Today's Stats:
Sleep: 6 hours (pretty good for me)
Workout: 2850 yd master's swim. 57 minutes.
Nutrition:
Breakfast: 2 Pop Tarts, 20 oz Diet Dr. Pepper
Snack: Powerbar Harvest Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip bar
--workout--
Lunch: 6" Subway Club on wheat w/ swiss, all the veggies. Cheddar Sun Chips. 32oz Diet Coke
Snack 2: Vending Machine Crackers
Dinner: Rubio's bean and cheese burrito, chips, 22 oz Diet Coke.
I'm listing this for a reason, not to boast about my crappy eating habits. I've been going to these noon master's workouts every Wednesday for a month. Yes, today was my fourth time. I typically get to split the lane, though I did have to circle my first time.
If you've been reading this blog for a while, you may remember me posting about pool work earlier in the year, before things started going squirrelly. I was zeroing in on 3500 yards in an hour. At a minimum, I was hitting 3000. Today is the first time I've come anywhere close to that in a good long while, and I feel pretty good about it. I mean, the coach's workouts are tough, and I'm still learning all this base pacing stuff, but that's where the point of this post comes into play.
Since I started into this whole triathlon adventure, I've done a lot of things I never thought I would ever try. A half marathon. Two, soon to be three half Iron tris. 9 other triathlons. Several layers of goofball workout that I don't even want to think about. Along the way, I've learned a lot about myself, both what makes me tick physically and mentally, and how I relate to this bizarre world I inhabit. I've met loads of people, many of whom I'm lucky enough to call friends and some even good friends. I wouldn't trade any of this for the world, believe me.
So what am I on about?
During this time, I've also gone through my periods of obsession, where all I think and talk about is practically triathlon. Where I count calories and schedule my training sessions to the minute. I've had periods where I swing the pendulum all the way across and drink too much and stop sleeping and eat like a jackass. What I've learned so far is that none of this really affects my ability to race. I can swim and bike as hard as I want. I may gain a minute or lose two, but I never move the needle too far. My runs are getting better as my foot heals and I see good things in the future.
But now I'm weeks away from Vineman, my second half of the year, and while I originally wanted it to be my "A" race, the one I just killed, I find that now I don't care so much. I know I can finish it. I know how I'd like to do, but I also know that if I don't do it I won't be heartbroken. Frankly, I'm getting in touch with my motivations in the sport and they aren't what I thought they were.
I had a talk with Mark a week or so ago and I was telling him about some workouts I'd been doing with people who weren't as fast as me or didn't have the same endurance. Usually, I just hang anyway. He got a little concerned that I was sacrificing my training. I probably am, but the thing is, I know that if I set my mind to it, I'll finish the damn race. I learned that at Wildflower this year. I'll just get it done on race day. I might not do it as fast as maybe I can but I'm a pretty simple machine. Point me in a direction, turn me loose and I'll find the end of the path.
What I'm learning is that I don't care so much about my times. I don't care about my position in the field. I care about what I do on the way to the race. Who I train with and get to know. Who I can help to meet whatever goals they have. Mostly, I find that what I care about is that I enjoy the time I put into it and the people I spend that time with. As long as that's going on, the racing seems to take care of itself.
So you tell me, does that make me a bad triathlete? Should I be more gung-ho about the numbers? Should I be charging for a podium that I'll never reach, or am I onto something? Maybe my mind will change after Vineman and I start gearing up for 2010. Maybe not. I sure as hell don't know, but I'm having a lot of fun with the puzzle.
Showing posts with label training. Show all posts
Showing posts with label training. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Let the Experiments Begin
I've been thinking a lot about Wildflower since we got back, especially during the long sessions on my living room floor working over my legs with "the stick." It's interesting, but more than anything I've done since I got into triathlon, this race really brought a lot into focus. I talked about the nutrition problems and T2 issues in my race report, so I won't go into them again, but I've started trying to put the puzzle together to make sure that Vineman goes better than WF.
This isn't to say that I got off to a clean start.
I really meant to do some light recovery workouts this past week to help clean Wildflower out of my system, I really did. It just didn't work out. I was only home one night last week, and that night I was working, so it was Friday before I managed to get in any actual exercise, and that was only about 3/4 mile at the Cove. A decent swim, but not much for the workout value.
