL NOT skip my Saturday long rides anymore! Well... except for my friend's wedding next week.  And my birthday. But... I mean it, I'll be good. As good as a Hollywood Triathlete can be...!