Three Tarantulas and a Bear Enter a Race (Part 2)

Nine weeks of focused training led me to this moment: Smiling with my hand on my wetsuit-clad hip, pretending that the picture being taken was the most important thing I would do all day. Nick gave me a quick good luck kiss and walked me down to the dock where people were splashing their feet and warming their bodies to prepare for the upcoming exercise.

Lining up with the other women, I put my pink swimcap over my blonde braids and looked at the athletes I was up against. Only two swimmers were in the water, the rest of the women were on the shore, conversing about breakfast and final bladder emptying. My eyes scanned the crowd: Strong women, fast women, brave women... and me. To beat these women, I would have to swim my strongest, bike my fastest and run my bravest. The challenge was in front of me and all I had to do was stretch my arms forward and grab it, one stroke, one pedal, one step at a time.

Nick stood on the dock, his overgrown blonde hair peaking from beneath his cap and his smile attempting to exit the sides of his face. I gave him a slight grin, trying not to convey the fact that I was filled with pure stokernous (what you get when you combine the emotions of being stoked and nervous at the same time. To be honest, I was ecstatic to have him there cheering me on. This would be his first time seeing me race! And I couldn't think of anyone else I would rather have kiss my lips at the finish line.

At the same time though, I was nervous. What if I got a flat tire? Or if I was the last swimmer out of the lake? Would he be disappointed that we drove all this way? That he had to take time off of work? I had to push these thoughts out of my head and remember that none of that would happen. Even if it did, it wouldn't matter because I was here to compete and to have fun doing it.

The countdown began and I looked over the water through goggled eyes. I had this.

My goal swim time was to hold a 2:26 pace and be out of the water in 38 minutes and 57 seconds. I beat that with a 2:19 pace, exiting the water in 37 minutes and 13 seconds.

I ran up the launch and into the transition area, exiting in 57 seconds less time than I had planned. Taking a big bite of dry Picky Bar while I swung my leg over my Felt DA4, I began the first climb out of the marina.

The day was perfect. Sun was shining on the earth and my tires were at the exact PSI I needed to feel strong. I passed three men on their bikes and smiled to myself. Swimming may not be my best event, but maybe I could take some people off my list on the bike. Holding an average pace of 19mph, I watched as the vineyards and volunteers encouraged me along. Then the turnaround came. It was time for some hill climbs. I turned a corner and there was a... tarantula?! Was that really a giant spider I saw or was it a rat?!? A rat would make more sense, but the furry creature definitely had more than 4 legs! Maybe I was seeing things... maybe I was pushing harder than I thought I was... but I'm pretty sure I just saw a tarantula.

The arthropod must have scared my biceps femoris, because my pedal stroke sped up a little bit and I finished the 25 mile bike portion 23 seconds under my goal time!

Transition was not as smooth between the bike and the run and my legs felt heavy as I embarked on the two lap hilly 6.2 mile course. "She's still smiling," some guys commented. "That cutie in the braids has a huge smile on her face. She must be having fun!" I whipped my head back and gave them the cheesiest, toothiest grin I could muster, then I darted away... at a much slower pace than to which the word "darting" usually refers.

When I crossed the finish line, Nick was there waiting for me with a smile and open arms. I was so excited to see him that I almost forgot to collect my medal and give my timing chip back. My boyfriend was proud of me, but more importantly, I was proud of myself. Race one down, one more to go! Knowing I had placed, we stuck around for a couple of hours and watched football and played arcade car racing games until the award ceremony.

On the drive back home, I told Nick we had to make a pit stop; little did he know I had big birthday plans up my sleeve!

Three Tarantulas and a Bear Enter a Race... Part 1

Back at it... It's only been a year. Hello, hello? Is anyone out there? Is this thing on?

Sorry I left you all. I know you have missed me greatly. There are just only so many seconds in a day yet so many workouts to fit in, patients to teach and clients to correct. But I'm here! I'm here. Don't go away!

For my 28th birthday yesterday, I decided I needed to do more of what makes me happy. Writing this blog was definitely an endorphine releaser for me. So here I am!

And not only am I back on the blog, I am back on the race scene, too.

This last weekend, the boyfriend and I drove down to California... aw, home. I took four days off of work and packed my camping gear for the best vacation ever!!!... or so I thought. Turned out we didn't camp... In fact, it turned out we didn't really vacation. We sat. And sat. Raced a little. Then sat some more. Ugh. We didn't drive the coast at all. We didn't see the Redwoods like we planned or camp along the sand as I hoped. But at least I was with Nick and he is not an eyesore.

We drove into Pismo Beach Friday afternoon and, after checking in at our friend's hotel (shout out to The Oxford! You should definitely stay there! Great hotel!), we drove (some more) out to Lopez Lake where the Scott Tinley Tri Series were to take place over the next two days.

