Triathlon Prep

Maybe I'm more willing to suffer. 

Been training methodically, working with a coach. She says run faster, I try to run faster. She says bike that hill five times, I do it. Intense.
 
Yoga tells me to rename pain "sensation," breath into working muscles, relax those less involved, use the mind. The biggest lesson I've learned so far: I can suffer and recover. 

My Olympic distance tri is in two weeks. 

May 31, 2012

Just heard a clip from one of the Star Wars films:

"There is no try. Do or do not." Yoda

Monster Run

I eye the girl to my left, sweating out the last few minutes of spin class. Diane, comfy and sweet. She'd make for a pleasant run companion, she looks kind. I peer to my right. Not sure of her name: Jennifer? Jessica? Thirties, confident, elegant blond pony tail. Quietly serious. She looks sort of fast.

A running companion on this cold March morning would be nice. I'm supposed to be running within a few minutes of dismounting. Think they'd join me? Our legs are slowing down in the last minute of spin class and I get up the courage and just say it: "Anyone wanna do a little out-and-back 20-minute run?"

"What a great idea," says teacher Nellie. "I'll join you next week."

"Naw," says Diane," I gotta get to work."

"Sure'" says the unknown Jennifer, or is it Jessica. "Today's my day off. That would be good."

She's off the bike and ready in 45 seconds. A little too fast. She's done this before, I'm thinking. Like a cat meeting his superior I show my belly. "You look fast." I say. Maybe I'm hoping she disagrees, but she doesn't say anything.

And we're running in the rain.

"Do you know the way?" I ask. "How to get on the trail?"

"No, I'm from Sauk," she says. I point to the turn. We keep running.

"How far of a drive is it for you to spin class?" she asks pleasantly, settling in, making conversation for an enjoyable outing. We compare commutes. I sense she's got more oxygen available than I do, but I want to be nice. I try to answer well, and bounce the questions back to her. We compare pools (she swims in Sauk), families, (she's got three boys, ages seven, five, and two), spin teachers (she's never had a class with Scott). I'm  abbreviating my sentences. Not so much air to spare. Noticing my heartrate. Rising.

I've been on her side of things before, the side that has plenty of oxygen and wants to make the workout pleasant for others. I've swam with newbies, when I had time to roll over on my back and gaze at the clouds. I've rode with people who were just a touch slower than me, chatted to distract them from their effort.

Ah, but being on the oxygen-debt side; that's painfully different. I rode hills with an amazement who talked interestingly and continually, interspersing encouragement, all as we ascended. Her never-ending, caffeine-laced ebullience took not a jot of effort. I've swum next to a record-holding mermaid who flashed by so fast that in one of my breaths she appeared, approached, and slipped beyond. Was this Jen/Jes one of those? A sleek, blond monster with Lance Armstrong's VO2 max and Deana Caster's pace? And just what was her name?

"I'm Jessica, by the way," says Jessica. Now I'm worried she's a mind reader as well.

Flat trail, no other runners, rain falling, cold. The pace is hard. Plain hard. I see my heartrate. Zone four, no. That's zone five. Isn't five the top zone? It hadn't been this high riding hills in spin class. "What are you training for?" says kind, monster Jessica.

I want to brag a bit. Want to save some face. Want to say, "the Capital View Tri in Middleton, Olympic distance. It's all hills both on bike and run. It's a trail run. I took third in my age the first year I did it. The year of the big floods and tornadoes. Remember that year? Could hardly get home after, roads were getting washed out, trees going down, it was wild." Not enough air. To say. All that. "A June tri," I say. "Middleton."

"I was thinking of doing that one again," she says, in a grammatically complete way. "I did it last year. It's hilly," she says.

"Yah."

A little quiet.

I need to get her talking. "Where are your boys now?" I get out.

Her husband's watching them. She needs her workout time to stay sane. I totally understand but I can't say so. I want to say that's great that your husband gets it. I say, "Uh, huh."

Run, breath. Wish I had my Garmin on but she was ready to go so fast I didn't take the time to grab it. Good gracious, how fast are we going. And she's not even trying.

"What's your favorite? Swim. Bike. Or run?" I pant.

"Oh, I'm best at swimming but I guess I like running most. Running seems to give me the best workout. But I was on swim team when I was a kid. I love swimming. They didn't have a high school team for us, but I was on a team in grade school. I'd spend whole summers swimming. I loved it."

