Glory Days

I'm going to vent... don't say I didn't warn you.

I'm venting in a good way... but I'm insulted & frustrated & I must get it off my bosom.

It was mentioned to me that registering my 4 year old to race another 1km might be a 'stupid idea' !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WTF??

Apparently 4 is too young to learn the values & integrity that come from racing, and 1km can be run on the soccer field any day, why should I pay and why should he even bother??????????? WTF??

First off, I'll start by admitting that yes, I am thrilled & I take great pride in the fact that Dylan is competitive. He enjoys his victories, no matter how big or how small (he's 4, having proper aim in the toilet is a victory). And I believe he should. We celebrate a 'perfect pee' because I am raising a person here, one whom I can only pray I have raised to be a decent and contributing adult one day. Much the same way we stand straight and look at where we are 'shooting', we also train for these 1km races because he has learned that reaching a goal is a victory no matter how cumbersome.

He knows that the medal comes with a rush of pride in his little-big heart that he did it on his own. No piggyback, no scooter, no alternative way of making it real. The raw human truths that exist for us as we swim, bike, run our way through the miles are just as evident and life changing for him in 1 km. Now, I'm not crazy enough to believe he puts as much stress on the local kids race as I did on Timberman... he can't yet read a calendar, and he certainly cannot be introspective enough to be passionate about running- but kids get it. They get it better, obviously, than some adults... that when you say you will do something, and you proceed to do it no matter how much it hurts (remember when he hit The Wall in Ottawa.... ouff...) that the accomplishment changes you for the better.

Just as I believe every single driver should be put out in traffic on a bike before handed their drivers licence, I think every small headed, emotionless adult should be forced to run a kids race. 1km. I bet you the majority couldn't do it as brilliantly as those kids do, and I bet you my next half marathon entry that they would cross the finish line crawling with a whole new respect for the amazing spirit that lives in all athletes, no matter how old or young.

We live in a society where a packaged fruit twist has replaced an apple, where video games and Diego are more entertaining than hide-n-seek. It seems horrifying to think that anything as simple as kicking a soccer ball through grass could ever replace the emotion-filled, high 5 spirit of the 'marathon'. If Dylan running his intervals up and down the driveway replaces 10 minutes of Disney Channel dullness I am celebrating that as a mothering victory. I take amazing pride in my boy's races, not because I want him to be the next Crowie, but because I want him to be somebody.

1km September 19th: race report to follow.


Train safe,

Race Report: Timberman 70.3

It's done. WHAT A DAY!!! I will try to explain by sticking to the facts without getting too emotional. Yeah right, c'est moi... make popcorn, get comfy...

My day started at 3am. I had set 4 different alarm clocks, but I woke up before anything starting beeping, and thanks to some very Virgo organization- I was out of my fancy motel room 20 minutes later. Coffee in my system, breakfast on the seat beside me, all my gear in the back seat, I arrived at 3:38am to be the 18th car in line waiting to enter the race site parking. It was already raining and there was only gospel on the radio.
At that moment, somehow, I knew this was a glimpse of the day ahead.

Transition & body marking opened at 5am. The rain had stopped and by 5:15 my transition zone was ready, my bike loaded with my nutrition. I figured the 1.8km swim is warm up enough, no need to start running mile repeats in the bike chute. I also realized I had woken up, had coffee, eaten, brushed my teeth 3 times (all that heavy breathing, best to have a fresh mouth) but I had yet to pee. This is not the Jules I know. The Jules I know is a wreck before any race. She's sick, she cries, she becomes over excited & over afraid...not this girl... I was having the time of my life!!! Having a clear vision of what I wanted my day to be and now more than enough time on my hands, I took to the fun task of making friends with the girls around me. We spoke about the bike course, we decided who would be first off the bike (the girl from Ottawa with the Sub 9 won that). I pumped tires, helped racked bikes, sprayed Pam on body parts, handed out Power Bar gummies, I chatted with the Chickens, text Dylan 'I heart U'. I hugged the girls good luck and took it all in.
I was proud to be rocking the # 31 on my left calf - it was an age group I felt honored & happy to be in.

The swim start in any triathlon is a moody and surreal place to be- yet the energy Sunday morning was brilliant. There was a very obvious sense of belonging. To the sight of Chrissie bouncing up & down in the water, to the 2,000 people who surrounded me- everyone in a wetsuit, everyone with a cap pulled tight on their head... I was one & the same with all these wonderful people - we were all about to swim, bike, run our way through this race as if it were the only thing that ever mattered. In an unexplainable way, the swim start was like coming home.

Lance Armstrong is quoted to have said that "endurance athletes are all running from something." I now believe the opposite to be true. We are running TO something. An answer, a reason, a new destiny, a renewed self-belief. I knew clearly what I was chasing, and I felt the rush of overwhelming courage to go get it.

