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This podcast provides a full cycling workout for the indoor or outdoor enthusiast. The workouts are the same that I teach at my spinning classes, and can be used by both cyclists and fitness enthusiasts for indoor or outdoor cycling.
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Race Report: HPT Grand Prix CX
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This was a cool race.
The course was laid out at Topeka's Heritage Park, which is a racing track. You know, where they race things with motors.
Except on this night (yes, it was an avondcross, or evening cross race), all the racing was of the two-wheeled variety.
Like the other races in the 60CX series, the women go in the first round of racing, along with most of the masters. What that means for us is that we get to pack down the grass for the big boys, which I don't think is fair at all. Of course, the trade off is that any chicanes and sharp corners that are likely to get slick aren't too bad (at least not until towards the end of the race).
This course was different from any other CX course I've been on, and not only because it was dark when I was riding it. Started on a short strip of tarmac, then a moderate, grassy uphill into a downhill chicane. Few more yards of tarmac, then a hard right into the racing arena and on to some of the finest surface you could ask for in a CX race. The dirt was hard packed, but with some texture, almost like course sand, but softer. It was fast. I even got into my big chain ring (53) on that stuff. Hammered around the outside of the race track, then a 180 switchback and more hard dirt riding into the wind. A sharp right onto the infield, with some (very) patchy grass, still moving fast. Through a small dip with a little mud (take the smoothest line and you don't even get wet), a right turn that's sharper than it looks, a little more grass, and hammer so you can beat anyone around you to the best line going into a series of very tricky (very fun) switchbacks. Left, then sharp right, then right, then left, like a snake folding back on itself. Out and around, through more grass, crossing the track, then uphill and hard right along the back straightaway of the dirt track. A downhill chicane (more than a little scary on that loose, sliding dirt) and then stairs. That's right, stairs. Sharp ramp off the stairs (out of the arena, now), slight left, another chicane, then downhill and around the backside of the arena. Bumpy bumpy bumpy, and watch that huge bump (got worse as the night went on and got darker) at the bottom of the hill. Then the grass gets thicker and thicker as you move into a false flat. Steep hill (only about 8-10 yards of it, but gotta be 20%), fight over it, then fight the urge to recover as you head back into the tarmac. Another chicane (don't hit that tree!), up and around to another flight of stairs. Remount, one more chicane, then a hard left and do it all over again. Phew.
Topeka is a 2-hour drive (if you interpret the speed limit somewhat liberally) from me. Rode up with my Cross Yoda, who got very chatty about 30 minutes after he had a little energy drink. We arrived 20 minutes before registration for my race closed. We changed and got all our gear, then went to take our bikes off the rack. I aired my tires up before I took the bike off the rack (I have to let air out of my tires to get the wheels on, because I use my road bike for cross and it doesn't have cantilevers), and must have finagled the valve stem into a strange position. After I aired the rear tire up and went to get it off the car, I heard a "CLICK pfshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." Shit. ...
Race Report: HPT Grand Prix CX
At last: success!
I finally managed to get through a full cyclocross race without injury or incident. No flat tires. No twisted ankles. I still managed to fall and puncture my leg with my chainring while simultaneously bruising 82% of my shin, but that wasn't bad enough to prevent me from finishing. Truth be told, I didn't even realize how bad I'd hit myself until I finished the race and took my pants off.
Rode up with one of my Specs Racing teammates, Bob. Racing started at 11:00, and my race was one of the first (Cat. 4 women rode also with the women's open race and all the masters divisions). Having the first race on the course meant that I had the stiffest grass to contend with, and there was a ton of grass.
The course began with a nice, long stretch of pavement, but slightly uphill and with the north wind right in our faces. From there we moved into a long straightaway on the grass. The grass had been recently mowed, but it was still thick and stiff (that's what she said). Course dipped around into a ditch (riding off-camber), which led us around a tree, uphill and around another tree, then back through another straight-away the way we'd just come. Much of the course was like that: grass, tree, tree, grass. Slight uphill, slight downhill, slight turns. Two barriers in a small cluster of trees. Two separate times the course turned sharply and directly up steep hills (those were fun).
