800s KILL me.

When we run 800s at the track, I quit. Every single time. I hate 800s. Today we ran 1000s instead, and 8 x 1000 = no problem. But 8 x 800? I wouldn't have survived. I realize this is ridiculous.

I think I've stated before that the Punahou track is uphill. Please see this super-accurate-elevation chart (it's the green line) from my garmin as evidence. I ran that whole 8 miles on the track, as seen from that lovely oval-shaped map, and gained well over 100 ft in elevation. I know, it's miniscule, I just want to prove that I'm not making it up. $20,000 a year in tuition, and those poor runners don't even get a flat track. Also, when I was your age, I walked 10 miles to school, uphill, in the snow, both ways!

I don't care much for data, and I didn't even read all the numbers that came with this. I don't have a powertap or a bike computer or anything, because I wouldn't even look at bike workout pictures. But running pictures? I am in! After 1000 number 5, we shortened the recovery a little to avoid a group of high school boys on the track. I didn't notice the difference in recovery, but it appears my heart did. My heart also didn't bother going into zone 5, 185+, for even a second. Oops. Let's call these cruise intervals or something. Even though they didn't feel like cruising.

I'm supposed to be racing this weekend, but I'm thinking of bagging it. Don't tell KN. It'll be a 55-mile week, with a lot of hills/mountains/intervals, followed by a 10k race if I go. Tired racing is a good mental challenge and all that, but I think life is mentally challenging enough. There's a half-marathon next weekend that sounded like a great idea when KN & I signed up, but now, not so much. I might bag that, too. Check out this chase thing: Hapalua Chase. When I agreed to run, the handicap was slated to be 22-24 minutes. Then they changed it to 18:30, which means I'm not even IN the race, so really, it's just running a half-marathon in no man's land. With a volcano to climb in the last 3 miles. I'm honored I was picked to have the oppurtunity to even pretend to race with these people, I promise. I'm just a little scared to race it.

Oh, and I got bigger (based on evidence of skinny jeans and sleeves getting tighter), and I didn't get any faster, really, so after eight weeks of strength training, that silly experiment is over.

And that concludes my motivational speech for the day. You're welcome.

Car Talk

I gave up sugar for lent. It was sugar or Facebook, and I woke up on Wednesday and looked at Facebook before I remembered what day it was, so that was the deciding factor. I was looking for something that would be both good for me and challenging. Fun Bobby gave up beer. I mentioned that to Wyatt, the ten year-old, on the drive to school in the morning and he wondered aloud about who would cave first. Then he declared that he was giving up both cigarettes and booze. Sky chimed in with I'm giving up men! and it was all downhill from there. She quickly followed that up by asking me what she could do to make sure she never has a baby. That spiraled quickly out of control into Sky learning about the birds and the bees in three minutes or less in the car on the way to school. When I pulled away from the curb she looked at me and did the international sign for I'm going to make myself vomit, sticking her finger down her throat.

Wyatt recently got second in the school geography bee, and I didn't even know he was entered. I asked if he studied and he said no, but he knew the answer to every question they asked from Cash Cab. I don't have TV, and they live with me all but two weekends a month nowadays, so maybe they watch Cash Cab at school. I guess my point is that a lot can be learned in a car.

In other news, Katherine blogged! And we're actually really training starting... now. Ok, now! Wait, maybe Sunday morning, when we meet Taco and Mark and Brigitte, the Kailua speedsters, for a 17 mile run. So starting Sunday, it's game on. We're in training. For real.

I came home to a big box of Splish yesterday. Inside it I found two shiney swim suits with a somewhat Captain America-ish theme. Shiney Captain America. They feel like shark skin. I pulled them out of the box and immediately wanted to go swimming! And then I saw the parachute, covered in naked ladies, and I wasn't so sure I wanted to go to swimming. Sky decided it was a hat. I took last week off from swimming for no particular reason, and the first two swims back this week were pretty brutal. I blew it off again today, so there will be weekend swimming. With a parachute strapped around my waist. I'll blog about it next week, if I'm not dead.

Other Iron Women

I demoted myself from blog partner to "occasional guest of minimal interest." RR told me to write something because she thinks readers might be bored with her. But I read her posts and wonder why my life isn't nearly as much fun.

There was a time when I planned and trained for races. Now I say, Wait a minute. Didn't I enter a marathon around that time? How many weeks do I have left? And then hope it's enough to get through the event without sending myself to ER.

Lately, my most intense workouts have looked something like this:

In case you can't tell, those are ice skates on my feet, not running shoes.

My work is challenging and thrilling and time-consuming with travel, and I have one teenager left at home, finishing her last 18 months in high school. So those are my priorities. And I just returned from another memorial service (well, more aptly labeled a celebration of life and party at a pub) for my uncle, a magnificent man who died last week after a long and heroic battle with Parkinson's Disease. Sometimes workouts slip down the priority list.

