Race Prep Part 1: What ammo to pack?

By Emilie David September 29, 2011
The marathon is just a hair over a week away, so a subset of my running gang met tonight for our first strategy session.  You know, to discuss what we would do, when we would do it, how we would pack, but mostly to drink beer and eat Mexican food and alternately freak out and reassure each other.  Basically, all we settled tonight is that two of us were not sure what airport we were leaving out of.  So, off to a good start.

Unfortunately, what we did not resolve was just what, exactly, I was going to carry in all slots on my hydration belt. So now, I present to you, dear reader, a few of the options.  Maybe you can help me decide.

The conundrum:  What to put in the 4th bottle clip?

Kleenex: In case my friend Leigh is still a crying mess

Dark Chocolate Peanutbutter:  There is 1 Gel stop, but 5 banana stops on the course

Pepto:  No additional explanation needed

Ibuprofen:  Because I haven't got time for the pain

Hand-held Stim machine: If the battery dies, push electricity through it

Kinesio Tape:  To hold it all together when it starts to fall apart

Stuffed Eeyore:  Sometimes you just need a stuffed Eeyore

Rum:  Let's face it.  This has the best chance of actually working.

Cab fare

Breakfast is Not a 4-Letter Word (But Bonk is)

By Emilie David, September 22, 2011
Here is what I know.  I am a breakfast girl.  Love pancakes.  Love the 2 Eggs combo.  Love French toast.  Nothing wrong with oatmeal.  It tends to be my largest meal of the day, and I need it.  My brain doesn’t function well without it.  I don’t, however, love breakfast in those early morning hours before the sun and most sane people are up when I am maybe a little nervous about the big workout I’m about to do.  This makes fueling before the run a bit of a challenge for me.

On race days I’ve got it down.  Most don’t start until 8:30 or so.  That means I’m having my half a peanut butter sandwich at 6:30.  Totally doable!  But this summer, long training runs started at *gasp!* 6:30am!  That meant I had to be awake BEFORE 4:30 so I could start eating at 4:30.  I’m afraid of my kitchen at 4:30.  It’s dark in there!  But I approached this like I approach every food challenge; with lots of experimenting.

First I started fiddling with the time.  Maybe I really didn’t need to eat so early.  I got up at 5:00 and waited 15 minutes for my tummy to be ready to accept food.  At 5:50, when I was supposed to be in my car and on my way to the run, I was in the bathroom instead. 

Next, I tried waking up at 4:45 and eating at 5:00.  This time, I was not late getting into my car.  But ½ a sandwich wasn’t quite enough for a longer run.  3 miles in I was deflating and nibbling at my Shot Bloks like a starved raccoon.

Next, I tried a whole peanut butter sandwich at 5:00.  Half way through with a wad of sandwich stuck to the top of my mouth and not budging, the sight of the rest of it made me heave out the first half.

I went back to smaller portions but tried to find other foods that might have more energy in them.  It went like this:

½ a bowl of Oatmeal (BONK!), cold cereal (BONK!), eggo with honey stinger gel (BONK!), cereal with yogurt (BONK with massive bloating!)

It was pretty clear.  I needed to embrace the 4:30 wakeup and give my stomach enough time to be ready for a full sandwich.  I would eat it and be on time to the run and feel awesome!!

The morning I put this plan into motion the alarm went off at 4:15 and I hit the snooze button.  8 times.  Until I managed to force myself onto my feet at 4:50. 

And then it happened.

On the way to the kitchen, my one open eye spotted it.  There, on the table.  In one of those round, Rubbermaid snack containers.  A leftover Boston Cream donut.  All ready for eating!

Now, I have just spent approximately 400 words describing to you my difficulty with consuming breakfast foods first thing in the morning.  So what happened next will appear to make absolutely no sense whatsoever.  Except that I am a creature of habit.  And what happened when my eye spied that puffy pillow of chocolate iced, cream filled perfection regardless of time of day is what happens EVERY TIME I encounter such gloriousness.  Involuntarily, my lips parted and the words “Ooooooooo!  Donut!!!” came rushing out of them.  And the blood rushed up to my head and popped open the other eye and then it rushed down through my stomach to my feet where I started feeling the beat of the “Donut Time!” song (which is the theme song I made up for Donut Day which is every Saturday which of course everybody knows so I didn’t need to bother with this parentheses, did I?) that was starting to play in my head.  And not only did I totally consume that donut, but I had it with coffee.  More coffee than I usually permit myself before running because we aren’t talking about a glazed donut here.  Or a cinnamon.  We are talking about a Boston Cream and that thing needs to be savored. 

