50 blogs

I thought this past weekend I'd change up my triathlon training a little bit.  Instead of combining two of the events together into a "brick", I decided I'd go for a regular longer ride Saturday, and a longer swim on Sunday.

So Saturday morning, I'm awakened by my darling, starving cat.  She starts her job "as the speaking clock" at about 4:15am.  This means, "Meow!" (It's 4:15). "Meow!" (Now it's 4:30).  And so on.  She also knocks my phone off my nightstand.  And walks on my head.  And licks my nose.  It's actually quite adorable.  And nips on my fingers.  Until I can't stand it anymore and at 5:05am I get up, feed her some kibble, put my sleep mask on, drink a glass of water (I may or may not have had a little too much to drink the night before), and go back to bed til about 7:45.

I then get all my bike gear out, padded shorts and all, and head out on my 30.5 mile ride.  It's a lovely day.  Warm, not too crowded, and I only have some slightly gross heartburn and don't feel too hungover.  And I'm only about 6 minutes slower than usual, which isn't too bad considering it'd been 6 weeks since I'd gone that far.  But, to my displeasure, this is the first time I've noticed my saddle, er, rubbing me the wrong way. 

I will admit to these things: 1) I rolled my bike shorts up to both get that nasty sticky silicone gripping stuff off my bare skin (I can't freaking stand it) and to allow the best possible tan line one could get in bike shorts, and 2) my seat post may have started to slide down because my left knee started to hurt for the first time in many many months on this ride.  And because Badger has brought this notion to mind.  So it could have been either or neither of these reasons that caused these really uncomfortable welts I ended up with in my personal space.

So, swallowing most of my pride and determined to maintain at least some dignity, I headed to Bicycle Village to get some chamois cream.  I can't find it, and I'm way too embarrassed to ask, so I wandered forever til I found one tube, and another little doo-dad of something else.  Then I kind of hovered, waiting until I could find a girl there to ask about it, and she doesn't know, so she's like, "You can ask any of those guys", gesturing to like, six of them standing together in a group by the front counter.  My shoulders slump.  Oh sure, like I'm gonna waltz over with this tube of Chamois Butt'r and a stick of Body Glide and ask, "Hey boys, which chamois cream do you think will best protect my princess pea from my saddle?" So I told her that I was hoping for a girls perspective. She takes me over to the only other girl working there, who is surrounded by other customers. She literally asked me, "What are you going to use it for?" I'm thinking, there's more than one use for ass ointment? I just want to know if it's got menthol and is going to burn...sigh.  So my response of raising one eyebrow then opening my mouth, but remaining speechless, prompted her to just say "Chamois Butt'r".  Thanks.

And my triathlon bikinis arrived in the mail last week.  I tried on the small and the medium each about a million times, and couldn't decide which one to pick.  I finally got on the phone with "team estrogen", talked with a girl there who had just finished a triathlon in one, and she helped me pick the small.  And it doesn't even say "S" on the inside. 

I headed to the pool on Sunday (after sleeping in and magically healing from Tylenol PM), again getting there early, and have a chance to ask that woman if she was able to pill her cat.  She wasn't, but she thanked me for asking, and said she was glad to be at the pool to get some of her nervous energy out.  I was also glad to be at the pool, because I had set a goal of swimming non-stop for 1600 meters, or one mile.

Me and my snazzy new red suit, stopping to soak my hair in the shower, plunked into a lane, strapped on my new shaded goggles, and set off.  I swam breaststroke the entire way, and didn't ever have to stop to catch my breath.  I made it 1000m in about 26 minutes, which was 6 minutes faster than my previous 1000m swim.  And just kept going, back and forth, 32 times. 

I had enough time each lap to tell myself.  "That was 50 meters.  When I finish this distance, it will be 100 meters."  And so on.  Until I said, "That was 1550 meters.  When I finish this distance, I will have swam 1600 meters.  I will have swam a mile without stopping.  I am a total bad ass.  Look at me rock this pool."  And so on.

 

47, and I can do it!

