tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60668122238753921922024-03-17T02:07:09.950-07:00The SlogLindsey Jerdonekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489448492612988480noreply@blogger.comBlogger103125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-9090957587264823422014-02-12T21:09:00.001-08:002014-02-12T21:23:05.260-08:00ANOTHER Resurrection Blog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The last time I slogged, LAHP was 36 weeks pregnant with Jack, who
was the size of a cantaloupe. Judging by the looks of him now, it's
literally been a lifetime since I posted to The Slog.<br />
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Jack: handsome, outdoorsy, and the future bringer of world peace<br />
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Recently, Lauren and I have made BIG, exciting changes to our
lives. Lauren accepted a position at Google last fall and is finally
working in the stimulating and challenging environment she's craved.
Even I contributed to her application process when she mentioned our
years of virtual training via gchat!<br />
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On my end, I
joined Australian coach Darren Smith's international squad of
triathletes. Darren is a world class coach who has a knack for
developing nobodies into somebodies in the sport. In the last Olympic
cycle, six of his athletes made the Olympic team from his or her
respective countries, and his top girls finished 2nd and 4th.</div>
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Given that, it's no wonder that "Train with Darren Smith's triathlon squad (they spend December in Kenya)"
has been on my life list which I put together a
few years ago. I'm finally doing it! And it's cool that being part of
this group helps tick off a few other items, such as: interact with
people from diverse backgrounds on a regular basis AND plan more in
advance to give myself a cushion and be considerate of others. The timeliness piece is actually part of how we do business, so it's been a compulsory transformation.</div>
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I've
been at camp in Chula Vista, CA since the start of the year with nine
of my squad mates who hail from AUS, NZL, France, Italy, Great Britain plus two
fellow Americans. We have a Dutch physio/massage therapist, Rick, a
Swiss sports science intern, Nico, and Darren's wife, Liz Broad, our
dietician extraordinaire. My personal support staff, Kevin, is along
with me at camp too, doing his training and making me coffees and egg
bombers on demand. Or something like that.</div>
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To glean
some insights into the Dsquad and our coach, check out <a href="http://competitorradio.competitor.com/2014/01/darren-smith/">this Competitor Radio interview</a>
that
Darren and a few of us went on together.</div>
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<br />
Post-interview with
hosts Bob Babbitt and Paul Huddle on the ends. L-R: world #2 Jodie
Stimpson, Under 23 bronze medalist Declan Wilson, me--the token
American, and Darren.<br />
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I have a few weeks left in sunny
SoCal getting fit before I start a worldwide trek with my coach and
training partners. First up, we head to New Zealand for training
camp with two races thrown in. Early April we fly to Cape Town, South
Africa for another camp and race. Our journey continues onto Pretoria,
South Africa (near Johannesburg), and then possibly
rounding out the first half of the year with a race in Yokohama,
outside Tokyo, Japan. It'll be my first time visiting all the countries
mentioned so woohoo to the new adventures ahead! While I'll be back in
the states for a month or so, I'll head to Europe for the summer races. I
am also joining the French Grand Prix triathlon team, Poissy, and will
be competing for them at some point later in the season. Definitely lots
to write home about. <br />
<br />
LAHP and I typically close out a
slog with some kind of dog photo, but instead, we have photographic
evidence that mountain lions DO roam wild in LAHP's part of the state.<br />
<br />
A gratuitous cat photo:</div>
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<br />Lindsey Jerdonekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489448492612988480noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-26983598250498097562013-05-03T10:13:00.000-07:002013-05-03T10:13:41.401-07:00Resurrection Blog <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6cekGJuAypKHzhOtFoXt9RgLWuWbelXw0xRYxJskMEDkjGkEyV7E7SYEKI06AGe6ucqth_yzO1FTZ4w_zO8gIHHI_o6ijIdsp2efy2vzdmjCQkLdOWEUu5ryXQ7dMc-rK3MUvW7X4qgo/s1600/_DSC9317.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6cekGJuAypKHzhOtFoXt9RgLWuWbelXw0xRYxJskMEDkjGkEyV7E7SYEKI06AGe6ucqth_yzO1FTZ4w_zO8gIHHI_o6ijIdsp2efy2vzdmjCQkLdOWEUu5ryXQ7dMc-rK3MUvW7X4qgo/s1600/_DSC9317.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcome Jack - few minutes after delivery.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Lauren here. Much has happened since
I last blogged about the qualities of the croc sandal in my highly pregnant
state. Jackson “Jack” Lovell Pataky arrived on October 22nd and since that time
we've changed a multitude of diapers and spent countless hours at night not
sleeping. I gladly embrace no sleep and dirty diapers to hang out with this
little dude, though. Watching him change and grow every day has been awesome
and scary, as he is pretty much a blank slate and I feel if I do not spend 100
hours per day with him doing developmental activities he might grow up and not
read or fail to develop gross motor skills or some other unspeakable thing. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizgBBv7erTtzN-3hYTTLItMMmuL4UFd3Nlr_ydltQ3ZQR9rgakjwmKlG5DPHHVk3xqB33Ww7HnjfSJNhMEnFvMtb-fE-eB-MjIN__4TX8VmsJDjT65nS2NGXgn5D9s-Knl9LPRdBqlrHA/s1600/_DSC9359.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizgBBv7erTtzN-3hYTTLItMMmuL4UFd3Nlr_ydltQ3ZQR9rgakjwmKlG5DPHHVk3xqB33Ww7HnjfSJNhMEnFvMtb-fE-eB-MjIN__4TX8VmsJDjT65nS2NGXgn5D9s-Knl9LPRdBqlrHA/s1600/_DSC9359.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The first few months he pretty much
did nothing but lie around and sleep. At 4 months, however, he has hit his Pataky
stride and is constantly moving, kicking, babbling, etc... This guy definitely
has some energy! He just turned 6 months old and is now busy spitting out rice
cereal, pulling Ronin and Shamwa’s tails and making screeching sounds. Clearly he
is his father’s son. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Along with a new child comes new
“furniture.” We have amassed countless large pieces of primary colored plastic
marketed to entertain and help children develop. These heirloom pieces have
almost surpassed the current bike count in our garage. I’m always amazed that the
possessions of a sub 3 foot child can take up so much room in our house!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Anyway, this is a triathlon blog so
I might as well discuss some triathlon.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I had this unrealistic dream goal
that I'd pop out Jack and be back to full on training within a month. Nope. Didn't
happen. FIRST, I wish I had listened to what people told me about the aftermath
of pregnancy. I assumed I w</span>as impervious to any negative effects of pregnancy,
as if I was more special than all the other billion mothers out there. My body
felt like it had fallen off a cliff. I was not able swim, bike, or run for 5
weeks but did get the clearance to walk…. And WALK I DID. On Jack's 7th day of
life he did a 7 mile walk in the ironbomber stroller. Matt complained that by 4
weeks post pregnancy I had worn down the tread on the stroller wheels. I'm also
happy to report that I beat out all the other stroller pushers in my hood. Similar
to my biking mentality (which I'm not proud of), I do not like being passed
while walking. Jack and I are walking WINNERS, I tell you.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFE36whOnfGb_SbNRl8_M1M6z_FhtbtsEB44zDascpPOTYO6om2fftCQT_eTKsrGlbfULw-Y_0pX_Xsj-pbYL1B4mK1MV3GJn4RiWrCYnvmyakuZ0iwgw_atRCHkEsZYNbcAMwoUxpysQ/s1600/DSC_7306.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFE36whOnfGb_SbNRl8_M1M6z_FhtbtsEB44zDascpPOTYO6om2fftCQT_eTKsrGlbfULw-Y_0pX_Xsj-pbYL1B4mK1MV3GJn4RiWrCYnvmyakuZ0iwgw_atRCHkEsZYNbcAMwoUxpysQ/s1600/DSC_7306.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This photo sums up my nights for the first few months.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVsR5O-qyK3PIHTTq9w2BF6O1zb_2EtOeDnbG4gI2K50T6jNDVert2qBUA4QvcFWN4UGiR4V0wzpMtyfVrDqJ5dBVpoO3J66mp2VxrKJSaXYzzGtVcpLxSzGmX6z9llS_yXE6bfEmIK-o/s1600/IMG_0530.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVsR5O-qyK3PIHTTq9w2BF6O1zb_2EtOeDnbG4gI2K50T6jNDVert2qBUA4QvcFWN4UGiR4V0wzpMtyfVrDqJ5dBVpoO3J66mp2VxrKJSaXYzzGtVcpLxSzGmX6z9llS_yXE6bfEmIK-o/s1600/IMG_0530.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First trek to mountain lion territory.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Walking quickly moved into
"jogging" which moved into running which then devolved into no more
running as my ligaments decided that they were not ready to hold up their end
of the bargain. After countless chiro/art/massage appointments I THINK I'm
finally able to put in some real run training. You can't miss me running down
the block now. I'm the girl with 100 yards of rocktape mummifying my body!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">While in my early stages of
pregnancy, I spent some time on my mountain bike, so naturally I felt like I
was ready to tear it up mountain biking post pregnancy. I’ve learned, however,
that I am faster ascending a hill than descending, as one day I was passed by a
girl wearing a hello kitty helmet descending some 180ish degree turns. No joke.
I thought that incident might embarrass me to descend faster. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I threw my hat in the XTERRA ring in
mid April and raced the XTERRA West Champs. Might as well go all out with my
first pro race back, right? I quickly learned that I do not excel in hurling my
body over cliffs and flying down the backs of boulders, rock gardens, and deep sand
traps. I spent more time in that race on the ground in various contorted
positions then I did actually riding my bike. By the time I got to the run I
decided to call this disaster a training day and just limped it in to bank some
racing fitness. I quickly thereafter high-tailed it back to the road and hope
to be racing soon. I did hone my T3 skills at this race, as immediately
afterwards Jack was thrust into my outstretched arms to be nursed. No rest for
the weary!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">All kidding aside, I have days where
I find myself thinking I’ll never be competitive again. There are times when
I’ve been up for the 10<sup>th</sup> day in a row at 4am and wondering if I’ll
ever get sleep. I also have glimpses of my former self, however, so we'll just
see how my body responds to training. I cannot expect to miraculously get back
to my former shape without putting in the hours suffering. When I do get down
about such things, all I need to do is look 3 feet left of my bike trainer
where Jack is busy doing tummy time and looking up at me. He is my relatively
silent motivation: "Mom - if you are not going to go give it your all,
then why are you doing wasting your time messing around on that trainer. Come
play with me!" This, and the fact that I pay 25 cents/minute to a
sitter/nanny when I’m training outside is motivation to not squander any
training opportunity</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Regardless of how I perform, I want to be able to demonstrate to Jack the importance of being healthy, doing hard work, and setting goals and how this is preferable to sitting on one’s ass playing "sports" via video games. Jack has already had a few swim lessons and is well on his way to swimming in the fast lane at Stanford masters. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Anyway, Team Pataky is truly blessed to have Jack as our new addition and can’t imagine life without him. See you at the races!</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS2sDGWlZRgqWscvr3QtE4TpV_5cHI1S1n09ItaeZP3QwiwkuXI2_G3gZmt9UEgTJucmRb6Aj0KERHi184fnNX-BlVf-lz9gX7J-5zoRd1ot-Zm9tWVEJPUj9bU7sTiqmafz76669Ufd0/s1600/DSC_7587.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS2sDGWlZRgqWscvr3QtE4TpV_5cHI1S1n09ItaeZP3QwiwkuXI2_G3gZmt9UEgTJucmRb6Aj0KERHi184fnNX-BlVf-lz9gX7J-5zoRd1ot-Zm9tWVEJPUj9bU7sTiqmafz76669Ufd0/s1600/DSC_7587.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Family - minus Shamwa who is off sulking.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWUIVQse7pFThtYMFMeM1lXZuZ9Dsv3IwF1cHGnxCbYvinaKMr5azhVJFYcVoEL-Fuz5urcyRq3F5R6iYtB-kjXNuJY7_B5thKCIL3acI5R3_p3uLbGTuGjEoKLE6zW1mEvkArcjDiv1g/s1600/_DSC9628.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWUIVQse7pFThtYMFMeM1lXZuZ9Dsv3IwF1cHGnxCbYvinaKMr5azhVJFYcVoEL-Fuz5urcyRq3F5R6iYtB-kjXNuJY7_B5thKCIL3acI5R3_p3uLbGTuGjEoKLE6zW1mEvkArcjDiv1g/s1600/_DSC9628.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good times with Dad.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1BmK6kChOjwDPizJDYxfZpRaJTNv8evW-XnEFuQ5WgGPWPm2I_P7JkgG2VVHnCC2jCFraQYGZVZoi39FEYTp0i2BW8ghH4C86Tn4g5TnLK0_m4UwIBn8lbitMxbjqX7OXaDh0_8QOEwA/s1600/IMG_0733.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1BmK6kChOjwDPizJDYxfZpRaJTNv8evW-XnEFuQ5WgGPWPm2I_P7JkgG2VVHnCC2jCFraQYGZVZoi39FEYTp0i2BW8ghH4C86Tn4g5TnLK0_m4UwIBn8lbitMxbjqX7OXaDh0_8QOEwA/s1600/IMG_0733.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhstlnZe9xmyiuk4fjSuA2YmLFtLnQTQEdm5SMUKhfg6HkoXZIW_0HKtGAulSY59oNXMACDu9L3MzsobkCsXmu3cMV7t5HQBpJXD2t-0CltdymtuI4KP7I0yrbVztRdNMHjKw9lZCozFFg/s1600/IMG_0963.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="PEAS" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhstlnZe9xmyiuk4fjSuA2YmLFtLnQTQEdm5SMUKhfg6HkoXZIW_0HKtGAulSY59oNXMACDu9L3MzsobkCsXmu3cMV7t5HQBpJXD2t-0CltdymtuI4KP7I0yrbVztRdNMHjKw9lZCozFFg/s1600/IMG_0963.JPG" height="240" title="" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First peas.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU3J_eVNVBOhwTSFCE11AbDolkOcHOecHpvjmvD3WDKqwAfXbjLnr9iBLhE3HBDfq0jClmBTd3Lll0v02kesMiBcRjjndYTfna9qEOIkjmhhHNGiGgsA_Mu3KEx01OcH8hWOAw-Qr5gIA/s1600/IMG_0971.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU3J_eVNVBOhwTSFCE11AbDolkOcHOecHpvjmvD3WDKqwAfXbjLnr9iBLhE3HBDfq0jClmBTd3Lll0v02kesMiBcRjjndYTfna9qEOIkjmhhHNGiGgsA_Mu3KEx01OcH8hWOAw-Qr5gIA/s1600/IMG_0971.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what happen when you leave your child unattended with a 12 year old.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEYTgLcnM0WgMR0e6nnomcR117bLgP2g26hyphenhyphen5Wy7x0_0gZczAJbjjr759cHlYiOg1FwlIyxGL3KPPEipHhVxSmGGIf2fQ-a4adfFBSUo7JSoyw22-tqoZ7x-OGyZVQTP6PXT0lIkyk8HM/s1600/lahpblog6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEYTgLcnM0WgMR0e6nnomcR117bLgP2g26hyphenhyphen5Wy7x0_0gZczAJbjjr759cHlYiOg1FwlIyxGL3KPPEipHhVxSmGGIf2fQ-a4adfFBSUo7JSoyw22-tqoZ7x-OGyZVQTP6PXT0lIkyk8HM/s320/lahpblog6.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">J for Jack.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWR-Ttq2A87-08pDTnEN6C3MNb2u_pnaBOFyM5JF4K1Ll63SanQyB6gza9gv8fsg3MYpijvRyt-N4udQoYaHHx63k-r8_HJbhXawaNvpMC2_9I5dfBLAYEdNe7UJ785U3Blhg5qaj0hh8/s1600/lahpblog4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWR-Ttq2A87-08pDTnEN6C3MNb2u_pnaBOFyM5JF4K1Ll63SanQyB6gza9gv8fsg3MYpijvRyt-N4udQoYaHHx63k-r8_HJbhXawaNvpMC2_9I5dfBLAYEdNe7UJ785U3Blhg5qaj0hh8/s320/lahpblog4.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Super Bowl Sunday.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT4-CtAdZyQOr-gG_fQ_qCy-do2tckMYY-_8RKO8VtBkKfTQWzbyTEyAV_QbZRhHi7C19ul7J3K1SStP4WPiRxckyuXjPEFQb5W_3pF8mWYgefMu3ktWI2TV4_OOuKUDFtwdnYXzlHclg/s1600/lahpblog2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT4-CtAdZyQOr-gG_fQ_qCy-do2tckMYY-_8RKO8VtBkKfTQWzbyTEyAV_QbZRhHi7C19ul7J3K1SStP4WPiRxckyuXjPEFQb5W_3pF8mWYgefMu3ktWI2TV4_OOuKUDFtwdnYXzlHclg/s320/lahpblog2.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First swim lesson - NO EXCUSES!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQUhl-6cI64W9PDRjcjJHaBhKQFgdXdae9v3aTeWcNLFYvkGfvdKEyAJ346AYS15H-0ciVh9M0tkWGQFCrRwsYTuDzk_6uj6idGEaxZSNoPJSVF_b6107JewLoERswCwGX3EdQ3untIlM/s1600/lahpblog1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQUhl-6cI64W9PDRjcjJHaBhKQFgdXdae9v3aTeWcNLFYvkGfvdKEyAJ346AYS15H-0ciVh9M0tkWGQFCrRwsYTuDzk_6uj6idGEaxZSNoPJSVF_b6107JewLoERswCwGX3EdQ3untIlM/s320/lahpblog1.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandparents, tired-looking parents, and Jack.</td></tr>
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<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFf9c2bX-NiDnBhGHdocaCsGCfBGX4VKOddBMqSH4LgUD6hBXkUfW9jGf6UYEVHd7oTk-U8yWQib4iYM1BCtHqLRoEWclBxZF0_743_0z72lapjnSi6YaaOGR0pPbHw_8Ax9QSdul86is/s1600/lahpblog5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFf9c2bX-NiDnBhGHdocaCsGCfBGX4VKOddBMqSH4LgUD6hBXkUfW9jGf6UYEVHd7oTk-U8yWQib4iYM1BCtHqLRoEWclBxZF0_743_0z72lapjnSi6YaaOGR0pPbHw_8Ax9QSdul86is/s320/lahpblog5.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First Ferrari outfit...big Alonso fan here.</td></tr>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtdSeWSTsFPJnfPe4vTCpkAE9T5jRAgZGOWehntmYwiNYgWZMMPT8QpUuO4ZUfYNMoPAH9Rw-b202TG0vsuhBPM0ySVVu3jC9uFZHWgB8SKVfLdjjzQsC2BjbIkhjy10XD0SLqs30g6WI/s1600/lahpblog9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtdSeWSTsFPJnfPe4vTCpkAE9T5jRAgZGOWehntmYwiNYgWZMMPT8QpUuO4ZUfYNMoPAH9Rw-b202TG0vsuhBPM0ySVVu3jC9uFZHWgB8SKVfLdjjzQsC2BjbIkhjy10XD0SLqs30g6WI/s320/lahpblog9.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jack with his Great Grandfather Lovell and the other astronauts at my Grandad's 85th birthday.</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04197922169176937251noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-49981609437566961962012-09-21T10:30:00.002-07:002012-09-21T10:30:51.594-07:00USAT Nationals<style>
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"I
thought you were going to slog? wtf. YOU are the one racing and haven't slogged
all season. GET TO IT! :)" </div>
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- LAHP</div>
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To
spare you more stories from an exercise-crazed pregnant woman, I’ll get on with
a race report from USAT Nationals which was in Buffalo.</div>
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I have been in Cleveland with my boyfriend, Kevin, in the weeks leading up to Buffalo (enjoying free
housing and daily, fresh-made salsa, compliments of Joe Jerdonek) which
made for an easy 3.5 hr drive to the race. We stayed with my amaaazing homestay from last
year—Frank and Mary Pat, who made us a lovely sign: </div>
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Eggbombers--easy prep in a kitchen fo sho:</div>
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The
swim is held in Lake Erie inside the breakwall and includes an eastern bloc
backdrop. The men's start:</div>
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We lined up
by ITU ranking. I donned #6, the highest number I’ve worn in an ITU race.
