Solidarity

Training is going well lately. I recovered from my bronchitis a few weeks ago with the help of a short course of steroids and antibiotics, and was pretty quickly back in the groove of my training plan, which was a relief. The worst part of being sick is worrying that you're "getting behind" and somehow will never catch up in time for race day.

I said training is going well. The bike and run are. But for some reason my swimming is sucking lately. Maybe it's one of those plateus before a burst of improvement. I sure hope so. I can't actually figure out what's wrong. I'm still fast enough, decent form, blah blah blah, but it's more of a psychological thing where it's just not fun lately. Maybe it's being in the pool, doing laps. Open water is a lot more fun and free. It could also be the company at the pool: hyper-intense people who "race" you while you're just minding your own business doing your workout. They're like the people who eye you at a red light and then blast off like they're "beating" you through traffic. I'm like, what the heck? See ya later, dude, hope that was fun for you. We're all trying to get to the same place, it would be so much cooler to have some solidarity here.

So that's what I wanted to write about today: Solidarity. When I was hiking the Appalachian Trail I'd be out there in the mountains, waking up and getting ready for another 20 miles over steep terrain, and I'd think of all the other people out there on the trail, anywhere from Georgia to Maine, who were getting up, eating some way-too-small breakfast, and packing up their sleeping bags and gear and throwing it on their backs for another day of trekking on that big journey. I might never meet them, but I knew they were all out there doing what I was doing, and it was comforting. Now, training for the Ironman, I think of all the other triathletes out there.

I know all of you are out there right now: People fighting training boredom, overcoming doubts, working on healing nagging little injuries, dealing with busy schedules, family traumas, all the things that you have to do to get off the couch and get in your training. I work out alone most of the time, but when I'm putting in the miles on the trainer or treadmill I think of all of you out there in the struggle. Whatever your race distance, we're all trying to get better and expand our limits and reach goals we used to think were impossible.

So, I salute you! Way to go! I am encouraged and inspired to know you are all out there.

Beans & Greens

This stuff is unbelievably delicious!

You will need:

One can of black-eyed peas (or the equivalent amount of soaked and cooked black-eyed peas)

Garlic (as much as you like) chopped fine

1 yellow onion, diced

2 or 3 Tbs olive oil

1 bunch of greens (swiss chard, spinach, turnip, mizuno, whatever you like)

Lettuce (red leaf is really great with this but romaine is pretty tasty too)

Tomatoes

Green onions

Parsley

Cucumbers

1 lemon

1 tsp dried mint

1 lemon

salt

pepper

olive oil (optional)

Wash and chop the greens. Set aside.

Make a salad with the lettuce, tomatoes, green onions, parsley, and cucumbers. Divide between 2 plates.

Put the olive oil and diced yellow onion in a heavy pan. Cook on medium-high until it is brownish-black. Stir often. Yes, you are burning it a little. Don't worry, this will taste great! Take it out of the pan when done and set aside.

Put black-eyed peas (do not drain the liquid from the can, use it), garlic, and greens in the pan and cook until most of the liquid evaporates and the greens are cooked.

Dish black-eyed peas/garlic/greens on top of salad in plates. Garnish with the blackened onion pieces. The salad dressing is half a lemon worth of juice on each plate, plus mint, salt, and pepper to taste. You can add olive oil if you're not worried about fat. OK, the mint sounds weird to Americans, but believe me, it is delicious. If you're freaked out about mint, try oregano.

I had thought this was a Lebanese recipe but my Lebanese partner informed me that only the "greens with garlic" part of it is Lebanese, and that I made up adding the black-eyed peas and salad to it. The lemon/mint salad dressing is Lebanese, though. It's a classic in our house.

Bon Appetit, or as they say in Lebanon, Sahtan!

Does lots of coughing count as a core workout?

Started antibiotics last night, hopefully I will soon stop coughing up green gunk.

It has been a solid WEEK with no exercise, except for the "ab workout" provided by intense bouts of coughing. I feel like such a poser: "Oh, I'm going to do the Ironman! But for now, let me get back to my nice warm spot on the couch."

I am planning to do a little "recovery ride" on the trainer today as I'm starting to feel a little better and the fever is gone. Nothing crazy, just an easy little spin to remind my legs that yes, we are doing an Ironman in 6 months. And to remind my soul that yes, I am still an athlete and one week off will not stop me in this journey.

A good thing about this particular session of bronchitis is that I avoided having a massive asthma flare-up. I did get asthma from it but didn't have to go to the pulmonologist, take steroids, or any of that stuff. I credit my Ironman training up to this point--training is GOOD for people with severe asthma, it really improves your lung function. Even sick, I still had enough lung reserve that my rescue inhaler worked to open up my lungs again. So YAHOO to that!

I can tell my bike misses me! Hoping to get over this cold and back on it soon.

Uuuuggggghhhh...

It's funny how you can feel like a superhero one day, and then the next morning you wake up and some virus has invaded your body and is making you feel like the gravity is extra-strong, especially right over your mattress. Hard to get out of bed, head aching, lungs burning, the whole deal.

To train or not to train, that is the question. I had a cold a couple of months ago, trained through it, and kept having relapses, not getting better. So this time I'm forcing myself to SIT STILL. DON'T GET ON THE BIKE! STEP BACK FROM THE TREADMILL AND NO ONE WILL GET HURT! And most definitely, DON'T GO TO THE POOL!

It is painful. I love exercise! Hate sitting around. But it's more painful to get sicker. I have asthma and if this crud gets into my lungs, then I might have to go on steroids or end up in the hospital. Which is even less fun than not exercising! So I'm on the couch right now, planning a day of soup, tea, and vitamins.