No worries, though, because by the time we got to the Brewhouse, I had a ride scheduled for Saturday morning. I had originally planned to hit the coast with the tri club, but I wound up riding the Del Dios/Elfin Forest route with Greg, which was cool. A little harder perhaps than I had originally intended for my "recovery" workout, but it felt good to push and to keep up with someone who I know is faster than me.
Nonetheless, I was plagued by some equipment issues. At Wildflower and throughout the last few months of training, my aero bottle had been driving me nuts. Turns out that I really can't use one. My shoulders are too big. The bracket that holds the bottle in place is stretched too wide and it rattles and flops around. On the last two rides, the race included, it has actually fallen off. I caught it both times, but jeez. In order to keep it from falling off a second time, I had to dump my cage bottle and fill it from the aero to lighten the load. So I did the rest of the ride on two bottles of watered down carbo-pro. Yay.
On the way home, I stopped and bought new bottle cages for the tri bike and, although two bottles don't fit comfortably inside the frame, I'm gonna try my mext ride with them anyway. I had a new mixture of carbo-pro all set to go, but it got screwed up. I'll take another whack at it next time.
I was also shaking down new bike shoes. They rock. The stiffer soles and wider toe boxes in the Northwaves make a world of difference, but I don't have the left cleat lined up right, so by the halfway point my knee was killing me. A simple enough thing to fix with a trainer session and a screwdriver, but I have to find the time, absolutely have to before next Saturday.
As soon as I get them dialed, I start on bricks.
This isn't to say that I got off to a clean start.
I really meant to do some light recovery workouts this past week to help clean Wildflower out of my system, I really did. It just didn't work out. I was only home one night last week, and that night I was working, so it was Friday before I managed to get in any actual exercise, and that was only about 3/4 mile at the Cove. A decent swim, but not much for the workout value.
No worries, though, because by the time we got to the Brewhouse, I had a ride scheduled for Saturday morning. I had originally planned to hit the coast with the tri club, but I wound up riding the Del Dios/Elfin Forest route with Greg, which was cool. A little harder perhaps than I had originally intended for my "recovery" workout, but it felt good to push and to keep up with someone who I know is faster than me.
Nonetheless, I was plagued by some equipment issues. At Wildflower and throughout the last few months of training, my aero bottle had been driving me nuts. Turns out that I really can't use one. My shoulders are too big. The bracket that holds the bottle in place is stretched too wide and it rattles and flops around. On the last two rides, the race included, it has actually fallen off. I caught it both times, but jeez. In order to keep it from falling off a second time, I had to dump my cage bottle and fill it from the aero to lighten the load. So I did the rest of the ride on two bottles of watered down carbo-pro. Yay.
On the way home, I stopped and bought new bottle cages for the tri bike and, although two bottles don't fit comfortably inside the frame, I'm gonna try my mext ride with them anyway. I had a new mixture of carbo-pro all set to go, but it got screwed up. I'll take another whack at it next time.
I was also shaking down new bike shoes. They rock. The stiffer soles and wider toe boxes in the Northwaves make a world of difference, but I don't have the left cleat lined up right, so by the halfway point my knee was killing me. A simple enough thing to fix with a trainer session and a screwdriver, but I have to find the time, absolutely have to before next Saturday.
As soon as I get them dialed, I start on bricks.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Running: The Bane Of My Existence
Actually, the title of this post is a bit misleading. When I'm healthy enough to run without random bits of my legs and feet feeling like they're made of broken glass, I enjoy running. Strapping on (yes, I know, I said strap on) the ipod and hitting the pavement for an hour or three is a great way to burn tension, unplug and work through stacks of the crap and assorted detritus that accumulates in your brain during your day to day life. Believe me, this is a good thing, especially if, like me, you currently have huge swaths of your world being torn apart by heavy equipment and the scraps left to rot in the sun on your front lawn.
So why am I writing like this? Because I went running twice this weekend. The first time, yesterday, was at the tail end of a brick workout. For you non-triathletes, this is a workout comprised of two sports. In this case a 40 mile bike ride followed by a 30 minute run. Now, if you follow this blog, you know that I have had assorted issues with my feet and ankles over the last year and that I haven't done much running beyond racing.
I've been working on it, though, and the foot has been doing a lot better. I've been running again for a couple of weeks and was up to four miles. So I thought the brick would work out okay. Not so much. Seven minutes into the run, Mark was out of sight and my foot was thunking down on the road like a cinder block. A cinder block wrapped in nerve endings. I tried to tough it out. Pros play hurt right? Fuck the pros. I decided to walk until minute 10 and try again.
