tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11741688933938336682024-03-05T16:58:06.866-08:00See Stink TriThe Team in Training triathlon training of Stinky Pete & co., wife, mother, clothing designer.Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-46796034281297975752009-04-02T18:19:00.001-07:002009-04-02T19:11:31.578-07:00Swim Basics, Part Deux -or- the one in which I exchange my very soul for a pair of goggles.I've lost my goggles.<br /><br />I've looked everywhere for them.<br /><br />I've haunted and scoured through every lost and found I can think of. <br /><br />Lost and Founds are a veritable treasure trove of athletic paraphernalia. <br /><br />I was riffling through one such place when I was informed that even if I didn't find <em>my specific</em> goggles, I should grab a pair in the bin because the very next day, the container was being emptied and the contents sent to the Goodwill.<br /><br />If you have been following See Stink Tri from the start, you may remember this post <a href="http://seestinktri.blogspot.com/2008/07/basics-swim.html">http://seestinktri.blogspot.com/2008/07/basics-swim.html</a><br />discussing the importance of swim eye wear. You might remember it and tsk tsk me for <em>considering</em> filching a pair from the Lost and Found. <br /><br />I, in response to your chiding would likely have swatted you back like so much Jiminy Cricket on my shoulder. <br /><br />I would have done this, not because I am morally corrupt and in the habit of pillaging lost and found bins (I'm not.), or because I positively <em>needed</em> a pair of goggles for Tuesday's swim (I did.), but because at that very moment, the heavens parted and shone golden on what can only be described as "The EXACT SAME pair of goggles that I lost, but in a racy shade of pink!!!"<br /><br />Trainer Bob sent out this workout: 8x50 (50's are 1 lap, or 2 lengths of an Olympic pool) drill down, swim back - then 20x100 on the 2 - which if you are not a swimmer means in 2 minutes, followed by a cool down of "whatever". <br /><br />I like workouts that use small numbers. 50s are good. 100s are good. I stretched on my cap, stretched out my arms and sucked my new-to-me goggles to my eyes.<br /><br />Training Lessons for the day: <br />#1: Several small numbers add up to big numbers - 20 100s totals 2000 meters For-the-LOVE-of-AquaMAN! I managed them on the 2 minute for roughly 500 meters before it stretched into 2 1/4 then 2 1/2 minutes and finally, a shameful 3 minutes/100 meters for the last 500. <br /><br />My "whatever" cool down consisted of blowing water out of both nostrils, and inventing new bad words to call Bob when next I see him.<br /><br />#2: My new-to-me goggles are <em>not</em> exactly like my lost pair. In fact, they are harlot's goggles! The devil's contraption even! Miniature plungers designed to suction my eyeballs clean out of their sockets! And if that wasn't enough to reinforce the earlier lesson on the importance of well fitting goggles, I sported bright red goggle rings about my eyes for the rest of the blasted day as a painful reminder.Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-57553470582795738052009-03-26T09:30:00.000-07:002009-03-26T10:54:22.376-07:00Signs, signs, everywhere signs.According to the schedule, yesterday was a run day and ever an obedient miss, I was r-u-n-n-i-n-g.<br /><br />All day long.<br /><br />From here to there and back again.<br /><br />Determined not to end up on the treadmill at 10 o'clock after everyone was in bed, with but an hour left before the littlest Stink returned home on the bus, I was a woman with a mission. <br /><br />The mission: to squeeze in my 45 minute run during the 45 degree day.<br /><br />"It's a sign", I thought (I'm big into signs) - "destiny even", (I'm even bigger into destiny) "45 minutes in 45 degrees".<br /><br />I contemplated strategy and efficiency before I got home (I'm not so big on efficiency).<br /><br />Upon my arrival I leaped deftly from the car, and humped an impressive 6 bags from the market on each arm toward the house. I even managed to get the door open without dropping nary a single one!<br /><br />I might have made it all the way to the kitchen without incident had I not tripped on this:<br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQyfV-buBwexWdvQ08lJ_SS-ZCY790vHU5JYU1iZpdHK0-Yot93oPpYNocW3jJ_n5QdQOjTL-FFvkWAmupV0vPZ7f7hAwg9_2JakVbHnWxv5fYBKRauMe2-2da2AK4n5RT-Vlz-ucttM/s1600-h/blog+shoes.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317536173272703618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 266px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQyfV-buBwexWdvQ08lJ_SS-ZCY790vHU5JYU1iZpdHK0-Yot93oPpYNocW3jJ_n5QdQOjTL-FFvkWAmupV0vPZ7f7hAwg9_2JakVbHnWxv5fYBKRauMe2-2da2AK4n5RT-Vlz-ucttM/s400/blog+shoes.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I assure you that it was not piled so neatly at the time, but you get the idea.</p><p>If you are an observant type, you might note that there is only one of each pair of shoes in this pile.</p><p>There is in fact, one of the sweet navy flats worn to Europe last spring and it's coordinating comfy insert.</p><p>Also, one kitten heeled loafer like pump that puts the fun in functional.</p><p>In addition, (gasp) the right Mizuno running shoe with special tri-elastic laces chewed off.</p><p>Lying around and about this pile were several half eaten socks, the contents of my twelve market bags and also this curious new-ish member to the House of Stink with half of a lace hanging from his mouth:<br /></p><p></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTSpM6mNqCwVEELeFL2RtLBfQLebHd7wtQ6YXV8xt_7j968-hdMX4PuUnOqFMDV1EZEo_TCYAc6F3jB1JP4OT5jos15BV6hh6SL4p_bwAzcQhMDyQA43tnLhyphenhyphene13-AoGzKepfnxLT-8y4/s1600-h/orion.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317538413914940770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTSpM6mNqCwVEELeFL2RtLBfQLebHd7wtQ6YXV8xt_7j968-hdMX4PuUnOqFMDV1EZEo_TCYAc6F3jB1JP4OT5jos15BV6hh6SL4p_bwAzcQhMDyQA43tnLhyphenhyphene13-AoGzKepfnxLT-8y4/s400/orion.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p>You might think that this development dissuaded me from my original purpose. You are only correct in so far as I had to gather the market stuffs and pile them on the counter, throw the cold goods in the fridge and the pooch outside and check the dressing room for further collateral damage.</p><p>Considering my aforementioned affinity toward signs and the like, you might assume that I would take this sad shoe carnage as a message of foreboding. </p><p>Destiny urging ... DO NOT RUN TODAY!</p><p>I'll admit, I did briefly think the same. But here's the thing:</p><p>It's not like the littlest pooch ate my <em>shoe</em>... just the <em>laces</em>, and I have an extra pair of laces in my tri bag (sign...preparation pays off). Further, while the loss of my sweet blue flats and FUNctional loafers pangs my shoe-hoarders heart (sign...step away from the shoe store... or <em>more room for shoes!</em>), upon examination of the dressing room I found...Oh, happy day...</p><p><em>These</em>, my most favorit-est of red shoes (save my ruby slippers, of course), were safe and quietly resting in their place.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAvHd1qNGcxDDN4THusU2DpGLJtLk5C09hXwtXOwyJ9k9fZbhx5TVtwmXL-MB0wrMjMC6HRvkBfKT2IMui8nPTP3sPYiGq7vcH84xQWfzmOkfPZFLkSlb1izkX-f6gCMUI1Pq_l8fgS6c/s1600-h/red+shoes.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317540131216839698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 303px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAvHd1qNGcxDDN4THusU2DpGLJtLk5C09hXwtXOwyJ9k9fZbhx5TVtwmXL-MB0wrMjMC6HRvkBfKT2IMui8nPTP3sPYiGq7vcH84xQWfzmOkfPZFLkSlb1izkX-f6gCMUI1Pq_l8fgS6c/s400/red+shoes.jpg" border="0" /></a>( sign... red shoes harbor amazing powers that none of us fully understands).</p><p>so...<br /><strong>5</strong> Miles in <strong>45</strong> Minutes in <strong>45</strong> Degrees and back <strong>5</strong> minutes before the bus - now <em>that's</em> a sign.<br /><br /></p>Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-40569976821312537762009-03-24T12:00:00.000-07:002009-03-24T13:34:19.216-07:00Shine On.Monday dawned pretty nippy, but warmed up a bit by afternoon.<br />You might think that a positive since it was, according to Trainer Joe's schedule, a cycling day. Considering <em>my</em> schedule for the day, however, I would just as well have had it cloudy and cold.<br />I clocked 145 miles yesterday, and none of them was on my bike. <br />Humph and bah humbug.<br />So, I did what any cranky modern mom would do, I complained royally. <br />I grumbled and grouched and threw a veritable tantrum.<br />Fortunately, everyone was in bed by then, so it can just be our little secret.<br />I did get over it eventually, and then I dug out this little gadget:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghW4fv_k4PqpSOCtJLe1cVamWxfwF0vj1_lo3WwWLBSPnLQy4sWfXAyi9222oQKpN2Ac9xJ4VlUJ77ghodpPFyr2vOodjRIMAWNo0p1jJzT-6eMm9_GN1831dAGKMjTomThZYorvx7DXs/s1600-h/trainer.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghW4fv_k4PqpSOCtJLe1cVamWxfwF0vj1_lo3WwWLBSPnLQy4sWfXAyi9222oQKpN2Ac9xJ4VlUJ77ghodpPFyr2vOodjRIMAWNo0p1jJzT-6eMm9_GN1831dAGKMjTomThZYorvx7DXs/s400/trainer.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316832873102358546" /></a><br />hitched up my wheeled steed and turned on IFC.<br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0117631/">"Shine"</a> was on.<br />There's nothing like a little Rachmaninoff, a bit of Brit Wit, and Geoffrey Rush jumping trampoline in the altogether to get a gal through an hour on the bike trainer.Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-6271096415825789562009-03-24T10:47:00.000-07:002009-03-24T12:15:15.768-07:00Guess Who's Coming to Dinner or Playing Ketchup.Sunday was an off day.<br /><br />If you have been keeping up with See Stink Tri, you note with a groan that here, in Stink's Country, we are not in luurrrve with off days; in fact, we find them rather disagreeable. You are likely expecting much moaning and bitching.<br /><br />Fear not, happy readers, never one to sit in miserable yuck too long, I have come up with a fix for the dreaded off day!<br /><br />For several weeks now, (or at least since word got about that I was "in-training" again), women-folk (and one fellow, deeply in touch with his feminine side) have been asking about my eating habits during training.<br /><br />What you fuel your body with, whether you are actively training or not, is sort of important. It is so important that at the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's "kick-off" to the new season, they hired a witty dietitian gal to workshop us on all things digestive (and I do mean all things).<br /><br />Being a lass of delicate sensibilities, I have decided to stick to meals and grocery lists, tips and tricks, and perhaps (and this is said in my very best secret whisper voice)<span style="font-size:85%;"> </span><span style="font-size:78%;">a few giveaways</span>. I will list a new one each off day (that's generally two per week) and you can find these fun tidbits by clicking that clever little "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner" button on the left sidebar.<br /><br />Easy Peasy huh?<br /><br />In addition, since those of you that know me well are likely rolling at the keyboard at the <em>idea</em> of my giving any sort of kitchen tips, you will be exceptionally pleased to note that these particular meals and hints have been chosen not only for their healthful properties and pleasant taste, but also for their EASE of EXECUTION!<br /><br />Wahooo and Hooo Hooty!<br /><br />So, without further adieu...<br /><br /><strong>Sunday night Sloppy Joes.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br />This little number is both hearty, and healthy and pleasingly quick to create and (this is the <em>real </em>kicker) it is all made in only one pan!!!