Something of My Own

Wednesday morning I woke up in tears. Mainly because it was Wednesday, which isn't exactly as bad as Monday, but almost. The evil class is on Mondays and Wednesdays.

Last week we all got our homework handed back to us to redo because it wasn't perfectly precise. I will have you know that I tend to be a bit of a perfectionist. At least that's what I thought... until I met this instructor. No, I'm just a normal girl with high standards. This woman (I think she's younger than me) got her PhD at Princeton and expects us to meet the standards they had for their PhD's. We're masters students. And we're state schooled. Not just state schooled... CSU state schooled. We're not even UC.

On Monday, when we handed in our re-done homework, she said "So... how is the proposal writing going?"

Crickets.

No one has started analyzing the data for the proposal yet because we've all got 2 assignments to turn in to her this coming Monday and we're all (including me) behind on the reading. And there's a midterm coming up.

"Does anyone want to share their topic idea with me and see if it's a good idea?"

Crickets. Because no one has had time to look at the data.

Wednesday I wanted to be able to present something at my thesis meeting with my advisor, since I had absolutely nothing to show at last week's meeting. So I quickly threw some plots together at 6 am while it was still dark outside and thought about all the other changes I needed to make to my thesis computer code to fix some mistakes. And finish the homework for the evil class.... and figure out the technical issue with my remote job... and grade papers... and catch up on the reading... and eat, or something.

Cue anxiety attack. And lots of self loathing.

I had taken Monday and Tuesday off of working out after a good hard push at Sunday's triathlon. Wednesday I was going to run.

When it got light out, I laced up my shoes and headed out the door. Same as always, I mulled over my workload during the first mile. I wondered how I was going to make it. How do I make time for things I don't have time for? What can give? What can I get rid of?

People (mostly other grad students) are always shocked at the workout schedule I maintain with everything else I'm doing. It's been suggested to me that I drop, or at least ease up on, my training in order to make more room for my other responsibilities. One semester I did let that drop. And I quit sleeping, which led to me eating like crap, which led to me getting sick. I'm not allowed to let my workouts slide anymore.

While I was running, it occurred to me that my training was the only thing in my life where I did not have to meet anyone's expectations but my own. I decide my goals, I decide my expectations, I decide my training plan, and I decide my measures of success. My training is for me and me only. How on earth can I drop the only thing I have in my life that is mine and mine alone? In everything else I do, my success is measured by someone else's expectations.

This is why I push myself in my training, why I'm hard on myself... but also exactly why I celebrate my accomplishments. I work hard and it shows. I am a faster, stronger, smarter athlete than I was last year, and the year before, and the year before that. I am improving every year and it feels damn good.

I think everyone should have something like that. Something in our lives that is meant for only us. That no one else can come and make big black marks on (or bright red). A sport, art, a hobby, something.

By the time I made it home from my run, I was relaxed and happy. I presented my hurried plots at my thesis meeting and my advisor was excited with my results.

I went into the shadow lands of my evil class and refused to let my anxiety boil up. Until she said "So...homework four....". Mother of god....

After ensuring us that we once again let her down, we carried on with lecture. I tried to breathe rays of sunshine into my agitation. I thought about Kona.

The professor said we were going to go around the room and each answer some tricky questions. My heart rate shot up and my soul burrowed down in the black tar pit of its new home. Sitting next to me, Jodie whispered "I hate this fucking class". I looked over at one of the new grad students seated in the front of the room. His face said what we were all thinking: Fuck my life.

At that moment I realized it didn't matter. We were all afraid, we were all stressed. There was not a single person in the room (besides the instructor) who did not want to crawl into a hole and die at that moment. We were all suddenly psychically bonded in our misery and fear. No one was going to show anyone else up. We were all going to suffer.

And Thursday morning felt like a Friday. So much so that I almost didn't go to class. Because Thursdays mean that I have survived both Monday and Wednesday and am released from my hell until next Monday.