I do not endorse this as a pre-run meal.  I fully support finding something healthier, with actual nutrients, that is going to fortify you without clogging your arteries.  But I won’t lie either.  That was my best 12 miles to date.  If you leave the house at 5:50am singing a donut song, chances are you are going to have a happy run.  And the extra coffee is going to get the factory that is your digestive system moving nice and quick, so you can get all your pre-run business taken care of and get out the door.  And then that coffee is going to keep working so you run extra fast from the caffeine, and because you will really need to pee and none of the porta potties will be open and your route will end up being a hyper crazed weaving along the mall to find one that is actually unlocked.  And the sugar – have I mentioned the sugar?!?!!!

I’m sure that ultimately, the key to this particular fueling success had more to do with the coffee and the happy donut feeling than any sort of carbo magic in the donut.  And really what I need to do is find a way to be childishly happy about some nice shredded wheat.  But in the mean time, I know exactly what I’m going to start training for as soon as the fall racing season is over:  The Krispy Kreme Challenge (2 miles, 12 donuts, 2 miles) http://www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-239-582--13836-0,00.html.

Stay Tuned

Soon to come:  "Breakfast is not a 4-letter word (but BONK is)"

What cupcake?

Lessons learned on the long run:

Taking time to appreciate the scenery is a good thing.

Placid

By Emilie David, September 4, 2011

I start to feel it when I get to Keene.  Like I have fallen through a hole and ended up in some secret chasm.  It has something to do with the pines, which line the road like ageless towering sentinels, guarding the history that the Ausable River speaks of as it burbles over its rocky bed.  Since I spend my days now in DC, where my trees are boxy buildings that uniformly stop at 12 stories and everything feels neatly and geometrically arranged, I feel a little bit like I am in a fairytale. Helping this feeling along is the timelessness of this part of New York.  Or maybe the timefulness. Rustic and traditional Adirondack architecture stands side by side with little motor inns that obstinately sport a look that has not been updated since the early 80’s with the occasional modern store front popping up here and there.  It is the backdrop from 2 Olympics and 12 Ironman competitions.  There are stories of greatness here.

If this isn’t fully evident in Keene, it is obvious when you see the ski jumps.  High above the pines.  I can’t help staring at them.  At first because in their towering swoopiness, it is like catching that first glimpse of the tallest, scariest roller coaster in the theme park.  It brings on a sort of childish hyper-excitement in my stomach.  And then, as the car ascends up the road, my brain starts to understand that distance.  Between the bottom of the jump and the earth beneath it.  And the jaw drops, and the excitement turns to awe.  And respect.  Because WHO would do that?

I am pulling into town, this time, the Thursday before the 2011 Lake Placid Ironman competition.  I am not there to race, but in my own way, I have been preparing and waiting for this day.  When I first see the tents, set up for the Friday night banquet, I feel a mix of anxiety, and wonder, expectation, and relief.  I am there in support of the athlete I most enjoy cheering for, my friend and my mentor, and, if I am honest, the person I still have a crush on despite our strangely fractured relationship.  It seems ridiculous that I should be stressed at all, since I am not the one facing a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and a full marathon, but I am.  A good Sherpa will run interference – keeping the stressors at bay, keeping an eye on her athlete and making sure he eats and sleeps without stressing him out about it, acting as a constant positive energy source without being annoying about it.  I am motivated to do these things and I hope I can do them well, but let’s face it.  I’m a bit of a whiner.

Thankfully, though, there are lots of other distractions to distract me from me.  We pull in downtown on a Thursday, and in a stroke of luck that will hopefully set the tone for the weekend to come, we get a parking spot right on the street, right outside the Olympic Oval.  It’s fairly quiet at this point, with just a few early birds who have opted to beat the masses who will not arrive until Friday.  But I can already hear it.  The thunking of hearts.  The corresponding arms of which are sporting hospital bracelets, the free jewelry of Ironman.

Weighing in

I get in the registration line with Chris and the other athletes, all of them quietly sizing eachother up, some less obviously than others.  It’s a long process, but the volunteers are plentiful and cheerful.  I stalk about like a tourist trying to capture as many stages of the phenomenon that is Ironman as I can on film.  I am conflicted about whether this is appropriate or annoying.  I try to be covert about it.  This just feels creepy.  But I get some good shots.