<br /><br />Into a skillet, heat 2tbsp of Olive Oil. Saute 1/2 cup minced onions, 1/2 cup celery, 1/2 cup green pepper, and one garlic clove. (DO NOT use the whole big clump of cloves - that's called a BULB. I would imagine that most of you know this, but I didn't, and it is an unfortunate smelly mess that I would be remiss not to warn you of.)<br /><br />Saute until just brown.<br /><br />Add 1 lb ground turkey breast, or for you true carnivores, extra lean sirloin. Brown.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX816za1MtEUMvL8lI5vB9PQXTN8HMXq4osZ1W-sPOxS5cOeaRE27sBv67TrG71_eMCGelmnVG-zhqaQMnxc6SUHgZiiVAy2uws4av_yxqBdMUd6piEY6bIq8bZmgYJx7QeC1GWXTTNAw/s1600-h/kitchen+sloppy+joe+ingreds.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316823581170517698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX816za1MtEUMvL8lI5vB9PQXTN8HMXq4osZ1W-sPOxS5cOeaRE27sBv67TrG71_eMCGelmnVG-zhqaQMnxc6SUHgZiiVAy2uws4av_yxqBdMUd6piEY6bIq8bZmgYJx7QeC1GWXTTNAw/s400/kitchen+sloppy+joe+ingreds.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Add 1/2 cup mushrooms, 1/2 cup Ketchup, 1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce, and 1/2 cup of water. If you like a little kick, you can add a dash of hot sauce, or chili sauce as well. Simmer for 15 minutes uncovered.<br /><br />We served this with fresh French Bread, though you could do pita pockets if you prefer, some 50% shredded cheddar, and 1 cup of peaches canned in Water (not in syrup - blech). I prefer fresh peaches, but the darn things just aren't in season yet.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUQhG9nS58iwAC9QiPs0RgHTuvcoq8Qbho45CyeDiwE6O1eMWKn0UFD8AnShriDoOZ0qJ0wwcG5M2Bo41NnCBNddyRhKJHpeM61e1LzC2W8BKKYCHH4l_-cLvIIHqQvHk08rsQ109KG0/s1600-h/kitchen+sloppy+joe.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316823948080815522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUQhG9nS58iwAC9QiPs0RgHTuvcoq8Qbho45CyeDiwE6O1eMWKn0UFD8AnShriDoOZ0qJ0wwcG5M2Bo41NnCBNddyRhKJHpeM61e1LzC2W8BKKYCHH4l_-cLvIIHqQvHk08rsQ109KG0/s400/kitchen+sloppy+joe.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />One serving of the Sloppy Joe is between 1 and 2 cups, depending on your level of activity and nutritional needs. For me, it was 1 3/4 cups, for my 16 year old man-thing, 2 1/2.<br /><br />The idea behind this meal is balance. In order to function optimally, our bodies need relative portions of lean protein, carbohydrates, and fats, this meal obtains that ideal ratio of 40% carbohydrates, 30% protein, and 30% fat. (k' kicking my soapbox out from under me.)<br /><br />***Anyone mentioning that I burned the top of the loaf while crisping it gets sent to bed without dinner.***Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-51493784273858002162009-03-15T07:51:00.000-07:002009-03-19T15:14:54.503-07:00Playing Catch-Up (originally written on Sunday, 3-15-09)According to the training schedule sent out by Trainers Joe and Bob, today is a rest day, or recovery day. This is fitting, I guess, since today<em> is</em> Sunday, and on the seventh day even GOD rested, but I am going to have to be frank here...<br /><br /><br />I HATE recovery days.<br /><br /><br />I know the science behind it, so don't go all "breakdown and build up" on me. I am well aware that rest days are the much needed opportunity to heal up from the week's workouts and emerge stronger than before, ready for more and longer.<br /><br />I know all of this, but the reality is...<br /><br />on "off" days, I am more likely to choose ice cream as the meal of choice, eat more than I plan to, drink less water than I should, and walk around moping and doing the cranky dance.<br /><br />I am an absolute <em>joy</em> to be around.<br /><br />That being said, Saturday's team training went fairly well, considering it was only the second time the ol' wheels and I were on pavement rather than trainer.<br /><br />It was a wee bit chilly in the AM, and I was a wee bit late arriving at the training, but I do believe things happen for a reason.<br /><br />Had it not been in the 30's, and had I not been late and thus looking shamefully toward pavement during the team love circle that I interrupted (yet again), I never would have noticed that several of the folks had grown black smurf feet!!!<br /><br />Trainers Joe and Bob, our gal MaryAnn, and a handful of teammates were all sporting neoprene booties like these...<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhry_SmZAezXLNyQEQRqybN0fLerTm61Un21qdDKso9YxwvS5o7QME0Vs9PXeAODVE0a4Th7HEwN__9twy-ocwvZtSEP1_Z8mqKBepvDH8L3dCQ_jS_PEGdytrnO27wK8vPHRA3ZGrYyeg/s1600-h/neoprene+bootie.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314990710901441490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 140px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 140px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhry_SmZAezXLNyQEQRqybN0fLerTm61Un21qdDKso9YxwvS5o7QME0Vs9PXeAODVE0a4Th7HEwN__9twy-ocwvZtSEP1_Z8mqKBepvDH8L3dCQ_jS_PEGdytrnO27wK8vPHRA3ZGrYyeg/s400/neoprene+bootie.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />These clever little booties come in a toe-only variety as well. These "toe-sters" were the sort that Coach Joe lent to me when I expressed decided inferiority over an apparent lack of bootie (play on words so totally intended *snort*).<br /><br />The review after a 60 minute ride is that these little inventions, while decidedly silly in appearance, <em>do</em> make winter cycling a whole heck of a lot warmer on the tootsies. Of course, by the time mine are shipped and arrive, I am certain that spring will have sprung.<br /><br />No matter, I may just wear them anyway - I am nothing if not a fashion statement on wheels.Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-33301897038797512472009-03-08T19:12:00.000-07:002009-03-14T11:18:40.187-07:00If you're happy and you know it...or a tale of grave bodily harm and much Sunday joy riding.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk56yLsc9ZbI-VGl4Tojrp4rMmRWY0WynmFDYffaDoiXJIxi053OlWuuFeC8f4PFM4Shjlhiqs0nHBWSxBXoxbII_VdXXyFVIy4f3s3PysOJoloJalqTBRpPcg3_33re38OLVxFDWpjyc/s1600-h/web+hand.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311006059294830290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 377px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk56yLsc9ZbI-VGl4Tojrp4rMmRWY0WynmFDYffaDoiXJIxi053OlWuuFeC8f4PFM4Shjlhiqs0nHBWSxBXoxbII_VdXXyFVIy4f3s3PysOJoloJalqTBRpPcg3_33re38OLVxFDWpjyc/s400/web+hand.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />You can tell a wealth of stuff from a person's hands. These hands for instance tell a sad Saturday tale of woe and horror and later, a triumphant Sunday.<br /><br />*** If you are at all uncomfortable with injurious tales, you should likely turn away now and come back next post.***<br /><br />Saturday dawned warm if a bit on the grayish side. I would like to report that I lept from bed, clapped my hands and declared the day ripe for a good pre-swim clinic run. I would like to, but it would be a flagrant lie, and I do try to be truthful with you.<br /><br />Instead, I pulled the pillow over my head at the alarm, blindly slapped at the snooze button and slept another 20 minutes before rising and donning last season's tri shorts and a brand spankin' new pair of sneakers.<br /><br />I had planned on getting in a good forty minutes of a run before swim clinic at 9 o'clock. I'd been sort of remiss in the weeks workouts and thought a little extra credit would be wise. I got in about 25 before I went into the College Center to meet the group.<br /><br />The locker rooms were closed due to spring break, so I suited up in the restroom and dashed across the hall to the pool room. The group was already in the team circle, so I hustled to join. After, I scuttled across the deck to my swim bag and rummaged blindly within its depths for my swim cap and goggles.<br /><br />I found my cap easily enough, but imagine my surprise when my "goggles" turned out to be the blades of my uncovered razor!<br /><br />Some of you... (ahem... unsympathetic tri coaches Joe and Bob) will chide that razors have caps...you will lecture about sharp objects in the swim duffel. I am not listening to this drivel however, and intend, instead, to gain your sympathy by regaling you with the gory details.<br /><br />I really bled. Lots. Turns out, I actually shaved OFF the corner of my finger!!! I didn't even know that a regular old razor could do that, and I am not looking forward to seeing the razor post incident. I may just pitch the whole bag and start anew.<br /><br />Fear not though, the regenerative power of skin never ceases to amaze me and I am so fully on the mend that I exchanged the hugely conspicuous white gauze and tape for a much muted band aid version. It doesn't even throb anymore. (sympathetic yet?) I did miss the whole of the swim clinic and left feeling sad and deprived and though I am embarrassed to admit it, lightheaded and a wee bit nauseous.<br /><br />After these sad reportings (which will, henceforth, be referred to as Sanguine Saturday), I met Sunday's gray warmth with newfound determination. The hands tell this story as well. Note the grease and dirt.<br /><br />I pumped up tires and strapped on helmet and set off for my very first outside ride!<br /><br />You will be pleased to hear, I am certain, that no blood was shed on this ride. It was, in fact, lovely for the most part. (the less lovely part came after mile twenty when my sit bones and girl parts began to feel rather um... abused.) It felt so good to get off the bike at mile 24 that I ran about for an extra mile or so before hijacking my sweet friend Caryn from her Sunday brunch and making her finish the last 2 by my side.<br /><br />That brings me back here, in the dark of the eve, sore and dirty and sporting an oddly shaped right ring finger but happily humming "If you're happy and you know it clap your hands".Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-65816845551180394052009-03-03T20:14:00.000-08:002009-03-03T20:21:04.821-08:00Square Root Day<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2pThB_Fb5K_WnXMJNAvubxvVEo6VVUNDyAH9AeymH4zN60uh1-ou6pmLly-rEjMHzUBJWa71BYo6PuXOh_-i2KXYx9LN_t9yKLH9e5IIM-S_WrWB9iwNcID_8qh0ABk7AHDgku5F9uK0/s1600-h/square+root+1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2pThB_Fb5K_WnXMJNAvubxvVEo6VVUNDyAH9AeymH4zN60uh1-ou6pmLly-rEjMHzUBJWa71BYo6PuXOh_-i2KXYx9LN_t9yKLH9e5IIM-S_WrWB9iwNcID_8qh0ABk7AHDgku5F9uK0/s400/square+root+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309181843299353042" /></a><br /><center><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWTDcLqkKUHUF-y6BG18-jOxlPn2_2cAGvmIbz9r9M-B7D_71_59RobqrQ5CE4ZNSCh7pZjr87dh4BJ7sSSbu9puqKSh9A-1CuFTAiFKA4u_qS9oOMU8Awd85WtJKoGSX-T_Pk1NMIApg/s1600-h/square+root+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 341px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWTDcLqkKUHUF-y6BG18-jOxlPn2_2cAGvmIbz9r9M-B7D_71_59RobqrQ5CE4ZNSCh7pZjr87dh4BJ7sSSbu9puqKSh9A-1CuFTAiFKA4u_qS9oOMU8Awd85WtJKoGSX-T_Pk1NMIApg/s400/square+root+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309181844280715010" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3IHObSJ23KTibRk_Je8jfM4hDl-_qoxYbpnyBLg6rJ5nLWCvFQnDoE8xFiT4iDzSNdq9BHEvzCbHZ3zQn55Nu2R7a40YHUCBPyZj0FoPBzO352G39RXDF9QDrXW3rqMYpbqFpjlYW_JE/s1600-h/square+root+3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 121px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3IHObSJ23KTibRk_Je8jfM4hDl-_qoxYbpnyBLg6rJ5nLWCvFQnDoE8xFiT4iDzSNdq9BHEvzCbHZ3zQn55Nu2R7a40YHUCBPyZj0FoPBzO352G39RXDF9QDrXW3rqMYpbqFpjlYW_JE/s400/square+root+3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309181851264091122" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpPXQgOLqMzd3f2W0S7Fi42wZiwnG_0WJeMAVh8Ylpn8cjPbXHLKgBvk13Rmrl_9sQjvEQR0Uriey2jCE__2HHKicCB5Uo-ny_IHYtzelnDT_CiamHWdaNP4SsWKj7wKpp2RqrOgcFAFs/s1600-h/square+root+4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 316px; height: 383px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpPXQgOLqMzd3f2W0S7Fi42wZiwnG_0WJeMAVh8Ylpn8cjPbXHLKgBvk13Rmrl_9sQjvEQR0Uriey2jCE__2HHKicCB5Uo-ny_IHYtzelnDT_CiamHWdaNP4SsWKj7wKpp2RqrOgcFAFs/s400/square+root+4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309181854134833010" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghrWCuhgLreeXA3f-NdjhPNJ-Z_T5MMAm5uHs1LaDgOTqxB6Op2HhDE_IjF0C7XdMzxmbQr7Bendg_teGWDxIF8p7JoiygmIN_cxMUp3XKCBZ8owOy9S79YVJdiF11LiyUi2CUE7hNmfI/s1600-h/square+root+5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 206px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghrWCuhgLreeXA3f-NdjhPNJ-Z_T5MMAm5uHs1LaDgOTqxB6Op2HhDE_IjF0C7XdMzxmbQr7Bendg_teGWDxIF8p7JoiygmIN_cxMUp3XKCBZ8owOy9S79YVJdiF11LiyUi2CUE7hNmfI/s400/square+root+5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309181858546820306" /></a><br /></center>Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-74201505250188943142009-01-20T18:26:00.000-08:002009-01-20T19:05:39.641-08:00Today<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH0s1CV1qVEkICu-VX9xLGrwmYKjM5uFtk-DO-_9RUkv1HVxPW0O24fqWtKhgJxP1mwiOF0Dg_cH85sXwKYXg6TTu0vhZGo0QN5wHSeKTPlwxNfAOTp8tPEJutlbKvQkzJeFhD8hxQ-1g/s1600-h/triathlete+in+dc-blog.