Iron La

Time Warp

2011-11-02T19:45:00.001-04:00

Forgive me, blog readers, for I have not written. It has been nearly four months since my last post.

Since then, I have attended three weddings.
One at a castle in England:

One on a farm just down the road from where I grew up:

And one in Niagara's wine country (no photos. Sorry!)

All incredible.

Our kitchen went from this (it's there...through that itty-bitty window):

To this:

The boys had two fabulous months together spent pool-side, roaming the downtown, and frequenting the running store a bit too much, while I re-familiarized myself with the working world.

Ben went to daycare. And after one week, he looked like this:

And he was kicked out of class four times in as many weeks. Who knew loose poo and goopy eyes were daycare offenses? We do...now.

In between Ben's snot helmets, Rob back to work, and terrible illnesses I will forever attribute to snotty daycare kids, I still managed to do a half marathon in scenic (and hilly!) Owen Sound and a 25k trail race here in London, around Fanshawe Lake. My final race is a half this weekend.

Jack Daniels and I broke up shortly after my second daycare disease at the end of summer.

My break-up letter to Jack went something like this:

Jack,
I am in love with the idea of you, but this thing we have just isn't working for me. I have commitment issues. Commitment to my work. Commitment to my family. Commitment to resolving my upper respiratory tract infections before running, so people don't judge me when I blow my nose and it ends up on my sleeve or shorts or shoes.
You and I? I think we're meant to be, but the timing is off. I need a break from your demands until I can fit you in again...until I can give you the attention you need and deserve. Until then, I'll have an open relationship with the roads, trails and any other terrain I deem appropriate when I wake up that morning. And I won't feel guilty about it.
You and I both know it is for the best.
xo
la

So instead of focusing on lost training, I have adopted the ever popular "less is more" mantra. Just one more thing to make me feel better about my decisions...or the decisions thrust upon me. Kind of like when people tell me Ben's daycare illnesses are "good for him" because he is "building his immunity". Is this what working Moms tell themselves to feel better about their vomiting, snot-nosed infant who was completely healthy pre- germ infested daycare? I suspect so.

This Sunday I will arrive at the start line not "less trained than everyone else", but "more tapered and well-rested than everyone else".

And after this race I will sit back, eat junior mints, pull out the stretchy pants and wait for winter to come.

Schedules

2011-07-24T20:29:00.001-04:00

This past week I had to be pushed out the door to run.
Ask Rob. He was the pusher.

It wasn't due to a week of temps in the mid-30s (I never complain about heat) nor was it due to my running buddy going on holidays for the week (though not having a running date made me even more motivationally challenged).

I was listless--Not to be confused with being one without lists. I've got plenty of those, don't worry.

It wasn't until I was speaking with someone about Ben's dinner-bathtime-stories-bottle-bedtime-by-7pm routine that I realized exactly why I was running without passion. Much like a baby begging for a predictable bedtime, I am craving a schedule.

Some people rave about the joys of running for the sake of running. Tiptoeing through the tulips and prancing through the meadows, free from satellites and heart rates and programs. Yeah, that's great...for a bit. Until every run turns into the run that you did the day before and step by step you start to question why the heck you're out there aside from counterbalancing your Junior Mints addiction. The only times I've enjoyed running without purpose was for 4-6 weeks after an Ironman, mostly because if I were to see ONE more weekly calendar with the word "anaerobic" on it 5 times that week, I'd weep.

But it's been nearly two years since I've had a goal race...not counting childbirth.
And the pain of religiously devoting yourself to a schedule and the pain of racing is very much like the pain of childbirth. It goes away.

So now I'd like to work toward something again. No, not another baby. I'm good thanks.

I've picked a fall half marathon and Rob has got me on a program. It's going to require some personal commitment because I'm coaching me. Don't worry, it's not my program. It's called Daniels Running Formula, by one Jack Daniels. So far, I haven't read anything about the performance enhancing benefits of Tennessee Whiskey, but I'm only a few pages in.

Thank goodness for groupons because we've got a lot of rubber hitting the roads these days.

Measuring Success

2011-07-17T09:45:00.013-04:00

My first few months of maternity leave were tough. It wasn't just the pink, crying, poop-monster who had invaded my tidy, well-organized life, but the huge adjustment from workplace to home.

I remember telling a close friend that I had no quantifiable measurement of my days. How was I doing? What was I doing? Would someone PLEASE give me a three-month probationary review! I'd have loved to know what I was doing well, areas for improvement, and yes, areas of concern, too.

Going from the workplace where well-written reports, balanced budgets, productive meetings, and numbers of coffees consumed in a day were ways I knew I was doing a good job, I just wasn't sure if number of poops (baby's, not mine) would count the same way.

My friend answered my quandary by saying: "If you and Ben are alive at the end of the day, it's been a success!"

Slowly I adjusted to this new measurement.

Within a few weeks: me alive + baby alive + shower = Success!
And a few more weeks: me alive + baby alive + shower + a trip to the grocery store = Success!
And yet a few more weeks: me alive + baby alive + shower + a trip to the grocery store + baking a delicious banana bread = Success!
Eventually I added baby giggles, reading countless storybooks and a maintaining a somewhat clean house to the mix.

Often the most difficult part of life is adjusting expectations and adapting to new situations.

Now I am back to report writing and meetings and balancing budgets. And now I'm discovering creative ways to be the best worker, athlete, mom and wife (notice I didn't say "blogger"?) possible.

I'm still waiting for my probationary mommy review. And if it turns out successful mommying is measured by number of baby poops in a day, I'm definitely in the above average category.

[obligatory look-at-my-cute-baby-picture]

Blip

2011-06-21T08:39:00.002-04:00

My apologies to the three people who check this blog and noticed it was offline for a time.

It wasn't due to lack of inspiration (trust me, I'm full of it these days) or time (Ben is a super sleeper and I have a maid doing the laundry, cooking and cleaning -- OK, I'm kidding about the last part). I guess I was just unsure what, exactly, to write about. When I started thinking of blog posts when I should have been sleeping, I realized I do this first and foremost for me. I love writing. And that won't change any time soon.

Will my delicious new baby life with running sprinkled on top be interesting enough to write about? We will see, because I'M BACK.

Since my last post...

The weather has finally smartened up and summer is here.
I have completed two races: A ten-miler and an 8k and won a bit of stuff for my efforts.
I have discovered that sushi is a perfectly fine pre-race meal.
Rob is a cake boss, piping king, and master of marshmallow fondant but has yet to conquer the art of not getting food colouring all over everything.
Snoop Dogg came to the downtown last Saturday night and almost had us singing "bow-wow-wow-yippee-yo-yippee-yay" straight to a house in the suburbs.
Our baby is still considerably larger than average. We prefer to call him "physically advanced".
My new race mantra is "childbirth-was-worse-childbirth-was-worse" and it seems to be working for me.
I've learned that unlike my childhood pet goldfish, babies do eventually have an off button and will not explode if they eat too much.
Breastfeeding is no longer a valid excuse for my slower running since this girl creamed me (and many others) at the 10 miler and proceeded to nurse her 3 month old at the finish line. sigh.
I can puree anything. I mean A-NY-THING. Chicken? Shazzam. Broccoli? Doesn't stand a chance. Rob's ratty old pair of socks with holes in them that he keeps wearing despite my pleas? Possibly...
I have one week left of maternity leave.

The last bullet changes things. Rob & I will be doing a swap until Ben's eventual entry into the daycare world in September. Who knows what antics the boys of summer will get up to. I expect I'll be coming home to Crazytown, population: 2, at least a few nights per week. And I have no doubt they'll be loving every minute of it.

Little Windows

2011-04-28T10:03:00.000-04:00

Being a mum who runs I often find myself faced with less than perfect conditions to log my daily miles. "Little windows" are the brief moments in time when the stars align (closely enough) to get out the door. Inevitably, conditions are not always perfect and are, in fact, often undesirable.

A few of my top ranked runs that required extra motivation to bypass the excuse inventory include:

The regurge run:
My sister invited us over for lunch on a glorious spring day and offered to watch Ben so Rob & I could get out for a run. Together. No Baby.
Weather: Perfect. Temperatures in the low 20s, sun shining.
Lunch: Divine. We eat a hearty lunch of sweet potato soup and cheesy, ham-filled garlic bread.
Baby: Fed and tired.
Opportunity to run: Knocking.

Out the door we scramble, connecting to our satellites while still brushing garlic crumbs off our technical tops.
500m into our 20km run...
Rob: Urgh. Are you having soup burps?
Me: Yeah. I feel like I'm 38 weeks pregnant again.
Time passes.
Me: But we're out here without a running stroller.
Rob: Worth every burp.

The "I think I just saw the wicked witch of the west fly by me" run:
We are a one car family. On occasion I have the car for the day to do errands and will pick up Rob from work at the end of the day. Sometimes I come up with poorly though out schemes to drop off the car at Rob's work, pack up Ben in the running stroller, and run the 11km home.
One such poorly planned day included pelting rain, an easterly wind of 40kph with 55kph gusts. Which way was I headed? Why, east of course.

The drooler run:
Turns out Ben is not the only one who has the ability to lose 3 litres a day in drool. A recent visit to the dentist's office rendered me a frozen drooler for 5 hours. My sister was already watching Ben so I figured rather than slap on a bib and drool in tandem with my son, I would get out for a run.
Saliva control after dental work is difficult enough. Throw in an elevated heart rate and the jarring motion of running and I might as well have had Sophie the Giraffe hanging from my yap.

Yes, my runs lately have been anything but well-planned and nicely executed. I'm telling myself that these runs are making me stronger as an athlete...and generally more willing to laugh at myself for being so determined to run.

Shifting dreams

2011-04-04T09:02:00.000-04:00

The other morning I told Rob I had fallen asleep with the melodies of Baby Einstein in my head, repeating over and over like Chinese water torture. He countered that he had dreamed up a prototype for an inescapable swaddle blanket. I asked if the prototype had chains on it. He said it didn't, but there was plenty of velcro and snaps involved.

What happened to my dreams of a 2:56 marathon?
Has my life changed that much?

Absolutely.

This week Rob & I will each be starting an individual "night out". Now that Ben is on a somewhat predictable schedule we decided to each pick a separate night to do with what we want.

I chose Tuesday speedwork where I will rediscover the joys of total muscle failure, maxing my heart rate and feet that barely touch the ground.
Rob chose Monday cake decorating class at the local rest home where he will discover the joys of fondant, modeling chocolate and meeting local seniors.

Yes, we're a couple of wild kids on the loose.

I figure the two will balance one another, though hopefully the balance doesn't include Rob's waistline and my thighs.

We're also hoping that Ben will pick an evening to sleep 12 hours straight where we will all discover the joys of uninterrupted, blissful sleep. So far he has chosen to discover the joys of putting everything in sight into his constantly drooling mouth.

Yes, he popped his top button, Al Bundy sytle, after indulging at the all-you-can drink milk buffet.

Getaway

2011-03-23T14:00:00.002-04:00

Last week we went from this...

...to this.
Bliss.

Then, back to the top photo again. But I'll focus this post on the warm part sandwiched in the middle.

My Mom decided to take the entire family on a trip to the Mayan Riviera in Mexico for March break. All nine of us--which is another blog post altogether.

So I left the D-drops at home and promised Ben a week long dose of the real stuff. Adjusting to the heat & humidity was a breeze for Rob and I but I didn't realize how difficult it would be for Ben. Considering the most outdoor exposure he has had has been in the UV protected running stroller, the little dude needed a few days to adjust to the slightest sea breeze.

But once he acclimatized, he was an epic beach baby. We threw sleep schedules out the window and allowed him to fall asleep under palm trees with the sea breeze rolling through his frizzy hair.

We had plenty of discoveries like the fact that super absorbent diapers also absorb humidity. Ben was lugging around an extra three-pounds every time we ventured outside--we chalked it up to resistance training and told Ben it was good for him.
We also learned that moisture and fat rolls do not mix. We all had a few extra fat rolls after nonstop buffets and bevvies.
Rob learned that it IS possible to successfully change a poopy diaper in one of those teeny tiny airplane bathrooms.
Ben learned the joys of swimming and being dunked by Dad. Sometimes you just gottta let the Aussies do their thing.

We travelled an additional 3.5 hours each way by bus to Chichen-Itza. Ben enjoyed the ancient wonder from the inside of a covered baby bjorn. Travelling with a baby is only as difficult as you make it. I have discovered a calm about myself that I never knew existed.

And somewhere between my third helping guacamole and a couple of sun-soaked mojitos, I thought about Ironman. Well, mostly because my makeshift beach bag was and old Ironman bag and that's where I'd focused my gaze for a moment.

I got to thinking I'm not done with it. Not entirely.
My bike may be getting dustier by the day and my idea of a long run right now is only 20 k or so, but somewhere inside I still have a bit of a flame for the sport.

But it'll have to wait.

Right now I'm too busy enjoying a kind of living that wasn't possible when we were always training for the next race. Sure, I've got a few little races on the horizon but nothing requiring the commitment of training for IM.

I'll get back to Ironman. Baby steps.

Coming back

2011-03-02T12:59:00.000-05:00

I ran long the other day.
Yup. I called up some of the old gang and asked if I could tag along for an "easy" 12 miler last Sunday.

A few things that may have been worth considering before committing to this run would have been:
1. I hadn't run over 7 miles since running half of the Chicago marathon in October. This blows the 10% per week rule out of the water.
2. I've been running my own pace (read: slow as I wanna go) for the past 11 weeks.

Turns out the easy 12 miler wasn't so easy after all. Despite Garmin telling me the pace was quite easily within my pre-pregnancy range, it wasn't feeling easy. I made sure to keep my conversations to a minimal, muttering one word comments or answers to questions. Or just pretending not to hear people talking to me.

All I could think of while feeling like I needed to STOP. RUNNING. NOW. were the words of the wise and poetic Kanye West: "tha-tha-tha-that that don't kill me, can only make me stronger". Thanks Kanye.

The aftermath? Well, that wasn't pleasant. Let's just say I couldn't keep down my dinner and needed assistance picking up Ben for a 3am feed. Was it the fully loaded nachos or the tough 12 miler? I guess I'll never know.

All I know is I didn't want to waste my time out by being a sissy and walking home with my tail between my legs. Heck, when I get out without baby, I'm gonna make it worthwhile.

And I did.

What's your excuse?

2011-02-14T09:00:00.000-05:00

My excuse inventory has tripled in the last nine weeks.

It's pretty easy to find all sorts of reasons to not get in some exercise in my day:
It's too cold/wet/slushy/dark outside and I have so much laundry/cleaning/blogging/dishes to do. Besides, Ben is tired/cranky/hungry/gassy and so am I.

Life before Ben was a strict regimen of training schedules, running dates and recovery days. I knew what to expect day-to-day so finding an excuse to not exercise was more difficult. Don't get me wrong, there were always the days when I'd scroll through my excuse inventory and look for any reason not to go out the door. But I always knew that I'd be much happier having completed some bit of exercise in my day.

If you want something badly enough, you'll get it done. If it is a priority, it'll happen.
It's easy to blame baby for not being able to do x, y, or z. Now, I'm not saying it's easy to get things done with a baby. Days go by in seconds and months fly by in minutes.

I've found the key to getting it in is, first and foremost, making it a priority. There are other things that I have identified as enablers to getting whatever it is that makes mommy feel like an individual again--for me, it's getting out for a run.

The following enablers & motivators have helped me feel human again:

A supportive husband who understands that a happy mommy = a happy wife = a happy life
Friends and family willing to watch baby, if just for an hour (don't mistake this for "visit time". As soon as the relief arrives, there should be skid marks from your runners heading out the door!)
A most wicked running/walking/all-terrain stroller
A breast pump (freedom can be yours for $199.00)
An upcoming trip to Mexico where I'll be donning a two-piece
Drive

Because...

So, what's your excuse for not getting out there?

Relief

2011-01-27T12:28:00.000-05:00

Q. What do you get when you mix a sleep & exercise deprived mommy with a semi-retired mother, a semi-employed sister, another sister with Fridays off, and a few good friends?

A. Mommy sanity.

The last few weeks have perked up. Being a new mom is tough enough. Throw in the horribly cold weather, dark winter days and abs too weak to run with a baby stroller and you have a housebound, cranky mom.

Thanks to the above noted folks I have been able to get out for a few runs (and sneak in a few naps) during the weekdays. This has restored sanity...for the moment.

Every runner knows there is nothing like a run to relieve stress, release tension and just feel darn good. I'm up to 8 miles in one go now. I even attempted to do a few accelerations the other day. I still feel slow and frumpy out there but I'M RUNNING so who cares.

I also set up my bike trainer. Putting on my cycling shoes for the first time in over a year I was greeted with a crunch in my left shoe. A shake-out revealed the withered up corpse of something with many legs. It actually looked like it came from Australia. It truly could have.

After sweeping up the messy bug carcass I got on the trainer and actually enjoyed it. Maybe I really haven't restored sanity...

In baby news, we have smiles.

Those little gums make it all worthwhile.

10 Reasons Why Motherhood is Tougher than an Ironman

2011-01-13T10:15:00.001-05:00

Motherhood involves someone else's urine, diarrhea, and vomit--not just your own.
An Ironman has regularly scheduled, predictable aid stations. Motherhood does not.
You can train for an Ironman. Nothing fully prepares you for motherhood--even all those books!
You get a massage and IV bag after an Ironman.
There are always people cheering for you in an Ironman. Motherhood is much less glamorous.
Ironman nipple chafing has nothing on motherhood nipple chafing.
The "exercise high" experienced by mothers is when you get more than 3 consecutive hours of sleep.
There are more than three events in motherhood and often not ample enough transition time.
Motherhood outfits are less colourful, less form-fitting and more flannel and barfed on than Ironman outfits.
Motherhood has no finish line.

Flying Solo

2011-01-05T15:25:00.001-05:00

After having Rob at home with me for the last three weeks, the reality of my maternity leave has set in.
Day in, day out, it's just me and Ben.

I've been remiss with this blog mostly because it ranks just under taking care of my sleeping/pooping/eating/crying baby, having a shower, and keeping up with all the great deals on the Home Shopping Network.

The challenges of single parenthood are many. Mostly I miss being able to bounce my ignorance of all things baby off Rob in an all too familiar phrase that goes something like: "I dunno what to do. Do you know what to do?"

Aside from that it's difficult to take care of yourself when taking care of a baby. It's true. My 9-to-5 job is MUCH easier than this. Seriously, bouncing a baby to sleep for an hour will give you carpal tunnel and kink your neck so badly you'll be wishing you were getting waterboarded at Gitmo. But somehow the thought of baby waking and screaming from over-tiredness is a far worse outcome. So you keep on bouncin' til you're tingly all over.