I wanted to swim in 36 minutes. I came out of the water in 35:53. Yahoo for me. High 5 the wet suit strippers (who took all my limbs out of my wetsuit, because I was to busy being happy to pull down my torso). Rookie!.

Then time no longer mattered. I was now free to go.

The bike was the only part of my race that had a Plan A & a Plan B. As I left T1 the rain was still being held back in the very cloudy sky, so Plan A took effect: ride at 31km p/h, climb to pass the others (that's the part I do best) descend with imagination ( "I am Lance, I own this hill" was my mantra). Ha, it all worked, even the role-playing! I was having the ride of my life. The first 36 miles of that bike was a party on wheels. I went up & down & forward & I ate on time, drank on time, stopped to pee only once, stopped to give a severely cramped up girl 2 salt tabs, stopped to avoid 1 crazy crash. I cried a lot, laughed a lot, got passed by fast boys with fast wheels. WOW!!!

Then, with about 30km to go, it started raining. Not the OMG I can't see rain, but the steady, slow, big wet drops that soak you to the core. The "shit this white line is slippy now" type of rain. Plan B came into effect - survival of the fittest... Race- mode Jules had enjoyed her fun, now Mommy-mode Jules took over. My pace slowed down, the descents gave reason for the fast boys with fast wheels to curse at my snail pace. My mantra vanished from memory; the song now stuck in my head??? Amazing Grace. 3:38am deja-vu.

I cried rolling into T2. Tears of appreciation I couldn't hold back. 50 weeks training X 8 hrs a week on the bike... I had done it. Justice for every hour I am out risking it all in traffic, not home with Dylan. I really had found the courage I needed. I found the strength that once upon a time I was certain I didn't have. I rode into T2 a new woman. A better mother. A better friend. I felt bad- ass and suddenly beautiful! YAHOO!!! Bonus in tri- they save the best for last: I was free to run.

I had only 1 goal for the 21.5km run; to run. Not walk, no crawling, no shuffle, no DNF. Just run proud, strong and free. Except this run, I soon discovered, is not a run, it's a mindset. This is where the will must be stronger than the skill.
I had 2 gels left, and no gadget to give me splits or time. I was OK though, and with confidence in my running form, I simply watched the scenery go by. I found the girls in my age group and wished them well as I ran by. My shoulders were light, my feet were numb, my cheeks hurt, and it all came together when I needed it the most.

I am happy to say- this was my best best run ever. Not my fastest by any means, but my proudest 21.5km ever!! I did it, with a negative split, and a sprint into the finish.... (Didn't care to even look up at the clock. Not so Lance-ish of me!) It was my moment to cry, to hug myself, to take in what I had just accomplished. The cheese on my poutine-- the amazing Chrissie greeted my tears of joy with a hug, my medal and finishers cap. To be told that my "finish was beautiful!" by my hero almost made me believe I didn't look as bad as I suddenly felt.

Like getting slammed by a sumo, my entire body went heavy & hard & cold. The aftermath comes quick and it comes with vengeance!

I couldn't walk, couldn't talk, couldn't eat. I hugged the friends I saw. I hugged myself and plopped onto the ground, in a corner, under my foil blanket, and although I thought I would cry again, I didn't.
I just sat there, smiling, like a crazy lady with snot on her face, feeling pretty darn lucky to be me.

Timberman was #1 on my list. I have been asked countless times, "why?". 70.3 miles, is after all, 70.3 miles no matter where it is. Yes and No. Timberman is in New Hampshire. New Hampshire's slogan is 'Live Free or Die.' A race in the perfect place, perfectly worded to prove to myself that I am healthy & strong, more courageous, more capable and very much free from the fear that almost held me back.

So what's next?? Rev3 Cedar Point Half will be the next check off the old list. There's no deep meaning, no voices calling... but there is one freakin' high roller coaster, a beach, and hopefully a hot triathlete guy with fast wheels who can buy me a post-race margarita!
YAHOO!!!!


Train safe,

Pre-Timberman Crumbs...

It's here. THAT week. The week I've been planning for over a year. It rolled in like I imagine my 80th birthday will eventually... seemingly so far off until the day you wake up to cheesecake & martini's for breakfast (I vow to only eat cheesecake when I get there...79 years of green food certainly warrants a few of chocolate truffle with a crisp graham cracker crust... non?)
THAT week = taper. Oh I hope I do 80 more justice than I have done taper! I still have 2 days to go before race day, and it's been 8 days too long already. It's not the cutting back on volume that gets me, nor the public displays of recovery socks in sandals; it's the hunger. I can eat more during taper than I do at Joe Beef on a Saturday night. My body says 'feed me' ever so loud, every so often. And I, being the strong rock solid taperer that I am, give in, and eat.... and eat... and eat.... Dylan & I read Dr. Seuss in bed last night, each of us with a bowl of Cheerios.
I'm racing Clydesdale on Sunday.