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 262px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH0s1CV1qVEkICu-VX9xLGrwmYKjM5uFtk-DO-_9RUkv1HVxPW0O24fqWtKhgJxP1mwiOF0Dg_cH85sXwKYXg6TTu0vhZGo0QN5wHSeKTPlwxNfAOTp8tPEJutlbKvQkzJeFhD8hxQ-1g/s400/triathlete+in+dc-blog.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293568277709472002" /></a><br /><br />Today, I watched the motorcade travel down Constitution Avenue in Washington,DC en route to the Presidential Inauguration.<br /><br />They crossed over several crosswalks that I crossed, drove past several buildings I saw, and lay tread over cold pavement that steamed hot on the September day that hosted thousands of triathletes in our Nation's Capital.<br /><br />In fact, President-elect Obama entered the Capital building by the very same steps as those in the photo above, he entered by them and left them our 44th President. When a person does that sort of thing, other stuff seems rather small.<br /><br />Several months ago, I promised a three part series of "The Race"; I made it one part in.<br /><br />I kept getting these emails, you see - emails asking what I was going to do next and the thing is, I didn't know. I didn't know what to do next, and that didn't seem to be a good enough answer so I just left the question blank.<br /><br />And well... that didn't seem to be good enough either. <br /><br />So I've sort of wandered these last months. Wandered and wondered what <em>does</em> come next? (and frankly, I think someone should prepare you for the anti-climax that is the after-race... Form a twelve step group or something.)<br /><br />Today, our President stood on the same steps where months ago I hoisted my trusty steed and he made a plea for service. An urging for a nation to pick themselves up and dust themselves off - to guide and to rise up and to lead again. And I am so all for that.<br /><br />So, my friends, I am dusting off, picking up and committing myself to the good fight... again... <br /><br />I have signed on with Team in Training for a second triathlon, this one in Morgantown, WVA in August.<br /><br />It's a longer race, this next, the Spirit of Morgantown, a Half-Ironman.<br /><br />An affirmation fell into my lap this afternoon; I don't remember from whence it came.<br /><br />This is what it said:<br /><br />"Let me do today, the things I feared I could not do."<br /><br />So I did. I signed up... and I signed onto this blog... and I'm sorry I never got around to parts two and three.<br /><br />Stick around... I just might get to them yet.Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-43740159846402971212008-09-18T07:14:00.001-07:002008-09-18T17:53:56.054-07:00The Nation's Triathlon - Part One - The Race<div align="left">Part of what's taken me so long to post this darn thing is the sheer enormity of the experience.</div><div align="left">I simply cannot seem to put it all in one place long enough to get it down, let alone, in one post.</div><div align="left">The posting of The Nation's Triathlon will therefore, occur in a three part series.</div><div align="left">So, for your viewing pleasure, <strong>Part One: The Race</strong></div><div align="left"><strong></strong></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><p><p>We arrived in DC on Saturday morning, somewhere around 9:45. The littlest Stink and the man headed out toward the Museum of Natural History, and I headed out to make personal history.<br /><br />It is my impression that these "before race expos" and safety briefings are pretty much the same across events (info gleaned from my extensive two triathlon portfolio.)<br /><br />That said, <em>this</em> mandatory rule reading was a bit more tongue and cheek than the Philly SheROX, the gist, however, was about the same: rack your bike by your number, be conscientious when setting up transition, the water's clean enough, flail frantically (as if there's any other way to do it) if you're in trouble on the swim, don't even breath into another athlete's bike space, volunteers are placed strategically about the various courses to yell directions at you - heed them. Finish the run strong - we're taking pictures. Oh, and please sign the accidental death waiver at the door and thank you for participating.<br /><br />On that happy note, we head over to the transition area to rack our bikes for the evening and take a quick and dirty (literally) dip in the Potomac.<br /><br />The idea of this first swim is for the triathlete to get comfortable with the current and the route, even if in truncation.<br /><br />It is during our wait to enter the river that my swim buddy, tridiva extraordinaire, Lesley G. says, "You know, looking out there, this doesn't seem like such a great idea." Hmmm. ya' think?!<br /><br />I'm willing to propose that the pre-swim also serves to rid the athlete of an enormous amount of nervous energy. It did serve that purpose well - right up until about midnight.<br /><br />Right about then, I sat bolt upright in bed, positive that I had overslept the alarm, set to ring at 4:00 AM so I'd be ready for the 4:45 shuttle back to the race transition area.<br /><br />I hadn't. Overslept that is.<br /><br />Then around 2 AM, Trainer Joe banged on my door, military style yelling - "Stink!!!! Get UP!!!"<br /><br />I barrelled from the bed yelling, "I'm up! I'm up!!" and flung open the hotel door to an empty hallway - He wasn't there after all - who'd a thunk?<br /><br />At 3:30 AM, I woke and lay awake in bed listening to the DC night un-silence until 3:58. I turned off the alarm and got out of bed.<br /><br />At 4:15, I tell myself repeatedly that dressing in purple, green, and black spandex, smearing Body Glide in odd places, and drinking absurd amounts of fluids all before dawn, makes total sense.<br /><br />I am still telling myself how normal all of this is as our shuttle pulls into transition and I get a glimpse of thousands of scantily clad people greased up and wandering about federal park grounds in the middle of our Nation's Capital in the wee hours of the morning.<br /><br />Yup, we're totally normal.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQxxGOJw9uZhmDsFgbvvRMjJWBHBRn38i6qShoeqX6f-_ulZ05q6SgOXPvEZHpIPFIuJ2li8Wbz_Nf0UhvH9fATjD26zsmFgxBZaq0xe7E576TvvgaT8aUhXyLn0Sl8393yenA2JxWsx0/s1600-h/bike+trans.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247013927094981314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQxxGOJw9uZhmDsFgbvvRMjJWBHBRn38i6qShoeqX6f-_ulZ05q6SgOXPvEZHpIPFIuJ2li8Wbz_Nf0UhvH9fATjD26zsmFgxBZaq0xe7E576TvvgaT8aUhXyLn0Sl8393yenA2JxWsx0/s400/bike+trans.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Within the area, were racks and racks of bikes, nowhere near enough rows of port-a-potties, and what they called a corral (an area where we would all, in short order, be called to wait for our swim wave).</p><p align="left"><br /><br /></p><p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvVd7UyfUIPeM0E7eR0DZ2gMRVPry0-_EhBdwAaHW5lPRVGlkGRsi_dgnmisKlT69-aZcIfcu1KPj3PEAbH_65RJn3Gnc4ia7-8kUStHFORUXLDvQ2ciG9PJAOkEhElDqmXnNTkhq6qm4/s1600-h/portopotties+in+the+morning.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247013089677114690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvVd7UyfUIPeM0E7eR0DZ2gMRVPry0-_EhBdwAaHW5lPRVGlkGRsi_dgnmisKlT69-aZcIfcu1KPj3PEAbH_65RJn3Gnc4ia7-8kUStHFORUXLDvQ2ciG9PJAOkEhElDqmXnNTkhq6qm4/s400/portopotties+in+the+morning.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />In the predawn grey, the air is almost chilly, but I'm not fooled. Temperatures are predicted to reach record smashing highs by late morning. I have hydrated well in preemptive defence, and have thus traversed the potty lines twice before realizing my wave has already been corralled! ACK!!!<br /><br />So my mad dash to the corral (jumping and yanking my wetsuit up the whole way) was not quite the meditative experience I had planned. I could not help but to compare the process of being shepherded into a large holding pen and then led through a chute to a murky green depth to a sheep being led to slaughter; or perhaps to my own personal green mile.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPwWKg_zXr2kDnmPxflB_4TbSC6oX_KGQJvKpUhaLB6vf7u2L-Z9XjaDrMuvlOF4pUA2B-18d8bTegm3IJWYOvjA1ghWypXRSDbQrt8lQ6Jx7AHVCtYe7mnKYxpubhOoJ16o2QLwtA9TQ/s1600-h/the+green+mile.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247013078033865282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPwWKg_zXr2kDnmPxflB_4TbSC6oX_KGQJvKpUhaLB6vf7u2L-Z9XjaDrMuvlOF4pUA2B-18d8bTegm3IJWYOvjA1ghWypXRSDbQrt8lQ6Jx7AHVCtYe7mnKYxpubhOoJ16o2QLwtA9TQ/s400/the+green+mile.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQNS4pX-vzVz8pymphn3x3BR8HjNrYvzCNadBram7JNodlppD4Bk3iQcbMEeA2mvpXjygdt4U8J52cAeSW1GiIIrgVgodG-ehyphenhyphenTKSwPJogCOg9N5pAaLz5Zuk2lQN20QaIu7Q1hldkzrs/s1600-h/last+rites.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247013084908437618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQNS4pX-vzVz8pymphn3x3BR8HjNrYvzCNadBram7JNodlppD4Bk3iQcbMEeA2mvpXjygdt4U8J52cAeSW1GiIIrgVgodG-ehyphenhyphenTKSwPJogCOg9N5pAaLz5Zuk2lQN20QaIu7Q1hldkzrs/s400/last+rites.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />That's me at the rear, the poor white-capped lass with her hands grasped tight in plea and prayer.<br /><br />With four minutes to horn, we begin to enter the water, a gaggle of ivory latex, neoprene and skin. (That's Lesley G there in the front giving you her goggles in the headlights look - she sure<em> seems</em> totally calm doesn't she? That pre-swim must've worked wonders for her, huh?)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-YBtsRN4qCweS-tCLZycJR9IZsCUuFVRroIBEgU_VZWd66UNacQq0FR6mIPOqdtI4oPrkKwLnmLq0So294gBMJbY0xGovmjGZugJzfB4HhdKs7d3PnV-7EkfJJKOffYh2LDmF4WxDK3M/s1600-h/swim+start+1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247013092455709810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-YBtsRN4qCweS-tCLZycJR9IZsCUuFVRroIBEgU_VZWd66UNacQq0FR6mIPOqdtI4oPrkKwLnmLq0So294gBMJbY0xGovmjGZugJzfB4HhdKs7d3PnV-7EkfJJKOffYh2LDmF4WxDK3M/s400/swim+start+1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Some of you may remember with fondness a YOUTUBE clip I linked to of a swim start; a poor fellow being pummeled with padded oars thrust under water as "Swim MAN SWIM!" is shouted in his ears. </p><p align="left">This next picture may seem eerily familiar to you.</p><p align="left"><br /></p><p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_JMXA0OMKTrXAaqeLkfnN_8SiuyobhhW6QMJVJuB5h8Sd1ye8yT_NTjLTqLdk5flplsJ-vkg45SCcDbo4XDhBUGpsHotZzXTGaW2pJGUR1BqCFb26d2zh0PYD8y3MAUh12u6LYW2UM0I/s1600-h/swim+start+2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247013091167155330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_JMXA0OMKTrXAaqeLkfnN_8SiuyobhhW6QMJVJuB5h8Sd1ye8yT_NTjLTqLdk5flplsJ-vkg45SCcDbo4XDhBUGpsHotZzXTGaW2pJGUR1BqCFb26d2zh0PYD8y3MAUh12u6LYW2UM0I/s400/swim+start+2.jpg" border="0" /></a> SWIM GIRL SWIM!