I've been bouncing so much lately that I even bounce when not holding Ben. Sometimes I'll just be standing at a crosswalk and I'll be bouncing like those funny "joggers" who jog on the spot at stoplights and take their pulse. All I need is a walkman and something neon to wear.

Below is my aid station, or "transition 1", if you will. Just after Ben awakes and has been unswaddled, I sit in my recliner to feed him. My aid station is always stocked with water (squeeze bottles are the best to avoid spillage on me...and Ben), food (I love 'nanas), Baby D-drops (Vitamin D for my winter baby), iTouch (to check emails, the weather, and facebook), soother (sometimes offering this completely offends him), lanolin (you can google what that is for), TV remote (to watch all my soap operas and the home shopping network), burp cloth (because baby barf can stink on your 3-day-old jammies).

Other than my daily fitness regimen of chairobics and bouncing til my quads seize up, Ben & I go for daily walks.

Ben has taken to the running stroller. Much like one of Pavlov's dogs he can be wailing pre-stroller but once he gets in there, he's down for the count. My abs aren't yet strong enough to be running with the stroller, so I've resigned myself to walking every day. Fortunately we own the hummer of running strollers which destroys every snowflake and salt chunk in its path so we are able to get out despite the crummy weather.

OK, so here's the obligatory "look at my cute baby" picture. Ben has more hair than most 6 year olds. He comes by it honestly as Rob & I both have more hair than Chewbacca.
I hope this doesn't mean he'll be shaving at 11 like his Dad.
Sometimes genetics are a b!tch.

Week 1: Report from the trenches of parenthood

2010-12-19T05:58:00.002-05:00

It's been a week with Ben. In that week we have learned the following about adjusting to a newborn:

Baby calls the shots. Ben eats on demand, pees and poops when he wants, cries for no apparent reason and acts cute just as I am wondering what the heck I got myself into. It's the Ben Show now. It's no longer about me. And after 34 years of being about me, I'm learning that I've got some adjusting to do.
Schedule nothing. Just because the former you got 8 solid hours of sleep per night, ate dinner at 6pm every night, and drank your coffee at 7am, does not mean you'll be able to stick to your routine post-baby (see number 1). Making (and keeping) appointments is nearly impossible for reasons discussed next in number 3. Do not commit to being somewhere at a specific time. This is tough for control freaks, but necessary when it is baby calling the shots.
It takes FOREVER to get out the door. Gone are the days of walking out the door with a wallet and house keys. If baby is in tow you need to pack a diaper bag, make sure he's fed & changed, get him in his car seat and calm him down in the car seat. And by the time you've reached your destination it's probably time for another feed for you and baby but as per number 1, YOU WILL NOT BE FED FIRST!
Accept support. Not only am I fortunate to have a husband who happily shares shifts with me in the night, I also have a supportive mother and two sisters who absolutely adore holding, cuddling, and calming Ben. This is the stuff sane motherhood is made of. And with Christmas around the corner I can expect extended family to take him off my hands for hours so that Mommy can have a little egg nog.
Get OUT! It's easy to stay inside (especially when it's -11 and snowy) but we are making a point of getting out of the house at least once per day. It's important to get fresh air, communicate with non-babies, and have a reason to shower and change out of your PJs every day.

[Rob & the diaper genie. That's a lot of poo!]

Following my own advice, Rob & I got out for a family run yesterday, 8 days postpartum. We packed up the running stroller to head to a path he heard was well groomed (which was not the case). By the time we arrived, Ben was hungry again.

Rob took the helm of the stroller.

While I learned how to get my centre of gravity back on track.

It was a short, slow jog but I loved every second of it. So did Ben who was fast asleep after one minute of running. I've got a ways to go but I'll get there.

Iron Ma

2010-12-15T16:56:00.005-05:00

Introducing Ben, the baby former known as "The Bun":

Ben seemed the only logical name for a baby called Bun for 9 months. Ben has no middle name and his name is not concluded with a "jamin". Just Ben.

When asked why no middle name I let people know that Rob has no middle name and I have two. On one of our many flights abroad I realized the value of having no middle name(s) when filling in forms. Rob would always be finished first. Making the assumption that Ben will be a worldly little man, we decided to save him valuable time in transit. Our first gift to our son.

Back to Ben's birthday:

The evening of my last post, after I had eaten the most delicious dinner at a restaurant in downtown London with Rob and my family, Ben made his move for the exit.

In true athlete form Ben wasted no time. Labour started at 10:30pm, we made it to the hospital at 1am and he was born at 2:43am on his exact due date of December 10th. Like his father, Ben just had to be on time. And we're pretty sure he won his age group at the hospital that night. A few hours after that, we walked out of the delivery room with our 7lb 12oz son in tow (note his perfect birth weight despite remarks that I was "too small")!

Labour and delivery were amazing--in an excruciating, "pain with purpose" kind of way. It is something I have always wanted to experience--without drugs or medication of any kind. Yes, perhaps I am a bit sadistic. But aren't all athletes?

Having Rob at my side through it made all the difference. He was a superstar--fetching barf buckets, rubbing my low back between contractions, not touching me during contractions, stroking my hair, and even blowing a hairdryer on me when I had the shivers.

He worked me through the pushing phase by telling me it was just another interval--to dig deep, breathe, work through it, then rest in between. There probably aren't too many couples who would use interval training as a birth coaching method, but it worked for us. His calmness kept me calm, which made all the difference.

We had a race plan and it exceeded both our expectations. And the reward at the finish line was better than any Ironman or marathon.

It was the second time in my life I experienced love at first sight. Incredible.

I'm not sure where this blog will go from here. Despite feeling like I want to run 6 days postpartum, the weather around here has not been conducive to much outdoor activity. And I'm not sure I want this blog to be all about motherhood. I'll have to sort out an angle and let you know.

In the meantime, we'll be working on getting to know our little man.
Happy Christmas.

Week 40: Snowed in

2010-12-09T07:03:00.000-05:00

Shortly after this picture was taken at Rob's staff Christmas party, after I had danced the night away hoping to induce labour to songs like Dynamite and YMCA, it snowed...

...and snowed

...and snowed.

[Our car is the one on the mid-left with the giant, uneven snowhawk on the top]

We had three blizzard-filled snowdays that essentially shut down the city. Rob stayed at home with me for days spent watching movies, playing scrabble, napping and sipping hot chocolate. Eventually, cabin fever forced us out of the house and into the streets of dowtown for aimless waddling. Yes, everyone was waddling.

Despite my wishes to spur on labour the previous weekend, I was quite happy keeping Bun in the oven until the snow subsided. As much as I'm sure I could kick it old school, having a home birth was not part of the plan. And I like sticking to the plan.

I am, however, experiencing things that indicate labour may begin 2.4 hours, 24 hours, 2.4 days or maybe 2.4 weeks from now.

I have resigned myself to the inevitability that Bun, being half sunsoaking-Aussie and half cold-weather-detesting-Canadian, may not want to come out of the oven until spring. I've got our car seat-warmers on max at all times to try to trick him out. After all, it is summer downunder, he is upsidedown. Maybe he'll fall for it.

Until then it's a waiting game.

Stay tuned...

Week 39: Launching Mode

2010-12-02T09:41:00.001-05:00

For the past few weeks my midwife has been telling me that Bun is in launching mode. As much as I want to meet him, I was so busy with wrapping up work I tried not to think about his impending arrival too much.

I am now on day 2 of my maternity leave and while I would still appreciate one more week of solitary me-time, my subconscious is preparing. Recently I've been having vivid dreams of parenthood and childbirth. Fortunately, my birth dreams are quick and painless and bare no resemblance to the freakish "birthing centrifuge" featured below. I suspect the contraption didn't make it past the animal trials stage...for reasons I'll leave to your imagination.

The past two mornings I've still been rising with Rob, drinking my coffee, checking my email and getting ready for my walk on the path instead of my walk to work. Old routines are hard to break and I know I'm in for a new routine very soon.

Until then I'm happily seeing my husband off to work (how's that for a cliche), watching as little daytime television as possible, and enjoying sweet non-centrifugal birthing dreams.

And yes, that is MY hand on my belly. Rob thought people might mistake it for one of his hands. Hey, they may not be dainty but they come in handy at lobsterfest.

Week 38: The Taper

2010-11-25T17:33:00.001-05:00

Exactly one year ago this week I was tapering for Ironman Western Australia. My body was fit, my mind was focused and I was ready for anything the big day would bring.

Today I sit in a similar situation albeit 25 pounds heavier. I'm still feeling fit (for a pregnant chick) and mentally focused on the big day.

The biggest difference is I have no idea when my race will start or how long it will take to get to the finish line. I pretty sure I'll get the coolest medal ever at the end of this event. One that I won't want to put in a shoe box with all the others. That might be considered poor parenting.

As part of my taper, Rob and I have been spending extra time sipping our coffees on weekend mornings, going out to the movies and eating out...lots. We had a hit list of several restaurants in the area, many of which we had gift cards for.

Our most recent expedition was to Swiss Chalet. I took Rob there at 5pm for the FULL experience. I knew it would be a hit. The large portions, low prices, finger cleaning bowls and bluehairs could only be topped by the fact that it was "festive special" time.

Perhaps I'll save the Pizza Hut buffet for early labour as my sister did with her second child. Upon being asked if she'd like to go straight to the hospital, she told her husband to stop at the Hut for some carbo-loading. Now that's prioritizing!

It's all about the carbo-loading, and fortunately midwifes don't make you chew on ice chips in the hospital. They're all about keeping the labouring woman's energy up, so we've packed a mini-smorgasbord in our hospital bag. Rob has even packed gels and electrolyte tabs. I'm not lying.

In other news, I am working on my power walk.
It's strange watching the world go by so slowly. I haven't quite gotten used to it. Sometimes on downhills my legs want to start running again but my hips remind me that I need to be patient and wait for Bun to come out of the oven before that happens again.

Being an athlete as well, Rob fully understands my hunger to be active again.

And as pregnant as I am, I'm hungry to run.
Almost as much as I'm hungry for labour at a Pizza Hut buffet.

Week 37: At term

2010-11-18T08:43:00.002-05:00

Headline News: The Bun is Baked.

That's right. Bun is at what is considered to be full-term despite the fact that our midwife has me scheduled for weekly appointments until December 21. I try not to think of the possibility that I'll be twiddling my thumbs, channel surfing between The View and the home shopping network, while waiting, waiting, waiting for Bun to arrive moments before Christmas.

At least I know that Bun has located the exit signs. Now I just need someone to pull the fire-alarm...but not yet!

To the mathematician readers: You've no doubt noticed I skipped Week 36. Truth is, the blog has always been about a week behind. Trust me, I experienced week 36. I thought it was about time I straightened it out as we come to the end of pre-baked Bun.

The week that Bun became a big boy also marked the week that I tossed in the running towel. Yep. It's done. A 5km run is now taking me 3 days to not walk like I've been shot in both hips. It just wasn't fun anymore. I figure I want to be feeling peppy and pain-free when labour commences, only to have a different kind of pain appear. 37 weeks of pregnant running ain't so bad. I'm still walking to and from work which has been perfect. I contemplated getting back in the pool but then I thought---why ruin a good thing!

In week 37 I also turned 34. We spent my birthday in prenatal class watching videos of sweaty, yodeling women give birth. I took notes on how to hold and swaddle a baby while Rob took notes on breastfeeding. Between the two of us we've got it sorted.

Anticipation is building for everyone, including my niece and nephew.
My 3-year-old niece has an ongoing concern that Bun will be far too big for her too hold. I'm hoping her fear doesn't come true...for reasons other than her not being able to hold him.
My 6-year-old nephew has worked tirelessly on a shortlist of baby names for his new cousin.

Hard to say which is the front runner at this point.

Week 35: The win-wins of waddling

2010-11-10T21:12:00.000-05:00

This week I waddled for the first time.

My feet have somehow turned outwards and I'm noticing a gentle side to side rocking phenomenon when I walk. So far no water-resistant plumage or webbed feet. But I'll keep you posted.

I have also noticed that the incidents of "you're so cute" remarks and overly friendly gestures increased this week. With my case study of one I have determined that mild waddling in pregnancy has a positive correlation with human kindness toward the pregnant subject.

This became most evident when upon approaching a ladies restroom, the cleaning lady told me to go to another washroom...until she noticed my little waddle as I walked away. She then hollered after me to come back, and proceeded to pack up her cleaning gear to allow me to use the facilities while she patiently waited in the hallway.

And with that I am embracing my waddle.

I'm not sure if I waddle while running--though it's highly likely.
I received my first non-race catcall on the trail this week when a twentysomething girl yelled "YOU GO GIRL! WOOHOO!" as I ran by--so maybe I am waddling.

I'm still wearing my Garmin and it's still lying to me on a regular basis.
Rob is my saving grace on my now three-times weekly runs of 5-7km at a time. He's the only person I know who can routinely run a 3:30km then turn around and run a 5:30km like it's not the most painfully slow pace in the world. That, or he's a good faker.

He also helps me up the hills. It seems that my unevenly distributed girth + gravitational pull = a high risk of reverse rolling. Rob eases this by gently pushing me up each and every hill--A perk I am growing accustomed to. I am also growing accustomed to bringing my own supply of toilet paper on each of my runs. Let's just say there's not much room for anything in my body except for Bun and a bowl of cereal at the moment. This unpredictability is something I am not growing accustomed to.

Less than 5 weeks of waddling.
Plenty of time to soak up the perks that come with it.

Week 34: The road to Smotherhood

2010-11-04T16:31:00.001-04:00

The other night I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. It's usually due to Bun playing ping-pong in my belly but this time it was different. This time it was his lack of movement that kept me awake. For some reason this was distressing. For some reason I needed to get him to move!

I tried drinking some water.
No movement.
Rolled from side to side.
Nothing.
I tapped my belly like a kid at the aquarium.
Nada.
I even got up to eat a banana--the surefire way to make him squirm with excitement.
Still nothing.

After a solid 30 minutes of trying to rouse him, I felt a little tap.
And suddenly I could sleep again.

I tried as best I could to understand this strange feeling of concern for someone I haven't even met yet. Someone that is contantly hoofing me in the ribs and squashing my bladder.

Rob called it "maternal instincts".
I called it "the road to crazytown".

If he's right, then how paranoid/concerned/anxious will I become when he's roaming the free world?

Mothers?
Explain this to me.

Spooky Bun-o-lantern

Week 33: BellyWHACKED!

2010-10-26T17:16:00.003-04:00

At this stage in the game you'd think I would have adjusted to my extra girth. And for the most part I have.

I've learned to accept that stray food particles no longer hit the floor. They hit my belly.
White blouses are no longer practical nor are they professional with sauce stains and coffee drips attached to them.

I've learned my new definition of "skinny jeans" includes a giant elastic waistband to my ribcage.

I've also learned to tilt my pelvis and pump my arms more when I run in order to accommodate the extra front load, or risk rolling backwards on hills.

For the most part I am adapting to my extra inches.
Yet one thing I haven't been able to master is my sense of space. I call this phenomenon BellyWHACK!

It's a good thing Bun is very well-padded because the amount of times I've opened doors, hit walls, and run into people with my belly are too many to count. Yes, I'm the awkward pregnant girl who, in a crowded room, tries to squeeze her way through tiny areas of space thinking she'll be unnoticed while pressing her belly into some stranger's back, simultaneously toppling a plate of nachos from the snack table.

Yes, I'm that smooth these days.

Fortunately people seem to think my BellyWHACKing is cute. Like how Rob can say whatever he wants and it's perceived as intelligible because of his accent.

And with just over 6 weeks to go it's bound to get worse.

I take solace in the fact that researchers claim my brain will actually get more voluminous post-partum.
Yes, that's right, a bigger brain. I wonder if it relates to all the new terminology like diaper-genie, baby acne, colic, pack n play, onesie (is that even a word?) and sitz bath (my sister loves talking about this one).

My brain is already swollen with Mommy-related items. Can it really get any bigger?

On the running front...well, I'm still running about 3 times per week, though I think it's more like jogging.
I've cut back and slowed down substantially since Chicago. My longest run is now about 10km in one go and I've slowed to 5:30-5:40/km.

Now that many of my non-pregnant runner friends have completed their marathons I'm taking advantage of their post-marathon sluggishness--I can keep up once again! Well, that's what I tell myself anyway.

Week 32: Anticipation

2010-10-20T19:57:00.000-04:00

According to our midwife Bun is head-down, feet nestled into my right ribs, locked, loaded and ready for action. He's doing his part and I appreciate the effort, even if his efforts result in multiple blunt force whacks to my ribcage.

The benefit of being a tall, long-torsoed woman is the fact that I'm not going to stretch too much. My roomy womb also allows Bun the freedom to move about as he pleases. He's got it good in there. I wonder if he knows how good he's got it? I'm sure I'll be telling him how good he's got it for the next 20 years.

It seems like everyone is in anticipation of what's to come in 8 weeks time:

The other night Rob dreamed he missed the birth. He arrived late to see his healthy baby boy being held by his tired, PO'ed wife.

Two nights later I dreamed that Bun came out....a GIRL! I kept telling the nurses and Rob that we only had boy things! What were we going to do!

Then last night I dreamed that Bun was perfect, except for his BEAK!

In real life, as long as Bun is not a duck, I'll be fine.

Week 31: Chica-GO!

2010-10-13T17:00:00.006-04:00

Five years ago I toed the line at Chicago with high hopes and big plans for a personal best marathon. The abridged version is that I ended up puking my way through 42.2 kms and with that bitter taste in my mouth (literally), I took a hiatus from marathons...and somehow ended up racing Ironman instead.

This year was to be my comeback. My year to have a great marathon and what better place than Chicago, the home of my marathoning demons.

When I found out about Bun, I went to the Chicago Marathon website and discovered their inflexible and unaccommodating policy on transfers and refunds. The Dutch in me wasn't going to sit it out. 21.1km would be my goal. Run half, then drop out and walk to the finish line.

Nothing makes a pregnant runner feel supported more than being surrounded by like-minded people. Minus the Japanese guy who, 2 minutes before race start, looked at my belly, then at me, then back at the belly, and said "You sure you OK?". I didn't tell him I was only doing half then dropping out. Sometimes it's funny to see people squirm with discomfort.

Bun is like a really great coffee table book. He's a conversation starter, especially among other Moms at the race who had been there done that, and with younger women who asked questions about running pregnant--like having a fit pregnancy was a revolutionary idea!