No dice. I walked to minute 12. 13. 15... Are you seeing the pattern? 24 minutes after the run began, I limped my way back to the car.
Which brings me to today. Just to make sure I'm not broken, I decided to try a run only workout. I went down to the boardwalk and banged out 5.75 miles pain-free. What the fuck? Seriously...
So why am I writing like this? Because I went running twice this weekend. The first time, yesterday, was at the tail end of a brick workout. For you non-triathletes, this is a workout comprised of two sports. In this case a 40 mile bike ride followed by a 30 minute run. Now, if you follow this blog, you know that I have had assorted issues with my feet and ankles over the last year and that I haven't done much running beyond racing.
I've been working on it, though, and the foot has been doing a lot better. I've been running again for a couple of weeks and was up to four miles. So I thought the brick would work out okay. Not so much. Seven minutes into the run, Mark was out of sight and my foot was thunking down on the road like a cinder block. A cinder block wrapped in nerve endings. I tried to tough it out. Pros play hurt right? Fuck the pros. I decided to walk until minute 10 and try again.
No dice. I walked to minute 12. 13. 15... Are you seeing the pattern? 24 minutes after the run began, I limped my way back to the car.
Which brings me to today. Just to make sure I'm not broken, I decided to try a run only workout. I went down to the boardwalk and banged out 5.75 miles pain-free. What the fuck? Seriously...
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Training and Racing Update
So I haven't blogged about anything like the triathlons that're supposed to be the focus of this blog, so it's time to talk about 'em a bit. First up,
MY 2009 RACES
March: Solvang Century
May: Wildflower Long Course
June: San Diego International
July: Vineman 70.3
September: Big Kahuna
Maybe something else, if it catches my attention. I've gotta sign up for Kahuna and Solvang pretty soon, just to get them out of the way. For those of you playing along at home, that's 3 half-iron distance tris, all in preparation for the big adventure of 2010. More on that another time.
As for training, I've been doing okay with it, considering that my approach to training is about as scattered as a crack addict in a house of mirrors. I've been doing workouts based on what's gonna hurt most since that's about the only way I can find lately to kill the tension and anxiety of the professional world. Fucking economy, right?
In order of occurrence:
In the pool, I'm up to 3000 yards in 60 minutes. 3250 in 64 minutes. I'm shooting to hit 3500 in 60 minutes. Got some work to do.
I've been biking a lot and doing well. I keep getting stronger and I hope to make a big improvement on my 3:03 bike split at last year's Longhorn 70.3. I'm hoping to go under 3 hours at Vineman.
As for running, I've been in physical therapy to have my foot worked on; part of the continuing quest to clear up last year's plantar fasciitis. It's been going well. Two weeks ago, I started running again for the first time since October. I started at 3 miles and I'm up to 4. I actually ran 4 straight miles pain free last Sunday in 38 minutes. Things look okay, but I'm taking it slow. My goal is to be able to run 10k, or half the run, at Wildflower, and to be back to full speed by Vineman. No risks, no foolish chances with the leg, that's my new motto.
Here's hoping 2009 lets me race as strong as I plan.
Of course, this is all contingent on whether this intense, white hot poker of pain I've developed in the ball of my foot goes away. It's never easy is it?
MY 2009 RACES
March: Solvang Century
May: Wildflower Long Course
June: San Diego International
July: Vineman 70.3
September: Big Kahuna
Maybe something else, if it catches my attention. I've gotta sign up for Kahuna and Solvang pretty soon, just to get them out of the way. For those of you playing along at home, that's 3 half-iron distance tris, all in preparation for the big adventure of 2010. More on that another time.
As for training, I've been doing okay with it, considering that my approach to training is about as scattered as a crack addict in a house of mirrors. I've been doing workouts based on what's gonna hurt most since that's about the only way I can find lately to kill the tension and anxiety of the professional world. Fucking economy, right?
In order of occurrence:
In the pool, I'm up to 3000 yards in 60 minutes. 3250 in 64 minutes. I'm shooting to hit 3500 in 60 minutes. Got some work to do.
I've been biking a lot and doing well. I keep getting stronger and I hope to make a big improvement on my 3:03 bike split at last year's Longhorn 70.3. I'm hoping to go under 3 hours at Vineman.