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Individual
athlete intros:</div>
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The color pink enhances my feminine side.</div>
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I started out conservative with the intention of swimming strong throughout (instead of fading). Although, I found myself in the throng of the near-drowning to the first turn
buoy, so I still need to find the ideal get-out speed. The course was a 2-lap
swim where we run up/down a boat dock between laps. After lap one, I
straggled the main pack and regained contact with them at a turn buoy. It was easier once I was on feet again, but I separated from the pack when we hit choppy water toward the end. It surprised me how fast it happened (and how far away the pack got!), but
I latched back on once on the bike.</div>
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I
was in a pack of 8 girls who trailed behind Haskins and Duffy (1st and 2nd) up the road. The wind made it tough even though it was a mostly flat course. 15x 180 degree turns over the 40k:</div>
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I
had the fastest T2 (SEVERAL seconds faster than Kevin's--dawdle dawdle dawdle) and was on the
run first from my pack.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq5-pMUrbrP11VqAwW3KQlyYEcdgiD_YFuuuorO_Wa6x48xuMInEbN2tAYIG0Yj4yRYxqmDKAaYlw7pUfQaCs5-h3qR6pNDQIxtyJe3GBMMWJjEkqsfnj0BS9gkY_RP7aCCD9L4Z3f4aV7/s1600/290452_4633111549014_2056653263_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq5-pMUrbrP11VqAwW3KQlyYEcdgiD_YFuuuorO_Wa6x48xuMInEbN2tAYIG0Yj4yRYxqmDKAaYlw7pUfQaCs5-h3qR6pNDQIxtyJe3GBMMWJjEkqsfnj0BS9gkY_RP7aCCD9L4Z3f4aV7/s400/290452_4633111549014_2056653263_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Shiver and the Canadian bridged up to me quickly and
were gone just as fast. Anna and Spiel passed me not long after. On the final
lap, when it seemed like I would be caught from girls in a chasing pack, Kevin’s coach, Jennifer, got my ass in gear with her relentless cheering: FIGHT FOR ITTT!!!! She convinced me I could hold them off and I finished on
a strong note, running hard into the finish. I was 7<sup>th</sup> OA and 5<sup>th</sup> American, and double dipped into 2 prize purses. TG.<br />
<br />
Race director Dan Horan, probably congratulating me for finishing this time. I crashed out last year.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBh7AeCV_XRdRsdP-QvakfEzHHzSvc-XH0VzAmsS8c9pj8PeiHe0cnoL-EDew8rlubbuZcA0XCfuyuJQ_wLUfRE7OaZQ7XcTe4wRY7-agRY-e0fG8rEfHmW3KtD0ZVJHW1zGCGK35U4u3Q/s1600/463141_4633113429061_1783045668_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBh7AeCV_XRdRsdP-QvakfEzHHzSvc-XH0VzAmsS8c9pj8PeiHe0cnoL-EDew8rlubbuZcA0XCfuyuJQ_wLUfRE7OaZQ7XcTe4wRY7-agRY-e0fG8rEfHmW3KtD0ZVJHW1zGCGK35U4u3Q/s400/463141_4633113429061_1783045668_o.jpg" width="300" /> </a></div>
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The race was a family affair--my Uncle Rich, Aunt Laurie, dad, Aunt Joan, and a sheep-herding relative (my mother) showed their support!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmZBoi04IxjE36GgZLX1OZKH1Qy-TIHBM9dpwY3wnM4N5ckxqpK731EExXYF6i7g0b3G-kUQTM5cChg71k8zoVrdpCJM-3YtXzW0bxhhtq5iHiKO_s-O2at7ebWe0-aBemuGCNbFzg5vCw/s1600/278226_4633114149079_428995961_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmZBoi04IxjE36GgZLX1OZKH1Qy-TIHBM9dpwY3wnM4N5ckxqpK731EExXYF6i7g0b3G-kUQTM5cChg71k8zoVrdpCJM-3YtXzW0bxhhtq5iHiKO_s-O2at7ebWe0-aBemuGCNbFzg5vCw/s400/278226_4633114149079_428995961_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
My homestay: Mary Pat, Frank & doggie Peyton:</div>
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<br />
I'm building momentum from early
in the season when I got spanked at St. Anthony’s… and again in San Diego...
Margie is pleased with the result and we're looking forward to the sprint distance Cancun World Cup with a Rev3 half (or 2) to follow. </div>
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Lindsey Jerdonekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489448492612988480noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-29693326120873356232012-08-09T14:01:00.001-07:002012-08-09T14:02:44.648-07:00Back to the 90s<br />
<br />
I'm still here and alive. I think LJ is alive as well, somewhere in the
hills of Asheville or perhaps in the Potomac region. I'm almost 31 weeks
pregnant at this point and up until this past weekend I've just been
rolling along quite dandily.<br />
<br />
HOWEVER, <b>desperate times call for desperate measures.</b> Due to an appallingly crappy immune system I have developed an
infection in my foot which has precluded me from any swimming, biking,
or running with a normal shoe for a bit. I find it crazy that pregnancy
can kill my immune system more than racing 3 Ironmans and multiple halfs
in a year, but I'm learning each day that pregnancy can and will take much out of me! I've been
fine up till now swimming slower and slower each day, "jogging" slower
and slower each day and riding on the trainer slower and slower each day,
but when a doctor commands me not to do any of these things the pregnancy
hormones plus lack of endorphin release leads to all hell breaking loose
in my head. <br />
<br />
Never fear. I have found a way to continue on with my exercise and
this solution includes a combination of crocs and the StairMaster. Yes, I
have found a way to incorporate bad 2000s fashion with bad 1990s
exercise equipment in order to create a perfect system for endorphin
release. <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9r6AZESit9bQqudsrYyQrZQnRAXj6arc8GV7qrckO27gbaHlCnmyGUx9TmYzV4UM0xJSfK_mcyARtonJ3z6XFL0YYaWKHaeu-GAKyJRK-xd4FfPbG-CT18HX5zn9hdK1LML8S1ME1ks4/s1600/crocbomber.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9r6AZESit9bQqudsrYyQrZQnRAXj6arc8GV7qrckO27gbaHlCnmyGUx9TmYzV4UM0xJSfK_mcyARtonJ3z6XFL0YYaWKHaeu-GAKyJRK-xd4FfPbG-CT18HX5zn9hdK1LML8S1ME1ks4/s1600/crocbomber.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My battle station. And yes, there is a piece missing in my croc. Ronin decided to bite off a bit just to taste it as a puppy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I may not be able to swim, bike, and run, but I can manhandle that
StairMaster like an elite, one foot croc-wearing StairMaster champion
now. <br />
<br />
<u><b>Here are a few explanatory tips for the unenlightened: </b></u><br />
<br />
- A croc is an incredibly ugly plastic "shoe" worn by triathletes pre
2009. You might find this species in airport kiosks, mall stores, or a random garage sale. Nurses and doctors may sport the
"business croc" with its closed toe, while athletes typically prefer the
sling back croc or the pseudo soccer sandal croc (copy of the very
popular Adidas sandal of my high school era). <br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLgvMfkGEfBZ7NUUBOWA0W5VHjGvr06J6tfRpYw8JX9G44lpj9EFLz5tzgU76J6Gm587D-XYl82Hlly1Q1NlYbsv9cCmOjQ0NXhd7BraH3I0iFCX0UJuHl6HNcDjNTcnlT1xAFGGDxaOY/s1600/croc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLgvMfkGEfBZ7NUUBOWA0W5VHjGvr06J6tfRpYw8JX9G44lpj9EFLz5tzgU76J6Gm587D-XYl82Hlly1Q1NlYbsv9cCmOjQ0NXhd7BraH3I0iFCX0UJuHl6HNcDjNTcnlT1xAFGGDxaOY/s320/croc.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Standard issue backless croc. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhllUlmfSpX9PjEmXHwf9hVeqGTJa-cIFDP-yxcC7Le7z6P2rFcyIJe2_xtX0J5ANK6AdMfEtVcZu3P1iSXl_tu1C5iSn2-Yixv_NFdmbBB8qCJej_Ogz88W8SMN1tR7-GaR7UaQSVjM-o/s1600/dresscroc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhllUlmfSpX9PjEmXHwf9hVeqGTJa-cIFDP-yxcC7Le7z6P2rFcyIJe2_xtX0J5ANK6AdMfEtVcZu3P1iSXl_tu1C5iSn2-Yixv_NFdmbBB8qCJej_Ogz88W8SMN1tR7-GaR7UaQSVjM-o/s1600/dresscroc.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holy Crap...Crocs now makes a sporty "heeled dress croc." I might have to buy a pair for when I next get to a podium!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
- A StairMaster is a piece of exercise equipment that harkens back to
the days of Jazzercise, leg warmers, sweat bands, and New Kids on the Block. I remember
riding my first StairMaster at my grandparents house while watching
track and field at the 1988 Olympics. StairMasters
can now be found in the dusty corners of most athletic clubs or in
disrepair stuffed into high school gym closets. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<u><b></b></u><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuuwkivoiKYubHv49ya_xyBzRKngmimSVd0Ou69p0vIaFAWYqoU8myelFAASDj-duQMlaGXhW23okxWUZl0HdR-pIBFInOGD3PxwsBn6zypGOxCYW8n68YZr6hR2asxrIf8DYfzUnYr7M/s1600/stairmaster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuuwkivoiKYubHv49ya_xyBzRKngmimSVd0Ou69p0vIaFAWYqoU8myelFAASDj-duQMlaGXhW23okxWUZl0HdR-pIBFInOGD3PxwsBn6zypGOxCYW8n68YZr6hR2asxrIf8DYfzUnYr7M/s1600/stairmaster.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Example of my latest ride.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnA_qMnwIYPWxKM_KzS4HChWyp5XCVVMdpaqIUlVNsRdXf7Wglp-fy4qJCVToBM79B5g4Ig97H3y9ZnFHu-e4XPrWALTDU2W4beUYPJy-CBQrpGu_SyzB-Cn10xRShl3XoNcZ9amYVTJs/s1600/badassstairmaster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnA_qMnwIYPWxKM_KzS4HChWyp5XCVVMdpaqIUlVNsRdXf7Wglp-fy4qJCVToBM79B5g4Ig97H3y9ZnFHu-e4XPrWALTDU2W4beUYPJy-CBQrpGu_SyzB-Cn10xRShl3XoNcZ9amYVTJs/s1600/badassstairmaster.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't use this model because I don't like being all up on display for the entire YMCA Mountain View population.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<u><b><br /></b></u>
<u><b>Benefits to sporting the croc, StairMaster, pregnant chick look: </b></u><br />
<br />
- You will not have to wait in line or fight anyone for one of the 3 StairMasters at YMCA Mountain View. Ever. Even at peak time. Even if every other piece of equipment was taken. <br />
<br />
- The fact that nobody uses the StairMaster means that it is probably not an easy workout, if utilized correctly. Do you ever wonder why those elliptical machines fill up
more quickly than a One Direction concert? This is because they are
EASY. One can wear makeup and not sweat on an elliptical machine. One
can read the small-print Wall Street Journal on an elliptical machine. One can sip a latte on an elliptical machine. One can do NONE of these activities on a
StairMaster. Hell, I'm just happy to not fall off the Stairbomber when I
put it on the highest level.<br />
<br />
- You will spend countless hours at the gym where people-watching will
keep you entertained and your mind off the fact that you are a one-croc
wearing, basketball for a uterus pregnant chick. My favorite people to
watch are the high school girls who spend more time looking at their
butts in the mirror then paying attention to their level one elliptical
workout. I also love the weightlifters sporting Vibrams or Nike Frees
and doing 100 reps per second while making sounds similar to Olympic
shot-putters....the real ones, not the decathletes. <br />
<br />
- People offer you water and towels while viewing you as some type of
circus act. Really, people. I'm just a pregnant athlete with a healing
foot. I'm not a Zoo exhibit. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I only have a few more days of this routine before I can get back to the
pool and running and seriously, I have NEVER BEEN SO EXCITED about
swimming and "jogging" with a 3+ pound child inside my womb in my entire life. BRING IT ON!!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2DzMxvhWXsZCLeWZe4lNaLjk4FnePW6PmjNqxyBSwKXWzwjNxUHBo3oDU_r3swwo8DVNLsy6hqqhRtiJHBBDM8EVUSgyGUmYCNJ0McHPnFYR4b_907DsY0yrpg9-Syi7cQ5Bhv_l8z7E/s1600/preglahp.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2DzMxvhWXsZCLeWZe4lNaLjk4FnePW6PmjNqxyBSwKXWzwjNxUHBo3oDU_r3swwo8DVNLsy6hqqhRtiJHBBDM8EVUSgyGUmYCNJ0McHPnFYR4b_907DsY0yrpg9-Syi7cQ5Bhv_l8z7E/s320/preglahp.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">28 weeks pregnant. The end is kind of almost encroaching upon being nearer.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04197922169176937251noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-46185657337525895242012-06-29T15:23:00.000-07:002012-06-29T15:25:51.368-07:00Lauren's PREGNANT SLOG<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvkdHmUa5lru2hIgXRZLgdu81C-ULM5_gwAHhyphenhyphenngUGqfZ-6t5RTQ4L9-vNsD84tNEhYnD7QNKcu4ly8aTEDdCNzk2-fdlbz5iaAaeYsZtBwNir8AKDKPuVg8aLZHeT1qF6Pxk0vXYjGgw/s1600/sticks.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvkdHmUa5lru2hIgXRZLgdu81C-ULM5_gwAHhyphenhyphenngUGqfZ-6t5RTQ4L9-vNsD84tNEhYnD7QNKcu4ly8aTEDdCNzk2-fdlbz5iaAaeYsZtBwNir8AKDKPuVg8aLZHeT1qF6Pxk0vXYjGgw/s320/sticks.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The second grouping of pregnancy test sticks.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLUn-eQ_s-cYYQCQGAsdcGHNffCbG60fNzoE_zuc6hiEY9cNe80LmU7VfVL1KkwRZvRbprx1QkhBUd5oj8MGfxMS5C9eHuGKFIun8vKIS7EPF2JdAHKvCVTFmAIYlrfRHE0rTybHV5WrU/s1600/deadtired.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLUn-eQ_s-cYYQCQGAsdcGHNffCbG60fNzoE_zuc6hiEY9cNe80LmU7VfVL1KkwRZvRbprx1QkhBUd5oj8MGfxMS5C9eHuGKFIun8vKIS7EPF2JdAHKvCVTFmAIYlrfRHE0rTybHV5WrU/s320/deadtired.JPG" width="240" /></a><span id="internal-source-marker_0.1724874548068972" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Yes,
you are all still waiting for LJ's sundry race reports but in the
meantime I'll provide an update on my personal life. If you couldn't
tell due to the lack of blogs on training and racing, I am taking the
season off because I am pregnant and due mid October! Matt and I are
super excited for Mini Matt to arrive and if his incessant kicking of my
lower ribs is any indication, this kid is going to be a handful!<br class="kix-line-break" /><br class="kix-line-break" />In
the weeks and months leading up to the pregnancy test I took in
February, I had thrown myself into a frenzy about whether I'd be able to
get pregnant. Pataky finally forced me to take a test and I set it on
the counter to wait for the requisite 5 minutes. After .01 seconds, I
saw nothing but the test line and immediately devolved into a rage of hormones. A few minutes later, however, he
approached me with the errant stick. There, through the power of
binoculars, we saw an EXTREEEEMELY faint plus sign. OF COURSE this test
was lying so I quickly took 100 pictures from multiple angles, ISO
settings, and lenses and sent them to my great and patient friend
Jill, who CONVENIENTLY happens to be an OBGYN. She told us to be
"cautiously optimistic" in her stern doctor language, so Matt and I sat
around for the next 5 days being cautiously optimistic (terrified)
before I took 500 additional tests which confirmed it. <br class="kix-line-break" /><br class="kix-line-break" />Needless
to say our lives have already changed tremendously, and mini Matt has
not even arrived. The first trimester for me was not awesome. I went
from training 17-20 hours a week to curling up in the fetal position
after work (and during work), only to have Matt come home and ask me
what was wrong. In addition to barely being able to move, I could
barely eat. Veggies and eggs were out. LJ came to visit for a few weeks
and I even banned her from making her acclaimed egg bombs. I feel she is
still bitter about that one. The only foods I could stomach were dairy
products. I was a walking advertisement for organic dairy farms.
Weekends consisted of attempting to get up for masters swims at
Stanford. When I did make it to swim, I'd come home afterwards and
immediately resume the fetal position on the couch for the rest of the
day. <br class="kix-line-break" /><br class="kix-line-break" />Thankfully I
hit 16 weeks and felt awesome, or as awesome as one can feel while
pregnant. I'm now back to "exercising" (not training) 1-2 times a day,
depending upon how I feel and am just happy that I can actually eat
normal foods again.
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span id="internal-source-marker_0.1724874548068972" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></div>
<span id="internal-source-marker_0.1724874548068972" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">A few things I've noticed:</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> <br class="kix-line-break" /><br class="kix-line-break" />- </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It is hard to get my competitive juices under control when pregnant: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">While
I’ve had to physically slow down, that doesn’t mean my annoyingly
competitive ego has melted away. I still hate being passed or “beaten”,
yet this is really a foregone conclusion now. I am not going to be able
to maintain the same pace as I did while not pregnant. How do I combat
this? </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<ol style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<li style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; margin-left: 48px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Run
with a dog: Dogs poop and stop to smell things. When I hear the labored
breathing of a weekend warrior sprinting to catch me as I lumber along
at pregnancy pace, praying to God my bladder will remain intact, I
simply command Ronin to stop and conveniently smell something. That way,
I am not technically being overtaken and can blame Ronin for
everything. </span></li>
<li style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; margin-left: 48px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Ride
a mountain bike on the road – I’m pretty much banished to the indoor
trainer most of the time, but occasionally I bust out my mountain bike and ride it
on the road or trails that do not include the threat of cliffs or mountain lions. I don't worry about being passed on the road because I can always
blame the stubby tires of the mountain bike.</span></li>
<li style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; margin-left: 48px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Ban
the power meter from my bike: As I watched my wattage on the bike drop
precipitously, I realized there is no reason I should be tracking my
watts. There are no “which pregnant woman can average the highest watts”
contests. I finally pulled off my power meter and banished it to the
post-birth box, along with my skinny jeans.</span></li>
<li style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; margin-left: 48px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Declare
to all my lane mates at masters swimming that I am pregnant – this
immediately enables me to swim last in the lane and trumps all other
excuses, such as the ubiquitous “oh I haven’t been in the pool for 2
months and can’t possibly swim without floaties” line.</span></li>
<li style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; margin-left: 48px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The
fake spin class “twist of the dial.” When the spin instructor tells
everyone to turn up the resistance and I’m not feeling so hot, I just
fake a turn and continue on at my negative 200 resistance. While
everyone else is climbing Everest, I’m pretty much freewheeling – and
some days lately that feels like climbing Everest to me. </span></li>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" />-
Why do people insist on pointing, poking me, or examining my abdomen?