The highlight of the course was the Mound of Mercy, a banana-shaped embankment that was a moderate climb on the ends and steep in the middle. Course followed a few sharp turns around trees, then straight up the stem side of the banana. We rode steady around the banana's back, down the other side into some more off-camber section. 180* turn at the butt of the hill, then forced dismount for a barrier and a long, steep run-up. A small chicane followed the first run-up, then an even steeper downhill, another 180*, and a final run-up. Remount at the top of that run-up, then hammer back down the banana, left-hand turn, and through the finish line. 1.8 miles. And that's just lap one.
I lined up in the second row in a field of about 14 women. I'd read an article about how to get a good start in cyclocross races (because what else am I going to do at work at 5 in the morning), and I applied that new knowledge to excellent effect. I grabbed a wheel, passed, grabbed another wheel, passed, looking for a rabbit to chase. Going into the first grassy section, I was sitting in third position, with a fair gap back to the next woman. But as soon as we hit that first section, I knew that I was in trouble. The two women in front of me were much, much stronger. My body was already sending me messages: "Too much! Too soon! Abort! Abort!" I let them get ahead a little bit and tried to find a manageable pace. All my lines were good, but my power was not. I was already tasting blood, and could feel bile stirring up in my stomach. Coming through the second section of trees, the girl in fourth was right behind me. I let her go ahead, saying as she passed, "I already feel like I'm gonna throw up." This may have been about a quarter into the first lap.
I still had a fair gap back to the next...
Race Report: Capital Cross
http://www.flickr.com/photos/stevendepolo/ / CC BY 2.0
First off, Joe Friel (author of the Training Bible series) just did a few blog posts on how to choose the right coach; you should check it out.
As for me, the economy has not been kind to personal trainers (or not to me, anyway, but my sales skills are pretty paltry), and I can't afford a coach. There's nothing wrong with coaching yourself; that's what most of us do anyway. But there's no denying the efficacy of hiring a good coach to make you faster.
With that in mind . . .Â
I've been giving some thought to something that Speedy said . . . something about not wanting to waste $200/month just to have some schmuck who's read The Triathlete's Training Bible impose rigid periodization on her. Or something. In other words, someone who's learned things from experience and from Triathlete Magazine; someone who's had success as a coach, but also as an athlete; someone who's actually (you know) been there.
Well I've been there in terms of personal training, but not in coaching.
Sure, I've coached plenty of athletes to their first triathlon, their first half marathon, even their first half ironman. But I haven't really taken an athlete and made him or her faster and stronger through my ingenuity and their hard work.
Which is why I need you.
I need experience, and you need coaching. So I'm extending an offer of 6 months of free coaching to two athletes (don't want to spread myself any thinner than that). There are a few requirements for this coaching. You have to have done some racing before (you need to be at the "next step" phase of training). You have to be willing to work hard. You have to have a good amount of patience with me, as I'm going to be figuring my coaching process and style out. And you need to live at least 50 miles away from me (so we don't run into trouble with my non-compete contract).
If you're interested in being one of my two coached athletes, send me an e-mail (jamielynnmorton[at]gmail[dot]com). Include your name, e-mail address, a phone number where I can reach you, and why you want to be coached. And we can go from there.
But at least it had nothing to do with my ankle.
I will admit outright that it's a little ridiculous to make a 3-hour drive (each way) to do a 30-minute race. Quite ridiculous. Especially when it's cloudy and cold, with sub-freezing wind chills, and threatening rain.
It makes very little sense, additionally, if you've driven all that way and your front tire appears to be a little bit squishy (when you'd just filled it up that morning) to air it up beyond the pressure you'd normally use and roll it anyway. Especially when you have an extra tube. But that's exactly what I did, and I certainly paid for it later.
The course was well-planned, championship grade, and very tough. The loop was almost two miles long, and it took me somewhere around 12-15 minutes to do one circuit. In a 30-minute race, that means only twice around. Course began with about 100 meters uphill in the grass. After cresting the hill, it dropped you down through a snaking, flowing section that weaved back and forth through trees at a downhill speed. There was an off-camber turn, a long stretch on hard-packed dirt, a slight ditch, then a long, flat, grassy straight-away. A slight downhill led into the first set of barriers (which I really slowed down for, believe me!), then up into another off-camber turn. Another hard-packed section, more winding back and forth through trees, then a steep off-camber turn, followed by a sharp incline (run-up, for those of us with a little less muscle and a little more weight). Last 300-400 yards of the course were on cobbles, with a steady uphill gradient. That section led to the finish line or (for those brave enough to tackle the beast again) a sharp left into a grassy section, the wheel pit, and a second set of barriers, before tackling the initial incline a second time.
