So what went wrong?

After a disappointing triathlon season, I decided to train for (OK, cram for! Jill was right) a 10K yesterday. It was on the Riverfront and consisted of a much flatter and easier course than any other 10K I've ever done, so I thought a new PR would be a breeze. My current 10K PR was set in 2006... so it's time I break it.

My original goal was to PR, but my real goal was to break 50 minutes for the first time. That would mean a 46 second PR on an easier course. Should have been no problem.

With only five weeks until race day, I hired Iron Ex, the most talented coach I know -- and frankly the only person I trust to train me. With his help while we were together, I'd PRed at pretty much everything I tried, so I knew he would be tough but effective. I went from 2-3 runs per week (10-12 miles max) all spring and summer to 5-6 runs per week (20-27 miles). I did speedwork, hills, tempo runs, and long(er) runs (7-8 miles) on the weekends. I thought my legs would fall off, and I dreamed up new curse words to call him on the track pretty regularly, but I did it.

Saturday night D and I had Flyers tickets. Thinking I was being so smart, I ate before the game to avoid eating crap at the game. Unfortunately, I didn't eat again, except for some Twizzlers, for the rest of the night Saturday. In hindsight, I should have had something before going to bed.

Sunday morning, I had some cereal and a banana, and I made a mental note to make my traditional pre-race peanut butter sandwich for the car.

And then I forgot all about the sandwich.

Those errors killed me. Not enough food on Saturday, no food LATE on Saturday, and not nearly enough Sunday morning before the race. I started out feeling strong and confident, hitting my watch at 7:54 at the one mile marker. A bit too fast -- I needed to run 8s the whole race to break 50 minutes -- but I felt good. It didn't feel too fast. I knew I'd slow down a bit, and I was happy to have those extra precious seconds in the bank, as my friend Chris would say.

Mile 2 had the only significant hill. I knew I'd slowed down a little bit, but again I was OK with it. Until I hit my watch at the mile 2 marker and saw a big 8:25 taunting me. WTF??

I tried to pick it up during mile 3, but the turnaround was about a quarter mile into this mile and the tailwind I never even knew was aiding me turned into a really awful headwind. Everyone at this point was complaining about it. Oh well, nothing we can do about it. I think mile 3 was 8:14. Better, but still not good enough.

During mile 4 we ran next to the river and had to battle a pretty significant crosswind. Note: crosswinds are almost as hard as headwinds. I think mile 4 was 8:15, but I'm not 100% sure. It was a struggle to maintain that pace, and I knew I couldn't go any faster.

By mile 5 I knew I wasn't going to break 50 minutes or PR. I knew I'd blown it. My legs weighed about 80 pounds each at this point. I had no energy. I was mentally shutting down. I desperately looked for D and Shaggy along the course, telling myself I would stop to pet Shaggy for 10 seconds and get a second wind (no pun intended). I never did find them, and that was devastating. I so desperately wanted to stop, even for a second. Nearly in tears, I hit my watch at 8:24 for mile 5.

And then in mile 6, it all fell apart. I stopped even trying. I think you could best call what I was doing a shuffle. My legs were done, my brain was done, and I wanted to just walk off the course and never run again. Mile 6 was 9 freaking 05.

I don't even know what the final 2/10ths were. And I don't care. By my watch, my final time was 52:21. Two and a half minutes over my goal.

I don't know if I can do this any more. It hasn't been fun in a long, long time. I hate to finish this way, but I hate even more the thought of putting in the effort for nothing.

I think my bad attitude and I need some time to figure this out.

Halloween

My creative juices are at a low*, so I'm reaching out to get YOUR good ideas. What should I be for Halloween this year?

*Actually, that's not entirely true. I just gave my cousin a great costume idea! Doesn't really help me, though... so now I need your help. :)

The criteria:
Has to be fun. Cute. Preferably sexy but not overtly so. No face paint. Wigs are OK, though I'm completely hideous as a blonde... but I'm willing to don a blonde wig if it's appropriate for the costume. Pop culture references are great but not necessary. Should be easy enough for people to figure out without having to ask me, "So... what are you??"

So please leave a comment with your good ideas. As an incentive, I'll offer a prize if I choose your idea -- chocolate-covered pretzels from Govatos Chocolates.

Ready GO!

In denial

I haven't wanted to admit something, but I think it's time.

I'm afraid in the water.

That stinking rip current last year really did a number on me. I didn't realize it at first this year -- I was so in denial that even I didn't recognize it! -- but I'm finally recognizing my fear. All my race swim times were off this season, despite setting PR after PR in the pool. At first I beat myself up over it a little. Then I got frustrated.

Finally, after the fiasco that was Diamondman, I admitted what I've been reluctant to accept. I'm afraid.