<br /><br />The course went upstream to Memorial Bridge, under the second pass, a bit farther upstream to a turnaround, back through the 5th pass and downstream another 1/2 mile or so to the exit ladders.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw1GAZOLGZBhSxPle1mPJSqSMOruS4yyWzwU0tHF_uMkH-2AJKmPjacprGXvbPR_PUizHW-U1R7ClCUkAI5lcCmY49A5u2a3zsUsDcFTXfkDCi-jNUbi8Rb0X01VDkNr7VbaOss-ogVT4/s1600-h/swim+start+3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247013921656463874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw1GAZOLGZBhSxPle1mPJSqSMOruS4yyWzwU0tHF_uMkH-2AJKmPjacprGXvbPR_PUizHW-U1R7ClCUkAI5lcCmY49A5u2a3zsUsDcFTXfkDCi-jNUbi8Rb0X01VDkNr7VbaOss-ogVT4/s400/swim+start+3.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />In essence, that is exactly how it went too, except for the sun glare that made swimming the last 1/2 mile downstream like stroking "into the light". Fellows on boards and boats were shouting something about a red fire boat. "Swim toward the fire boat." Is what I think I heard between getting clobbered over the head by the arm of the zig-zaggy swimmer beside me and focusing hard on <em>not</em> sucking water.<br /><br />It would have been even better if I'd actually been able to see the big red fire boat before I was directly upon it.<br /><br />Regardless, I exited breathless but feeling as if I could have gone further if needed. Trainer Joe was among the throng outside of the chute. </p><p align="left">"Who STINKS?!" he shouted, grinning, as I passed.</p><p align="left">"I STINK!!!!" I shouted back, pumping my fists in the air before losing him in the wet of the misting tent.<br /><br /><br />Swim time: 39:57 (In Philly, I swam 1/2 mile in 22 minutes; this was a faster swim time for me!)<br /><br />Here's a shot showing my elation *snort*. I soooo don't remember feeling as bad as all this; but I think it's like labor; the extent of discomfort fades in the glory of the moment.<br /><br /><br /></p><p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWELpFweM4M24UCpVQ1KzGspuEwwsSOQuIG0GKE2kMQLQRPLxmjtm4lmQNwXMV88_5gUVsvXS7oT8_4gqoVKydoLQTJdVk_jC7X_pLSI2coSrBRdUp1ltKzkproqXwJH5qqxJ7XeI0Y28/s1600-h/swim+finish.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247015578728775506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWELpFweM4M24UCpVQ1KzGspuEwwsSOQuIG0GKE2kMQLQRPLxmjtm4lmQNwXMV88_5gUVsvXS7oT8_4gqoVKydoLQTJdVk_jC7X_pLSI2coSrBRdUp1ltKzkproqXwJH5qqxJ7XeI0Y28/s400/swim+finish.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />So that's me running toward transition. Ideally, a triathlete will have their goggles and swim cap off and their wetsuit to their waist by the time they arrive at their bike. I was on my way.</p><p align="left">I can't figure out T1; I have been really mulling it over.</p><p align="left">You take an athlete, someone who has just been madly stroking a river for a mile straight, you make them run yards and yards back to their bike and then, and here's the kicker, you ask them to get out of a wetsuit. I would be inclined to believe, if anyone actually watched transition, that this whole process is designed for the sheer amusement of race organizers; but, thankfully few people actually see this debacle.</p><p align="left">Lucky for you, my sweetheart, manned with the "big girl" camera, got it all in still just for ya'll.<br /><br /></p><p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7H6VWHpNNSDo9pM6OhwB0HbsL4CSswVS5SfcP9QSQVmdMnAolXKOJwiebdyjFy9yjcVrCHkRQLOXshyblFstr_UxGAwoBlRXLUHClVKZ4mY1ZEC8rpTPTYFC-68Pk0BK8GBEe8SR9NQQ/s1600-h/bike.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247013931363404114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7H6VWHpNNSDo9pM6OhwB0HbsL4CSswVS5SfcP9QSQVmdMnAolXKOJwiebdyjFy9yjcVrCHkRQLOXshyblFstr_UxGAwoBlRXLUHClVKZ4mY1ZEC8rpTPTYFC-68Pk0BK8GBEe8SR9NQQ/s400/bike.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />T1 time: 2:33 (I did have several calf cramps while trying to yank off the wetsuit, but a little point-flex of the foot, and I was off!)<br />The bike was a fast, flat, beautiful 25 miles through the city.<br /><br />Flat courses are good because there are no hills to crank through and bad because there are no downhills to coast. It was spin, spin, spin all 25 miles.<br /><br />For the first twenty, man was I flying! I was averaging a super speedy (for me) 19MPH and loving every minute. At mile 20, my legs fell off.<br /><br />Not literally, of course, but as if a switch was flipped, my bike slowed and I cranked and cranked to pull off 15 MPH for the last 5.<br /><br />In hindsight, I might have decreased that 19 MPH average to 18, and saved some leg for the end, but at the time, I was just intoxicated by the sheer speed of it all!<br /><br />Bike: 1:25:38 average pace, 17.6 MPH (Philly: 16.0 MPH pace)<br /><br />T2 should have been easy, but I forgot my race belt and had to run back to get it.<br />T2: 3:59<br /><br />By run time, it was H-O-T hot. You could see the waves off of the pavement.<br /><br />I grabbed a Gu, hoping to gain back for the run some of my lost bike legs, slurped down a water and headed out.<br /><br />The run course was flat and sunny, and at least for the first 4 miles (out by the Point), pretty darn boring.<br /><br />I chatted up several other TNTers from around the country, thought lots about all the folks that had gotten me to this point and who promised to carry me further still, sang the songs from my TEAM STINK playlist, and unabashedly walked each aid station where I took water/Powerade mixes and put ice in my cap.<br /><br />On mile five, I had a minor skirmish with my digestive system. It seems that my stomach did not love my cerebral addition of another Gu. It rebelled in loud yucky belches and had me taking an extra Powerade at mile 5 aid station.<br /><br />The last mile, was peppered with people. Folks lined the sidewalks. They waved signs and hooted out numbers. Two of those crazy folk happened to be my mother and sister who yalped and smiled and jumped about waving "See Stink Tri" signs.<br /><br />The set up of the last half mile can only be described as cruel.<br /><br />We ran toward what seemed to be the finish, but then switched back. Then again, toward the capital, then back again. As if that was not enough, the final switchback (where MaryAnn, wearing a purple princess cap was stationed with the "Go Team" cheerleaders) lead to a mile long finish corral (alright, it wasn't a mile long, but you couldn't have convinced me of that at the time).<br /><br />By that time, adrenaline had kicked in and I was moving! </p><p align="left">I could see the finish line, the crowd and the <span style="color:#330033;">photographers</span>, Coach Joe appeared as if by magic, running (well, likely a light jog for him ;) ) outside the sidelines to my left. From my right came a little flash, a blur of hair and grin and there was my girl, the littlest STINK!!!! She ducked the sidelines and came dashing out to run me on home!!<br /><br />Run Time: 1:08:15<br /><br /></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZfiQwECPpGZdkoNpr6wECSiKb_Qx2ZC9Ec4dyxILSVMj9Wlp2AmTK6hw838S776cYS8QfXJxjfb14CV2pGvXOr1FQd-7-4zfdRDEPI_5jYqOykN0qJBfFksZbsDRsSsLcIrgZ-oBpRYM/s1600-h/me+and+stink.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247013935408943058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZfiQwECPpGZdkoNpr6wECSiKb_Qx2ZC9Ec4dyxILSVMj9Wlp2AmTK6hw838S776cYS8QfXJxjfb14CV2pGvXOr1FQd-7-4zfdRDEPI_5jYqOykN0qJBfFksZbsDRsSsLcIrgZ-oBpRYM/s400/me+and+stink.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtx8nzGhpRVbLOKFeNvW8V1awbBe0weh54xwSiQot-9Ee3X5bERRKk1NVn04VcaaJNHOhZeQ3ywrs91MdvIeW17am6eI0vi_SUvKzjFMnr-A_H6xkJLl4JwdFSQwk4ySaklCq8gjjun8o/s1600-h/run+finish.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247013932322135026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtx8nzGhpRVbLOKFeNvW8V1awbBe0weh54xwSiQot-9Ee3X5bERRKk1NVn04VcaaJNHOhZeQ3ywrs91MdvIeW17am6eI0vi_SUvKzjFMnr-A_H6xkJLl4JwdFSQwk4ySaklCq8gjjun8o/s400/run+finish.jpg" border="0" /></a> </p><p align="left">There were over 3000 registrants to the Nation's Triathlon - 2398 individual finishers.</p><p align="left">800 or so of those were from Team in Training who, together, raised over <strong>3 million</strong> dollars for LLS and cancer research.</p><p align="left">The center of metropolitan DC was shut down, the streets lined with people, some of our military and Congress folk, even the Mayor of the city swam, biked, and ran through the Capital of our Nation, and we were a part of that.</p><p align="left">You may not have known it on Sunday morning; but you were right there with me, right at my side the whole time.</p><p align="center">Together, we did it.</p><p align="center"><br /><br />Time: 3:20:21<br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNwk-jiZUF7MuDbFfQefLZdzaDdrzxPz8aiVKtHckgQrP2EZPQ7JJp5J5aYfcA0Q7K23ZLPEMa9jl9M_T13AMqvik8r302TJdbkucLQGxjaOwENmYPf477xsgeWVYtZTlVzlMHEvKLpPI/s1600-h/nations+tri.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247015354108050050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNwk-jiZUF7MuDbFfQefLZdzaDdrzxPz8aiVKtHckgQrP2EZPQ7JJp5J5aYfcA0Q7K23ZLPEMa9jl9M_T13AMqvik8r302TJdbkucLQGxjaOwENmYPf477xsgeWVYtZTlVzlMHEvKLpPI/s400/nations+tri.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a><span style="font-size:180%;">Thank you.<br /></p></span>Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-15918430006382227662008-09-16T13:56:00.000-07:002008-09-16T14:19:07.997-07:00Promises, Promises.It's coming, I swear.<br /><br />I've gotten your emails; I know that you're anxious. <br /><br />I'm downloading photos and I absolutely <em>promise</em> some this evening.<br /><br />The short story is WE DID IT!!!!!!! You and me and a boatload of congressmen. <br /><br />If you missed Super Nancy's posting of my stats in the comment section (Nancy, you are just the best!) of the last post, here's the recap, in brief...<br /><br />39:57 swim<br />1:25:38 bike<br />1:08:15 run<br />total time: 3:20:21<br /><br />Of 953 women, I came in 460th, 1626 overall (there were 2396 finishers). <br /><br />Next up...<br /><br />The LONG Story or One HOT Tri.Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-87158440955814067982008-09-12T20:06:00.000-07:002008-09-12T20:20:49.817-07:00Friday Night, but just barely.I'm awake; I am packed and repacked, but I am still awake.<br /><em>and</em> it's very late.<br /><em>and</em> I have to get up early tomorrow to get the littlest Stink and the Man out of the house and into DC.<br /><em>and</em> I am spending entirely too much time reminding myself that I am soooo trained for this and will be just fine. My digestive and respiratory systems haven't gotten the message yet...<br /><br />Maybe I'm getting sick. (cough...hack)<br /><br />Even less appealing is the weather forecast.<br /><br />We have gone from thunderstorms to merely cloudy skies, high humidity and heat that if not actually breaking records for DC in September, will according to all accounts, feel very much like it.<br /><br />Aces.<br /><br />k' <br />off to meditate on penguins and Klondikes. I am sooo trained for this and will be just fine ;)<br /><br />night, now, friends and folk.Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-41545886490750232632008-09-12T09:28:00.000-07:002008-09-12T10:41:27.567-07:00Ready...Set...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy9Faeh-4onv_soenXq6FKmoIRaR8Vvon9w7MqT8xPZuKnfqimIQeIE7-Jf3TUOkMKgW-5pib8rA5nMZbXvYGTXFiO0TIoFK1hj0SNh6ZT7zl7y_YJYn6qNsiZFEwFIGunOlGC1ZkDibg/s1600-h/ready+set+swim.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245173330856986882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy9Faeh-4onv_soenXq6FKmoIRaR8Vvon9w7MqT8xPZuKnfqimIQeIE7-Jf3TUOkMKgW-5pib8rA5nMZbXvYGTXFiO0TIoFK1hj0SNh6ZT7zl7y_YJYn6qNsiZFEwFIGunOlGC1ZkDibg/s400/ready+set+swim.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />So I've been packing the ol' bags for the race in DC this weekend.