One sandwich shy of a picnic..

I woke up Saturday with an egg on my head, a bit of whiplash, and some gooey patches. And totally mad at myself for being so dumb. For losing another weekend with so few left until Kona. And then I stopped my pansy-ass whining and put on my running shoes. There was a 2h run on the schedule, with hills and high HR zones, why not give it a go?

The bad thing about running 16 miles with road rash is that you're pretty much a moving biohazard. I should have been carrying one of those red bins from the hospital. All that secondskin stuff slowly peels off when you get sweaty. I lost the leg bandages at Sandys, the arm tape at Maunalua Bay, and all the hip stuff was left at Holy Tragedy. Every cyclist that went by on our tiny island yelled Hey I heard you crashed! or Are you nuts? and my favorite What the hell are you doing? Sweat and road rash aren't the best combo. But you know what? It was my best run of the Kona build yet. I raced up the hills, I nailed the heart rates, and I ran the last 30 min all-out.

I have been informed that I should be racing Dick Evans now. What are the odds of it happening twice in one weekend? the team says. More than I'm willing to risk. But I still owe that long workout. To whom, I don't know.. to Kona maybe? So Mariane and I are going to get out early tomorrow morning and get it done. 112 miles, 40 minute run. I'm going to use the waterproof tape this time.

And Raul says I sure as hell had better swim the Roughwater Monday morning, road rash and all. I'm not sure if I should dive into the salt water at the start, or ease into the pain with a warmup so that I can cry silently before the gun goes off... maybe I can bribe myself in with the promise of sugar at the other end. I didn't break down post-crash - nearly a week now of all natural eating and going strong!

Two of the beach parks I left my DNA in while unraveling on today's run..

Road rash.. check!

New rule: the bike hibernates on Labor Day Weekend. Last year Labor Day I did the same damn thing.

Forty miles into my 100 mi ride/5 mile brick this morning, I did this to my favorite shorts: 

Not only that, but I ripped the zipper off my Chuck's jersey. My favorite one! I may have ripped some skin off of my favorite shoulder, elbow, hip, knee and calf as well. I take it back, I didn't especially like that hip. 

I also hurt my brain. Not as bad as last year at Dick Evans when I took that header to the curb and couldn't remember how I'd gotten across Kailua. I remember this time. My head hit first. According to my powertap file (which never lies, even when I try to bribe it) I went from 20 mph to 0 mph in less than a second. The bottle from my back pocket landed 15 feet up the road. 

Nothing major happened. I was just riding along, hoping my last tube would hold after two flats, taking a drink from a bottle when I hit a crappy patch of new asphalt and watched my handle bars shoot out to the right. Oy ve. I clearly remember watching the pavement slide by an inch from my eyes and thinking "I love my helmet."

Huge thank you to Maggs, because of her I was able to send the ambulance on it's way. She rescued me and my bike and drove us the 40 miles back home. And didn't even get mad when I oozed on her car. Maggs rocks.

I've never had road rash before, so I guess this is a big day for me. Cycling right of passage! Here's my question of the day: Tomorrow do I start over? Or can I ride 60 and run 5 and call it a long ride with a big water stop?

No more green hair.

So I figure with all the good things I've given up, I had better give up something I don't love to keep the balance. I am a libra, after all. And I think that has something to do with scales and balance, though I'm too weak from lack of sugar to google it.

I canceled the pool membership tonight. We have officially broken up. My list of excuses: I don't think flip-turns and pushing off a wall agree with me, I can no longer take the kids to swim team because because I'm at work and hub is at school (probably busy being that annoying old guy in the front row - remember how the old people always sat up front and asked tons of questions in college?) and mostly because it really doesn't fit in the new and unimproved budget. The ocean is free.

There was a notice requirement I missed.. so my official last day of pool membership? October 11th. Kona Day, for the portion of you readers that aren't triathletes (and thus are family members. Hi, Mom.) How appropriate. What do I need a pool for after Kona?