Funny thing about Lopez Lake: There is a $10 charge per day just to get into the marina. Say what? I remembered this tidbit of information from three years ago when I last competed, so Nick and I parked outside of the gate... we thought we had them fooled. Apparently, you have to pay to park outside of the gate as well. So not worth it. Next time, I'm skydiving into the marina (we will get to that later!).

Anyway, as we turned the corner to cross over the lake, I noticed the water level was low. We all know California is going through a drought, but this looked like Wildflower 2014 all over again! The place where I usually do my practice swim is literally sand now. Just sand, not even a puddle of water! Not even a drop! They even moved part of the mountain bike course to go through that sand... worst idea ever (again, we will go over that later)!

Nick and I parked the car and rode our bikes to the packet pickup. After grabbing my two bags (oh, did I mention I did two races back-to-back. Yeah. That was something), we biked over to the sand that was once water and hiked our way to the muck and mud where dead fish were strewn across the sides. Hastily, I put on my wetsuit and looked at Nick with my squinty brown eyes. "You look huge," he said. Let's just say he will never see me in a wetsuit again!

I did my little ten minute routine, speeding up then slowing the pace. Every once in awhile, I could see my hand in the water and it looked like a catfish ready to eat me for dinner. Then the water would suddenly get warm (no, I did not wet myself) and I would flee to the shore for safety. "It's only been 7 minutes," Nick would say. Reluctantly, I would go back out again wondering if he really would be able to save me if that catfish took me under.

When my Garmin beeped ten minutes into the swim, I hustled back to the muddy bank and climbed my way through the muck and back to Nick. With eyes wide, he choked back a laugh.

"Do I have muck on my face," I inquired.

"Just a little," he stifled the giggle.

We grabbed my race packs and rode our bikes back outside the gate to the car. Gnats gnawed at our bare skin under the heat of the midday sun. Nick's patience was wearing thin. I promised him we would make the bike ride short, but that promise was unfulfilled when we were given the wrong directions for the mountain bike route. We were lost and dehydrated by the time we found the road. I told Nick I needed 30 more minutes on the trail, but I would meet him back at the car. An hour later, I found him swatting at invisible flying objects.

Not wanting to irritate him even more, I agreed to run alone from our hotel. With that, we loaded the car and cruised back to Pismo Beach.

My legs never felt the run, but my belly sure felt that delicious Italian dinner we had with Nick's friends in San Lois Obispo!

To be continued...

What Was I Thinking?

The Monday after the Wild Canyon Games, I was driving home from a YoungLife barbecue and saw Stephen Campbell on a run. I waved him down to introduce myself. As we chatted about triathlons, training and the WCGs, he asked if I was going to be participating in the Pacific Crest Triathlon.

The more I thought about it, the more realized what a good idea it would be. Being a half Ironman, it would be a great race to practice nutrition and go half the distance of my August race. So I pulled in the driveway, parked my car, rushed inside, turned on my laptop and... realized my credit card was still in my car. After flying downstairs to grab my wallet, I tried again. Five minutes later, I was signed up. Well, that was quick.

The race was this last weekend. I stayed up late the night before to pick up a friend from the bus station. The next morning, I felt confident. I woke up early, watched some Wimbledon and ate my oatmeal. On my way to the race start, I took a new route... and got really lost. I made it to the race start with 10 minutes until "Go Time". Well shoot. So much for setting up the transition area. My wetsuit magically appeared on my body (with some effort from my strong arms and some wetsuit shuffling) and off I went. The woman next to me asked how I kept such a calm face. Thank goodness my eyes weren't betraying my inner nerves.

Swimming felt amazing. I grabbed on to the feet of the man in front of me and drafted off of him for a good 400 meters before he kicked me off. The water was a wonderful 64 degrees. 1.2 miles went by in a flash with reggae music playing in my head. Every stroke felt efficient, my body placement was correct, my sighting was on for the first time ever. The orange swim caps around me bobbed up and down. I was in the middle of the gaggle, not the back.

I pulled out of the water and ran up to my bike.

This is not a race. This is a dress rehearsal. 

These words reminded me to slow down, to savor the moment. I ate half of a Picky Bar and peeled my wetsuit off. My face turned green with envy as I looked at the bikes stacked next to mine. I thought mine were beautiful, but I was so wrong. My Felt DA4 is chicken scratch compared to the Cervelo next to me. But hey, it's the rider, not the bike, right? Too bad I was losing both those standings.