I was still having trouble unclipping from my SPD pedals on Thursday, so I decided to run a pair of platform pedals on my bike with trail running shoes. There were a couple points on the course where that ended up being a great decision--I fell out on one of the off-camber turns, and if I'd been clipped in, I might have done some serious damage to my ankle. But of course I lost a ton of power, especially on the initial uphill. I'd gotten the chance to run the course before my noon race began, so I knew if I could just make it all the way up the hill, I'd be fine. Coming to the top of that hill, I was dead last out of all the women. Then I got over the hill, and bombed it. Passed three chicks straight away who weren't interested in taking all the curvy-windies at speed. Started chasing 'em down, confident that my handling skills and power on downhills and in the flats was the bes...
Race Report: Chris (Cris?) Cross '09
First of all, the ankle is getting much better. It's not ready for running, yet; I want to give it at least one more week before I try any impact on this poor achilles tendon. But it's to the point where I can walk normally, and do most activities. I can even unclip my right foot from my SPD pedals, as long as I take it slow. Next week, I'm going to try a few miles on the elliptical, and I've been water jogging as well. Swimming is going (ahem) swimmingly. I'm hoping I'll be back to running within the next two weeks, and Chris Cross (next Sunday) is looking like a good possibility.
Now for what comes next. If Chris Cross doesn't or can't happen next week (that is if I decide that a cyclocross race isn't worth compromising the long-term health of my ankle), I'm ready to just scrap the cross season. There's always next year, after all.
This next week begins a long-term training plan for me, building up to a 26.2 mile journey in L.A. on March 21. I've always felt sort of ambivalent about marathons. Everyone does them. They don't seem like that big a deal, anymore. It's like a 4-minute mile: still impressive, but not superhuman. At any rate, I wasn't really interested in running one.
But after finishing at Lawrence, my mind started wandering here and here, and even here. And I knew that in order to make those dreams reality, I would (almost) have to run a marathon. (Quick note: I know people who have gone Iron without ever having done a marathon; it's possible, but not something I want to do.)
So here's the run-down on Jamie's future: P.F. Chang half-marathon in Phoenix in January. L.A. Marathon in March. Then depending on how that marathon feels . . . well, if it totally kicked my ass, then I'll see you in Lawrence in June. If I finish and I feel good and I feel strong and I feel excited . . .
Then I'll see you here in S...
As it Stands (and looking to the future)
It's not enough for you to be able to swim, bike, and run faster than you are now; hell, it's not even enough for you to go faster than the competition. Your best pace in a tempo run, your smoothest technique in the open water, your fastest speed on your bike isn't going to matter a lick if you can't call upon it (and a little more) when race day rolls around.
Triathlon is an inherently painful sport; all endurance sports, actually, entail more suffering than most humans (at least humans in our culture)Â are comfortable with. So when the intense discomfort of racing near your limits smacks you in the face, what do you turn to? How do you ensure that the hard work you've put in leading to your A race doesn't fizzle out when you need it most?
One way is to establish a rival. This is what I did for the Boathouse International Triathlon. I checked the list of registered athletes for women in my age group; I looked up their USAT rankings and previous race performances, trying to determine which ones would pose a threat. I found race pictures of them online and posted them above my desk (note: this creeps people out) with their times from races I'd also been at last year. Seriously. Ask my co-workers and clients. I had to look at those pictures every day, and before going out on training runs, I would see those photos and get a surge of adrenaline that told me, You want it more than they do.
Another method I've used with great success is focusing on a mantra--a phrase you repeat to yourself constantly to drown out the noise of pain and stink of lactate in your body. The best one I've found so far is "Trust the work"; that's what brought me through my first 70.3. But you can use any phrase that you find appealing. Works best when it's short, succinct, and burns an image in your brain. One of my athletes likes to use "Slow and steady"; another took herself through her first tri with the phrase "Home stretch." Keep it appropriate to your goals, though; if you're looking to podium for the first time, "Just finish" is probably not going to be immensely helpful to you.