So as not to sound like an ungrateful pool-hater, I am going to list ten things I will miss about the pool. I'm pretty sure there aren't that many, but here goes:

• Joe Likeikis, masters swim coach extraordinaire. His enthusiasm is contagious.
  
• Racing Brad. Even though he's about 6'10" & his feet are giant flippers so he's pretty much cheating at all times.
  
• Sitting with Paul while watching our kids at swim team. He has more Hollywood gossip than People Magazine, and he is not afraid to dish.
  
• The expert advice of the brothers Flanagan.
  
• The hot tub.
  
• Yeah, that's all I've got. Ten was a lofty goal.
  

This is Katherine and me at the finish line of the North Shore Challenge - who needs a stinkin' pool?

The Waikiki Roughwater Swim is this weekend, so I will be racing the 2.4 miles that inspired the swim portion of the Ironman back in 1978 with 1800 of my closest friends. They put me in the A wave for the first time ever and I am a wee bit wary that I'll be swimming solo out there until the B wave (my kind of people) catches me. If I get dropped I'm going to float on my back and open clif bars like a harbor seal with abalone until someone rescues me, because hey, I get sugar during the workouts. Four days of healthy eating down and I'm starting to adjust. And actually feel pretty durn good. But if I sink at the Roughwater, embalm me with peanut butter M&Ms, please.

Most of you do this. You know how Ironman eats up your life. People bitch about it all the time. I include myself in that People.

But there is a reason we do it.

While I can't quite lie it all out there in an easily understood package, I have to say that a big part of it is the people. I love my Ironman people. I love the adventures we have together.

I just received photos from my first long ride a couple of weeks ago, the one where we rode to 42 miles to Waimea, swam the 2.4 mile race, and road another 67 around the Pineapple and back home. The one with the crying in Kahuku.

Give me sugar. Now, please.

I am such a sucker when chocolate is near that I couldn't go anywhere near the southeast corner of Costco last night. I heard a rumor there were Hershey's Dark samples. I came home without detergent, windex and oatmeal because I didn't have the self-restraint to get within 50 meters and not steal all the sample lady's goodies cookie-monster style.

It's off to a rocky start. Day two started off with me running over a stray cat. There's a gully full of them on our street and one came out so fast that even at 15 mph there was no time to brake.. she was a white flash. Thump thump and off she ran.. aarrgh. I was taking the boys with me into work and they said What was that? I did what any good parent would: I lied. A coconut. One of our kitties was hit recently (she's fine now) and the kids were devastated. How could I tell them I was the evil car this time? No doubt they think I'm nuts for stopping and running out to see if the Coconut was OK (I couldn't find her), then crying the rest of the way into town. Ramsey has been calling both our kittens Coconut ever since.

Later I took myself on a 2-hr recovery ride on my planned rest day so that I could eat a peanut butter clif bar. Remember the while-exercising exemptions! It was awesome.. until a baby chicken ran through my spokes in Waimanalo.

I sometimes wonder if functional drunks are unable to function when sober. Apparently I cannot drive while off the sugar.

I banned myself from anything with wheels for the rest of the day. While the trend seems to be going toward smaller and smaller animals, I just can't risk running over another critter. Pamela Anderson and her PETA friends might come beat me down with an overinflated breast or some barbed wire.

I'm half way through day three of healthy eating. I'm tracking calories to make sure I'm getting enough - it's hard without the junk. I got some great advice via comments and email - you guys rock. I haven't run over any animals today. Yet. I struggled through my speed workout this morning, but I don't think I can blame my pace on lack of sugar. More likely it has something to do with a running year that looks like this:

Yep, those are miles on the y-axis. I covered more miles the 40 weeks I was pushing two in a baby jogger while carting one in my uterus. Pathetic. But the first hard workouts back are always killers.. I'm patient.