The crowds, however, had mixed reviews of my awesome coffee table book running through downtown Chicago. I kept to the right side for the entire race to avoid the crowds and keep myself within close proximity of the aid stations. As I approached the walls of spectators there was a constant murmer that went something like this:

LOOK!look...pregPREGNANTshe'sPregnaCheckitout!WHOAlookLOOKshe'pregPREGpregnantOHwow!
...with the occasional "run hot mama" and "you go momma!" thrown into the mix.

I've never had so much fun at a race before. This was partly because the Chicago marathon is an epic event with over 40,000 runners and streets lined with screaming spectators and partly because I was doing what I love to do without a care in the world. Sure, I wore my GPS. I may be pregnant, but I'm still me.

Rob enjoyed his day as well. While not quite achieving his goal of sub 2:50 he enjoyed the experience. We both celebrated our victories with a giant deep dish pizza, Chi-town style.

Picking up my "women's small" race t-shirt. The volunteers thought this was pretty funny. So did Rob.

Architectural boat cruise. Sometimes we crave culture...and sitting down for long periods of time.

Post-race. Temps reached 27 degrees. Perfect beach weather. Not so perfect marathon weather.

Race action photos can be seen HERE.

Week 30: New frontiers

2010-10-05T19:28:00.001-04:00

There's one thing more nerve wracking, more aggressive, more claustrophobic and with more elbow contact than the start of an Ironman race:

Saturdays at Toys R Us.

This past weekend Rob & I found ourselves at the babies section of Toys R Us. The fact that Toys R Us uses a shorthand, backwards "R" has never endeared me to the place and now that I've had the full baby registry experience I feel even more alienated.

As I've mentioned in previous posts, one of the perks of semi-geriatric motherhood is the plethora of secondhand goodies passed on from those who have gone before. The fact is, we don't need much. A few bottles, some soothers, a change pad, and a car seat is about the gist of our needs.

Easy, right?
WRONG!

Who knew there are walls filled with big bottles, small bottles, glass bottles, plastic bottles (bpa free of course!), low flow, medium flow, high flow bottles? Certainly not me. It was the equivalent of the pop-tart aisle in an American Wal-mart, but less interesting. Far less interesting.

Rob & I looked at each other. Before I could say anything he sensed the fight or flight panic in my eyes and suggested we go next door to Chapters for a pumpkin spice latte. And faster than the crawling babies on Toys R Us dust bunnies, we were outta there.

We later enlisted the experience of my sister to help us build a list -- online. A far more civil way to get the job done.

All humour aside, sometimes I need to be reminded that I can do this. Sometimes I need to remind myself that I am capable of the unknown experience that awaits. The fact is I've done this before. OK, not THIS this but I've extended myself outside my comfort zone on many occasions. I've experienced similar emotions associated with a particular challenge or event in my life.

Two years ago this week I was on the big island of Hawaii, unsure of what awaited me in the unrelenting lava fields of an epic Ironman event.

Sometimes the best way to cope is to relate these same emotions to the ones I felt before Ironman Hawaii. Nerves, apprehension, and yes, excitement!

All the feelings I get when I watch this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dF7k1Dw2A7w&feature=player_embedded

Best of luck to my buddies racing Hawaii this weekend.
Just remember, it can't possibly be worse than a Saturday at Toys R Us.

Week 29: The "Looks"

2010-09-29T21:49:00.000-04:00

Now that I am quite visibly pregnant I often feel the gaze of others a I run past. I optimistically tell myself they are most certainly in awe of my determination to put down the bonbons, turn off the tv and stay healthy. However, not all gazes are admirable ones. Sometimes I feel glares.

You would think I was this woman:

And hey, maybe some people think I'm pretty darn close. After all, "doesn't all that running shake the baby too much?" Yeah, I like my babies the way I like my martinis: shaken not stirred.

I've got my canned response cued up and ready to go. I'll spare you the details but it has something to do with asking for midwifery and/or obstetrician credentials for their unsolicited advice.

I've seen many children of running moms and other than a constant need to be bounced, there have been no ill effects. I'm sure if Bun comes out with any sort of problem there will be speculation that my running was the culprit, or maybe it was that glass of red wine I had at 6 weeks or that feta cheese or Diet Coke or deli meat or tap water. The fear-mongering associated with pregnancy and childbirth is frustrating. And that's all I have to say about that.

In other news, I have discovered the joys of elasticized waistbands reaching to my ribcage. Yes, I am finally in maternity gear and I am loving it. It's like dressing in your fat pants every single day. Except now I have an excuse.

Not much is new in Bun's world. The week-by-week updates are getting less and less interesting. Basically he's just getting fat enough to handle the cold December day when he'll be on the outside.

Sometimes I wish I could quickly open the oven to see how he's baking. I wouldn't poke him with a fork or anything. I'd just take a peek every once in a while to see how he's doing. Since I can't really do that I count on the reassurance that everything's alright in there by feeling him squirm when I drink cold water or hiccup or give me a judo chop to the ribs.

I've dubbed Rob "the Bun whisperer" as his hand on my belly makes Bun freeze mid-roll, mid-elbow jab, mid-hiccup. It's the strangest thing.

I'm just hoping Rob has the same effect on Bun when he comes out of the oven. We'll see...

Week 28: The third, and final, trimester

2010-09-23T16:37:00.003-04:00

Last February I made the commitment to train for a marathon. Not my typical marathon at the end of a 3.8km swim and 180km bike, but a real, true, plain ol' marathon.

Despite hosting over 40,000 people every year, the Chicago marathon fills up. Early. And wouldn't you know it, they offer absolutely no refunds or transfers of entries. So I'm going to do it. Well, not the whole thing. The beauty of the Chicago course is that the halfway point (21.1km) is only 3 blocks from the start/finish line. I plan to cross the timing mat, then haul myself to the finish line to watch Rob come in.

Barring a rapid decline in the next few weeks, I'll be lining up to "race" at 31 weeks pregnant. Call it my celebration of the end of pregnancy. Not that it's been rough, as you know. However, there have been some recent developments:

Braxton-Hicks contractions
It doesn't happen to everyone, but it's happening to me. How about a little taste of labour before labour actually starts! I chalk it up to good training when I feel my uterus clench into full spasm for upwards of a minute. I can run through the Braxton-Hicks. We'll see about the real thing...

Leg cramps
Reminiscent of the evenings after those hard training days I am experiencing night cramps. Usually in my calves or feet. Makes me reminiscent of the good ol' days when I'd run so hard my eyes nearly popped out. Ahhhh, the good ol' days.

Indigestion
Or as I prefer to call it: interval eating. I suppose it makes sense that I can only eat small amounts in one sitting. After all, my stomach is creeping up near my esophagus making ingestion and digestion a challenge. I am constantly eating. CONSTANTLY. Most meals are followed by a chaser of Tums to alleviate heartburn.

Round ligament pain
My body is definitely adjusting itself. I've never ever had groin pain and hope I never do again. I've read it's common in the third trimester for women who walk a bit. For me anything over a 10km run, 2 days in a row seems to set me off, leaving me no choice but to run only every-other-day to stay hobble free.

In Bun's world...

He is dreaming. How did scientists figure this one out?
He is blinking. Though I can't imagine what is so interesting to look at in there.
His testes have dropped into his scrotum. Well, we hope.
He is hiccuping. Cute, but very distracting during meetings.
He now has a 90% chance of surviving outside his oven. But I want him to stay in there for another 12 weeks. But no longer than that. We're on a schedule.

Week 27: The innies and outies of pregnancy

2010-09-14T18:45:00.006-04:00

It's official. My once neatly tucked in bellybutton has inverted itself into a herniated...thing.

Despite mulling over mecanisms to cover the grand protrusion (tape, bandaids, wart-removal pads), I've managed to find a silver lining: no more bellybutton lint.

I suppose being on the cusp of trimester 3 makes me a likely candidate for something unpleasant. And as far as unpleasantries go, a distended bellybutton is not that bad. Repeat: not. that. bad.

The weather is slowly turning coolish which foils my "run forever in sports bra and shorts so I don't have to struggle to cover my big belly" plan. Now I'm trying to find tops long enough to cover my buddha belly, all the while thinking "was I ever really THAT SMALL?" It seems I am quick to forget that my 38 inch waist is not my standard size. Fortunately, the extra long designs from lululemon seem to be covering me...for now.

My metamorphosis has inspired the question: How do those beer-bellied men manage without lululemon tops and panelled pants? I think there's an untapped clothing market there.

On to other things...

Rob & I finally bit the bullet and bought a new ride. It was time to be grown-ups and drive something reliable that would not warrant Bun being taken away by child services. We had to find common ground between Rob's desire to be a mini-van man and my desire to drive anything but a mini-van. We settled on the Ford Flex. All the space of a mini-van without compromising coolness.

[Cue the gangsta rap] So here it is...

You know you're overdue for a car when you're dazzled by fully functioning brakes and floors that don't leak in the rain. Alongside the ability to stop, we got a plethora of other things that make our ride ridiculous amounts of fun: heated leather seats (my only must-have), satellite radio, bluetooth sync (for our non-existing cell phones), sky roof, dvd player (I think we'll like this in a few years), a beeping thing so I don't reverse into shopping carts, and enough room for a pro basketball player, bikes, some groceries, a ladder, a giraffe and oh yeah, a baby.

It's strange driving a vehicle I actually care about. I find myself licking my thumb and rubbing it on little dirt patches, much like my Mom used to do to my face as a kid. Perhaps spitting on things means you love them. If this is true, my Mom loved me alot.

While we were on a spending spree I thought it was high time to get myself a new pair of running shoes. My old ones were worn in patterns I'd never seen before.

Every runner knows there's no feeling like running in a fresh pair of sneaks. During my inaugural spin, I felt...unpregnant! Light as a feather, dancing on air! I thought to myself, "Pregnancy slowdown! What pregnancy slowdown?"

Fortunately I was wearing my GPS to document my record-breaking speed. What pace was I doing? It had to be 4:10 km's? OK, maybe 4:20s? I looked down...and my GPS was...WRONG. There was no other explanation except the satellites weren't working that day. Somehow the satellites hadn't callibrated properly and weren't used to my new blazing speed. Technology is wrong sometimes. And we'll leave it at that.

I like my new shoes.

I love my new car.

I'm coping with my new outie.

I may trade-in my GPS.

Week 26: Adaptation

2010-09-07T18:34:00.000-04:00

Once upon a time I did 3 Ironmans in 3 years.

For me, that kind of training required both a physical and mental break between each. During my “off-seasons” I would still swim/bike/run but it was less structured and more based how I felt that day.

When it was time to start training again I was ready. Despite having gained a few pounds and lost some speed, my mind was always fresh and ready to focus.

Over the next few months of training my body would be constantly broken down, only to rebuild itself stronger. This physiological adaptation was always mesmerizing to me. To watch my body slowly become stronger, faster, and more muscular made me realize the complexity and resiliency of the human body.

Being pregnant makes me even more in awe.

Just like Ironman training I still wear my GPS to track speed and distance. I’m sure there are many people who see the Garmin hardware on my pregnant body and ask “why does she bother?”

Just like Ironman training I want to see my pace times and track my distance, except over the last 26 weeks of pregnancy I am seeing an inverse effect. Instead of slowly becoming faster, I am quickly becoming slower. Instead of building my training volume I am decreasing my training volume.

And it doesn’t bother me a bit.

I’ve watched my pace times slow 5, 10, 15, 20, now 30 seconds per kilometer and it’s still mesmerizing to me. I know that my body is much smarter than the rational thinking me. My body knows what it needs to do to adapt to the physical stresses of Bun growing inside me.

I still run with the crew at Runners Choice. Part of the beauty of my changing pace is that I am meeting new people, hearing their stories and learning to appreciate the fact that I am 26 weeks pregnant and still doing a sport I love.

One thing that is not having an inverse effect is my mental strength. The slower I become, the stronger I feel mentally for hauling my big belly outside. It also takes a bit of tenacity to ignore the looks from people in their cars as I run past. I tell myself they’re in awe just like I am.

Not caring what people think takes some adaptation too.

[The third, and final, Runners Choice Port Stanley run, 2010]

Week 25: Transitions

2010-09-01T07:07:00.000-04:00

It's amazing what a baby-on-the-way will make you do.
We've spent more money in the last 6 months than I have on carbon bikes--well, maybe not quite that much.
Oma & Opa, I hope you're not reading this...

The tally:

LG 42" tv
Blueray player
leather recliner
bedroom furniture (2 dressers/2 night tables)
Accessories: new door knobs, mirrors, hangers, other fixtures
Indoor bike rack
King size bed
New blinds for every window

And there's more to come:

Renovated walk-in closet
Car
Chariot Cougar running stroller (about the price of a car)

We'd also like to reno the kitchen, but autumn is coming and the money tree is slowly losing its leaves.

You might be asking: "Where's the baby stuff?"
Well, we don't need any. That's the beauty of being the last of your friends and family to have kids.
I'm sure I'll be singing the joys of geriatric motherhood when I arrive at Bun's grade 8 graduation in a walker and head-to-toe polyester talking about how good life was in the 80s.

Our home has morphed into a place where all those little jobs are finally getting done. I suppose the knowledge that the next several years will be all about baby put an urgency on making these last few months all about Rob and La.

We've also packed away stuff like this:

(Contents: padded shorts, bra tops, race belts, fuel belts, swimsuits, cycling jerseys)

...to make room for stuff like this:

(Contents: Australian wildlife jungle comprised of kangaroo, wombat, koala, frill-necked lizard, wallaby, blue-heeler, dingo, lamb, kookaburra, magpie, emu, green tree frog, echidna [look it up], and a gallah [again, wikipedia], and a platypus --- in both full and finger puppet size. Thanks Ellie and Bruce!)

In other news: Bun is viable.

That's right, given the chance to judo-chop his way into the free world, Bun would have a 70% chance of survival. He's got all the bits and pieces he needs to survive, so over the next few months he just needs to get fatter.

If he were born now he'd be the human version of Mr. Bigglesworth.
So I think it's best for both of us that he bakes for a little while longer.

Week 24: Unsubscribed

2010-08-25T18:03:00.000-04:00

Today I had a pivotal moment. Today I finally unsubscribed from my mailing list of Aussie jobs. It’s not like I have been reading them the past several months; in fact, I have been on the list for the past two years. But the comfort of holding on to the prospect of returning made it difficult to click “unsubscribe”.

The reality is I love my life here. Truly, I do.

I wake up excited to go to work, I have a man I love more and more every day, an immediate and extended family I adore, supportive & wonderful friends, and a house I can say to Bun, “This is your home”. I often ask, can my perfect life get more perfect?

London, Ontario doesn’t boast much (although Justin Bieber was here the other night) but to us it is the perfect place to settle…for a while.

Before we had Bun in the oven I looked at the prospect of staying in London as my first motherly sacrifice: The beginning of living my life for someone other than me; the beginning of a loss of self; the beginning of the end for the independent me.

The mothers I know would always tell me, “You’ll be happy to make these small ‘sacrifices’. You won’t even consider it a ‘sacrifice’”.

As much as I couldn’t fathom this idea, it’s slowly becoming a reality.

As my postcard of Australia fades, a new picture is emerging. A picture that wasn’t created out of sacrifice, but of my willingness to give Bun everything he needs to be a happy little dude (with many babysitters nearby, thereby making me a happy mommy). It will never be ideal with one set of grandparents and other important family downunder. But I think I’m doing the best I can given the situation.

Perhaps we will return in the distant future, like when Bun gets recruited by the Australian swim team (he is already a men's size 10 foot) or we win the lottery and we’re able to spend summers in Canada and winters on the Sunshine Coast.

But for now, this is where we need, and want, to be.

NOTE: I reserve the right to change my overwhelmingly positive attitude after the first snowfall.

Week 23: Life

2010-08-18T16:51:00.002-04:00

[The source of the kicks.]

After filling my bladder and waiting for what seemed like three days in the ultrasound waiting room I finally got in to see the technologist.

It is standard procedure for the woman to go in before the husband for the “testing” part of the ultrasound, then the man is welcomed in for the fun “let’s find fingers and toes and other little body parts” part of the ultrasound.

Once Rob arrived the tech zoomed in on a section of Bun’s body and said, “See this? Looks like there’s a boy in there”. Rob commented that yes, he could see our son’s “tackle” very clearly.

It took me a while to get over the fact that I was growing boy “tackle” inside me. OK, I’m still trying to get used to it. But I am fully used to the idea that Bun is a boy. Quite frankly had Bun been a girl I would have had to rethink a name and it might have been something like “Bunny” or “Bunita”. Bun is just fine and that’s how it’ll stay…for the next 16 weeks anyway.

Less than 24 hours after seeing our little boy in black and white, my Opa passed away. Opa had 96 amazing years. He was healthy and sharp as a tack until the last few weeks when his body and soul decided it was time to go.

My fondest childhood memory of my Opa was dancing the polka (or my idea of the polka) in his basement. He loved telling stories and listening to mine. He loved the land and now he has returned to it.

8 children, 26 grandchildren, 13 great-grandchildren with 3 more on the way.
The day before he died I told him he would have another great grandson in a short while. I'm not sure if he heard me but I'd like to think he did.

If success is measured by how much love one gives and how much one is loved, my Opa was a truly successful man.

Another generation passes as a new one begins.

Week 22: Not your typical pregnant girl

2010-08-11T20:39:00.002-04:00

Now that I am quite visibly pregnant I find myself engaged in conversations like:

Have any nausea?
No.

No sickness at all?
Nope.

Cravings?
Nuh uh.

Food aversions?
None.

Gaining heaps of weight?
A bit.

I was way bigger than you at this time.
Uh huh.

Like WAY bigger.
Uh huh.

Hair thicker?
Not possible.

Stretch marks?
Not yet.

Still running?
Yes.

When will you stop?
When my run is classified as a waddle.

And your doc says that’s fine.
Midwife. And yes.

Instead of noticing thicker hair or barfing at the thought of ketchup on my burger I find myself asking questions like, “Is 9am too early for a pulled pork sandwich?” or “Do I have time for a 30 minute nap before I meet the group for a run?”

Thing is, this is not much different from the behaviour I displayed as a 25hr/week Ironman athlete. So perhaps “typical pregnancy behaviour” is really just “normal Ironman athlete behaviour”. Lucky for me I am well-accustomed to such behaviours.

Other things I have noticed:

Heightened sense of smell. Cool when running past the gardens on the city trails. Not cool after Rob eats bean burritos.
Side note: I’d like to carry this superpower over to the non-pregnant me so I can smell fear at races.

A constantly growing (and moving) Buddha belly. I’ve been told this is normal.