I leave to Nowhere, NH very early tomorrow morning. I don't drive well, I get bored... so I packed snacks!

The normal pre-big race traditions have been done. The car is packed with enough tri-junk for a db Ironman. Extra goggles, extra helmet, toilet paper, extra race suit, extra massive can of Pam, 24 extra gels, an entire gallon of Hammer powder, and extra Gatorade- just in case... I have 4 tubes, 4 Co2 thingys, and my pump: If you have a friend, who has a friend who is in need of a friend on race day because they forgot something... call me!!! I have extra!!

My bike computer is set to miles. My watch has a new battery. Knowing me, I'll drive into the sunrise tomorrow and forget my bike.

For some reason, out of all the races on my Bucket List, this one represented the most to me personally. To say the training has calmed my fears is not a lie, but to say it took all the courage & determination I have in me is certainly an understatement. So what do I predict for Sunday??? I have no clue!!! I know I will be happier than anyone has ever seen me. I know my cheeks will hurt from smiling as much as my quads will hurt from the hills. I know I will cry over Dylan's little picture taped to my bike stem, and I will laugh in transition because he painted on my mat (A stick man with the biggest penis-looking head standing on a pogo-stick as he wins a race). I pray it doesn't rain, not only for my lack of bike skills, but also so the washable marker he used doesn't fade away...

When I started this blog, it was about my journey to Timberman. It never became much about my training, but much more about the thoughts that went through my mind during training. I don't know who reads this, but for you who does- I thank you. This eat-festival of a taper would be much less manageable if not for the amazing friends I have made along the way... :) If you can take one more posting of my silliness, there will be a full race report next week... after that, I still don't know....

Until then, train safe.

To Infinity & Beyond!!!

Yesterday I was able to participate in my team's annual triathlon. I didn't race, rather I chose to watch from the sidelines and help out where I could. Directing traffic in & out of transition, I yelled instructions and cheered until I lost my voice. I watched athletes of all abilities go by; some flew, some found time to slap my high 5 as they went by... Most were out there having a good time on their way to a fast PR, while others clearly just wanted the entire Sprint distance over with (funny how these were not the fastest folks.... if it is that brutal, hurry up and get it over with, no?).

The morning spent yelling "it's only 5km, just RUN that way..." made me think about Timberman. Will I get off the bike telling myself "it's only 21.5km bitch, RUN...." ??? I damn well hope so! Knees forward, foot back, chop wood carry water.... RUN LIKE A MOTHER.......
Will I cross the finish line completely finished? I hope I do that too. Will I be ready for the next race? I hope I am, because there are a few to chose from...

I am a master of lists: I make a list every morning of the day's To Do. I make a list at the office of the same impossible expectations. I makes lists when packing, when going grocery shopping, mostly I make lists just to rip them up. It's not eco-friendly, but strangely, once I've written the list, I no longer need it.

Expect for one: one list has followed me for years. It started as a list of 10, and since grew to 15. No rips to the paper, perfectly hidden from Dylan's gripping hands, it's cherished like gold. It's my Bucket List of all the races I want to do before I turn 80 (or as long as it takes me to do them, and as long as it's all fun & games!) Timberman was tops on that list. It's about to get checked off.... hence, in the moments I allow myself the joy of a daydream I wonder, what's next?
I'm superstitious, therefore planning the next one until I cross the finish line in NH is not really my style...but with races selling out in minutes... hmmm...

The top 10 of my list looks like this:
1) Timberman 70.3
2) Wildflower
3) Nautica New York City Triathlon
4) Paris Marathon
5) Challenge Roth (IM distance)
6) Rev 3 Cedar Point (Half distance)
7) Rohto 70.3 Hawaii
8) Hy-Vee Triathlon
9) Abu Dhabi Triathlon (Long course)
10) SSQ Quebec City (half marathon)

The list goes to 15.... in no particular order, they are all just experiences I want to live. 1 race I have already done, 1 is about to get done, (knock on wood) and for the remaining 13- I can only pray I am healthy enough to conquer them before the big 80.
So, what's next???? I guess I'll know when I cross the finish line in 13 days.... after all, I'll have 70.3 miles to think it over.... ;0)

It's hot.
I'm hot.
As I sit here I am well aware of my hotness.