My favorite method is to get a song stuck in my head. This can be tricky, if you're not a particularly musical person. It can also disrupt your rhythm if you try to match your cadence to an inappropriate song. And I've found that I can't always choose what song ends up swirling around in my brain (it's been this one in every workout I've done for the past two weeks, which is downright annoying). But when your brain hits on the right song--maybe something from your pre-race playlist--and it keeps coming back to (again) drown out the noise of your body, it's golden.
A key thing to note is that different methods are going to work differently for each individual. Personally, the rivalry thing doesn't ...
The Next Step: Chasing it Down
I shouldn't have tried to do this race.
I was taking one more lap to practice the course before we started staging. I didn't really want to (it hurt!), but I figured I should make the best of my last 15 minutes and not let my body get cold. Coming up on the second set of barriers, I was moving too fast. I didn't release my right foot in time. My front wheel ran into the barrier. My bike tried to go up and over. My foot tried to stay in the same place. My ankle sort of got caught in the middle.
It seems like I have a pretty hardcore sprain. I've got a puffy, flesh-colored tennis ball connecting my shin to my foot. It was extremely painful for a while. Like crying and quivering kind of painful. Now it's just faded to a dull ache. Hurts to dorsiflex.
As soon as I could (probably about the time the ibuprofen kicked in, actually), I got up and started walking around. USAT club championship is tomorrow at Redman; I was slated to race the sprint. I figured that if nothing else, I could walk the 5k, assuming I could walk. Driving home from the race, I was convincing myself that I could do it, that I should at least drive down to Oklahoma City and see how I felt tomorrow.
My best friend, who broke her ankle freshman year of college (it's still not back to normal), talked me back out of it again. She pointed out that if I tried to walk/run tomorrow, I might damage the ankle further; I might damage it permanently. And she also questioned whether I should really try driving on the interstate (this is my right foot, we're talking about). Sure, I can depress the brake and the accelerator. But if something ran out in front of me and I had to brake quickly, would I be able to?
Ultimately, it's not worth the risk. Redman was important to me, but it's probably not worth the potential long-term problems that running (ha! hobbling) on it at this stage might cause.
So I'm sitting at home with frozen vegetables wrapped around my ankle, which is propped up on a chair.
And the worst part is that I don't even get to try out my new, over-priced, team custom Oakleys.
(Um, actually the worst part is that this is the end of my tri season and I was in great shape for it. But the sunglasses thing is funnier.)
Race Report: Wichita Cyclocross Weekend, Day 1
 This is the standard view for me when riding with the full-time cyclists.
You are a triathlete. That means you train for three sports simultaneously. You are (as one of my friends once put it) striving to be solidly mediocre in three sports. That means that when you pit yourself up against dedicated swimmers, focused cyclists, and well-trained runners, you are probably going to come up short. Why? Because you're not trying to be the best swimmer, biker, or runner; you're trying to be the best triathlete.
But when the triathlon season is over, there's no reason to continue to pursue adequate mediocrity in three sports at once. Why not focus on just one sport, and get really, really good at it? What if you can make your "solidly mediocre" as good as a single-sport athletes' top performance?
It was this step, more than any other, that brought me more success as a multisport athlete. Running was always my weakness. I didn't like it; I didn't want to do it; it was my primary limiter in every race I did.
But I signed up for a half marathon anyway. And then I did another one. And somewhere in that training to go long, I encountered a runner within myself that I didn't know existed. I started to enjoy running, to look forward to it, to consider myself a runner. Of course, once the triathlon season came back around, I became (once again) a triathlete. But the hard work I'd put in and the improvement I'd seen stuck around, and by this season, I was running 8:30/mile instead of 9:20.
My guess is that for most triathletes who weren't previously athletic, running is the limiter. If you came from a running or cycling background, swimming is probably your biggest struggle. If cycling is your weakness, that's completely legitimate, too. Whatever your weakest sport is, you need to figure that out (I bet you already know it, if you think about it). My recommendation to you is that you do an end-of-season focus on that sport.