As for running, I've been in physical therapy to have my foot worked on; part of the continuing quest to clear up last year's plantar fasciitis. It's been going well. Two weeks ago, I started running again for the first time since October. I started at 3 miles and I'm up to 4. I actually ran 4 straight miles pain free last Sunday in 38 minutes. Things look okay, but I'm taking it slow. My goal is to be able to run 10k, or half the run, at Wildflower, and to be back to full speed by Vineman. No risks, no foolish chances with the leg, that's my new motto.
Here's hoping 2009 lets me race as strong as I plan.
Of course, this is all contingent on whether this intense, white hot poker of pain I've developed in the ball of my foot goes away. It's never easy is it?
Thursday, December 11, 2008
This Tri Shit Is Getting Ridiculous
So it's the off season. Why don't I feel like it? Oh yeah, because I'm reading books about training, working out in sport specific ways and still getting up early on Saturdays to put miles on the new bike. That's right, I bought a new bike.
Like I said, this tri shit is getting ridiculous.
If you saw Mark's last post then you know that I'm part of his maniacal plan to train for a full Ironman in 2010. We've also enlisted Dana in our scheme.
The venue is yet to be determined, though we may be joining Goody and several other TNT alums in Taupo. Even if it doesn't end up being our race, I may go on principle. Can I do two in one year? Am I insane? Don't answer that! Who am I talking to? I should really take my meds on time.
So here it is. I don't know what I'm thinking, but in preparation for this nonsense, I am training in my off season to get ready for my season, which in 2009 will consist of at least one century, two half ironmans, an international tri and probably at least one sprint, just for giggles.
How did I get here? I don't know, but I'm kinda glad I did. Shut up, voices in my head.
Like I said, this tri shit is getting ridiculous.
If you saw Mark's last post then you know that I'm part of his maniacal plan to train for a full Ironman in 2010. We've also enlisted Dana in our scheme.
The venue is yet to be determined, though we may be joining Goody and several other TNT alums in Taupo. Even if it doesn't end up being our race, I may go on principle. Can I do two in one year? Am I insane? Don't answer that! Who am I talking to? I should really take my meds on time.
So here it is. I don't know what I'm thinking, but in preparation for this nonsense, I am training in my off season to get ready for my season, which in 2009 will consist of at least one century, two half ironmans, an international tri and probably at least one sprint, just for giggles.
How did I get here? I don't know, but I'm kinda glad I did. Shut up, voices in my head.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Fun. Pain. I can't tell the difference.
So I did exactly jack in the week after Pac Grove, but here we are spitting distance from Longhorn and I'm alternating between cranked about my first half-iron and scared off my head.
I didn't mean to take a full week off. I really intended to sit out Monday and maybe Tuesday, then get on the horse and hit the gym Wednesday night, maybe a run on Thursday...none of that happened. Come Friday, I had done nothing except pick up my bike from Jason after he tuned it.
So Friday rolled around and I joined the gang out at the Cove with the intention of cranking out a quick mile. Well, by the time we all got there and got going, the sun was sinking inexorably lower on the horizon and the swells were climbing higher and higher above it. I got to the quarter in 0:7:30, the floated there for almost 15 minutes jabbering with folks. Finally, we decided to just bag it and head in. Most of us headed to dinner, though there was a bit of a schism over who was eating Mexican and who was eating with who. It wasn't exactly East and West Germany, but there was a little drama, nothing some clever text messages couldn't cure.
Leaving dinner, I had to jam home and shower off the wetsuit smell to go meet the volleyball kids at the Carriage House for some karaoke and booze in honor of Daniel's birthday. I was the latecomer to the party and they already pretty far gone, which was good since it meant I didn't have to catch up. I didn't emerge totally unscathed though. Drinking beer may be carb-loading, but Alabama Slammers don't qualify I guess. I had the sense to pull the ripcord at about midnight.
5AM Saturday and the phone goes off. It was a text from Mark bailing out of the day's ride. (You're gonna have to explain your later explanation dude, I'm still puzzling over it.) Ultimately not a huge problem, but I got up and started to get ready for the ride, only to realize that wait, it's five in the damn morning. I don't have to be up until 6. I went back to bed.
Dana and I caught the train up to Capistrano at 7:40 after an impromptu sprint through the Solana Beach Amtrak station in bike shoes, toting helmets and bikes. Thankfully someone was running even later than us and they held the train. I can't help but think though, about the helpful lady who sold me my ticket. The conversation, which began at about 7:35, went somthing like this:
Ryan: One for Capistrano.