This has become my new pet peeve. Do I really need to hear for the
zillionth time that my boobs have grown? NO SH*&! I am not the first
woman in the world to be pregnant. Nothing new to see here. MOVE ALONG.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" />- There are far too many advice books out there on pregnancy. <br class="kix-line-break" /><br class="kix-line-break" />- I will never take for granted riding outside in the sunshine again. EVER. <br class="kix-line-break" /><br class="kix-line-break" />-
I have become incredibly adept at finding make shift toilets. Perhaps
this was a skill I had previously honed on race mornings with porta
potty lines 2 hours long?<br class="kix-line-break" /><br class="kix-line-break" />- Avoid the pregnant or wanting to be pregnant forums at all costs. <br class="kix-line-break" /><br class="kix-line-break" />- Maternity jeans are a very good investment in one’s sanity and well-being.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">-
Body image issues do not miraculously go away when you become pregnant.
The purgatory of not looking pregnant but not looking normal is quite a
character-builder. <br class="kix-line-break" /><br class="kix-line-break" />-
Do things you normally wouldn’t do when not pregnant: Meditation is
awesome! Cleaning my closet? Not awesome. Trips to London with my sister during May are normally inconceivable as I cannot be without my bike for more than 24 hours. 3 hour nature hikes into rattler and mountain-lion infested territory with fellow pregnant friends are good times. </span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR-2V-gsX7nHFfnTtpE31bm-5v5ORIN2oLox638-BLeyXyp-ipZz4a5B1PR_90ePwJwsxlRwLXvRgHaXJT1ziNBTdfsYfmbgqYJdsPJWginwnDwYpUwsFGBu60ZGyfX4QyNqbARQbH-4k/s1600/preghike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR-2V-gsX7nHFfnTtpE31bm-5v5ORIN2oLox638-BLeyXyp-ipZz4a5B1PR_90ePwJwsxlRwLXvRgHaXJT1ziNBTdfsYfmbgqYJdsPJWginwnDwYpUwsFGBu60ZGyfX4QyNqbARQbH-4k/s320/preghike.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiking with Nina, her Matt, Pataky, Ronin, rattlers, and Mtn lions.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">-
It pays to have a close friend who happens to be an OB. My previously
mentioned good friend and college roommate Jill is an OBGYN in SF. She
is the recipient of endless calls from the Patakys. These calls range
from: "Does a smiley face on an ovulation kit truly mean I am ovulating
and could it possibly lie?" to "Jill, can I do a 50 mile ride?" to “
Jill, can I do a 2 day hike at altitude while 7 months pregnant,” to
"Jill what happens if I can't eat one vegetable during pregnancy. Will
my child have scurvy?" She deserves a spa vacation after all of this.
Pataky allows me to do any activity as long as I do it with her. This
will include a trip to the Madonna concert a few days before I'm due!<br class="kix-line-break" /><br class="kix-line-break" />-It
also pays to have a friend going through pregnancy at the same time.
There is nothing like being able to complain via text with someone else
at 7am on why nothing in our respective closets fits, or what types of
maternity clothes are the best, or “OMG I literally ripped a hole in my
tight swimsuit in the middle of Stanford masters swim.” Empathy is
awesome.<br class="kix-line-break" /><br class="kix-line-break" /><br class="kix-line-break" />I'm
sure I'll learn many more things along the way and am just trying to
live in this moment of pregnancy, as I’ve learned in my meditation
classes, and not keep thinking about what is next around the corner.
Racing and training will come back soon enough, but most importantly,
we'll have an awesome little boy to add to Team Pataky. HOW COOL IS
THAT?! And yes, we shall add him to the local swim team at 6 months, so
that he will not suffer from my "I learned to swim at age 27" malady.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhndzMu6buWsd4pQQXlKdbdenn80MHTB5EscbSa-mK77MMx_GQpMJRUW4kAuN3_Y7jOlYeSrKgRKBrEQ-bD0yRvEY4xTWNJ38eaHlrAyIqX0kVBKwy2UYr24cmX_AgogYZD4qoiVkqxmEw/s1600/fijumper.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhndzMu6buWsd4pQQXlKdbdenn80MHTB5EscbSa-mK77MMx_GQpMJRUW4kAuN3_Y7jOlYeSrKgRKBrEQ-bD0yRvEY4xTWNJ38eaHlrAyIqX0kVBKwy2UYr24cmX_AgogYZD4qoiVkqxmEw/s1600/fijumper.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Ferrari F1 "onesie" - my first baby purchase -go figure.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoHtUJrGCVThNSsoNLwPGDEZEglSaza0qlGPas2K4syOx2rDDBphClENwWkBpAsiePFPrw-yiW8FR5sChyphenhyphenZvsooUDbXLWBJTvrDrvbMO564Od2U36yGNV3h3XNLUX9ecUdd0qDTdRbjBU/s1600/burberryjacket.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoHtUJrGCVThNSsoNLwPGDEZEglSaza0qlGPas2K4syOx2rDDBphClENwWkBpAsiePFPrw-yiW8FR5sChyphenhyphenZvsooUDbXLWBJTvrDrvbMO564Od2U36yGNV3h3XNLUX9ecUdd0qDTdRbjBU/s1600/burberryjacket.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A burberry mini jacket - Matt's first baby purchase - REALLY go figure.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQgmjBDTGa9cCfYjGF2JPgUIO_s8AAkrC1VOQElG_P6YkDvmiTtOAefKHFoNTGbVpQ5U9mrMCbk6QTWUtuA9mlMd-8WMOmUW5bPb22fH7KTF2JsNq2pAx_TrN8A8NqE5vn4HHSbv1irYg/s1600/gender.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQgmjBDTGa9cCfYjGF2JPgUIO_s8AAkrC1VOQElG_P6YkDvmiTtOAefKHFoNTGbVpQ5U9mrMCbk6QTWUtuA9mlMd-8WMOmUW5bPb22fH7KTF2JsNq2pAx_TrN8A8NqE5vn4HHSbv1irYg/s1600/gender.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, it's a boy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKUtxPiy1uQho0WcX3nBeAvOF30rw0S8GpVMbOurWGzUZKzlolscYPSiqDMiztZtyq2tmohBxu5ZO8RvcXvE_BMKD_5pSiK6StbdhzRSDfMK4fw5JYzT-d23yl-o-TJ_YI1VD4nVzrzLk/s1600/head.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKUtxPiy1uQho0WcX3nBeAvOF30rw0S8GpVMbOurWGzUZKzlolscYPSiqDMiztZtyq2tmohBxu5ZO8RvcXvE_BMKD_5pSiK6StbdhzRSDfMK4fw5JYzT-d23yl-o-TJ_YI1VD4nVzrzLk/s1600/head.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He has a head!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw2DLq43LYmAjhSzPf1l0PSAeFfvBwlQWiofRPBIpLoseo5qXS5YajST6wIWbcwIP-pwF4UeaXOLLOrUN9_iMUn8c9-6hY2WFgvQIW7VOpVUbJWMyaiaEA3so_TvV9y6wm4IKCW0UlBDA/s1600/rice.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw2DLq43LYmAjhSzPf1l0PSAeFfvBwlQWiofRPBIpLoseo5qXS5YajST6wIWbcwIP-pwF4UeaXOLLOrUN9_iMUn8c9-6hY2WFgvQIW7VOpVUbJWMyaiaEA3so_TvV9y6wm4IKCW0UlBDA/s1600/rice.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first glamor shot of mini matt. Looks more like a piece of rice.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXMeZRLGbTc9Bb3KHxaadNo8G-RgyC0nT0y1umMT13OHSl4iFoDOJE-D2WzOugy8qg5KJip_LsQl4KX5cEXrkAIR6_8YWP8twLcWMJLmwQR3TV7fiPhOwZVP5VuWL6Z6MN4PCgol1lDcM/s1600/salisburycath.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXMeZRLGbTc9Bb3KHxaadNo8G-RgyC0nT0y1umMT13OHSl4iFoDOJE-D2WzOugy8qg5KJip_LsQl4KX5cEXrkAIR6_8YWP8twLcWMJLmwQR3TV7fiPhOwZVP5VuWL6Z6MN4PCgol1lDcM/s1600/salisburycath.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Salisbury Cathedral outside of London - awesome!</td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04197922169176937251noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-48400566621916260462012-03-11T18:40:00.002-07:002012-12-03T12:44:47.660-08:00Why Girls Should Play Sports (and a rant on Rush Limbaugh)<div class="MsoNormal">
By Lauren:<br />
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I’ve been forced into some downtime lately from triathlon and seeing that the "The Slog" was launched as a “triathlon” blog, apparently I thought that meant I must remain silenced. I find it really easy to write about epic training and racing, as does the entire tweeting triathlon population, but difficult to write about all the other stuff that really frustrates me. As Matt will tell you, I am easily riled.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Anyway, I recently overheard a story in the bathroom of my club pool and felt the need to break my silence. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Here goes…</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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While busy lathering up with my Aveda shampoo after an“epic” 3k pull set, I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation of some 12-year-old girls. In the high-pitched cacophony that only pre-teen girls can make, I heard them discussing their love interests and recent trip to a mall to buy new outfits for some dance. Much to my chagrin, one of the girls, who was about as skinny as a stork, announced that her boyfriend had suggested she lose 5 pounds before said dance. The other girls (none of them weighing more than 50 pounds) then started an entire discussion about their dieting, and the rest of the conversation was drowned out by my rage. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>WTF.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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What 12-year-old boy would suggest that a highly underweight girl LOSE five pounds? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Overhearing this chat brought up so much from my <a href="http://rookiepros.blogspot.com/2011/05/laurens-essay-on-eating-after-30-years.html" target="_blank">own past</a> that I spent hours seething over it. It is hard enough growing up in a society that idolizes airbrushed models and personal trained and then drugged to death actresses, but to have young boys suggesting skinny girls lose weight just blows my mind. Where did they learn this? As a parent, what would I do to protect my daughter from such ridiculous, yet vicious and biting words?<o:p></o:p></div>
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When I take a step back, though, why does this even surprise me? We live in a world where it is (almost) perfectly acceptable for idiotic, blowhard political pundits to call a girl “slut” for taking a stand on women’s health. Despite so much progress for female equality, women are still made to think that their value is in how hot they look or how to please the opposite sex. You can see this on any reality show out there (hello bachelor pad). It’s enough to make me pray I only have boys. <o:p></o:p></div>
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What can we do about this besides hide under a rock? How do we as women protect ourselves and our children and friends from this? As I found out, once we have been exposed to these lies, it isn’t easy to get rid of the accompanying thoughts. In my own life, I realize that involving myself in sports from high school volleyball and tennis, early 20s professional elliptical machining (yes, I was an expert), and finally to professional triathlon has really helped me combat the negative thoughts that come up. Sports has given me a way to find value in myself beyond what a 60 year old former-oxycontin addict with a radio show thinks about my intelligence and purpose as a female.When I’m more focused on daily training, I am less focused on the outward crap. I eat to fuel myself and am more confident with my strong body and mind.<o:p></o:p></div>
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For this reason, I think it is so important to continue to encourage female involvement in sports at a young age. I see people like Lindsey with her swimitude (see below) seemingly not bothered by what others might say about her and I attribute much of this to her dedication to swimming beginning from the womb itself. I am so happy when I see the young kids of our friends sweeping the podium at the Wildflower kids triathlons each year. I applaud all of those organizations out there that really focus on getting girls involved in sports, such as <a href="http://www.girlsontherun.org/default.html" target="_blank">Girls on the Run</a>. Hopefully by growing these organizations and continuing to help girls in their developmental and impressionable years, we’ll be able to help them learn to protect themselves from noisy jackass pundits, as God knows this crap will continue on as long as we have 24 hour news shows and a misinformed population.<o:p></o:p></div>
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CHEERS to all the girls out there who are learning to play sports and all the parents out there who carpool their girls to all of these practices. AND, while I’m sitting here twiddling my thumbs in my short period of forced off season, feel free to harass me and I’ll share the carpool burden after work or take your girls on a run bike or swim if you live in my hood. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXSN9UrV55og9TfLp7fuoFJuexehK2m_b9vp6heKkzyHsZMRcVS9pvfT2MTD7AR8RuT_-gvNQvDLYWqF3C1BU6bO5qNssuaCTwLBQWCnmNT0ep_JR_14UTSWkv56gRDHOkokuLWmjJDMw/s1600/nealdomination.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXSN9UrV55og9TfLp7fuoFJuexehK2m_b9vp6heKkzyHsZMRcVS9pvfT2MTD7AR8RuT_-gvNQvDLYWqF3C1BU6bO5qNssuaCTwLBQWCnmNT0ep_JR_14UTSWkv56gRDHOkokuLWmjJDMw/s320/nealdomination.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wildflower Kids Triathlon Domination</td></tr>
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<i>+swimitude: (noun) an attitude of invincibility (not necessarily steeped in reality) developed from years of swimming in the pool;exemplified by any kid who has developed through age group swimming in the United States. example: see Lindsey Jerdonek.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja7TFlUPPEw03hZ4nckrZqOZ78GtNrzbLnlky3kqHF_iDS_tAZJ3OHUKcPeqpGbuS0m1OGGUwTeT9fWs5XYdTevuWJ9gaJV7NnyBlArqxww9qcCnRLiWcfgfJ558h3bqSORsQHmAo6IxI/s1600/lahponlyswimmeet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja7TFlUPPEw03hZ4nckrZqOZ78GtNrzbLnlky3kqHF_iDS_tAZJ3OHUKcPeqpGbuS0m1OGGUwTeT9fWs5XYdTevuWJ9gaJV7NnyBlArqxww9qcCnRLiWcfgfJ558h3bqSORsQHmAo6IxI/s320/lahponlyswimmeet.jpg" width="215" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first and unfortunately last swim meet. I wasn't too proud of that green "participation" ribbon but hey, winning requires training.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcnrt-MzDDQi-_5ObpeIdLfiM6cbR74bRbQOWI-BqjA4k_jief7_XYqdGxivKIEMrV4P0ig8yX6GOn81c3nVcDgS6hXNc0FXx1ETwZ1Q9nLCbH5eGZNo5mKplxrWBhB3Rok7y0-xlzqEU/s1600/Lahpkidbike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcnrt-MzDDQi-_5ObpeIdLfiM6cbR74bRbQOWI-BqjA4k_jief7_XYqdGxivKIEMrV4P0ig8yX6GOn81c3nVcDgS6hXNc0FXx1ETwZ1Q9nLCbH5eGZNo5mKplxrWBhB3Rok7y0-xlzqEU/s320/Lahpkidbike.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first bike - rocking the dress because I wasn't yet into spandex.</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04197922169176937251noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-64773175523721550422012-02-18T06:25:00.012-08:002012-02-18T07:12:03.315-08:00Snowbird Flees DC to Florida via Cleveland (Part 1)I am writing a column for the DC Triathlon Club and my first post is about abandoning the ranks of part-time-pro triathletes by leaving my "real job" to become a professional triathlete. There will be no more dragging my ass to the track in Ballston from Cleveland Park at 5:29 AM after 6.25 hrs sleep... even if it is to be in the presence of <a href="http://rookiepros.blogspot.com/2011/12/paying-homage-to-great-one.html"> greatness</a>.<br /><br />Here it is: <a href="http://dctriclub.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=Learn.buzz&id=529">http://dctriclub.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=Learn.buzz&id=529</a><br /><br />Bonus material for the cross-post complainers:<br /><br />The empty nest:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEpDaLYG-2Eb9yJsl9xeSWRHzm6YxlTnbHk0OVp7EQwWjLrN-aKdnYR66-wtj-vicalhiFa6FPSpVavUXUxfGT3A3KtYgIMlq5owyvazdi5ZcRaWEDm9ijzAFcXTsl90Q2tlqs69elDKrA/s1600/IMG_0079.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEpDaLYG-2Eb9yJsl9xeSWRHzm6YxlTnbHk0OVp7EQwWjLrN-aKdnYR66-wtj-vicalhiFa6FPSpVavUXUxfGT3A3KtYgIMlq5owyvazdi5ZcRaWEDm9ijzAFcXTsl90Q2tlqs69elDKrA/s320/IMG_0079.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710484873117968194" border="0" /></a><br />Padonek showing off his guns.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPLrOXWBkvIaoccGkh1KsTdro73KHN2bBCNHLJkh5j197ageAYuN3ypRQj17_sCbP6ajeYmIVbzlfnHqZfHfeAJToxPPp-YVCYeFx3X6QvA6rVuTOPZg-rPAhwU_64nJhBUUm1Nu2sJMXR/s1600/IMG_0083.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPLrOXWBkvIaoccGkh1KsTdro73KHN2bBCNHLJkh5j197ageAYuN3ypRQj17_sCbP6ajeYmIVbzlfnHqZfHfeAJToxPPp-YVCYeFx3X6QvA6rVuTOPZg-rPAhwU_64nJhBUUm1Nu2sJMXR/s320/IMG_0083.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710484592343979586" border="0" /></a><br />Of course, my share of the drive took place on the PA turnpike, 90 minutes of which was in a snow squall. Our dialogue looped through this:<br /><br />Me: MOG, I CAN'T SEE ANYTHING.<br />Dad: You're fine.<br /><br />My health declined precipitously over the day, so once in Cleveland, my dad ordered me not to train, or else I would be worthless at unloading the truck. My Uncle and one of my dad's friend answered the call of duty to help unload. My bedroom furniture will be 'stored' in a spare bedroom, thus we moved this hand-made bar to the basement, rather than the curb, despite my protests.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiolMIByUAQB9smM1wp7ftWNeGaIuklB2lra9GM6ddZ9eFDyG5cWsBO42RkLYsZLEp_gWYvEqZ7pXpyzrKMcfo3PY_9tYWPNlwvBpBBpU1DXcq9krTCbLJDrg82WhvqGyxFwGmaVFINcKwE/s1600/IMG_0088.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiolMIByUAQB9smM1wp7ftWNeGaIuklB2lra9GM6ddZ9eFDyG5cWsBO42RkLYsZLEp_gWYvEqZ7pXpyzrKMcfo3PY_9tYWPNlwvBpBBpU1DXcq9krTCbLJDrg82WhvqGyxFwGmaVFINcKwE/s320/IMG_0088.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710492109774928978" border="0" /></a>A Jerdonek family heirloom.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbD09HPp6X157sOosyQ6bvBVtAWXTncuuCT7Wk9hcQp0hEpKzP5fB8E_hG79e2o1-vmWvdcfhjbRMyDBKhl1bIlWh401UdBoxYJ6F_XkZfyQLmBeNxLD9Z-JbQKQsPVzi9aisNpERDWIah/s1600/IMG_0099.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbD09HPp6X157sOosyQ6bvBVtAWXTncuuCT7Wk9hcQp0hEpKzP5fB8E_hG79e2o1-vmWvdcfhjbRMyDBKhl1bIlWh401UdBoxYJ6F_XkZfyQLmBeNxLD9Z-JbQKQsPVzi9aisNpERDWIah/s320/IMG_0099.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710482859941385042" border="0" /></a><br />Here's a saw that careened down the stairwell as we moved the bar downstairs. It really had no place in the stairwell, and no place in this post, but look at how scary it is.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjeJDby0-adb6XfhF8Mohyphenhyphen2gWxy_zF_drUgey626gWs236cVyDBD02OMFxHQcFrlCLZDaq7EPM7uuurOme0aYI4IiE4QB0T6O-9xNdBpzmnsM4YSKODoHyO6GRDnvYCnzDQn21c-pcB60K/s1600/IMG_0098.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjeJDby0-adb6XfhF8Mohyphenhyphen2gWxy_zF_drUgey626gWs236cVyDBD02OMFxHQcFrlCLZDaq7EPM7uuurOme0aYI4IiE4QB0T6O-9xNdBpzmnsM4YSKODoHyO6GRDnvYCnzDQn21c-pcB60K/s320/IMG_0098.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710484052280973858" border="0" /></a><br />While in Cleveland, I titled my car and must show all you DC-ers the parking lot outside the motor vehicle's bureau which is a stark contrast to the thousands who descend on the Georgetown DMV on an hourly basis.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhilgGcFFDyqkH4qH2RNItDyT58ncLFdbg_mmrcThNqDoAOJMeoKFZS953JSb2Qq463jWKQlHpu7CNvbI6Iyvm3VWv9SyTNDggySLeGowOOraNnYzS98-JTdJYqCLzVbu0F-rsrQRLfbklD/s1600/IMG_0100.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhilgGcFFDyqkH4qH2RNItDyT58ncLFdbg_mmrcThNqDoAOJMeoKFZS953JSb2Qq463jWKQlHpu7CNvbI6Iyvm3VWv9SyTNDggySLeGowOOraNnYzS98-JTdJYqCLzVbu0F-rsrQRLfbklD/s320/IMG_0100.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710482066399820770" border="0" /></a><br />I like the trend on blogs where the author poses a question to their readership and encourages comments. SO, how many more hours per day will I dawdle between workouts, now that I am full time?Lindsey Jerdonekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489448492612988480noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-13306573368053612682012-01-26T15:56:00.000-08:002012-01-26T15:56:46.359-08:00NATION'S CAPITAL NUTBUTTER SUPPLY INCREASING UNEXPECTEDLY<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6ofGG3lWOjavyoLbHIT0B81JRoGI5FnsQA-Fydyeww_fQ3cFLvd12-mjtG17T1j3yjEbjgtbZ5rC3EJ_EwCDxcmkx8t7jXOw51_ItYoWEg7H_ACJmQwfI_7ckaNn9KvisTaZ9HB77J98/s1600/LMFJ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6ofGG3lWOjavyoLbHIT0B81JRoGI5FnsQA-Fydyeww_fQ3cFLvd12-mjtG17T1j3yjEbjgtbZ5rC3EJ_EwCDxcmkx8t7jXOw51_ItYoWEg7H_ACJmQwfI_7ckaNn9KvisTaZ9HB77J98/s1600/LMFJ.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE </i><br />