...Next Monday when I will have to turn in 2 assignments for the evil class, have another lecture prepared, have caught up with my reading, have rewritten my notes, have fixed my thesis code, have started my new assignment for my remote job, and have hopefully reviewed the data for my evil class enough to have come up with a proposal topic. Somewhere in there, I will have hopefully eaten more than once.

And I will have run. Twice.

Because I will sacrifice myself to the gods of mercy first and feed the scraps to the demons.

The Olympic Triathlon

After having such a great time at my first triathlon (a sprint distance), I decided to sign up for another, longer triathlon- the Olympic distance. The Olympic distance consists of a 1.5 km (.93 mi) swim, 40 km (24.8 mi) bike, and a 10 km (6.2 mi) run. Taken separately, each leg is still quite doable. Even all together, the time it would likely take me to do the event was still under the time it takes me to run a marathon, so I knew this event was not going to push my personal limits of endurance. So I signed up.

I got some fairly good training in this past summer, but since school started back up again, time and energy has been scarce and some of my training has gone by the wayside. I planned on incorporating things I learned from my first triathlon into my preparation for this one. For one, I was actually going to warm up for the swim. Jumping into a freezing cold ocean to do a race without a warm-up is just dumb. Second, I was going to push harder on the bike. I kinda dogged it last time. The bike is my weakest leg. It's also the one I least enjoy training for. And third, I was going to learn the flying mount and dismount for the bike. I'll let you Google that if you're curious (also Google triathlon flying bike mount fails if you're not squeamish). Basically though, you get on and off the bike while it is in motion so you can continue running in or out of transition.

Triathlons are not as simple as throwing together three sports. I've done all three sports separately to some degree, although I've never raced in cycling. There's added complexity in transitioning (quickly) from one discipline to the next. But there's also the complexity of managing fatigue during one leg while also managing fatigue for the entire event. For example, it is wrong to assume that you can just go all out on the swim because you're using mostly your arms and the fatigue will not spill over into the bike and subsequently, the run.

I find this difficult. Especially because the swim is my strongest component compared to a lot of other triathletes who were not swimmers growing up and only learned how to swim to keep from drowning during a triathlon. So I want to dominate the swim. In any event, you really have to play to your strengths. So I go hard in the swim. And hey, guess what? I'm tired before I even get on the bike.

So about a week ago, I finally found the motivation to go practice my bike mounts and dismounts. I was terrified. I was pretty sure I could die doing this, or at least lose half my face. Or break a toe. Like the big toe, and you don't want to break your big toe. I decided to conquer the dismount first as it's less dangerous than the mount. I rode my bike out to a park that had a long road in between parking lots. I got to a cruising speed and attempted to take off my shoes while riding....and within minutes figured out that my road shoes, with their complicated top buckling system, were not going to be removed with one hand. It occurred to me then that I had never removed my road shoes with one hand. It's a two hand deal. This was not going to work.

I canceled my plans to do work and homework and instead went to 4 different stores looking for triathlon shoes. My triathlon was a week away. I did not find what I was looking for, so I ordered a pair online and was thankful for free 2 day shipping from CompetitiveCyclist.com.

On Saturday morning, with a sick feeling in my stomach, I set out to practice dismounts. I figured if I got comfortable with the dismount, I would work on modifying the mount. I didn't feel comfortable adding a "flying mount" the day before my race. I texted Jen that if I died, she could have my bike if it wasn't damaged beyond repair.

I found a quiet street close by and practiced getting my feet out of my shoes while moving. Easy enough. I rode towards the end of the street, pedaling with my bare feet on top of my shoes, slowed to a crawl, and attempted to swing my right leg back over the saddle to bring it to my left side.

Man that saddle was high. I canceled and came to a stop. Tried again.

I approached the end of the road, slowed, and swung my right leg over, slipped it between my left leg and the bike, and cautiously hopped off. Success! I practiced it a few more times at a low speed, then picked up the speed a bit. After I got comfortable with it, I clipped my shoes to the pedals, secured them upright with rubber bands, and practiced doing a mount. Not a flying mount... but one slightly more efficient than having to run in bike shoes only to come to a complete stop and attempt to clip in and go. For this one, I only had to stop enough to get my bare foot on top of my pre-positioned shoe. Easy enough.

