Swim Basics, Part Deux -or- the one in which I exchange my very soul for a pair of goggles.

I've lost my goggles.

I've looked everywhere for them.

I've haunted and scoured through every lost and found I can think of.

Lost and Founds are a veritable treasure trove of athletic paraphernalia.

I was riffling through one such place when I was informed that even if I didn't find my specific 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.

If you have been following See Stink Tri from the start, you may remember this post http://seestinktri.blogspot.com/2008/07/basics-swim.html
discussing the importance of swim eye wear. You might remember it and tsk tsk me for considering filching a pair from the Lost and Found.

I, in response to your chiding would likely have swatted you back like so much Jiminy Cricket on my shoulder.

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 needed 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!!!"

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".

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.

Training Lessons for the day:
#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.

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.

#2: My new-to-me goggles are not 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.

Signs, 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.

All day long.

From here to there and back again.

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.

The mission: to squeeze in my 45 minute run during the 45 degree day.

"It's a sign", I thought (I'm big into signs) - "destiny even", (I'm even bigger into destiny) "45 minutes in 45 degrees".

I contemplated strategy and efficiency before I got home (I'm not so big on efficiency).

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!

I might have made it all the way to the kitchen without incident had I not tripped on this:

I assure you that it was not piled so neatly at the time, but you get the idea.

If you are an observant type, you might note that there is only one of each pair of shoes in this pile.

There is in fact, one of the sweet navy flats worn to Europe last spring and it's coordinating comfy insert.

Also, one kitten heeled loafer like pump that puts the fun in functional.

In addition, (gasp) the right Mizuno running shoe with special tri-elastic laces chewed off.

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:

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.

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.

Destiny urging ... DO NOT RUN TODAY!

I'll admit, I did briefly think the same. But here's the thing:

It's not like the littlest pooch ate my shoe... just the laces, 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 more room for shoes!), upon examination of the dressing room I found...Oh, happy day...

These, my most favorit-est of red shoes (save my ruby slippers, of course), were safe and quietly resting in their place.

( sign... red shoes harbor amazing powers that none of us fully understands).

so...
5 Miles in 45 Minutes in 45 Degrees and back 5 minutes before the bus - now that's a sign.

Shine On.

Monday dawned pretty nippy, but warmed up a bit by afternoon.
You might think that a positive since it was, according to Trainer Joe's schedule, a cycling day. Considering my schedule for the day, however, I would just as well have had it cloudy and cold.
I clocked 145 miles yesterday, and none of them was on my bike.
Humph and bah humbug.
So, I did what any cranky modern mom would do, I complained royally.
I grumbled and grouched and threw a veritable tantrum.
Fortunately, everyone was in bed by then, so it can just be our little secret.
I did get over it eventually, and then I dug out this little gadget:

hitched up my wheeled steed and turned on IFC.
"Shine" was on.
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.

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner or Playing Ketchup.

Sunday was an off day.

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.

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!

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.

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).

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) a few giveaways. 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.

Easy Peasy huh?

In addition, since those of you that know me well are likely rolling at the keyboard at the idea 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!

Wahooo and Hooo Hooty!

So, without further adieu...

Sunday night Sloppy Joes.

This little number is both hearty, and healthy and pleasingly quick to create and (this is the real kicker) it is all made in only one pan!!!

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.)

Saute until just brown.

Add 1 lb ground turkey breast, or for you true carnivores, extra lean sirloin. Brown.



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.

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.


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.

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.)

***Anyone mentioning that I burned the top of the loaf while crisping it gets sent to bed without dinner.***

Playing 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 is Sunday, and on the seventh day even GOD rested, but I am going to have to be frank here...


I HATE recovery days.


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.

I know all of this, but the reality is...

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.

I am an absolute joy to be around.

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.

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.

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!!!

Trainers Joe and Bob, our gal MaryAnn, and a handful of teammates were all sporting neoprene booties like these...




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*).

The review after a 60 minute ride is that these little inventions, while decidedly silly in appearance, do 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.

No matter, I may just wear them anyway - I am nothing if not a fashion statement on wheels.

If you're happy and you know it...or a tale of grave bodily harm and much Sunday joy riding.

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.

*** If you are at all uncomfortable with injurious tales, you should likely turn away now and come back next post.***

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.

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.

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.

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.

I found my cap easily enough, but imagine my surprise when my "goggles" turned out to be the blades of my uncovered razor!

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.

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.

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.

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.

I pumped up tires and strapped on helmet and set off for my very first outside ride!

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.

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".

Square Root Day