But after a friend sent me this Surf Ironman video, I must admit that I started to get inspired. There's nothing quite like watching a group of really strong, fast women to help you think it might be time to dig around for whatever might remain of strong and fast in you.

I'll need a big shovel to find it.

As Predicted.

There was no race day magic, but I am happy to report that the correlation stands: SOMA = GART. See?

How's that for correlation? I didn't adjust the 2012 SOMA dot at all - but I ran 18 seconds faster this year. But even though my times are practically the same, last year, 6:30s felt like the perfect pace, and left me with something to give in the final hills. This year, 6:30s felt hard, and the hills at the end nearly killed me.  Once again, I placed 5th. Well, 5th-ish, there was another girl up there, but she appears to be ignored in the results and who am I to complain. The highlight of the race may have been Stacky ditching me at half-way, running up to the girl ahead of me, and striking up a conversation. When we talked after the race, he said it went like this:

Girl: Oh, are you going to run with me now?

Stacky: Yes, I'm going to try to slow you down so my friend can beat you.

He slowly pulled away the rest of the race, as did the girl, but at least he talked like he was on my team. I don't have any race photos, or other highlights, really. HK improved by 3 minutes, and I'm not sure he thinks all that time at the track was worth it. I found a photo from the start on facebook. I'm the gray blurry girl wearing the most clothing. It was one of those mornings - all my shorts made me feel like a sausage so I opted for pants. 

I got over my sausagey-feeling self later in the day and went completely in the opposite direction as a result of a brazilian bikini store groupon.  Really, I can't complain about my hot-tub recovery. I posted a photo, then decided it was too slutty and removed it. If it was too slutty for me, you know it was really bad. So here's the sunset instead.

Proof of Raceday Magic.

The Great Aloha Run is coming up again on Monday.

Here we have GAR 2011. And GAR 2009.  There was no 2010, although depending where you find results, you might see my name due to a case of mistaken identity  I ran it 2005 - 2008 too, as seen on the graph, but that was pre-blog so it didn't really happen.

This updated graph is for those of you that don't believe in the race day magic. Consider this proof*! There is no other way to explain the distance represented by the green line. The gap between size of my ass (SOMA) and GAR Time (GART) in 2011 is an anomoly that can only be explained by raceday magic.

I can't predict what will happen on Monday, but I can graph the current SOMA. Due to devestating (albeit temporary) and total heartbreak, I'm significantly leaner than I was a year ago. I'm feeling healthy and happy again, and managed to consistently make the weekly track workouts, even when the shin was questionable, for the past six weeks or so. I've been consistent with the strength training and the not eating like an asshole (sort of). I have a wedding to attend (yea Shasha & Niki!), but it's Saturday night and the race is Monday morning, so I shouldn't be hungover by the start. All signs point to a return to r=1, complete correlation between SOMA and GART. Or maybe I'll get the raceday magic again! Unlikely to happen twice on the same course though.

*or consider this barbie-math, which ever.

Train Train Fun Train Train.

Wait, I got that title all wrong. The weekend actually went fun fun fun train fun fun. I even took a Saturday off from training. Who the hell do I think I am? Saturdays are training days! I have nothing to say for myself.  All I can do is share the photos of the fun/mess. The weekend, in order of events, follows. There's a moral to this story, but you have to look at my pictures first.

Sansei Late Night. Followed by a whole lot of Waikiki.

I overslept and missed the Saturday morning ride (by 4 hours), but had the good fortune to find Bruce, Cindy, Steph, and Doug just in time for a sail. We left Waikiki and eventually found ourselves down at La Mariana Sailing Club.

(Fun Bobby found beer again. Phew)

We were late for the second meeting of the Happy Hour Club, but the other members were still going strong.

Macy does not appear happy about his new wife's chosen method of keeping warm at the Kahala.

I trained, a little. On Sunday I went to the Boca ride, or World Champs, for the first time in nearly two years. The first time sucks, and I knew it would hurt. I was ok over the Pali and through Kaneohe, but I started to hurt in Kahaluu. I was ecstatic when Aaron flatted so I could rest. Then the boys made a routing mistake - don't take a tired, burny-quad girl right down her street... I made an abrupt right turn and yelled BYE GUYS! cutting off the last 20 miles of the ride. I was tired from all that weekend! Next time, I'll do a little better.

The good thing about cutting out of the ride early was that it freed us up for a midday dive. Doc gave HK a gun. Scary.

Kat makes friends with the USCG.

Shells! The dive was pretty, but I got cold. It took two humans, a jacket, a towel, and a tarp to stop the shaking post-dive. The shaking got so bad I couldn't control my hands. But it was worth it to listen to the whales sing at 90 feet. They were so loud I kept looking up expecting to see them swimming over us. A little bit of hot tub and tequila got me warmed up just in time for Duke's and Henry Kapono.