<i>www.rookiepros.blogspot.com</i><br />
<br />
<i>CONTACT: Lauren Harrison </i><br />
<i>CEO, of her life</i><br />
<i>
laurenharrison00@gmail.com</i><br />
<br />
<div style="color: magenta;">
<b>NATION'S CAPITAL NUTBUTTER SUPPLY INCREASING UNEXPECTEDLY</b></div>
<br />
(Los Altos, CA; January 26th, 2012) I am relatively happy to announce that the Costco of the DC area will soon be sorely missing the daily random purchases of one young Lindsey Jerdonek. Yes, as of Friday, LJ is quitting COLD TURKEY her long-lasting "spreadsheet addiction" (read: current job) to become a real pro triathlete, the type that takes naps during the day and does not have to get up at 5am to jam in a swim session before a long day of work and other obligations.<br />
<br />
Yes, my slogmate has moved on and is moving up and I congratulate her on making this huge decision as she takes the necessary steps to reach her goals. No longer will she find the need to resort to <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ZcoochWERFDhvNn8Sv9_ezs8-C2cMJXvMXk3T1CwMhDFr7WT9lTvKau0QB5vJddTSHCNr8VZuyMErT6CXXZMV4NbEZQITjHq0WujG3Hn63V0wNThK946IkWm3o7xUGPs_odFkI0YjwI/s1600/Motivational+Quotes.jpg" target="_blank">motivational quotes</a> on reaching her potential..she is living it..down and dirty.<br />
<br />
One fall-out from her decision is that I no longer will have someone with which to commiserate virtually on the stress of training, working, mountain lion spotting, and the complete and utter lack of creativity in my daily chickenspinachhummus lunches (I'm taking applications for this internship). On the other hand, Lindsey's recent freedom means that perhaps the Pataky home will have a visitor from time to time who will provide cooking and dog walking services and let me win during swim warm ups.<br />
<br />
Kidding aside, congrats Lindsey. While you may never beat me up Soledad canyon road, I have full confidence you will go far and am so happy for you. :)<br />
<br />
For those of you lucky enough to live within a 100 mile radius of LJ, you can join her this Saturday afternoon to say goodbye. She promises she won't try to bum a ride off you afterwards or make you move 10 boxes. Read future cosmonaut Jonathan Snow's much more creative announcement below for the details.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZMW3svCyV0gdyaw52xsJ270s_a3wMD194JkP3qD3_pxuAWq-72kbFIT_FqV7BOsv_1EWAq0ASNZTixcw-sBryrmVYNWyqUqMe6mDZIcwwyUiWVPvXUlzw-VRPx3OSPAOwgOD_KmXOOSE/s1600/HTFU.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZMW3svCyV0gdyaw52xsJ270s_a3wMD194JkP3qD3_pxuAWq-72kbFIT_FqV7BOsv_1EWAq0ASNZTixcw-sBryrmVYNWyqUqMe6mDZIcwwyUiWVPvXUlzw-VRPx3OSPAOwgOD_KmXOOSE/s320/HTFU.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">70.3 "World Championships"...100 yrs ago.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI1iNTSICngzXJ8kb-KKMUZYGPatyNiYp3yglOwDPOOMavUYrJmmn_NRwjMQHlpmmJR_YNFydwm9_VG8Y6yZPaf8EJT0zezkTwtLNpZhzPO8QqB1483gJX-jrLgwyFKo9rQSh5ztR6pHY/s1600/LJBIGTIME.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI1iNTSICngzXJ8kb-KKMUZYGPatyNiYp3yglOwDPOOMavUYrJmmn_NRwjMQHlpmmJR_YNFydwm9_VG8Y6yZPaf8EJT0zezkTwtLNpZhzPO8QqB1483gJX-jrLgwyFKo9rQSh5ztR6pHY/s320/LJBIGTIME.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Strategizing on how to find some random spectator to pack her bike and take her to airport post race.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2gB9qLsvozEXnugIz-1747vu7STy_PdNYWBWDJqp993jVchQ4-nsMg-RuO_kUohgVJpi_1aJei5v36bVj7Zgdk32EYip5rdgYHDJbfq8ySmAkfRKiPgh0xE4SCgNALTqfjPsiHyW5igU/s1600/mountain-lion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2gB9qLsvozEXnugIz-1747vu7STy_PdNYWBWDJqp993jVchQ4-nsMg-RuO_kUohgVJpi_1aJei5v36bVj7Zgdk32EYip5rdgYHDJbfq8ySmAkfRKiPgh0xE4SCgNALTqfjPsiHyW5igU/s320/mountain-lion.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Need I say more?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhyphenhyphen8tfP5STSU2i86HoGVcATYXebh5nkd4Up5zBlbivCb3IJP7_JGaZ5mvXHZuDwxuvl6V-SJyR5j08jCTD8_tVnNCVzFeSZzXOx42H5Xcilw-x2JFtX08x-2cYJFq_XBYOxSosvRfywwo/s1600/slutco.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhyphenhyphen8tfP5STSU2i86HoGVcATYXebh5nkd4Up5zBlbivCb3IJP7_JGaZ5mvXHZuDwxuvl6V-SJyR5j08jCTD8_tVnNCVzFeSZzXOx42H5Xcilw-x2JFtX08x-2cYJFq_XBYOxSosvRfywwo/s320/slutco.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheating on Costco with Walmart in LCNM</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilRInfRutl3CsdHoIAKPDwGfL4w0cYu2_kQrogaSe6kz9Vo-LnK1pALimAeWET8595bEEfEZ_-eHB6oUaKgOCMD6h_B9TUZiznz5IXnLIAfoYUTj36Hpb6KXDHaz6xhpjwA_fQA1-genU/s1600/ronin.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilRInfRutl3CsdHoIAKPDwGfL4w0cYu2_kQrogaSe6kz9Vo-LnK1pALimAeWET8595bEEfEZ_-eHB6oUaKgOCMD6h_B9TUZiznz5IXnLIAfoYUTj36Hpb6KXDHaz6xhpjwA_fQA1-genU/s320/ronin.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gratuitous dog shot of the month.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
From Snow....<br />
<br />
"Sayonara," she says. "Greener training pastures await!"<br />
<br />
Your friend and mine, Lindsey Jerdonek, is leaving DC for... she's not<br />
sure, but somewhere. And unlike countless precedents, she's not asking<br />
one of us for a ride, but is high-tailing it out of here on her own,<br />
hitting the road with everything she'll need -- primarily a stockpile of<br />
nut-butters, a bike, a mega-supply of hydrogen peroxide and bandages,<br />
and a mind-reading, automatic egg-scrambler-- to take her to the next<br />
level in her quest for triathlon glory. She leaves town Sunday,<br />
possibly bound for a snowbird winter in Florida, to be followed by<br />
nomadic spring of chasing training partners and training camps all over<br />
the US of A. A shaded spot down by the Homosassa River behind a Costco<br />
has been reportedly identified as the likely temporary location of her<br />
VW-based living/training camp.<br />
<br />
We'll all miss Lindsey, so we've coordinated with Her People on an event<br />
to bid her a happy and successful farewell until we see her again (rumor<br />
going around is that she'll make an appearance at the DC Triathlon in<br />
June). We're thankful for the time she's spent with us in DC on her way<br />
up.<br />
<br />
WHO: You and the rest of the DC triathlon / GRC hanger-on / work /<br />
Lindsey community. Lindsey also told me to tell you that, as rapper<br />
T.I. would say, "You can bring whoever <sic> you like."<br />
WHAT: Fair winds and following seas to LJ<br />
WHEN: THIS Saturday, the 28th, 3pm to 6pm-- whenever you can pop in<br />
WHERE: Buffalo Billiards, right off DuPont Circle<br />
WHY: To grab a pint while recounting some story about Lindsey running<br />
late / getting injured / asking for a ride / talking incessantly about<br />
the merits of gmail/gchat... Oh, and to wish her well!<br />
<br />
A quote from her royal tri-ness, herself: "I'm telling you, I sincerely<br />
apologize for the short notice and hope that as many people as possible<br />
can make it out. I'll even try to be on time for my own farewell."<br />
<br /><br />
<a href="http://georgetownrunningcompany.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"></a> </sic>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04197922169176937251noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-89704717775142817972011-12-30T04:17:00.000-08:002012-02-12T08:55:31.655-08:00Paying Homage to The Great One<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's Margie's birthday and for this one day all year, I'm asking myself: What can I do for The Great One today? </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhWLXRdRfYHEhCQ569Wds6ofWkFE6kUZe4bgRkKFD-CS2ZoiLRVwOM4wV3r3BZGezBA_N-wGILIvl0EgYTBvypY1OTkNE6GoMHqsox1tpYqtLqffpb3Z_fEtzgj2Im1c8n1XSI_p8hNGCN/s400/P1050217.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5691900186136852178" border="0" /><div>At the very least, I am suppressing the urge to discuss <i>my</i> training, the condition of <i>my</i> body, and the myriad details of <i>my</i> personal life that find their way into her inbox. I hope she enjoys the 1-day reprieve.</div><div><br /></div><div>Margie is an owner of =PR= so I'll head to the Cleveland Park store to pick out gear and help put food on her table (also appropriate since I'll be eating that food <i>off</i> her table tonight).</div><div><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 375px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3284/3054788348_6316c2ca3b.jpg" alt="" border="0" />I can serve as a training partner for her to CRUSH. That smile of hers changes when she gets on the bike.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyxiHUC3TM5ylKS56LfcVE8zmhlrr-mFdFUYRAlYwb0Af7Ytmuk9t-dNDfoXUzyP7CEAPHEMc_x_soPbI6QVR5Yy21qrxwNX5tEN8BYbDczZTYh9V1saIWaVsBhnZtYHwoFBwCrIV9_jVb/s400/P1050219.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5691900119866369250" border="0" /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" border-collapse: collapse; color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family:Arial;" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:Arial;" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; font-family:Georgia, serif;" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;">Yeah beeeatch!! Happy Birthday!!</span></span></span></span></div></div>Lindsey Jerdonekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489448492612988480noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-25227564409346255712011-12-19T19:16:00.000-08:002011-12-19T19:32:49.220-08:00Romance Camp<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102); line-height: 16px; font-family:'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We advertise in our About Us: This blog is a placeholder for us to share our race reports, attempts to balance full time jobs and training, moods, comparisons between East and West coast living, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; font-family:'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">love lives (or at least Lindsey's as Lauren is married and off the market) </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; color: rgb(102, 102, 102); line-height: 16px; ">and random bits of enlightened thinking.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102); line-height: 16px; font-family:'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">INDEED, the time has come for me (Lindsey) to touch on the topic of romance. With a season full of training, travel, working, and gchatting LAHP to cause early onset of carpal tunnel syndrome, there was no time for boys. Although, I bumped into someone who is proving to be sherpa material. Perhaps one day he will be tested by the @expertsherpa himself? I can only hope... Anyway, we plan to rendezvous in DC this January, but that was proving FAR TOO LONG without seeing each other, so I boarded a plane for a 112 hr date which we called Romance Camp.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The guiding principles of Romance Camp--i</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">t's a judgment free zone (#JFZ). Always.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg0WPpAVzLONdrIp2RJU8sD4siJyyvm8Lp7h_QehnT8J2syaPQjGeqSPkN6F-B7aZdwPhiAY8JOBG6GyKP-9i8ka2kZXLE4yvd7pAi9gwjkTRzPZ6-hATihms1oEWDBPlfpczYzvM6UFoS/s400/photo-14.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688045521483075170" /><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">A lesson learned: it is better to give than to receive.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_IBDzJyDQQ9nwEy0iKxfS5WIfhZEdjmbLPC9YrdVvTyhUvx_ngWjFjergXkiVYWGt_t6Ru2NRUoSYge9S2BC33RWNpANIowbglFOQ-GGhZ8bpJltcUnJmdsf13xyMKdIUbiQNNPifkD4S/s400/photo-16.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688045331716135106" /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I used every trick in the book to equalize the playing field at the pool.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIK3ZUeCOW8pXzrPC4hydMh6dh3qB_LoAMSMfnJ1wSvTFZ__b1HEcwO6A6mzuTdfVUX7xcMhFJUM50lmuebT1VlH3nABsu8tB3ww0kZLrPPOfWJSmQt4MUmc2FcpCoaFOdTRr4f5Kf53fw/s400/photo-13.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688045186491734482" /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We even went to this GEOGRAPHIC destination:</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLSMXB-QncT7lMjffuBnLoii_mcvrDT6dzE3sx5JymnVaZVCtydQH3sVV-22hk1gvWeC0V7_rXarJfNZK95LpPx16BbUo0ZetE9VxgUWPZ7dbbvZ0THNiXZkSb1VYAN-UlbO0zjBIinU6/s400/photo-15.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688045046689629410" /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And since the conclusion of my 5-day Romance Camp (where I shed off-season weight from excessive training, napping and pre-napping), I have been engaged in the activities printed on this post-it note:</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><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/AVvXsEgSzGZ3KEhYori6lb0tRSDBz5XMOOL4-ZL3F-mmlcPD25d3Ll6za7JSMktQGP2j9qzXti74H1NJ718LGOYAEdr6r_5rSwzc2mmMyJFODvB-fEWqBZmusVN7a6U0uwjLspudAghWcWMSsAYI/s400/ChatWkevinThinkAbtKevin.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688044941933184402" /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Now we press on, awaiting Romance Camp Deux...</span></span></span></div>Lindsey Jerdonekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489448492612988480noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-12231315621182863742011-12-12T14:40:00.000-08:002011-12-14T11:02:45.185-08:00The Salting of America and other LAHP MusingsLife is happening again in the Pataky household and that is how I like it. Matt is making progress in his recovery and we are learning how to live with the necessary changes. I’m slowly relinquishing my temporary claim on the most sexy of tasks – dog-walking, front yard dog crap clean up, trash take-out, and designated driving. I really have no stories to relate or bits of wisdom to impart to others, so I’ll leave you with my list of random thoughts compiled over the past few weeks of pondering life, making changes, and indoor training: <br /><br />- Salt (<span style="font-style:italic;">the compound, not the Angelina Jolie movie which I highly recommend, by the way</span>) has invaded America. This substance is quite pervasive. Morton’s probably even salts its own freaking salt. SERIOUSLY. Matt is on strict orders to eat low sodium as he continues to heal, and me, being the chef that I am, thought it would be easy to avoid salt. This is not easy. One Chipotle chicken bowl with no salsa or cheese crap or rice has over 1000 mg of sodium. Innocent - looking cottage cheese has over 500 mg of sodium per serving. Our favorite pre-cooked Trader Joe lentils are bathed in salt! Most gluten-free food in a box is also quite salty. To solve this problem, we’ve had to resort to cooking that which we find at the farmer’s market and throwing in a bunch of rogue spices. Imagine that. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0DIUwLJ31sFw1Vqvh3UJpdYcJ0xuPilW9kb6NhXNY7ndXQZkEG1MbrqkK-wIyzK5hJ0utjTP8yYgRaRQUvJzg6RJRgznDK8pn9xKgPdicRmkm4bVwWN1ok-oKY0jYI8HfLYga2aTGiBE/s1600/salt3.gif"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0DIUwLJ31sFw1Vqvh3UJpdYcJ0xuPilW9kb6NhXNY7ndXQZkEG1MbrqkK-wIyzK5hJ0utjTP8yYgRaRQUvJzg6RJRgznDK8pn9xKgPdicRmkm4bVwWN1ok-oKY0jYI8HfLYga2aTGiBE/s400/salt3.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5685391558402393218" /></a><br />THIS salt<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit-1MMjTxr1-fBn2RhJp_p-vEwcjBHt1w0G3NYqjI1_eFmibo8cm0GZJ8pq5u76l8mEi_qeck2jvqlOawDr4gcdwq93bNOclRmrAY3ZfEfeEeXDNZ0gymyAB99jabsOVyd29jI4l6iWzo/s1600/Salt.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit-1MMjTxr1-fBn2RhJp_p-vEwcjBHt1w0G3NYqjI1_eFmibo8cm0GZJ8pq5u76l8mEi_qeck2jvqlOawDr4gcdwq93bNOclRmrAY3ZfEfeEeXDNZ0gymyAB99jabsOVyd29jI4l6iWzo/s400/Salt.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5685391552195863650" /></a><br />NOT this salt<br /><br />- Team Pataky competitiveness knows no bounds. We are competitive meat shoppers and recently beat out all the other organic, earth-lovers at the hormone free, grass fed, better than NIMAN Ranch pork and lamb sale at our local farm. Oh yeah.<br /><br />- I suck at driving. Especially when Matt is in the car and judging me. Especially when he is not allowed to drive.<br /><br />- Dogs generate a ton of crap.....and do it to spite me...and only do it when I’m the one in charge of cleaning up.<br /><br />- CAFFEINE should be a regulated drug. This substance is in everything and I've recently learned that it is not necessarily the best thing to overdose on while participating in endurance events. I calculated that in a normal Ironman I probably consume upwards of ONE THOUSAND milligrams of caffeine in a less than 10 hour period of time. PERHAPS THIS IS WHY I HAVE HEART PALPITATIONS FOR WEEKS AFTER AN IRONMAN? "They" don’t tell you this in Living 101, though. Anyway, if I happened to have some latent heart condition, this caffeine consumption could become extremely problematic. I'll lay off the 2x caffeine gels at my next race and supplement with some vanilla.<br /><br />- Being in the not on but not off season is mentally taxing – a physical purgatory of sorts, but one that I shall overcome. <br /><br />- The internet is a wealth of information on heart health but all of the research seems to contradict. Endurance sports cause heart issues yet sitting on one’s ass and eating Chik-fil-A (what corporate person chose that spelling?) causes heart issues. Cholesterol is bad. Cholesterol is really not so bad. Eat no fat. Eat all fat. Eat low fat. Avoid grain. Eat lots of grain..especially Cheerios because it has the heart healthy label on it. Avoid sugar (you know, the main ingredient in said Cheerios). Eat a small baby wolf at each full moon to ward off heart issues. WTF is a person to do? <br /><br /><br />- Have you taken your CPR course yet? Mine will be the first weekend of 2012. <br /><br />- Mountain biking alone while the Sherpa is down is quite possibly the scariest thing possible. I think the local mountain lions know something is up and that I’m temporarily flying solo. This has increased my speed considerably. <br /><br />- When you have little time for training due to life circumstances beyond your control, I have found that doing all your swim and run training in Zone 4 does wonders for your fitness. <br /><br />- Similarly - training without a powermeter for 3 months has been quite liberating. I finally strapped on ye old SRM the other day in all its wired glory, mentally preparing myself to see some abysmal numbers. To my surprise, my HOUR OF POWER cycling training plan has yielded good results. If you are worried about losing cycling fitness, I recommend riding zone zillion intervals or just "all out" whenever you have the time to ride. This is also a great way to eliminate stress. <span style="font-style:italic;">(Note: I am not a coach, even though I do read Slowtwitch. Don’t follow my advice.)