And instead of training today, I'm making lists. I love lists. Specifically, a gigantic packing list for the Ironman. Not only stuff I'll need during the event, but stuff to take to Lake Placid for the days before the event; stuff my son will need, stuff my partner will need, lists of restaurants and things to do in Lake Placid, kitchen stuff to bring (since we'll be in a condo where we can make our own food), ingredients they probably won't have there, on and on.

I love planning for huge events as much as doing them. I can get months of thrill out of something like this just by obsessing about it, visualizing every moment, and planning for every possible scenario.

"You're the Swimmer"

You know how, when you go to any venue where there are other athletes, you're kind of in awe of the ones who are so much better than you are? You kind of step back as they pass to give them room, don't ask them too many questions because you don't want them to know how clueless/unskilled you are, and you might make a comment about the high level of their ability compared to yours?

Lately, it's such a shockeroo because at the pool, people have begun treating me like this. Like I'm "good." I still look behind me like, is there some other swimmer here they're talking to? The other day a lifeguard said, "You're a pretty decent swimmer, you can get in the fast lane." And another time, in a crowded lane, a guy motioned for me to go first, saying, "You're the swimmer, you're really moving, go ahead."

Huh? Are you talking to me? I'm the swimmer? I guess so, there's no one else here.

Maybe it's a legacy of always being picked last in gym, but I never thought of myself as an "athlete" or as being "good." Sure, I do all kinds of long endurance things, but I've never done them fast. My only skill was in keeping going long after most other people would quit, but my slow, dedicated plodding was not something other people would notice and remark on (other than to tell me I was crazy for doing it).

In my first several triathlons, I hated the swim. I thought it would never end. I thought, I am never going to get to that next buoy, it will take me all day and the tri will be over by the time I get to shore!

Then I took a weekend-long swim clinic and it totally changed my life. These people took clueless me and taught me how to, literally, swim like a fish, in two days. A week after the clinic I went to a local open-water swim, swam a mile across our local bay, and loved it. The swim instructors taught me how to swim so efficiently, so smoothly, that it took hardly any energy to get anywhere, which meant I could swim really far, without getting tired.

That was the only swim lesson I've ever had. I could swim before, mostly underwater, like a seal or a dolphin, and I loved being in the water, but I had never learned to do freestyle or any other official "stroke" for swimming. It was amazing to learn that "fishlike" method of swimming and suddenly be able to cruise like a shark.

I wish I had a sign on my swimsuit that said, "I didn't always swim like this. I am no different from you. You can do it too!"

Ironman for Mom

Right now I'm in a hotel in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin. Outside, a huge field stretches away to the horizon, with only a few houses visible. A few miles away, my mother is in a hospice, slowly dying from lung cancer. The cancer is on the outside of her lung, so her breathing is fine, and it has spread to her brain, where it's apparently blocking her pain center, so she is not in any pain. In fact, she's pretty comfortable, just weak. She has days when she sleeps all day, days when she veers between being lucid and confused, and others where she's perfectly alert, watching the news, discussing the latest Packers football scores and plays.

The hospice is actually more like a spa than a hospital. Residents can have massages, aromatherapy, visits from therapy dogs and cats, spiritual counseling that fits whatever their views and needs are. They can have anything they want to eat or drink, and the rooms are huge, with big windows overlooking a beautiful lake. Family and friends can visit any time of the day or night and can even stay in the room with their loved one overnight. On the walls of the rooms are paintings of beautiful places; my mother loves the one in hers, of a trail winding along a stream in a flower-filled forest. The nurses and volunteers take tender care of everyone there, the same kind of care a mom would give to a new baby. It is spotlessly clean, peaceful, and relaxing, and not morbid or depressing at all, although there is a box of kleenex on pretty much every table. The hospice will not turn anyone away because they can't pay: it is available to everyone. Truly an amazing and inspiring place. The whole idea of the hospice is that terminally ill people should live as fully as they can, every minute, every second, until it's their time to go.

When we're not at the hospice, we go to the local YMCA. This place is huge, and I mean HUGE, and about as luxurious as the hospice. It's like a palace devoted to exercise. They have 3 swimming pools: one for laps, one for water therapy, and one for kids; the kids' one has a gigantic water slide. They have many fitness rooms filled with equipment and gear to play with, even a rock climbing wall. When we're not at the hospice, my family and I release our stress by going over there and swimming laps, seeing how many times we can do the slide, riding spin bikes, or running laps on their indoor track. It's the only way to deal with all the emotions brought up by my mom's slowly approaching transition to another world. The water slide actually feels like how many people describe the process of dying: a fast swoosh through a convoluted and mysterious tunnel, then a glimpse of a light at the end of it, and then suddenly you fly out into a sunlit pool, laughing. I tell my 5-year-old son as we zoom through the tunnel: "Look for the light. We're going to the light! Woohoo!" so he can understand what my mom will go through.

Once when my mom was awake, I told her about my plans to do the Ironman next summer. "I am inviting you to come, in spirit," I told her. "If you can, please come and watch me, and help me, because I'll need all the help I can get." She promised she would, if she could. The she got confused: "Are you going to ride by my window?" I said, "Yes, if I can." I told her I would do the race in honor of her. She was always a good swimmer, and was amazed that now I can swim laps too--just learned to do that a few years ago.

Before I told her this, it was hard to train. I felt guilty for being out there hammering along on the bike or treadmill or gliding along in the pool while she was in bed dying. Now I feel like it's a mission, and I need to live up to my promise to her. On my wrist I have one of those silicone reminder bracelets that says "YOU CAN. YOU WILL" as a little Ironman motivation. Last night at the hospice I got another one, bright green: CELEBRATING LIVES.