This weeks training consisted of a bit of everything.

Track. A very scary place!

This was the scene of the trunks crime on Tuesday. Only 9:00 a.m. and already a track workout and a masters swim were history. Like my cooler and morning cup of Kashi cereal. I must admit T2 was really long. I think it took me until the water ran out in UCSD's locker room before I headed to my car. I substitued hot yoga for a hot shower. It worked pretty well considering my legs didn't cramp post ride, I hope the rest of the athletes at the U enjoyed a hot shower and I didn't use it all up. After that, you guessed it judging by the helmet and the bike pump.

I only managed one yoga session this week...unless there are too few sick patients at Scripps Mercy tomorrow and staffing requests I take the day off. Oh boy, that would be fun. I could drag Tim to yoga and to the farmers market.
I felt a little bad I didn't ride my mountain bike to yoga this week. It was raining and I needed to go to Costco after class. I had to return the Garmin 305 as it wouldn't hold a charge anymore. Thumbs up to the Costco people. I was prepared to tell them some big story about how the Garmin didn't hold it charge. How it failed me when I needed it most, could have ruined my race, caused me to bonk, blah, blah, blah. I was even will to produce fake tears. I just planned to keep babbling until they gave me my money back to shut me up. No drama was needed as they gave me my money back no questions asked. Even apologized for the inconvenience. So now with money in my pocket which Garmin will I replace it with? Not the 405. I would like you all to know that after the first mile of Wednesday evenings time trial it was 6:20 p.m. I had a visual heart rate showing for one mile. At track this week after two sets of 400's it defaulted to the compass mode. Now that was a big load off because I really was concerned I might get lost running circles around the track. Maybe I should forward the blank section of my training log to Garmin and ask them to recreate it.

I was on my way to the perfect mix of volume and intesity until.....I got sick :( and Tim grounded me. I was even working on improving my swim with "my very own red paddles" (Courtesy of Coach Sickie). He said they are mine to practice with provided I don't grip them with my pinkies or my thumbs. They even talk to me, but only when I am swimming poorly. On Monday, my goggles broke and Sickie lent me a pair. On Tuesday I returned with shiny blue goggles that make everyone look life a Smurf. Hah. Swim faster than me you bunch of Smurfs. I'll get the last laugh.

Wednesday night I came down with a sore throat and work was miserable Thursday as I managed to get the ache and chills and by Friday my sinuses were angry. Don't worry, I didn't infect my patients. They ummm, breathe special purified air via a tube. Tim shut down all my attemps to train "just a little bit" by saying "NO" before the words even came out of my mouth. Then he made sure to render my bike un- rideable by confinscating the cassette off my training wheel in case I had any second thoughts. I will give him credit for making me warm homemade bread and tea with honey, while I played the sick card.
Don't worry I played the sick card to the best of my ability. Somewhere in my febrile slumber I decided I really needed a dog to keep me company. The minute Tim got home I started pestering him for the Bernese Mountain dog I have been wanting.

I don't think I got very far, but I figure if I keep up the pestering he'll give me medical clearance to train sooner.

Happy Father's Day

Father's Day Tribute

U.P. Tech Support.

Pops can fix just about anything I can wreck!

My father is a multi-talented individual. He is loyal, fair, and has a bit of mischief in store camouflaged by his calm, poker-face demeanor. I'll save his roast for another day though. He has taught me a lot. My dad knows about everything from finance, to cars, to computers, even politics. I thought all Dads knew these things as if it were a downloadable Dad Ap. It's not. My Dad is just special and I got really lucky to have him. He even taught me how to reformat the hard drive of my computer. O.k. I couldn't do it again but that's because I wasn't paying close enough attention. That's not his fault. My dad is so great you can call him in the U.P. when you are in San Diego with a blown transmission and he'll know what to do. He knows just what to do when the doors to your post college apartment freeze shut and you can't figure out how to get in. After 12 hours of night shift sleeping in the snowbank seems like a good idea.

It is fair to say my father can be credited for my athletic interests. Having two older brothers he encouraged me to give it my all and try to keep up with those bigger and stronger, older and wiser.

He fostered my abilities and delusions when I was in love with skiing and gymnastics. I wanted ski down a black diamond so bad. My brothers went down black diamonds. It would have been a slow painful 1/2 hour decent with me in the flying wedge. Smart enough to know I couldn't be reasoned with, he traversed across the bottom of three black diamonds with me. Then he told me I skied three of them. He'd even get me a pin. Who could argue with that?