This week's track work out was so hot I sprinted away from it, to a nice 8km loop in the shade.
The heat combined with a sinus infection has also made me quite the dork as I now swim, bike, run around with my asthma pump... not so hot! ;)

Summer is upon us, and I don't do well in the heat. It's not that I don't enjoy the short summer months; I do. I'd take summer over winter any day. Running half naked is much more comfortable than running with grips under my Zoots. However, with Timberman coming up in 3 weeks, I've started to get nervous about the one thing we should never be nervous about - the weather.
What if it rains? Yes, I know, I faced that fear at the Coteau race and I came out alive & running. But New Hampshire has hills; I'm not to certain downhill in the rain is a skill I have mastered.
What if it's hot & humid? Last year's race was, and all I got from friends were reports of serious 'heat induced' nutrition problems. I ran a summer half marathon one year - all my Gu Chomps melted in my pocket. What if I get out of the water on race day and all my food has disintegrated to form a massive sticky mess around my asthma pump?? (paint the L on my forehead right now)
What if it's perfect race weather, the run course is shady, and I have the amazing time I have envisioned for the past year? What if in my attempts to simply finish, I simply have so much fun that I make friends with 70.3 miles, and decide to do it again? What if? Perhaps I'll enjoy it so much I'll slow down (I can't go much slower, but let's pretend...) so I slow down to enjoy the race & get the most out of the scenery & the crowd?

I am a bit nervous about the weather. Looking at my history I've also become super fixated on not getting injured. I had flips flops waiting for me as I exited the swim yesterday; can't risk stepping on a rock in transition! Today might just be my final ride out in the wild- I can train just fine in the air-conditioned, squirrel and car free zone of my basement...

Ok, so I'm more than a bit crazy....I'm even more excited though, that the goal I set 1 year ago is now 21 days away. Even the sinus infection from hell right now cannot wipe the smile off my face. Just speaking about Timberman gets me all teary eyed. 70.3 miles might seem like only a Half to some... to me it's 70.3 miles to freedom. Even the weather won't stop this dream from coming true...

Train safe...

Girls Gone Wild...

This year I am lucky enough to be on a team of wonderfully able triathletes. Although I probably wouldn't recognize most of them in everyday work attire, when the goggles are on, these are the people I will go to sprint distance war for. If there is a force to reckon with, it's us, together on race day, in our red & black.

Racing in the rain: Been there, done that, all while slamming a GU.

As the men took off 1 hour before we did, us girls got down to the business of wetsuit zippers, bike set-ups and last minute advice. Having transition to ourselves, smiles and giggles replaced the normal race tension. There was no talk at all of times, age group competition, faster wheels or aerodynamics. Nor was it pink and pretty. It was lean and mean in a 'watch out the women are coming' kind of way.

The ancient Greeks (smart ass people) believed that the human spirit advanced through competition. That is how the human race achieved it's best. Competition was almost religion back then. Standing in transition last Saturday, I couldn't help but noticed that not much has changed.

On paper, I had a pretty good race- I didn't reinvent the disc-wheel. I didn't 'kill' the course, no sprint distance records were broken. Friendships were sealed though, when team spirit, 1 amazing coach, (& my cheering mother) got us girls through a wet & wild race; one teeny tiny step for the human spirit, one huge step forward for a team of high energy, overachieving women. In the cold morning rain, the uncertainly of wet suit / no wetsuit, we achieved our best and we did it damn well.
I am left motivated & in awe of the company I keep.


Train safe,

Races in Flat Places (& Dr. Seuss)

I have a thing for quotes. Words, vocabulary, sentences. I have quotes taped to my walls, in my wallet, in my car, sometimes even on my bike & written in my Zoots. There are words I LOVE, and there are words we are not allowed to use in my house.
Hate is a 'bad word'. Stupid is as well. So is Can't. We don't use these, not as verbs or adjectives - never in a sentence. Dylan has never been able to slide them past me, and he knows why. Bad, bad words.

Well, karma is a bitch. And after 3 years of telling Dylan not to say those words, it was his turn to be the parent. Yep, I have a race on Saturday. A race, on a flat course. Let's just say I used all 3 'bad words' in the same sentence when packing for this race. I do not like (insert) racing silly (insert) flat courses because I feel incapable (insert). I do not like them Sam I Am.

My life is full of metaphorical mountains, it's about the climb after all, and I go fast on the up & over.
Of course, I'm wise enough to know that doing 8 X 10km brick sessions out on the track today will put me in peak flat course shape. Of course.
I'll throw a 1080 on the front, a disc on the rear... not a problem. I'll be cruising.

Oh, and the forecast is rain. Would you like them on a train, would you like them in the rain? I would not like them here nor there, I would not like them anywhere.


The exerts say that when it gets tough, we must remember why we race. This will motivate us to crawl to the finish line proud. So, I'll do this race anyways because my 'why?' this year is to face my fears. A flat & wet bike course is probably the biggest fear of all. So, I'm requesting that my support crew (Dylan & Mom & Dad) yell "RUN" to me as I white-knuckle the bike. This will remind me of the goal: Get off the silly (insert) bike so I can run...



Who knows? We also have a rule about trying everything once... maybe, just maybe, this could be fun... You do not like them. So you Say. Try them! Try them! And you may...


Train safe,