</span><br /><br />- Before making decisions on where to go clubbing (because we are such huge clubbers), we must consider Matt's ICD (defibrillator). I think it almost went off at the club where his holiday party was hosted, due to the "approaching shuttle launch level" decibels being thrown from the speakers. <br /><br /><br /> - Being able to ride one's bike is a beautiful beautiful thing. Matt's first ride back: <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-jzbOsKCDunEqybXlshmFLXNaEOn5pnsXVV3cqojC6AF9BGD5EwBB1Y6EZjJJ8hspyNPKYqJzoJ0yA0QYvOCcv9-CDD-k69QsW9ICn_Qy7FV0zsmub61bgZRTc4U_9EJAKZX3b-E8K4Y/s1600/mattback.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-jzbOsKCDunEqybXlshmFLXNaEOn5pnsXVV3cqojC6AF9BGD5EwBB1Y6EZjJJ8hspyNPKYqJzoJ0yA0QYvOCcv9-CDD-k69QsW9ICn_Qy7FV0zsmub61bgZRTc4U_9EJAKZX3b-E8K4Y/s400/mattback.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5685384358268861986" /></a><br /><br />- Breaking Dawn Part I is really awful.<br /><br />I think I've pretty much captured all the safe for public consumption musings in my head. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ3-oGY4bJ-yFZlL8HmS-Md56CM8a7PGjvaZCmb4TNrmyNPCqRXg7vTmGAcKFrF80LWFHuCZXtK1SDyhJhGNibbtTHKids-teArd5cRYaGRRTftYWr31rC86m6hcviruhR8NWF-GjNWYE/s1600/roninsweat.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ3-oGY4bJ-yFZlL8HmS-Md56CM8a7PGjvaZCmb4TNrmyNPCqRXg7vTmGAcKFrF80LWFHuCZXtK1SDyhJhGNibbtTHKids-teArd5cRYaGRRTftYWr31rC86m6hcviruhR8NWF-GjNWYE/s400/roninsweat.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5685384367646409810" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6lLooe87beU-42HWfbmzBAtoDfh4BKYbOganEwijMEIPU45CkRHSjvXiOeRBr9wryFkHoCJHGala4XQ-eX-qQJESwkMBZfvoP0KaWMBiQleNZ0oBbtar7MUVWLZCEh2WCKGrO33fXM8k/s1600/boozlersweat.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6lLooe87beU-42HWfbmzBAtoDfh4BKYbOganEwijMEIPU45CkRHSjvXiOeRBr9wryFkHoCJHGala4XQ-eX-qQJESwkMBZfvoP0KaWMBiQleNZ0oBbtar7MUVWLZCEh2WCKGrO33fXM8k/s400/boozlersweat.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5685384361857788770" /></a><br />What would a blog post be without dog photos and the ubiquitous Princeton sweatshirt?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3KGkhP3gFOuqZYPO_XJzME_h7RYDBfe24HSOkQFgYqSOEb3mhNoGZFRtkJZ6_vsBiWoXBpsM_j_WJLQa8fBEVCg-RWIxdOWCEtg8C7SpWnZDgviD-uaA5Xb60npR6mcjvO_0dnJXiVqU/s1600/mtnliondog.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3KGkhP3gFOuqZYPO_XJzME_h7RYDBfe24HSOkQFgYqSOEb3mhNoGZFRtkJZ6_vsBiWoXBpsM_j_WJLQa8fBEVCg-RWIxdOWCEtg8C7SpWnZDgviD-uaA5Xb60npR6mcjvO_0dnJXiVqU/s400/mtnliondog.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686060278040629330" /></a><br /><br />The ULTIMATE in dog gifts - combine my obsession with dogs and mtn lions.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04197922169176937251noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-28467806565619835012011-11-24T06:22:00.000-08:002011-11-24T07:56:21.936-08:00THANKSgivingTeam Pataky has much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. <br /><br />Matt's heart stopped last Thursday and after a million pieces falling into place, he survived and is now on the road to recovery at home with a bonus piece of equipment in his chest to prevent any other potential episodes of cardiac arrest. <br /><br />We were planning to fly to London last Thursday night and decided to do a hard swim set that morning before work at the club pool across from our house. After he kicked my butt (as usual) we were talking at the shallow end of the pool when he mentioned he felt like he was going to black out and then dropped below the surface of the water. I thought he was joking and pulled him up, but immediately noticed he was unresponsive and making a whimpering sound - the most horrific thing I have ever heard. I screamed for help and the only other woman in the pool complex ran to call 911. I unsuccessfully attempted to pull him out of the water and after many cries for help, an amazing club employee ran to the pool and together we got him out of the water and onto the pool deck. I started what I assumed and hoped was CPR and kept yelling at Matt to stay with me and that he was not yet done living and that he better survive. I think at this point I started yelling at God as well.<br /><br />After what seemed like hours, but was probably more like 7 minutes, the EMTs arrived; and after 2 shocks he returned to a normal sinus rhythm. Tuesday, after three stents and one ICD (personal defibrillator) installation, he was discharged from the hospital and is now recovering at home with my family, dogs, and friends. <br /><br />As I mentioned to some friends and family in an email the night it happened, I have never been so scared in my entire life. To see the most important person in my life lying blue and lifeless on a cold pool deck is pretty much the worst thing imaginable. I only remember bits and pieces of what transpired but clearly remember telling myself that there were no second chances in this situation...no "do overs" if I was not able to get him the help he needed. I typically rely upon "sherpa" Matt for so much and to have the tables turned in such a way was quite surreal. <br /><br />We do not know why this occurred, beyond the fact that Matt's heart is a genetic disaster. We could sit around and complain about how it is not fair for someone who takes such great care of his body, for someone who is so passionate about pushing himself to the max to have such a condition. However, we accept that life is really just not freaking fair. People do not get cancer or brain tumors because they are "bad" or "good." In the same way, we cannot necessarily ward off something like a bad heart. What we can do is be vigilant about the situation and do everything in our power to minimize the risks. Most importantly, we can use this second chance in life to truly LIVE. I have found myself consumed with the most ridiculous issues in life....whether I look "fat," why the Kona points ranking system is unfair, or why so and so does or does not follow me on twitter. In reality, though, none of this crap matters. What matters is the relationships I have with my friends and family. I would give up anything to spend an extra day with Matt on this earth and I will live each future day cherishing him.<br /><br />Thanks to all of our family and friends, both local and far away, who reached out to help us via hospital visits, prayers, emails, expert cardiology advice (karen :) ) and phone calls. We are both touched by your support for us. I am also so thankful for all the emergency medical professionals who save lives every single day. We both have much to process, physically and mentally, but are so fortunate to have a network of support upon which we can rely. <br /><br />Happy Thanksgiving and please go sign up for a CPR class. :)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-3iAff6qkWJeXMh4dZhx_2PPK3fLmtwedeCRYtgdlMA6wZxWUw13L6bAJ17EZZdpGEMAvThsjHtvVUt1ofvqm5tSomQpHxbwn2b7wxxs1rmu29tnEVs-ktA5FuVgrn37MG0LhbSP4MU/s1600/life.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-3iAff6qkWJeXMh4dZhx_2PPK3fLmtwedeCRYtgdlMA6wZxWUw13L6bAJ17EZZdpGEMAvThsjHtvVUt1ofvqm5tSomQpHxbwn2b7wxxs1rmu29tnEVs-ktA5FuVgrn37MG0LhbSP4MU/s400/life.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5678574962360832386" /></a><br />Matt's hospital view for almost a week - not too shabby.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiorY4B02f27XcX98A2JAG23X1n4l6ka_GliZckReN-w08WwnmSd_yi6QrD7LCGHB4-cl7W-CQLHSFKTAoS6AxjsYUiZsHGGosZgGFCbHUfDo3IbGga-ldW0EfxuIjU3FcOJ25iJsKA_7k/s1600/life2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiorY4B02f27XcX98A2JAG23X1n4l6ka_GliZckReN-w08WwnmSd_yi6QrD7LCGHB4-cl7W-CQLHSFKTAoS6AxjsYUiZsHGGosZgGFCbHUfDo3IbGga-ldW0EfxuIjU3FcOJ25iJsKA_7k/s400/life2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5678590168706589938" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04197922169176937251noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-81246355562452033572011-11-17T19:29:00.000-08:002011-11-17T20:46:19.829-08:00Guatape ITU World Cup Race Report<div>Following up with the altitude tent post, my race report version of "Sleeping my Way to the Top" can be found on <a href="http://www.dcrainmaker.com/2011/11/note-from-ray-heres-second-part-of-itu.html"><b>DC Rainmaker.com</b></a>. It features tales of mudslides, garbage bag rain coats and over-fried fish. Check it out. And to avoid accusations of cross-posting, I will include bonus material for loyal slog fans. Some blogs have give-aways... I present you with low-resolution pictures. </div><div><br /></div><div>Here are the elite men lining up on the pontoon. There were 60 of them, and earlier on in the morning, 50 women started the race.</div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjLfDHfsQXlcq_t25nC78njp8XIEG3yqRsS-8pzQxhRbT8b4_pTfXGAvv_XibNUBEDjGvwXcFJnNAAwPh3Sa8ft3m9eeohYO4ypaWr3bOBbe5SlCczsTEZ1W-aRfOHmXAe1vXL6u_VsZfL/s1600/P1050350.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjLfDHfsQXlcq_t25nC78njp8XIEG3yqRsS-8pzQxhRbT8b4_pTfXGAvv_XibNUBEDjGvwXcFJnNAAwPh3Sa8ft3m9eeohYO4ypaWr3bOBbe5SlCczsTEZ1W-aRfOHmXAe1vXL6u_VsZfL/s320/P1050350.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676178036162763090" /></a><div>The moto leads the way around the bike course:</div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIGIK7EAUN-h_62PUKpWdc_KMy1PIg4ZvNennsR1nSPA0Y-nLToMH1uDHECxNMAcq2P6ES4ji9f5Wcav-jjyAAF0vFsqWbMKEfaUm2bU7al25XUpJjrhIsK7ZF4tSuQyjKihJrPJto0F1k/s1600/P1050355.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIGIK7EAUN-h_62PUKpWdc_KMy1PIg4ZvNennsR1nSPA0Y-nLToMH1uDHECxNMAcq2P6ES4ji9f5Wcav-jjyAAF0vFsqWbMKEfaUm2bU7al25XUpJjrhIsK7ZF4tSuQyjKihJrPJto0F1k/s320/P1050355.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676177859999720786" /></a><div>Andy Potts got a flat tire and ran around like a mad man for a replacement wheel to finish the race. Slam dunk!</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFVynYQyhg6EzAbUrnZxeIZFjy-n89k-zTcAObaCn-izPyrm6zAtyO-Pk2I3qWgtHXLjzUgHvtJcHoZmwvkT3rg6cGlfhIikZg_9S8ONJgk5MGPtofFhDtB63Mn2TZJkFEeM2WOJZ-Uhyu/s1600/P1050358.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 272px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFVynYQyhg6EzAbUrnZxeIZFjy-n89k-zTcAObaCn-izPyrm6zAtyO-Pk2I3qWgtHXLjzUgHvtJcHoZmwvkT3rg6cGlfhIikZg_9S8ONJgk5MGPtofFhDtB63Mn2TZJkFEeM2WOJZ-Uhyu/s320/P1050358.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676177515074407778" /></a><div>The men exiting the second transition--from the bike to the run.</div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0nrT35OXkxtlAEQxBp1ro3AxyA9pOFlp-7Ka0FdV6V7cVvjaOdxdmH9gDOUM0JvVmPWmCWvbEJX79Xy4Sy_ZU5ojqCtn7DC2rkpO4E1KoVR0Ui8BjN6X_01ibjCMM0YX9-NgFIpTa7ov6/s1600/P1050364.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0nrT35OXkxtlAEQxBp1ro3AxyA9pOFlp-7Ka0FdV6V7cVvjaOdxdmH9gDOUM0JvVmPWmCWvbEJX79Xy4Sy_ZU5ojqCtn7DC2rkpO4E1KoVR0Ui8BjN6X_01ibjCMM0YX9-NgFIpTa7ov6/s320/P1050364.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676177162164158002" /></a><div>I think he was in a scavenger hunt and gathering as many signatures as possible.</div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAzZiPzCEw175ZZHNMrqwjFuOHKXSFKQOPa2DSiD6QcCrOWDuZwijM2vRR9hB-r_sCsW06f1cMogAvV1TRQhpgSohOIMn6WHxa4HVn-kBpy4_N0Ygl0D77AUwsQ0B_8cu6sdBpt7aQHEJ4/s1600/P1050383.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAzZiPzCEw175ZZHNMrqwjFuOHKXSFKQOPa2DSiD6QcCrOWDuZwijM2vRR9hB-r_sCsW06f1cMogAvV1TRQhpgSohOIMn6WHxa4HVn-kBpy4_N0Ygl0D77AUwsQ0B_8cu6sdBpt7aQHEJ4/s320/P1050383.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676174956541311394" /></a><div>A view while <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">scen</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">ding </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px; "><span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">El Peñón de Guatapé. I'm aware the font changed...</span></span></span></span></span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9d_cgFylo1DaxkDpgTYbAXJZIOO4jkAVXQ2Y7hjIs1fn1b8-K1tKjuSvJbISxkaWPzgzOxw3_09Gj32ZNWJoIWcgn3nPaKgqw_TJgsX6CKE7O1ng0-5p6DYtwUqV1cS76_o0D4YpJW8p6/s1600/P1050388.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9d_cgFylo1DaxkDpgTYbAXJZIOO4jkAVXQ2Y7hjIs1fn1b8-K1tKjuSvJbISxkaWPzgzOxw3_09Gj32ZNWJoIWcgn3nPaKgqw_TJgsX6CKE7O1ng0-5p6DYtwUqV1cS76_o0D4YpJW8p6/s320/P1050388.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676174770562903522" /></a><div>Euros scaling the stairs. </div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN8oFMIer3FkfhnMmJzdjjy61WLdbNOMsFlEmF6ZAIfl-1N3eZMYdrLS03YbA4cMyTFpTGFw3s92H2ZQWD38EPDip-ioVeL6mxSlwc81N9a7DKh-nC7mDGjyzTQcze3u8U-fsBlqZ6rAWJ/s1600/P1050389.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN8oFMIer3FkfhnMmJzdjjy61WLdbNOMsFlEmF6ZAIfl-1N3eZMYdrLS03YbA4cMyTFpTGFw3s92H2ZQWD38EPDip-ioVeL6mxSlwc81N9a7DKh-nC7mDGjyzTQcze3u8U-fsBlqZ6rAWJ/s320/P1050389.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676174408588944978" /></a><div>Bird's eye view of the hotel.</div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOAkMp3vKvjrI7CsQCCTk2jBi91-f8HjamfS7pceXInxZcboLxmO6A8b4rcW7olpZT2UDE0CMIimxwDEW0iM5DNq_CKgTUBwpyoMA3gYogJ_lJw9PdnW60P2GL4GmtD2q_9zvst5Jb-HuT/s1600/P1050391.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOAkMp3vKvjrI7CsQCCTk2jBi91-f8HjamfS7pceXInxZcboLxmO6A8b4rcW7olpZT2UDE0CMIimxwDEW0iM5DNq_CKgTUBwpyoMA3gYogJ_lJw9PdnW60P2GL4GmtD2q_9zvst5Jb-HuT/s320/P1050391.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676174192853917554" /></a><div>View from the top.</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX49_dvT1RziGMNwAlD891-jJmohA7NaeQVJ1alSZv-7KY4JSrKyQL6yWHjbG4-slq3v8_ts5Na42Qo7SnAaA-DCUIcerLtV2fGLClwldqVeBWjj-v_h1hRMmzYXIlO7ivndrdGQPX577D/s1600/P1050392.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX49_dvT1RziGMNwAlD891-jJmohA7NaeQVJ1alSZv-7KY4JSrKyQL6yWHjbG4-slq3v8_ts5Na42Qo7SnAaA-DCUIcerLtV2fGLClwldqVeBWjj-v_h1hRMmzYXIlO7ivndrdGQPX577D/s320/P1050392.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676173971631175506" /></a><div>Attending church, kind of.</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVCOhYBxetSvb9mx5KErXmksn_yvWokfwTD_ckpzAIJhlMZ7wVKeyYRzuXSPJgotmUXnLx139xbde_n1UnnLZTCETxOyj5zb0XcdJrz3CIaVnprIl-AwE1AjaI3h4giGiknTzdsT3swH98/s1600/photo-8.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVCOhYBxetSvb9mx5KErXmksn_yvWokfwTD_ckpzAIJhlMZ7wVKeyYRzuXSPJgotmUXnLx139xbde_n1UnnLZTCETxOyj5zb0XcdJrz3CIaVnprIl-AwE1AjaI3h4giGiknTzdsT3swH98/s320/photo-8.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676173763320938866" /></a><div>Clowns. Yes, it's as fun as it looks.</div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Fk28vIFXTXph_RpPPGTME7GEQVw0Wxl1mS4E9UVdH_VVEVUFIiZTnRJfbqTFDNsVaoZkvN4QhJTbH-QVujwV_kxXEIC5RkAS3cbmPclKLR2NgmwAaSIIZJ4pytIMcwMlStGUxc4U-B8A/s1600/photo-5.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 238px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Fk28vIFXTXph_RpPPGTME7GEQVw0Wxl1mS4E9UVdH_VVEVUFIiZTnRJfbqTFDNsVaoZkvN4QhJTbH-QVujwV_kxXEIC5RkAS3cbmPclKLR2NgmwAaSIIZJ4pytIMcwMlStGUxc4U-B8A/s320/photo-5.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676173314453002738" /></a><div>Flora outside my hotel room. The bars over the windows helped me feel right at home--just like my old apartment on U St.</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjknxnQFMn1rhHz9IlE_7aqui9U4rULZ3XPmMBimNr60TzLTLxrP5v-Vxm2VNuuYsQRXTH91UkhYD5d7YBskI4yn7cxSvMcA3tA9aRO8MuqNPq77oRH3FwuwAowAAD-8a1mHzpWaw3EIGbK/s1600/P1050347.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjknxnQFMn1rhHz9IlE_7aqui9U4rULZ3XPmMBimNr60TzLTLxrP5v-Vxm2VNuuYsQRXTH91UkhYD5d7YBskI4yn7cxSvMcA3tA9aRO8MuqNPq77oRH3FwuwAowAAD-8a1mHzpWaw3EIGbK/s320/P1050347.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676173113390605650" /></a><div>A minor lapse in judgment at the Medellin airport led to this.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMGOULjV1xfR0M-hHocPSCm_fTMy0FaeZKiPcNdhlyS98aoJOPYpFcQ1jQ_IL60e2m_9sB4T-UX6Dyvhw-bYL2_MsQ6AzfjMUKDfvSLUZYHtTrtRvQSkh6vlA7HrTaY4183ryHAOjrR1dr/s1600/P1050394.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMGOULjV1xfR0M-hHocPSCm_fTMy0FaeZKiPcNdhlyS98aoJOPYpFcQ1jQ_IL60e2m_9sB4T-UX6Dyvhw-bYL2_MsQ6AzfjMUKDfvSLUZYHtTrtRvQSkh6vlA7HrTaY4183ryHAOjrR1dr/s320/P1050394.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676172938122895394" /></a>When I was plastered to my bed, SNOW, of <a href="http://rookiepros.blogspot.com/2009/08/transit-tribute_11.html">s<b>nowtaxi fame (this links to an oldie, but goodie, including Lauren's FAVORITE photo of me racing in a red cotton long sleeve</b>)</a>... brought the Sl00t back to life.</div>Lindsey Jerdonekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489448492612988480noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-38907395407817515312011-11-08T17:52:00.001-08:002011-11-08T18:14:43.732-08:00Sleeping My Way to the TopTo read a scintillating account of my 2 week stint in an altitude tent before the Guatape ITU World Cup, check out the guest post I wrote for endurance sports technology guru, Ray of DCRainmaker.com.<div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.dcrainmaker.com/2011/11/guest-post-sleeping-my-way-to-top.html">http://www.dcrainmaker.com/2011/11/guest-post-sleeping-my-way-to-top.html</a> </div><div><br /></div><div>The comments contain some good insight from my coach, too.</div>Lindsey Jerdonekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489448492612988480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-80531598845515018352011-10-20T17:49:00.001-07:002011-11-03T05:09:22.878-07:00A Tip from Malcolm X: Reach for the Clean Glass<div style="text-align: left; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I finished reading the bestselling book, The Help, which centers on racial relations in Jackson, Mississippi in the 1960's, so The Autobiography of Malcolm X was my natural next choice when browsing my roommate's book shelf. Before reading his autobiography, my knowledge of Malcolm X was limited to a few lines of text from a history book as being the most aggressive voice in the African American civil rights movement. But, who knew... Malcolm X was buds with Cassius Clay (Muhammad Ali) and lead the prayer before Clay defeated Sonny Liston for the WORLD heavyweight champion title. Factoid du jour.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdiNfRhcvMAKvxkztW05uJt2z65iP8VRQcjkstNfPYdYVc2sHt93TOg1w_FbwSjRGvtwnXxAjcjbkxnuBjdvpVcVly3I_n5tnrduEOdb2ABunkolEbvJu1Mumm1htbpwihDJ0v0_EFJe8h/s320/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665737282454623842" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 183px; " /><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:small;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Malcolm X's life story is powerful. He left 8th grade after being discouraged from pursuing... anything, and then hustled on the streets of Harlem and Boston. At age 20 he was caught for burglary and imprisoned 6 years. He made the most of his time in the big house by homeschooling himself. He copied by hand the ENTIRE dictionary, read extensively and developed his verbal skills in debate groups. He said, "the ability to read awoke inside me some long dormant craving to be mentally alive," and that "months passed without my even thinking about being imprisoned. In fact, up to then, I never had been so truly free in my life." He sounds like a person of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">flow</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> (the concept created by one of my favorite psychologists, to read and pronounce, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">).