I started the bike going way too fast. 20.1 mph uphill compared to the 16 mph at which I usually train. Once I made it to Elk Lake, it will be all downhill from there... or so I thought... I figured it would be okay to push hard on the false flat because I would have a fast downhill to reward me at the end. So wrong I was. Before that nice, rewarding downhill is a 20-mile uphill battle. Not just uphill. We are talking UP THE FREAKING BIG A HILL. As I started the climb, I shifted gears and felt my chain freeze; it had fallen off the chain ring. I unclipped and struggled to get it back on the ring. People passed me and asked if everything was okay- the same people I had just passed. Grrrrr. I walked to a fairly flat area and got back on the saddle. Up I went. And up some more. And more. And... wait, there's some more. QUADS. GLUTES. GET ME OFF OF THIS DARN BIKE!!!

At the top, I found the descent. It was windy... so windy. As I gripped my aerobars, I feared a gust of wind would take my tires right out from under me and leave me with major road rash and a bruised ego... best case scenario. A man flew past me and screamed WAHOO! I passed him a little later and said, "Tag, you're it!" He laughed and we kept the game going until the second transition.

The run started and I downed the rest of my Picky Bar. Three miles in, I realized my pace was way too quick. Maybe I should walk for two minutes just to slow down, I told myself. Bad idea. I didn't have to walk, but once I did, the pain set in. I could not get my run back. Four miles later, in a fit of 8 minutes jogging, 2 minutes walking, I saw Robbie at the water stop. Robbie!

Robbie is a runner and good friend. He cheered me on and I felt a slight amount of inspiration. Okay, I got this. Oh, wait, no I don't. I was done. My legs were done. It would be a long "run". I trudged through the run path and gave up hope. Hanging my head low, my bike friend passed me and said hello. Well, shoot... now I was in for trouble. Am I really going to do a full Ironman next month? Yuck. No motivation left on the path.... until...

My mom's blonde fro peaked around from the corner of some bushes. MOM! She jogged with me and suddenly I felt much more motivated. I took off toward the finish line. Not too much time passed before I was walking again. A man came to my side and said, "You and I are playing the same walk/run game. C'mon, there's only a mile left. Let's do this." Kevin, as the man's friends called him, and I jogged slowly toward the town center. I could smell victory. With 400 yards left to go, I encouraged Kevin to kick it up and finish strong with me. He declined and my legs kicked in. I dashed to the finish line, crossed with my head high then wobbled to get my medal... the prettiest medal I've ever seen.

Kelly and my parents were waiting for me at the end. It was a wonderful way to finish the most beautiful, yet most challenging course in which I have ever competed.

That night, Kelly, Megan and I went to Cruxapalooza and won the selfie contest! WINNERS!!!!!

And that's what it takes to be a Bad Ass.

Let the Pain Begin

After Wildflower, I thought I would give myself a week to recover. You know what recovery is, right? Laying on the couch, painting, playing with the dogs, reading a book... all fantastic ideas! But after 3 days of "recovery", which looked more like taking my friends on a hike, teaching Pilates and driving back to Oregon, I decided to stop letting time slip by and begin training for Ironman Boulder.

Coaching yourself in triathlon is hard work. When I hired a coach two years ago, it was fantastic because he would look at my ten hours of training per day and say, "Ashlee, what are you thinking?! I want you to take an entire day off." I would do an easy bike ride instead. Coach would see me and say, "Ashlee... I mean it! No working out today!" It is so much easier to recover when you are forced into it.

So today, I looked at my schedule and saw a huge gap of time between teaching yoga and meeting with Leah. What better way to fill that time than to go crank out a 23 mile bike test then brick it with a five mile trail run? Great idea!

So the IMBoulder training has begun.

STATS AS OF MAY 8, 2014

BIKE               23.1 MILES
RUN                5.0 MILES
SWIM             0 MILES
WEIGHTS      0:15
YOGA             1:00
PILATES        0:00        

Starting photos with three months to go:

Comeback Tour 2014

One stroke, one peddle and one step... followed by multiple more. Gotta love Wildflower!

One year and two weeks ago, I had surgery on my anterior cruciate tendon. When the doctor was finished, he looked me in the eyes and told me the tendon could not reach and I would never run again. I remember tears flooding my eyes as I realized my job had come to an end and my life as I knew it would be totally flipped upside down.

Then something amazing happen. I prayed and I trusted that God would heal me if it was in His plan. My parents and my sister were my biggest fans and they continued to encourage me when I felt like the road had come to an end. With determination and phenomenal physical therapists, I got back on my feet and started working to strengthen the muscles in my leg. I still remember the first mile I ran with my PT Jason. It was a grueling 8:43 mile and I didn't think I would make it the entire way, but I did it. Slowly, I built my way back to race shape.

A year later, here I am: Lake San Antonio, California. My Santa Barbara Tri Team is here; Sloan is here; my mom, Todd and Richard are here! Life is great!