Food challenge (Take 421)

The fitmom girls have issued a challenge. Now, you might remember the last time I said I was done eating like a couch potato.. and the time before that, and so on. But this time there is much talk of how Farber is going to bring it and it just so happens that it's well timed to line up with the final 6+ weeks until Kona. I have would love to just once race an Ironman at my pre-Ironman girth. Back when I ran for fun, no racing, no triathlon, I was 6-8 pounds lighter than I am since developing this terrible case of quadzillia and swimmerbackitis. I feel like the girl who sprung the sneak attack on Beth this weekend.

And in case you're wondering, no, I don't actually care if it's all muscle and if I lose any of that all-muscle. Not one bit. The less I cart around on that run, the better. I am not above putting look good over bike split. I don't play composition favorites. I am 5' 11" and added weight = big girl. This is pre-tri me and here I am now, (scroll down, hottie at top is Beth) kicking Beth's ass at the end of that race I snuck into last weekend in Cali.

There are a few rules:

• Nothing processed goes in.
• I must eat breakfast.
• No social eating.
• No chocolate. Because I am not a just-one-bite kind of girl.
• No lying about how it's going.

And some exceptions:

• Processed is OK while training. Infinit & Powergels don't grow on trees.
• The protein powder in the Jamba all-fruit is exempt. I need my recovery favorite!

Dinners are the big problem. Wyatt only eats bread and cheese. Oh and butter. When he gets a papercut, that's probably cheese coming out. I know, bad parenting.. trust me, the kid goes to bed without food quite frequently. But still I feel guilty when I know I'm making nothing he will eat. I tend to just make dinner for the kids because I'm too busy or R isn't home. Stuff they'll eat, with a fruit and vegetable on the plate for them to look at.. and to ensure that no one gets dessert. And then I either skip dinner or eat peanut butter off a spoon. Oh crap, is peanut butter processed?

A few inspiring blogs - First dinner up is cornmeal-crusty turkey from James & Lindsay. Lindsay makes some incredible healthy food and James is a tri-star, check them out here.

Beth & James have a blog dedicated solely to their most-excellent eating habits: VO2maxxed But no matter how cute and fast Beth is, I will never ever eat seashell soup. Seashells belong on the seashore, not in broth.

Mark's Daily Apple is a little extreme for me (my canines are not that big.. they're kind of flat actually, so maybe I have evolved into an herbivore?) but has some great suggestions and ideas as well.

I admit it, it's not all about looks, I do notice the correlation between crappy eating and crappy workouts. Leading into this weekend I ate well a few days in a row, and the weekend workouts were great. No bonks, no cramps, no ducking into the bushes (ahem, Wil.) And I can't say the same for a long run the morning after the visit to Outback Steakhouse. My sister made me eat there. The petite little vegetarian even ordered the bacon cheese fries.

Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch..

It's crazy how many times I get called crazy in one day. A paddling event had a billion people at the Outrigger Sunday, where we set up transition for the long double-brick. At each of our transitions someone rolled up and asked if we were crazy. No, we're just training for Kona.

Part way through the middle hour-long run of the 6 hour workout it hit me: I'm really Kona training. After months of thinking it wouldn't happen. I'm running, at a good pace, off the bike, and I feel like me. The old me. Katherine was having a tough moment and probably wanted to hit me with a branch because I was grinning ear to ear. Don't worry about her, she later came around and dropped my ass on the second run. She was probably just sick of the babbling.

It occurs to me that the crazy-callers have a point. A lot of bizarre stuff goes through my little brain during a long ride.

I speed up for these things. They're all over Oahu lately. (They don't say anything about Kentucky though.) It's almost as if I think there's a really small, judgmental cop hiding inside. 

I go through a month's worth of emotions. There is dread, anticipation, weariness, the I love my life this is so fun part, then utter depression where I don't want to go on, talking myself through something much too hard for me, another dose of I love my life this is so fun and sometimes some panic. I need a six-hour dose of whatever they're giving Britney these days.

I get really, really annoying songs stuck in my head. They are usually songs I haven't heard since high school. Click play so that I can spread the misery I experienced on today's ride to you. Come on, do it:

I take off my helmet and throw it on the side of the road at least once per long ride. Then I slow down, go back, shake the bee out of it, squish the little bastard that tried to kill me, and put it back on. Somehow they know that I am allergic. I am a bee magnet.