When I made it home, I did one more dismount for good measure and carried my bike up the stairs to my apartment. As I leaned it up against the wall, I noticed a shoe was missing. What the heck? It couldn't have gone far because I was just pedaling on top of them as I approached my apartment. Thankfully, it was right at the bottom of the stairs.

I texted Jen that I was alive and unharmed and told her that my shoe incident was just like Cinderella, and maybe if I lost my shoe in the triathlon, some handsome prince would pick it up for me and we would get to meet when I came back for it later. She told me she had her fingers crossed for that one.

*****************************************************************************

The next day was the triathlon. I got there just as transition was opening and chose my spot. I don't really have a very scientific way of figuring out where to set up my stuff. At least not yet. But I looked at the bike out/bike in chute, and the run out chute, and picked a spot in between.

For triathlons, you get a space about as wide as your handlebars and as long as your bike or half your bike depending on how the rack is set up. These racks were on the ground, which meant if I stored my stuff by the back of my bike, I wouldn't be able to get to it very easily while other bikes were there.

This time I was going to warm up in the water before the race. I started to ask around about where the starting line was. We were far enough away that it wasn't quite obvious, and in Santa Cruz, the beach is not directly west. Actually, in Santa Cruz, I believe the beach is in 3 different directions.

The first volunteer I asked didn't know and suggested I ask at registration. Registration was being done by 12 year old girls who didn't know either. I came back to the volunteers who were making sure only athletes came into transition.

"Oh the start? Yeah, it's on the beach."

Really buddy? "Yeah, I know that. Is it down this road, or that way?"

"Oh, uh, yeah I don't know."

I found a race referee who was reprimanding a guy for putting his stuff in the wrong place.

"Oh, uh... I think it's down this road."

I put on my wetsuit, grabbed my cap and goggles, and walked down to the beach. I found the wharf where we were to start and headed toward the lifeguard tower. About 25 minutes before the start, I got in to warm up. The cold hurt my head much like drinking a slurpee too fast. I swam back and forth until I got warm, listened to the announcer getting people pumped up for the race, and watched as others slowly joined me in the water.

Minutes before the race, the referee gave final instructions, the national anthem played, and we lined up in the corrals. I was in the second wave. The first wave were the men under 40, wearing red and green caps. The second was the women under 40, wearing light blue. The waves were sent 5 minutes apart.

We watched the men run off into the water as a few waves rolled in. The waves were breaking on a shallow shelf. I heard some of the girls mutter about the waves, which were actually pretty small but still inconvenient.

I didn't want to do this anymore.

It is exactly at this point at nearly every race that I do, that I decide how dumb it was to sign up for this thing. Who does this crap? This was going to hurt. This was going to be miserable. Why do I do this to myself? This was a dumb idea.

I told myself the feeling would go away as soon as I hit the water.

I lined up at the start of my wave. Girls were already pushing a little. Triathlon swim starts can be brutal. Picture a mass of people running into the water, diving in, and swimming. It's a full contact sport. Anything goes. People have broken teeth. Actually, a couple people have died from it.

Off we went. Just as we hit the water, a wave came up. I dove down under it. As it subsided, I was suddenly in about 4 inches of water, which was not efficient for swimming. I stood back up and ran with the rest of the girls, slightly embarrassed. When the other girls dove in to swim, so did I.

A girl behind me was basically swimming on top of me. Every few seconds I would feel her on top of me up to about my waist. C'mon, obviously there's a swimmer here, find your own place. Girls continued to push and shove until we were out far enough to start to spread out. I focused on not swallowing water, and slowed my pace a little. We started to come up on a couple red caps, catching up to the guys. I was finally able to sight the bright orange buoy I was supposed to be swimming for, and lined up with it.

As we neared the buoy, there were less blue caps and more green and red. I had pulled ahead of the majority of the girls. I heard sea lions barking under the wharf.