I was convinced I had a shot a becoming the next Mary Lou Retton. My dad preferred Raisin Bran or Total but tolerated Wheaties just so I could have a glimpse of Mary Lou on the box before I headed off to school to practice my tumbling.....I mean learn arithmetic. My parents knew otherwise, I wouldn't be a Mary Lou. It didn't stop my dad from building me my very own balance beam. It was the bomb. My mom didn't want it in the house and to this day I don't understand why. My dad covered it with AstroTurf. He let me jack it up on whatever I could find in his garage. It was a couple of feet off the ground. After a few rains, the four inch wide balance beam became 5.5 inches, allowing me a little more wiggle room. Pops and I both new this but it was our little secret. I know now you are thinking I had no limits. My dad must have never said no to me. You are wrong. No matter how many times I asked to use his scaffolding for uneven parallel bars and his saw horses for a vault he said no. Limits, I tell you.

One thing my dad really wanted for me was to learn to swim well. After a couple summers of swimming lessons in the city pool I was still floundering with strokes. I loved the lake. Doing handstands, jumping off rocks, paddling rafts around... but swimming in that chlorinated pool with lane lines was a bore, and I just didn't get it. I only went without complaint because in the last 5 minutes of class we got to jump off the diving board. My dad really wanted me to learn to swim proficiently. My brothers were in junior lifesaving at this point and antsy to be finished with swimming lessons. The woody wagon didn't make trips to town for one kid, it was the three of us or bust. My dad conceded and made a deal if I could pass advanced beginners (determined by me swimming a 25 of any stroke and treading water for 5 minutes) we could all be finished with swimming lessons. I passed, I think my dad would have liked to see me progress further but it wasn't happening. I maybe one of the slowest swimmers in San Diego. but I think my dad would be quite proud that I can swim all the way from La Jolla Cove to La Jolla Shores and back, without hitching a ride from a dolphin or seal.

He didn't really care what the end results were so long as you gave 110%, played fairly, and remained humble. In fact, he'd rather see you finish last in the fast heat than first in the slow heat. That would be me ....100 and 300 hundred hurdles, last in the fast heat time and time again. High school track didn't go so well for me. When there are 52 people total in your class, you will run varsity as a 4'11 freshman. You might even enter the high jump. It stood to reason if I could do a standing back flip I would fair well at high jump. The problem was the one foot take off vs the two foot back flip. I nailed that bar countless times. I cringed when I had a happy accident and cleared it, knowing that the bar was going up. My dad, always positive and diplomatic, didn't criticize me or the coaches, he just suggested maybe I try long jump and maybe something longer than the 300 hurdles. He always thought I would be better suited for the 1/2 mile. I wanted to be a cool sprinter then so I didn't really listen just yet. Eventually I must have got the message as I definitely am endurance driven now.

I've probably blogged this before but it's important enough to blog again because it's something that has for sure shaped my life. Summers in Northern Michigan were all about playing ball. (We didn't have soccer where I grew up). Once the snow melted we played neighborhood softball from sun rise to sunset as long. We played with the boys. The best two players were captains and picked teams, we were self governed. Few rules existed except a ground in the woods was ruled a double and a fly ball in the woods a homer. Simple. A couple nights a week, the neighborhood kids went into town to play organized summer softball. It was the first year I was old enough to play on the league. I was super excited. I couldn't wait for my turn to practice batting. That was after all the rewards for fielding all those grounders right? I took to home plate with my pint sized t-ball bat in hand. I positioned myself in the stance my father had taught me the coach commented "A lefty and you're short, perfect. If you just scrunch down a bit you'll get walked every time." I was instructed never to swing, to scrunch whenever it was my turn to bat. This was a little disappointing to me as I could get a base hit in a neighborhood game. What was the point going to town if I wasn't allowed to swing at the ball? I mentioned this plan to my Dad. He wasn't impressed with the concept. I might not be small and hard to pitch to forever. Then what? It didn't seem like a great long term solution. He told me to stand up tall and take a swing at it. My goal should be to hit the ball and run as fast as I could. I'll never forget hearing his voice as I was batter up. Yelling for me to take a swing at it. He'd rather me strike out than get on base via the gravy train. My life likely would have gone much differently if we encouraged me to take the walk.

Thanks Pops for all you have done and for always putting family first. We are lucky to have you as a Dad and we love you.