<br /><br />Not an organized person by nature, I work best off of checklists.<br /><br />Here's the SWIM check list:<br /><br /><ul><br /><li><div align="left">Swim Cap</div></li><br /><li><div align="left">Giggles</div></li><br /><li><div align="left">Wetsuit</div></li><br /><li><div align="left">Towel</div></li><br /><li><div align="left">Body Glide</div></li><br /><li><div align="left">Sunscreen</div></li><br /><li><div align="left">Baby Shampoo</div></li></ul><br /><p align="left">We've discussed the cap and giggles (with baby shampoo de-fogger) in previous posts and the towel is self explanatory, but the rest may be new to some of you. </p><br /><p align="left">Sunscreen is a given, but must be sprayed on AFTER the body marking and NOT rubbed in, but rather, allowed to dry on the skin.</p><br /><p align="left">The wetsuit is a relatively new thing for me, and though I have, during this week's taper toward race day, been out swimming 300s in it, I still cannot help but feel as if I am attempting to swim wrapped in a rubber taco. </p><br /><p align="left">It is not a comfortable thing, a wetsuit. To look at it, you might think it was made for a much taller version of the littlest Stink - a lass with a waspish 21 ish inch waist and freakish proportions. You would be wrong, of course; I am expected to wriggle and jump and squat and pull and pant and gasp my way into this contraption and then...<em>then</em>, I am supposed to <em>swim </em>smoothly down the river in it. </p><br /><p align="left">This is an interesting concept. </p><br /><p align="left">When I first lay eyes on the neoprene body girdle, I said to head gal Mary Anne that clearly, there had been a mix up. She, without batting an eye said. "Nope. It's yours. Try PAM or Body Glide sprayed on your ankles, under your arms and around your neck."</p><br /><p align="left">PAM?! Like the cooking spray?!</p><br /><p align="left">That evening, I sequestered myself into the bathroom with my stick of Body Glide, my can of PAM and my neoprene taco. I imagined the MAN standing outside the door hearing alternating grunts and aerosol spray shwishes and the happy domestic waft of oil from beneath the door.</p><br /><p align="left">I made him go downstairs.</p><br /><p align="left">Fortunately, I did not need the PAM, but it is quite a feat of athletic contortion to get that sucker on...and off. I propose it should be given its own race leg. (would that make this a quadrathlon)</p><br /><p align="left">In all honesty, if you can get past that pesky panic that sets in when your lungs are compressed, and the inevitable, accompanying claustrophobia, the suit does make one remarkably buoyant. It also really helps to limit leg fatigue. And as Trainer Bob (seen here in his own Taco) quips, it is <em>oh, so</em> slimming. </p><centre><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPkC0Je69LMkEQMzdtayblZSYNxuTI4bB-TyiRg9ey0irXQ-xknAdEwfYqGl7FaYYrQ3MHeX-i-TPz19MiowT4ZuG5sCQ6xmc2b2LVy8gH-sGPxdKptwuYc7Z9OiyfZGbczQxzGNtSJK8/s1600-h/trainer+bob.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245185715656375682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPkC0Je69LMkEQMzdtayblZSYNxuTI4bB-TyiRg9ey0irXQ-xknAdEwfYqGl7FaYYrQ3MHeX-i-TPz19MiowT4ZuG5sCQ6xmc2b2LVy8gH-sGPxdKptwuYc7Z9OiyfZGbczQxzGNtSJK8/s400/trainer+bob.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I imagine myself as Scarlet O'Hara with Mammy at the helm...<br />Hold on and SUCK IN!<br /><br />SWIM gear...<br /><p align="left">Check.</p><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRd4WMO81qHaLalraMk94_sjt2zaFJOexaVcz5Pp1FAnbSG_kKLUDCQCMhe0PEOI3BYVAUNDJUTvpgH8wSnugkGny4CSYxYxP-_gleUc7HAH6GIrlZEcNgZCL0E2mof2W7ADEoAkYzfWM/s1600-h/ready+set+bike.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245173335401582866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRd4WMO81qHaLalraMk94_sjt2zaFJOexaVcz5Pp1FAnbSG_kKLUDCQCMhe0PEOI3BYVAUNDJUTvpgH8wSnugkGny4CSYxYxP-_gleUc7HAH6GIrlZEcNgZCL0E2mof2W7ADEoAkYzfWM/s400/ready+set+bike.jpg" border="0" /></a> This picture of the BIKE list is not a fair representation of the stuff required for this leg of the race. Much of this STUFF is hidden in the little under seat pouch. So, in addition to </p><br /><ul><br /><li>BIKE</li><br /><li>HELMET</li><br /><li>Gloves</li><br /><li>Bottles</li><br /><li>Glasses</li><br /><li>Ruby Slippers</li></ul><br /><p>and</p><br /><ul><br /><li>happy bottomed Socks (you can never be too colorful)</li></ul><br /><p>You also have hidden under tush</p><br /><ul><br /><li>Tool kit</li><br /><li>Tire thingies (to pry off a flat)</li><br /><li>Lube</li><br /><li>CO2 cartridges</li><br /><li>extra tubes in case of a flat</li></ul><br /><p>and</p><br /><ul><br /><li>weird valve adapter</li></ul><br /><p></p><br /><p>Comparatively, the RUN seems blessedly simple.</p><br /><p><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlul5Q8PZyRAzD0FC-Xo4W4_NsVhgriB4WoztfO_uabplNPo3XKI47ZzCnOmfJ9mAmBX5dzxO7NJNCITwrG3r_ECZPeYW7UGiBOvBHGysHpe1b2QFiB9cj0N3qn6EPQ8IOl7llTq1ONUw/s1600-h/ready+set+run+copy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245173334423599698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlul5Q8PZyRAzD0FC-Xo4W4_NsVhgriB4WoztfO_uabplNPo3XKI47ZzCnOmfJ9mAmBX5dzxO7NJNCITwrG3r_ECZPeYW7UGiBOvBHGysHpe1b2QFiB9cj0N3qn6EPQ8IOl7llTq1ONUw/s400/ready+set+run+copy.jpg" border="0" /><br /><ul></ul></a><br /><li>Shoes</li><br /><li>Hat/Visor</li><br /><li>Belt (for number)</li><br /><li>Gu or some other food-like source just in case.</li><br /><li>Body Glide is good here too.</li><br /><p></p><br /><p>And I can't forget <em>this</em> - (well, technically, I <em>could</em> forget it... but I don't think they'd let me race. I'm willing to bet my Body Glide that there is a USAT rule against it.)</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV_QZl-g9xIz93I3-A3oFrQN3m4Q9_VYL-NxC9FVElYfeZotElywIYhRMSrzSECWvwMjodh6Qb61QepwSq_XAaFyH8A5UL0rNRmEOd3zxpDcVVB072JVNmzybFOgbU02FZyGK21vjRD38/s1600-h/ready+set+tri.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245173341978516274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV_QZl-g9xIz93I3-A3oFrQN3m4Q9_VYL-NxC9FVElYfeZotElywIYhRMSrzSECWvwMjodh6Qb61QepwSq_XAaFyH8A5UL0rNRmEOd3zxpDcVVB072JVNmzybFOgbU02FZyGK21vjRD38/s400/ready+set+tri.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p>My TNT tri suit.</p><br /><p></p><br /><p>So that's it. That's all there is to it.</p><p>except...</p><p>I don't seem to be going anywhere fast.<br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIivJNcShOc_xDysKlQoIY6l3q2ECUUbQxPwWKCObvi4CNMatCLjoFTT-Jg8W_tjbyGGi6Ua3Qk8Cji9ALny9TY0VSq7PSJFVS8harTICVB-oMtlungEomwZKXxZisjiNjR5Sl9xXi9jU/s1600-h/ready+set+stuff+(last)+copy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245173343966038050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIivJNcShOc_xDysKlQoIY6l3q2ECUUbQxPwWKCObvi4CNMatCLjoFTT-Jg8W_tjbyGGi6Ua3Qk8Cji9ALny9TY0VSq7PSJFVS8harTICVB-oMtlungEomwZKXxZisjiNjR5Sl9xXi9jU/s400/ready+set+stuff+(last)+copy.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Go figure.Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-12111322687362833422008-09-08T08:33:00.000-07:002008-09-08T11:19:54.406-07:00TEAM STINK IS ON FIRE!!!!<div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>WAAAHOOOOOO and </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>HOOOOO HOOOOOTTTTTTYYYYY!</strong><br /></span><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBgR18hoohTwHPKUKwYMsrP-l1VfhJLjQqhNsA2hyphenhyphensfm6Ea-dhZMZ9udIlaXe9sVIr3ugAPK2iMtwKNUfweXWDlcoNeponwyENccA_QffQlNPmBdUGXOBAoSeTp8-36MpG_3ryhL3VBvA/s1600-h/capitol-fireworks01.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243674931128253842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBgR18hoohTwHPKUKwYMsrP-l1VfhJLjQqhNsA2hyphenhyphensfm6Ea-dhZMZ9udIlaXe9sVIr3ugAPK2iMtwKNUfweXWDlcoNeponwyENccA_QffQlNPmBdUGXOBAoSeTp8-36MpG_3ryhL3VBvA/s400/capitol-fireworks01.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:78%;">photo lifted from About.com credited to Capitol Concerts</span></div><p><p><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">With <strong><u>7 days</u></strong> left until race day, we've surpassed our fundraising goal!!!!!</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><p><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">THANK YOU!!!!! THANK YOU!!!!! THANK YOU!!!!!</span></div><div align="center"></div><p><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div align="center">To date, I have logged:</div><p><div align="center"></div><p><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">26,350</span> <span style="font-size:130%;">yards</span> or <span style="font-size:130%;">16.5 miles</span> in <span style="font-size:130%;">SWIM</span>,</div><p><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">358 miles</span> on <span style="font-size:130%;">BIKE</span>,</div><p><div align="center"></div><div align="center">and</div><p><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">101 RUN</span> miles!</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><p><div align="center">All total, that's <strong><span style="font-size:130%;">475.5</span></strong> miles -or- round trip - from my house in Pennsylvania to the White House<strong> </strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>3x</strong> </span>(plus 25 miles!)</div><div align="center"></div><p><p><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">Nation's Triathlon... Here we COME!!!</span></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div>Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-24009302837135176892008-09-08T03:47:00.000-07:002008-09-08T17:50:35.887-07:00Storm's a-brewin'<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhwtcRWOo3uZgeXdR457wmz3ARgWGePuiH2Hi1zEXcGML6uivuPWhmAxRnmSZKH2EW-Wj6GPQiBu27lCkMIN4r6tKdbkF4nhWLwInakjJSrsgBuSoCir-iecrGUf2YrQ0hZ2g2k0YAipQ/s1600-h/after+the+storm+bw.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243600553790744290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhwtcRWOo3uZgeXdR457wmz3ARgWGePuiH2Hi1zEXcGML6uivuPWhmAxRnmSZKH2EW-Wj6GPQiBu27lCkMIN4r6tKdbkF4nhWLwInakjJSrsgBuSoCir-iecrGUf2YrQ0hZ2g2k0YAipQ/s400/after+the+storm+bw.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>I haven't blogged it, mostly because I didn't want to subject you to peevish ramblings and outright whining but since you asked...</div><br /><div></div><div>If workouts were MAJOR rot, my attitude was worse. I was outrageously fatigued and unaccountably surly.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p><div>I walked half the run on the 26th, seriously contemplated getting off my bike and parking tush on the side of the road on the 27th, and repeatedly sucked water and otherwise flailed ineffectively about on the swim (that'd be the 28th). <p></p></div><div></div><div></div><div>Not to be outdone, the second half of the week consisted of the run that wasn't (I just decided not to go - 'cause first I'd have to put on my run clothes, then I'd have to tie my shoes, then pull back my hair then...) and a bike that went from a mapped 25 miles to a sad, sad 10. (at mile 10 I heard church bells tolling. This signified, I was sure, a higher message to STOP for God's sake!!! STOP!!!)</div><div></div><div></div><p><div>On Sunday, I drug myself from bed and went (oh, woe to the other tri-folks) for the team swim-bike-run "brick" session.</div><div></div><div></div><p><div>I managed to keep my whining to a minimum on the swim, but let fly on the bike. </div><div></div><p><div>Because I was humping along at the back of the pack, poor Trainer Bob ended up with my sorry self.</div><div></div><div></div><p><div>A lesser man might have run fast and sure for the hills, but not our guy Trainer Bob. In all honesty, I think it just may be some sort of sadistic code of coach's honor; you know, hang back with the last trailing tri-folk, the captain stays with the ship and all that. </div><div></div><div></div><p><div>To reward his stalwart devotion to the cause I sang him a shrewish tale of angst and sorrow (I'm thoughtful like that). I think I even cursed at him (I know - <em>ME</em>?!) when he cheerfully reminded me that we do<em><strong> 2</strong></em> bike loops.