We meet up with friends.  There is a little strategy talk and a little dinner talk.  We hit the “store”.  Everything in it is branded with the Ironman logo.  Also, notably, everything is in a small size.  Looking around it starts to sink in.  I am in a microcosm populated only with supremely fit beings.  Bumping into any of these people might actually hurt me.

In the days leading up to the race there is eating.  There is resting.  The Tour de France is being shown on a big screen in the parking lot of Placid Planet’s bike shop.  I run while Chris bikes.  He does a practice swim.  I do a wetsuit testing swim.  There is a lot to do, but even for me, it is a lot of time to sustain one’s anticipation.  Yet everyone seems pretty upbeat.  Possibly it is just part of competitive strategy.  With the exception of one really bad sandwich, Chris seems calm.  Perhaps it is resignation, but I don’t see the itchiness on him that is starting to show up in some of the others.  Until his car throws its belt a quarter mile or more from bike racking half an hour before it closes.  Even then, it is still pretty tempered anxiety.  There is zero hesitation about what is worth worrying over now.  Dump the car, get the bike racked.

Ironman Lake Placid is a well run event, and it is like no other race that I have been to.  Boston Marathon is big, and the big city of Boston owns and loves that race.  But make no mistake about it – marathon weekend  it’s the blue and the yellow and the Unicorn.  It’s Heartbreak Hill.  The Race is the star.   Ironman Lake Placid takes a different approach.  It is, unabashedly, about the athlete. Yeah, the lake is gorgeous.   Yeah, the course is long.  Yeah, the descent into Keene is treacherous.  But you… YOU are effing awesome!  And the locals think you are so awesome they are giving YOU a free pancake breakfast.  And you are going to finish on the Olympic Oval like the champion YOU are. And when you do, announcer Mike Reilly will call your name and remind you and everyone on the Oval that YOU are an Ironman.

It’s a race that starts rewarding you before the gun even goes off.  For making the commitment.  For the hard work and the sacrifices that have gotten you to the Friday night Welcome Dinner.  The race is just the recital that you get to show off at.  It’s a brilliant tactic.  It gets the athletes ready, and it makes many of their cheerleaders get up early the day after the race so they can be next year’s Ironmen.

And what a recital it is for the spectator.  It begins with 2500 mostly wetsuit clad competitors, in brightly colored swim caps swarming the beach and the shallow waters of Mirror Lake.  Each of them getting into their game whichever way they need to – some doing warm up laps, others joking around with eachother, their families, or random spectators, still others are silent and still and focused.  It’s a thrilling atmosphere.  All that confidence.  That hungry expectation.

Chris is the one in the green cap

For all its distance and its mass start, this is the first time I am not nervous for Chris.  I cannot even pick him out in the throng – everyone seems tall and lean and capable.  It could be that he has enough triathlons under his belt now and there is no need for worry.  It could be that the Patron Saints of water safety, the volunteers in kayaks and in diving gear, are many and all over the lake.  Or it could just be that this space and this race seem perfectly suited for him.  It’s his show to make what he will of it.

He will finish well.  A first timer on the first page of wetsuit finishers, way beyond the comprehension of many of us who swim, bike and run.  I will learn from him later that it is not as well as he would like or knows he is capable of in a completely healthy state.  This is his curse – knowing what he is made of before he finishes the race.

Despite this, I will feel I have witnessed a truly amazing performance.  The course is arranged marvelously for spectators, so that even the slowest and least agile can see their athlete multiple times during the race.  On race day, I see him fly by on the bike on both loops – so fast that by the time I yell for him it is too late to catch him with my camera.  On the run I see him many times.  I yell and wave and tell the people next to me that yes, I know that fast athlete.  He has a lot of fans out there on this day, and even when he is still trying to find his running form off the bike, he is smiling and pointing every time he hears his name.  Smiling and pointing on the second loop with sponges stuffed into the tops of the arms of his jersey to keep him from burning more, smiling at the 140^th mile, around the Oval, and over the finish line.

I hope there are many moments from that race that he can remember and be proud of.  For me, his most perfect moment was on the bike.  It’s a snapshot that I missed with my camera, but that I can see perfectly in my head. Coming out of T1 on the bike he would be the fourth cyclist I’d see wearing his tri team’s jersey.  By the second loop, he would catch two of them.  I can see him getting closer to my spot on the sidelines, flanked by the two of them for a bit before leaving them behind, and grinning the grin of a teenager who is still high from racing too fast down the street in a dangerous machine.  His race another story of amazing feats and fierce will for the Ausable River to keep and to whisper over the ages.