By the way when I come visit I think I need some help reformatting my computer and some investment advice, and some car advice and we'll need to take over the garage as we are bringing are bikes. Can we borrow some tools;)

Sierra Rd. The Improvement Challenge

Day 4 of family camp. Seth had departed. Bruce was at yoga. I mean tapering. Cindy had launched into a mixed up triathlon run, bike, swim. Tim and I headed out solo for a little Sierra Rd. action. Not the longest ride we have everdone, but certainly steep enough and the scenery gets 5 stars. For the record, we did wuss out of the Mt. Hamilton loop. Tim and I will forever take razzing for this. It's over 110 miles of mountainous roads. The last time it was attempted by members of Team N, a support vehicle to cart their weary souls home. For some reason the option of lazily sipping coffee with Riley (the dog) at my side before riding sounded spectacular.

Sierra Rd has a bit of history. It has been used in the Tour of California. It historically kicked my butt like no other the first time I rode it. I think it may have been fear of the unknown. I knew no other female who had ridden it. The first time I climbed Palomar I was with another girl. My brain was consoled by if she can do it, I can do it. Right? Looking up Sierra Rd for the first time, not seeing the courtesy of a switchback, I panicked. What if I couldn't make it? What if? I cracked. It was ugly. I fussed, moaned, and groaned. Made it worse then it really was. Then I got to the top and said "was that all?"After all that fussing I declared it not so bad. I am still teased by Tim to this day.

Every year the Tri Club of San Diego gives out awards. This year I received the most improved. I am really touched by this. I think as triathletes we want to be better than we are, and at least better than we were yesterday. We use races as measuring sticks to measure improvement. Often when we get good results, we sabotage our enjoyment by coming up with another way of measuring to invalidate them. I am the queen of over thinking and perseverating. I realized though, if I am to have fun in this sport for the long term I have to let go of this. If I'm going to relive a moment. I should pick a good one. Nobody really cares about self proclaimed sub par performances anyway. This year I didn't have an A race, a B race, or a C race. (Some races are just longer than others so they require more prep) My goal has been to "just keep moving forward." Learn from the experiences. Focus on the good stuff.

Given dozens of people could have been chosen for the title of most improved. Somebody or bodies took the time to choose me. I was going to use Sierra Rd to prove them right. I would make my supporters proud. With my title of most improved I was going to climb this monster without a peep. O.k, it's most imporved not radically changed, there would be peeps, but peeps of positive words.

We headed towards the base of the climb. I focused of the positive. The extra gear I got for my birthday and the fact I was lighter than when I started the ride. Down from 3 full water bottles to 2. By the time I got to the top I might be really light and they might be empty. My bike Sweet Thunder, got a little spooked. She wanted to go charging into the base of the hill. I patted her aero bar's and instructed her to go easy. Momentum wouldn't carry me to the top.

I did really well for a while. I was able to spin my legs. We hit some switch backs and I LOVE SWITCHBACKS. I don't no exactly why, but I do. I just do. Then it got steeper, and despite trying to remain efficient I had to come out of the saddle for bits of time. The last I looked down, my speedometer said 4.6 mph. I wondered what Levi's speedometer said on Sierra Rd. No matter. I wasn't getting dropped at this speed. Tim was out of the saddle and climbing. Sweat was pouring off of us. It was really pretty and I wanted to take pictures. Tim said no way. We'd never be able to get our bikes moving again. I didn't talk much on the way up. I had a lot at stake. This was my chance show my respect to the title of most improved. Elizabeth discovered that talking makes your heart rate go up. I ditched my heart rate monitor when I found that out. I couldn't risk wasting energy talking. I just pedaled. O.k., I only spoke when we hit flatter spots.
After several false summits and somewhere into water bottle #3,we hit the top. I had done it. The proof was there. Nobody could argue that I hadn't improved. Not even me :) There was no subjectivity in this climb. (Well I did have an extra gear this time.....but I am not going to berate myself over that. No overthinking! Just take success a run with it;) For the life of me I don't know why I look so BAD and SAD in the above picture. I was a little spent at the top but very satisfied. I think it's just the nasal flaring. Maybe I am sad because we go home tomorrow and Tim goes back to a million hour work week:(
Tim is the only witness to both my Sierra Rd climbs. Tim says I am stronger this year. He might not be unbiased. I am the hand that doesn't quite feed him, but I do make him cookies and fill his water bottles so that has to count for something ;) Tim thanks those who nominated me for most improved. He says I'm much less whiny now and I can keep up better.

Thanks to all my supporters, resources, and inspirations. You know who you are.