</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Malcolm X publicly demonized white Americans for oppressing the black man for 400 years, and with this in mind, I pick his favorite lesson from his mentor, Elijah Muhammad--add another tally mark to the "irony of life" list.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div></div><div><strong><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">One day, I remember, a dirty glass of water was on a counter and Mr. Muhammad put a clean glass of water beside it. "You want to know how to spread my teaching?" he said, and he pointed to the glasses of water. "Don't condemn if you see a person has a dirty glass of water," he said, "just show them the clean glass of water that you have. When they inspect it, you won't have to say that yours is better."</span></span></span></strong></div><div><strong><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></strong></div><div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I discussed this gem with the great Margie and recognize that this is her approach in teaching me about triathlon and life. She provides me with unconditional acceptance, fostering an environment where I am truly free to fail. I either get it right, or am closer to figuring it out. I can't recall ANY instance when I have been condemned or gotten in trouble about a decision or action I made. I am responsible for my performance as an individual and the person I answer to at the end of the day is MYSELF, who is a hard enough critic. Being encouraged to think for myself, whatever the outcome, is what gives me the freedom to find my clean glass of water.</span></span></span></div></span>Lindsey Jerdonekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489448492612988480noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-23170103334401863612011-10-10T06:04:00.000-07:002011-10-10T06:41:31.325-07:00Bouncing Back from Buffalo2 weeks ago I went down in a bike crash at Elite Nationals in Buffalo and experienced my first DNF (boo). The silver lining--I made it out in better shape than my bike with only a smattering of wounds. Margie told me it was OK to be upset but that I just can't let it consume me, as this happens.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGe8mS5oP4ErzAsHiiK-BNQ-MnumyUtFtYswJWd94CwLFLGYdcm4I36KOA_hpxTiT6Jf49TUfnNPhCUwXu2P8zcC5_GaxwdocOXSd41StpJ80A4ALPAdgcL9FzmvUVQ9L2Y8c7AfKdePzr/s1600/DSC07398.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGe8mS5oP4ErzAsHiiK-BNQ-MnumyUtFtYswJWd94CwLFLGYdcm4I36KOA_hpxTiT6Jf49TUfnNPhCUwXu2P8zcC5_GaxwdocOXSd41StpJ80A4ALPAdgcL9FzmvUVQ9L2Y8c7AfKdePzr/s400/DSC07398.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661850340864513986" /></a>I moved on and yesterday in tropical Myrtle Beach, cheered on by a supportive DC Tri Club contingent, I secured third place and my second podium (in as many finishes) in ITU continental cups this year. YAHTZEE.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbtV0bZMJXewN1CT7KK7fu4uLpQEki8HOfiEbeI_54vZKt5gSZ_8egtbyPCqHeoff0Vs-R7_YaW0R3GlBA_N9G2uUIH09JIgROFKFuAqMkXJ1_eQaMO7z3Q_FjIeW11OQfon-o9Z231WcE/s1600/P1050286_2.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbtV0bZMJXewN1CT7KK7fu4uLpQEki8HOfiEbeI_54vZKt5gSZ_8egtbyPCqHeoff0Vs-R7_YaW0R3GlBA_N9G2uUIH09JIgROFKFuAqMkXJ1_eQaMO7z3Q_FjIeW11OQfon-o9Z231WcE/s400/P1050286_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661850070366500690" /></a><div>Don't you love that woman peering around the finish sign?</div>Lindsey Jerdonekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489448492612988480noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-4110542664845558682011-09-13T18:09:00.000-07:002011-09-14T19:08:34.787-07:00LJ's Kelowna ITU Report - 3rd, I got Finlay'd<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Thanks to my devoted homestay, I have more pictures in my race report than ever before seen at The Slog... for </span><a href="http://www.dcrainmaker.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">DC Rainmaker</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> fans, this amounts to the number of shots Ray includes of product packaging.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I ventured to beautiful British Columbia, Canada for my first international race, the ITU Continental Cup in Kelowna--also Canadian Nationals. L</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">eading up to the race </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I was stoked to see Paula Findlay's name in the start list as she is among the top women in the world in ITU racing. It's good to race the greats as they can pull you up to their level faster. Plus, I wanted to use the term <i>Finlay'd</i> in my race report. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">For my homestay in Kelowna, I matched with a couple, Susanne and Frank. They made me feel like part of their family and I did my best to fulfill Susanne's wishes of making myself at home in their house. Both of them attended the race on Sunday to cheer on me and the Puerto Rican Rios twins who stayed with Susanne's sister, Denise. Next time I'm in Kelowna I will take them up on their offers to go sailing, blueberry picking and wine-tasting.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Immediately before the race starts, each athlete is announced in order of ranking and picks a spot on the pontoon or, in this case, a starting mat thing on the banks of Lake Okanagan: </span></span></div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGOE-PpvA5BHy6kKPRWkQIg6kJQTrhb9Vkgg5RqpRNEebw8vglOESS8Bnj0Z4lDMslmyW5_oT1KGZxxEd1mupSPTawyXA8xPrh3LDd0f_5tZ194m3mcSTn7pWYO5JsCoZrRQfz-Ml_AiGe/s1600/IMG_7008.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGOE-PpvA5BHy6kKPRWkQIg6kJQTrhb9Vkgg5RqpRNEebw8vglOESS8Bnj0Z4lDMslmyW5_oT1KGZxxEd1mupSPTawyXA8xPrh3LDd0f_5tZ194m3mcSTn7pWYO5JsCoZrRQfz-Ml_AiGe/s400/IMG_7008.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652018657197313698" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;">I was ranked 22nd in the field of ~30 women, however, I was a few minutes late to the race briefing and got booted to the back of the line. I knew I wouldn't get a spot next to the higher ranked athletes anyway, but in a small field such as this, it wasn't a big deal.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;">As we waited for the starter, the dramatic ITU music played. I flashed back to last year when I was broken and would longingly watch the ITU action unfold on my computer, wishing to be a part of it. "Here I am," I thought, and without further ado, we were off.<br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCNBfmMkWBEuro3NI8tt8pjhOiuYh_4M_aLPnH4d290aoBhD3PNTC6aVYj1ReEtQVYBfMa-rdm86m0bUfMA7jkvKcNE3eNzWmaWoArKPekZe_cGHNjPDzdYYF7l4UpOIYaGVYeDIIl5eBN/s1600/IMG_7012.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCNBfmMkWBEuro3NI8tt8pjhOiuYh_4M_aLPnH4d290aoBhD3PNTC6aVYj1ReEtQVYBfMa-rdm86m0bUfMA7jkvKcNE3eNzWmaWoArKPekZe_cGHNjPDzdYYF7l4UpOIYaGVYeDIIl5eBN/s400/IMG_7012.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652018545962562578" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;">I merged with the pack on the other end of the field before we hit the first turn buoy and was dragged into the trenches. After the first turn I got around a few women, but it feels like everyone was on top of one another.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;">The Kelowna swim course is two loops, where you pop out of the water at the half-way point and run around a buoy on the beach. At the start of loop two I was flanked by </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;">compatriot Amanda Felder and one of the Rios sisters and we had a civil thing going, until more people came along to drown us.</span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS4zQ6ma8PtiG682USBvBWEvbnoL4k-l7G_QwuxCJMtJgIAnIPXX-XrYDFtwM__O6XCzjCGL35Z26WUWF5H5mxcGuoX_74MkGH6o-6jfEvWgU-ZKMzdh0lVe7uuIEwZaxI86gbzQNhBySt/s1600/IMG_7038.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS4zQ6ma8PtiG682USBvBWEvbnoL4k-l7G_QwuxCJMtJgIAnIPXX-XrYDFtwM__O6XCzjCGL35Z26WUWF5H5mxcGuoX_74MkGH6o-6jfEvWgU-ZKMzdh0lVe7uuIEwZaxI86gbzQNhBySt/s400/IMG_7038.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652018448555364738" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;"> I thought I was positioned well in the water and felt good heading into transition... not </span>a time to chill: </span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKdB_IqMxCrUqiEXoQuEYKC__eCH-2TYILfd5KA2PJADpivw4go08zVPSdk0Lqoh_mNbAp3TKD5Pm0sphbj8z2RWERYvhU_WF8faeHe-UMh2ZWfboyCZbJbeSaCTAyXWx3imtcSuPy-Kk2/s1600/IMG_7042.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 283px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKdB_IqMxCrUqiEXoQuEYKC__eCH-2TYILfd5KA2PJADpivw4go08zVPSdk0Lqoh_mNbAp3TKD5Pm0sphbj8z2RWERYvhU_WF8faeHe-UMh2ZWfboyCZbJbeSaCTAyXWx3imtcSuPy-Kk2/s400/IMG_7042.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652018346267807122" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;">The bike was nothinggg like the Life Time Fitness races where I feel like laying down when I get off the bike. The 6 loop bike course in Kelowna included a hill, but our front pack of 9 didn't do anything too wild and we stayed away from the rest of the field. </span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR0Na7jTy-Ci5Pys5Yrk3dZPmOr7Eg3OWbqEuJUYNQg6yU_Icsakcw9V2_P33f-rM1wcGz4SpzCZmmH548QheDr6OSUlKdSWfe1QlcG-EDSob7ILMjb1raSlWlmBTWCHwQOSWzpiho5jGl/s1600/IMG_7103.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 283px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR0Na7jTy-Ci5Pys5Yrk3dZPmOr7Eg3OWbqEuJUYNQg6yU_Icsakcw9V2_P33f-rM1wcGz4SpzCZmmH548QheDr6OSUlKdSWfe1QlcG-EDSob7ILMjb1raSlWlmBTWCHwQOSWzpiho5jGl/s400/IMG_7103.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652018250503877346" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;">T2 trying to hurry the hell up:</span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGpgfoSRrGGtafGP04BCaB9C7aQVuGo8MDJMPP9zuNsDvEj8mJQxyomuMgB6noZCvVEtAsjrFT7PVZ2l22yJOyBXSbiI7wyGa4perWqr1Xdd8stv1_z40bn78KtwlnaOAp5gNhNFJOEY2Y/s1600/IMG_7134.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGpgfoSRrGGtafGP04BCaB9C7aQVuGo8MDJMPP9zuNsDvEj8mJQxyomuMgB6noZCvVEtAsjrFT7PVZ2l22yJOyBXSbiI7wyGa4perWqr1Xdd8stv1_z40bn78KtwlnaOAp5gNhNFJOEY2Y/s400/IMG_7134.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652018131150076962" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;">Paula had a gap right away and I ran up to Annie Warner and Sarah-Anne Brault (the race winner). Annie didn't stay with us too long, but lurked behind the whole race. Brault pulled away from me before we reached the halfway point of our first loop (4 loops on the run course). I FELT like I was moving fast and thought, TODAY I WILL RUN 36 and get under that 37 minute barrier. I just pressed forward as much as I could. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;">Ow. Ow... OW </span><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNVAm56pgaBRhk0_5LIjFYwAMtGWnxlp2uuYv3Sxo3ZTJznppDSdrCosG3yC6kIY63BtZyEahwwktK_Aij8jbbpUr73hKHPe0TBR3mgdVap1nPEiPj1oEQIa8mC1wGeYRUGFHbNfhZdK8C/s400/IMG_7156.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652017676321036498" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;">In the last 90 seconds I felt a tug in part of my quad. I had a vision of hobbling over the bridge before the finish line and potentially losing my podium spot, but then summoned all my zen energy and channeled it into the freaking muscle.</span></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfgCXk1SJ4oFN2mC98LpDY4oWfpcVOqNfLNNvTnHD3nrZmwA3MiubdPU1yceTz2uTkf0tcuEj_ttYVO-p0CTAgvLAIxeOVCBkHauOFR7V0za13i1QFzLSlwTOZG8XCEQFJZ83MYkexVNSU/s400/IMG_7169.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652018008750598210" /><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;">I finished third behind Brault and Findlay. I saw my run split, 35:40, and was so happy and proud for running hard. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;">Onto the awards ceremony...our homestays, Susanne and Denise, with Militza and Melissa Rios in front. My dad asked: and who is that on the right? (I roll my eyes): that's me.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk36tV9UE2mgiyZNGwoAhCY2b5PDXii0wXabP33ikWVDxPFLu151eaaEVCFY8pw251lLBlkOm3XZIK9ZiwektA4BABQe-u4cGgpawLlYVUrQguwMc3-Po7zKwIJtsrrlkuFlIwSAsyS2Ms/s1600/IMG_0181.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 344px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk36tV9UE2mgiyZNGwoAhCY2b5PDXii0wXabP33ikWVDxPFLu151eaaEVCFY8pw251lLBlkOm3XZIK9ZiwektA4BABQe-u4cGgpawLlYVUrQguwMc3-Po7zKwIJtsrrlkuFlIwSAsyS2Ms/s400/IMG_0181.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652017454643057746" /></a>Awards ceremony with the dolphins<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQU4fAlXUST28wY0DVuMYrCEZCHGFfr082BhFOz8tcG02eyYeLGy50lb0wVXm5r3NYsVw_WxBo2AnRuRHOZqVA1ygxcPCbyjRYt602dLY6t43G7COxwWqLSy5llc5oVECpocrpK48ztAz/s1600/IMG_0186.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQU4fAlXUST28wY0DVuMYrCEZCHGFfr082BhFOz8tcG02eyYeLGy50lb0wVXm5r3NYsVw_WxBo2AnRuRHOZqVA1ygxcPCbyjRYt602dLY6t43G7COxwWqLSy5llc5oVECpocrpK48ztAz/s400/IMG_0186.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652017313301768946" /></a>I'm ready to smuggle my newly acquired plantlife and apples back to the USA<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUK0VI_zwXMGVIP2YZrTGIpSsTxiwcDAoJE62xYHzTUVEUMOqTTNQ0kf7vXMiAHkUoXyOyUoQmFC2bi9_5c-7yfhxAjmUwda4SM6gjY7VV2DPcdgJSVYM2Jy2NCg9ZasKHJfrKjfsgc1_J/s1600/IMG_0191.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUK0VI_zwXMGVIP2YZrTGIpSsTxiwcDAoJE62xYHzTUVEUMOqTTNQ0kf7vXMiAHkUoXyOyUoQmFC2bi9_5c-7yfhxAjmUwda4SM6gjY7VV2DPcdgJSVYM2Jy2NCg9ZasKHJfrKjfsgc1_J/s400/IMG_0191.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652017183692578226" /></a>Egged on by the crowd, I made use of the champagne<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4Eh25arDxUCv7zor9gOKz2L6tEPWS4cvo5TzrKqCwb_PNVDhlzns_EjbdKOnCWJr6YQUw0HvyMj0lC188RO54yM_P1TAB14Iq-cx616KoKT0iz-KVFNgSsW0EBeh79jrlqQYtGjQoNR9/s1600/IMG_0194.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4Eh25arDxUCv7zor9gOKz2L6tEPWS4cvo5TzrKqCwb_PNVDhlzns_EjbdKOnCWJr6YQUw0HvyMj0lC188RO54yM_P1TAB14Iq-cx616KoKT0iz-KVFNgSsW0EBeh79jrlqQYtGjQoNR9/s400/IMG_0194.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652016955400523458" /></a>The men's podium was not safe either, <i>not even</i> the CNT (Canadian national treasure, Simon Whitfield)<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3fjQBFwAtz2WKEVaNSTkNlQSb_5V6p-nDQwEjRTHcho_nLaQa9GT2ExijIXK9AhW-0YgkN5wptdfKSwcMgJtc0ORcXXOvQ0ZkZU8ufNUhckS0jkgsPG4OKxyi_gBlA7_hWvKJps0idgUa/s1600/IMG_0198.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3fjQBFwAtz2WKEVaNSTkNlQSb_5V6p-nDQwEjRTHcho_nLaQa9GT2ExijIXK9AhW-0YgkN5wptdfKSwcMgJtc0ORcXXOvQ0ZkZU8ufNUhckS0jkgsPG4OKxyi_gBlA7_hWvKJps0idgUa/s400/IMG_0198.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652016816168367538" /></a>All six of us squeezed on the podium for more pictures. Good thing we're triathletes.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Hj53uEXeDDpCldsG2yDRiDgV9Ia08BFKYGO_mAPXJhljAwyRJwnz1Phyphenhyphene5Jq6g4pBATbcBO3f1lHpy_eMQWFCgH6RcAczF0tTwtnwi43vhD8k-lK9G5W1retW-yyu1iufvNzwDQwEEMJ/s1600/IMG_0204.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Hj53uEXeDDpCldsG2yDRiDgV9Ia08BFKYGO_mAPXJhljAwyRJwnz1Phyphenhyphene5Jq6g4pBATbcBO3f1lHpy_eMQWFCgH6RcAczF0tTwtnwi43vhD8k-lK9G5W1retW-yyu1iufvNzwDQwEEMJ/s400/IMG_0204.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652016542271224130" /></a>That evening Susanne fixed me a bowl with her blueberry pie and ice cream for the car ride to the airport for my red eye (love those)... and there you have it.</div>Lindsey Jerdonekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489448492612988480noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-17263053753281608242011-09-05T14:10:00.000-07:002011-09-06T08:06:57.096-07:00The 8th Bitch at Ironman Canada - A LAHP season updateDNF - nothing good can really be said about those letters. From an academic perspective, I've always lived in fear of getting a "D" or an "F" in school and never liked seeing an "N" (category for: needs improvement) on my elementary school report card. Unfortunately, I was a talker and always got "N's" for "listens to class instruction" and "self-control." Anyway, in my entire 5ish years of racing triathlon, I have prided myself in always finishing a race.This past month, however, I have DNF'd two races in a row and have learned more then I ever really wanted to learn about NOT finishing a race.<br /><br />Consumed by the Kona Points Ranking (KPR) system and the siren call of Kona, I made an idiot decision to race Boulder 70.3 as there were more points to be gained by racing there. (<span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Quick aside here: I liken the KPR and the whole giant Kona points chase to the power of that lame ring in Lord of the Rings...or even the horcruxes and their hold over Harry Potter. Don't judge my movie selections. The closer and more involved you get with the ring, and the horcruxes, and the freaking kona points chase, THE CRAZIER YOU GET.)</span> ANYWAY - apparently, I thought I was above science, like many of our current GOP candidates, and clearly the altitude at Boulder would not affect sealevel lauren. After hyperventilating in the water and not being able to crack 100 watts on the bike and subsequently blacking out, I knew this race was not meant to be and pulled the plug.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJDHlmH8gtPVSYb3KtY9x4N7R1QqMkiLZuJZPnfKxp5nBvqJeHddG6YJIAg9U6Bj0XTEUDhHfhjU5K8JmWNRIUuKHqk9sRWQQYdcJOxUdfzTLWlV9jHpy0H1I0s89bXLhSA7SkMpFD7hc/s1600/gollum_ring.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 244px; HEIGHT: 269px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648987101920266546" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJDHlmH8gtPVSYb3KtY9x4N7R1QqMkiLZuJZPnfKxp5nBvqJeHddG6YJIAg9U6Bj0XTEUDhHfhjU5K8JmWNRIUuKHqk9sRWQQYdcJOxUdfzTLWlV9jHpy0H1I0s89bXLhSA7SkMpFD7hc/s400/gollum_ring.jpg" /></a><br /><br />I came home, regrouped, and then put together two excellent training weeks. My swim was improving, I was seeing good numbers in my run and on the bike. I was ready for Ironman Canada. I had unfinished business there, and I had an OUTSIDE chance of amassing enough points to qualify for Kona by only doing three ironmans and thus preserving my body provided everything went according to my spreadsheeted plan. Canada race week was good. I was chill. I was focused. I was ready to execute my plan. The sherpa was ready and had my bike dialed into perfection. My back and glutes were 95.5% and I was happy.<br /><br />Race morning I was ON and FOCUSED. I did my pre race deal and got down to the water for the swim start. I lined up next to girls and away from the men, so as to avoid my typical face kick by male pros at the swim start. The gun went off and so did I. I felt strong swimming in the water and found some feet about halfway through the swim. These feet tended to swim crooked so I stayed on them only when they held the line. The swim was over quickly and per my plan, I decided NOT to look at the clock. I heard an excited Pataky scream that I was 5th out of the water. what? FIFTH? Did he really say 15th?? This was uncharted territory for me, so I decided I better use this to my advantage and get cracking. Loeffler passed me in transition and we started the bike together. I kept her in sight and tried to use her to mentally move me down the course. After the first few miles I started to pick up the pace and power and really felt good. Things were coming together and I was rolling along - HAPPY to be racing.