Lady: I need your ID. Will this be cash or charge?
Ryan: How much is it?
Lady: I hope you make your train. Cash or charge?
Ryan: How much is the ticket? I don't know if I have enough cash.
Lady: Twelve dollars.
Ryan: Cash. (hands over twelve bucks)
Lady: Thank you. (begins typing on the computer, presumably ordering East European porn or something, but very slowly) I hope you make your train. All the way across on track 2. (hands ryan the ticket)
Ryan: Me too. (sprints out the door, clacking in bike shoes)
Once in Capistrano, we had a pretty uneventful time of things, except for the bike shoe shuffle across the slick tile and hardwood floors of the station cafe to find a bathroom, and hit the road.
If you haven't cycled this route, you have to go through Camp Pendleton, which is cool. We had a hard time keeping ourselves from pulling over to climb on the decorative tanks and play on the obstacle courses, some of which looked way fun. Then we rode past a Carnival at Oceanside harbor. Somewhere between oceanside and Carlsbad, we made the decision to bag the transition run portion of the day's program and turned inland at Palomar Airport Road to get in some hill time.
By the end of the 60 miles, I was well and truly sick of my bike chain clicking and we stopped at B&L, where we ran into Jeanie and Rolf. Turns out Jeanie's racing IM Cozumel in 2009, just like our good friend Katie. Oh, and I think I got pulled into being in town for the race. Guess I should make sure my passport's current. Oy.
A little while in B&L and Dana and I realized that we were about to pass out from hunger. We'd been on the road for four hours in the sun. So a quick stop at the cars and we were into Chief's for what might have been the best frings and burgers ever.
Saturday night was Paul's birthday party and I'll gloss over that lest I think too long about BG modeling the bikini.
Today was supposed to be a 13 mile run with Katie, her coach, BG and Rita, but two miles in I knew there was no way I was gonna be able to handle race pace and interval training. I dropped back and let them pull ahead and pulled into my head to just muscle through it. Around mile 5, my foot was partly throbbing and partly numb ans wasn't bending right, so I stopped, stretched and turned back. I ultimately did 10-point-something miles in just over two hours. It could have been faster except that around the Children's pool, my knee and foot stopped working and I had to limp back to the cove.
Not my best performance and it's got me a little rattled about the half-marathon at the end of Longhorn, but I also know that I can just suck it up and muscle through if I have to. I really don't want to, but if I have to, it's there. I'm expecting to hurt for about two weeks after the race, but thankfully I'm going down for post-surgical rehab just about then and I have six weeks to recover from all of it.
How do I get into this stuff?
I didn't mean to take a full week off. I really intended to sit out Monday and maybe Tuesday, then get on the horse and hit the gym Wednesday night, maybe a run on Thursday...none of that happened. Come Friday, I had done nothing except pick up my bike from Jason after he tuned it.
So Friday rolled around and I joined the gang out at the Cove with the intention of cranking out a quick mile. Well, by the time we all got there and got going, the sun was sinking inexorably lower on the horizon and the swells were climbing higher and higher above it. I got to the quarter in 0:7:30, the floated there for almost 15 minutes jabbering with folks. Finally, we decided to just bag it and head in. Most of us headed to dinner, though there was a bit of a schism over who was eating Mexican and who was eating with who. It wasn't exactly East and West Germany, but there was a little drama, nothing some clever text messages couldn't cure.
Leaving dinner, I had to jam home and shower off the wetsuit smell to go meet the volleyball kids at the Carriage House for some karaoke and booze in honor of Daniel's birthday. I was the latecomer to the party and they already pretty far gone, which was good since it meant I didn't have to catch up. I didn't emerge totally unscathed though. Drinking beer may be carb-loading, but Alabama Slammers don't qualify I guess. I had the sense to pull the ripcord at about midnight.
5AM Saturday and the phone goes off. It was a text from Mark bailing out of the day's ride. (You're gonna have to explain your later explanation dude, I'm still puzzling over it.) Ultimately not a huge problem, but I got up and started to get ready for the ride, only to realize that wait, it's five in the damn morning. I don't have to be up until 6. I went back to bed.