It's all a bit crazy, this Ironman training stuff. We were wondering today as we stood in the ocean when it was all over if maybe we were actually doing brain damage by raising our core temperatures for hours on end. Lord knows I get dumber and dumber as the ride goes on..

Transition:

I've been trying to sell this dumb minivan for months. No one wants to buy the big gas-guzzling eyesore, even though I'm an incredible saleswoman: It sucks, I hate it, please buy it so I don't have to look at it every day. Just call me The Closer. Every once in a while the Violet Beauregarde of the vehicle world serves a purpose worthy of taking it out.  It is the trannyvan. No, it doesn't dress up like a girl.

In other news.. call me if you want to buy an awesome 2006 Nissan Quest.

A real weekend.

Someone (me) may have way over-hyped the full-time work adjustment period. It was a great week. And really, when was the last time weekend meant anything to me but more exercise? I am ready to start appreciating the weekend like the rest of the working world. Some of the things I'm looking forward to:

Watching Bree, Tracy, Deirdre, Laura and other friends that weren't made through blog-stalking kick ass at IM Canada.

The Duke's Mile Swim - It will be swim race number four in five weeks.. and this will be the best one, simply because it is the shortest.

Going to an Olympics costume party - I'm borrowing one of Ramsey's water polo bonnets (or whatever you call it) and going as this Italian lady Elisa Casanova. She is super-gnarly. I really hope she's not at my swim race.

The weekend starts this evening with Ramsey's law school open house. I must go stake my territory. Hot old guy is taken! 

(I found a photo of H.O.G. in his bonnet)

Sunday has six hours of double-brick in store - which will fly by because Katherine has been out of town for ten days and we have a tendency to yap like overexcited seventh-graders when we haven't seen each other for 24 hours. It took some time, but I found a photo of us not wearing spandex. The Mac counter women had attacked us and I don't know who put that martini in my hand. Maybe I was holding it for Jeff. 

At least I've got Elsa Casanova's left arm down. Now off to fashion a nose-guard..

Mojo.

My run was my mojo. My confidence. I can't live without it..

Athlete restructuring.

One day down - and I didn't melt. I was out the door at 5:15am an two hooligans tried to get me to pull over. Do people get car-jacked in Hawaii? One shined a flashlight at me and the other acted very authoritative and walked out into the road holding his hand up like a traffic cop. I don't brake for teenage boys. I got to my parking garage and it wouldn't let me in. Apparently the big stripey arm doesn't expect me before 9 am. I can't say I blame it. I found an early bird lot and headed to the office. It was locked. No problem.. I'll just dig through the giant bag and pull out.. Ramsey's keys. Damn. Three strikes in the first 45 minutes of wakeyness and I was out. I cried on my latte at the prospect of waiting until 9:30 for my coworker to show, like the four-year old in an amazon's body that I really am.

My new best friend, the security man I didn't know existed who happens to have a master key, showed up about 10 minutes into my giving up on life and let me in.

I admit, I'm having a hard to prioritizing work. Making my kids and my training a priority is easy. The kids themselves and the long hard days of training are often not at all easy, but prioritizing them is never an issue because they are people and activities that I love. Prioritizing work is kind of like pretending swimming is my favorite sport. My job is interesting, the people are wonderful.. but where the hell did my day just go? How do I adjust my day to day life around the new priority - earning money for my family - happily? I don't fear under-training, perhaps I need it. I fear not knowing what's going on with my kids at school. I fear sitting in a chair all day long (and growing a chair-ass.)

As I restructure the day to day there's clearly much room for attitude improvement. Marathlete does a little thing called Gratituesday. So here are things I'm grateful for this Tuesday:

1. Water-proof mascara, to scare the poor security man just a little less in the morning.

2. Henry, Wyatt & Sky and their health and happiness.

3. Happy Gilmore.

4. The view of Point Panic breaking from my office window.

5. Soy lattes.

6. That it's not Monday.

7. Dawn & Ira at Splish. My latest suit is all about attitude adjustment:

You have a TV, right?