Heartburn. “Feel the burn” has new meaning for me.

Loss of dexterity. Maybe this is just me and I’m using pregnancy as an excuse for my constant clumsiness. But I’m spilling stuff. Everywhere.

Frequent urgent need to urinate. See this post for details.

Next week we find out if Bun is a boy or a girl. And yes, everyone seems to have an opinion on that one too!

Predictions anyone???

Week 21: Kickin' back & Relaxin

2010-08-04T18:21:00.002-04:00

Allow me to get into the parent frame-of-mind to tell you how advanced our Bun is. Rather than waste time in the "feeling butterflies" stage, Bun has skipped forward (kinda like skipping a grade in primary school) and moved straight into full-on kicking.

Where Bun doesn't excel is timing. It seems the best time for judo class is my bedtime. Apparently babies at this stage in utero sleep nearly 20 hours per day, leaving only 4 hours for brushing up on swim strokes and karate chops. Rob pointed out that this behaviour is much like a koala, which made me think how much nicer marsupial birth must be.

I digress...

It seems that daily activity actually puts baby to sleep. Understandable since much of my work talk has been about budgets as of late. It's when Mom is laying down, quietly preparing for killer 8 hours of sleep that baby decides to strap on the pull buoy and paddles and do sets of flat out 100s.

I should have been prepared for this when, at our first ultrasound a few months ago, the technologist commented on Bun's rather large femur bones. Our coach in Oz used to call Rob part greyhound/part preying mantis. Hooray for genetics! Let's hope I have inherited a uterus the size and flexibility of a bouncy castle to accommodate the constantly growing (and kicking) femurs!

Bun has been giving me something else: Relaxin.
Female runners, pay attention. This may be your most compelling reason to procreate.

Relaxin is a hormone that, well, relaxes things: tendons, ligaments--basically everything that has caused you any sort of running injury...EVER!
Seriously, this stuff is the bomb. If I could bottle it and save it for my next non-pregnant training regimen, I would.

The last time I stretched was sometime back in March. In fact, I had an achilles injury until a few weeks after conception. It's too bad that running fast and relaxin can't co-exist...and that humans can't give birth like marsupials.

One can dream.

Week 20: Race planning

2010-07-29T17:42:00.001-04:00

Bun is certainly growing. And with that comes the reality that eventually Bun will become a loaf and s/he will have to get out of me somehow.

It’s the “getting out of me” part that makes me think about a race plan. For the past several weeks I have been listening: Listening to stories about childbirth and pregnancy, about contractions and epidurals and pain, pain, pain. There have also been stories of beauty and peace and calm and empowerment—all while still feeling one’s toes.

Over the next several weeks Rob & I will be planning our day. He as coach. Me as athlete.
Rob has also been trying to coach Bun to wail like an Aussie after this article came into popular media.

Much like Ironman preparation, I need to be both physically and mentally ready. I need to plan my race outfit (likely won't be my tight, turquoise, midriff bearing number--Super pumped about a pastel cotton gown though), my sustenance (I'm passing on the powerbars), and pace (try not to hyperventilate).

Of course no matter how much I train and I am ready for an event, unexpected things can happen. I need to prepare myself for these possibilities as well.

I'm framing childbirth much like I do with all races:
1. My dream goal of X
2. My consolation goal of Y
3. Just finish

Ultimately, having a healthy baby (with a big Aussie scream) will have me smiling at the finish line.

Week 19: The great slow-down

2010-07-21T18:03:00.001-04:00

Rob & I took off on a holiday to an island in McGregor Bay this week. No phone, no internet, no cable. The perfect escape.

Of course, what would a holiday be without a half marathon thrown into the mix?

We left our island paradise for a few days to run the Friendly Massey Half.

Rob & I both had goals for the race:
Rob: Run a 1:18 (not a PB but an honest idea of fitness)
Me: Get to the finish without peeing my pants

Rob did his 1:18.
I finished without peeing my pants.

OK, I’m not being entirely honest (not about the pee thing, about the goal thing). I’ve never done a race without some sort of time-goal. I may be pregnant, but I’m still me!

Adjusting for extra adipose tissue, front-heavy balance issues, increased wind displacement due to larger body mass, pumping >20% of extra blood through my heart (and cankles), and the little Bun inside me who needs oxygen too, I thought a casual 1:45 would be my goal.

But I didn’t account for the pee-factor.

I walked every aid station to actually swallow the sticky liquid in those cups. Usually, I wear most of that sticky liquid as I run past.

6am start + cool morning + staying hydrated = frequent, URGENT potty-stops.

Five times I stopped. 4 times in a proper port-a-loo and 1 time beside a beat up old pick up truck at the edge of a bush full of mosquitoes.

It got so bad that one man who I was repeatedly passing after every loo-break told me that if I could stay out of the toilets I might win the darn thing. I told him to have a conversation with the baby who was running a half marathon on my bladder.

Finish time: 1:49...with my dignity in tact.

Week 18: In the way

2010-07-13T20:02:00.000-04:00

Look out! Apparently, I'm in the way.

Once again I was waiting for a sentence to be ended when a family friend congratulated me for being "in the way".

Of what...?

Progress?
World peace?
Rob & that next bean burrito?

Because I was not born in the 1940s it was a long pause before I understood what exactly he was congratulating me for. Typically, people aren't congratulated for being in the way of things. In fact, isn't it always a negative connotation to be IN THE WAY?

I think so.

Lately the weather has been in the way of my running. The daily temps typical of Brisbane summer have been called a HEAT WAVE here. I heart the heat. But somehow, carrying an extra 8 pounds and layer of blubber makes me not heart the heat so much.

Extra treats of my weight gain have been:

The discovery of a muffin top
Chafing in places I have never chafed before
My mom buying me maternity pants

My body continues to fascinate me just as it does when I am Ironman training. Ligaments are stretching, organs adjusting, blood volume increasing all to accomodate this growing being inside me. Just like training for an Ironman I am slowly and methodically getting prepared for the big event, and nothing's getting in the way of that.

Week 17: The big tell

2010-07-03T12:22:00.001-04:00

So we decided to tell people before the rumours and whispers started that my belly was the cause of indulging in summer beer-drinking a bit too much.
That and my ego could only take so much abuse running slower than usual without a proper excuse.

Yes, this is a REAL excuse. Not the usual, “I didn’t get ANY sleep last night” or “I’m just coming off a 100mile week, so I’ll be slow tonight” or “Oh, I’ve been battling this cold/flu/cramp/diarrhea/headache thingy all week” which are inevitably heard at every run group on any given night across the globe.

I swear to you, the day after we told everyone I could not fit into my skinny jeans. Granted I had been wearing elasticized skirts and pants the last month, so maybe I’m being a bit dramatic. But still, not fitting into my favourite jeans IS dramatic.

Dramatic was also my Mom’s reaction to the news: a single scream loud enough to make my 3 year-old niece cover her ears and cry...and probably cause a tsunami in Southeast Asia. I guess all those years of her telling me how many kids she had by age 20, 25, 30… have paid off.
Look Ma, I’m gonna be a Ma before 40!

We met our midwife last week. The future of our relationship depended on one topic:

running.

I had my ammo. I was ready to take the hard line with her, “No distance running you say? SHOW ME THE EVIDENCE!”
But it wasn’t necessary. She barely batted an eye when I said I was an endurance athlete. The only thing she said was, “Well, in case you’re wondering about running, you can do everything you did pre-pregnancy right now. Just listen to your body and stay hydrated.”

OK, I thought, we can be friends.

I can listen to my body. I’ve heard it scream in agony many, many times…and promptly ignored it.

But it’s completely different now. The only thing I’m training for right now is childbirth (YIKES! happythoughtshappythoughtshappythoughts…). Maintaining my running will keep me a healthy, sane and happy mommy-to-be.

I can’t say the same for my running buddies. Having to stop every 10 minutes for a pee-break would make me ditch any running partner, pregnant or not. But soon my running partners will be changing. Pregnancy just might be a way for me to meet new and interesting people...as I slooooow down.
Yes, that’s me, eternally optimistic ;)

Tap. Tap. Tap.

2010-06-24T18:08:00.002-04:00

Hello? Helllloooooo?
You!

Yes, you. The one and only person in the world still looking at my out-of-date sad excuse for a blog.

I’m back. For the moment anyway.

The last time I wrote it was negative gazillion outside and I was on the fence about racing the ATB 30k. So I have some updates for you:
1. The temps are a steady high-20’s these days. I’m loving it. Now we just need some random mango trees around the place and it’ll be paradise.

2. I didn’t do Around the Bay 30k due to injury and sulkiness. Rob did it and he did well.

3. I’m expecting. You’re undoubtedly waiting for me to finish that sentence, am I right? Expecting lifelong happiness, expecting to win lotto 649, expecting Rob to smell bad after that bean burrito, expecting clouds with a chance of showers. Nope. Just expecting.

I’m actually 16.5 weeks in. It’s still a secret at this point. I know, I know, I’m past that risky 3 month period but quite frankly I’m enjoying the silence. No unsolicited advice or warnings or looks of disgust while I slurp down a grande cappuccino and chase that with a 14 miler on a warm summers day.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to be a jerk.

I’m just living my life within moderation, within the boundaries of a body that I listen to and communicate with everyday. A body that’s got me to the finish line of 3 Ironmans and uncountable other endurance events. A body that I know and understand, that takes care of me because I take care of it.

And I’m not being stupid either.

I’ve done the research. I’ve read about heart rates and heat exhaustion and overexertion and fatigue. Most people would be surprised to know how little evidence actually exists to support some of the recommendations to be more “cautious” or “sedentary” during pregnancy. It’s certainly not the time to start running 14 miles in one shot. But for the trained female athlete (I put myself in this category), it’s business as usual…well, minus the pee stops every 10 minutes.

I’m running an average of 70km/week including long runs, tempos and speed. I use those terms very loosely because it’s certainly not nearly as fresh and fast as the un-pregnant me. I’m also not pushing to the point of tasting blood or total muscle failure—that WOULD be stupid. But it’s enough to get my heart pumping and endorphins rising.

So I guess that means I have something to write about: the joys and sorrows of pregnant running. So far there are a few more ticks in the sorrows column, but I remain optimistic. Yeah, laugh all you want.

I’m going to make a ~~promise~~ strong effort to post every week.

Hopefully you’ll enjoy the ride with me, errr...us.

Disorganised sport

2010-03-07T08:43:00.011-05:00

After a two-month hiatus from swimming I hopped back in the pool. I'm not sure I have ever taken that much time off swimming before. It hurt. I could have selected a much less competitive (read: FAST) group to swim with but I enjoy the company of this gang and I don't have any qualms with sitting out a hundred to catch my breath.

While we were away UWO built a massive fitness centre complete with a gorgeous 50m pool, a plethora of fancy dreadmills, and it even has real undergrads in the locker rooms whose conversations include the word "like" about 15 times per breath. To put it simply, UWO's complex is like, so like, totally awesome.

I have finally unpacked my bike. It still sits alone in the spare room wondering when it will have its pedals and cassette attached. This is the first winter in 5 years I have had no desire to sit on my bike. So I haven't.
Instead, I spend Saturday mornings reading the paper, sipping coffee, and deciding which wall would suit our gorgeous Aboriginal art. Still deciding...

Running has had it's own dramas with a minor achilles aggravation. The plan is to pace my cousin at Around the Bay 30k at the end of the month, but I'm not sure I'll be up to it. No one wants a gimpy pace bunny running beside them muttering things like "I don't think I can do it" and "you go on ahead without me". How motivational would that be?

Now is all about maintaining fitness without burning out. I plan to lay it all out there for the Chicago Marathon this fall. With a bit over a 16 week threshold for focused training, I'll be starting organised sport in June or so. Less playing in the pool and thinking about putting pedals on my bike, and more running!!

The start of Chicago training should coincide with the end of the blasted 100x100 push-up challenge. I really never thought I could do so many consecutive days of 100 push-ups. Now that I know I can, I plan NOT to do any more once I complete the 100 days: Check-mark. Off the list. Move on.

In the meantime, hopefully no one comes up with some other crazy challenge.
I'm a sucker for crazy challenges.

Settling in

2010-02-15T08:14:00.001-05:00

Now that I've traded in my 45 sunscreen for extra strength moisturizer I've slowly been discovering other subtleties that I've forgotten about Canadian living over the last 14 months.

Like the choice between a mediocre winter coat and a goose down winter coat. The mediocre coat isn't nearly as warm as the goose down coat but choose the goose down coat and you'll be plucking baby goose feathers from your black work clothes all day. I choose warmth over fashion every time.

Other rude awakenings:

Constant dry skin, dry air, dry hair
Susceptibility to colds - I got slammed 3 days after arriving in Canada
Static shocks - I forgot about this phenomenon. Touching the light switch after walking around in my goose down slippers is always an adventure.
Cold, Cold, COLD - It's no secret, Canada is cold in the winter. I forgot just how cold. It's taking a while to get used to it again. Though I must admit I was never used to it to begin with.
Driving on the RIGHT side of the road - fellow road friends beware.
Short, grey days - This is by far my biggest difficulty through Canadian winter. Going from sunshine every day to dark, grey, dismal days has been a challenge. My perma-watch tan is already gone.

It's not all complains though. There are some wonderful things about being back:

Family & friends. I've been making up for lost time with some of the most important people in my life.
Challenges unique to living in a cold country, like the 100x100 push-up challenge: 100 push-ups for 100 days. I forget what day we're on now, but it's certainly a challenge I wouldn't take up if I weren't locked indoors for the next few months!
Vancouver 2010 - Makes me proud to be a Canadian. And as much as Australia was home to me, it would never be home home. As much as I hate the cold that comes with this place, I love the warmth of the people. And nothing captured this more than a poem by Shane Koyczan at the opening ceremony. I can't find it on Youtube yet. When it's up, I'll post it.

Now that we're settled in I'm hoping to post a bit more frequently. I'm sure I'll find some interesting things to write about despite being back into the "same-old". There will just be fewer photos of beaches, palm trees and men in budgie smugglers.

It's a small world after all

2010-01-18T13:43:00.002-05:00

There are some things in life that are worth 40 hours in transit with a 5-hour stopover in Fiji, 10 hour stopover in LA, detour to Charlotte, North Carolina to final destination: Orlando, Florida. There are some pivitol moments that are worth leaving paradise a few weeks early. And some events are so important that even watching Lance Armstrong at the Tour Downunder is bleak in comparison.

Surprising my Mom in Florida to watch her do her very first walking marathon at Disney World was such an occasion.

Through all my athletic endeavours my Mom has always been there to support me. She may not have understood me, but she was there regardless.

Rob & I also thought that going from Australia's Sunshine State to the United States' Sunshine State would be a nice transition back to life in Canada. As it turned out Florida was unseasonably cold, rivalling temperatures seen in Canada. In fact, there were parts of Canada warmer than Florida. All that aside we gave Mom a solid surprise with a trademark reaction that was worth all the frozen oranges in Florida.

Race morning was the earliest rise in the history of sport: 2:45am. Below zero temps greeted my mom, 2 aunties, and another friend as they made their way to the start line.

Mom broke the cardinal rule "do the same in racing as you have done in training" and still made it to the finish line with 30 minutes to spare.

Post race I took Rob to Disney World, where everyone feels like a kid...not much of a change for Rob but still fun nonetheless.

A few pictures from the big day.

Me walking with Aunt Mary-Lou (left) and Mom (middle) at 25 miles. Shortly after this photo Mom told me she was "hurting right here" (pointing to quads). And yes, that is a heavy duty garbage bag under my coat(s). Layer 3 of 7.

Proud of my Mom the marathoner.

Aunt Chris, Miriam, Aunt M-L, and Mom a few minutes after finishing.

Post race.

Like daughter...

...like mother.

Even though my Mom has been at all of my big events waiting for hours to see me in transition or cross the finish line, I think now that she has done 42.2km she has a new understanding of what I do.

Don't get me wrong she still thinks it's crazy, but she understands the dedication, the motivation, and the feeling of accomplishment. And once she crossed that finish line the hours of training, the chafing, the blisters, the aches and pains were all worthwhile.

It's one of those feelings you can't describe but have to experience.

Congratulations Mom. You are amazing.

Leaving BrisVegas

2010-01-12T11:40:00.003-05:00

Sometimes we have to make decisions not based on how we feel right now but based on how we may feel 10 years from now.
Sometimes living in the moment is superceded by planning for the future.
And sometimes decisions aren't black and white. The grey bits often make us question things.

Australia has been my home for the past 13 months.
And unlike my 2 year stint working in Japan, and unlike all the other places I have visited and travelled to, I could always picture myself living permanently in Australia.

And maybe that's why we have decided to move back to Canada.

We looked at our lives and imagined ourselves 10 years from now.
We would have a lovely home with a giant verandah that we could use year round. There'd be a mango tree out back, and we'd holiday on the gold or sunny coast. We'd have good jobs that we could walk to or cycle to. We'd have our incredible friends who have really been like family to us...

...and on the other side of the world our niece and nephew would be growing. They'd play with the cricket set and Aussie toys we'd send to them, but we'd never be there to play with them. We'd skype with my Mom and my sisters and my aunties and cousins. We'd hear about the fun times. We'd not be there during the sad times. We'd say we would fly home every year and then it would turn into every second year, then every five years. And if we had kids of our own, they'd grow up talking funny :)

So while we love the lifestyle, the people, the climate, and the opportunities in Oz, there are some things that we need from Canada.

I tell myself we can always move back. It's true, we can.
But first we need to live and experience our life in Canada, post-Oz, rather than forever wonder what life would have been like if we'd moved back.

Australia will always hold a special place in my heart.
It will always be there waiting for us should we choose to once again make it our home.

A Kiwi Christmas Story (in pictures)

2010-01-05T02:47:00.002-05:00

Our most recent adventure took place on the south island of New Zealand. Because pictures tell a thousand words (and I'm a bit lazy) commentary will be minimal and photographs plentiful.

We spent Christmas in Christchurch:

Ate some Christmas Day sushi:

We saw some common local wildlife:

and some rare local wildlife:

Then down to Dunedin where I caught up with my good mate Bridget. 10 years have passed since we were teaching on the islands of Okinawa. A long overdue reunion.

Rob caught up with a friend too:

Dunedin boasts the world's steepest street. I nearly fell backwards just walking to the top:

Others were more ambitious and ran up the street (and timing himself):

I learned the secret to growing beautiful grass:

and met some more local wildlife:

We hit the Cadbury chocolate factory to get that Christmas feeling (achy bellies):

Then off to Milford Sound for an overnight cruise. Magical.