Dana and I caught the train up to Capistrano at 7:40 after an impromptu sprint through the Solana Beach Amtrak station in bike shoes, toting helmets and bikes. Thankfully someone was running even later than us and they held the train. I can't help but think though, about the helpful lady who sold me my ticket. The conversation, which began at about 7:35, went somthing like this:
Ryan: One for Capistrano.
Lady: I need your ID. Will this be cash or charge?
Ryan: How much is it?
Lady: I hope you make your train. Cash or charge?
Ryan: How much is the ticket? I don't know if I have enough cash.
Lady: Twelve dollars.
Ryan: Cash. (hands over twelve bucks)
Lady: Thank you. (begins typing on the computer, presumably ordering East European porn or something, but very slowly) I hope you make your train. All the way across on track 2. (hands ryan the ticket)
Ryan: Me too. (sprints out the door, clacking in bike shoes)
Once in Capistrano, we had a pretty uneventful time of things, except for the bike shoe shuffle across the slick tile and hardwood floors of the station cafe to find a bathroom, and hit the road.
If you haven't cycled this route, you have to go through Camp Pendleton, which is cool. We had a hard time keeping ourselves from pulling over to climb on the decorative tanks and play on the obstacle courses, some of which looked way fun. Then we rode past a Carnival at Oceanside harbor. Somewhere between oceanside and Carlsbad, we made the decision to bag the transition run portion of the day's program and turned inland at Palomar Airport Road to get in some hill time.
By the end of the 60 miles, I was well and truly sick of my bike chain clicking and we stopped at B&L, where we ran into Jeanie and Rolf. Turns out Jeanie's racing IM Cozumel in 2009, just like our good friend Katie. Oh, and I think I got pulled into being in town for the race. Guess I should make sure my passport's current. Oy.
A little while in B&L and Dana and I realized that we were about to pass out from hunger. We'd been on the road for four hours in the sun. So a quick stop at the cars and we were into Chief's for what might have been the best frings and burgers ever.
Saturday night was Paul's birthday party and I'll gloss over that lest I think too long about BG modeling the bikini.
Today was supposed to be a 13 mile run with Katie, her coach, BG and Rita, but two miles in I knew there was no way I was gonna be able to handle race pace and interval training. I dropped back and let them pull ahead and pulled into my head to just muscle through it. Around mile 5, my foot was partly throbbing and partly numb ans wasn't bending right, so I stopped, stretched and turned back. I ultimately did 10-point-something miles in just over two hours. It could have been faster except that around the Children's pool, my knee and foot stopped working and I had to limp back to the cove.
Not my best performance and it's got me a little rattled about the half-marathon at the end of Longhorn, but I also know that I can just suck it up and muscle through if I have to. I really don't want to, but if I have to, it's there. I'm expecting to hurt for about two weeks after the race, but thankfully I'm going down for post-surgical rehab just about then and I have six weeks to recover from all of it.
How do I get into this stuff?
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Booth Babes, Cracked Ribs, Sleep Deprivation and Climbing the Walls
So you can tell by the title that this is going to cover some varied terrain. First things where they belong, this is my training blog, so I guess I should catch you up on that a bit.
I mentioned it in my last post, but I have messed up ribs. I bruised/cracked/broke one or two of them in Tahoe a couple of weeks ago. Not hucking myself around in thigh deep powder, no, but screwing around at slow speed on a cat track. I'm not going to say more, it's too painful, too embarrassing, too bloody stupid. So, the doctor said it isn't broken. He poked me and I didn't scream. He gave me a big Motrins. Works for me, when I take them.
So I had to skip training this past weekend to go to NADA in San Francisco. That's the National Auto Dealer Association trade show, for those of you who don't know. We spent days in end in the west hall of the Moscone Center, which was, as it turned out, the red headed stepchild of the show. I don't know, we got a good reception for our stuff, both from the company we were showing with, and the people we brought by to see it. Now we'll see what we can do with it.
This brings me back to the title. One of my favorite aspects of the convention was booth babes. Now, don't get me wrong, it's not because they're hot and wearing skimpy clothes. If that's all I need, then I can go down to PB or the Gaslamp on any given evening. What I love about booth babes is that they are both the most obvious manifestation of fluff marketing and the most effective traffic generation tool I've seen. I saw more pudgy, middle-aged and old white guys standing in line to have their pictures taken with scantily clad blondes than I had expected at a show where you can buy oil additives, frame aligners, websites and dealerships. I'm not sure any of them knew what the girls were selling, but hey, they were in the booth.