The morning started at the bottom of my tent. In Wyoming, the kids nicknamed me Inchworm because I would inch into a new sleeping spot throughout the night. Last night, I inched to the bottom of the tent. I woke up and laid in my bag for a bit before making my morning oatmeal in my Darth Vador mug from Jameisha.

*Sidenote: Happy Star Wars Day! May the Fourth be with you! Remember last year I had a Star Wars marathon day on this day? My, how things change.
  

After setting up my transition area and meeting up with Richard (which completely made my day!!), I got on the shuttle and headed out to Harris Creek. I had almost 2 hours until my start time, so I did some squats and some Optimal Core Performance/Pure Awesomeness. This girl Heidi set up next to me and we became fast friends! Turns out her dad lives in Santa Barbara! Heidi and I walked down to the race start and got ready to go.

This year's race was a little different because of the water levels at Lake San Antonio. It was so low, they had to move the swim out two miles from the transition area. So, instead of the typical swim 1.5k, bike 40k and run 10k, it was a swim 1.5k, run 2k, bike 40k and run 4k. The water we swam in was sludge. As soon as you put your face under the water, it was a total black out; even darker than if you had closed your eyes.

All of that is usually covered in water

The swim felt awesome! It was the first race I felt really confident in my abilities. Hiring a swim coach was a great idea. A big thanks to Jeremy for whipping my butt into gear! I was able to spot pretty well, even after having my goggles kicked off and losing my cap then having to carry it in my hand while I stroked.

During the first run, I was right on pace. I felt like I was floating on air! But I looked down and realized my timing chip had come off with my wetsuit. Oh shoot. I debated turning around, but I was already 1.8 miles in. When I got to the transition, I had hoped to get out within 3 minutes, but I had to run around trying to find someone to get me a new timing chip.

The bike started about the same time Lynch Hill started. Eek! I heard Richard and Laura cheering my name then climbed that hill like nobody's business. Right when I hit the point of utter exhaustion, I heard Todd call my name. He was running up the hill next to me, my cell phone in his hand. "Your mom wanted me to play this for you," he shouted. Eye of the Tiger blasted through the speakers. The woman next to me commented that she was sticking with me the whole way and I asked Todd if he would run 25 miles with us.

My mom was at the top of the hill, yelling and cheering. I tore down the road, pressing and pulling. My legs felt so strong. The entire bike was amazing. People nicknamed me The Pink Powerhouse and kept commenting to each other that they didn't know how I was able to climb so well. One man told me that he was known for being a great climber, but he was impressed that I was kicking his butt. No one ever passed me! I don't know if it was the new bike, my legs or just the fact that I trusted God would get me to the end, but I felt so good!

I rode into the transition area ready to go, but once I was off of the bike and had my Kinvaras on, my quads started to seize up. Todd ran up beside me with music, but once we hit the first hill, I had to walk. I had never felt so much pain in my life, not even after my accident. The hill was a beast, but I didn't have to take off my shoes this year!

Running down Lynch Hill toward the finish line, I knew I had not met my goal of completing the race in under three hours or placing in the top 20, but I raced with all I had and I did it! My tendon held and I am here to tell the tale!

My race ended with hugs and notes of encouragement from my family and friends, a bouquet of gorgeous flowers from Richard, a bracelet from Todd and a huge grin on my face.

This just goes to show, with faith, encouragement, determination and hard work, you can do anything to which you set your mind.

Next race: Ironman Boulder! Let's do this!!!

Recovery: Not For the Weak of Heart

Last weekend was my test weekend. I went out for a long run, prepared to suffer. I started with a 5-mile warm-up and it felt awesome. In fact, it felt so good that when I decided to bump it up for the test portion, I took my pace down an entire minute... and it felt magical. If you are an athlete though, you know what happens when you try to take a full minute off of your goal pace... you know what happens when you even try to take 10 seconds off your goal pace!

Ash, you need to slow down.

I know, legs, but you feel so good! I could go for hours at this pace!

No, you can't. In fact, I'll bet you can't even finish thirty minutes at this pace.

I'll take that bet, legs! And I'll raise you! I used to hold this pace with no effort whatsoever!

Yeah, you used to have a tendon, then that car hit you.

Whatever. I got this. I am Iron Man.

Nope... I am not Iron Man. Less than 20 minutes into the test, my body started to give up on me. I swung my arms like a mad woman and urged my hips forward. Go, go, go! But my legs didn't go. In fact, they abruptly slowed and almost stopped completely.

I sucked down a Gu Roctane like there was no tomorrow. Pure pineapple goodness overwhelmed my taste buds. My eyes rolled back in sheer ecstasy and I was fairly confident I had never felt so good in my life, despite having just failed miserably.

The next morning, I cut my bike ride short. My swim test was a full two minutes slower than my base 2 test. I shook it off and figured I was just off that weekend.