The alternative to choosing your weakness is to choose what you like. You probably won't see as much benefit going into next season, as far as catching up to your competition, but you will still come back stronger, more capable, and more confident in your abilities. Last year, I focused on a half marathon at the end of the season, and it saw my average speed drop by 50-60 seconds per mile; this season, I'm focusing on cyclocross and group riding, and I think by the end of next season, I can easily be averaging 22 MPH. That's not going to provide as...
The Next Step: Single-Sport Focus
 Being anti-social and focused pre-raceÂ
 Still with the ear-buds!Â
 Not me swimming, but that's what it looked like.Â
 Smoking T1!Â
 My bike looks so little with me on it!Â
Derby Rock 'n' Route Pics!
Last time, I discussed the need to train like you race; the day of an event is not an effective time to try out new ideas.
The other side of that equation is to race the way you train. But if you ask me, the relationship between the two is not exactly reciprocal. For example, let's say you do some tempo runs--that is, runs at race pace. And in these tempo runs, you keep your heart rate at around 165 BPM. But then you go out to a race, and end up averaging 171 for 5k. You don't blow up and you don't feel like you worked that much harder, but your heart rate ends up being outside of your race pace zone. You didn't race the way you trained.
There's nothing wrong with that. Racing presents a different mindset and different conditions and a different environment than you encounter in everyday training. And on some level, you can't train for that.
Which is why, if you want to get faster, at some point you start racing to train.
Think about it. Not every race is top priority for pros; you can't expect them to peak for Timberman the same way they peak for Kona. They have A priority races and B priority races and C priority races . . . they might do some races just for fun, some for the community, some for the money, and some for the fame. And while we age groupers may not be peaking hard core so we can be in top shape to win $200,000, we can take a lesson from this.
Long story short? Race as much as you want to. Race as much as you can afford to. Race as much as you can.
That includes single-sport racing. So you've got a 5-mile tempo run scheduled for Saturday? Why not hit your local 5k, with a mile to warm up and a mile to cool down? It's not that you're trying to set a new 5k PR at Podunkville's Summer Fun Run; it's that it gives you an opportunity to practice the race-day thrill, the competitive environment, and the surge of adrenaline as you toe the starting line.
I've found that the more I've raced, the more comfortable I've become with racing. At a certain point, you (I hope) got over the newbie nerves--not the butterflies in the stomach that flutter as you approach the big day (those are fun), but the feeling that everyone at the race is faster than you, better than you, and knows more about what they're doing. The next step is to perceive yourself as someone who is faster, better, and knows what he/she is doing. That gives you a confidence and a presence that (I think) translates to faster times and more intense races (it has for me, at any rate).
There are a few drawbacks to the race-to-train mentality. For one thing, it's expensive. Let's say you want to race a t...
The Next Step: Race to Train
Train like you race, race like you train. Have aerobars on your bike? Better try 'em out in training before you attempt to get down in them during a race. Doing a race that'll take you longer than 90 minutes? Be sure you practice your nutrition strategy--both in terms of what you eat and when you eat--sometime before the big day. Planning to wear a sombrero for the Cinco de Mayo Splash 'n' Dash? Okay, maybe you don't need to do your training runs around town in a sombrero. That might earn you some strange looks. And heaven knows we don't need to give motorists any more excuses to try to run us off the roads.
Specificity is an important element of training for any sport. Every sport requires (in some measure) the basic elements of strength, speed, and endurance. So every serious, successful athlete trains all three, at least a little bit. I remember having to run a mile and a half in football conditioning (hated it). But we spent a lot more time lifting weights for football, because strength is way more important than endurance when you're only running far enough to hit the person directly across from you.
You could probably have figured this out on your own, but triathlon is primarily a sport of endurance. Hence long bikes, long runs, long swims. Coincidentally, of strength, speed, and endurance, the most effective training is to put endurance first, then strength, then speed. But that doesn't mean that triathletes never need to work on strength, or on speed.
If you've been doing this sport long enough to want to get better, you've been in it long enough to know you can go the distance. You've got the endurance to run a 10k or bike 50 miles or whatever the case may be. What you don't have is speed at those distances.