We did some water sports:

which included the option to go for a swim in the 15 degree glacial waters:

It felt worse than it looks:

More yummy food to add to that Christmas feeling:

And a few more locals along the way:

Then off to Queenstown for some adrenaline rushing activities.

some amazing trail running:

and ice cold water to soothe our achy legs:

Then off to ride the Otago Rail Trail. I thought 150km would be a breeze. A gravel trail, 60 pound rental bikes, panniers, Rob's leaky tire, and gale force winds proved otherwise. We spent New Years in the Ranfurly Hotel. Yes, it was as wild as it sounds.

More locals. Sheep with tails. TAILS! Who knew? I certainly didn't but I'm spreading the word. Too cute!

Trying to make some friends on the Rail Trail:

There are more sheep in New Zealand than people. True story.

DONE! Yeah.

Stunning views everywhere!

Happy 2010 everyone!

Taking a break from coleslaw

2009-12-23T18:04:00.000-05:00

When my younger sister Kaylan was a child she showed signs of an addictive personality.
My Mom insisted on calling them "phases".

When Kaylan was around three years old she insisted on wearing only dresses. No dress and a temper tantrum would ensue. So she wore dresses to school, dresses to play, and dresses to bed until she finally got tired of wearing dresses and decided being nude was the new black.

Kaylan was now naked as often as possible. She would wear clothes to leave the house (Canadian weather can hurt the naked toddler body) but as soon as she got inside, the clothes would be off.

A few years later Kaylan went through another "phase". By this time she was wearing clothes and had diversified outside just wearing dresses. This "phase" was was to do with food. She would only eat coleslaw.

She ate so much coleslaw that my mom was grating several cabbage heads per week. She wanted coleslaw for breakfast, coleslaw for lunch, and coleslaw for dinner. Much like the other "phases" nothing else would do. My Mom either made the coleslaw or Kaylan wanted no part of eating.

One day, after a few months of non-stop coleslaw Kaylan decided she didn't want coleslaw anymore. In fact, she now hated coleslaw and wanted nothing to do with it. The smell of coleslaw made her gag and her once perfect food repulsed her. She was over it.

Nowadays Kaylan can be seen wearing all sorts of clothes to her new addiction: musicals and the theatre in London, England. She now eats coleslaw...among other foods. She just needed some time off after being obsessed with one food.

I liken Kaylan's coleslaw addiction, subsequent repulsion, followed by slow, moderate re-acceptance, to the "phase" I am going through with triathlon.

Right now the cabbage is a bit smelly and makes me want to gag, but I'm sure in time I'll want to eat coleslaw (in moderation) again.

More groovy recovery

2009-12-21T04:22:00.000-05:00

This past weekend we went south of the border to meet up with friends in Byron Bay, New South Wales. I begged Rob to take a little detour inland to a small hippie town called Nimbin. Also home of the Mardi Grass festival.

The population of Nimbin is only a few hundred but the town was buzzing. Literally.

Depite having a police station on the main drag, there doesn't seem to be any drug enforcement in Nimbin.

In the span of 3 metres, Rob & I were offered a "smoke up" 4 times.

Local business is mostly shops, cafes, art galleries and of course, real estate:

I did my best to blend in by wearing my most hippie dress to visit shops like "Bringabong" and "Hemporium". Duuuuuuude.

Rob doing his best hippie impersonation with a peace sign and his lululemon golf shirt and running shorts:

And now an authentic hippie:

After our fill of patchouli, incense and tree-hugging, granola munching hippies, we continued on our way to Byron Bay.

Byron Bay was fantastic. It rained most of Sunday so I didn't get any pictures. That morning, however, we had a nice pocket of sunshine. I did a small run around Byron Bay followed by a little barefoot beach run, then sat on the beach only to see Santa zooming across the water on a rubber boat.

There were heaps of Aussie kids on the beach who all came running to the shore to greet Santa. Aussie Santa is quite lean and very tanned.

At that moment I realised it is Christmas. I haven't felt at all Christmassy yet this year. It's just not the same without family, and the 30+ temps make it that much more strange.

But seeing the excitement of those kids reminded me that it's not really about snow or fireplaces or turkeys, it's all about tradition and family. The Aussies have some cool Christmas traditions and even though those traditions are different from a kid growing up in Canada, they're still meaningful.

On that note I leave you with the Aussie version of Jingle Bells.

To hear it go to: http://www.ulladulla.info/xmas/jinglebells.html

Makes me laugh every time.

JINGLE BELLS

Dashing through the bush

In a rusty Holden Ute
Kicking up the dust
Esky in the boot

Kelpie by my side
Singing Christmas songs
It's summer time and I am in
My singlet, shorts & thongs

CHORUS:

OH, JINGLE BELLS, JINGLE BELLS
JINGLE ALL THE WAY
CHRISTMAS IN AUSTRALIA
ON A SCORCHING SUMMER'S DAY
JINGLE BELLS, JINGLE BELLS
CHRISTMAS TIME IS BEAUT
OH WHAT FUN IT IS TO RIDE
IN A RUSTY HOLDEN UTE

Engine's getting hot
Dodge the kangaroos
Swaggy climbs aboard
He is welcome too
All the family is there
Sitting by the pool
Christmas day, the Aussie way
By the barbecue!

CHORUS

Come the afternoon
Grandpa has a doze
The kids and uncle Bruce
Are swimming in their clothes
The time comes round to go
We take a family snap
Then pack the car and all shoot through
Before the washing up

CHORUS

If you need translations for some of the words let me know.

I consider myself amost fluent in Australian.

Recovery

2009-12-17T06:48:00.018-05:00

Post-Ironman (PI) Training Log

Times swimming: 1

Times riding: 0

Times running: 5 (2 of which were for lulu run club. Thanks for getting me out the door, ladies!)

Rob & I have been basking in PI recovery mode. Rob has been sleeping extra as he also backed up his Ironman with the Beer Mile. An athlete of his calibre needs extra R&R.

Race highlights can be seen at:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CJYAiOZEOUw

As much as it looks like I am concerned for Rob when he is close to hurling, audio would reveal that I am actually yelling "Don't barf!", "Keep it down or you're DQed!"

Back to recovery...

By day, we can be found eating well...

[Yes, that is 100% PURE Canadian Maple Syrup]

...and playing geriatric sports like lawn bowling (called "bowls" here--considered cool when you take off your shoes. Then it's called "barefoot bowls")

Rob, embracing the geriatric-ness of our activities in his retro wear:

The boys, having drunk enough to think barefoot bowls is a real sport:

And by night we go mangoing. Seriously. How many cities have giant mango trees in the city centre? It's like urban paradise! There must be a gazillion mangoes on this one tree. And it's not the only tree in the city.

[Voice over of David Attenborough]
Like scavengers they hunt for sustanance for their smoothies and fruit salads.

The female scavenger leaps to reach the fresh mangoes while the male scavenger only need extend his lanky arm to claim the mangoes as his prey.

Dear Heat: Are we still friends?

2009-12-12T23:31:00.000-05:00

I went for a little run today.

Since I've implemented the "no alarm" policy in our household, I slept a whopping 10 hours the night before and didn't make it out the door until the sun was high in the sky and the base temperature (not including sticky Brissie humidity) was 32 degrees (that's 90 farenheit for my yankee readers).

After about 15 minutes of easy running I was exhausted. OK, OK, yes, I did an Ironman last weekend BUT this was a different kind of exhaustion. The kind that seems to occur to me on really hot days.

I have always thought I was good in the heat. Truth is, I LOVE the heat. I would take extreme heat over extreme cold any day. But perhaps I've been confusing my love of heat with a false belief that I actually perform well in heat.

While running I thought about my performances over the years. My best performances have all been in moderate temperatures (20-25 degrees). My worst performances (not including the one's where I was at the start line with a stress fracture, or popped some random pills beforehand and ended up vomitting, or decided last minute to do a race horribly out of shape) have for the most part been in extreme heat.

A trend I was sad to discover.

So, despite my love of heat it appears that heat may not love me back.
I suppose it's good to figure these things out now rather than continue to kid myself that I am a camel when really I am more like a pig. Mmmmmmmbacon.

Busso '09: The Report

2009-12-09T08:38:00.002-05:00

It's been a few days since the big race. The memories are still as fresh as my aching quads.
Got your venti latte in hand? Here's how it went down.

Pre Race

The days leading up to the race were completely relaxing. After spending a few days with one of Rob's mates in beautiful Bunbury watching movies and getting massages, we went down to Busselton. Shortly after arriving in Busso I starting sneezing and sniffling, but didn't feel sick. A quick experiment with some allergy pills and I was back to normal.

Race week was cool and breezy.
Race day was anything but.

Swim

Busselton is famous for the perfect 1.8km long Ironman jetty. The water is crystal clear and race day water temperature was 21.1degrees.
Unfortunately this year the jetty is under construction. Usually spectators are able to walk the 1.8km out and 1.8km back following the swimmers.

This swim was by far the most civilized of my 3 Ironmans. I did the whole swim without major incident. No dislodged goggles, no elbows to the cheek, no one swimming over me. I'm not sure if it was the relatively small field (1,300 competitors) or the fact that we were seeded according to expected swim times, but it was uneventful....exactly how I like my swims!

I also managed to draft for the first time ever. I latched on to a guy with an easy-to-spot orange-armed wetsuit and followed him to the end of the jetty...then lost him. My swim back from the jetty felt much longer than my swim out, mostly because I was alone. I went a little off course but still got out of the water in 1:05.

I happily spat out excess salt water and hopped on my bike.

Bike

Before the race I told myself to savour the day and spend my 10 hours saying thank-you and farewell to Ironman. 180km of bike riding allows for time to say good-bye.

The course is 3 laps of flat & fast road. As with any flat course, or Ironman course in general, there are always the draft packs. I saw a few go by and had no temptation to follow. In the wise words of Cypress Hill, I kept humming to myself "I ain't goin' out like that" and rolled along at my own pace.

Nearing the end of the ride, I pulled up alongside Rob. Two days before the race he had rolled his ankle on the beach after one of our training swims. It was as swollen as my sister Mo's pregnancy ankles.
He had been popping anti-inflams for the two days leading up to the race. It hadn't done his guts any favours and the pain was getting to him after such a long ride.

He quickly re-adjusted his goal of a 9 hour Ironman and Hawaii spot. Now he just wanted to finish.
I gave him a few words of encouragement and passed him like any Iron-wife would. I knew he wouldn't want me to wait.

I completely loved my ride. All 3 laps were evenly split and comfortable. I was proud getting off my bike knowing that it was my quads, my lungs, and my brain that gave me a 5hr26min bike split. I ain't going out like thaaaaaat!

Run

In T2 I sat down and had a conversation with one of the volunteers. By this point the sun was high in the sky and it was hot, but nothing I hadn't dealt with in Brisbane. I would later learn that 12% of competitors including 16 pros dropped out that day.

I took one of my running socks and began wiping my sunglasses. For some reason I was obsessed with getting every spot off the lenses.

V: Do you want sunscreen, dear?
K: Yup.
V: On your back, dear? [rubbing sunscreen on me]
K: Yup.
V: How about your arms?
K: Yup.
V: Back of the neck?
K: Uhhhh Yup.
V: And how about your legs?
K: Yup.
V: OK, I think I got everything.
K: Oh. Uh. That felt so good. [Sitting in the chair]
V: You ready to go dear?
K: Oh, uh, almost. You done with the sunscreen?
V: Yes dear. You're all done.
K: Umm I guess I'll go then.
V: Have a great run.

And off I went.

It was hot. I laughed to myself that it was "a dry heat". It's true. It really was. It was strange not to be drenched in sweat. Perhaps people didn't realise how much they were sweating, didn't drink enough on the bike, and died out on the run.

I knew Al and Helena were only minutes ahead of me. I saw them both at the turnaround. Despite feeling great the whole ride, my legs were fatigued and started to twitch into little spazzy cramps. A lethal left hamstring/right quad combo left me struggling to find a rhythm.

One thing I forgot to do in the transition tent was crack my back. Yes. It's sick. I know. But sitting down and twisting my torso makes my low back and hips feel so much better. The best I could do was a port-a-loo.

I knew the dangers of sitting on the loo. The biggest one is not getting up. I was desperate to relieve my back pain so I hopped into the loo, had a seat, decided to pee while I was there, cracked my back and...sat there. And sat there. And sat there. If it wasn't close to 40 degrees in that loo I would have sat there even longer.

Emerging from the loo I felt a bit better, but my muscles were still mini-cramping.
This year I hadn't felt entirely confident in my run training. I suppose it was different from what I was used to and I didn't feel like I had the volume or intensity of other years. I'm not sure what happened to my run, whether it really was a lack of run training or something else, but it was miserable.

I walked every aid station, taking almost everything from the volunteers except the vegemite sandwiches and pretzels. After every aid station it was a struggle to get moving again. My legs were really pissed off.

All around me people were walking. I started to rationalise that walking was OK. The other side of my brain told me that walking meant I'd be out there even longer. I sped up to a shuffle.
I was no longer singing sweet farewell love songs to Ironman like I did on the bike. Now I was telling Ironman to Eff Off!

On my final lap I saw Rob walking toward me the opposite way. He was at least 30 minutes behind me.
We walked toward each other, embraced, and Rob asked me if he could semi-retire from Ironman as well. I said of course, kissed him and kept going.

Crossing the line my legs completely gave out. I didn't want to go to medical, so I asked the volunteers to take me to a massage table where I laid down for a long while.

10hours 46minutes of love, hate, pain, cramps, heat, anger, dread, sweat, aches, back cracks, farewells, good-byes, and eff offs.

I am happy. My result wasn't my best. It also wasn't my worst. I'm excited to be closing this athletic door of my life and moving on to another one. Surely just running can't hurt this much...

Post Race

Rob finished his race. He has never ever quit a race. I thought I was proud of him for his fierce determination and then he decides to suck up the pain for one more day and enter the Beer Mile Competition. [scroll down for pictures], only to make me even more proud.

I knew he was a contender: Wicked speed mixed with an uncanny ability to open his esophagus and swallow fluids in one fell chug makes for a beer mile champ. He has the belt to prove it.

That's my man.

Island hopping

2009-11-29T17:19:00.001-05:00

The next stop on our end of year travel blitz was the Whitsunday Islands, home of the famous great barrier reef. We tied a 2km ocean swim race into our adventure.

We set up our home base on Airlie Beach. "Schoolies", an Aussie youth right of passage, was on so we we had evening options like foam parties, glowstick parties, or straight up clubbin'. We decided to sip wine and eat seafood in places the kids couldn't afford, followed by lots of hours of sleep.

The next day we took the ferry over to Hamilton Island for race registration. The local mode of transport makes everyone feel worthy of country club life:

After registration, we had a bite to eat here:

Then another ferry to Whitehaven beach. A pristine, uninhabited island with the kind of sand that squeeks like baby mice when you walk on it.

Arriving on the island:

The best disembarkation ever:

We ran into Ben, the Island Caretaker. A great bloke with a pretty incredible job that includes running races, swim races, kayaking, fish feeding and travelling.

Me with Ben "Best Job in the World" Southall and the "Best Rob in the World".

Pink race cap. Red race suit. Story of my life.

I discovered once again that I am not an ocean swimmer. I'm not good at it. I need lines at the bottom of the pool and lane ropes to keep me corralled. Call me the wild stallion of swimming.

But you know what, I love it. And being out there I couldn't care less about pace, speed, or the 60 year olds in stinger suits passing me. It's a luxury to do things like this. And I'm lapping it up.

Ferry back to Hamilton Island as the sun sets over the islands, reading my new most favourite book ever.

The next day was a test in teamwork with tandem sea kayaking.

We were told we couldn't play in the water without donning a stinger suit. After swimming 2km unprotected we weren't as concerned as our tour guide but thought the suits would be fun in an underwater star trek kind of way.

Me doing all the work and Rob taking photos. Typical.

Were now back in Brissie airport awaiting our flight to WA. Another adventure awaits...

Final countdown

2009-11-23T04:29:00.001-05:00

The big race is less than 2 weeks away.
I did my last long run this morning, a Monday, delayed due to a small bout of sickness that struck me down last week.

Before & after my run, I spent my time tracking my buddy CP racing Ironman Arizona. We used to train together in Canada until she made the move to Tucson, AZ to put her talent to the test.

I knew she would race well. Knowing how hard she works and how passionate she is I got inspired.
Yes, inspired! excited! jazzed!

I tracked her through most of the 9hrs and 56 minutes of her race. She raced her way to first place in our age group and 1st amateur woman overall.

After the fact I though about how everyone "looks good" online.
I didn't realise until I heard from her later that she was suffering...LOTS.
It's easy to forget the hurt when you're clicking a refresh button. It's also nice to try to convince myself the pros don't suffer, they're just fast.

This was a good reminder lesson for me.
As Al always says: "how badly do you want it?"

I don't have an answer quite yet.
I still have 12 days to think about it.

The Social Beast

2009-11-18T04:39:00.000-05:00

This past weekend was a blur of non-tri-related social outings.

It's not often Rob & I stray from our paediatric 8:30pm bedtime and our geriatric 4:40am rise. Now I understand why my sister Mo always complained about the kids getting "off their schedule".

After a long run Friday morning we dashed to the airport to catch a flight to Melbourne.
Rob arrived at the airport looking like this:

He is already embarrassing our unborn children.

One night in Melbourne included dinner & drinks with Rob's travel mates (Team Gap) & spouses, first breakfast with Rob's brother (I have now met all 4 of his siblings!), coffee and second breakfast on DeGraves street with Team Gap, a poke around a few shops, some happy birthday wishes from the gang, and a flight back up to Brissie.

The next morning was a 200km mountain ride/30 minute run. I felt surprisingly good & celebrated in the usual Sunday evening style with burgers & beer with fellow Cycos.

The following evening (yes, on a school night) we went for dinner with my cousin Ryan and his wife Krista who are travelling around Oz/NZ for their honeymoon. Ryan is one month younger than me and was the first to give me the nickname "lala" because the "RL" combo was a bit too much for his toddler tongue.

We had such a fantastic time eating and chatting that we were home well past our bedtime...again.

I am now officially pooped. And I have the sore throat and malaise to prove it.
Ironman training + social life = susceptibility to contagious disease.
But I also picked up some darn good memories.

IMWA in 2.5 weeks.
This social beast will be a hermit crab from here on in.

Meet lulu-lala

2009-11-11T00:54:00.001-05:00

A few years ago I led a running group in Canada. Seeing my group finish their goal race was a great feeling.