Omg, what is that smell? Is that food? Why am I smelling food out here? It must have been coming from the half mile long wharf were were swimming around. God, this is torture. I could totally eat whatever that is. 

We rounded the first buoy, but I couldn't see the second. I assumed the crowd could, and followed. Red and green caps everywhere. I sighted the next buoy and turned my focus toward breathing and maintaining a smooth stroke. My shoulders already ached.

Hot dogs. That's what that is. I'm smelling hot dogs. Why would there be hot dogs cooking this early in the morning? I would totally eat a hot dog right now, that smells delicious. 

We rounded the second buoy. Well, straight to the beach from here I guess. The announcer said to sight the "Dream Inn" or something. I don't even know what that looks like. 

I saw a group veer around a kelp bed. I veered around it too. No telling what sort of creatures lurked in there. I'm terrible at sighting. It's really hard to focus on things far away when you're eye level with moving water.

Oh god...what is that smell? That is awful! What is that, sewage? Oh my god.

I tried not to heave.

I realized there wasn't anyone around me. I put my head up and saw the crowd to my left, to the left of the buoy I was on the right of. I veered back towards the crowd. Well that is going to add some distance.

More red and green caps up ahead. I fell back in with the crowd and sighted the bright blue exit chute on the beach. Head towards that.

Ok, last chance to pee. Pee now.  I tried to relax to pee. Nothing happened. Maybe I don't have to go. ...who cares, go anyway. Make it happen.  My right calf started to cramp up. Already? Maybe you're dehydrated. Just get to the beach dammit. Deal with it later.

Blue caps. Ah, there they are. Couple fast girls here. Up ahead I saw a lifeguard pacing back and forth in the water. I could stand up there. I hit the sand and jogged toward the exit chute, trying not to fall over. I put my goggles up on my forehead. I struggled to undo the velcro at the back of my neck. Just before I hit the chute, it came free. I reached back and found my zipper and pulled. I entered the chute and was greeted by cheers from the spectators. Not many girls around. I pulled my wetsuit down around my waist as I ran.

Ahead of me, a guy stopped to put on a pair of shoes he had stashed near the street. It can't be that long of a run to transition.

We ran up the sidewalk, across a street, and under a train trestle. Barefoot on concrete for about a quarter mile. The guy with the running shoes passed me. Up ahead was a guy running in flip flops. I was surrounded by guys. That meant I was doing well. I pulled off my cap and goggles and ran with them in my hand. We made it to the transition.

I tossed my cap and goggles and bent over to pull my wetsuit off. That was when I got dizzy. I almost fell over. I stumbled and finally got it off. I pulled on my sunglasses, clipped my helmet under my chin and took off with my bike, running barefoot up the road until I reached the mount line at the top of the hill. I place my left foot on top of the shoe and swung my right leg over. Off I went. Success!

I managed to get my feet mostly into the shoes and settled into a pretty good pace. I had decided against wearing my (huge) GPS watch and figured I would just use my stopwatch and the mile markers to gauge my progress. There weren't many markers.

We made it out of the city and into the neighboring hills. Guys full of muscle passed me with ease on aero bikes with aero wheels that sound like cars approaching. Then a fast looking girl passed by. She looked pro. Then more guys passed. Then a couple more girls. I was disheartened. Carrie, you know this is your weakest leg, just do what you can. You're racing yourself, not them. I must've been passed by over a hundred people. I slugged up the hills. My arms and shoulders ached. My quads burned. Snot ran down my face. I felt like it took hours to get to the turn around.

As we made it closer to transition, there were a number of sharp turns. Volunteers shouted warnings and advised us to slow down. The guys around me were not slowing. I couldn't slow or I could cause a crash. Well don't mess up this turn then. I made it through the turns. The closer we got to transition, the higher the tension became in the air. Oh god. When do I take off my shoes? How far are we? What if I don't get them off in time? I'm totally going to crash.

This is the problem with being a newbie who is also in good shape. You're up with the fast people who usually know exactly what they are doing and are quite experienced, but you don't and could easily get in the way. It's these times I wish to be back with the other beginners. With my people.