And now, it's Monday morning, 5:00 am, time to start the running/swimming/biking/not-partying. This week, I'll be good. There's a race a week from today, if my shins hold up. The moral I was talking about might be better described as a realization. I suck at balance! I need to find some, please. It's hiding somewhere, with my will power, but I will find balance. Soon. And if I don't, I need to stop expecting my body to race well. Or at all, really.

Day 3.

Inspired by the Super Pacer, as he's come to be known after pacing one girl after another to a PR and/or trials qualifying time, and in the wake of a downward spiral that started with Punahou Carnival malasadas, I decided to try the three-day juice cleanse. The idea hit us three cocktails into Taco Tuesday. It was a fleeting moment of Hawaiian Ken actually being a good influence on me.

There's probably a science to it, but I don't have time to research. I figure nothing but fruits and veggies for three days, whether they be smooshed or drained or intact, ought to shock the system, kick my ass back into gear, and would be an excellent lesson in will power. I am a momentum-builder. Once I'm on a roll eating well, I'm fine. Similarly, after two days of living on malasadas and burgers, all I want to eat is sugar and burgers. A sugar burger would be the best case scenario, really.

And for the record, we all know Gwyneth just blows right back up after all those cleanses she does, so I'm not a big believer in cleansing for weight loss. For momentum, though, I'm in. HK will likely drop 10 lbs the way the Super Pacer did. I, however, have the metabolism of a sedentary sixty year old woman, and won't lose an ounce.

Here's what I have learned, so far:

1. Juice sucks.
2. Since I have no will power, I need to be watched at all times to ensure that I follow the rules.
3. I would marry bacon.
4. My workouts suck when I don't eat m&ms.
5. I don't miss bread or dairy at all.
6. I'm dating Fun Bobby.

=

Tomorrow, there will be sushi. And beer for Fun Bobby. But I will try to keep the salads for dinner. Really.

Of All the Hobbies...

Somewhere out there is a blog dedicated to how stupid triathlon is as a sport, I saw it on slowbitch. I never actually read it, because it's easier to just call my brother Patrick and let him tell me how stupid my sport of choice is. And it counts as brother-time. Two birds!

As I try to plan a season, I notice a recurring theme: I might be turning into that blogger-hater a little. I love triathlons! I promise. But mostly I just want to run. I caved and signed up for Honu (June), so that I'd have one shot at Kona. And then I bet against myself getting Kona at Honu by signing up for the Chicago Marathon (October), exactly six days prior to Kona. I noticed an enormous charge to my account by the New York City Marathon (November), so I guess I managed to qualify in pre-lotto. And of course I signed up for Honolulu (December) because it was only $26. There are a bunch of little, local races in between all of that, too.

All this registering for events feels like a confessional, except for one thing: I stuck to the no credit cards for hobbies rule. There was zero credit harmed in the making of this season!

Evidence in support of my statement that I love triathlons: I'm swimming again, 2-3 mornings a week, unless it's too cold and then I just feel the water with my foot then turn around and go home. I'm running regularly, but not daily yet, and almost pain-free. I'm riding the trainer quite a bit. Never a dull moment on the trainer at my house, because this is the view from my bike. She does her homework (talks) while I ride.

I took the bike on the road for only the second time this year on Saturday morning. I'm so sick of Kal Highway and so scared some texter is going to kill me that I've taken to doing long rides on Tantalus. It's right in my backyard, and each loop is about 10 miles with 1600 ft of climbing. It's gorgeous up there, and feels safer, so long as you don't run over any chickens. Tantalus is a rainforest less than two miles from downtown. On Saturday I rode four loops. What? I'm not doing an Ironman any time soon, I'm going to call 40 miles long.

I came home to find presents from the Honolulu Marathon. And noticed that I'm killing my mom's banzai, after being its mom for only two weeks. Thank goodness children are more durable than trees. It's rare you see a pretty trophy, but these are pretty. I wonder if I should send one to the Super Pacer?

Later that day, as recovery, we ate our way across the Punahou Carnival. Sky was sad to be missing it, so Ikaika promised to win her something big, and I promised to buy her some cotton candy but then I ate it all. He wins.

I would have eaten that too, were it made of sugar.

Henry was being jerky, so we made him carry the unicorn around.

Wyatt on the swings -  in green. He is sweet so he didn't have to carry any dumb unicorn.

Sunday morning I skipped my long run because the winds were dropping, and we headed out fishing instead.

There were no fish, but there were so many whales that whales became boring. Oh look kids, another whale... Then one decided to scare the crap out of us and surfaced directly next to us. It dwarfed the boat. It occurred to me that I should jump on its back, but I didn't have the guts. And, contrary to what Henry implies when he constantly asks me if what I'm doing is legal, I mostly stick to the law. Off of Waimanalo, this happened, and Henry said he'd hate me forever if I put it on the blog. He should have been nicer at the Carnival. For the record, I was only pretending to step on the dolphins.

The first race of the season is coming up - the Great Aloha Run on President's Day. If you've been here a while, you know that means it's almost time for the annual Size of My Ass vs. GAR Time graph, coming up next.