One of the recurring themes from friends helping me through my mental rough patch was to "give back". Over the last year I have been stalking my neighbourhood lululemon store for a few reasons: their clothing rocks, and it reminds me of home. Not only are the sizes in "Canadian" but their are Canadian accents everywhere!

Much like a stray cat that keeps comin' 'round, the lulu ladies have taken me in, clothed me, and offered me a gig as an ambassador. Part of the gig is to help other people get running! A perfect fit.

It is opportunities like this that help keep my sport fun...and normal. Living the Ironman lifestyle is often so selfish and consuming we forget the simplicity of just meeting up with a few chicks for a little jog...
No heart rate. No pace. No set time or distance.
Just good clean fun. And a little bit of fluoro.

View from the sidelines

2009-11-04T20:33:00.000-05:00

Last night I had a dream that I ran a 2:56 marathon. It was one of the most vivid dreams I've had in a while. It was a big race, maybe Chicago or New York. I was smiling. And it felt easy.

Rob reminded me that I was laying down a the time and that might be why it felt easy. Right. Bubble burst. A 2:56 would certainly be hard work--I'd take a 2:59:59!

I think I'll always have athletic goals of some sort. Right now, I'll put my sub-3 marathon dream on the shelf until after my Ironman in FIVE WEEKS!
My Ironman dream is similar to the marathon dream--to be happy crossing that finish line.

I've sat out the last week or so of training. That week or so included a half ironman. Instead of racing I decided to support Rob & a few other Cycos. I forgot how challenging it is to be a good spectator/supporter/race sherpa.

Between counting age group legs, carrying heavy bags, cheering, moving to various points along the course, taking photos, applying suncreen, staying hydrated, re-applying sunscreen, helping Rob through the panic of having forgot his wetsuit (not a race sherpa responsibility!), I was knackered by the end of it. I think I ended up more burnt and dehydrated than Rob!

But I wasn't jealous. Not one bit.

I was very, very happy being at the sidelines, latte in one hand, camera in the other, hollering motivational abuse at my athletes. If anything made them go faster it was getting through the Karla-zone as quickly as possible. You're welcome, fellas!

[The wonderful people at Aquashop gave Rob a sleeveless wettie to borrow for the day. He did a PB of 25 minutes for his 1.9km swim!]

[Notice how lonely Rob is coming out of the water]

Pre-race relaxation:
The view from our veranda (right on the run course):
T2:

All done!

Rob's post-race ritual. The only time I'm OK with two women double-teaming my husband:

People still going, hours after Rob had finished. Inspirational:

Enjoying the fresh sea air:

Schmokin'!

2009-10-25T02:01:00.010-04:00

I've always been a big fan of the heat.
Today almost made me crave the cold. Well, the cool. Well, something under 30 degrees anyway. And it's only spring.

A 5 hour undulating ride to the summit of Mount Mee and back followed by 20x1km repeats was a true test of endurance, mental stamina, and who could get their pee the most fluorescent.

As the heat increased, my pace decreased. Suddenly my 4:30s fell to 4:40s, until eventually I stopped looking at my watch and shifted to just get 'er done mode.

The dirt track was messy with worn out Cycos shifting from running to jogging to shuffling. To add to the torture we ran past the UQ outdoor pool...TWENTY TIMES. Every once in a while the wind would shift and I'd catch a whiff of sunscreen, chlorine, and kid sweat. Beautiful.

The good news is that I never once told myself I hated what I was doing. I never questioned why I was doing a 7 hour workout in the heat of a 30 degree day in Oz. Perhaps the heat had fried the left side of my brain or maybe, just maybe I was happy...in an OMG I think my head is gonna pop off kind of way.

But is there any other happiness in Ironman training? That feeling of complete muscle exhaustion enjoyed with a few of your closest training mates is what we do. It is what we crave. It is what gets us to the finish line and makes us want to do it again...or not.

I've been a bit reflective about this whole IM business the last few weeks. I've decided to sit out the next half ironman race. I've also decided to race Busso then take a quasi-retirement from IM. I think I'll take up something a little less fringe like marathoning or something. I took a quasi-retirement from marathoning a few years ago. I think I'm ready to run again, without all the swim/bike mumbo jumbo confusing things.

So that's where I'm at. Shortly I'll be noshing on something meaty at "Brisbane's worst vegetarian restaurant", the Norman Hotel. Life is good.

And I did eventually get to jump in the UQ pool. A perfect ending to a tough day.

Time out

2009-10-16T23:32:00.013-04:00

Over the last week I've been focusing my energy on less swim/bike/run and more other stuff.
Other stuff includes:

A visit from Rob's Dad & Ellie (with many tasty meals and lovely wines):

Sampling new & unusual fruit (this one is a black sapote, aka "chocolate pudding fruit" YUM!):

And today Rob took me out for a lovely brekkie on the ocean to celebrate our anniversary:

Then we went for a walk...straight into this place:

SURPRISE! You're jumping out of a plane at 14,000 feet today!
Ummm. OK. Maybe this swim/bike/run thing isn't so bad after all...

Despite my mouth being wide open in a scream-like formation, no sound was uttered. I was, however, happy I could open my mouth to express my freaking-outted-ness, unlike the bloke who jumped before me who had false teeth. He kept his shut. Just in case.

The 45 second free fall gave me the feeling of being on the Tilt-a-Whirl or the Zipper at the Forest Fall Fair, but with better views. Those dodgy rides always made me nauseous.

Where's the Tylenol?

Thanks for a fabulous anniversary gift, Rob. This one will be tough to top!

Collective wisdom

2009-10-14T00:50:00.015-04:00

I have this blog for a few reasons: 1. For Others - to keep family & friends up to date with my adventures. 2. For Me - I love writing & being a bit creative.

But sometimes I need a little help from my friends. As it turns out, I have no shortage of friends--"Toot! Toot!"
So if there's someone out there that may feel like I am at the moment, bookmark this page because it's full of wisdom, hilarity, and common sense (which isn't always that common when you're trying to figure things out on your own).

So thank-you, everyone.
Here's a sample from the friends who wrote:

From a wiser, younger version of me with better core strength:

Maybe you should try to look at IM in a new light. Please consider this: you may have lost a steady partner, but you may have just found a new and very exciting, enticing, hot FRIEND WITH BENEFITS! One thing I am sure of, you will never truly break all ties with IM, its a real part of you. AND you love the training (very uncommon) this will also most likely always be a part of your life in some capacity. You will always be in shape enough to call IM up for a last minute bootie call, just for kicks...maybe even to prove mama's still got it. But not necessarily for the reasons of winning or setting a PB but for the reasons that you fell in love with it in the first place. On the other hand this may be the beginning of rediscovering some other aspects of your life that you haven't been able to nurture because there just aren't enough hours in the day!

From a long, long, loooong-time training buddy and close friend:

It's supposed to be fun. I think you should focus on what is fun. If it's the training that's fun, keep doing it, and don't worry about racing for a while. The mojo will come back.

From a superstar triathlete who has been through it and was wise enough to take a loooooong break after IM Hawaii:

If your "A" race is IM, if nothing else, don't worry about the 1/2. I would even take 2 weeks completely away from triathlon. You've got enough fitness to do the IM, so just leave it be for a couple of weeks. Do active things, but things you just feel like doing that aren't tri-related . . . go hiking, go surfing, go paddling, go diving . . .Then, go back to a few tri workouts.
Revamp your iPod so you have some new tunes on it.
Do some workouts on your own with your favourite tunes and without the competitive nature of a group workout where you know where you "should" be and with whom you "should" be running.

From a Canadian defector & amazing desert-dwelling triathlete:

i figure, i don't have to race. i train because i like it, not because i have to. when i am not liking it (we know the difference between a hard workout that puts us in the hurt box and just plain not enjoying it) i take a break. eventually, i get the desire again. it's the same with racing. take yourself away from the "have to".

From a woman who could swim faster than me with both arms zip-tied. I'm serious, she would just dolphin kick past me:

Remember you love this sport because it is challenging and fun. SO many great times had from the training and more to be had on race day. All you have to do is go out there put a smile on your face and have some fun!

From the master of aerodynamics and dressing casually:

Look forward and focus on your AAA race and use the B races for what they are, practice for the big ones. And as far as the other ones you're signed up for: don't put pressure on yourself, if you want to race do it if not f'it.

From a non-triathlete friend who has always been a huge supporter:

don't break up with triathlons! you guys make such a good couple!

From a funny, outgoing non-triathlete friend who thinks I'm crazy but loves me for it:

You are amazing and an inspiration, power through, just like I know you can. Just like the tractor in 2nd or was or 3rd year...

From an Aussie long-distance up & comer:

I really hope you rekindle the romance again though, it would be such a shame for you to back off now. If it's any inspiration for you, I aspire to being as good a triathlete as you are :-) And to be as tough!!

From a fellow Cyco:

I went through that with MotoX, I can remember the minute I had had enough, and I just ditched it. I bought another bike a few years later and started running and cycling to get fit enough to race again, then something else took my interest......

From a coach & triathlete in my home city:

Try a sports psychologist. He/she can help you through your next races.
After that take a break & try new things. It sounds to me like some time off might be what you need. If you love something set it free if it comes back to you BLAH BLAH BLAH ;)

From a sweetheart in my old runnin' club:

Get some rest. Things will zip back up when it's time. :)

From a master of keeping training spicy and fun:

maybe help out some newbies, that may be a good motivator.

From a fellow Cyco who is a graduate of the School of Hard Knocks (or so he thinks):

HTFU

From a world-class athlete who left her sport shortly after her passion did. She now hearts triathlons:

Maybe you have been at it so hard and for so long you just need a breather. Time off never killed anyone. It is supposed to be your hobby and you are supposed to LOVE your hobbies. It is not your full time paying job. Sometimes us freaks forget that. So if there is something in your life that is supposed to be fun and it is not, you have to find a way to fix it. Maybe a little break from it all will be exactly what you need.

From a sage, trusted, talented athlete & friend:

Do the things you like to do. If you want to run, run. Go for a little spin and stop to smell the roses. Hike, do yoga, read a book. Do some things with no performance pressure attached to them. Shift the focus from self...share your wisdom, experience with others.

From a brave & talented friend about to embark on her first Ironman:

It's people like you that inspire me. I admire all your hard training and dedication! I think I have said this to you before, you are an incredibly talented athlete. You are a superstar and a true motivation for me.

From a person whose heart is probably made of gold or some other shiny metal:

Maybe you could just find a new goal for these next two races. In Wisconsin I set three goals. One time specific. One just to finish. The third was to help someone else along the way. Maybe you'd get more joy out of it by putting your focus on someone else.
Or... maybe you really aren't into the sport at all anymore. And what's wrong with that? Nothing. In the grand scheme of life it isn't that important.

A year

2009-10-12T22:44:00.000-04:00

A year ago this weekend marked 2 of the biggest events of my life.
48 hours after doing Ironman Hawaii, Rob & I walked hand in hand with a small group of family & friends to green turtle beach where we committed to love each other for the rest of our lives.

The day couldn't have been more perfect. Well, minus my humidified hair and insane tan lines. We had the best possible group of people to share our day with in a relaxed, friendly, easy-going atmosphere complete with a bbq dinner and a bike box transformed into a cooler full of beer.

A few days later while on a coffee tour high above Kona the song below came over the radio in the cafe. Then & there, with Boss, the Mule, Ryan, and Chrissy nearby, Rob & I had our first dance.

This year seems like it's gone so fast and yet it has been the most eventful and exciting year of my life! I've made some silly decisions in my life. Marrying Rob was the smartest and easiest decision I have ever made. And life with him is still getting better every day!

OK, OK, enough gushy stuff.

Mahalo for loving me, Robbie.
Happy 1st Anniversary!

Uninspired

2009-10-04T18:46:00.007-04:00

Rob & I did the Gold Coast Half Ironman this past weekend.
My instructions from Al were simple: SMASH IT.

I've been struggling to smash anything as of late, except my morning coffees and accompanying cookies.

After some dramas in the swim (as per KVK usual-I somehow managed to start the race with my wetsuit unzipped), and an uneventful ride, I told myself I was looking forward to running - my favourite of the 3 legs.

It didn't take me long to realise I wasn't going to smash it. I didn't want to. I had absolutely no desire to get out of my comfort zone or push in any way.

On those 21k's I did some soul searching. I remembered myself 5 years ago at my first half ironman race. I went so hard I almost passed out at the finish chute. There was nowhere else in the world I wanted to be except there, running 21km after a long swim and run. Here I was 5 years later, running 21km wanting to be anywhere but there. I kept telling myself I should be running faster, and replying to myself, "why?".

Usually after bad races I tell myself all the lessons I learned to make me better for next time.
This bad race was different. This race I broke up with triathlon. And much like a juvenille high school romance, my on-and-off relationship hit a tipping point. The love is gone.

I can't help but be sad that I no longer love triathlon. Afterall, triathlon has given me so much.
For some reason I still absolutely love the training. I think it's the social part: the friends, the laughs, the swimming in outdoor pools, the rides and runs in beautiful places.

So is my desire salvageable?
I'm not sure.

All I know is I have another half ironman in 4 weeks time and a full one in 9. Both booked and paid for. The Dutch in me thinks it would be a waste to not do the races. The heartbroken schoolgirl in me can't bear the thought of going back to my relationship just because it's what's comfortable.

Talent and training will only get you so far.
The mind is the weapon that separates success from mediocrity.
And right now my mind is out of the game.

Recovery week

2009-09-30T05:37:00.000-04:00

Sometimes the most difficult training weeks are the one's where you have to sit back and recover. Last week was one of those.

After asking Al if he'd made a mistake with my program (which he hadn't), I resolved to sit on my behind and enjoy it. It doesn't take me long to stop thinking of swim-bike-run and start enjoying the gentler things in life like baking banana bread, reading (real books! not tri magazines!), watching movies, and eating banana bread.

I've also invested some time and resources into inventing an alternative magpie-deterrent for every day use. Zip-ties are SO 2008:

Serendipitously, my recovery week coincided with a massive dust storm hitting the eastern side of Oz. Huge winds from the outback swept tons of red earth across the desert to the coast. Kinda like a reverse vacation, the destination came to us.

The view in my neighbourhood looked like below. I resisted the urge to scream "THE END IS NEAR!!!" from our balcony.
[Source: Paul Osborne, AAP]

Not only was it a bad week to be training, it was also a bad week to wash your car, hang out white laundry, and breathe deeply...because just after the dust settled, it came back.

My North American, CNN-sensitised brain was waiting for the media to announce the Oz had initiated "THE WAR ON DUST". Instead, the media interviewed people who had washed their cars after the first dust storm, then had to re-wash their cars after the second dust storm. Oh, and there was a guy who was driving through a country town mid-dust storm who had to stop and wait it out.

Back to recovering...
Recovery week doesn't mean NO training, just reduced training. I somehow managed to flog myself in other ways like massive chaffing from our Saturday ocean swim...

...there's a matching one on the other side, too.

The "easy" Sunday session of a 3h ride and 16x1km repeats somehow made me (and my runnin' buddy Eddie) ache for several days post-workout.
We managed to stay comfy & consistent at a 4:19-4:20/km pace.
16 repeats seems so easy compared to 20.

It was Al & Sandy's last Sunday workout with the squad. They're off to Hawaii to put their weeks of commitment and dedication to the test.

We'll all be watching.

When magpies attack

2009-09-24T04:51:00.000-04:00

Sounds like a horror film, right?
It was.

It was inevitable. The fact that I spend a third of my life outside automatically increased my odds of experiencing the dreaded magpie swoop.

For me, springtime conjures up images of fragrant flowers, green grass, and baby duckies.
Not here. Nope. Springtime is watch-your-back-for-mad-swooping-magpies season.

Magpies bring the definition of child protection to a whole new level.

It's a territorial thing for magpies. They are protecting their nesting area, somewhat over-aggressively, if you ask me. This means if you get swooped in one place, you best warn your friends who will soon be in that one place.

People attempt to trick and ward off attacks in a variety of ways. None are proven effective, but all are proven ridiculous to look at:

1. The porcupine helmet

Find as many zipties as you can and fasten them to your helmet. The more you have the more you'll look like something that belongs in a magpie nest (just my opinion).

2. Full body armor

Aussie postal workers have it tough. Not only do posties deal with dogs in Oz, magpies are an extra treat.
Canadian posties work in "wind, rain, sleet, or snow".
Aussie posties work in "sun, partial cloud, occasional showers, and magpies".

My fabulous city even offers an interactive "swoop map" so people can avoid known swooping areas.
Take a look. Let me know if I'm being pessimistic about my odds of getting swooped every time I walk out the door...
I leave you with this quote from Wikipedia:

"They are opportunistic scavengers and will eat anything once they have discovered it is edible. They are known to attack the nests of other birds and eat their fledglings."

Sweet Dreams.

Springtime

2009-09-22T02:05:00.001-04:00

To celebrate the start of spring I sprung for yet another pair of Nikes. I needed something to console me now that the next few months will be bad, frizzy hair days.

After an inaugural 2 hour run and no hot spots, bruises, blisters or blood, I am officially a Nike girl!
Pitman has us running a bit more this month (love 2 run) but we're still doing plenty of the other stuff...
[Riding to Dayboro & Mt.Mee]

[A few of my old favourites: Marty & Mt.Mee]

My super-Sunday workout was interrupted by having to get to work by noon. I heard later that there was some serious carnage at the dirt track that day. With temps in the 30s and high humidity it was a tough day for everyone.

Not only was Rob one of the dirt-track-victims, he also managed to get a speeding ticket while we were on our way to the markets. His first ever. The cop had an unfair advantage being parked at the base of a massive hill in an unmarked car. Full points for sinister sneakiness, Mr.Officer.

My seatbelt was the only thing holding me back from jumping out of the car to explain to Mr. Officer that Rob is really an 80 year old man trapped in a sub-thirtysomething (looking at it that way makes me feel better) body. If only Mr.Officer could see road-trip footage of me in the passenger seat pretending to row the car in order to go faster. Rob just doesn't speed!

We numbed the pain by--you got it--Sunday burgers and beer!

Good night from Brisvegas.

On your right???

2009-09-17T02:41:00.003-04:00

There have been many adjustments living here in Oz. Like learning that "taking a squizz" doesn't involve squatting or bushes, and temperatures of 9 degrees celsius require scarves and mittens (and a considerable amount of "whinging"), and that the lollipop man at the zebra crossing may be loved by kids but it's not because he has lots of sugary sweets.

I discovered another oddity while riding the other day: I can't turn right.
Yup. After years and years of cycling on the right side of the road, when required to double back, I have always turned to the left.