Lessons learned on the long run:

  Make sure Amphipod bottle tops are secure

Gatorade was here

Fear the turtle, but not the swim

By Emilie David on September 4, 2011, 11:18pm

The first 100 meters of my first sprint Triathlon were awesome.  And then I inhaled water, and the part of my conscience that takes the form of a large chicken got louder than everything else and announced repeatedly that I was going to die. That sort of thing can really slow you down.  So my goal this summer was to get into the lake as much as possible and just get comfortable.   Here are some tips based on my experience:

• The best way to ensure you meet your goal is to announce to your family that you are going to swim laps in the lake.  They will keep asking you when you are going until you finally actually go just so you don’t have to answer the question anymore.

• Lake water tastes much better than pool water, but it burns just as much when traveling northwards through your nasal passage.

• Lake weeds are really not so bad.  Swimming face first into them is not that different from having your own hair get in your way.  But, like your own hair, it doesn’t swallow easy, so try to keep your mouth closed.

• White and yellow objects are easy to sight.  Just make sure the thing you pick is not a boat, as its owners could get in it and take off while your head is down, leaving you to spin in circles and wonder where the hell you are when you finally look up and it is gone.

• Also, it doesn’t matter what color anything is if you do not have your contact lenses in.  Everything will look like the thing you are sighting.

• Jet skis and steam boats can make some really big waves, but none of those 3 things are as big a threat to you and your safety as the recreational fisherman who is learning how to cast.

• The fish are not following you and they don’t want to eat you.

• The ducks are following you, but it’s ok.  One will pretend to draft off of you for a bit, then it will pull up alongside you and push the pace a little and you will be all like “Oh man, I can’t let a duck beat me!”, and so you will swim faster, and then you’ll be all like “Oh yeah!  I am totally beating this duck!”, and then, because you tired yourself out trying to outswim waterfowl, she will quietly but swiftly pull in front of you and be sitting up there on the dock mocking you when, minutes later, you finally sputter up to and around it.

• There is no need to be embarrassed about being the only idiot swimming laps in the lake with an obnoxiously colored swim cap on, flailing arms, and lots of gasping when the waves kick up.  It is not a synchronized swimming routine.

• The woman on the dock, who insists on being there if you are swimming? Even though she could not save you? Who paces up and down the dock yelling at every jet ski, motorboat, paddle boat, and canoe, “SWIMMER! THERE’S A SWIMMER OUT THERE!”?  Be embarrassed about her.  And grateful. 

            My nephew tells my duck coach to quit being so hard on me.

I run because I want to

By Emilie David on June 1, 2011 at 10:37pm

Fill in the blank:  I run because __________.
Running is hard.  It’s true that relative to some other sports, it doesn’t require a lot of gear, or a lot of coordination, super strength, access to special facilities, good depth perception or hand/eye coordination.  I suppose in terms of what you need to actually physically begin the act of running, it’s a pretty easy sport.  Keeping running, however, is hard.  For more than a minute.  For more than five.  More than an hour.  Day after day.  No matter the pace.  You have to commit your time and your focus.  You have to be willing to give other things and sometimes people up for it.  You have to embarrass yourself (with the sweat and the wheezing and the stumbling and the wardrobe malfunctions).  You have to be willing to feel at least a little awful a lot of times, and a lot awful at least sometimes.  I think if you have to pick just one thing to finish that sentence, it has to be “I run because I WANT to.”  I don’t mean to be a jerk about it and I certainly don’t want to discourage people from going for it.  I think if you have even the smallest of urges to try running, you should tie on your sneakers and try it.  It has made my life bigger.  It is the only thing I do that I fail at constantly yet keep doing.  Because I want to.  Why I want to can be complicated, and not always positive.  It changes.  All the time.  Sometimes every 200 meters.  Like I said, running is hard.  If there was only one why, I would never keep at it.  Here is a sample:

I want to because so many others run

I want to because so many others don’t

I want to so I can make the brownies

I want to because I ate the brownies

I want to so I can be alone for just 45 minutes

I want to so I can be with my running buddies

I want to so I can get faster

I want to so I can run further

I want to so I can clear the mess of emotional overly dramatic thoughts from my head