Two nights in a row, the Ross family has managed to see the Olympics. Last night we overstayed our welcome at Keri & Pat's BBQ to hijack the TV. I nailed Synchronicity II on Rock Band (99% baby!) while watching Grant Hackett's gorgeous stroke in the 1500 on the flat screen next to the playstation. Pat fell asleep on the couch, and I'm pretty sure Keri went to bed. We let ourselves out after the Men's 100m dash. 

A good friend turned 40 tonight and had a pool party. YES! Weasled our way into the TV room again just in time for... rowing. Greeeeeaaaaaat, rowing. I actually rowed for nine months at Cal. Those were not good times. When everyone else got on the plane for the San Diego Crew Classic at spring break, I got on a plane to Hawaii and said buh-bye to rowing forever. The Oakland Estuary just didn't agree with me. I quit shortly after hitting a dead pig with my oar.

The Queen of Confidence, Sky, watched Guo fly through a dive and said "I could totally do that. I should do that!" and that's it, she has found her sport. I'll take it. By kid #3, anything is better than those god-awful soccer games where they all kick each other in the shins for 40 minutes and you're expected to feed forty people at the end.

Tomorrow morning I am out the door at 5:15 am for a long run.. wait.. ride.. no.. day of work, that's it! First day - 6 am start. Since the company is on San Diego time, why shouldn't I be too? Here's a sneak peak at my high-powered working mom training plan: 

Lug floppy sleeping kindergardener three miles on your back while stooped at an odd angle to keep her there. Call it strength training day.

Free Willy.

This morning I braved the murk at Ala Moana Beach Park. As far as fugly water goes in Hawaii, I think only Keehi Lagoon is worse. And no one swims there. I was shocked at the crowd swimming at Ala Moana this morning, boldly putting their faces in the urban run-off and bacteria of yesterday's storms. Stefan leads a swim of longer intervals Fridays at 6:30 am and this was my first time trying it. I actually held onto swimstar Ryan Leong's feet for the first 500. He must have been swimming backstroke. After that it went a little downhill. When Stefan yelled GO! for the fifth 500 on 8:00 it seems I thought he meant GO! home. And I did.

As I cooled down back into shore, a shadow came up a few feet below me. Once it was within arms reach, I realized it was a small sea turtle. I briefly considered trying to grab him, but I think that's illegal. I was trying to save him, marine patrol officer! Perhaps he has no idea that just half a mile away there is a real ocean. One where you can see for more than two feet in front of your face. One that isn't 50% salt water, 25% sunscreen and 25% s-h-i-t. I could grab him, run over the reef, and drop him off in a place where the sand isn't made of that stuff they put in ashtrays. Follow me to freedom, little guy!! But he disappeared before I could kidnap him and show him that the ocean doesn't always taste like coconut oil.

I survived the elements yesterday to get 100 miles in. Maggs called 20 min before we were to meet, but I didn't pick up. I knew what she was calling for. She was forced to show up at the Kalapawai rendez-vous and kept me company for two hours of downpour and slippery streets, for which I am very grateful.

I am having a little issue with downtown Honolulu. Both the last building I worked in (at he US Geological Survey) and my current building do not allow you to bring a bike in. Not even in the service elevator. I begged and pleaded, and they repeated that there aren't that many thefts from the bike rack out back. Great. I can't park Clemetine out there, she cost more than my volvo. Plus she's not insured. And not even really officially mine to lose. I don't get it.This building is always patting itself on the back for it's green-ness. Yet no, no bikes allowed. I asked friends in different buildings around Honolulu - same deal. No bikes allowed. One small bike rack in the back alley, with no security. I feel a letter to the editor coming on. I know I should buy $100 beater and ride it in, but it was already an hour ride.. that would make it two. And not really help me kill two birds in the training arena like I was hoping to do...