Here's where the specificity comes in. Let's say you want to be able to run a 10k in under 60 minutes. That's a pretty good goal, right? So you need to run 6.2 miles at a sub-10:00-minute pace. But you do all of your training runs at a pace of around 10:15/mile. Now there's definitely something to be said for race-day adrenaline, or whatever it is that allows us to outperform our best training at a big event. But if you can't do a 3-mile tempo run at 9:40 pace, what makes you think you're going to be able to go twice that far after swimming and biking for an hour?
It's been my experience that you get so comfortable with your long, steady pace when you're training endurance that it can be hard to shift out of that gear and into a speedier one. I started paying a little bit closer attention to my heart rate on training runs, and realized I wasn't getting my heart rate up quite as high as I was supposed to. I had built a really good base, had good endurance, and that had prompted better efficiency and less effort at my base-building pace. One day, during a mid-distance run (probably 6 miles), I decided to push a little bit to see what it would take to get my heart rate in the target zone. Ended up doing my six-mile run on about a 9:20 pace. I'd been doing all my runs right around 10:00. Had no idea I could hold 9:20 for 6 miles. After that, I was more willing and able to push on my runs, especially the long ones.
The Next Step: Train to Race
I don't have a coach. I don't have a power meter. I don't have a GPS device. I don't run in Newtons, don't ride on Zipps, and don't own a swim skin.
I've considered purchasing all of those things. I've thought about spending money I didn't really have on things I don't really need, because they might (in most cases, will) make me faster. And in terms of improving speed, all of these tools are reasonable investments. I'm on the fence about Newtons (seems to me that they could go either way), but all the others, I firmly believe that they will make you faster.
But I'm not going to spend money on them.
Why? Because at this point in my training, they're not necessary. Sure, I could probably ride faster with a pair of Zipps. And I could probably get more speed out of myself with a GPS device, a power meter, a coach. But the truth is that I can still get so much out of myself just by swimming, biking, and running, that the improvements I would see with a monetary investment aren't necessary right now.
Hard work in the workouts is (right now) the most necessary thing for me.
Same goes for the workouts themselves. This year, I think I can drop 20-30 seconds off my mile pace in the 5k just by continuing the pattern of training I've been doing: long run, tempo run, intervals. There's still plenty of room for improvement for me with getting all my runs done, too. So I probably won't consider adding in additional workouts (hills, for example) on any regular basis until I see the current performance gains I'm making level off.
Chances are good that in a couple years I'll start to see my improvements plateau; my times won't get faster, my results won't improve. That's when I'll consider hiring a coach, purchasing new training tools, upgrading my equipment. And that's when I might start looking for new training methods, concentrating more on strength and plyometrics, re-evaluating my plan.
But for right now, consistency in working hard is my most necessary thing.
What's yours?
The Most Necessary Thing
So I'm hard at work on the next installments of our podcasting adventures. Upcoming cycling podcast will be a power interval workout. It should be particularly useful for those using a Joe Friel plan or one of the plans from the Essential Week-by-Week Training Guide. These will be 20 second power blasts followed up by 5 minutes of recovery. Prepare to hurt.
Upcoming in the running podcast sector is a hill workout that you can do on the treadmill. 'Cause I know I'm not the only one stuck in a state where the only hills are interstate overpasses.
But I'd also like to announce that I'm making my custom cycling workouts available to the public. In the past, I've done custom workouts for a few of you with individualized soundtracks and Yours Truly bossing you through a kick-ass bike ride. I'm now opening that up to anyone who wants one. If you're interested in having your own custom workout, leave me a comment (with a valid e-mail address so I can get back to you) or send an e-mail to jamielynnmorton[at]gmail[dot]com. My prices start at $12.50 for a 45-minute workout. Just so you all know, that's way less money than it costs to train personally with me for an hour :-)
Expect to hear my voice soon, guys! Happy training!
Podcast Update and Custom Workouts
Not sure if you guys have picked up on this, but I'm kind of a stubborn, hard-headed person. I like to go my own way. I like to figure things out for myself. So when every endurance sports magazine and most of the blogs tell me about the importance of strength training for endurance athletes, do you think I listen? I do not!
