Team ACS Up and Running

Thanks to the coordinators of the Pigman, I've been able to join the American Cancer Society's Team ACS and start my fund raising. Some of you may have noticed the link posted in the right hand corner of the home page. Though it continues to be a work in progress, I've finally gotten around to personalizing it. Now it's time to get the word out. Help me exceed my $1000 goal for cancer research. I ask that you pass out the link to anyone who has been touched by cancer, who may want to help me make a difference. Together we may be able to defeat it one day.

Resurfacing

Okay, okay, so you may all be thinking, “What was all of this hype about? You were all gung ho about this whole triathlon thing a month or so ago. Where the heck have you been?”

Yes, it’s true. I was all gung ho about this triathlon thing. I have just been too consumed by a stupid book series to post updates to my blog. I’ve gone through the series twice now. Hopefully it’s out of my system and my life can return to normal.

Let me just start by saying, I have not given up my training. I have done everything in my power to cling to my schedule throughout the busy holiday week. Seven family members made the 1,000 mile round trip to visit for Thanksgiving. Despite that, I was up at 5:15 to jump into the pool and then hit the elliptical machine.

Walls were broken down in the past couple of weeks.

I have learned that I absolutely adore swimming. Once upon a time, I was a graceful gymnast. That seems like a bazillion lifetimes ago. Somewhere in from the time that I quit gymnastics to now, I became extremely clumsy. I trip while walking for no good reason. Embarrassing? Yes. True, though. Swimming is giving me that graceful feeling back. The fluid motion is exhilarating and soothing at the same time.

Or maybe I love it because I don’t really sweat while swimming.

Okay, now that whole sweat thing is another issue.

Two weeks ago I started layering my work outs: swimming and then the elliptical machine for about an hour and 15 minutes between the two. It’s a bear, but this whole experience is about endurance right? So now I have two questions:

First, what music do you listen to when you work out? I’m afraid that I’m going to get bored with my iPod selection. I need a heavy rhythm to get me through minutes 4-8 of my elliptical work out, when the machine cranks the tension and incline and my legs start to cry out for mercy. Right now I’m switching between the Faint’s “Symptom Finger” and Jakalope’s “Go Away.” Between the rhythm of the music and my lying to my muscles (“90 seconds more and then you can quit.” “It’s an easy interval, why quit now?” “Hey, this is a really good song. You can quit when it’s over.”), I’ve been able to make it all the way through the cool down. Post your suggestions in the comments and maybe I’ll add them to my play list.

The second question I have is, “Why does dripping sweat feel powerful?” Is it just me and my caffeine deprived mind or are there others out there who feel the same as well? Yes, I still find sweating gross, but empowering at the same time. I guess those are just two feelings that will reconcile themselves with time.

What I have learned in the past week and a half

First and foremost, I have a fear of exhaling under water.

Exhaling is followed by inhaling. Inhaling is something that really isn't best done while your face is submerged in a thousand-something gallon pool.

Mental note to self: there really is no way around this. I guess this makes itself a priority as I have no real desire to drown during the first leg of this race.

Second: The YMCA enjoys sleeping in on Sunday too.

I got up Sunday morning and packed up my bag, thinking that I'd be there when they opened at 7:30 or 8. It would be a nice, quiet time for me to hold on to the edge of the pool, kicking my feet, face under water, breathing out without taking up a swim lane or looking extremely ridiculous to all who knew their way around swimming laps.

It was cold and I didn't have a strong desire to sit in the car if I got there too early, so I checked to see what time they opened. Glad I did. The Y doesn't open until noon on Sundays. Good to know.

Third: For the most part, people don't look at you like you have three heads when you suddenly announce that you want to participate in a triathlon.

No matter what you look like.

This is kind of an ongoing revelation to me. Sure, I have told friends and family, but, well, they're friends and family. I'm pretty certain that there's a law somewhere that they support you no matter how insane your idea is. At least in my circle of friends and family.*

I figured it would be best to come clean with my swimming instructor when he asked what my expectations were for the class.

"Do you just want to become more comfortable in the water? Do you want to work on your stroke?" he asked about half way through my first lesson.

Clearly my response should have been, "I want to learn how to exhale underwater."

Instead I announced my intention of participating in a triathlon.

He looked excited.

"Great! We'll need to work on getting you a really efficient stroke then. Don't worry, we have plenty of time."

When I went for an orientation of sorts earlier this week, to get set up with a basic routine, the instructor who was showing me around casually asked what had made me join the Y.

"I want to do a triathlon in June," was my response.

I think she bounced in response. (Don't most weight room instructors, though?)

"I've done three. We'll get you buffed up and ready in plenty of time."

Maybe it's the Midwest. Everyone here is so nice.

*There has been one exception to that rule. You were, in all honesty, probably joking, but you can still kiss my lake soaked, bicycle seat chafed, sweaty behind come June 7th. You know who you are.

Merrily we roll along

So I was on a roll yesterday.