But things didn't get better over the week.

I taught six Pilates classes, a yoga class and some functional strength and ski conditioning classes. That on top of my daily running, cycling and swimming. This was my first week in Build 1, but my paces were slower than my base week and my body felt fatigued.

NO! I will not be a Christmas Star!

Instead of letting my body rest, I pushed through the fatigue like an elephant pushing through tar. On Thursday, my body was dead, but I ran anyway. I jogged out to Matt's grave and took him a rock I had found at the beach with my friend Luke. Then I set a QOM on Strava and I was stoked. Unfortunately, later that night during Taco Thursday with Rebecca, I could feel my right hip seizing up.

The hip caused me to cut my ride short on Friday morning. On Saturday, the weather was perfect. I could not wait to go out for a long, beautiful run. Starting with a REALLY easy jog, I headed down the road. Only minutes later, I was trying hard not to succumb to walking. But it was over. My run was not going to happen. My hip was so tight that I could barely put weight on it. Limping home, I made cornbread and spent the rest of the evening watching the Olympics and eating cornbread (3/4's of the pan by myself) and chili with Finley.

Honestly, I felt like a failure, but deep inside, I knew I had made the right decision. As an athlete, it is so hard to believe that it is okay to rest, but it is. I would rather miss an entire weekend of CRUCIAL workouts than miss my actual race. So for now I am swallowing my pride, refusing to check my Strava stats and sitting on an ice pack until I can go see Jason and have him fix me.

Look at me! I've become a smart athlete! Maybe a losing athlete, but at least I'm smart... I hope.

I stumbled upon this post and found myself nodding my head with every point made by the author. This is me in a nutshell. I am so glad I am not alone in this.

Enjoy!

Also, blast from the past: http://ashleetrisharder.blogspot.com/2013/04/asking-triathlete-on-date.html

HOW TO DATE A TRIATHLETE/MARATHON RUNNER/ENDURANCE JUNKIE.

Posted by Carrie Schep in Cycling, Endurance lifestyle, Endurance sports, Inspiration, Ironman,Marathon, Running, Swimming, Triathlon and tagged with Cyclists, Dating, Endurance athletes,Runners, Triathletes, TriathlonDecember 22, 2013

1. Don’t.

Just kidding. In fact, endurance junkies are some of the most quality people around. All of those hours spent alone with ourselves in the meditative realm ofZone 2 really forces us to think about things like who we are, what we believe in, the meaning of life, what we’re going to eat immediately when we get home, and other critical themes.

But it’s not as simple as run, rinse, repeat. Being a true endurance junkie is a lifestyle. It’s a state of mind. For many of us, training makes us better people every day. It serves us in ways other people or experiences have not or cannot. And so we find ourselves caught up in a committed relationship, legs intertwined with the goddess of multisport.

As I once (perhaps mistakenly) told a past boyfriend: “You may be my boyfriend, but triathlon is my husband.”

Needless to say, this did not go over very well. I was mostly kidding, but I think we both knew it to largely be true. He replied with some snarky comment about “time spent in the saddle,” which I actually recall being quite clever and pun-ny.

This past summer and fall, in an attempt to unearth just what it is that makes us endurance junkies so “un-datable,” I conducted a rather unscientific social experiment: I went on 21 dates in 21 weeks, with 21 non-endurance athletes (a.k.a. “normal people”). Here’s what I discovered to be the top most misunderstood aspects of the endurance junkie’s lifestyle.

1. Most of us are introverts. Sure, we may be the life of the party on the rare occasions we are out socializing. We may seem extroverted because of our tendency to be outgoing when others are around. But don’t be fooled. Usually that’s just the endorphins talking. Or the fact that eventually, we need to balance out our 90% alone time with some human contact. Either way, just be prepared for someone who likes to be a bit of a lone wolf. It takes a certain type to spend hours alone running and cycling, and that certain type usually has a penchant for solitude that may be disturbing to others.

2. Please, please, please don’t make us stay out late with you. Our idea of “going out” involves literally going outdoors on foot or bicycle, preferably in the wee hours of Saturday morning when the rest of the world is sleeping off an impending hangover. If you make us stay out late with you at some sub-par Mexican restaurant, and hence compromise the quality or timing of our planned weekend long run/ride, we will resent you. And eat all the chips and salsa without regard for the others at the table. Consider yourself warned.

3. We WILL spend more time swimming, biking, and running, than with you.Sorry. It’s not that we don’t like you, it’s just that, well, we like SBR better.

4. Vacations, dates, and trips centered around doing something physical and rugged are incredibly hot. Especially if you can keep up/only if you can keep up.

5. Please don’t make comments about our choice of dress. We got up at 3:30 am and ran 54 miles today, so yes, it’s gonna be another sweatpants day.

