Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Tuesday, July 05, 2011
Be it known before you read much further that I am a notoriously crabby person. To me, everything is too hot, too cold or just right and why can’t it be just right EVERY time goddamit?
I am, as has been recounted numerous times, a backpacker. Except for on the swim, where I am more of a midpacker. For me, this is a source of profound frustration because I find myself being passed by every adolescent, geriatric and everything in between for the duration of the race. I’ll never forget the Spokane Troika Half-I’m maybe a mile from the finish when a woman in her sixties (maybe seventies) passed me and uttered the phrase I have come to loathe with every fiber of my being:
“Good job.” Which was really self-congratulatory to herself, because if I am doing a good job, and she is passing me, then she must be doing an amazing job.
So let’s review what I consider undeliberately (?) condescending phrases that should be excised and cause for expulsion from triathlon when passing another athlete.
1. Good job/nice job
2. Looking good
3. You’re almost there
4. Keep it up
I prefer phrases that don’t cause the counter phrase “eff you” to pop into my head, something open-ended and vague that merely requires a grunt or a nod rather than something that obliges me to say thanks, you look even better than me because you’re passing me right now.
Some good examples are:
1. A vague reference to the weather-Really (hot, cold, cloudy, sunny, humid, dry) day out…
2. Hi (and all variations thereof)
3. How’s it going? (borderline)
4. Should I call 911?
5. Handle bar wave
7. Nice ass (females preferred, but I'll take it wherever I can get it)
Yes, I’m lacking in sportsmanship.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
I had my first serious bout of triperventilating of the season today as I got out the old race result spreadsheet, compared it to the old workout spreadsheet, which I compared to my workout iPhone app to estimate my finish time at the Desert Tri (I’m looking at a possible course PR, folks). Triperventilating, for those who don’t know because I just made it up, is when you do the above process and then begin breathing like you’re actually about to race, a super-adrenalin charge which, at its worst is severely nauseating and at its best is exhilarating. It’s also very difficult to stay focused on work because of course I want to crunch the numbers further to see if I can squeeze a minute here or a minute there. It’s ultimately futile because my time predictions are usually so accurate that it’s almost pointless to even bother registering and participating in the race. And when I am surprised by a performance, it’s seldom in the right direction. Alright, cut the negative talk. I'm going to WIN!!
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
At long last I’ve solved my fueling dilemma-Tator Tots! Naturally, I will first try and fail to formulate them myself using coconut oil instead of partially hydrogenated poison (and then fall back on store bought). They may get soggy and gross, so I will need to test this hypothesis for the perfect endurance fuel, not endorsed by the following book, which I’m currently reading:
Sports Nutrition for Endurance that talks about different kinds of carbs and protein and blahblahblah.
The point is, tater tots may be the perfect on-the-go complex carbohydrate, because I’ve been led to believe that a combination of simple and complex carbohydrates during long races is the way to go. In my last major race, I ate Pringles (fail), chicken noodle Soup (success) and some powder nutrition crap I mixed myself, which was shite. I also used GU, but I can only really stand raspberry, and I made the mistake of counting on the race to provide me with my GU-and being a backpacker, naturally all the big kids got the pick of the schwag and I was left with Cream of Turd flavor. This time I’m byog all the way.
So fueling plan is as follows:
Gatorade: 100 calories per hour
GU-200 calories odd hours
1 can Chicken Noodle Soup-even hours
Tator Tots-as needed
Ensure (walgreen’s brand)-Throw three or four of these down throughout the race, probably one off the swim, one during the bike, one off the bike, one transitioning to the run (maybe not that much for the half, but probably that much for the full).
I’m not to the part in the book that tells me how many calories per hour I can metabolize, but I’m pretty sure it’s in the 300-500 calories per hour range, so I’m figuring choking down a minimum of 1500 calories during the half ironman race and double that for my iron distance race back up in good old Grand Coulee (assuming my half isn’t a complete disaster).
I’m not sure why the first and only half iron distance triathlon in Portland had to be sponsored by a Christian group (any other religion would have been fine, but I'm sick to death of these uppity Christians), but there it is. I guess I could have lived with it until they blatantly announced active proselytizing at the race, along with a pre-race prayer, the National Anthem and some nonsense about how their group wouldn’t allow someone to be last. One of their members would be last in the last finisher’s stead. So if that happens to be me-which I suppose it could-I would have some jag wagon telling me that Jesus loves me even if I’m DFL (dead fucking last, for those playing at home).
So I’m taking my triathlon dollars out of town to the
Desert Half Iron in Osoyoos (O-sue-yuss, don’t ask me, they’re Canadians after all), where religion and nationalism are pretty much against the law and as long as you make the cutoff, who gives a fuck what place you’re in? Plus I’ll get that tumor I’ve been putting off having removed taken out FOR FREE to boot! What a country! Too bad aboot all the Canadians, eh?