Del Valle Day 3: My Bike Made Me Do It.

On the 3rd day of Family Camp. Tim, Seth, and I set out to ride the Tour de Livermore Loop. This was another cool ride.

We stopped off for a quick visit at Grandma's house along the way.

I couldn't capture it really well but we had a really pretty climb up before descending into Del Valle park. That is a beautiful park. Home of Bruce's first triathlon and home of Xterra. That would be a great race but I'd have to take the basket off my mtn bike to do that. It was gusty and overcast, but I think it somehow added to the ride quality. Sunny and calm are just so common.

Climbing back up Tim and Seth started trying to rip each others legs off. I am very thankful I have a girly gear. It allowed me to (sort of) spin. The boys were forced to muscle the pedals around. Just before we reached the summit, they unleashed attacks. I announced, in my most Miss Manners know it all voice. " I don't know why you boys must insist on playing those stupid games. You just destroy yourselves and the whole ride takes longer". Seth chuckled that he asks Val (his wife) if she wants to race whenever they run up a hill. For the record, Val has some good replies. I allowed let them to pull a full bike length ahead. I thought I was riding sufficiently. My bike, Sweet Thunder II, wasn't satisfied. She began to sing Beyonce's "All the Ladies" and said for all the ladies I should try to get those boys. What if I bonk? I'll have to eat humble pie later. I swear Sweet Thunder II shifted herself into the large chain ring and continued to spin her pedals. My legs burned a bit, but if Sweet Thunder was willing to take a chance I though I better go with it. I dropped into the aero bars and accelerated as fast as I could. The boys were tired now from their attempt to demolish each other. Tim claims they were slowing to get a GU, but his bike later told Sweet Thunder they were out of gas. Just as we crested, Sweet Thunder reached full throttle and carried me into the descent. Yee Haw. Somehow, Sweet Thunder's bell rang as she dropped those boys. I couldn't resist yelling "game on." Hold on, Sweet Thunder instructed. I hoped they hadn't jumped on to Sweet Thunder's rear wheel. If they drafted me down Del Valle it would definitely be a slice of humble pie. They would drop me at the bottom. Sweet Thunder just kept going . She warned me not to look back. It wasn't until we came to the next intersection that I had to pull on Sweet Thunders reins and wait for the boys. I didn't know which way to go. I sensed Sweet Thunder was a little irritated at my lack of direction. When the boys came along, I let out a yawn. I told them I had just finished catching up on all the blogs I follow. After that I had to pretend my get away was no big deal. I pretended like it was not premeditated, and it was so easy. I pulled for a good long time in the aero bars and didn't entertain Tim's suggestion to pace line. This was great until 20 miles from home when we had a head wind and all I could pull was 15 mph. The boys weren't going to patiently ride my rear wheel now. At 15 mph they were going to fall off their bikes with boredom. Oh boy, boys with quads do not typically tolerate wind patiently. They karate chop the wind. My insistence on pulling had allowed them to rest. Now their fast twitch fibers were ready to pounce. It was time to alternate 30 second pulls. Did I mention it was now on the other side of noon? Well if I had come this far I might as well hang on for a little bit longer. I tried to do my best to fake easily getting back on the paceline. I also pretended I wasn't bonking as my Bento box lay empty. Finally we exited the windy section and headed for a slight downhill. Yeah. I was going to make it. The pace was fast, but I would manage.

6 miles from Camp headquarters we passed a strawberry field. I could smell the strawberries. I could see them. My stomach growled, not once but twice. Tim started the next episode of Seinfeld by say that suggesting the strawberry field was a fraud and the farmers bought the strawberries from Costco. They were just a ploy. Tim's rationale to support his theory was so ludicrously funny I almost fell off my bike with laughter. Luckily laughter seems to be my greatest fuel source and I made it home unscathed. I better watch that pink bike of mine though, she could get me in a lot of trouble.

Cake Wars

As mentioned below, never trust a Neuschwander male in the final 10 minutes of a workout or with your dessert. They informed me I had married into the most competitive family in the country as evidenced by "cake wars."

When Tim and Seth were kids their father would stick his fork into Tim and Seth's cake and steal the first bite. He would say 10%. You have to learn to tithe. This infuriated Tim and Seth, but as kids, there wasn't much they could do about it. Tim and Seth grew bigger than their father. One day they got really bold and ganged up on their father. They intercepted with their forks and stole the first bite of Bruce's cake. Thus Cake Wars were born. Women are immune to these battles.