6. Please don’t make comments about the state of our feet, or the strange rashes on our backs and butts. Listen, I’ve been working on those calluses for years. And brush burn can happen to the best of us. It’s a badge of honor. Now hand me my body butter.

7. It’s really, honestly, seriously not about the bike. Some multisport “hobbyists”, as I like to call them, are really just into gear: flashy bikes, fancy moisture-wicking apparel, gravity-defying running shoes. I think those folks are in the minority though. Really, for most of us, it’s about the process. The bike is just a vehicle for personal growth and change.

8. …but if you HAVE to give us a gift, give us a bike! Okay, maybe not a bike (has anyone looked at the price tags on those things these days? Insane!), but something we can use to make ourselves more comfortable, efficient, and/or entertained while slogging it out there. As they say, carbon fiber is a girl’s best friend. Or is it only me who says that? Meh.

9. We probably finished off that entire box of cereal. SORRY. It takes a lot of fuel to power through several hours of cardio exercise every day. Or at least, so we tell ourselves. If you bring it to our attention that downing an entire box of Product 19 in a day is gross, we will feel sad, misunderstood and self conscious. So just don’t go there.

10. No run = cranky + moody. I once saw a t-shirt at a local running shop that had the words “NO RUN = CRANKY + MOODY” printed on it in large block print. I felt relieved that clearly, I was not the only one to have experienced this phenomenon. Now where can I find a cute guy sporting said shirt?

11. We’re geeks for numbers. A lot of triathlon lingo is centered around numbers, figures, and calculations. Do we expect you to understand when we toss around terms like “max cadence,” “wattage,” “millimeter offset,” and “Yasso 800s“? Yes, yes we do.

12. Yes, we are capable of love. We just show it differently. Here’s my theory, which is loosely based on my associations with triathlete and marathoning friends over the years: we just have a different sense of relativity, slightly different tolerance for solitude and independence, and frequently a radically different neurohormonal profile, than the general populous. We like our friends to be people who understand the value of setting personal goals and doggedly going after them, with perhaps seeming disregard for other aspects of life. Needless to say, this typically isn’t considered very socially acceptable; women especially are deemed neglectful if they choose to pursue “hobbies” outside of family and even career. 

The thing about triathletes and endurance athletes is that many of us have rediscovered the power of positive motivation, encouragement, and coaching in our adult lives. The paradigm of pushing through personal boundaries to shatter past records and achieve new, previously unattainable goals is something many of us move away from after we graduate from high school sports teams. This lens–one of encouragement, big dreaming, and distinctive goal-setting–is the one through which we understand how to show love and affection. If one of my friends mentions a goal she’s been entertaining, you sure as hell bet I’ll be on her case about realizing that goal and surpassing it. This comes off as annoying to some, but more often than not I’ve been met with appreciation.

Perhaps most people don’t get enough of this on a regular basis. When was the last time you heard someone say something like, “I believe in you,” “You can do anything you set your mind to,” or “Dream big”? These are things we were liberally showered with as children, but such encouragement and belief in oneself falls by the wayside as we grow up and hide away behind our desk jobs. This makes me sad.

I think people who are drawn to things like endurance sports are people who have recognized that realistically, only a finite amount of achievement and goal realization is possible in the “real world”. The concept of the entirely self-made man or woman is a thing of the past, as our careers and personal lives function more at the whim of the economy, our happenstance social network, and random obstacles that arise than our education and persistence. No longer does good, honest hard work necessarily translate into getting where one wants to be.

With triathlon, the payback is reliably and predictably related to the amount of work that’s put into it. Working hard = progress, and progress = personal growth and improvement. We crazy endurance junkies have found an arena in which one of the most basic human needs is not only attainable, it’s incredibly accessible. Maybe we’re not so crazy, after all?

In summary: how to date a triathlete:

-Dream big

-Stock up on Product 19.

The end.

The Importance of Being an Athlete

Yesterday, as my physical therapist was directing me through various running drills, he told me about one of his other patients who is one of the top high school cross country runners in the state.

“The problem is,” he began. “She is a runner, not an athlete.”

Wait? How can you be a runner and not an athlete? Better question: How can you be one of the best runners in the state and not be considered an athlete?

“She can only run straight,” he told me. Then he demonstrated what happens when she comes up to an obstacle. Instead of side stepping the tree or bench or whatever it might be, she has to turn ninety degrees to get around it. The obstacle throws her off. She can only run straight.

So many runners love running and focus their attentions solely on it that they forget to cross-train. They don’t spend time doing plyometric drills or taking a Pilates class. All of their movements stay in one plane and they forget to exercise other planes of motion. The great thing about cross-training is it improves flexibility, helps with joint stability, prevents overuse injuries and keeps you motivated!