Check out Barack at Sandys yesterday. Somehow in all my looping around I didn't notice the sea of cop cars 2 miles from my house. You know I would have been there bodysurfing had I seen him.

Rolling through it.

Dread is the only thing I've got when a 5.5 hour ride looms the next day and I know I have to do it alone. I know me, and boredom ruins me some days. Boredom and Krispy Kremes. But then I got an email from Maggs - she is in for tomorrow. Thank god for company. When I'm alone I find myself counting minutes. Or wondering what would happen if I threw my bike under The Bus.

The big week rolls on.. it's going well. Better than I could have imagined. I learned a lot at the 4k hard ocean swim on Tuesday, during which I fought to hold on to Wil while he cruised along swimming fists. Mostly I learned that I can't even keep up with Wil when he swims fists. And to never, ever follow that fast zigzagging bastard in a race. He leaves the wake of an eel.

Off the swim I was onto the bike for hill repeats up Sierra. I had six intervals to do, all at low cadence and Z3 heart rate. I saw watts I haven't seen in six months, and spent the whole workout sitting at 160, right smack in the middle of Z3. I can't remember the last time I didn't feel like the workout was too hard for me. Finally, a glimpse of light..

It's Wednesday and the week is half way gone already. I ran my mile repeats at the track under the stars at 4:30 am in order to hop on the puddlejumper over to Maui at 8 this morning. I didn't go to Maui for the Krispy Kremes. They were a small accident at the end of the day. I had to go meet the new baby! Tess was my college roommate and one of the first to arrive when my first, Henry, was born in San Francisco 8+ years ago. I love Tess and Ben. New baby Jonah is so beautiful.. he makes me want ten more. I'm not sure where all that blonde hair came from, although the most famous blonde Jaws tow-in surferman is a Paia neighbor.. 

bigger things.

My brother is safely out of Georgia today. The Republic of, not the State of, though I hear it can be kind of nasty there late-summer too. He was in his last month or so of Peace Corps service near Tblisi, Georgia until Friday, when Russia started bombing. 

Originally the Peace Corps gathered the volunteers up and drove them to a ski resort in the Georgian mountains. Not good enough, if you ask me. But as of today we hear he is safely tucked away in Armenia. Big SUVs and little back roads were involved. I can't imagine. In an effort to be a better sister, I actually found Georgia on a map. 

I bitch and I moan, but man do I have it easy. I'm not protecting my children from tanks rolling into town shooting at random. I'm wondering if the orange chicken from Costco has MSG.

In other, much less important news (read: more about me me and more me) a few things:

The Olympics make me really, really wish I had TV.

Mama Mia was the worst movie ever. And I freaking loved it. I would see it again. 

I am staring down a 20 hour training week. Today was a rest day, but I almost swam to get one out of the way. Color me daunted. Who rides 5.5h on a Thursday? Apparently I do. Work starts next Monday.. I expect I might feel relieved.

Must go download some Abba.

Consider me daunted.

19:20.

I meant next Monday, that's when I'm FT. This week is a big one of training for me. Who rides 5:30 on a Thursday?! Jobless people, that's who. And this week, me, apparently.

The formula.

I think we all have one - a formula that keeps us healthy and happy. And everyone's formula is different, but I've been asked to share what I've learned in 8 months of ITBS and what I'm doing now to finally be functioning. A while back I posted that I was playing Magnum.. so let me give you the Thomas Magnum voice over ITBS mystery-solved wrap up. 

Since March I have graced the paper-covered padded table of an Orthopedic Surgeon, Physical Therapist, Sports Med Doctor, Chiropractor/ART Provider & Muscle Activation Therapist. I have had an x-ray, MRI, 2 rounds of cortisone, many a massage, months of strengthening exercises, weekly adjustments & months of absolute rest (June & July 2008 will forever be referred to as The Fattening.) I wore my gold aviators, but alas, didn't have Robin's Ferrari.

Here is what I now know: 

Glute medius strengthening, in spite of being the number one recommendation for ITBS, only injures me further. No glute medius strengthening.