Now that I am riding on the left side of the road, if I need to turn around, my body gets confused. This is an issue for upcoming races as many of them are out-and-back courses. This disability may also prove problematic for the "witches hats" (that one still makes me laugh) on the race course. I'm relying on my ambidexterity to kick in at some point. If I can apply mascara with both hands, surely I can turn to the right. Right???

On the running front, my days of Tea Leoni in Spanglish are over. Now, it's "riiiiiiiight"...."on yer riiiiiiight".

As long as I'm not forced to replace my PB & honey with vegemite, I think I'll survive.

No guarantees for those witches hats though...

Afternooon Delight

2009-09-14T05:24:00.002-04:00

Saturday morning started differently this weekend with a trip down to the Gold Coast for an open water swim. I tried out my new blueseventy sleeveless suit (an experiment to see if it helps me go faster). The water was a bit nippy to start, especially with bare arms, but I warmed up quickly enough. There were heaps of surfers out riding the waves, so we were sure to go out past the break for a smooth, surfer-free swim.

We chased our swim with a fantastic brekkie on the coast, then Rob & I drove up to Broadbeach for the ITU World Cup Triathlon. Rob had to work for the afternoon...

...while I meandered throught the expo and oggled all the latest tri-geekery. I also enjoyed some of the scenery, being a multicultural event and all...

I happened upon Beijing Gold medallist, Emma Snowsill. Not only am I completely envious of her illustrious career, she's also sponsored by The Natural Confectionery Company; my most favourite lolly provider.

The men's pro race was exciting. The multi-lap format made the race exciting for spectators, but I couldn't help compare the athletes with a bunch of hamsters on wheels. They looked less comfy than furry hamsters but nonetheless enjoyable to watch.

That look on Simon's face? Pretty much sums up why I don't do Olympic distance tris...

Oh Canada!!!

The day was successful.

Rob entertained many kids at the Life Education van and he also managed to score NEW bottles to add to our already-too-many-bottles collection. Very reminiscent of Ironman Florida 2007, but the bottles were Gatorade...
Sunday was a 3 hour "bay loop" ride followed by an hour wind trainer on the UQ netball courts. Al wanted us to practice finishing strong on the bike with some high intensity intervals...

...preceded by 16x1km repeats on the UQ dirt track.

I wasn't feeling as zippy as last week. Could have been the standing around all day Saturday, or the 2 hour run on Friday, or eating stuff like this at the gold coast:

I was consistent, but quite a bit slower than last week, holding 4:30 for every repeat. Al told me not to be concerned about this as it is meant to be "training not straining".

Marty & Scooter decided it would be funny to turn on the engines in the last 100m of repeat number 16 to pass me to the finish line.
Instead of screaming "no fair!", my sign-language reaction is caught in this photo:

The post-workout high...

Followed by the post-workout zone-out...

Followed by the realisation that I had a giant snot-ball on my right boob. I was wondering where that went...

Followed by some entertainment from the nearby UQ watersports club...

He stood there for a solid 10 minutes before he figured out what had happened. One of the funniest things I've seen in a long time.

Another big training week ahead.
After a 9 hour sleep Sunday night, I'm ready.

That "getting fit" feeling

2009-09-10T17:00:00.000-04:00

Nothing beats the feeling that comes from a few months of consistent training.

I tend to be on a continuum of unfit to super-fit depending on the time of year. This continuum allows me to notice and appreciate the changes my body goes through on the road to super-fit.

Boss, my coach in Canada, always used tell me to savor and enjoy that "fit" feeling.
While I'm not ready for Ironman quite yet, I have noticed some key changes letting me know I'm on track:

1. Insatiable hunger.

If I had to pick a favourite side-effect, this one is it! Eating what I want when I want is a glorious thing. I'm sure to get in all the good stuff first (if you're reading, Mom), but I always allow myself the simple pleasures like spoonfuls of Nutella and Bounty Bars and gummy things. My ultimate super-favourite is Cadbury Creme Eggs, but they're seasonal and hard to come by right now.
Things will, however, turn nasty if I am somewhere that food is not. Rob has an uncanny ability to see my hunger before I do which saves us (mostly him) a lot of grief.

2. Baggy Bum Syndrome (BBS).

It doesn't matter when I buy new pants, there will be a time when they are either too loose or too tight. Right now most of my work pants could fit a diaper in them. Huggies Super-Absorbent, in fact.

3. Extra drool on my pillow.

Ahhh the joy of hitting the pillow for a solid 8-9 hours of pure, uninterrupted sleep. Sure, we are in bed earlier than most 8 year-old's but our bodies crave it and need it in order to train and recover well.

4. Red meat & beer cravings.

An extension on number 1, you can find me here every Sunday night double-fisting a massive Aussie burger. There's a direct relationship between hard training and red meat & beer cravings for me. Odd... but I'm OK with it.

5. Nana naps.

An extension of number 3, for some reason the 8-9 hours per night isn't always enough. Most weekends involve a nice nap on both Saturday and Sunday to allow our natural human growth hormone to regenerate.

6. Crave the burn.

When I'm in the mindset to train, I crave it. I love the feeling of absolute exhaustion. I love meeting up with my training buddies. I love it all.

A glorious weekend!

2009-09-06T04:07:00.029-04:00

The weekend began with the usual Saturday morning stretch & swim. Rob & I opted out of the bike ride as we were both a bit fatigued from the increased volume of the week before. Turns out we made a good decision because Sundays workout was one I may tell my grandchildren.

After our Saturday morning session Rob & I did our usual ritual of visiting our tree-hugging, patchouli-wearing, granola-munching friends at the green flea markets in the west end. Now that our volume of exercise is beyond "beneficial" for staving off illness, we are eating lots of healthy fruit & veg to keep our immune systems pumping. The beauty of living in Queensland is that there is always something local in season. Right now it's strawberries.

We bought a massive amount of berries to freeze for Rob's epic smoothies (I call them lumpies because he puts some crazy stuff in them).
Al posted the following details about Sunday's workout:

"Sunday - meet at Qld Uni for a tough bike including Mt Nebo - Mt Glorious - Fernvale - and return to Uni via Mt Crosby for 1km repeat runs (number as on your program)

This is a tough workout, be sure to hydrate well and well fed when you start - expect the group to wait for five minutes at Nebo school, Mt Glorious summit and at Fernvale bakery. This is a 150km+ ride with 40km of climbing. Make sure your bottles are filled at Glorious summit. The descent is steep with tight turns at the bottom, be cautious. Take sufficient spares."

This ride was the furthest and toughest one I've done since Ironman Hawaii last October. The hills were endless and the scenery was spectacular: rainforests, mountain top cafes, and the cutest little elementary school in the top of Mount Nebo....and I forgot my camera in the car at UQ.

The descent off Mt.Glorious was winding and steep. We had one casualty in the group. Too much speed + steep & winding descent = skin loss and copious blood. He survived, but his cycling shorts did not. Despite being overly cautious, I managed to clock a max speed of 70km/h!

We made a stop at Fernvale Bakery, a Cyco tradition on this ride. Like most country town bakeries in Oz, it was home to the country's best meat pies! I opted for a sultana (raisin) scone while others (Rob included) went for meat pies and cream buns.

On the way back into Brisbane I felt tired and achey. I kept thinking how messy my kilometre repeats would be. I wanted OFF my bike but wasn't looking forward to ugly running.

The ride with stops took 6.5 hours, getting us back at the uni just in time for high noon. There was a nice breeze off the river but nothing felt nice after a few repeats.

The goal was 10x1km repeats on 5 minutes. I managed to pull off paces between 4:15-4:19 for all 10. I was surprised how comfortable this felt, but by repeat number 10 I was VERY happy to be done!

Finishing up. Al had 8 more to go to complete his 16km for Hawaii prep:

Downing some fluids, while Al contemplates life, and kilometre repeats. Helena is contemplating passing out, and Sonny is happy he's not doing 1km repeats:
Post-workout stretch session:

After a good stretch and shower, Rob & I had an hour nap. Shortly after waking Rob told me that we need a bigger bed to accommodate his massive cycling quads. The fact that he can fit into my skinny jeans (minus the length) doesn't have me convinced.

We ended the evening at our favourite Sunday retreat: Grill'd. My most favourite reocvery burger, the Big Queenslander, makes my tummy and my iron levels very happy after a hard day out.

My Big Queenslander. It's a love affair...:
The way we end every Sunday. Food or sauce of some sort on Rob's shirt:

Some numbers:

Total training time (including pee and bakery stops): 7.5hrs
Total roadkill: 3. 2 snakes, 1 roo (our friend who wiped out on the mountain doesn't count)
Mountains climbed: too many to count!
Amount of toilet paper left for me after Rob used the loo's at Mt.Nebo state school: 3 squares
Minutes spent in a dark place: 5
Minutes spent loving the day: 445

Showdown at the Walloon Saloon

2009-08-30T15:35:00.001-04:00

This morning we all met at 5:30am for a 100km time trial at Walloon, which meant a rise of 4am. On the drive out to Walloon I told Rob that I have always been a morning person, but 4am is not morning, it's still night time...and I don't know if I'll ever get used to it.

There's not much in Walloon aside from the Walloon Saloon and a handful of houses. Every town in Oz has a pub. I guess that's why Al picked this spot, it's quiet (minus the barking dogs hanging off the backs of passing "utes").

Back in Canada I loved doing my weekly time trials with the London Centennial Wheelers. It was a great way to get the lead out and see what I could do. Those TTs were only 15km-40km long. I always thought it would be great to do a longer one. Wish granted.
After unloading our gear, we were off. The course is an out & back of five laps. This way the timekeeper can easily keep track of splits.
The headwind became tougher with every lap. It was hard trying to stay in a positive headspace on lap five, but I still managed to take 11 minutes off my last Walloon time trial. I also increased my watts by 4.

The 20 minute run that followed was nothing pretty. Rob made the mistake of chugging close to a litre of water before running. He got what I commonly refer to as, the glug-glugs--that horrible sloshy feeling in the tummy.

After a much needed shower and power nap, we'll be enjoying the rest of our Sunday night having dinner with friends.

Some numbers...

Time: 2:59:45
Avg Speed: 33.38km/h
Avg HR: 166
Avg Watts: 189

From my friend Garmin...

Some pictures:

Rob coming through lap 2 with a bottle drop
Me coming through lap 2 with a bottle drop
The boys chillin' in the shade outside the Walloon Saloon post-workout

Training day aftermath

Threshold Thursdays

2009-08-27T01:48:00.001-04:00

Also known as The Pain Sesh, Thursdays are as Cyco as 5 hour rides followed by 20x1km running repeats.
Threshold Thursdays are like brussel sprouts. You know it's good for you, but they give you a lot of gas...or something like that.

The session involves a few of my least favourite things (perhaps I can put this to a Mary Poppins tune):

Mass swim starts. Every Wednesday night the Cyco chicks file their nails in hopes of reigning supreme in the multiple mass-start all-out sprint 50's. The object: Don't get slashed. Think Carrie meets Edward Scissorhands.

Stationary trainer. When I left Canada, I left behind the painful memories of trainer rides (or so I thought). Hours and hours of sitting on my bike in my living room watching the series "Lost" and Discovery's "Blue Planet" and "Planet Earth". Sweat dripping on my hardwood floors. The mind-numbing hum of the back wheel. Peering out at the nasty whiteness covering the streets. Surely I'd never do THAT in Oz...

Fatigued running. I love running. I don't love running when my legs are trashed, which they tend to be after the swimbike of Threshold Thursday. I do, however, hate the trainer more than fatigued running, so getting off the bike is about as nice as being given the option between a vacation in Greenland and a holiday in Gitmo. I hate the cold, but I would hate an off-shore American prison more.

Basically the whole thing reminds me of sprint triathlons--something I have never loved, but like brussel sprouts I've acquired a taste for.

Precious moments

The gang in full-throttle:

Rest interval:
Ouchie interval (while under surveillance):
At the head of the table:
A face only a wife could love:

Hey Garmin. You rock my world.

2009-08-26T03:36:00.000-04:00

Data from my mountain ride, for the geeks out there...

Climbing Mountains

2009-08-23T18:26:00.013-04:00

Yesterday Rob & I and several other Cycos tested our climbing legs with a 25km time trial up O'Reilly's mountain. In typical Pitman style the climb was preceded by a 30km warm-up. The weather was cool to start but got hot really quickly. This week we're experiencing a winter heat wave with temps in the low 30's. A winter heat wave in Canada would be 5 degrees.

My mission on this climb was to allow myself to hit the wall. I told myself it was OK to get messy and dizzy and fall off my bike with slobber running down my cheeks. Someone would come along eventually to scrape me off the side of the road--hopefully.

The time trial started at 6am. At the same time across the world, my cousin Brent was getting married to long-time girlfriend and all 'round fabulous person, Sarah--A wedding we were so sad to miss. Rob & I did our best to pick winning lottery numbers but no such luck. Being here makes me so happy and so sad sometimes.

The happy bits are like the beautiful climb up O'Reilly's. I saw 2 wallabies, rode through plains and spectacular rainforest. At one point the road looked like this:
It's hard to take note of spectacular scenery when you're red-lining, but I did my best to enjoy the views to try and take focus off my aching body. Doing a hill climb on a triathlon bike is tough. My hands were sweaty and constantly slipping off the bars. Around 22km into the climb there is a steep, pinchy stretch. I almost fell off my bike it was so steep. It brought me back to a ride I did with Deanna in Lake Placid last year. She rode past me on the climb and said "B!!!!!!!TCH". Dee later told me she was talking about the hill, not me. She didn't need to explain. I was thinking the same thing.

I made it to the top in 1:09:16. Rob was the second to up the mountain in 1:00:51. After a trip to the mountain top cafe and some laughs with the gang we made our descent. Getting off the mountain proved to be just as tough as getting up it. Rob followed me down very patiently, smelling the smoke from my brakes the whole way.

On the 30km cool-down ride back to our cars Rob saw a giant red bellied black snake at the side of the road. I didn't see it. Quite frankly I'm glad I didn't. My blood sugar was so low at the time I might have fallen off my bike and been snake dinner. After arriving at our cars, we all went out for a heatstroke-worthy 20 minute run. A painful way to top off a painful day.

Once back in Brissie Rob & I went out for gourmet burgers (I always crave beef after hard sessions), drank a few coronas (with lime, of course) and watched Arnie's documentary, Pumping Iron. We compared Rob's massive quads with Arnie's, had a few good laughs, and fell into a 9 hour coma shortly after.

Data:

AVG watts: 235
AVG HR: 171bpm
AVG sentiment: hypoglycaemic but happy

Yeppoon!

2009-08-18T05:57:00.012-04:00

This past weekend we drove 8.5 hours north to the small town of Yeppoon, smack dab on the Tropic of Capricorn to do our first triathlon since arriving in Australia. Who could resist a race set on a tropical coastal resort in a place called Yeppoon? Yeppoon! I could say that name all day.

On our travels we stopped at a hidden oasis in the middle of nowhere. I mean nowhere. And our coffees came out looking like this. Pure caffeinated bliss:

Once arriving in Yeppoon we caught up with the rest of the Cycos gang for some light training the day before the race:
The race was meant to be a gauge of our fitness after starting our training for Busselton. Rob & I left our race wheels in Canada which felt a bit like racing naked. Despite being a flat course, this half ironman was tough.

The swim (1.9km), which was supposed to have a current pushing us forward, didn't seem to work that way. Once my tongue started to swell from the salt water, I knew I had been in there WAY too long. I always dread looking at my watch when I emerge from the water. This time I wasn't alone as many people had dreadfully long swims.
The ride was an out and back stretch of bumpy, unsealed road. We did it 5 times. The only thing that kept it interesting was dodging random water bottles and powerbars on the road. The vibrations from the ride were taxing. Yes, I know I'm being whiney but I'm not done...

The 21.1km run was 3x7km loops. It was actually quite scenic, but difficult. Only a few kilometres of the loop was on paved road. The rest was through a sandy bush trail. Something about heading through the trees made most men want to jump off trail to pee. Must be some sort of primal instinct.

Being part of the Cycos team made the day amazing. So much cheering and support made me proud to be part of such a great group. Even more entertaining were the knee-only tans from wearing geek socks for the race.

The finishline was set in the middle of the resort. The blue water from the pools only 10 metres past the timing clock. Because of the different wave starts, Rob & I finished only minutes apart.

We both dove into the blue water, got out to eat our fruit & ice cream, then Rob's body decided to pass out in his bowl of half eaten ice cream. My initial instincts to snag his ice cream were thwarted by the fact that people were looking at me & waiting for me to do something. So I did.

After a good dose of oxygen from the medics and 45 minutes spent watching my husband shiver under a stack of blankets, we went back for more ice cream. Rob asked how long he was in the medical tent. When I told him he said "Well, I've still got 45 minutes of med tent time to make up for your 90 minutes in Hawaii". Marriage is all about give and take.

All in all I had a bit of a rough day. Nothing to pinpoint as the cause except lack of effort. After the race, Al told me I didn't race to my potential. He was right. So was my 5th grade teacher when he said I would be getting A's if I just applied myself. He was right, too.

So now I will focus on finding my limits. It's a scary thought to push myself to the edge but even scarier is crossing the finish line feeling like I could have done better.

City 2 Surf

2009-08-10T00:06:00.006-04:00

We did a whirlwind trip this weekend. After a 3 hour ride and 1 hour swim on Saturday morning, we were on a plane heading south to Sydney.

We spent the afternoon & evening with good friends, eating fabulous Spanish food and drinking wine. We stayed out well past our geriatric bedtime but it was worth it.

Rob has always wanted to do the City2Surf race. It is the world's largest timed event with close to 75,000 people sprinting, running, walking, and pub crawling the 14km from downtown Sydney to beautiful Bondi Beach. Despite being a massive event, the Aussies made it silky smooth and it was beautifully organised .
Geek socks and throwaway tops on, we made it down to the start line with plenty of time. Enough time to sit in Starbucks and wait for the sun to hit the ground. A few 'workies' hollered after Rob, "Mate, what's with the socks?", to which Rob replied, "Mate! They're not socks, they're SLEEVES!". I'm sure the workies were enjoying the ridiculousness that is running culture.

14km is a strange distance. I've done 10km and 21.1km races, but never 14km. I really just wanted to average a bit quicker pace than what I had done at the Gold Coast Half (which was 4:13/km). We really haven't been running intensely lately so I wasn't sure how that plan would go. C2S is also a tough course with a "heartbreak hill" that truthfully makes Boston's Heartbreak hill look like a speed bump. On the 2km long hill I was trying to convince myself I needed to walk. But I kept trudging up the bohemith to eventually meet a set of spectacular rollers, then a massive downhill all the way to the beach.