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p><div>So, the second loop finds me gazing hatefully at my surroundings, (I mean, how dare the sky be so crystal, the trees so vivid a green), and choking on the crisp September air.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p><div>I am a wretch.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p><div>I think of those folks that would give anything for that chill and the technicolor of the day - I think of Evan, the teenage son of a fellow triathlete, his fight with Leukemia nearly over and I start to cry.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p><div>Now, I am not generally a crier; I don't do it well, or often, and quite frankly, had Trainer Bob not been discreetly riding my tail, I might have just tipped my bike over and given way to the "ugly cry", right there on the side of the road.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p><div>He was though, silently back there pedalling; so, I kept going. </div><div></div><div></div><div>He continued to be sage-like and quiet, a Yoda on wheels, until he asked if I had checked my resting heart rate recently.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p><div>No, I had not.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p><div>He said to do so the next time I woke. "If it is over 72 or so", he said, "don't train that day".</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p><div>I made it through the rest of the bike, and thanks to Bob's tales of Triathlon Greats, through the run as well. </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p><div>I even made it home and into bed before I slept 4 hours straight.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p><div>I checked my heart rate when I woke. </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p><div>84.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p><div>I didn't work out on Monday.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p><div>The next morning - 72.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p><div>No training on Tuesday either.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p><div>6 AM Wednesday - 64 BPM. </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p><div>I rode the rail trail with the littlest Stink to the ice cream shop.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p><div>Thursday I woke in what I can only describe as an Oz-like world. To say I sprang from bed and clapped my hands and declared the day ripe for a good bike ride might be a slight overstatement, but not by much.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p><div>It appears, (and I'm sure that some of you, more familiar with this sort of thing were on board long before now), that I was over training. Trainer Bob calls this "crossing over to the other side". </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p><div>It is not fun, it is inexplicably debilitating and depressing.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p><div>I hope never to land my house there again. </div><div></div><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-35585617771664762942008-08-28T18:20:00.001-07:002008-08-28T18:42:42.948-07:00I can count on three fingers the number of times, in my adult life, that I have been afflicted with a stomach flu.<br /><br />It just figures that last Friday night would be number four.<br /><br />It is a tribute to the depth of my <del>mental instability</del> devotion that as I prayed hard at the porcelain bowl, I thought... 'perhaps I will be well enough by morning to make it to trainer Joe's for the team training'.<br /><br />I was not. Well enough that is.<br /><br />I have spent the greater part of each subsequent training session of this week alternately ruing the day I decided to Tri and cursing trainers Bob and Joe for their cheerful leadership, unflagging encouragement and quippy chatter.<br /><br />I think I am getting better though; yesterday evening as I contemplated the still cool waters of Pinchot Park, I marveled at how far I have come. <br /><br />It was here you see that I took my first plunge. In these very waters, in this very buoied partition that I struggled through my first 100 yards.<br /><br />I slapped the chill from my arms, rinsed the baby shampoo from my goggles (it keeps them from fogging - thanks BOB) and sluiced smoothly through the water, imagining myself as a sort of aquatic nymph - a being of light and grace if you will.<br /><br /><br />Then I sucked water through my nose.Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-79384338307247456242008-08-22T05:44:00.000-07:002008-08-22T06:12:34.016-07:00REDEMPTIONYesterday evening, I met up with Trainer Bob and another tri-chick, Leslie, at Pinchot State Park for a swim session.<br /><br />Despite the recent cold snaps here in Dutch country, the water was still remarkably warm. Pond-weedy for sure, but warm pond-weedy. This made good hunting grounds for the littlest Stink and her friend Sam out adventuring with nets during the training.<br /><br />We swam over 1500 yards in a sort of train across one swimming area of the pond. I was the caboose.<br /><br />Twice.<br /><br />Once for our little three person train, and again when Trainer Bob lapped me.<br /><br />I'm not too concerned about this lapping thing however; I'm beginning to recognize the near freakish intensity with which Bob approaches this tri thing. It's well disguised under his "everyman" guise, but I'm not fooled; not one bit.<br /><br />I had enough energy at the end of the 1500 to do an extra 200 yds in a sprint pace (well, sprint for me anyway). It's an amazing feeling to really move smoothly through the water; there's this perception of a cohesive union with the natural elements. It's A zen-like "one with the water" that lasts only as long as you are able to maintain breath.<br /><br />So that means roughly 175 yds of "union" before I took a big breath of pond.<br /><br />Ick.<br /><br />Still, this is much improved from the big crappola streak I have been experiencing in the Stink vs. the TRI games of late and I am heartened and encouraged.<br /><br />and...<br /><br /><strong>1700 yds is OVER a MILE!!!!!<br /></strong><br />HOOOO HOOOTTTTTY!Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-75785609118470549832008-08-20T21:26:00.000-07:002008-08-20T21:49:34.738-07:00Did someone ask how my training is going?I am, for an ol' gal who biked a hard, ugly, 25 miles this evening, awake at a mysteriously late hour (12:49 AM EST).<br /><br />I am accounting this to the two out of three workouts in as many days that were, if not completely disgraceful, certainly dancing on the very precipice of it.<br /><br />Further accounting for my insomniac behavior might be attributed to the chocolate bar that I ate to bemoan my cruddy workouts; not having imbibed in any sort of refined sugar or caffeine of late, I'm guessing this shock to the ol' system may indeed be the culprit. (okay, maybe I ate more than one bar, but they were little and... okay, fine... three of those mini bars... fine...<em>fine</em>.)<br /><br />It's likely better off that I am solitary save for you; my stomach hurts, my legs are sore, I am, quite frankly, positively shiny with disagreeable glory.<br /><br />thhpt.Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-15496996674123506232008-08-20T07:38:00.000-07:002008-08-20T08:41:24.495-07:00A salty ol' gal - or - the one where I learn the REAL meaning of cross training.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg67UhIh663r8rLbTUEu1SqxtvHM6oTgnkYzYXMrNe1H29KRysoJFJr6dAWMakQatOcJHxJj7VoPu1bT1QP8iGoBTiky46w6vTZm6LpDodPhGJ_WBnoqt1wFcr2L0VGrhA6xxCmyU9t1Z4/s1600-h/cross+train+gear.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236620733908642706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg67UhIh663r8rLbTUEu1SqxtvHM6oTgnkYzYXMrNe1H29KRysoJFJr6dAWMakQatOcJHxJj7VoPu1bT1QP8iGoBTiky46w6vTZm6LpDodPhGJ_WBnoqt1wFcr2L0VGrhA6xxCmyU9t1Z4/s400/cross+train+gear.jpg" border="0" /></a> We've just returned from a week and some odd days at the beach.<p> <br />Swim training in the ocean is sort of similar to the swim sections of the She ROX; choke, gag, stroke and all that.<p><br />I did sort of get the hang of it, however, and by mid week was managing 1100 yd swims without too much added waterloggish suffering.<p><br />In addition, early in the week, The Man and I rode 26 miles north (which is nearly to the end of the island) and I did a pleasant brick early one morning, mid week, with a ten mile bike sprint to the south end followed by a six mile, Flat (with a capital "F") out and back to the fishing pier.<p><br />Training while on vacation is, I suppose, the equivalent to eating a snowcone without the flavoring, or driving a Maserati at 5 miles per hour; there's still novelty, but the real flavor of the thing is rather missing.<p><br />Never a people to be denied, by Thursday, the entire family Stink began to deviate a bit from the training schedule. <p> <br />Let's just call it cross training.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyGJTD8cLJaapZlhDIEDANc1PWPUB6-DS8D9zU1I6IUE2ak1JBj6QlnbOtmcoPWA_kBzEb9jgMtfR-WMZc8rUOqMGixBbi77V8bSNN8s8wYo6AHoTWitZVr2Ek9f5afVZlaMugOS_F0O0/s1600-h/cross+training+collage.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236620740001927266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyGJTD8cLJaapZlhDIEDANc1PWPUB6-DS8D9zU1I6IUE2ak1JBj6QlnbOtmcoPWA_kBzEb9jgMtfR-WMZc8rUOqMGixBbi77V8bSNN8s8wYo6AHoTWitZVr2Ek9f5afVZlaMugOS_F0O0/s400/cross+training+collage.jpg" border="0" /></a>Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-49407682831957304352008-08-18T07:51:00.000-07:002008-08-19T08:21:56.238-07:00Back in the yesterdays, when I first registered for Team in Training, I thought it would be wise to have a pre-tri tri of shorter distance before racing the big race in September; I registered for the SheROX Triathlon in Philadelphia. <p><br />SheROX is an all female sprint distance triathlon in its second year. For those of you who are, as I was once, blissfully unaware of the distances of triathlons, sprints can vary slightly, but run generally in the 1/2 mile swim, 15 mile bike, and 5K (or 3.1 mile) run arena. <p><br />There were 1600 women (both relay and individual racers) athletes that crowded the swanky boathouse row in Philadelphia the Saturday before the race for "packet pick-up", the "mandatory" athlete meeting, and the "Expo". <p><br />I received my packet - full of lots of numbers (858), a time chip (to be worn around the ankle), a fluorescent pink swim cap (the color designated for my age wave), and my complimentary t-shirt. I bought elastic laces (clever things that let the triathlete just slip on their sneakers) and treated myself to a brand new pair of tri-shorts (they were 25% off and as discussed in a previous post, these chamied bottoms, once worn, smell regrettably similar to livestock, no matter how many times you wash them. I only owned one pair, so I treated myself to a new one for the race). <p><br />The meeting, was basically a citing of the rules for USAT, the governing organization for triathlons; and darlin' let me tell you, there are RULES! <p><br />If I could remember all of them, I might treat you to a recitation, but around this time, I began to feel as if an elephant was sitting squarely on my chest. I watched the Schuylkill river rush by, felt the presence of hundreds (and I mean that literally) of sort of sticky women and thought that this was perhaps the dumbest idea I had ever had in the history of my existence.<br /><p><br />This is, I was informed by trainer Joe when I called him at home in ranting hysterics (sorry Joe), a completely normal reaction (gee, <em>now</em> I feel better). His advice was to get out of there, go home, eat some whole wheat pasta and meatballs, lay out my gear, and go to bed early.