I just have to wonder at what point the girls start to wonder why they signed on for "stand still, look pretty, hand out brochures and get groped."
So we finally got back late last night, and here we come full circle. I couldn't work the show without the Motrin, so I was looped half the time and hurting the rest. Even so, I had run gear with me to try and get in a few miles in place of the team workout. I never made it, between beer and long days and pain, but I was climbing the walls not being able to train.
So tonight I went for a short, relatively easy run. I made it three miles without too much nastiness and I'm not in screaming agony now, so that's good. Maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought. Gonna try swimming tomorrow. That didn't go so well last time, but hey, maybe I'll get lucky.
More later.
I mentioned it in my last post, but I have messed up ribs. I bruised/cracked/broke one or two of them in Tahoe a couple of weeks ago. Not hucking myself around in thigh deep powder, no, but screwing around at slow speed on a cat track. I'm not going to say more, it's too painful, too embarrassing, too bloody stupid. So, the doctor said it isn't broken. He poked me and I didn't scream. He gave me a big Motrins. Works for me, when I take them.
So I had to skip training this past weekend to go to NADA in San Francisco. That's the National Auto Dealer Association trade show, for those of you who don't know. We spent days in end in the west hall of the Moscone Center, which was, as it turned out, the red headed stepchild of the show. I don't know, we got a good reception for our stuff, both from the company we were showing with, and the people we brought by to see it. Now we'll see what we can do with it.
This brings me back to the title. One of my favorite aspects of the convention was booth babes. Now, don't get me wrong, it's not because they're hot and wearing skimpy clothes. If that's all I need, then I can go down to PB or the Gaslamp on any given evening. What I love about booth babes is that they are both the most obvious manifestation of fluff marketing and the most effective traffic generation tool I've seen. I saw more pudgy, middle-aged and old white guys standing in line to have their pictures taken with scantily clad blondes than I had expected at a show where you can buy oil additives, frame aligners, websites and dealerships. I'm not sure any of them knew what the girls were selling, but hey, they were in the booth.
I just have to wonder at what point the girls start to wonder why they signed on for "stand still, look pretty, hand out brochures and get groped."
So we finally got back late last night, and here we come full circle. I couldn't work the show without the Motrin, so I was looped half the time and hurting the rest. Even so, I had run gear with me to try and get in a few miles in place of the team workout. I never made it, between beer and long days and pain, but I was climbing the walls not being able to train.
So tonight I went for a short, relatively easy run. I made it three miles without too much nastiness and I'm not in screaming agony now, so that's good. Maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought. Gonna try swimming tomorrow. That didn't go so well last time, but hey, maybe I'll get lucky.
More later.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Lessons Learned
Tonight, a reading from "The Book of Stupid Things Ryan Has Done," 2008 edition. Chapter 37, "Swimming on Screwed Up Ribs."
Don't do it. It's a bad idea. I woke up this morning with a little twinge in my side where I took a snowboard binding under my lower left rib. I had full range of motion, no visible bruising. Two Aleve and a Power Bar, on with the day.
So tonight I figure I can go to swim. I knocked out a little over 2000 yards. Sounds like a lot, but there was a lot more to go. Thing is, I lost all power on my left side and now deep breaths hurt.
So basically, I'm an idiot. Oh, well, at least Tahoe was epic this last weekend. Three feet of fresh powder and my first ever successful deep-pow tree runs. Thank you triathlon for making my legs strong.
I may have more to say later, but I won't get many workouts in this week. I have to go out of town again, but for work. More reasons not to train. I'll have to find ways to get something in. I hear there's good running in San Francisco.
Don't do it. It's a bad idea. I woke up this morning with a little twinge in my side where I took a snowboard binding under my lower left rib. I had full range of motion, no visible bruising. Two Aleve and a Power Bar, on with the day.
So tonight I figure I can go to swim. I knocked out a little over 2000 yards. Sounds like a lot, but there was a lot more to go. Thing is, I lost all power on my left side and now deep breaths hurt.
So basically, I'm an idiot. Oh, well, at least Tahoe was epic this last weekend. Three feet of fresh powder and my first ever successful deep-pow tree runs. Thank you triathlon for making my legs strong.
I may have more to say later, but I won't get many workouts in this week. I have to go out of town again, but for work. More reasons not to train. I'll have to find ways to get something in. I hear there's good running in San Francisco.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
So I've got a little catching up to do...