Turns out I went a little to fast to start. This is typical for me. I was cold and I wanted to get warm. Footing was also tricky. People EVERYWHERE!
My Garmin says I did a 3:15 first km. I think I lost satellite reception around that time which makes me believe my first 2k's were more like 3:45's. Still too fast for me...
[First few kms of pace and an elevation chart]

Rob & I both struggled with muscle fatigue but it was a great day out.
Rob did a 49:20. Average pace: 3:31/km.
I did a 59:20. Average pace: 4:11/km. Good 'nuff.

The official race results won't be online until Wednesday.
These things take time in Oz.

Happy Happy Birthday!

2009-08-04T01:37:00.008-04:00

It was Rob's birthday yesterday. I did my best to make it as good as possible despite having already given him his birthday gift over a week ago (see Rainforest Running post).

We kept it simple, involving only the essentials:

chocolate & wine...
[no, my husband isn't really 18 but he's closer to it than I am...by about 5 years]
...followed by a dinner at a local Chinese restaurant. As Rob always says "you know it's good when animals are hanging in the window." And it was very good indeed.
Happy Birthday Robbie. Here's to many, many more!

Managing my subscriptions

2009-08-02T05:39:00.017-04:00

Over the last week I have been de-spamming my email inbox. That's right, scrolling to the bottom of each of those usually deleted emails and hitting the "unsubscribe" link. I guess it can't fully be considered spam when somewhere along the line I must have subscribed to each, annoying email.

Granted I remember signing up for the Dairy Queen Blizzard Fan Club and thought I might learn how to run faster from the folks at Chi running but there are certainly some that I swear I didn't ask for. I'm hoping this extra work upfront will result in a less-spammy inbox. Time will tell.

This week Rob & I committed to Ironman Western Australia:
With that commitment comes another subscription. A subscription to a training program that, with some upfront work, will result in a smooth race in December.

Today we met the gang at UQ for a 6am ride of 90km, followed by 20x1km running repeats on a dirt stretch on campus. The mission was to leave every 5 minutes. Rob, every 4:30.
The last time we did this workout it was only 12 repeats. I managed to hold a comfortable 4:20/km pace, giving me a glorious 40 seconds rest. This week I was a bit more conservative. I wanted to finish the workout with "confidence", as Al says. Marty & I held a consistent 4:25-4:30/km pace throughout the full 20km.

Since our trip to the Bunya Mountains, Rob has been devoted to a new hobby he calls Phojography.

Heading out on our first repeat. Me, Marty, and Deepak:

Trying to keep those hips level.
The joyful moments:
The painful moments:
The joy & the pain all mixed together:

We topped off a fabulous training day with a good feed, a solid nap, a trip to the theatre to see Harry Potter, more food, a skype with my auntie, mom, and sister (always good value), and a nice cold corona.

Life is good.

Rainforest Running

2009-07-27T20:31:00.021-04:00

This weekend we seized the opportunity to get out of the city and into the rainforests of Queensland. The Bunya Mountains are located 3 hours northwest of Brisbane and boast amazing scenery, miles upon miles of quiet trail, and zero cell phone reception.

As an early birthday gift I bought Rob a pair of trail running shoes to avoid another ankle rolling incident. Rob's affinity for fluoro and funky patterned runners made the Saloman XT Wings a sure bet.

MJ Thriller + Eddy Murphy Delirious = Perfect for Rob

Me, Rob, and a group of fellow Cycos met Saturday and Sunday mornings at 8am for a run. The 8am part was pure luxury. Despite being a subtropical rainforest, the temperatures were far cooler than Brisbane and (pardon my whining for my Canadian readers) it was FREEZING! Bear with me here -- with no insulation, single-paned windows and only a fireplace for heat, the evenings were spent in thermal gear, closely camped in front of the fireplace.

To summarise, here is the weekend in numbers:

2 man-sprains (similar in severity and poutiness to a man-cold but involves more limping and less snot)

5 face plants (one of which, mine. I did manage to drop, roll, and bounce back to vertical in less than 3 seconds)

Numerous ankle rolls* (2 of which resulted in said man-sprains)

1 tick attack on the neck of a Czech

Uncountable number of paralysing air biscuits (think flatulence while running) chez Rob

1 eye gouged by protruding stick

25+ rainforest pees

1 (known) rainforest poo

75% conformity on the geek sock front

Countless glasses of wine consumed (mostly after running)

0 snakes sighted

0 Tarzan vine-swinging attempts (thanks for the hot tip, Ann!)

0 injuries requiring professional medical attention

1 organised tropical bird attack

Hundreds of joey-toting wallabies staring at me every morning (as if the animal world was trying to tell me something)

1 Clydesdale-led wagon ride

0 times wishing I was somewhere else

*I'd like to thank my mother and father for their combo of genetics that resulted in my gumby-like ankles. I'm not so stoked about the nose, but I'm getting over it.

A Week of Discovery

2009-07-15T23:13:00.004-04:00

Discovery 1: Running after a 100k time trial really hurts.
The last brick workout I did was in October. Somehow I forgot the pain of running after cycling. I'm waiting to remember that it gets a bit better with practice.

Discovery 2: I LOVE my fancy new Garmin.
But I didn't love it so much when I made Discovery 1. As much as I was hoping it was a manufacturing flaw, I think the Garmin was right. I'm 'slow as' off the bike right now.

Discovery 3: Sleeping in until 6:45am is a luxury.
Now that we're on a program there are no optional workouts. Sleep-ins are reserved for Mondays only. A 6:45am alarm is such a pleasure.

Discovery 4: The cockroach infestation in my work lunch room has been pinpointed to the fancy Saeco coffee machine.
I'm now drinking my weight in tea to get my caffeine for the day. I'm rationalising that cockroaches are a source of protein. I have no idea how many I've consumed in my twice daily javas.

Discovery 5: Kangaroo makes me sleep funny.
I'm completely devo'ed over this one. There seems to be a correlation between eating roo for dinner and sucky sleeps. I'll have to find another cute & tasty marsupial to take its place.

And so it begins

2009-07-06T23:40:00.002-04:00

When we first arrived in Brisbane we decided to dabble in a few triathlon and running groups to meet people and help us shop for a coach. Word of mouth led us to Al Pitman and the East Coast Cycos. Words like "crazy" and "insane" and "legendary 5 hour rides followed by 20x1km running repeats" peppered my desire to find out for myself what Al was all about.

Listening to Al talk is a combination of humour and wisdom. I like that Al doesn't talk much about what I've done, but what I can improve on. Constructive criticism, if embraced properly, leads to improvement. And knowing I can improve motivates me. This month we're focusing on my running: drills, drills, and more drills to change my "cavewoman running through the jungle with a machete" form (as Al so eloquently stated).

As a test of mental fortitude (or mental insanity), our first week of official training is forecast to be cold, wet, and miserable. With 3 rides on the schedule I think I'll be looking much like I did a few weeks ago, over and over and over again.

Truth be told, if I didn't have a schedule I would be sleeping until 7am every morning this week. I guess that's why I have a coach--to be accountable. Rob helps with that, too.

PB & sweet honey

2009-07-05T03:06:00.007-04:00

Today was a special day.

1. It marked our first day of training for Ironman Western Australia (exactly 5 months away).
2. I did my first race since Ironman Hawaii and my first half marathon in about 3 years (one that didn't have a 1.8k swim & 90k bike beforehand).
3. Rob & I both got personal best times.

Nothing is sweeter than a PB. And to both do it on the same day was even sweeter.
Gold Coast Marathon was one of the best international events I've been to. The course was tack flat and ran directly parallel to the ocean.

My snazzy new Garmin hadn't come in before the race, so I was stuck with my Rip Curl surfer girl watch. High in coolness, low in runner-geek-gadgetry. The plan was to stick with the 1:30 pace bunny, which was nowhere in sight at the start line. I did something I never do and ran on "feel". It seemed strange not checking my watch every km, but somehow it worked. I crossed the 5k in 21min, the half (10.6k) in 44:30, and I don't really know the rest---until the finish.

Instead of checking splits, I focused on other things like getting around the dude with the beeping heart rate monitor and packages of lethal Jelly Belly beans that when he'd open they'd scatter like marbles across the pavement. This happened twice. I could also hear the 1:30 pace bunny behind me, yelling motivational things at the group. Stuff like "you're almost there guys", with 8k to go. And "just enjoy these last few k's!!". Right. My quads smell like burning. As much as I wanted to skin the bunny, he was also my motivation to stay in front. Just stay in front of the bunny...

Rob wanted to break 1:18.
I wanted to break 1:30.

Rob did a 1:16:14.
I did a 1:28:44.
A great start to our training season!

The timing people have a cool stats calculator for both of our times: Me & Rob
It's quite amazing how similar we are in our respective sex.

I crossed the line with achy breaky quads.
Rob took his shoe off to reveal this bad boy:

The first thing I thought was how impressed Nurse Chrissy would be. The second thing I thought was "I need a pin".

And there were more...
...and I popped them all. In a sterile environment, of course.

We spent the rest of the morning cheering on our mates from East Coast Cycos and Red Man Runners. The support crew was huge and it was great to have so many friends racing and supporting.

We spent the evening with a bottle of shiraz, 2 movies, a fabulous feed, and some chocolate.

Bring on Busso '09!

Journey to the Red Centre

2009-06-30T18:33:00.020-04:00

There's nothing more Australian than meat pies and cricket. But that's not what I saw pictures of in geography class to capture the image of Australia. Ayers Rock is the image many foreigners conjure when they think of Australia. Funny thing is, not many Australians have actually made the pilgrimage to the Rock, or Uluru, as it is known to the Aboriginals.
It has a striking resemblance to another, less sacred, formation:

Uluru is smack in the centre of Oz. It's certainly not the easiest place to get to. There are no direct flights from Brisbane to Alice Springs. We had to fly 1 hour south to Sydney, then Northwest to Alice Springs.

The following picture best describes Alice...
...Progressive.

We went on a 3 day tour leaving from Alice Springs the following morning. It's a 5 hour drive on 2 roads to get to Uluru. The lanscape is like something from a sci-fi novel. Think Mars with wild camels.

Even though Rob was not the official tour guide, he helped entertain our group with some Aussie classics like Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport and Home Among the Gum Trees (we're all picking plums in this shot):
We made a few stop along the way. Considering how much I paid for a cup of instant coffee in a styrofoam cup, I'm not sure why this barn is so close to falling over.
This was also home to a pet dingo named Azaria. The Aussies aren't known for their politically correct humour. Initially I thought it was just Rob, but really it's all of them!

The nights were cool (7 degrees or so) but I was determined to sleep in a swag under the stars. Rob was pumped he got to eat 5 different kinds of meat in 5 days. The camel pie was the clincher. The outback is unlike any other place I've been in the world. The landscape is so vast and unforgiving which makes it even more incredible that people actually live out there! We passed a cattle farm the size of Luxembourg--the biggest one in the world.

We greeted the massive monolith at sunset, then sunrise the following morning.
Rob & I had our own special ways to salute the rock:

Shortly after this shot was taken and crowds had started laughing and gathering around, a young female park ranger told Rob in a matter of fact way that this was not the first thing she wanted to see in the morning, mate. She mentioned it was a fined offense to be nude in the park. Rob said he was sorry, didn't mean to offend, but he does it all the time. Which is true. He does.

We decided to climb the rock. Shortly after this shot, I stopped. I'm not sure why. I'm not afraid of heights but I felt uneasy. Maybe it was the fact that a man fell of the rock a week earlier and died. Rob continued to the top.

Another beautiful sunset:

After 3 days, 2 star-filled nights (and a few full moons), enough meat to make my colon ache, a purchase of some fab aboriginal art, and a holiday filled with laughter with my hubby, we said our farewells to the desert.
Just happy he's fully clothed:
Back to Brissie...

Wilbur, Babe, and Rob

2009-06-20T20:58:00.009-04:00

On Friday Rob was pumped. The school he'd been teaching at all week shut down due to Swine Flu. He got to go home early.

Saturday morning he wasn't so pumped anymore. After a trip to a walk-in clinic, a pathology lab, and a nasal swab that Rob claims grazed his brain, he looked like this:
I, on the other hand, felt fine and decided to go for a Sunday morning ride.
Rob made the smart choice of staying in bed. So much for sunny Queensland. I came home looking like this:
And no, those are not liver spots on my face from excessive Aussie sun exposure. It's road dirt. And there was even more in my eyes and mouth.

Those socks were white when I left.
Remarkably I got a tan line. Maybe a few of those mud spots really are liver spots after all...

The bite of Old Man Winter

2009-06-18T23:48:00.008-04:00

I bought gloves the other day.

That was the start of my pathetic surrender to Brisvegas winter.

The early morning moans from my training buddies at the pool--everyone clad in their touques and scarves--I can't help but be swayed to complain as well. And then, once we've peeled off our layers, we make that bitter cold dash from the pool deck into the water. It takes me a few hundred metres warm-up to realise how ridiculous I'm being: I'm SWIMMING outside in WINTER! Right.

And then there are the early morning winter runs. The sun doesn't hit the earth until an hour into the run. And in the darkness, again, the moans begin: "It's freezin, mate"; "this wind is bone-chilling" as we run along in our shorts and a tee.

It's true that it is officially warmer in Canada right now than it is here. The lows are between 10-15 degrees and the daily highs around 21. We did have a 3 degree morning (we happened to be at the pool that day) which almost made me want to stay in bed, sip tea, and eat TimTams.

Acclimitisation is a strange thing. For all the years of Canadian winter I've endured, my tolerance has been lost in a matter of months. Some might say I've never had a winter-tolerance, but that's another issue.

I often get asked if I miss the Canadian winter. Snow, to Brisbanians, is a rather romantic thing. They don't know about the dirty slush, slippery roads, sidewalks laced with lethal ice, wind-so-cold-your-snot-and-eyeball-juice-freezes, and trainer rides so painfully boring you'd rather be in Gitmo. Winter in Brisbane is strawberry season, turn-off the air-con season, throw on a "jumpa" and turn on the heat in the outdoor pool season.

The only time I recall the snow being romantic was during a Runner's Choice long run with Rob. We were at a gatorade stop (the gatorade had already begun to morph into slush) and Rob had the most magnificent ice covered eyelashes I have ever seen. The romance ended when I quickly wiped the ice from his lashes before his eyelids got frostbite. The romance was even more dead when Rob said that his first run in -25 would also be his last.

Fair enough. I think that was my last run in -25, too.

The answer, by the way, is no. I don't miss a thing about Canadian winter. Nada. Zilch. Zip. Zero.

Nice package

2009-06-15T04:24:00.005-04:00

I got mail!
A big thanks to Guy and Lynley at the Aus/NZ blueseventy office for putting together a sweet package for me. A new speedsuit, helix wetsuit, toe warmers (yes, I NEED them here), and 3 sets of goggles to get me swimming a bit faster in open water. We all know I need all the help I can get. If only pull buoys were legal in races...

Rob & I are 2.5 weeks out from the Gold Coast half marathon. We're both injury free and feeling good. We've been running 2x per week with the RedMan group and alternating our weekend long runs with Al's group (the Cycos) and the RedMan gang. At three runs per week we're still enjoying a bit of an "off" season.

GC half marathon will mark the official start back to training and we're both ready for it. We'll be enjoying the last week of our downtime by travelling to Uluru in the Northern Territory the weekend before the race--a holiday we're both looking forward to!

Supersized weekend

2009-06-08T06:47:00.024-04:00

We celebrated the Queens Birthday in Oz this past Monday. I also happened to have the previous Friday off work, making it a four-day, supersized weekend. Here's a recap:

Friday

After a sunrise swim, a Skype with my cousin Meggie, and a river loop ride around Brisbane, Rob managed to get the afternoon off work so we could play. It's not often we have the time or energy to shop so we decided to do some spending.

We picked up some GUs, protein powder, and two pairs of new shoes...

...to add to our collection:

That evening the Prime Minister announced that Australia had managed to dodge a recession.

I also gave Rob a much needed haircut. I missed a patch in the back leaving him with a mid-head rat tail. Rob being Rob, he wouldn't let me even out the patch. He walked around with his rat tail until I pounced during a weak moment on Sunday.

Saturday

We went to Yeronga pool to do a stretch-swim-cycle session with the Cycos.

Rob somehow forgot his cycling shoes so we decided to pass on the group ride, went to the markets, and then off to Mt.Mee for some riding on our own.

At the top off Mt.Mee there is a wicked little climb called "ocean view road". You really can see the ocean from the top, despite being over 4okm away.

The grade is about 20%. Rob was feeling peppy so he gave it a go. I decided to hang back and take pictures.

Things went downhill (literally & figuratively) shortly after this picture. Rob ended up having a "Snickers Day". These are the days when the blood sugar gets so low that a snickers and coke at 9am seems very reasonable.

We ended the day with a movie and an evening Skype with my sister Mo and my niece and nephew. Thank-you for the cyber-slobber kisses, Sophie!

Sunday

We met the Cycos at 6am for a 2 lap run around Mt.Coot-tha. The views were spectacular! Clear skies and low-fog across the valleys below us.
Later that day Rob brought these home:

That afternoon our friendly neighbourhood Kookaburra landed on our balcony once again. This time I ran to the fridge to get some meat for the little guy. I got pretty close to him and I think he was starting to warm to me until he went for the meat. He held it in his beak for a split second than spat it out, banged his beak on the balcony, and flew away.

I instantly realised what I had done.

I tried to feed him turkey. TURKEY. Another bird. Bird eating bird? What was I thinking! Rob said next time we'll give him fish. But I'm not so sure that there will be a next time. No doubt I completely offended him.

Later that evening we went for dinner on the riverfront with some friends. Over dinner, drinks and a giant nutella-filled dessert calzone, our friend, Eddie, told us all about his epic training camp in Hawaii. 10 days of nonstop training followed by the Hawaii 70.3 race. Complete exhaustion--what a great holiday!

Monday

We had an amazing sleep-in until 7am. I made us a good Canadian brekkie of french toast, fresh fruit and loads of real Canadian maple syrup before packing up our bikes and heading down to the Scenic Rim for a ride through the Gold Coast hinterland.

The day was perfect, and the scenery spectacular.
There were a few obstacles...

...but it was completely worth it:
Once again, it ended up being a Snickers Day for both of us. We didn't realise how tough the ride would be.
We also didn't realise that there would be no corner stores anywhere on the ride which made for a pretty quiet ride home.

After some Turkish Delight, fizzy drinks, cookies and a stop at Macca's, we made it home in time to watch the sun set. We were both in REM sleep shortly after. A perfect long weekend.