I want to so I can clear the snot from my head

I want to because I’ve been sitting at that damn desk all day

I want to so I can sit at that damn desk all day and not feel like my ass is just growing wider

I want to so I can feel the blood pump and confirm that I do actually have a heart in there

I want to so I can confirm that what’s in there is not really broken after all

I want to because I’m feeling competitive

I want to because I feel like a pisser and I need to run my attitude into the ground

I want to because I don’t know what to say to these people and I need an excuse to get out of the house

I want to because it’s raining/snowing/freezing/hotter than hell and running in it makes me feel like a bad ass

I want to because it means I have started and finished something today

I want to because it makes me feel stronger

I want to because I think it’s making my legs look better

I want to because (usually) just after the feeling of complete misery comes the runner’s high

I want to because the sign says “No Loitering”

I want to because I have to see if this track/dock/deck/bridge is as bouncy as it looks

I want to because I’m late!

I want to because it will kill time

I want to because I don’t want James Carville to beat me next time!

I want to because Flo Jo was fierce and because Lagat is graceful and when you run you can be both without apology

I want to so I can finish the 8k/10k/13.1/Triathlon/26.2/??

I want to because of a little girl who loved Field Days and the 50 yard dash and the relay, but who stopped because she was afraid of the asthma and of never being fast enough

I want to so I can make up for lost time and fix the past

I want to because every finish line I cross is one of her silent day dreams finally coming true

Today I wanted to because I’m afraid I’m slowing down. 

And because I’m afraid of what’s looming ahead.

Friday, June 3rd.

National Donut Day.