When I got to a familiar place nearing transition, I slipped my left foot out of my shoe and placed it on top to take a few more pedal strokes. A girl behind me shouted that she was coming up on my left and not to worry- she's not in my division. So that I wouldn't try to block her? I let her pass and slipped my right foot out. The dismount line was approaching. Volunteers were shouting to slow down. I slowed and eyed the dismount line. The girl that passed me went full speed into the line, braked hard and bailed off the side of her bike.

I swung my right leg over to the left side of the bike, somehow lost the location of my brakes and bailed off the bike as I watched the wide-eyed horror of the volunteers. I must have set my leg back behind me instead of in front of me because I spun sideways as I came over. My front wheel turned sharply to the right and I almost crashed. I saw my shoe land behind the bike.

"Whoa!" exclaimed one of the volunteers. I heard a couple more comments as I collected my shoe and took off running barefoot again to the transition. I racked my bike, removed my helmet, and slipped my running shoes on. I grabbed my race number belt, clipped it, and took off running.

Oh. My. God. My lower calves were so tight they hardly moved. My legs were like lead. We came out from under the train trestle and hit a sharp hill. For crying out loud. I slogged up it, passing an older gentleman as we went (by the way, we have our race numbers and age marked on our calves...presumably so you know who to go after and who to left pass).

The road flattened a little but my calves didn't let up. I tried to use more of my hips and less of my lower legs. My left quad started to seize. Oh no. You're going to have to walk. I refused to walk. I passed a couple more people. I saw a guy on the side of the path, grabbing at his hamstring and limping. I was not the only one seizing up. I was dehydrated and incredibly fatigued. I had pushed too hard on the bike.

Nothing lasts forever. Just a little while ago, you thought the bike would never end, and here you are now. What's 6 miles? You'll just go three and turn around.

The faster racers where already on their way back. They looked nothing short of death. How are they still running so fast? Where the hell is the turn around. Please don't cramp. Please don't cramp. Slow down so you don't cramp.

I slowed down to what felt like a shuffle. My back ached and no longer wanted to hold me upright anymore. I should've grabbed water at that last aid station.

The whimpering in me started to get louder. I started to replay quotes in my head. "I have learned that you can keep going long after you think you can't." And something about when you ask yourself if you can give more, the answer is usually yes. Uh yeah, except that if you give too much right now, you're not going to finish.

Up ahead, a police officer behind some cones was motioning for a turn. The turn around was soon. And there it was. Water and gatorade were right after the turn. I passed a couple volunteers I wasn't ready for.

"Water!" I called out and reached for a cup.

"This is gatorade."

"Oh well, whatever."

I don't normally walk at the aid stations, but I made an exception. I drank the gatorade while I walked, then briefly stopped to stretch my calves on the curb. Three more miles to go. I started up again.

The tightness in my calves eased up a little. My other quad started to seize up and I had developed a blister on my right foot. I was not used to running without socks.

I passed a few more people on the way back. I knew the finish line was coming up soon and picked up my pace a little. A woman held a sign that said "SMILE". I could not. I did not smile for the photographers. Not once during the whole race. I did not give them the thumbs up or peace sign like usual. I suffered, and I'm sure the photos will tell the story.

And there. There was the finish. The big white inflatable finish line, fenced in like a cattle chute. I opened up my stride and crossed under it. I walked. Good god it felt awesome to stop. I bent forward a little so a volunteer could put a medal (wooden) around my neck.

As I walked forward, I felt someone grab my ankle and say something about my timing chip. I halted mid-stride and let her remove the strap on my ankle, then continued on. The water and gatorade tables had been completely ransacked by exhausted athletes.

"Water, where's the water?" I called out. I passed a couple gatorade tables. An athlete had commandeered a jug and was pouring out of it. "Is that water?" I asked. "Yeah, this is water" he responded. "Are there any cups?" I looked around and found a lone cup, probably used. "Yeah, there are cups over here." "Is this clean?" I asked as I picked up the cup and poured water into it. "Oh well" I said as I saw a volunteer produce a stack of unused cups.