<br /><br />I did.<br /><br />Going to bed early is not sleeping, however, and what rest I got was spent in one of two dream activities, cycling or falling prey to any of the rather humiliating body responses to extreme activity or both of these at the same time, so I guess that's one of three activities.<br /><br />I gave up at 3:30 AM, got up, shaved my legs, put on my Sunday-go-to-races tri-shorts and top, and with the littlest Stink and her father tucked snugly into the car, headed Northeast toward Philadelphia.<br /><br />I arrived at the transition area (this is where you begin your race, and return after each leg to switch gear) at 6:45, had my body graffitied with permanent marker, and began the set up as outlined in the aforementioned phone conversation with Trainer Joe.<br /><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqRRcdkHdZP4aDSft_S05UqbMtQHT55qtz0_bAPy1i7FC2cy-VjKZYCF6nzVrDRuFqZDDr7LESQcwOlAfPnubkHW-vQA8xG_xnV1RlwQyzN8kJ-ZhwYhmvmxexSAb73HnISK3qZmhlJ-4/s1600-h/start.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235871325071502066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqRRcdkHdZP4aDSft_S05UqbMtQHT55qtz0_bAPy1i7FC2cy-VjKZYCF6nzVrDRuFqZDDr7LESQcwOlAfPnubkHW-vQA8xG_xnV1RlwQyzN8kJ-ZhwYhmvmxexSAb73HnISK3qZmhlJ-4/s400/start.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>Note</strong> here the white feet. This is not, as you might have guessed, an odd symptom of some rare disease, but rather the sad, sad side effect of hours of training on bike and road - oh, the sacrifices we make for sport. ;)</span> </span><p>I digress. <p><br />Spectators are not allowed in the transition area, so I had a bit of alone time to get my bearings, attempt to familiarize my surroundings, and angst at the "water support" (roughly 4 guys on surfboards, 4 in kayaks, and several in motorboats) . </p><br /><p>I'm glad they were there, of course, but their mere presence suggested that I might need them. Did I mention that one of the "rules" covered at the meeting was "If you cannot complete the swim, remove your swim cap and wave it frantically above your head"? Okay, the "frantic" part is an add in - a giving in, of sorts, to my dramatic tendancies - just trying to help in the visualization of the moment ;)</p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQtuWwHvKj3LpYj3j2kOy1iFtY9HI1iFKJPtb9HqxWJCFs5p_51Ej72b_m3-E_rYhQs12EQieTrKLw14oxabE1qmXnVhswyRdMdQNyBrB2yYuSNP83ClmSHCCf487cZ5_fjWEyIzV48XA/s1600-h/support+1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235876033460396914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQtuWwHvKj3LpYj3j2kOy1iFtY9HI1iFKJPtb9HqxWJCFs5p_51Ej72b_m3-E_rYhQs12EQieTrKLw14oxabE1qmXnVhswyRdMdQNyBrB2yYuSNP83ClmSHCCf487cZ5_fjWEyIzV48XA/s400/support+1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO9VQbBLsiliIugdhqcSBJiWp4ALkHejpjuEpjDqefxER1prcflYChezKw9Uh7YlTnBXXwjMrPWssgaVW9Emffk2D2UJ5TDWUXRgZPpE8ihGvQvvMTLrVpMN-MAy028527f2dcmm2gmV4/s1600-h/support+2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235876044728099202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO9VQbBLsiliIugdhqcSBJiWp4ALkHejpjuEpjDqefxER1prcflYChezKw9Uh7YlTnBXXwjMrPWssgaVW9Emffk2D2UJ5TDWUXRgZPpE8ihGvQvvMTLrVpMN-MAy028527f2dcmm2gmV4/s400/support+2.jpg" border="0" /></a> <p>The bullhorn sounded for the seven professionals right at 8 o'clock. The rest of us followed in waves set 8 minutes apart (4 to get in the water, and 4 minutes to tread prior to the start - this is called a "deep water" start. </p><p>1600 women were divided into heats by age group (or, in the case of relays and pros, by their category). </p><p>The husband remarked at the resemblance of my group to a bunch of floating strawberries - lovely.</p><p>That's the beginning of my wave -<br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCT7O4t2mXL4mZ7zeGcQ5PgJK6-amcRY_v_zB5IYMGq2PcPR-3gGO1uKxXARdAlFX8nFiAmeErI0TqctygTYeei9D_Gqrb9lay0hb_G0rv-LUppzrTBjmpVV_WcvJOVVgtXMPCie3Sxik/s1600-h/swim+start.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235876048102322994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCT7O4t2mXL4mZ7zeGcQ5PgJK6-amcRY_v_zB5IYMGq2PcPR-3gGO1uKxXARdAlFX8nFiAmeErI0TqctygTYeei9D_Gqrb9lay0hb_G0rv-LUppzrTBjmpVV_WcvJOVVgtXMPCie3Sxik/s400/swim+start.jpg" border="0" /></a> I've really been training my swim hard, so aside from the visions of sinking unceremoniously beneath the pull of the current, I thought I'd be in pretty good shape.</p><p>I did not account for the full contact effect of swimming with hundreds of other women. In training, I had been working on my stroke cadence; it went like this: stroke, breathe, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe. </p><p>At race time it went like this: pummel, stroke, tread tread tread, breathe, stroke, choke, gag, smack, kick, kick, gag... you get the general idea I'm sure.</p><p>When I mentioned this particular experience to Trainers Bob and Joe, this clip from YOUTUBE was forwarded to me:</p><center><p><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/r3S0wu4Zbfk&hl=" fs="1" width="425" height="344" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed> <p></center></p><p>I think it's a fair representation of the swim portion of a triathlon.</p><p>T1, or the first transition is from swim to bike. Before I even exited the water, I was saying this little mantra: "helmet, shoes, glasses, bike". If you remove your bike from the rack without your helmet BUCKLED, you are disqualified. (As a side note, they don't tell you you've been disqualified until AFTER you finish the entire race.) So, HELMET, shoes, glasses, bike, and off I went. </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxrhVWeB2opqx0o3dqp7z3EJ8NTvHQrzuNizZ32WFNaxaMFMTJhpQjye-hRhlwVoQB_SaobZCsW1jBdMMBmx5qtmULc1RthpTHpguSmXkE7ujsxjxU9AMqsSSiOxwKQ1_92ewPaoYuqWY/s1600-h/bike.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235871311129843138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxrhVWeB2opqx0o3dqp7z3EJ8NTvHQrzuNizZ32WFNaxaMFMTJhpQjye-hRhlwVoQB_SaobZCsW1jBdMMBmx5qtmULc1RthpTHpguSmXkE7ujsxjxU9AMqsSSiOxwKQ1_92ewPaoYuqWY/s400/bike.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></p><br />The bike was a 2 loop course which means that you complete the course twice before you are finished. I spent the first loop catching my breath from the swim, but the second loop, I was able to focus a bit more on speed and cadence, and to get into a bit of a groove.<br /><br />I did not, you will all be astounded and amazed to hear, fall off my bike - even at the dismount ;)<br /><br /><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpaE2ex1-CV3GJ4tiGRlm8VDde3amCmFoMnJCVJ4V449udvoabk4gtpBIZSWdd7HjyYPbIybmsJOqnLBxivg6OelGosIv9A7waMQQJch2kqwxGxuohe6KaLzuD2fmIG-Q-5-h0YbFoWyQ/s1600-h/t2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235876071812366370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpaE2ex1-CV3GJ4tiGRlm8VDde3amCmFoMnJCVJ4V449udvoabk4gtpBIZSWdd7HjyYPbIybmsJOqnLBxivg6OelGosIv9A7waMQQJch2kqwxGxuohe6KaLzuD2fmIG-Q-5-h0YbFoWyQ/s400/t2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />T2, or the second transition is from bike to run. For this one I said <em>this</em> mantra: bike, helmet, shoes, belt. I really didn't want to leave for the run still wearing my bike helmet, and by belt, I meant the belt that held my race number - that's another disqualification point. </p><p>The run is where I felt most comfortable, and interestingly enough, by my times, is where I could stand the most improvement in pace!</p><p>It was a smooth run, and the day, even by this last leg, was not too hot, so I really should have pushed the envelope a bit, but I remind myself now, as I work intervals on run days, that my goal was really just to finish standing.</p><p>I heard the littlest Stink before I saw her. She was screaming "MOM! MOM! That's MY MOM!" She high fived me as I ran by and threw herself at me as I crossed the timing pad and finish line. They took off my timing chip as she held tight to my neck, riding my hip as she hasn't done since she was much younger, her face buried in my neck. "Mom,", she said, wrinkling her nose, "You really stink".<br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8MOL5Ea3_qYbIGs33yDy9D8j161J0VMqnnDzsJ3kzA8MPiVIv9r7p5Il_2DRvUWCLwGvzDMZI-wq_9IpO9LynVq6MA2S4ISJI7cvlHRuYBFc4gc_PIks1QoHGWlbfvL3fWJqf0FuuX_Q/s1600-h/finish.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235871315671947554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8MOL5Ea3_qYbIGs33yDy9D8j161J0VMqnnDzsJ3kzA8MPiVIv9r7p5Il_2DRvUWCLwGvzDMZI-wq_9IpO9LynVq6MA2S4ISJI7cvlHRuYBFc4gc_PIks1QoHGWlbfvL3fWJqf0FuuX_Q/s400/finish.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p>"You betcha'." I said. "I really do."</p><p>As an aside, and for inspiration, you'll remember that I mentioned the relay teams that participated in the SheROX. One of those teams was made up of 5 gals with prosthetic legs. One of them did the swim leg, one the bike, and the 5K was split between the last 3, each of them running a 1 mile leg. This brave little Miss crossed the finish line to a deafening roar.<br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU257YzQNL7-hNzuKUTlbaWvwuajpDvlgn6jeSiFg_1hr1eC7iVnzgphEEET9F0nIqXGOiYS6xtprT2mhPMe0_RhdESzamCNKsVAIGtW5MKWlAOwlh6gv-hD5fT-GSHsqgMvCZLvIWj98/s1600-h/inspiration.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235871317795561186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU257YzQNL7-hNzuKUTlbaWvwuajpDvlgn6jeSiFg_1hr1eC7iVnzgphEEET9F0nIqXGOiYS6xtprT2mhPMe0_RhdESzamCNKsVAIGtW5MKWlAOwlh6gv-hD5fT-GSHsqgMvCZLvIWj98/s400/inspiration.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p>She was running to raise funds for folks who need prosthetic limbs and cannot afford them.</p><p>Word about the grounds was that she had just turned 6. </p><br /><center></center><center></center>Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-69979641597065142472008-08-10T14:42:00.000-07:002008-08-10T14:57:23.184-07:00Stop by, bid BIGIf y'all haven't stopped by Ebay yet, now's your chance!<br /><br />Those awesome ebay gals have listed and listed and all for Team in Training! You can click on the link below or find them all by typing "CANCERSTINKS" in the search term box.<br /><br />AND......<br />for all you "tri-gals" on the loose out there...<br /><i>one</i> of my special friends, Erin from The Vintage Pearl has listed this rockin' tri-bracelet! <p><br /><a href="http://cgi.ebay.com/stamped-TRIATHLON-boutique-custom-BRACELET-CANCERSTINKS_W0QQitemZ190242175157QQcmdZViewItem?hash=item190242175157&_trkparms=72%3A1074%7C39%3A1%7C66%3A2%7C65%3A12&_trksid=p3286.c0.m14.l1318"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_k-XD3Vv57LUW1_CgqkVLYUX914g1NdpOnb_1jSGzxiGitwQaM2qXgxMYL_FdrBFshmTVWSftNjH4pn08DvYhF_6KHdsXa4kyAR_L-7ZMcJaf6lXZ2ALxzDk7xhfDXysHSBbD8ihfXEs/s1600-h/tri-bracelet.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_k-XD3Vv57LUW1_CgqkVLYUX914g1NdpOnb_1jSGzxiGitwQaM2qXgxMYL_FdrBFshmTVWSftNjH4pn08DvYhF_6KHdsXa4kyAR_L-7ZMcJaf6lXZ2ALxzDk7xhfDXysHSBbD8ihfXEs/s400/tri-bracelet.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233011068366971794" /></a></a><br />Several of the auctions are headed toward their big finish, so <a href="http://shop.ebay.com/?_from=R40&_trksid=m38.l1313&_nkw=cancerstinks&_sacat=See-All-Categories">jump on board before Monday's close!</a><p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgik76pW4Ucq6qVSUeVWW0VQy3rFungvbkXMT3_lRCl_PP9VB00zZV-JFHfUiJCOWYv9qiDvQA1vUzXKbZSS_LfG-Yt1gDfEcT6MpKibuz9wKvFR9QecKwvOmblvty-9BvTOFrDBEa5WRU/s1600-h/teamstink+ids+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgik76pW4Ucq6qVSUeVWW0VQy3rFungvbkXMT3_lRCl_PP9VB00zZV-JFHfUiJCOWYv9qiDvQA1vUzXKbZSS_LfG-Yt1gDfEcT6MpKibuz9wKvFR9QecKwvOmblvty-9BvTOFrDBEa5WRU/s400/teamstink+ids+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233008703310696466" /></a><br /><p><br /><br /><br /><br />You can also check out our Stinky Pete & co.. thank you auction - "Gettin' by with a little help from our Friends." Set to run Monday 9AM EST.