Who's your coach? That's a conflict of interest.

It's so confusing.  Do I swim, or bike, or run?  If I bike, do I ride my road bike, my cross bike, or my tri bike?

Aside:  This might seem like a no-brainer... but the tri bike is uber-nice, and the weather is often uber-disgusting.  Plus, it is sooo much easier to ride in groups on a road bike.  And cross is a great workout and just fun.  Aside, out.


If I go running, what kind of workout should I do?  Speed, distance, EZ, fartlek, intervals, hills, coffee-run?  At least in the pool, there are relatively fewer options, and, thankfully, no route decisions to make (usually).

When I decide on the workout, what do I wear?  What do I eat?  What time of day should I do it?  Can I fit it in between meetings?  Or, do I get up 5:18AM to make the 6AM start?

If you couldn't tell, I'm going a little crazy.  But, one thing is for certain:  I love the fact that I have so many fitness options!  And this week, Build 2.2, I have a lot of opportunities to fret, and train, and exalt. There's a lot of running this week to get ready for the half-ironman looming in 37 days (who's counting?).

So, who's making all of these training decisions for me?  Well, quite simply, I am.  I wish I had a coach, but my first triathlon coach, Ryan Ignatz, spoiled me.  He personalized my workouts perfectly, balancing difficult weeks at work with easy weeks of training and, sometimes, even giving me things to think about during the training.  He orchestrated my move to the pro ranks.  And, he showed me how to seamlessly weave life, work, and the pursuit of triathlon.  He taught me so well, that I was confident enough in my knowledge of the intricacies of training and peaking and race prep that I tried my hand at coaching others.  And, now I coach the hardest person to coach in the world, oneself.  This will be my fourth season of self-coaching, and I think I have planned and executed my best plan yet.

Tonight was a perfect example, 9 miles total ~1:30 of running on the schedule.  A two-mile run to the track was my warm-up.  I sent out an email to the entire triathlon community of Corvallis to see if anyone wanted to join me for the workout, but I laid the pace down in no uncertain terms.  At the track, I actually found a taker, a fellow OSU triathlon club member.  Together, we precision-executed my drill sets and added six total strides in order to get the legs and ticker really warmed up.  I talked with him about the pace, and he shrugged and said "you usually run circles around me"?  Hmmmm... so much for laying down the pace.

Sunny the coach:  Then it was time for the 6x1000 at my 10K race pace.  We started out, and he ran far ahead of me for a lap before fading and finishing 100 yds behind at the 1000m-line.   During the walk-jog, I suggested he tuck in behind me for the first 600m or so, and then focus on each subsequent 200m.  #2 went much the same, only he seemed to fade further.  Before starting the third interval, we chatted about his 10K PR and his 10K goal.  Based on that, I suggested a more reasonable and even pace.  The advice I gave, check your watch at each 200m and adjust the pace.  That's why we do these workouts on the track!  And don't try to make up time, or slow-down to lose time, just get on time.  By #4, I think he had it figured out.  And after the work out, we talked about how to adjust your 10K pace and goal pace as your fitness increases and workouts get easier.  It was a cool coaching moment for me.  I had almost forgotten how much fun it is to teach people about this confusing sport we do.

But, I didn't forget that I was there to coach myself.  And this workout was designed by me (with some Ryan memories) to see if I could push the pace a bit.  And if that's my 10K race pace and I feel that good doing it, then there is going to be a new PR this year!  Good job coach!

And the conflict of interest?  Well, sometimes when I don't feel like doing a workout or want to alter it or (gasp) something hurts; I have to decide who to listen to, the athlete or the coach?

This is my friend, Sunny. She's fast.

Thanks, Syd!  Let me explain.

Syd had a birthday this week.  And one of the many great things about birthdays, is it usually brings together all your local friends from different groups to one location at one time to do one thing... smile and laugh and occasionally imbibe (even if the only reason you imbibe is to remind yourself why you don't imbibe to that extent but once a year).  Syd's birthday was no exception, and since our connection to each other is triathlon and a mutual love of impromptu dance parties in the the oddest places, she had friends I never met.

Now, it is always interesting to hear how people describe you to others who may not know you.  I get the feeling sometimes that "She's tall..." is the first thing people use to describe me.  But, since we were sitting down, and I was there already, I was expecting something like "She's a triathlete" or "She's a scientist"  or "She actually likes broccolli".  But instead, I got "She's fast".  That could go so many ways.  And, as per my personality, I took it there of course.  (i.e. pretending I race indy cars and work as an exotic dancer, told in an ironic and slightly surreptitious tone).