<br /><br />I stayed in this euphoric state through the bottom of Richter pass..somewhere over 40ish miles into the race. As we started climbing Richter the 2 people ahead of me dropped me quickly. I couldn't seem to get my bike to move. After what seemed like forever, I made it to the top of the pass. Something felt wobbly on the back of the bike and indeed, my tire was flat. At that point, I threw out about a million F bombs in my mind. This had never happened to me before and WHY in the MOST IMPORTANT RACE OF MY YEAR, did this have to happen?<br /><br />After 12 minutes of battle with a new and stubborn tire, I finally changed the tube and extricated a large staple/tack from the wheel. Off I went....with the knowledge that almost every pro girl had passed me while I was sitting on the side of the road. I spent a few minutes feeling sorry for myself and cursing in my mind, and then I heard Pataky yell that I was "only" 7 minutes out of 5th. Avoiding a group of age group men sucking each other's wheels and passing me on the right down the descent, I made my way down Richter and into the first of the 7 bitches (for you non tri people, the 7 bitches are 7 big rolling hills after Richter pass). Unfortunately, I felt wobbly on the descent on the first bitch, and when I looked behind me, I saw yet another flat tire. I pulled over and found another tack/staple in my tire. At that moment, I became the 8th bitch on the IMC course. It took all of my energy not to pull a Stadler and throw my bike into the field. I waited for tech support as I only had one tube, but they were helping all of the other people who had flatted farther back on the course. At this point, I knew my race was over. While I completely respect the age groupers who waited patiently by the side of the road for over an hour and then got back on their bikes and continued on, I knew that I was not going to do that. My back only has so many marathons in it, and I decided to save it for another day. I called up Pataky from the phone of a very nice spectator and then just sat down and cried.<br /><br />To be honest, I feel like the idiots who sabotaged this course really robbed me of a race*. Last time I felt this way was when my back blew up in 2008 and I felt like my L4/L5 discs had robbed me of part of my season. I could take the DNF from Boulder, because that was just stupidity on my part, but this second DNF was painful. Rather than sit in our depressing motel room, Matt and I went to the finish line and cheered for our friends who had put so much time and energy into preparing for this race. Watching Nina, Matt, and Jen finish despite their own flat tires, nutritional issues, and off course swimming made me happy to be part of this sport. And that is where I found my motivation to carry on......<br /><br />A few weeks ago I decided to sign up for IM Wisconsin, which happens to be two weeks after Canada. Now that I DNF'd IMC, my body is still prepared to race an Ironman....SO RACE IT I WILL. In order to be successful there, I realize that I have no time to feel sorry for myself. So, rather than tubing down the river with an aching body the day after the race, I did a long run on the course. I did, however, feel like scratching out my race number on my calf and putting a big DNF to wear like a scarlet letter. While these past 2 races have been less than ideal, I have learned much, including the notion that I should focus more on racing and less on trying to qualify for Kona as a pro. If I focus on racing, the qualifying will come when I'm good enough to legitimately qualify. Most important, I have rediscovered my passion for this sport of triathlon and am ready to do what it takes to make it to the finish line next Sunday. And, to borrow a phrase from LJ's mom, when I cross that line I will get down on my knees and thank God.<br /><br />* this is LJ hijacking Lauren's post--I view the course saboteurs as intervention by the merciful hand of fate, as Lauren will race Wisconsin fully marinated and rested.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04197922169176937251noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-10679302784867806372011-09-02T15:45:00.000-07:002011-09-13T18:09:37.678-07:00LJ's Chicago Triathlon Race Report - 4th<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial, sans-serif;"><div>I have four race reports in the posting pipeline, starting with the one freshest in my mind, the Life Time Fitness Chicago Triathlon. I split this into 3 parts for ease of reading, concluding with the most important section: gratitude.</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>1) INTRO: I raced the draft-legal ITU in Kelowna, British Columbia the weekend before Chicago, so it was interesting to see how I would recover and race back-to-back. I was effing sore the entire week after Kelowna from the run. Since the bike ride was a FAR CRY from the effort I've had to put out in my non-drafting races, I felt zippity and ran an unprecedented 35:40 10k... Paula Findlay's presence certainly helped me step up my game. Thusly, the week in Cleveland between races involved molasses-slow swimming, biking and running, with lots of bed rest and family time.</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>On Friday, my dad dropped me off at megabus which began my journey to the windy city. Unfortunately, I didn't take advantage of any good food offerings in Chicago. By the time I got to my hotel to nap, run and visit the race expo to chat up my favorite Frenchman, Andre of Kiwami triathlon race wear, I only had time to grab a turkey sandwich and a few bananas from Walgreens with a redbox movie.</div><div><br />I met up with my dad and his girlfriend Saturday afternoon when they came into town and was whisked away to Chicago's finest, The Drake Hotel. I love when Marlene comes to races, haha. We waited 1.5 hrs for our room to be ready so my nap and ride went out the window. As a consolation, the Drake gave me my own room on the floor of the Diana suite instead of pegging me with the other two. I reveled in the solitude, leaving my crap all over my room, offending no one.</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>This was the first time I <i>almost</i> didn't get to eat my pre-race egg bomber and had already poured milk over rice cereal when the waiter planted a bowl of rice in front of me. During this time my dad was canvassing nearby convenience stores for instant rice--never again will I travel without microwaveable rice packets! The other low point of the morning (more from my dad's perspective) took place on my bike ride to the transition area. I got trapped on some pier then lost, which garnered a frantic call to my him. Dad: Ask someone for directions. Me: DIRECTIONS TO WHERE? I'VE ALREADY ASKED. NOBODY'S FROM HERE. I stopped the haranguing and found transition 5 min later... haha</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>2) THE RACE: The swim was ~400m one direction, then a 180 degree turn the other way and straight on until the swim exit. Intel and common sense suggested I go out hard to get around the turn buoy before the masses. Plus, I wanted to see how long I could stay with the expert swimmers.</div></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilKu9hc3Hj5ogiH89AqT4FIBjy7NM4eI-_xK9zqllU1CI119cgTiKngWBMBw4CluRsDuvRc81X7YbtfehwgM6YQHtbN0abmof_mkaUltZWfdRLRBj22qqDQXOkStO6JtbL38z2Ila39bFv/s1600/P1050239.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilKu9hc3Hj5ogiH89AqT4FIBjy7NM4eI-_xK9zqllU1CI119cgTiKngWBMBw4CluRsDuvRc81X7YbtfehwgM6YQHtbN0abmof_mkaUltZWfdRLRBj22qqDQXOkStO6JtbL38z2Ila39bFv/s400/P1050239.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647898810603964418" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial, sans-serif;"><div>Sara McLarty (who just lost her father in a cycling accident--so sad--and told me to love my dad everyday) started on the left side of the field but I resisted her magnetic pull and started on the far right to avoid the onslaught in the water. I went out hard and by the time I cleared the group, I met Alicia Kaye's feet--she was on the heels of the two speedy sara(h)'s. I hung on as long as I could and was gapped by the time I reached the turn buoy and went around it completely alone. At least I got that part right.</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>I made my way back to Alicia, who had fallen off WRP (world record pace of 2XSARA), as Flora Duffy came by me. Again, I drifted back of them and swam the second half solo--not ideal. Just as I reached the swim exit steps, I felt a touch on my foot which turned out to be Radka, my awesome new Czech friend (country adjacent to my motherland). Moral of the swim: the sara's are FAST. MOG.</div><div><br /></div><div>See my pretty new Kiwami suit:</div></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGaJP5h6Umlqa5FmyaMmMQ8iF7veKgGAU9Pd7E2IUBgykGnC6DD87sRGflUGPMnyQnqtcU2Y5nzWzpa5VwEgdND520VdFLx5DO6WGG9QVWr3l1FkJ_cFCnUqUwMWuHq5lVlikaWJmuEs0I/s1600/P1050243_2.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 364px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGaJP5h6Umlqa5FmyaMmMQ8iF7veKgGAU9Pd7E2IUBgykGnC6DD87sRGflUGPMnyQnqtcU2Y5nzWzpa5VwEgdND520VdFLx5DO6WGG9QVWr3l1FkJ_cFCnUqUwMWuHq5lVlikaWJmuEs0I/s400/P1050243_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647898664257986114" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial, sans-serif;"><div>There was a long run to our transition area, ~600m. My bike shoes jammed in the grass (time to finally learn that damn rubberband trick) and I realized my chain had fallen off after I hopped on my bike. I had zero momentum and got off to put the chain back on, then fumbled some more while the entire field passed me by.</div><div><br />I felt awful on the bike so my first goal was to hang with the women nearby--I was in 10th position at one point early on. The bike course is 2 loops out and back on Lake Shore Drive. The out section lead into a VERY strong headwind which meant a healthy tailwind heading back toward the transition area. This allowed you to see the whole field and I could see Alicia really going for it which I admired.</div><div><br />On our first loop, our effort eased up slightly when riding with the wind (this was a welcome break), but on the second loop, I decided to keep up the intensity and came into T2 with a tiny gap--5 were already ahead of me on the run course. </div><div><br /></div><div>Expert photography, compliments of my father:</div></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_yqHehs4vjX8b_9p2XWuOt1IRXTz9b1bPbYajZyuf64Up_JHhfkvv4hUDp6Q4viZlHxsJ8eM8ARBpXbrmI80xb4gQVXwcTNHGPOYVAuRPY0vw_F_IWtevjvbHk_nK_3vl8jXlI3QpTmll/s1600/P1050244.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_yqHehs4vjX8b_9p2XWuOt1IRXTz9b1bPbYajZyuf64Up_JHhfkvv4hUDp6Q4viZlHxsJ8eM8ARBpXbrmI80xb4gQVXwcTNHGPOYVAuRPY0vw_F_IWtevjvbHk_nK_3vl8jXlI3QpTmll/s400/P1050244.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647898557271788322" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial, sans-serif;">I extended the margin a bit on the run and passed McLarty and Lavelle around mile 2, then hung dearly onto 4th place. I FELT hunted and was a tired Lindsey out there and very happy to cross the finish. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br /></span></span><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3t5ViryEvnTs6-4Rr6d2tb7OUMUBlnyd1aBHx4V2wTqy9YYUUSU0JtFb6KZThValnEaVTM124hhdfNFDtx3hsVy66Yd7GAwHnuE8l0M9piAHnHqc1iWyHFmb1Pn0TouqNlQXy58nBfHWv/s1600/P1050246_2.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 359px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3t5ViryEvnTs6-4Rr6d2tb7OUMUBlnyd1aBHx4V2wTqy9YYUUSU0JtFb6KZThValnEaVTM124hhdfNFDtx3hsVy66Yd7GAwHnuE8l0M9piAHnHqc1iWyHFmb1Pn0TouqNlQXy58nBfHWv/s400/P1050246_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647898431329130658" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Chicago was the deepest field I've been in this year and I am happy with my finish place.</span></div><div> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">3) THANKS: While in Canada I got to spend time with my friend, Andrew McCartney, and his lovely girlfriend. Andrew mentioned that consistency in training leads to consistency in racing. That registered with me and instilled confidence in what I've been doing as I AM consistently progressing in training. It makes sense that it would translate to races, too.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Also worth a mention, I really hit the jackpot in nabbing Margie as my coach. She knows her stuff and is a master at the make or break aspect of sport: cultivating a healthy and strong athlete mind. She teaches me to look at the bigger picture and reminds me that there is more to life than triathlon. As a result, I do not read too much meaning from any single workout--good or bad. I appreciate our brick workouts as much as our Blizzard runs to DQ with her kids. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">During my wkd of exhaustion at the end of July when I moved apartments, completed all my training AND attended a friend's wedding, Margie encouraged me to go to the britney spears concert that Sunday night when I brought it up because... it's BRITNEY SPEARS and how often can you see the princess of pop perform for free? Only once in </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">my</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> lifetime, anyway. When I got my schedule for Monday AM it said: Sleep in, recover from Britney. That's empathy. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And, thank you, Dad. :)</span></div></span></div></div>Lindsey Jerdonekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489448492612988480noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-77206524822491406582011-08-11T19:01:00.000-07:002011-08-11T19:39:01.738-07:00Retiring the Battlebox<div style="text-align: left;">At the end of July I moved to a different neighborhood in DC which meant packing EVERYTHING. Lauren, who is an expert in most topics, instructed me on best practices for packing heavy items, such as books, by putting them in my suitcases.</div><div>
<br /></div><div></div><div>Lauren: I love that old thing you carry around</div><div>its like so 1960s</div><div>Me: WHAT THING</div><div>Lauren: someday you need to UPGRADE to fancy rolling suitcase</div><div>Me: WHAT THING.</div><div>I have a rolling suitcase.</div><div>what are you talking about?</div><div>LAHP: that battlebox you carry around</div><div>Me: ??????????????????</div><div>Lauren: your hard suitcase</div><div>that thing you take everywhere</div><div>it weighs 100 lbs</div><div>you need a rolling duffle</div><div>
<br /></div><div>It's a black samsonite, not quite as bad as shown below, but this is how Lauren remembers it:</div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 307px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb9c2riYXCIo2c-ZnMb9FKyH2mz6jN8dhpgyq4FzBjvWeD6Smgh_Lc5yI0vOkNlhzWoFJtxsukrNByglN4g0jjXhbjrtuvchUxBi6BI_HzyOG3BADUvBe60xdLNT_y3_7CWBHDK2PlTisP/s400/606176c9c1292ef83cbf4cdf4fae3535ab27f8.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639785032820391058" /><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div><div></div><div>This is a typical convo btwn us--Lauren identifies something I'm doing wrong then suggests expensive, corrective action. continuing with our chat...</div><div>
<br /></div><div></div><div>Lauren: You can put a bike pump in a rolling duffle.</div><div>Does that hard case even have WHEELS?</div><div>Were wheels even INVENTED when you got that thing?</div><div>OMG NEW RIHANNA SONG ALERT</div><div>
<br /></div><div></div><div>I ordered a near-weightless rolling duffle for my upcoming travel and we revisited the topic:</div><div>
<br /></div><div></div><div>Me: I told my roommate about the battlebox</div><div>Lauren: and someday you can tell your kids about it</div><div>put it in a museum</div><div>Me: haha</div><div>Lauren: I mean where DID you get that?</div><div>it is SO unconventional and not conducive to good traveling</div><div>it's like riding a hybrid in a triathlon</div><div>Me: lol I know</div><div>my grandma bought it for me</div><div>it can be a family heirloom</div><div>Lauren: hahahha right. my grandmother had that thing in the 70s</div><div>I remember when I first met you thinking "wtf is she carrying"</div><div>"she must not travel much"</div><div>perhaps the camp was your first time on a plane</div><div>sheltered life in ohio</div><div>Me: I'm glad I have you</div><div>Lauren: to brighten your day and to keep you cool looking</div><div>Me: to point out my archaic tendencies</div><div>and anachronistic luggage</div><div>Lauren: haha you should hold onto that thing bc it will be vintage soon and it's always cool to turn vintage luggage into furniture</div><div>