Truth is, I used to love lifting weights. It was all I did, athletically speaking, in high school and most of college. I hated running. Knew zilch about cycling. And could barely swim. Also, I had almost no coordination and sucked at being a team player. Weight training was sort of right up my alley.
Even two seasons ago, I spent the bulk of my early-season training time doing hang cleans, squats, straight-leg deadlifts, and lat pull-downs with heavy, heavy weights. I made big gains in strength (and bulk). I could feel the power in my legs with every step.
Somewhere along the way, I got to really hate weight lifting. Might have to do with the fact that I work in a gym and frequently spend 10-12 hours a day around free weights, Cybex, Nautilus, Free Motion, and the like. Add to that my general unwillingness to listen to what everyone else says, and you have my current situation: I will do anything to avoid strength training.
However, about a month ago, I started noticing something on my long runs and bike workouts: my legs were getting tired. The quads and hamstrings and glutes would be crapping out, and my heart rate would barely be in the 140s. I was having trouble getting into the appropriate training zone because my legs weren't strong enough to get my heart working.
Now that's probably not all that abnormal; probably most athletes find that their hearts and lungs are stronger than their arms and legs (or vice versa) in the early part of the season, if not for most of the year. But it was a kick in the pants for me. Because I knew that I wasn't putting in enough time in the weight room, at least in terms of the results I want to see this year. So I sat down and (grudgingly) wrote out a weight training plan for myself.
I'm not going to try to convince you that you should lift weights (at least not in this post). If you want to lift weights, you already do, and if you don't want to lift weights, I'm not going to convince you that you should by anything I write (just like I wasn't convinced by anything I read). I will tell you (from experience) that Yoga--even a high-intensity kind like Bikram or Ashtanga--is not going to be enough strength training if you really want to train for your top performance. Anyway, the point is not to convince you of how great strength training is; the point is to give you the workout I do--which is as short and as concise as I could make it--so you can use it, if you want to. If you've never lifted before, find a personal trainer (or a knowledgeable friend) to show you how to do these things properly. Don't go in there without knowing what you're doing; you're too likely to hurt yourself, and then you'll really regret the strength training.
Jamie's IDon'tWannaBeHere Strength Plan
Strength
Note: This picture does not accurately convey the misery that is a 42 MPH headwind.
Well, the best I can say is that I'm not a wimp.
But looking back, I kind of wish I were.
Sunday morning, I woke up to the sound of the tree outside my bedroom scratching against the house. Mind you, this tree is not next to my window. No, this tree is next to a solid exterior wall that sits right next to my bed. When I can hear the wind whipping it around, it means it's indecently windy out there. Indecently, I say.
But since the Not 4 Wimps 10 miler is a trail run, I figured we'd be running in woods, protected from the wind for most of the race.
Yeah, not so much.
The course begins with a mile of pavement, mostly downhill, that leads down into some ATV trails that run along the Arkansas River. You run under a bridge (through sand), then back up onto the trails, which wind along for some miles through the woods (woods being a relative term here; it's still Kansas, after all). Turn around point for the 10k gives you a tough choice. If you decide to continue with the 10 mile, the course heads out (and up) onto a levee on the west side of the river. The levee is completely exposed on both sides, probably 15-20 ft above ground level. There are no trees. No windbreaks. No shelter. The course takes you directly north and west.
Did I mention that the wind was gusting from the NNW at about 40 MPH?
The course continues for about 1.5 miles like that, then you turn around and head back the way you came.
So . . . my race.
First off, the course starts downhill, and I probably went out too hard. I was running with a group from my gym, not really paying attention to speed. I was running comfortably, so I figured I'd be fine. I got dropped by the main group (this is not the kind of race that casual runners do, so it's not like there's a big group of 12-minute-milers for me to pass), but I was passing people, especially as we got into the technical sections--the sand, the winding trails, the up- and downhills.
It might have been the sand that really took me out of my comfort zone. I just tried to maintain a steady pace. Probably what I should have done was walk. About 5 minutes later, my stomach started to get really cranky. Really, really cranky. I've never cramped like that in a race, especially not at 2.5 miles into it. I was doubled over, holding my gut and wondering if I should just turn around and go back. I didn't, of course, but I got to see all the people I'd passed before as they blew by me.
I seriously re-adj...
Race Report: Not 4 Wimps
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