So, item "Complete bike/run portion of the tri" has been completed.  I got up Saturday morning, had Husband check the tire pressure on my bike, laid out my running shorts, socks, and shoes, and took off on my bike. There has been some fires in the area lately, leaving a strange haze in the air.  The light of the morning sun coming through this haze was unlike a sunlight I had seen in Colorado in awhile.  It almost seemed...beachy.  Like the sun was shining through smog and humidity in California, instead of shining through ash and smoke of fires in Colorado.
Anyway, I ended up going 12.47 miles (at a reasonable place to turn around on the trail).  I got back home, ran inside, changed my bottom half attire, and headed out on the run.  And it felt...weird. Like, my legs were heavy and not moving the way I wanted them too.  I felt all shuffly and wonky, and slow.  But, I plugged along, wishing I had both thought to eat something before I left on the bike ride, and stopped to pee before the run.  Notes to Self.  I ran 3.1 miles.  And you know, I felt OK.  I didn't feel, like, normal or anything, but it felt fine.  I can at least do that much!!
That night I used the most fabulous vibrating hand-held back massager on earth for the entire 20 minutes it will run before shutting itself off to prevent overheating.  Add some Tylenol PM, nearly 11 hours of sleep, and Sunday I felt pretty damn self-satisfied.
I met a friend for lunch and some shopping, and we ended up going downtown to see the Street Chalk Art festival.  Wow wow wow!  
After walking around in the afternoon (pretending to be beachy) haze, looking at this art on the street, we found dinner on a patio, and found life to be...just very enjoyable.  :o)

I have done a little google research on bike/run transitions.  Apparently, what I experienced is completely normal.  The article I read had some suggestions on what to do on the bike towards the end of the ride to help ease into running without freaking your body out.  Some standing up in the saddle to pedal, some over-spinning in a small gear, and stretching your legs and back as much as you can.  Also preparing mentally from pedaling to running.  I can do that.  I'll try again next weekend.  I'll eat first, I'll transition physically and mentally on the last mile or so of my ride, and I'll wobble along another 5k run.  

Eeek a mouse! XLIV

The other day (like, two days ago), our cat became unusually fascinated with our oven drawer.  Riveted.  So much so that she had managed to fish out a Tylenol PM with her paw while attempting to get at whatever had caught her attention.
And naturally, we had to open the drawer to find out what was going on.  And there it was, scrambling over every piece of bakeware that I own, a mouse.  Soooooo gross.  It's grubby little nasty mouse feet touching all my stuff.  Ew ew ew ew ew.  And somehow, in the brief moments that I saw the damn thing, it seemed deliberate.  Like it was trying to literally touch everything in the drawer.  Husband mimed the mouse licking its paw and purposefully touching my muffin tray.  Funny!  And gross.  Yucky filthy mouse.
The bakeware was removed, and a peanut butter baited snap trap was set.  Four smashed mice later, we're hoping to be nearly done taking down the mouse metropolis within our walls. 
Now, you'd think a cat would be an asset in this kind of situation.  And as interested as she was in getting under the drawer, she can't really fit.  And then, she has no claws.  But she is marvelous at alerting us to the presence of mice.  And really, I'd rather a snap trap catch it anyways, and not have some mutilated chewed on mess in the middle of the kitchen.  Or in my bed.  You get the idea.
And besides, after she realized she's never getting into the drawer, she appears to be quite at ease and relaxed, knowing the mice situation will soon be under control.  And I'm still very very proud of her for trying.

Mice: Fear This!

No. 41

Alright, so although these topics may seem inane and superficial, I'm going to try and tie them into mindfulness and gratitude anyway.
First, I've been into getting manicures lately.  It was a luxury I couldn't really indulge in with my previous job, as not only were long nails not allowed in my profession, they would've been ruined within days.  So on a whim, I went to the salon where I've gotten many pedicures and asked for a manicure.  Husband had requested "those French tips" (it actually still baffles me that he knew what those were), so that is what I requested.  The manicurist suggested I try the "gel" polish, since it was new and would last longer.  I'm convinced, sure, what the hell.  Gel it up.
And honestly, I didn't really realize how nice manicures are.  Or that I apparently have really nice natural nails.  The few times I've gone, the other women in the salon have commented on them, and the manicurists there just rave about them.  Actually, there have been several similar conversations that were a bit strange to me: "are those yours?" (in reference to my nails), which gave me pause "whose else would they be, seriously?" and to which the manicurist replied, almost proudly, "yes, those are her real nails".  Which is received with something like awe, and nods of approval.  So, I guess my "real" nails are a bit of a rarity in salons where most are acrylic. 
So, one day when I was just buzzing with nervous tension and restlessness, I went in after work for a manicure.  I struggled with it for awhile, because they are expensive and I didn't really need one for another few days, but I just wanted to indulge myself.  And it was lovely.  I was pampered and complimented for over an hour.  I was called "honey", all my fingerly flaws were tended to (some polish chips, cleaned up cuticles, nails reshaped, etc.), and I left after a nice hand and forearm massage with beautiful nails and higher spirits, and less of that "bleck" feeling.  I was thankful for that, and mindful of the pampering and self-care I had allowed myself.

