Another Season

If I lived in my ideal world, this post would be about getting a PR in the Smithfield Sprint or the Monument Ave. 10K, both of which took place yesterday. In a less perfect world, I at least could say I participated. But, no, I wasn't at either event. I was home, wondering whether the strange, sort of rotten smell permeating my laundry room, or something else, has caused my laryngitis/bronchitis, and comtemplating why an injury nearly five months ago has me still sidelined. I think I should be "all better" by now, and the fact that I'm not has routed my mojo like KY took out WF in round 2 of this year's NCAA tournament (90 to 60, for the non-b'ballers). I don't want to be the stereotypical old person who constantly complains about her ailments, but they seem to have taken over my life. A new season is here, though, so it's time to get out of my rocker and tri.

Two Steps, One Step

My return to running has been at tortoise-speed. Since mid-February, using the walk-run method, I’ve logged a mile, or a mile and a half, once a week. Even by my standards, the pace has been slow, but the point was simply to get accustomed to running again. Each week I’ve tried to run more and walk less, with varying success. Last Saturday, however, I decided I would attempt to run the first half-mile (five blocks) before I interspersed any walking. Surprised by the respectable pace at which I did the half-mile, I decided to try running the second half-mile, too. After three more blocks, I was starting to slow down, but I could see the stop sign ahead that marked my “finish line,” and I was determined to keep running. I got there, and only 20 seconds later than I would have if I’d stayed on my original pace. I doubt I could have run much farther, but I was elated to have that mile behind me. I had plans of two miles for the following Saturday.

Until Thursday. While doing split squats at strength training on Thursday night, my left foot/ankle started to hurt. I don’t know what I did to it, and it seemed better this morning, but I decided to forego cycling and running for RICE-ing. Hopefully, I won’t be “defeeted” for long.

Learning to Fly

The butterfly stroke has always intrigued, and eluded, me. My childhood swim lessons – two weeks each summer at the small community pool – covered basic strokes only. I watched with awe whenever the pool manager’s children, both college students who had learned to swim elsewhere, occasionally did a length or two of butterfly. From observing them, I understood what the arms were supposed to do, but I couldn’t figure out the kick. Eventually, whenever I tried to butterfly, I did a sort of aborted breaststroke maneuver. It was neither pretty nor efficient for the ten feet or so I could manage it.

Last week in Masters class, though, those of us in the “baby” lane focused on proper butterfly technique. First, we concentrated on the kick. To keep my feet from going awkwardly awry, Coach D. said to visualize my big toes tied together tightly. After a few lengths I began to feel more “dolphin-like” as I undulated through the water. Next we added arms – one at a time, then both. I was more moth than Monarch, but I could fly.

Considering Spring

As I was shoveling the last bits of snow off my sidewalk today (because I was tired of waiting for it to melt), I noticed my daffodils have started to grow. Those one-inch green shoots were the perfect tonic for my winter-battered psyche. Of course, the imminent arrival of Spring means no more excuses for the weather-induced inertia I’ve had for the past several months. I’ve been doing some indoor cycling, strength training, and swimming, but not with the same intensity as in past years. And I’ve just started to run again. I’d wanted to do the Smithfield Sprint on March 27, but I’m not ready for competition yet. Stuck in the depths of winter, I was wondering if I’d ever be ready, but, like my daffodils, it’s time to start blooming again.

Making “Ice Cream” from Ice

Last weekend I’d planned a full slate of activities – indoor cycling followed by a few laps around the indoor track at UR and a massage on Saturday, swimming on Sunday. Plus, I wanted to go by an antiques mall where a friend has a booth, and I thought I’d check out some new bikes. The Specialized Ruby Expert got a good review in the latest issue of Bicycle. I test rode a Ruby Pro model in 2008 and liked it, but it was way out of my price range. The Expert is still more than I reasonably should pay for a bike, but it’s less than what some of my non-tri friends spend on exotic vacations and interior decorating, so I figured there was no harm in “just looking.” However, Saturday brought snow, lots of snow, and nothing I’d planned happened.

This weekend is shaping up the same way. The storm here doesn’t appear to be as bad as last weekend’s was, but it’s still cold, the roads are a mess, and since I really don’t have to go out, I won’t. Instead, I’ll try to find something constructive to do, like start on my taxes. Maybe my expected refund could be the start of a “new bike fund.”

Acclimations

January has been a month of adapting to changes. Of course, there’s the ongoing recovery of my foot, as I strive to regain some of the fitness I used to have. And I’m making some progress – today I wore cycling shoes on both feet, clipped in and out on my trainer, and pedaled while briefly standing. I’ve returned to the Master’s swimming class at UR, and I’m wearing dressier shoes than sneakers to work.

Other changes have been bittersweet. With the swearing in of the new Governor and Attorney General last week, I said farewell to several co-workers who have taken new jobs and greeted a new boss and his staff. So far the transition has gone smoothly, but I do miss the tasty treats the mother of a former co-worker sent to the office on Monday mornings. Mrs. G. made delectable cinnamon coffeecake, brownies laced with extra chocolate, and the best-ever pumpkin bread.

One change was totally unexpected, however. Two weeks ago I came home to find my oldest cat, a purebred Himalayan who was nearly 15, dead under my bed. O. was sweet-natured and quite loveable, and I’d had her for nine years. I adopted her from a friend of a friend of my sister’s when her original owner married a man allergic to cats. Even though I miss O. snuggling next to me on the sofa, I have to admit there’s less cat hair on the furniture now that this is only a two-cat household.

A Long, Slow Way Back

Last Thursday my orthopedist pronounced my foot/ankle sufficiently healed to resume my regular fitness routine. It’s a good thing, too, because jeans that fit fine three months ago are now too snug to wear in public. I rode my own bike at cycling for the first time on Saturday morning. I couldn’t get a cycling shoe on my left foot because I was still wearing a brace, but it was the best ride I’ve had in weeks. Then I decided to try a short “walk/run” at the UR fitness center indoor track. Ten times around is a mile – I did five laps, two at a sort of running pace, in 8:40. A big WOW! That’s about my speed for the first 5K I ever did, with little training about ten years ago. Of course, it’s been nearly three months since I did any running, or even brisk walking, but it’s discouraging to be so very slow, again. I suppose I should be satisfied I could do the laps at all, but I’ve never been a very patient person when it comes to my own performance.