No pool. Ever. Pool membership cancelled.

No running after swimming.
Swimming is limited to 3x/week.
No kicking. Ever.

High turnover, shorter stride in front when running.

I must stretch the psoas and glutes daily, even on rest days.
I must wear neutral, light racing flats.
I must get adjusted each week.

This stick thing, run along the tibialis, calf, arch and inner thigh for 30s each prior to running is supposed to activate the muscles that are being favored by my brain. Or something like that. It's working.

Saturday I rode 110 miles and swam a 2.4 mile race. Then I woke up Sunday and ran 2 hours without any IT band pain at all. I may have had a small, weeping tantrum and anxiety attack over my lack of fitness in the 30 mph headwind near Turtle Bay while lying down on the shoulder of Kam Hwy 80 miles into the ride. Katherine talked me back onto my bike (Ramsey won't come pick you up, he always tells you to walk until someone offers you a ride - she was right, he won't, he does, and someone always stops) and then she pulled my sorry ass home. By 110 I couldn't see out of my left eye. But even that was a welcome change to all the nothing. And The Fattening.

The injury wasn't completely fruitless. In all those months of swimming I became a sub-hour IM swimmer (wetsuit.. but we'll see if I can keep it for Kona) and an AG winner in a swim race this past weekend when I swam that extremely current-assisted 2.4 miler in 52:33. If I can con Bree or Hillary into wearing my chip for the swim at Kona, I'm going to use that swim as my evidence when they accuse me of cheating.

This is where the swim started. It was really hard to sight... well, it would have been if it weren't summer anyway..

Back to the grind.

The Ironman training grind. 

Aside from a hideously slow pace, I feel like I never left. Oh yeah, I remember wind so strong at Turtle Bay that I feel like I'm moving backwards. I remember this funny tunnel vision I get at about 100 miles. I remember the lead in the legs when I start my long run the next morning.

There was a time warp on Saturday, did you guys feel it? Somehow my 110 mi ride and 2.4 mi swim race became a 9.5 hour day. We left Fred's at 6 am. We hummed right along to Waimea, arriving in 42 miles and two hours exactly.

Fred, the super sherpa for the day, showed up with the vanagon for the bikes and our blueseventy cheater suits and goggles. He then drove us back to the starting line at Pipeline. It looked like this:

OK, I'm lying, but there was a teensy shorebreak. We started an hour after getting off the bike. The current was awesome.. I could have floated to Waimea in 2 hours easy, but I forgot my innertube. Before I knew it, we were at the point off of Shark's Cove, and my master's coach Joe's voice hit me - last year he told me to take a left at the point and hug the coast to Waimea. The pack went straight. I hesitated - then took the left. My drafter came with me, I felt her on my toes and was happy to not be alone, and hoped it was Katherine. A minute later Wil swam by, smiling and waving under water in his pink cap and teeny bikini. I found the channel between the rocks around the point no problem, while a hundred yellow caps swam half way past Waimea, took a 90 degree left and fell so far back I could no longer see them when I breathed. The girl on my feet came up on my right as we fought the tide into the beach and I thought hell if I'm going to let you by after that ride and picked it up a little. I crossed the line in 52:33 with Katherine right behind me. She'd been trying to come up to take a pull. Oops. It was enough for my second swim race AG win, and a PR on that course of 6 minutes. Now if I can con Bree or Hillary into wearing my chip at Kona I can use this low 50s as evidence in my favor when they charge me with cheating.

If only the rest of the day went so well. Katherine more than repaid my swim pull by dragging my butt up 5 miles of climbing Pineapple Hill. We were more than even then.. but at mile 80 someone had a tantrum. The headwind was so strong and my legs so unfit that I couldn't even hold onto the paceline. So I stopped to sit down, have a little anxiety attack about my level of non-fitness, and cry for a minute. Katherine talked me down and didn't let me call Ramsey for a ride home. He wouldn't have come anyway, he always tells me to start walking when I have a mechanical or quit and someone I know will come by and give me a ride home. Oddly, he's always right. We had 30 miles to go and 

Transitions

You might think I'm going to take that title and advise you on simplifying your transitions or tell you that socks are worthless or that feet-washing is for pussies. Well, it's true, feet-washing is indeed for pussies. But really, I was thinking about bigger transitions.