"Oh," pant. I want to say, hey there's some great open water swim events. I want to talk about the swims I did last year in some of the Great Lakes. I want to test the water and see if she's interested in that sort of thing, maybe we could ride together or train a little in Devil's Lake together. Breath. All I say is "oh." This is like having my teeth cleaned.

"Are there good trails by you?" she asks.

"Not close." Brief, but answered. "How about you?" I get out.

"Nothing without a long drive," she says. "Wanna climb that hill?" she says. I look up. A one-block stiff hill. It's the turnaround.

"Go on." I say. "Catch you. Coming down." She goes on.

She floats up the hill. I plod. I see her ascend, ascend, ascend. I'm waiting for her to turn so I can stop climbing. Eventually. She comes back. "Nice," I say. "Good climb," I say. We descend.

If only I can keep her talking, get her using more air. My heartrate has moved from zone 5 to a zone I hadn't previously met. It's off the chart. Literally. I'm feeling a little pukey. Muscles in my calves are feeling icy stiff. The rain keeps falling. It's 36 degrees. What would get her talking. "Do you have. Ironman hopes?" I ask.

"My husband's done a couple." She says. "I've done Door county's sprint and a few others. I did a half. I do a half-marathon every year, too. Been to Appleton, Madison, some others. I'd like to do Ironman, maybe when my two-year-old starts school. It takes so much training time."

"Yah." I say. I gotta slow down. But I don't say that.

"You win. Things. Don't you." I say.

"Well, not really, but last year I took second in my age at the Capital View sprint," she admits.

Heartrate 171. Didn't know it went that high. Not enough breath to think of a new topic. No breath to speak. She's gliding. Blond pony tail graceful in the rain. Easy strides with long legs. She could do this forever. Five minutes left. I can do this, I can do this, I can't do this. I gotta slow down.

"I gotta slow down," I say it.

"Oh, that's fine," she says.

"I understand if you, wanna run ahead," I say. We've slowed. I'm getting a little more breath. "I know you gotta, get home."

"No, this is fine." she says. She's so nice; I know she could sprint it in. We're only five minutes out, she's got lots left, she could dash to the end as a nice finish to her easy run.

I can see our cars parked up ahead. I can't start walking before she does. "It's just about 20 minutes," she says, checking her watch. The pace slows. We're walking. I hope I wasn't too slow. I hope she wasn't too bored.

"Thanks for kicking my butt," I say. "That was great. If I ran with you more often I'd definitely get faster."

"Yeah," she says. "I've run with some fast people. It makes a difference."

"Yah. Thanks. Stay warm." I don't know what else to say.

Indoors and Outdoors and on a Hilly Route

You've been out there on the salty roads, I know. You've been training in your reflective vest and intimidating balaclava, hitting the hills, leaving piles of dirt on the rug where your shoes melt post-run.

But not me. The harpies have lured me to the flat, smooth, climate-controlled treadmill this season where I RARELY select the hilly route. But yesterday taught me a lesson.

Sue (right), Cathy (middle) and I
ran the Baraboo Winterfest 5k
on Saturday. Sunshine, no wind,
and temps hitting 40s, nice. But
hills!

I joined two mellow girlfriends for a local 5k this weekend. Despite our mutual promises of "an easy run" with an 11-minute pace, even in the three short miles there were grades that prodded me to my toes, tweaked my glutes, and told me, "girl, you need to be training some hills." Uneven surfaces and gravelly shoulders worked my feet in new ways, left my soles tired.

Whoa, eye-opening. Glad I did the run, it leads me to three resolutions:

1.  Include at least one run each week outdoors, on gritty rollers.
2.  Add balance exercises to strengthen ankles and feet. (Back to the one-legged-standing-on-a-pillow therapy I was doing last summer.)  
3. Religiously do downward dog to keep heals limber. 

Well, I'll try. Hmm. I'll let you know if this lesson sticks.

A White, Dusty Christmas

Work gets slow around the holidays so we planned our long-put-off remodel for the weeks around Christmas.

We had the good fortune to have mild weather and no snow; the workmen tramped in and out hauling heavy, dusty things but no snow. Windows and doors were propped open. The 50-foot roll of dust-blocking plastic wall (that I had thought was entirely excessive) was entirely used.