So, it's been an eventful couple of weeks. So much so, that my blogging has been more internal than recorded, but I'm here now, so I might as well write something down.
We had a party to watch the Chargers/Colts game at my buddy's house and I picked up the Martian Death Flu, which sucked. It knocked me on my butt for three solid days. So what did I do, besides mainline dayquil and robitussin? I blew off a weekend of training and went snowboarding, which was awesome. The only drawback was that I stayed sick for the rest of the following week.
I couldn't train to save my life. Every little bit of exertion brought on a coughing fit that could've snapped my spine. I took it as easy as I could but I was going stir crazy doing less than I knew I could. Saturday rolled around and I felt good enough to ride my bike.
I took off on the team ride and knocked out the thirty miles coach assigned, including the three times up Torrey Pines hill. It took more out of me than it should have, but hey, I'd been sick and hadn't trained for two weeks. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.
But here's where it all catches up to me. After the ride, a few of us ran up to Carlsbad to get our race bibs for the Carlsbad Half Marathon, right before we hauled ass back to La Jolla to make the team's first ocean swim.
The team looked a little shaky, but enthusiastic, as they waded into the 50-something degree water (hooray wetsuits!) but the spirit took hold after a while. Despite the shivering, everybody tagged the kayaks and actually looked pretty happy. We just had to keep reminding them that the water in Hawaii will be way warmer than this, more like the pool we train in.
Anyway, after the swim a few of us Carlsbad runners grabbed a carbo-load dinner and went home. Early to bed and out to the starting line for a 7:30 gun.
Now for the race report, dissecting my first half-marathon.
My overall time was 2:24:25, with my 6.6 mile (halfway) split happening at 1:08:29.
My mile splits for the first half of the race came in at 10:23, but my overall average mile pace was 11:01. What does this tell me, apart from that I ran out of gas part way through? Don't run sick, or shortly after being sick. My body rebelled at mile 7. I had to stop and walk away the nausea a couple times, but I finished, and I ran probably 12 of the 13 miles overall. I'll take it for my first one.
Now, if only the stupid Chargers had won. Or at least the Packers...
Now I have to dig deep into the well of self-denial and root for the Patriots come Super Bowl Sunday. I pledge here and now to hate myself while I do it.
We had a party to watch the Chargers/Colts game at my buddy's house and I picked up the Martian Death Flu, which sucked. It knocked me on my butt for three solid days. So what did I do, besides mainline dayquil and robitussin? I blew off a weekend of training and went snowboarding, which was awesome. The only drawback was that I stayed sick for the rest of the following week.
I couldn't train to save my life. Every little bit of exertion brought on a coughing fit that could've snapped my spine. I took it as easy as I could but I was going stir crazy doing less than I knew I could. Saturday rolled around and I felt good enough to ride my bike.
I took off on the team ride and knocked out the thirty miles coach assigned, including the three times up Torrey Pines hill. It took more out of me than it should have, but hey, I'd been sick and hadn't trained for two weeks. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.
But here's where it all catches up to me. After the ride, a few of us ran up to Carlsbad to get our race bibs for the Carlsbad Half Marathon, right before we hauled ass back to La Jolla to make the team's first ocean swim.
The team looked a little shaky, but enthusiastic, as they waded into the 50-something degree water (hooray wetsuits!) but the spirit took hold after a while. Despite the shivering, everybody tagged the kayaks and actually looked pretty happy. We just had to keep reminding them that the water in Hawaii will be way warmer than this, more like the pool we train in.
Anyway, after the swim a few of us Carlsbad runners grabbed a carbo-load dinner and went home. Early to bed and out to the starting line for a 7:30 gun.
Now for the race report, dissecting my first half-marathon.
My overall time was 2:24:25, with my 6.6 mile (halfway) split happening at 1:08:29.
My mile splits for the first half of the race came in at 10:23, but my overall average mile pace was 11:01. What does this tell me, apart from that I ran out of gas part way through? Don't run sick, or shortly after being sick. My body rebelled at mile 7. I had to stop and walk away the nausea a couple times, but I finished, and I ran probably 12 of the 13 miles overall. I'll take it for my first one.
Now, if only the stupid Chargers had won. Or at least the Packers...
Now I have to dig deep into the well of self-denial and root for the Patriots come Super Bowl Sunday. I pledge here and now to hate myself while I do it.
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