I went to the office today. Some funny things happened. I had to tell the Barista at the Bishop St. Starbucks what I wanted instead of just waving. I found mail on my seat dated July 8. A co-worker pretended to faint when I came in. So I didn't go to work for a month... it just kind of happened. I went some places, the kids were out of school, I went some more places, didn't really feel like commuting the past couple of days.. I was busy doing... um... mom-stuff.

You might see where I'm going with this. Today is the husband's last day of work. Yippee for you, husband. Next monday is my first day of full time employment. There are some things I don't understand about working all day every day. Like when does one go to the dentist, get a haircut, watch the kids' swim team or hit Neiman Marcus' Last Call? Will I ever get to chat with my childrens' teachers? If I try to run, bike or swim, will I ever even see my children awake?

Twenty to forty hours was going to be a hard transition. Zero to forty might kill me. I love the company I work for, the people that work there, and I believe in what the company does. But let's just say I am not the sharpest tool in the Environmental Engineering shed. I am one of the only non-engineers. Everyone is kind to the blond runner girl who wears stretchy pants to work. But I still leave feeling like an incompetent moron each day. And all day everyday of trying to play catch up at work, commuting an hour each way, stressing about the kids' activities and fitting in my workouts.. makes me cry. A lot. I have always been thoroughly grateful for how easy and happy my life is. I am not a princess, I am just averse to working. Just kidding. Really, I am just scared that I will be miserable and will lose all the things I love about my life.

If any of you readers want to hire me to run fast, update your website, or just to be your friend, please email me.

A bunch of you inquired about the formula - the ways I've tricked my IT band into letting me train again and what I have learned from all the specialists. Next blog, I promise, when I'm done feeling sorry for myself for having to do what most people do their entire lives without complaint.

Home sweet.. something something.

The 9 hour flight from Chicago and the huge time difference make for a long day. I am about 3 bpm shy of a coma, and kids passed out at 6 pm.

The last days in Chicago were excellent. I swam in the dark in Lake Michigan with the Waterstraats until lightning chased us out. Then we tried to outrun a tornado in Aunt Rebecca's Suburban, which made me feel like Helen Hunt in Twister, except I wasn't bitching at Bill Paxton, I was badgering Liz & Chris about whether we really had to stop and hide under furniture as instructed by the radio. Lightning is rare in Hawaii. Driving back into the city I couldn't count to three without seeing this.. it was better than fireworks.

We saw Ken Griffey Jr.'s White Sox debut from the bleachers, but didn't last the entire 14 innings of the game. I did, however, drink beer from a plastic cup and eat peanuts for dinner. We ate at the Original Pancake House, made one more pass of Barack's place (no Barack), bartered our way past a two-hour line at the Shedd and reintroduced the kids to their Great Grandpa Bob. And then we said our good-byes. We miss the grandparents already.. the kids were inquiring about a Chicago move for most of the flight. They've only seen it in the summer.

And something else happened in Chicago. In four days of training I ran 26 miles, swam 7.5k and rode my first long ride of 70+ miles. Kona is less than ten weeks away, and I am actually training for it. Finally. It took me too long and in the end the recovery from ITBS required some expert-overruling, many skipped or wimpy workouts, and a whole lot of patience and trust that I know my body best. I know the formula now. I spent some time with a Chicagoland sports med guru whom people travel from continents away to see. He showed me the weaknesses that got me into such an ugly place and how to keep it from ever happening again. He also told me I must give up the 24/7 slipper-wearing.. what?!? I can't handle cold turkey, so it will be a slow wean.

This weekend I'll race 2.4 miles from Pipeline to Waimea, ride up and back to/from the race for 100+ miles, and run 2+ hours. Let's go, Kona.