This was my only (forever) foray into the land of remodel. Good points: I learned I can remove a toilet, tear out floors, paint and stain like my life depends on it. The bad things: it's dustier and more upsetting to the routines of life than I could have imagined. I couldn't cook, use a toilet, or find an unsullied surface.

Here's the photo journey. I sneeze just looking at the picts.

Before: bottlenecks, sagging floors, bowed walls.

 Table yet to come.

After: open spaces, level floor, harmony.

Trees and Skies and Bikes

Sue and me at Silverman Gallery
in Spring Green, Wisconsin.

Biking feeds the eyes. A tour of galleries by bike, a trail ride, lots of road -- the head clears, the mind wanders. Some paintings have grown from bike rides. Following are photos I've taken for painting references.

On the way home from
Spring Green,
near North Freedom.

Amish country between
Ontario and LaFarge,
Wisconsin.

Somewhere
near
LaFarge.

Wow, can't recall where
this was, somewhere
near Poynette?

From the top of Owen
Park Road in
Caledonia Township.

The wetlands off Cascade
Mountain Road
near Portage.

John Muir Park north
of Portage.
Great swim.

A dawn swim at Silver
Lake in Portage,
Wisconsin.

Off Highway U between
Portage and
Merrimac.

The drive down the hill
when leaving home
for a morning bike date.

In the Woods

Just when you thought you knew someone, bang, zing, you find out they have an entire secret life.

An original design by Rayo; this
piece is called "In the Woods."

Rayo and I have biked, swam, and run miles together over the years. I had occasionally heard little references to a beaded necklace or working out a design. Then, one day she shows me a work in progress. Wow. This is not your everyday beads on a string. This is haute cotoure, fine-art embroidered beadwork.

So when Rayo invited me to exhibit my calligraphy/watercolor things with her sophisticated creations at our local gallery, I was nervous but energized. I got busy.

Below are some of the thirty or more original calligraphy artworks you'll see at our exhibit called In the Woods -- a title we chose to reflect the feeling we had in stretching our range as we prepared for the exhibit. 

Go to www.flickr.com/photos/rayo_boursier to see some of the fabulous beadwork pieces that Rayo will present at this exhibit as well.


The exhibit opens Friday, September 2 with a reception from 4 to 6, at Drury Gallery at the Portage Center for the Arts. Open hours are  September 2 through October 1, 2011 Wed-Fri 1-6, Sat 10-3.  Admission is always free.

portagecenterforthearts.com
301 East Cook Street, Portage, WI 53901
608.742-5655

Two tiny originals, about 5 x 5 inches framed; $48 each.
The maple leaf design says "The clearest way into the universe is through a forest wilderness." J. Muir
The oak leaf design says, "In the woods we return to reason and faith." Emerson

This original artwork will be on display, as well as bookmarks for 75 cents of the same design.

This text by Winston Churchill will be exhibited; $300. You'll notice I sometimes can't resist including real objects.
Reproductions of this design are $16.

This original, framed in gold, 12 x 12 inches, is available for $120, and a few reproductions for $16, will be at the show.

Thoreau has offered many great insights. This original (NFS) and reproductions ($16) of this design will be at the exhibit.

This original is about 9 x 18 inches, framed in gold for $200. Smaller prints for $16 will also be on hand.

This small original (about 8x8 inches) will be available framed in oak for $50.

Another small original (8x8 inches) is priced at $55.

This 10x10 original has depth and is presented in a shallow shadowbox; the original is $200.
No reproductions are available of this design.

The yellow bicycle is inspired by my new Trek road bike. The text was pointed out by my husband. The text reads:
"But at this moment I came upon myself.
Previously I had existed but everything had merely happened to me.
Now I happened to myself."
C.G.Jung
Reproductions will be available for $16.

"Those who dwell among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life." Rachel Carson
The 8x8 original is $55; reproductions are $16.

Some artworks are for fun; I started this piece almost three years ago and set it aside. Koi are a significant symbol of transformation and one of Rayo's favs so I was motivated to finally complete this illustration. Reproductions of this 6 x 8 watercolor are $16.

I love the Robert Frost poem "Swinger of Birches," it always reminds me of my brother who has actually swung on a birch (and now works as a fire fighter for the parks service.) This artwork is just the last bit of the poem. It starts, "I'd like to get away from earth awhile and then come back to it and begin over."
The 16 x 20 framed original is $160.