Conveniently, there are several gyms that specialize in cross-training classes. But being indoors is not everyone’s first option. Personally, I prefer getting my sweat on outdoors in the sunshine. So what are some of the best ways to mix up your workout in order to become an athlete and not just a runner? Yoga and swimming are two fantastic options! Jump in the ocean or in a lake and swim for 30 or so minutes, using different types of strokes to get the full body involved. After you finish, lay out the towel you just used to dry off and do a variety of yoga stretches. Add in some clam shells, hip raises and downward dogs and you are good to go!

Check out this article from active.com for a quick and easy yoga workout that you can do anywhere!

http://beta.active.com/articles/6-basic-yoga-workouts

Image courtesy of Google.com

My SB Pure Awesomeness Pilates Class

Go Hug a Lane Line

The only thing good about yesterday's swim was knowing I didn't have to do it for another two days. My mood shifted drastically between the hours of 1:30PM and 3:00PM. As I walked out on the pool deck, I noticed a man who is often in the pool and always wants to talk my ear off. I only have X amount of time for this swim. Must ignore. Rude, I know, but I had to get my workout in. Quinn sauntered over my way.

"How's the training going," he started off the way he always begins our typical conversations.

I replied with the same response I always give him: "I don't wanna swim!"

Dragging my feet and feeling super uncomfortable in my bikini, I showered off and sat on the side of the pool, feet dangling in the water. I looked at the woman in my lap lane. She was slow, but she seemed to be enjoying herself. Awkwardly, I pulled my cap on and rinsed out my green goggles. Another day, another swim workout...

I could feel my zappos rubbing at my big toe, tearing through the skin. I took them off and continued the swim. The faster you swim, the sooner you finish and the sooner your "weekend" starts.

Sharing a lap lane with people always bothers me. If I'm not in their way, they're in mine. I hug the right side of my lane, just like I do when I drive. I don't know what it is about me and rights, but I always stay on the border, driving on the edge of the road, bumping into the lane line.  Internally, I celebrated when the woman pulled herself out of the water. The lane was mine! Mwah-ha-haa... A young man got in my lane. Dumb.

He was new to swimming and preferred floating on his back. Multiple times, I would swim right into him, despite the fact I was touching the lane line. So much for a speed workout. "You are fast," he said as I stretched out.

"Oh, not really," I smiled, shyly.

"No, you are a great swimmer. I am new to swimming." You don't say...

This week has been filled with these types of workouts. My swim last Tuesday consisted of four older Mexican gentlemen walking and lounging in the lanes while myself and another man tried to circle swim. What were they doing? I have no idea. I spent an hour dodging the obstacles they presented.

I am getting very irritated with swimming at the pool. Not going to lie, I am getting tired of swimming in general. Never do I look forward to it. But there is a catch... I am loving what is happening to my arms. My times on the Vasa-swim are going down, too. Dang it. Such a catch 22.

That's all I have to say. I hate swimming. The end.

A Great Weekend for a PR

Run, run, run, run. La die dah dah. I love to run.

The adventure started last Friday. I fed the dogs, taught cycle, then loaded the car and drove south. The sun reflected off of the waves at Rincon on my right. To my left, the "mountains"/hills stood tall and alive (with the sound of music?). I call them "mountains" because people in my town think that's what they are. If you are from Oregon or Washington or really any place with a bump of ground that is taller than 2,500 feet, you know these are really just hills. Regardless, I couldn't help but soak in the beauty that surrounded me and think to myself, "This is where I live".

I was giddy with excitement. So giddy, in fact, that every time I thought about my breathtaking surroundings or about the Walk the Sun song on my iPod or the trip I was about to take, I couldn't hold my lips back from curling up into a smile, teeth included.

Deep breath in. This is happiness.

I have had my days where happiness seemed unfathomable. But this? There was no denying this feeling that everything in life was as it should be. 

The LA traffic was heavy. Timing doesn't matter; LA traffic is always a pill. But when I arrived in Encinitas, the sun was bright, the air was warm (80 degree weather in February) and Walk the Sun was still bumping through my speakers. I checked in at the YMCA and walked out to their enormous, eleven-lane pool. I began my 2600 meter workout. It was exciting to be in a new pool. I won't bore you with the details of the pool or the environment because God knows we all have more important things to busy ourselves with.

After the swim, I drove down to my grandparents' house for one of the most amazing dinners I have ever eaten. Mer had made fish (which I love) with some special spices my cousin had given her for Christmas. On the side, we had steamed veggies and tomatoes. It was wonderfully made and enthusiastically consumed.

Dana picked me up after dinner and we went to our favorite sushi place to talk about life, love and friends. "Lara is having another baby?" "Tiff is going to be a perfect mother." "Most of our friends are still single. That's promising." "How was Elise's trip up North?" I love my best friend and I love my time with her. Dana and I are so different, yet we have so much fun together constantly. Her laugh brightens my week. I am so grateful for her friendship.