<p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-CkeqFtrCDDkjwFLArxdRFjoAZDINwrCEnCObtLepa2I6lBmzRrnwpQUc8RC5sWXU46LZrRnpVChbvHjxZ2QsIVHn4ZSt9ZUSmWzXe-KfOLG5J3cikkGDmyMp6xE9jKLlqkYyidq5Tw/s1600-h/friends+save+day.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-CkeqFtrCDDkjwFLArxdRFjoAZDINwrCEnCObtLepa2I6lBmzRrnwpQUc8RC5sWXU46LZrRnpVChbvHjxZ2QsIVHn4ZSt9ZUSmWzXe-KfOLG5J3cikkGDmyMp6xE9jKLlqkYyidq5Tw/s400/friends+save+day.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233009344790512130" /></a><br /><br />Next up... Reflections from last weekend's Sprint Triathlon - the SHEROX Triathlon in Philadelphia!Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-3057391302189871132008-08-06T00:12:00.000-07:002008-08-06T01:24:10.784-07:00Feathered Heels or Why We Race.Every day, there are new reminders of how this "personal" challenge, is not about me at all.<br /><br />What it is, is so much larger than me, and you even. It's about loss and triumph and tears and joy and battles and endurance and blessings. It goes so far beyond my corner of the world, my training routes and waterways. It spans the globe and unites us.<br /><br />Yesterday morning, I received an email from a woman in Australia that I have never met nor heard from before. She commented about TEAM STINK, applauding the cause and sharing that her brother-in-law was nearing the end of his fight with cancer.<br /><br />Paul, she shared, had triumphed over so much. Nearly twenty years earlier, he had received a kidney transplant. <br /><br />His mother was the donor.<br /><br />The transplant was only supposed to last five years; twenty years, a marriage and a daughter later, his kidney began to fail. It was only when he went in for his kidney, and broke his hip that they found the Cancer. Somehow, it had camouflaged itself and escaped notice.<br /><br />When Shelley, of www.lavenderladybugs.wordpress.com, wrote me yesterday, her husband was jetting fast and sure across the country to be at his brother, Paul's, side.<br /><br />Paul is only 46.<br /><br />Yesterday, I biked 19 miles in 46 minutes. <br /><br />I thought of Shelley and her husband, and of Paul most of the ride. I thought of Paul's mother, having given, so many years earlier, a piece of herself to save her son. I thought of his young wife and their sixteen year old daughter, Lia. <br /><br />My son will turn sixteen at the end of this month; in my mind, his face is hers.<br /><br />It is in this aching, this burning in my legs and in my heart, that wonder begins to take route. Rotation after rotation, hill after hill, breath after breath, I am humbled by the power of a life well lived. Awed at the force that is the human will. Amazed at the ties that connect us from all the way across the world.<br /><br />I wondered too, if way over there, a world away, if they, somewhere in their grief, feel that sense of wonderment too. Some small comfort that we are united, their family and mine. That, together, today, we all rode breathless across the hills of Pennsylvania, pedaling strong over valleys and roads.<br />That even as Paul battles, his will was the breath in my lungs and the wings on my heels.<br /><br /><br />I cannot help but to think that <i>this</i> - <i>this</i> is why we race.Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-51259122114231481422008-08-05T20:03:00.000-07:002008-08-05T20:08:48.873-07:00CANCERSTINKS boutique auctions on EBAY<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQUwrinhH53U6HQzc5SsQ6W-gVWQ6Vu4QNeGdKwkYss3Kr3iAfmnYlbZczyYfofykbHDqUWd3OTZErkn4h1ztIk5vWNNrfaNjJnwq0Q1N5eA_AfiPeJS45X1pPPzw5_JYtDc8mO38kyFw/s1600-h/teamstink+ids+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQUwrinhH53U6HQzc5SsQ6W-gVWQ6Vu4QNeGdKwkYss3Kr3iAfmnYlbZczyYfofykbHDqUWd3OTZErkn4h1ztIk5vWNNrfaNjJnwq0Q1N5eA_AfiPeJS45X1pPPzw5_JYtDc8mO38kyFw/s400/teamstink+ids+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231235917356579090" /></a><br />A group of amazing women has joined the race! These selfless gals have begun listing their work, their art, their designs, and their jewelry to benefit the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society through my Team in Training coffers! Stop by and visit <a href="http://shop.ebay.com/?_from=R40&_trksid=m38&_nkw=cancerstinks&_sacat=See-All-Categories">TEAM STINK on Ebay</a>; now through the 22nd of August.<P>Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-786462583160313472008-07-31T13:35:00.000-07:002008-12-11T16:12:46.202-08:00A little girl to goggle bonding.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc6X5je93fAVtZW1_n-8JKKlKi83LrbulgA0-YenkjEjVmK4aDEJNs_V9mYVUvGt5trruJJKVxMJLLfrlYjdgmrYqKSnq7KPs-yTfeOIrcli7RzPkhyPJo5wwVzkV6pCoFbXaynSYMagM/s1600-h/me+and+goggles.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc6X5je93fAVtZW1_n-8JKKlKi83LrbulgA0-YenkjEjVmK4aDEJNs_V9mYVUvGt5trruJJKVxMJLLfrlYjdgmrYqKSnq7KPs-yTfeOIrcli7RzPkhyPJo5wwVzkV6pCoFbXaynSYMagM/s400/me+and+goggles.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229284109516939538" /></a><br /><br />On Monday evening my goggles and I bonded - for a long time. <br />I swam 1100 yards. <br />Then I rushed to the computer to google "how far is 1100 yards in miles" cause I never did master distance conversion.<br />Guess what? <br />It's nearly 3/4 mile! <br />"Hoo Hoooooty!", I cry and dance a wet jig.<br />Shortly thereafter I fell into an exhausted heap - who'd a'thunk?Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-5650429221404248862008-07-28T07:47:00.000-07:002008-12-11T16:12:46.468-08:00Can I just take a moment?Every Saturday, early in the morning, my tri-guy group gathers together to sweat, swear and smell raunchy.<br /><br />Before we begin though, we have a "TEAM moment". I like these moments, when anyone in the group circle shares about Cancer - research about cancer, breaking news about cancer, facts they've learned about cancer, stories of folks they know with cancer - you get the idea I'm sure. I like these times, not just because they are moments when I'm not sweating, swearing and smelling ridiculously worse than any one woman has a right to, but because they remind me of my intention - my purpose.<br /><br />I thought I'd share a moment with y'all, so gather in a circle.<br /><br />This Saturday was the All Team Team in Training Training (I thought that name was hysterically funny, and said it several times fast to various members of the group - for folks with such decent humors normally, they sure take their sacred stuff seriously. Apparently, the ALL TEAM TEAM in TRAINING TRAINING *giggle,snort* is not something to joke about - go figure).<br /><br />There were nearly 100 cyclists, halfers and full marathoners, walk/runners, and us tri-guys that gathered at Trainer Bob's digs where he had marked the separate courses in white paint on the pavement. It's a good thing he did too, because I, in the spirit of true adventurers, forgot my directions and had to follow the arrows and CAUTIONS backwards like so many breadcrumbs from "Hansel and Gretel" in order to reach the house.<br /><br />The end result was that I missed the moment, the start of the workout, and ended up with a largely solitary ride. I biked ferociously (for me at least) around the "Tour de Bob" bike loop, catching, to my glee and amazement, the last four cyclists in the group, though none of my tri-guys. You will all be pleased to hear that I did not, even once, fall off the bike! (It's all about baby steps) and came back to start quicker than I thought. <br /><br />I transitioned fairly smoothly, and headed out on the run - I'm alright at running - I figured I'd certainly meet up with the group on the way back on the run course, so I was keeping my eyes peeled.<br /><br />It was still pretty cool, and this particular run was feeling good (some runs definitely feel like pounding pavement and heaving air for four straight miles - others, well, I get lost in, and suddenly, they're over). <br /><br />I was feeling grateful for the mature trees on the course (shade - yippee!) when I rounded a bend in the road.<br /><br />Up ahead, began one long straight row of white signs, waist high, lined up like little soldiers.<br /><br />The first read something like this: "Today, we remember why we run."<br /><br />Then: "We run for those who cannot run" (the next 15 signs or so were all home and school photos of babies and children)<br /><br />The next: "We run for those who fight the battle" (the next 20 or so signs were personal photos of folks and their families)<br /><br />Next: "...for those who fought and won" (these photo-signs were greater in number, and filled with all ages, including my team's honored team mate CURTIS. Some folks were even in Team in Training gear on finish lines!)<br /><br />and finally: "and for all those we have lost." (the rest of the first mile, these photos smiled out from their signs, some winsome, some laughing, some young, some old. Each one - the girl next door, the grocery bagger, the broker, the runner, the child, the mother.)<br /><br />With each sign I passed, a new awareness, with each face, another life effected, changed, lost. All of those spirits, and the force of my own loss powered me on.<br /><br />Sometimes, when I run, I get the distinct feeling that it is just me and God and the pavement, mile after mile, thought after thought, but on Saturday, God and I, we were joined by hundreds of others, urging me on, pushing me forward.<br /><br />I never did catch my tri-guys, though I passed them on my return run (they had done a second bike loop to my one, and THEN hit the 4 mile run course). But I did run almost 5 1/2 miles in about 48 minutes. That's a really good time for me - must have been the angel wings on the heels of my sneakers.<br /><br />Guess I didn't miss the moment after all - and now, neither did you.<br /><br />Thank you all for being part of this journey with me - know that every bit we do is another smile on a sign, another wing on a shoe.<br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJnjxjB8edNcmp6NSXBCjfIClaAt1fltpbAwa4DLUVdRahqXNJvIV04jU5NhcJsnHw-fEBk8SRdh4675zDd8L-IYrIpkP8DJK1tP75bi2pGBO_AP1cbUgZsW1uqAjcmIdTLWsrRxnxu3k/s1600-h/sneakers.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJnjxjB8edNcmp6NSXBCjfIClaAt1fltpbAwa4DLUVdRahqXNJvIV04jU5NhcJsnHw-fEBk8SRdh4675zDd8L-IYrIpkP8DJK1tP75bi2pGBO_AP1cbUgZsW1uqAjcmIdTLWsrRxnxu3k/s400/sneakers.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228077331165654850" /></a>Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1174168893393833668.post-82840420584188551472008-07-22T19:09:00.000-07:002008-07-22T20:24:53.406-07:00Lessons I've Learned in Training1. Hydrate, Hydrate, Hydrate.<br /><br />2. Do not hydrate with pond water; it is best used for swimming, not ingesting.<br /><br />3. Whoever designed road bikes was clearly not well. I can find no other logical<br />explanation for the marble seated, thin tired, featherweighted thing that is<br />the racing bike.<br /><br />4. Falling is inevitable when you are attached to a bike. Be prepared.<br /><br />5. Bike gloves are not for looking cool. They are to protect the palms during the frequent aforementioned plummets to pavement.<br /><br />6. Tri-shorts are very helpful to the poor abused nether regions - wear them. Unfortunately, regardless of how often they are laundered, they carry with them the stench of what can only be described as chronic donkey butt. <br /><br />7. Goo is something you are supposed to eat and like. (blech)<br /><br />8. Runners trots have nothing to do with horses.<br /><br />9. Vomiting on a run is considered an almost tribal rite of passage. It is met with great yalps of excitement and cheers of encouragement from gleeful coaches and fellow tri-guys alike. <br /><br />10.If I am very quiet on an early morning run, I can solve most of the world's problems in the first 20 minutes.Cris Dukeharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13145142388960204789noreply@blogger.com3