I have a plan.

Literally. I plunked down the money for a silver membership to Beginner Triathlete, and uploaded a plan into my online training log. I was going to use the Beginner Ironman plan, but based on what I've already been doing, I decided to go with the 20 week Intermediate Ironman plan. I in no way believe that I am an intermediate, let me put that straight right away. But the beginner plan seemed a might bit overcautious.

From the get go, the swims in my plan are a lot more. Earlier in the week a had a 3000, and the pool I swim at (UofL) had switched to long course for the day, so it was a bit tough (mainly because the middle 2000 were drills, one of which involved me swimming with my hands in fists. Not fun.). I had an 1800 yesterday, but then today was a 4000 (the pool was back to short course). That is farther than I have ever swum in one go. Ever. In my whole life. Yes, I was on a swim team, but it was summer league, not high school or college or anything like that. And mind you that it was not my first or only workout today.

And as an aside, just let me say that biking on flat roads is glorious. Ben and I rode River Road from downtown to Hays Kennedy Park in Prospect, and for us, we were flying. At least there, anyway. The return trip was all pretty much into a headwind, but I did use my aerobars a lot for the first time, and wasn't completely scared by it. Woo hoo! (isn't it cute how the little things excite me so?)

Why I need my running group

Since I can only run so far with only myself as company, I've been doing my long runs with my buddies at Fleet Feet. Last weekend, we ran 12 miles, wandering around Algonquin Park and back by the zoo. Though I finished, I spent the majority of the run wanting - nay, hoping - that I would puke. The previous night's dinner (babah ganoush, fatoush, and falafel from this awesome, cheap joint around the corner) kept coming back to visit. I've eaten this same combination many times before (and several times the night before a run), but this time, it did not like me. Needless to say, I was praying that this week's run would go better.

And for me, at least, it did. For poor Kara (Howard's daughter), it did not. Our merry group set off (this time to cut through the park and then meander down Frankfort Ave), but by the time we got to the first mile, something cramped up in Kara's side and would not let go. She dropped back, and rejoined us at a water fountain a mile and a half or so later. Ben was keeping pace with Donna and Harry, and Howard had a girl named Sara to talk to, so I decided to drop back with Kara.

It took about 8 miles for whatever was bugging Kara to finally go away, and by then, even though we had talked about cutting the run short (to about 10 instead of 12), we were so far out it was at least 4 miles back to the store. We had a system going - any time we saw a red light ahead, we'd go ahead and walk, since we'd have to stop and wait once we got there anyway. We'd take a little longer to start running after each time our gang regrouped to map out the next section of the run. We'd stop to look at houses for sale (Ben and I are going to be putting our house on the market soon). Any reason we could find for a 15 second walk break, we took it (see what you missed, Debi?). It was glorious. At first, Kara encouraged me to go on, keep running, she'd catch up. She didn't seem to understand - Walk? Oh, no. Don't make me walk. I *hate* walking - but quickly caught on. We then spent the rest of the run looking at clothes in store windows as we ran by, standing up taller when male runners passed, and in general being catty because we could be.

So even though it was cold and windy, I was tired, and Kara was in pain, we still managed to have a good run. And we even got our 12 miles in.

Tired.

Though you can't really tell, I was sweating like one of those people from a Gatorade commercial. Except that my sweat wasn't blue.

*Taken after a 2800 swim followed by an hour and a half on the damned trainer.

** Are my eyes not facing the same direction?

*** Kinda looks like a myspace 'angles' shot, doesn't it?

Look or SPD?

I'm asking for opinions: do you prefer Look of SPD? Right now, I'm wearing a pair of Lake road shoes that are SPD. When it gets warmer, I'm going to switch to a pair of Sidi tri shoes, and was considering switching over to Look pedals. Is there any advantage? I'm quite pleased with the SPDs, and I tend to stick with whatever I use the first time (case in point: I'm still riding with the same saddle that came with my bike), but I have a pair of Look pedals and was curious.

Maple Syrup and a Meth Lab

 

This past Sunday, I rode my 3rd group ride. It was the first of the Mad Dog Century rides, but since I am most definitely not ready for that, I decided to just ride the first half (56 miles). The weather was great (save for a few brief rainy bits), I managed to actually hang with the group, and there was the promise of pancakes at the end, as my ride ended at the Annual Maple Syrup Festival.

The ride started in Jeffersonville, Indiana, and wound around up to Salem.  A fun fact about Indiana: instead of salt, it uses cinders on the roads in inclement weather. This led to numerous flats throughout the day, myself included. I was about 5 miles from my finish, going up the biggest hill on the route (Leota Road), and while I'm not great on hills, I was having waaay too hard of time. I'm just chugging along, and then I realize that something doesn't sound quite right. The past half hour or so, I had been flagging, and then I realized why: my back tire was flat.  I get off, walk the bike for awhile to find a good place to change the tire (not only is this hill long, it's really curvy, and I was afraid of being taken out by a car), then try to change it. Yes, I said try. I have carpal tunnel, and any prolonged time on the bike makes my thumbs kinda useless, so I just couldn't get the damn tire off to get to the tube. Eventually, I just gave up, used a CO2 cartridge to fill it, and hoped that since I was so close to the finish, I could make it.

Not so much.

I did manage to make it to the top of the hill and down the road a bit, but all the air was gone. I pulled off into someone's drive, since the right side of the road went into a ditch. Murphy tools up next to me, and goes about changing my tire for me, because he is nice like that. Steve then circled back for me, knowing I had had tire trouble since he passed me on the hill. With the change almost done, this old guy and his buddy come out of their mobile home and make a beeline for us.

"Ya'll know whose land you be on?" (cue the banjo music from Deliverance)

"No, sir."

"Well, this here is MY land!"

"We're just helping this young lady change her tire."

"Well,  I don't care what ya'll think yer doin.' You're on my land!"

Technically, we were probably on the easement, but I was not about to point this out.

"We can move across the road if you'd like."

"I don't care where you move to. What makes you people think you can just come onto other people's land...."

Cleatus and his buddy give us the stink eye as we move our bikes into the ditch on the other side of the road, all the while cursing us, and possibly our mothers. Murphy and Steve get my wheel back on, and we take off, but right before we start pedaling, Steve goes,

"Whatcha wanna bet he had a meth lab?"

 

Note:  I want to thank my husband Ben for more or less giving up his Sunday for me. He got up early in order to drop me and my bike off at the start point before 8am, then drove almost an hour to meet me the the festival, to which I arrived almost an hour later than I said I would, and then took my bike to the car for me so I wouldn't have to walk through a field in my bike cleats. He was rewarded with pancakes.