I had gotten to the store, found a bike helmet that I liked and seemed to fit well. Waited in line to check out and realized that my wallet was still in my back pack. My back pack was currently sitting in my front hall. So I politely asked the young man at the register to hold my items and that I would be back. Maybe after finding out that swim lessons had been cancelled, I should have just gone back to bed.

I treked home, grabbed my wallet, and treked back. I now had a helmet.

And no, for those of you who know me, the helmet is not red. Though now that I think about it, maybe I should have bought a red one. They say that red cars get pulled over for speeding more often, so apparently red = speed. I really could use all of the help that I could get.

I proudly announced to my husband that we are going to go for a bike ride on Sunday. He loves to ride, doing so most work days when the weather permits. He completed his first RAGBRAI this past summer. All I've ever needed to do was tell him when.

"We can go in the morning before the chimney guys get here," was his reply.

"But it's supposed to get down to the 40s tonight." I refrained (I hope) from whining.

"So?"

The whole goal was to push myself outside of my comfort zone, so I agreed.

This morning I climbed out of bed, ate my banana and drank a bit of my coffee. I sized my bike helmet according the manual that came with it. (Whoever thought you'd need a manual for something you wear on your head?!?)

My husband was waiting with both bikes out in the garage. He had his helmet on and was standing next to his bike.

"Aren't we going to drive to the path?" I asked.

"Why would we do that?"

"Because I'm not quite ready to trying conquering hills just yet."

"It's mostly flat. The only real hill is the one back up to the house."

Let me tell you about the hill back up to our house.

In the winter, when it's been icy and snowy for weeks on end, I have to make sure that I have enough speed going in order for my car to climb the hill. There were several instances this past winter where I turned onto the hill from another street half way up and ended up having to reverse back down to the bottom so I could make it home.

This was the hill I was trying to avoid.

There was no arguing. It was pointless, because I wasn't going to win.

"Fine, let's go," I said with a sigh.

I went to climb onto the bike when I realized that there were no pedals. Kind of a problem for riding. I started to feel that maybe I wasn't meant to do this after all. After a five minute search of the garage though, pedals were found and we were off.

As we pedaled toward downtown and the bike path, I played with the gears, trying to figure out which lever did what. About 3/4 of the way to the path I realized, with horror, that I hadn't really been pedaling much and were only 2/3s of the way through the route. That means lots of climbing on the return trip. Just what I had been trying to avoid.

We made it to the path and did a loop around Cedar Lake. Someone had known that I was coming apparently and had spray painted encouragement on the path: "2 miles/Hooray!" and "Finish Line". Okay, so it's probably left over from a 5k run or something, but I'm going to believe that someone was cheering me on.

The trip home felt shorter, though I wanted to cry as we hit every single stop light on the empty road home. The long hill up Grand Avenue ate at me. As much as I tried not to, I had to stop about half way up. I had walked this hill many times and it never seemed bad. On a bike, it felt like a beast. How was I going to make it back up the hill to my house?

We stopped for a minute and then continued on. My husband encouraging all along the way. Once it leveled out, it was only a short distance through the park and then to the beast.

I had failed the hill a few months ago after a shorter ride than the one that we had just taken. I didn't know if I could do it. But we looped the parking lot of the park for a few minutes and discussed strategy. I knew the gears better and was way more determined this time.

We hit the hill and I began downshifting. A quarter of the way up it and I maxed out. It was as easy as it was going to get. I looked towards the top and saw how far I had to go and started to panic. Pete talked me through it. I stopped looking towards the end and kept my focus on what was immediately in front of me.

Suddenly the pedals began to spin.

I had reached the top.

Day one did not go swimmingly

Okay, so Saturday was day one of training. Despite having been to a Halloween party late the night before, I got myself out of bed at 7 am to get ready to head to the Y for my first swim lesson.

Yes. Swim lessons.

I can do a mean doggie paddle and even have the basics of a crawl down, but I don't think these skills are going to be very helpful come June. So swim lessons it is.

I threw all of my gear into a bag and was heading down stairs when I realized that I didn't have a lock for the lockers. A quick scramble through the house and I came to the conclusion that I was going to have to lock my wallet and phone in the car and just pray that no one felt compelled to steal my jeans and t-shirt. I didn't relish the thought of wandering through the lobby in my still dripping swimsuit and out into the 45 degree day just to drive home.

I signed in at the front desk since I didn't have a permanent membership card just yet and headed off to the locker room. I made it pool side with ten minutes to spare. (Sometimes I forget that we live in Iowa now and downtown is all of four minutes away from where we live.) The nice young lady manning the lifeguard station (at least, I assume that's what she was doing) very kindly told me that I was more than welcome to share a lane if I wished.

I quietly declined, telling her that I was there for the adult lessons. I mentally added that she really shouldn't wish that on someone just yet.

I waited, watching the ladies complete the last several minutes of the water aerobics class until 8 o'clock when they all climbed out of the pool and headed back towards the locker room. At that time the nice young lady asked me if I was sure that the class was supposed to begin at 8. "Yup, pretty sure," was my reply.