This original is elaborately framed in a 17 x 17 inch black and silver frame. It is created with fabric, paper, acrylics, gesso, pencil, watercolor, and gouache. You'll have to come see it! The framed original is $240.
Free small cards are available of this.

Thoreau again with the text about building castles in the air. This original is made of collaged papers, gesso, acrylics, watercolor and gouache; it's about 10 x 20 inches, $140. Sorry, no reproductions available.

This text fascinates me, "Trees are God's first alphabet." Sort of makes one look at the landscape differently. The other two texts are "Who plants a tree plants a hope." (I'll bring free small cards of just that text.) And, at the bottom of the artwork you'll find "We grow when we plant trees who's shade we shall never sit in."
Framed 18 x 30 inches, $300; reproductions available $16.

"Even if...even if I'm not sure." Sometimes a little goes a long way. 8x10 inches, $120

In the woods, the fuller text from Emerson. About 18 x 28 inches, $200. Sorry, no reproductions are available of this one.

"We shall not cease from exploration and at the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started, and to know the place for the first time." T. S. Eliot
"I was like a child playing on the seashore and diverting myself now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me." Isaac Newton
These little canvases (about 6 x 8 inches) are created with acrylics, gouache, watercolor. They are $42 each.

"To accomplish great things," about 11 x 14 inches, $85.

Point to La Pointe Swim

That's the finish "Pointe" over my shoulder.
This picture is from the night before the swim.

I think the word is "ideal."

I swam the 2.1-mile Point to La Pointe event on Saturday -- from Bayfield to Madeline Island in Lake Superior, where conditions were ideal. A new course record was set (43:24), my friend, Ann Berres-Olivotti, broke her record from the previous year to take first in our age again (49:16 this year), and I finished in 1:08:51 (had expected about 75.) The lake was at her best.

As I hear it, women who give birth remember the wonder and forget the pain. So, yes, I may be skimming a bit and remembering the rosiest. Still I know I was relieved that the temperamental lake was calm and 70-some-degrees. The pink morning sunshine and pebbly, red beach that faced the east were calming. The back of the field of about 150 women swimmers (where I deliberately seeded myself) had plenty of breathing room along the straight route.

Trust me, there are big, orange balloon on that
distant shore denoting the finish.

I counted buoys along the course, five altogether, and although I couldn't see each until I was almost upon it, I could sight far ahead to the little hump on the island that kept me in line. I allowed myself a couple of peaks at my watch, and despite my purposely easy pace (my iffy arm) things seemed to be moving along well. I didn't wish for another degree of warmth; my black wet suit, the sun shining on shoulders, and the 75-ish air temp made the water perfect for the effort of swimming. And the occasional nosefuls of sweet water were cool going down.

I giggled as I sighted during the last quarter mile because the yellow finish banner didn't seem to get any closer. I was baffled at an unexplainable current during the last 200 meters that held me in place despite efforts. But even this seemed right, I could hear the crowd on the island and see more distinct colors of the flags on the finish arch. I had just a few more minutes of swimming so drank it in.

From Madeline Island, the view across
the channel is clear. See the swimmers
along the bottom (hidden by pines)?
They are coming into the finish chute.

There may have been tummy butterflies, worries about my still-insecure left arm, and hidden wishes that I was faster. But five hours of driving each way is now just a moment of passing scenery and a friendly chat with my swimming companion. My night-before worries that the weather could turn into one of those "isolated thunderstorms" are evaporated. My near-sighted concerns that I wouldn't be able to see to the finish are disappeared. And I've almost forgotten the fear that my wet suit would be too tight -- I hadn't had it on for six weeks and me and Mr. Scale don't speak anymore. 

The many swimmers I met at the beach, and after the race at awards, and on the return ferry, were humble and warm. I think a big lake makes us all feel a bit of humility.

Afterward, I drove from the swim to my family reunion hours away. And, although I had swum two miles in the reunion's pond in 2010, this two-mile Great Lake swim got applause from my sibs. There is something about a big lake that is wondrous. And on Saturday, it offered itself up in an idealic way.

Point to La Pointe is a fundraiser for the Bayfield Rec Center. It has great community support, hot food, over 40 kayaks, sweatshirts, hand-made awards in age groups. At the awards ceremony, the event coordinator told us that this event kept the Rec Center from closing five years ago when the swim started. This year they raised $25,000. Find out more at http://www.bayfieldreccenter.com/Point_to_LaPointe_Swim.html.