Triathlon

by Emilie David on Monday, June 20, 2011 at 11:36pm
 I have completed my first official triathlon.  I think they are making a movie about it – it is called Bridget Jones’s Triathlon.  Well, ok it wasn’t really all that bad.  But remember The Wide World of Sports?  And how the opening credits involved Jim McKay saying “The thrill of victory – and the agony of defeat!”?  My foray into the world of competitive multisport has left me feeling both.  Sometimes simultaneously.  Which is almost more tiring than the actual triathlon was.  Here is how it went:
Saturday, 1:10 pm:
Driving to the transition area to rack my bike a day in advance, I decide I can get street parking and pass the designated lots, only to find there is no street parking available.  There is really no way to get lost there, but I manage to, and about 15 minutes later, have found my way back to the parking lot I avoided the first time around.  Get out my bike and walk it (since did not bring helmet and shoes) the almost mile to transition.  Am completely disgustingly sweaty. (defeat)
Saturday, 1:40 pm:
Coach is outside the transition area, already in rally mode.  She is talking to another triathlete, so I automatically get well wishes and rallying x 2.  (victory)
Saturday 1:45pm:
Rack my bike (Bruiser), take pictures of him and the row he is in.  I am one of the first ones there, so Bruiser is hanging there alone, without anyone to talk to.  Other bikes in other rows have protective plastic on them.  Am feeling like lousy bike parent.  Am feeling separation anxiety.  (defeat)
1:47 pm:
Must look forlorn about leaving Bruiser as someone asks if I need help or have any questions.  It is the race director.  I ask him about the mount lines and if there are any rules about entering and exiting transition and he answers all my questions and high fives me for it being my first triathlon and for picking it because I love the bike course. (victory)
2:00pm – 10:00pm:
Laundry, cleaning, planning, alternating between excitement and abject terror (victory, defeat, victory, defeat, defeat)
10:30?  11:00?
Asleep.  (VICTORY)
Sunday, 2:30 am:
First of 5 alarms goes of (D   E    F   E   A  T)
5:00am:
Face fact that am going to actually have to use porta-potty (defeat)
7:00 am:
Sprint waves begin.  Lots of cheering and wishing of good luck (victory)
THE SWIM
7:0something:
In the water.  First 100 meters feels ok – a little bumpy but ok (VICTORY!)
7:0something plus about 5 minutes:
Get bumped, disoriented, and take in water. (massive panic)
2-3 minutes later:
Collect self at kayak.  (defeat)
I don’t know how much later:
Game strategy completely gone from head in favor of survival strategy.  Thus is born a new swim stroke I like to call the spluttering-tri.  It is an amalgamation of freestyle (for one stroke), breast stroke, and side stroke, with a healthy dose of coughing thrown in between gulps of Potomac.  It’s a very technical type of stroke, like butterfly is, so I fully expect it to become a competitive event in the near future. (Victory?)
Half a gabillion panic filled strokes and glides and rests later:
Exit ramp is sighted, eventually felt, and embarked!
(VICTORY)
On the dock:
Helpful volunteer shouts “Don’t slip – the mat is wet!”  My body registers this as “Slip on the wet mat!” and I go down into a very unattractive, unsuccessful half split which I somehow manage to MC Hammer up out of. (defeat with a bit of victory fringe)
In Transition 1:
Once again, Bruiser is looking pretty lonely there on the rack. (defeat)
Out of Transition 1:
I remember to run well past the mount line, get on and clipped in without any difficulty! (victory)
THE BIKE
The course is fantastic.  Really crowded, but except for dodging people and trying to figure out how to NOT draft in a field that is 5 bikers across at this point, it is so amazing to be in the street, flying through lights that are the bane of my normal commuting existence!  Biking up the Whitehurst without a care!  Around the circle at the end of Memorial bridge!  Whoo hoo!  (victory)
In Transition 2:
I get clipped out without a problem. (victory)
I rack Bruiser.  He has LOTS of friends.  (defeat)
Out of Transition 2:
Leigh and Ken are outside Transition cheering and rallying!  I am so excited to see them I nearly run over the cone that separates the Bike lane from the Run lane (victory – if for no other reason than that I passed something – even if it was a stationary cone!)
THE RUN:
All thoughts of fun bike now replaced by memory of miserable swim and realization that legs are cramping.  Have forgotten cough drops which automatically makes me notice my breathing.  (defeat)
First water stop:
Make it to first water stop (victory) and stop (defeat).
Coach:
She is omnipresent on this course motivating all of us whom she coaches and even those whom she doesn’t.  I stop, dejected, in front of her.  She gets me moving again.  It’s a massive effort on both our parts. (victory)
Third water stop:
Losing will and capacity to think as evidenced by act of pouring powerade on self instead of the water. (defeat)
Awesome crowd:
You cannot walk by a big crowd.  Especially if someone(s) you know are in it!  I hear my name about 3 times – I don’t know if I am the Emilie they are yelling for but beggars and such!  I hear Chris remind me to loosen up my arms, so I do.  It helps a little. (victory)
Camera Guy:
I have big love for the camera guy.  You CANNOT walk by the camera guy.  You must run, and you must look happy doing it.  So I do both.  (victory)
Last water stop:
I have cramped before and it hasn’t stopped me.  Today, it is stopping me.  (Defeat)
Volunteers:
I have run a lot of races and cheered at a lot of races.  DC Tri volunteers are amazing.  They are excited, supportive, motivating, and know what the heck they are doing!  This time I choose to believe them when they say I am almost done, and finally, 3.5 miles too late, I start to get my s^&* together and find a stride.  (Victory)
The last turn:
One right after the other, I encounter a triathlete getting loaded onto a stretcher and a dead rat in the street.  I say a quick prayer for my fellow athlete and realize what a big deal this thing we did today actually is.  The rat just ticks me off, because clearly, this race is trying to f!@# with me.
Finish line in sight:
I know I will be disappointed with the time, but this is a finish line I have truly worked for, harder than any other.  There is no real point in tearing towards it, but I do a little, with enough energy reserved to manage a smile going across.  (Victory)  ((even though at that point, I had no control of any of my muscles and most likely it will look like I am snarling in the Finishing photo))
Finish Line Festival:
I get my Finisher’s Medal!  I get my photo taken with medal on and Capitol behind me (more snarl smiling)!  Surely they are there, but I encounter no bananas in the finish area. (Victory!)
Post Script:
My mom had hoped, because it is her job to love and worry over me (which I would not trade for anything), that one time doing what she calls “this three whirly-gig business” would be enough for me to get it out of my system.  I broke the news to her as gently as I could and suggested she renew her acquaintance with medicinal levels of alcohol.  I have already written down my goal times for the next triathlon.  Today I was comparing notes with a co-worker and fellow DC Tri triathlete.  I was working from home in my PJ’s and analgesic patches while he took his aches to the office.  He had a similar swim experience, and I told him that we could proudly now give the Potomac the mental finger every time we passed it, having taken it on and lived to talk about it.  He responded with what is my favorite quote about this whole experience:  “Arrrg I wish you were in today so we could chat about this and talk about how awesome we are.”