The next day, I met Rynny, Baby Isla, Torrey and Julie at Bird Rock Coffee. Isla is such a cute baby. Seriously. I do not say that often. In fact, I think most babies are pretty darn ugly, but not Isla. Isla has these big, beautiful eyes that are full of wonder and a desire to learn and to know. She has a perfect smile and soft skin. I could hold her all day long... until she cries. Then she can go back to her mommy.

In case you weren't sure what happiness looks like

favorites

After coffee, I did Pilates on my grandparents' front lawn then met up with Elle and April to teach them Pilates at the beach. Elle is one of my sister's best friends from growing up, but she and I have a lot of similarities and I enjoy spending time with her. She is basically a little sister to me.

Love this beautiful girl

My favorite beach

The three of us girls met up with Dana and Eric for sushi at the shores, but the meal had consequences. Dana and I were both rewarded with a dose of food poisoning. I sat up that night, the night before my race, holding my stomach and crying in pain. This is not how the night was supposed to end. I laid down in the fetal position and fell asleep texting Ben.

The next morning, I made my oatmeal with peanut butter and banana, drove down the hill and got coffee and made my way to Coronado. When I arrived, it was cold outside. The air cut through my three layers of what were supposed to be warm coats. Stiffly, I moved my legs toward the registration tent and signed in. Amy wasn't there yet, so I started to warm up.

My parents were married here

Good morning, Coronado

As the minutes ticked by, Amy and I found our spot at the starting line toward the front. "This is how our friendship started," she reminded me. "I came in to buy a pair of shoes from you and you invited me to run this race with you and here we are. A week after meeting, we were moving in together." Hey, the more running friends, the merrier!

Pre-run

My coach warned me to pace myself, but of course, I started out a minute faster than I was supposed to go. It felt solid though and I knew I could hold it. I made my way ahead of Amy (so I thought), but soon she was passing on my right. I feel really strong and this is really a slow pace for me. I should pick it up, I thought. Fortunately, I ignored my mind and stuck to my coach's orders. 8:30 pace. Just a couple more feet and I can take it down to 8:00. That's when I passed Amy again and gave her a little love tap. "Way to go," I told her.

As I passed a group of college guys, I heard them comment on my stride, using terms such as strong and confident. Someone even remarked he thought I could be going faster. Ahhhhh so hard to resist the urge.

At mile 2.8, I saw the first runner making his way back to the start.  I kept my eyes open for my new friend Sergio, who is a Saucony rep in San Diego. He was hoping to hold onto the lead runner and take him out at the end for the win. When I caught sight of his fluffy beard, he was in third. "You got it, Sergio," I screamed.

I passed a woman in a wheelchair who was pushing her way toward the win. Then a man trailing behind a stroller passed me up. I guess it was a good day to be on wheels. Aw man, I thought. I just got passed by a man with a stroller. After looking at his calves though, I wasn't too bummed. I pushed my hips forward and squeezed my glutes in. Let's go, Ash. Take another :15 off your pace. And I did.

Every mile, I cut my pace by :15. Around mile 4.5, I started feeling a little worn. There were two guys my age in heart boxers that I had been drafting behind for the past two miles. I decided it was time to let them eat my dust, so I kicked it into gear and left them by themselves. Since mile 1, I had been neck to neck with a "bunny rabbit", as Yomi called her. She would sprint all out for 400 meters then stop and tie her shoe or drink some water or just hang out. Then she would sprint all out again. I was fed up of this game of cat and mouse we were playing and I knew I had to beat her. On mile 5, I was ahead of her. At mile 5.3, she kicked it up a notch and shot past me. I watched as she started to fade. She got to 5.5 and died. I picked it up. And I didn't stop. I knew I was kicking it into gear too soon, but I didn't want her to beat me. My turnover seemed slow, but I knew I was pushing harder than I should have been. Can I maintain this for the next .75 miles? On my left, a man called out, "Nice kick!" I knew he was talking to me. People were watching me. It didn't matter that they didn't know me. I needed this for me. ...Well, it didn't hurt that I knew people at home would ask my time, too. I held it to the end and finished with a PR. Then I grabbed a medal, half of a banana and some water and started jogging against the running traffic to find Amy. A few minutes later, I spotted her staring at the ground in front of her.

"Come on, Amy," I screamed. I ran along side her and encouraged her to dig deeper. She finished her first 10K in under an hour. "Way to go, Amy," I yelled proudly.

What a great day for a PR. And a beer at 10AM. Hey, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Halfway through, I realized I was drinking a beer at 10AM, so I stopped.

Time for coffee. Bird Rock, here I come.