I walked down to transition. It was hot. I listened to the volunteers talk about how they were yelling at a guy to slow down before the dismount line and he just wasn't listening. I showed my marked hands to the volunteers to get back into transition. I stood over the mess of my area and was overwhelmed how I would eventually have to clean all of this up.

One bike shoe was still clipped in to my bike pedal. The other lay on the ground beside it. My wetsuit was wedged under the front tire of my bike, my helmet off to the side. Someone's water bottle sat next to my stuff. I pulled my flip flops out of my bag and took my shoes off. I took three ibuprofens to stave off the inevitable lower abdominal cramps, grabbed my bottle of hydration drink, and set off to pee.

I loitered around the snack tables, drank cold chocolate milk, ate half a banana, and grabbed some snack bars. After sitting in the grass for awhile, I went back to transition, packed up my stuff and headed for home.

I managed a shower, rinsed my wetsuit and ate steak and rice. I opened up my laptop to work on my thesis code (because there are no days off in grad school). The light of the screen burned my eyes. Nope, nope, nope. I turned off the computer and took an hour nap. The rest of the night was nope as well. I ate again, managed half a glass of wine, and went to bed.

It was a long restless night. My entire body hurts. Somehow I've got to put together a lecture today before my class tonight. Maybe do some homework. Work on my thesis since I had nothing to show during last week's lab meeting. My whole body, mind and soul is just saying "nope" today. I can't wait until Friday.

Gorillas and Drowning

I've really done it to myself this time.

I tend to take on a lot, and for the past several semesters, I have completely overwhelmed myself. But I made it through each and every one of them with very little permanent damage to my psyche as well as my soul.

Not this semester. This semester is going to leave a mark. As if I had not been taking on enough in previous semesters, I am now taking on two part time jobs on top of an already crazy load. I am teaching an undergraduate class and I am working remotely as a meteorologist intern.

This morning as I was warming up on the stationary bike at the gym, my mind was wandering to all my stressors- everything I am not caught up on, homework to grade, why the average grade on my class's first quiz was 52%, how I had no clean laundry and no pre-made food at home. A couple of my friends suggest breaks at times like this. This makes no sense to me. I am falling behind day by day. What is taking a break going to accomplish? Yesterday I worked 12 hours straight: studying, attending class, teaching class. For 12 hours. I made some headway but I did not catch up. And now I have homework to grade.

As I pedaled away, I tried to come up with a motivational quote to keep me from bursting into tears and crawling into a fetal position on the gym floor. The first thing that came to mind was this:

"Success is a little like wrestling a gorilla. You don't quit when you're tired. You quit when the gorilla gets tired." (Robert Strauss)

I mulled it over for a few seconds. Not bad. I thought about hanging it up in the lab so the other guys could gain some inspiration from it.

But it didn't quite fit. I don't feel like I'm experiencing a violent death (as I presumably would not win a wrestling contest with a gorilla). It's more like a slow death, with equal parts desperation and resignation. More like drowning. I searched my memory bank to see what sort of inspirational quotes I could come up with about drowning.

The first thing (only thing) that came to my mind was something from my swimming days (because swim practice is a lot like drowning). It must've been a Speedo or Nike ad.

"They say you can drown in just an inch of water. If you fell the right way. Face down, unconscious."......

I couldn't remember how the rest went. I'm sure it ends well, otherwise it wouldn't have been an inspirational ad for sporting equipment. I chuckled to myself. The quote kept repeating in my head throughout my workout. People must've thought I was crazy.

A Google search for that quote returned some disturbing results. None of which were what I was looking for.

So I think it goes something like this (for those of you wishing for a happy ending):

"They say you can drown in just an inch of water, if you fell the right way. Face down, unconscious. One minute seems to last forever. But then you reach for the wall."

Talking about a swimming race- how it seems to take forever (and you feel like you might actually drown), but then it's over. And hopefully you didn't drown in the process.

Well. Anyway. I need to get back to work.