And one more thing: I'd like to give a "shout out" to Tylenol PM.  I sort of feel like it's a bit magical.  I don't know if it's because when I take it, I can sleep forever, or if it has anything to do with the "PM" part (which is an anti-histamine; Benadryl), but the mornings after I take it, I wake up feeling almost healed.  As if, during the night, the anti-histamine has gone into my body, sought out and healed all the inflamed and irritated parts, and let me sleep for ten hours to wake up restored.  It's like a magic bean, coated in EZ swallow blue. 

King Blog the 8th

Tuesday morning I had the opportunity to ride my bike before a doctor's appointment.
It wasn't yet windy, and it was a little warmer than it was on Friday.  With those two advantages, my glove liners, my fleecy vest, and a better hat, (alas no hot tub), I set off.  I only had about an hour so I couldn't go too far.  And after that ice patch I hit Friday I was a bit nervous of all the frozen piles of leaves and black-ice looking spots on the path, so I only made it about 12.5 miles. 
There is a stretch of trail that I know my Dad used to ride when he visited Denver.  It's the part of the Cherry Creek bike path that starts to head east towards the Reservoir.  I haven't made it up and around the Reservoir yet, but I intend to.  I feel kind of like I'm channeling Dad a bit on this stretch.  Maybe at like, half his speed and intensity, but it's still cool to think of the connection.
One thing I was impressed with (in a sort of grossly fascinating kind of way) was the amount of snot that my head was able to produce in such a short time.  I was convinced every time I blew it would be the last, but somehow there was always more.  Like, an absurd amount.  My water bottle bounced out of it's cage 1.25 miles into the ride, shooting off like a torpedo into the bushes never to be seen again.  So I was certain I would maybe dehydrate enough to turn off this crazy nose faucet.  Not so.
*Side note - I am still practicing how to successfully execute a "farmer's blow" on a bicycle.  I'm fine when upright, but somehow being bent over throws me off.  It's getting a little better - I more often avoid hitting myself with the snot than not, but occasionally still get a few nasty mistakes.  Once it even blew up and covered my sunglasses.  Not even sure how that happened, but it got me.  I think this time I did hit my shoe once, but hey, practice will make perfect.*
I even have some fantastic prescription nose spray designed specifically to stop runny noses.  In fact, I have been diagnosed with "exercise-induced rhinorrhea".  Hilarious-sounding term for "my nose runs like crazy whenever I am outside doing anything active".  This includes activities like: running, biking, walking, standing, driving my car, etc.  Basically if it is cold and/or involves movement of some kind, my nose activates.  The volume seems to be determined by how quickly I am moving and how cold it is.  So on cold, fast moving bike rides - garden hose.  It's disgusting.  More than you wanted to know?
However, this particularly runny ride was apparently a head cold just waiting to kick my ass.  I had a sore throat since riding on Friday, but ignored it with the help of my good friend Tylenol.  It was just waiting for a couple nights of restless sleep and one more nice cold morning to tear me down.  Which it did, sitting in my cube yesterday afternoon, slowly slumping further and further into my chair unable to breathe until I slugged myself home and onto my couch.  Wah.
So, thank you, prescription rhinorrhea nose spray, NETI pot, 12-hour Extra-Moisturizing Afrin, Allegra, Tylenol (and close cousin Tylenol PM), anti-seizure meds, and Xanax for helping me sleep through the night (9.5 hours god save the queen) and feel almost human today.