She picked up her phone and made a phone call, talking for a few minutes before turning back to me. For some reason I had been dropped off the roster, leaving only one other person in the class, so it had been cancelled. She asked for my name and number and told me that the instructor would be in contact with me. She added that I was more than welcome to a kick board, as that's what I would probably be doing for the first lesson anyway. I thanked her and headed back for the locker room.

The people at the front desk were amazing. Without bursting into tears, I explained the phone call by the pool and what I thought might have happened. I had signed up for lessons prior to becoming a member. On the day that I had given in and actually joined the Y, I was told that there would be a system credit for the difference between the member and non-member price of the swim lessons. It turned out that yes, they had removed me from the class a non-member and credited my account, but had forgotten to put me back in at the member rate. The guy at the front desk found all of the transaction records and printed them, gave me the names and numbers of people I should contact and told me that he would make sure they had the paperwork he had printed out.

I went home. I felt dejected. How was I going to meet my goal if I couldn't take the lessons?

On the ride home I went through some positive self-talk. Yes, this is crappy. Am I out? No. I'll just have to find a work around.

But it's day one of training and the plan had been to swim. That was now out; what else could I do? Run? Ugh. Bike? Oops! I hadn't thought to get a bike helmet. Crap, that was out. I guess it was going to be running.

I decided on the more discreet treadmill in our guest bedroom. I lacked form. I lacked stamina. I lacked the desire to look like a complete goober in front of a neighborhood full of physically fit people. Treadmill it was.

I had just gotten home and told my story to my husband when my cell phone rang. It was the Y. They had sorted it all out and lessons would begin next Saturday. Hurray! I wasn't going to drown during my first Tri! That re-inflated my sails a bit and pushed me to climb onto the treadmill.

I only made it running/jogging/walking for 20 minutes before I was exhausted and gave in. Considering all that happened that day, I considered it a minor success. I realize now that I need to have a better plan for the treadmill. I'll work on that this weekend.

As for Sunday, I'm off to buy a bike helmet.

What's in a Name?

So some of you may be wondering, "Kristie, what's the deal with the name of your blog?"


Here's the skinny:


I have requested the permission of the event coordinators to sign up to be a member of the American Cancer Society's Team ACS. This program allows individuals to sign up to raise money for cancer research while participating in an event such as a triathlon, 10k run or even a bake sale.


Truth be told, a bake sale is really way more my style. I went to school for the pastry arts after all. I revel in brownie batter, ganache and fluffy Italian Meringue Buttercream. But honestly, what fun is that?

Someone, who had the distinct advantage of a completely objective point of view of my life, reminded me of my "circle of influence." The conversation wasn't the sort that would reveal life's secrets, the keys to happiness and whatnot. It was just the gentlest of nudges. Enough to remind me that I have the ability to control my life. Intentional or not, I have taken this to heart. "Step out of your comfort zone," now whispers in my ear.

(I shall now stop with the transcendental talk. While truly heartfelt, it waxes poetic.)

Back to the explanation.

My goal, should I be given the go ahead, is to raise $1000 for cancer research by participating in the triathlon. If, for someone reason, I'm not given permission to join Team ACS then my goal is to simply complete this triathlon in memory my mother-in-law, who lost her battle in August of 2007.

Either way, I do this for her.

T-minus 2 days to training.

Count down to training

"Aren't you the one who said that you don't like to sweat?"my sister-in-law, Angela, said to me today as we discussed my desire to start training for a triathlon.

"Yup. That's me," I replied.

"You know that participating in a triathlon is going to make you sweat, right?" she shot back.

You see, I am not an athlete.

Sure, my parents put me in gymnastics when I was three. It was most likely to keep my from climbing the walls; hoping it would keep me from using the back of the couch a balance beam. It didn't work. In fact, I'm pretty sure it just encouraged me. I stuck with it for seven years until I entered fifth grade. In my infinite ten-year-old wisdom I announced that I wanted to quit gymnastics to become follow my heart: cheerleading. So my parents switched me from gymnastics to tumbling. Sadly, I quickly lost interest and thus ended my Olympic dreams.

There were the couple of years that I played soccer in a rec league. My dad was the coach. Probably the only reason why I actually got to play. Not that he played favorites. He made sure that all the kids got time on the field, no matter how bad they were. My prowess on the field was probably the reason why I never got to take over the coveted goalie position, now matter how much I begged. The parents of the kids that actually had talent were probably frustrated enough.

And I did play baseball in my church's baseball league. I remember the exhilaration of hitting the ball and making it to first base for the very first time. Sadly, it was in the last game of the season. In the last inning.

Which brings me back to the conversation that I was having with my sister-in-law.

I have come to the decision that I am going to participate in the Pigman Triathlon in June.

There's a lot of sweating that's going to happen between now and then.

Training begins November 1st.

T minus 4 days and counting...