<br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 382px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu_m6iEcncmthiEy2p0XSL-_KwpKGBRP1Noh_EZK3jkxmFw0aoebWfaWXmSLIn4vWr_bGuoDNwCDbyKYcqU2Hos7Gi8q7mvNoj3nIq_ew2YtIRxgMcpzs1rCEE4bi1_xsYFRoP6GU5fiBh/s400/battleboxseat.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639788557065962386" />Lindsey Jerdonekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489448492612988480noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-57923843617315000352011-08-05T12:55:00.000-07:002011-08-05T13:10:20.606-07:00Phoenix Rising from the Ashes<div> </div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1CHWIKwGUu8NZk87CLhNw5JeOz7Pvldoy_a8akYlGzJgbWWVwqiPRHuptyJkfx5mE3gZijfIj1qXfalvU9Iq6TuGGPtB6aa6cjhfKPwuFz4LSBzwSeq1-0FBKP-V_RyoqjT7XeHMiU1wG/s1600/phoenix-rising.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 347px; height: 400px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637463032270516594" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1CHWIKwGUu8NZk87CLhNw5JeOz7Pvldoy_a8akYlGzJgbWWVwqiPRHuptyJkfx5mE3gZijfIj1qXfalvU9Iq6TuGGPtB6aa6cjhfKPwuFz4LSBzwSeq1-0FBKP-V_RyoqjT7XeHMiU1wG/s400/phoenix-rising.jpg" /></a></div><div align="center">Have a GREAT weekend!</div>Lindsey Jerdonekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489448492612988480noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-10593865204851027262011-07-16T11:47:00.000-07:002011-07-16T12:34:14.849-07:00Life Time Fitness Minneapolis Race Report<div style="text-align: left;">The LTF Triathlon in Minneapolis was a great experience for me. My dad flew in from Cleveland to watch me race for the first time this year! The complimentary night's stay at the Egan Best Western was the main draw AND I threw in a lavish dinner at Chipotle to thank him for driving me the bike course. I also hung out with a new pro (and semi-sherpa), Patrick Davis, who helped me piece together my bike's headset, gave me nut butter, and let me tag along for the pre-race swim and ride.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div></div><div>I was excited for the beach start and decided beforehand that I wouldn't tip toe into the water. Earlier this season, the Escape from Alcatraz start off the ferry intimidated me, and my timid dive did little for my starting position. I got after it at the horn (blue speedo in center):</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPtgVAuxKNirhBRS9UpdTM-bSlKyG4_qSMGd6Vum_4UXYMQc69WnkdxzY0pjh7MBtsTM91xjYcRUca41KBpezEqekGy4jrxwHZzIS2KbP5MwLIqcg0aMF760Og-yjo4XkbYnmzL52YTsoI/s400/272171_232702936752977_109302339093038_766833_3871882_o.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630025701617353986" /><div><br /></div><div>The secret to nabbing cool race photos, such as these by Eric Wynn, is to enter the pro division in the LTF series races and WALA.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div>I was out in front for a hot second after the dolphin dives and then the swimming Sara's skirted by. I settled with good company and we had a pack of 5 out of the water.<br /><br /></div><div>Out of T1 (photog Steve Stenzel): </div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 332px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl7p1-AwXWb89LEO7zVKnD75piXELxPShG8QVQwrxRYSgt2amMSz4ZDl3GKEqYhpnU-GSSWRwkAAwKacFOLB9WvQ5l4_TOM21QLOCSWjBeOTyfIVEBcsTqEGJXc8lyQ5cDs1bvkoQeixcD/s400/_MG_0024_0.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630026043764537554" /></div><div>It was a predictably hard on the bike (note: it's generally... hard). I'm getting used to keeping up with the other women. The pre-race course drive with my dad was much more scenic than what I remember from the race. </div><div><br /></div><div>I didn't realize how hard the bike effort was until I got to T2 and had a hip flexor spasm after putting my run shoes on. I had a split-second freak out, then followed it with a couple walking steps which helped it subside. </div><div><br /></div><div>The run felt like survival with my quads on the verge of cramping and the mental monkeys kept me company.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPij1vWSRP69o3fajrB2R-1aEghPDjvQ4ZuB8h5gTw02WFxLOlmH95JZsw5OTOwUGszMVVApVWzpsXt9vMnxomDpMJ5YicZCFYftP3IgOScMXUzhB1DQyz7CxdNIT3TxR6Il3Oyw22fi1l/s400/279587_232699480086656_109302339093038_766801_5883303_o.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630025929982366210" /><div><br /></div><div>Highlights from the run portion of my race recap to my coach:</div><div><ul><li>IT WAS ROUGH FOR ME, MARGIE</li><li>My legs were not happy</li><li>At mile 5 I thought I might throw up, and I had lower stomach cramps</li><li>I YEARNED for the mile 6 sign</li></ul></div><div>hahaha so dramatic. I enjoyed the swim and bike more than the run, but at some point I'll be able to carry through to the end--I finished 4th! My legs were sore for many, many days (sadly, the post-race massage I looked forward to was pushed aside for drug testing). Soon after my dad and I hit the road. Oh, and I picked up a happy meal in Chicago on the way back to DC. :)</div><div><br /></div><div>This past week has been a real break with only a dabbling in each sport. The break ends TONIGHT with an 8k running race where I will go after a SLOG RECORD. </div></div>Lindsey Jerdonekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489448492612988480noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-46928761410838739242011-06-24T14:16:00.001-07:002011-06-24T15:16:11.846-07:00Lindsey's Columbia Triathlon Race ReportTo kick off this race report, I'm borrowing a line from my Columbia Triathlon weekend escort Sean with whom I shared jokes, pre-race fajitas and the ever important ride: <br /><div><br />"Race day started very early with a 3:15am wakeup call. I’m not really sure why I even went to sleep that night. But I had to get up that inhumane hour because I was driving a young pro, Lindsey Jerdonek, out to the race and she had an earlier start time than I did. Lindsey provided the entertainment making a Columbia mix-CD for the ride out there. It was filled with lots of Lady Gaga, Britney Spears and other catchy pop artists so by the time we got to the race site I felt like a 16 year-old girl ready to kick some M40-44 butt." </div><br /><div><br />Sean and I spent most of Saturday doing pre-race chores as efficiently as humanly possible (e.g., driving the most efficient route to Columbia, packing everyone's leftover lunch into my to-go container, etc.) with the intention of carrying that theme into Sunday's race. </div><br /><div><br />The women and men started the swim together which made for a chaotic and fast start. I recognized Alice at the half-way point and was happy to be in her company. She was swimming strong so I hung near her feet for the rest of the race, doing my best not to irritate the hell out of her. I came out of the water third and heard that I was 13 seconds down from the leader... off to a good start. </div><br /><div><br />Background for the bike: I raced Columbia in 2009 and had a disappointing bike split. It was my first pro race after a strong age group season and I had high (false?) expectations for myself so I did not envision trailing the leaders by EIGHT MINUTES after getting off the bike.</div><br /><div><br />Strangely enough, the woman, Margie Shapiro, who dug in the knife at Columbia 2009 by passing me like a freight train (damn her), is responsible for the athlete I am becoming today. She started coaching me this February when I put my triathlon hiatus behind me and we've been pressing forward since. Life is unpredictable and exciting like that.</div><br /><div><br />Back to 2011, during the bike I rode WELL (7 minutes faster than my '09 split)... and... had FUN. I wondered if this is what Lauren feels like when she rides. A few male pros passed me, but no women and when I came into T2 I was only 1:30 down from the leader. </div><br /><div><br />I ran with the belief that I could catch up and I did around mile 5. Of course this was at the base of the last steep climb back to the lake so the pace was glacial and painful. Back on the downhill and flat I just ran like hell until the finish and came across in first. </div><br /><br /><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/sm00mbWjKyc" frameborder="0" width="640" height="390"></iframe><br /><br /><br /><div><br />This race was a gratifying and rewarding experience for me and I was so pleased to cross the finish line knowing I had given it my best effort. It was cool to hold the finish banner at the end and be greeted by the race director, Vigo. My Aunt Julie and Uncle Rich were visiting DC for the weekend and were at the finish, too.<br /></div><br /><div>My training partners were instrumental in preparing me for this race, including the track sessions with the Georgetown Running Company team and Coach Jerry, Saturday morning Wilson pool swims with the regulars (some pictured below), countless swims with David, and a couple bike rides with the psycho biker herself, Margie. I couldn't do without Lauren and <a href="http://www.amykloner.com/blog/">Amy Kloner's</a> waterfall of emotional support and encouragement to always ride HARDER. Thank you.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Wilson pool swimmers - Juan, me, Jenny & Kenton</div><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTkj4HITlAoumYXqlVdIxazXx9IAH44HUgvnhAT_BDvLehREuvO7DMM3uFyFsCN9araBiqMIPXQXTS_cpxxf19Vs39IDs_Dd0KROlKodvVuoQjRM9kbIyStYI4_C4ETcIwqZJ4QtJ6wmo/s1600/purse.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621907517206930338" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTkj4HITlAoumYXqlVdIxazXx9IAH44HUgvnhAT_BDvLehREuvO7DMM3uFyFsCN9araBiqMIPXQXTS_cpxxf19Vs39IDs_Dd0KROlKodvVuoQjRM9kbIyStYI4_C4ETcIwqZJ4QtJ6wmo/s400/purse.JPG" border="0" /></a></p>Lindsey Jerdonekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489448492612988480noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-61120582846921611922011-05-18T10:40:00.001-07:002011-05-18T11:28:01.979-07:00Patience RewardedWhile soberly getting ready for bed Saturday night, I jammed my pinky toe into the doorframe of the bathroom. It hurt tremendously. I iced it right away as a precaution before I turned the covers for the night. At 4am, I iced it again when it was throbbing. As Veronica Mars would say: ruh-roh. <br /><div><br />The next morning arrived and I had plans to ride and run the Columbia course with my friend to prepare for next weekend's race. Having to walk with a limp proved to be a legitimate obstacle to doing this workout. Maybe I could just ride? I tested it on the trainer for 5 seconds and continuing did not seem smart. See, the prior weekend I got sick and missed <em>that</em> chance to ride the course. This is unrelated to the toe, but I was disappointed with the prospect of not getting to Columbia, yet again. I had difficulty coming to grips with this, despite all signs pointing to DON'T DO IT. I took the doubting to another level and pondered if I would be able to race next weekend.<br /></div><br /><div>I called my father who loves hearing from me when issues arise. He encouraged me to stop beating myself up about what happened and just take care of it. "Let it go," he said, and reminded me of the self destruction that ensues when I fail to do this. His warning sunk in: Don't let this destroy you. I FINALLY TOOK THE ADVICE. I let it go.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>After I got off the phone I made a new plan for the day. I wished my pinky toe GOOD LUCK deteriorating while being iced, elevated and bound to its neighbor. I followed through on my afternoon pool plans with the DC Rainmakers and swam gently. The activity loosened up the toe (good sign) and by the end of the day, I could walk normally. I managed the toe crisis!<br /></div><br /><div>My coach wasn't reachable during this time, and in the message she left me the next day, she said she hoped that my toe was doing better. I smiled at the absurdity of it because this is smaller than peanuts in the grand scheme of life. It's a TOE. Although, it is awesome to have the support.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So... big hooray for stopping the bad thoughts from consuming me. I took control of the things I could control, gave it the necessary rest to heal and kept things in perspective. It only took three days for me to be back on my feet running (a modest pace).<br /><br />Not all is lost as I have ridden the Columbia course earlier this spring with my GRC teammate, Michelle. Here we are after a lovely brick workout. </div><br /><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608112735732410450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 299px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5s66yGU29EjCWCQL1Q13ymVhIkhFcMRX7JojY7Xf26Ml-jciXEeeCahHO1mNDWZgUtRxlkIOhmhZA3njclFMQgN0JAt6CZ3T8DZUjpbvd6BvXf33bbx7NqEXFRhU4HT8rjNqiQtWVhV1d/s400/michelleLJcolumbia.jpg" border="0" /><br />To slog readers, including men, who were kind enough to point out the ill-fitting running shorts I raced in this year--I'm acquiring pairs that fit. Thanks.<br /><br />See you at Columbia... and Lauren's racing Ironman Texas. GO LAUREN!!!Lindsey Jerdonekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489448492612988480noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066812223875392192.post-65546652714198849042011-05-13T09:40:00.001-07:002011-05-13T10:49:30.313-07:00Lauren's Essay on Eating – After 30 years I’m finally getting the hang of it<em>Author’s Note: I read on another triathlete’s twitter feed that the level of activity on one’s blog is often related to how that person feels he or she is performing. Silence speaks volumes. I wrote the following post a month or so ago, but never got around to posting it. Since that time, I raced Oceanside and New Orleans 70.3 and somewhere along the way I lost my mind. I started 100 blog posts but completed none of them. Thankfully, I was able to locate my mind in order to put in a solid block of training for IM Texas and now I’m tapering and ready to battle it out next Saturday in my home state. I am excited to race my first long course race of the year!</em><br /><br />A few weeks ago I found myself reviewing my eating history while consuming a piece of sourdough roll (I know I know...shoot me…. it wasn’t low GI extra gluten free wild rice) in bed at 3am. I had a particularly long training session the previous day and failed to fuel properly …hence the bread. Reflecting upon this late night snack made me laugh – I have truly come full circle in terms of eating issues.<br /><br />I’ve noticed a number of blogs, tweets, and Facebook updates that mention food….how Bobby Sue only eats clean, that Mary Jane only eats foods blended in a Vitamix, why John Smith only eats meat, and how Ronin won’t touch meat with a 10 foot pole. I’ve also seen a number of “hey, admire the contents of my fridge” pictures. (If I posted such a picture you can be sure I would hide the poisonous Cool whip so as not to ruin my reputation). These snippets of conversation have reminded me of all the women/girls I know, both athletes and NON- athletes, that struggle with food due to body image issues. I think this is sad and have spent way too much time pondering why a vital staple in our lives has lead to so many problems. I’ve had my own food issues over the years but can honestly say that my foray into triathlon is helping me come to terms with this four letter word….<br /><br />I first thought I was fat in kindergarten, when I compared my thighs to the girl next to me. No joke. I weighed 2 pounds….I HAD NO THIGHS! Thankfully I went to private school where said thighs were hidden 4 days a week under less than appealing maroon skirts. Casual Fridays, however, were always the DAY OF RECKONING. Throughout middle school and high school I played all the important female Texas sports including volleyball, basketball, and tennis. To keep my perceived “weight down” I fueled on lettuce and a sprinkling of Special K cereal and lemon juice for “flavor.” I was always the girl that avoided fat. FAT was of the devil. I was a crust –eater at pizza parties and thankfully most of my friends were not.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB5DltwVHZpzaGyfQ6rDXCapRFXs9OSeGAYxXnS1K0O8hGCvzxDps4jN6tfM3XikVqg4VaMmrg2y7k_yzwSyS1JXR7VPseRM6HZfb0nHO2aXobCOs15z5a-isUY-Ui_nyVIVq1Q6HtdWM/s1600/thighs.bmp"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 255px; height: 360px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB5DltwVHZpzaGyfQ6rDXCapRFXs9OSeGAYxXnS1K0O8hGCvzxDps4jN6tfM3XikVqg4VaMmrg2y7k_yzwSyS1JXR7VPseRM6HZfb0nHO2aXobCOs15z5a-isUY-Ui_nyVIVq1Q6HtdWM/s400/thighs.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606241801947105442" /></a><br />Photographic evidence of missing thighs. I'm the tall one.<br /><br /><br />Freshman year in college I followed the fat-free frozen yogurt and chickpea diet (with vodka sodas on weekends) until I was introduced to the Dr. Atkin’s Diet. Eureka. Now – CARBS WERE OUT and FAT WAS IN. While my friends ate normal breakfasts, I feasted on cans of tuna with squirts of mustard out in the hall, so that nobody would be bothered by the smell. Occasionally I’d have vegetables, but never carrots, as GOD FORBID they get my body out of ketosis – a state of fat burning that Atkins glorified. I quickly dropped weight on this diet (along with half my hair, but that was a small price to pay). <br /><br />Now that I was “light” it was time to do something that I assumed all thin people did – run a marathon. I signed up for the Philly Marathon in the summer of 1999 and quickly downloaded a random running plan. I never understood why I couldn’t function after a long training day but I managed to qualify for Boston fueled on beef jerky and hardboiled eggs. I remember my mother questioning my fueling habits before Boston but I “proved” to her that my 3:14 Boston time was evidence that a fat/protein based diet was the key to athletic success…and even more hair loss.<br /><br />After college I worked…a ton. I kept getting mysterious injuries that prevented me from running and my food issues grew. I tried everything that I thought would help me maintain this elusive desired weight, from going to Food Addicts anonymous (spinoff of AA) to signing up for new marathons to keep my weight down “naturally.” Granted, I did not have a weight problem…much of this was in my mind. Unfortunately my body couldn’t handle the abuse and I couldn’t perform. I also couldn’t shake my fear of carbs.<br /><br />In grad school I met a girl who did triathlons and I decided to try one. I also decided that if I was going to do a long triathlon (as I called it) I better figure out how to eat again. How the hell would beef jerky and hardboiled eggs fit into my bento box? I found a nutritionist in the Bay Area who helped me address the carb fear. Her suggestion was to follow the much-maligned USDA food pyramid…focus on the fruits and veggies and lean protein, eat some grain and SEE how it affects me. I tried this for awhile and stayed healthy and surprisingly had the energy to finish my first triathlon – the Big Kahuna in Santa Cruz. (I was the girl that set up a pan of water near my transition to wash my feet.) Wow..maybe there is something to balanced eating? <br /><br />Since that time I’ve improved my attitude towards food. From training I’ve learned that I must treat food as fuel and that my weight will manage itself. I still struggle with my perception, but I know that I just need to focus on what my body can do – swim, bike, and run. Granted, many of these lessons have come at a cost. Early on Matt would carry extra food during our long rides and as soon as I’d get the crazed look in my eyes, he knew it was time to feed me. Even as recent as my first pro year, I found myself wandering up Mt. Lemmon in Tucson under-fueled. I consciously remember choosing NOT to eat too much because I wasn’t feeling particularly athletic compared to all the other “ripped” pros around me. Yeah, that strategy didn’t work too well for me. I also remember at a race comparing my bike nutrition to that of one of the pro girls next to me. I had what seemed like 3 days of food compared to her small supply. The familiar conversation came back once again: “OMG. Am I eating too much? Does she have a secret that I don’t have? Am I going to get fat?” Thankfully, I put a beat down on the inner voice and reminded myself that what I perceive as my “trillion calories on the bike” actually fuel me to ride fast. <br /><br />Last year coach Paulo began dictating how many gels I should eat and at what time on my long training runs. Again, at first inner Lauren started worrying about all the weight I’d gain on these training runs. “OMG - will I be able to fit into my race suit??” And again, I reminded myself to shut up and follow the plan. Miraculously, my long runs were faster. Imagine that.<br /><br />In talking with others and from my own experience I realize that food issues do not magically disappear altogether. In a sport full of Type A, high-achieving perfectionists, I assume that there are many others with similar thoughts. People also have to find a way to deal with this in a way that works for them. Some people seek out the top sports scientists to create a custom plan for them, others count their calories and make note of everything in a spreadsheet which spits out every detail down to one’s daily sodium intake. As for me, I attempt to ignore all the people that over- evangelize their own nutrition and instead, try to eat each day so that I can do each prescribed workout and get the work done.<br /><br />What I believe is common about most successful programs to deal with body image/food issues is learning to rid oneself of the external focus. When we worry about what others may be thinking about us, we blow our thoughts out of proportion and end up going down a dark mental hole that sets us back. This is similar to racing. If I spend all of my time before and during a race worrying about what Jane Smith pro is doing, I take the focus off what I am doing and end up wasting tons of mental and physical energy. In the same way that I cannot perform at my best when thinking about Jane three miles up the road, girls with body image problems cannot heal by comparing themselves to air-brushed Victoria Secret models. Yes, I still have bad days, but thankfully I have come a long way from shoving hard boiled eggs into my mouth right before heartbreak hill at the Boston Marathon.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04197922169176937251noreply@blogger.com7