In almost every race, I was out of breath and fighting a racing heartbeat in the swim. Thinking I was going out too fast -- just like I do in the run -- I slowed myself down. Now, I realize that my racing heart wasn't overexertion. It was panic.

So, what do I do? Obviously, spending more time in the pool isn't going to help. I've trained my butt off in the pool this year. The pool is safe. Comforting. Easy.

More open water swims in training? I did short races this year, but more of them than normal. I also swam in bodies of water I've never swam in before. So more open water swimming may or may not help me.

Is it all in my head? Do I need more yoga and meditation?

Is it even something I can overcome? Or am I destined to just be afraid in the water forever? Do I need to just accept it?

Whatever the answer, I know this. I hate it. I hate that something I LOVED so much -- being in the water, swimming, feeling so carefree and weightless and ALIVE -- has been taken away from me.

Off to the races. Just not the ones I expected to be doing.

At the beginning of this year, I had two main racing goals:
1. Break 3 hours in an Olympic-distance triathlon.
2. Break 1:50 in a half marathon.

As it turns out, none of the local Olympic tris initially fit into my schedule or budget. By the time I figured out when I could do one, they were sold out.

So, onto goal 2, the half marathon. I found out about a new race in Hershey, PA, with a chocolate aid station. Yes, you read that right. Chocolate at mile 12! I signed up on the spot, reserved a hotel room, and booked spa treatments for the day after the race.

Meanwhile, I wrote and rewrote and revised (and re-revised!) my training plan as I tried to figure out when to do what, whether or not I could fit in any triathlons, and how to work my family vacation into the plan. The heat of the summer -- and some still-unexplained health issues -- absolutely destroyed my long runs. And most of my other runs, as well. The two friends I train with most frequently were both preparing for Half Ironmans this summer, which meant that our training schedules were very rarely in sync. Left to do speedwork by myself in 100 degrees, I opted instead to stay home on the sofa watching bad tv. I tried to keep up with the long runs, at least, but never got into double digits. Not once.

And vacation? Forget it. I worked out most days, but for fun. No specific training; I just did what I wanted to do. Mentally, it was wonderful. As far as race readiness, though, I sabotaged my goals.

So now I'm here, at the end of the summer, with no double digit runs to my name. I've done one sprint triathlon, one duathlon, and my first Splash and Dash. I am finally accepting the fact that the HM is not meant to be this year, at least not on October 3. Because of that, I freed up my schedule to allow for my true love -- triathlons.

And that's how it came to be that I am doing a sprint this Saturday and another sprint next Sunday, a mere 8 days apart. Maybe that's the challenge I was meant to do this year.

I've been a bad blogger

This is what happens when you are cramming to get everything done at work before vacation. And then go on vacation and don't watch tv, read a newspaper, or go online for eight blissful days. :)

Too much to type now, but suffice it to say vacation was wonderful and I'm less than thrilled to be back to normal. Well, as normal as I get, anyway.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious

When I was five years old, I was Mary Poppins in the Little Folks Fair, a variety show put on by my preschool every year. Most of the numbers in the Fair were group songs, and each year the show was a bit different based on the kindergarten class. The school director hand-picked me to play Mary Poppins and sing Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious and do a tap dance -- alone! Apparently, before the show my mother asked me if I was nervous. My reply was, "Mom, I'm simply going to do the best I can do." No nerves. No stagefright. Just calm and assured.

My mother told me the story (again!) this weekend of how all the other songs were very simplistic (we were only five, after all!), and how several of the other kids were picking their noses onstage, or forgetting their lines, or whatever. (Again, it's a kindergarten production!)

And then I came out, literally belting out my big solo. My mother and aunt were sobbing their faces off in the audience. Behind them, another audience member said, "Now THERE'S a talented child." Well, forget it. Mom and my aunt were hysterical.

During yesterday's truly craptastic 9-mile run, I recalled the conversation Mom and I had had Saturday night and wondered where that fearless child had gone. At what point do we lose that fearlessness? That feeling of invincibility? Sure, I'm older and wiser now... but I'm also much more fearful, more critical, and more cynical.

Yesterday I was ready to give up running forever. I wanted to stop. I wanted to sit on the curb and wait for someone to take pity on me and drive me home. I was disgusted with myself, disappointed in my conditioning, and in tears over how bad it hurt and how awful it felt.

"Where did that little girl go?" I wondered. "What happened to her? To me? She feared nothing, and I'm in tears over a bad run? She wouldn't have ever dreamed of giving up, but I'm thinking about dropping out of my fall Half Marathon?"

I want to be Mary Poppins again. I want to shine, to be confident, to be content. I want to be able to take chances and not worry about failing. And if I do fail, I want to be able to say, "That's OK. I simply did the best I could do."