But, fast.  I guess so.  When I race against other professional triathletes, when I train with professional runners, and ride with national champion cyclocross riders and pray not to get lapped.  I don't think about being fast.  I think about how awesome these other athletes are that they have dedicated so much more time than I have to the pursuit of our mutual craft.  To them, I hope I seem worthy and real, and not the dabbler that I often feel like.

So, Sunny, the dabbler.  This was really driven home for me earlier this week.  More specifically, I joined a spin class/yoga session that a friend instructs for the combined OSU cycling/triathlon teams.  Oregon weather had turned on the water works, and I blanched at the thought of what the weather would do to the mechanisms of my bike were I to ride in it.  Not to mention, how cold and wet I would get in this most health precarious time in my training.  Decision made, I tossed the sports bra, cycling shorts, and yoga pants into a bag and headed to the gym.  As I was riding in one place, surrounded by 20-other mostly 20-somethings, (and a few 30-somethings like me), looking in the mirrors looking at other people, I started looking at clothes.  My clothes, their clothes.  And also feeling the chamois in my shorts against the unfamiliar saddle.  And noticing the thread bare and balled inner thigh region of the material.  And looking at the snapped elasticity around the leg bands.  Egads.... my shorts are five years old.  They have a hole in them.  I only have three pairs of cycling shorts, and if I think about the math, I've put probably 200 rides in each of them.  And with the exception of two of my Brooks shorts, the same goes for my running shorts and sport bras.

I want to look fast, too.  So, the dabbler is going to go pro!  I ordered new (and matching) running clothes yesterday, two complete outfits (from Brooks Running, where else?)!  I've got a new kit from my cycling team on the way.  And I have plans to get a new pair of cycling shorts with chamois so nice it will be like riding on a pillow.  The only sport in which I excel at accessorizing... swimming.  Thanks to Dawn at Splish who always has to remind me to get a new, cool suit with the question "Don't you need a new suit?"

The lesson here?  You do your hardest working when working out and your clothes are working just as hard as you are.  And, they are sitting right next to one of the most important aspects of your body, your skin!  Take stock and don't be afraid to toss out and get new!

Sometimes it rains...

And sometimes it doesn't!

Had a full weekend. Here's the short version. Run, swim, bike, run. In that order.

Here's the (slightly) longer version:

Signed up on whim for the Willamette Mission Trail Challenge, a 10K trail run held in the MUDDY river flats of the Willamette River up North in Salem. According to the race website

"Expect very muddy conditions and heck, you may hafta wade through some water too! Be prepared for tons of mud and standing water on the course!"

Rumor had it that with all the rain we had been getting in the soggy Northwest (Thanks, Global Warming!), parts of the course, the park entrance, and the Honey Pot had all been submerged under four feet of water. (I may have made that last one up). But, you wouldn't know it come race day. Don't get me wrong; it was muddy, shoe-suckingly-so in some spots. However, there was little-to-no standing water (except for the giant puddle at the finish which I two-footed). And in most spots you could stump-jump from semi-dry spot, to grassy patch. That didn't stop me, though. I got a respectable amount of mud on my legs, had a run in with an errant twig (left a sweet mark on my forehead), and managed to turn my new pink Cascadias into a nice shade of river-bottom brown. It was 10K of sheer joy.

And apparently, I am "the Corvallis fast girl" who "crushed the muddy 6.2 mile course in 43:25" (according to the newsfeed on the Run Wild Adventures website). Crushed might be a strong word for it. Perhaps, squished would be more appropriate.

This is the face of someone not having fun.... (Oregonpixels.com)

And then there was Sunday. Oh, beautiful Sunday. How often does the sun come out, warm my back, and freckle my nose in the depths of winter? Well, apparently at least once. The last day of my first build to half ironman shape. The day I needed to get in a 4+-hour road ride no matter what (okay... I would have done a 4-hour cyclocross ride if the weather were really terrible). The day I had circled in pink highlighter on my calendar as the evening when I would eat dessert and imbibe on the fine pinot noir I had selected from Eola Hills, just up the road near Rickreall, as a special treat for being good for three whole weeks. Yes, that day turned out to be bright, mostly sunny, no rain, dry roads, only a breath of wind, awesome.

And to top it off, I had a fresh collegiate, 21-year-old riding partner capable of ripping my legs off as we climbed up Decker Rd. for the last 10 miles. I earned that pinot noir.