Chronicles of my insanity

Friday, December 23, 2011

The 9s

This guy is more about the 8's. 
It seems like most people have crisis when they hit the 0 birthdays -- 30, 40, 50 etc.  I seem to have a special relationship with the 9s.  Big things happen the year before the 0 year for me. Something about the build up for the next year, needing to accomplish and prove to myself something or the other before the milestone.  Probably a combination of crisis moments and procrastination.

When I was 19, I got stranded in a snow storm in Alabama.  Had to abandon my car on the side of the road and walk a few miles home in the snow.  Spent my birthday and the whole of my winter break by myself at my parents house without power.  Ate soup from a can, sat by the fireplace, and read the DeCameron for a week. This was the year I realized I was capable of making a change in the world. I campaigned for Clinton, volunteered for a crisis center, met the Dalai Lama, and worked in a German bakery wearing a dirndl.  I also learned to whistle.

Riding the Solvang Century with TNT.
When I was 29, I moved from Boston to California.  Spent a year without a car in Mountain View, trolling the Target as my major form of entertainment.  Graduated from grad school and moved to San Francisco.  This was the year I realized I could survive major change in my world and relationships and come out on the other side of it stronger.  This was also the year I bought a Prius, learned to snowboard and surf, and started running.

[I don't remember what was going on when I was 9.  I think maybe that was when I had surgery on my ears.  And probably was unbearably shy and awkward.]

And now I roll into 39 in a few days. What will the future hold aside from turning 40 at the end of it all?  Just to get things rolling, I got a hair cut! And . . . I have signed up to do the Death Ride with Team in Training in July.  Not only am I committing to raising $5,000 in support of finding a cure for blood cancers, but I am committing to doing something called the DEATH. RIDE. 129 mile bike ride (in one day) and 15,000 feet of climbing over 5 passes in the Sierras.  Might as well embrace the 9's!

Maybe this is the year I can help a patient and his or her family as they battle cancer. Or maybe this is the year we will help to find a cure for blood cancers.  Or maybe this is just going to be the year I conquer some fears and push my limits.  Either way, can you help me get there?

With love and gratitude this holiday season,
Melissa

Friday, October 21, 2011

Unprepared, Inspired, and Bananas

As many of you know, I lost a dear friend, Joanne, this past May to a brain tumor.  She was an amazing woman, and fought this terrible disease with such grace and humor. (Miss you, Jo!)

While she was sick, I got involved in various fundraising activities for the Brain Tumor Society.  I had noticed that there was a Brain Tumor bike ride in Palo Alto this October.  Back in January, I had told Joanne that I would be doing this ride and was looking forward to telling her all about it.  At the time, I never expected to not be able to tell her all about it.

Fast forward to September when life was crazy -- work insanity, getting sick, going on vacation, etc.  My friends, Eileen and Diana, remind me that we had planned to do this ride in October.  I hadn't been in my bike in months, generally was feeling out of sorts in life, was weeks behind on work.  But we rally and get up at the crack of dawn to drive down to Palo Alto scrambling a bit to get there. Upon arriving, we learn that in order to participate in the ride, you have to fundraise for the Brain Tumor Society.  I certainly don't mind doing that, but none of us knew we had to.  Oops.  So we work through all that paperwork and finally get on our bikes about 20 minutes after the event started.

As we are riding out, a man bikes up to us and says, "Oh good, you're late, too.  Can I ride with you?"  Enter our inspiration for the ride:  Sam.  We learn Sam flew in from Chicago by himself to do the ride. He lost his wife to a brain tumor last year, and was riding in her honor.  He was also scoping out the event because he wants to start a similar ride in Chicago to raise funds for research.

Sam turned out to be an amazingly resilient and inspiring man.  The events leading up to and during the ride would have been enough to reduce me to tears: His cycle buddies couldn't join him, so he flew out to SF by himself.  He had a car accident on the way to the airport in Chicago.  TSA gave him a load of trouble about his bike.  He had a flat when he arrived to the ride and had the bike tech folks help him out.  That resulted in a flat tire before the ride, which was why he was late starting.  7 miles in, he gets another flat.  Super nice SAG guy, Steve, spends 30 minutes with us trying to get the flat fixed.  Then he has to climb some hills --- he's from Chicago, where it is flat. Not sure he liked that part of the ride.  Then at the first rest stop, he rolls in with a bloody knee, having fallen off his bike clipping out.   And at the remaining 3 rest stops, everyone reminds us that we were the very last people to finish the ride.  By the time we get back to the finish, they have removed all of the food, closed down the event, are popping all of the balloons to the finish line.  Not exactly the most glamorous finish.  But Sam had a smile on his face and some great conversations the whole ride.  Thank you, Sam!

This past year, I also learned that my friend Fred's brother, Scott, was also diagnosed with a brain tumor.  Scott is going though treatments right now.  His positive attitude has be so inspiring.  So throughout this ride, I felt so lucky -- lucky to have had Joanne in my life in the past, to continue to hear about Scott's amazing energy, to have Sam and my friends by my side, and lucky to have the chance to bring them all along with me on the ride.

And the best part of the ride was that since there was nothing left at the finish and they were tossing things away, they gave us each a bunch of bananas.  This might actually be the best finishers prize I've ever gotten at a race.  Way better than a medal or a t-shirt.

Anyhoo, now I'm doing what I should have done several months ago -- ask anyone if they might help me raise funds for the Brain Tumor Society in celebration of Joanne and Scott.  Any amount would be most appreciated!!

You can make a tax-deductible donation here.

http://www.braintumorcommunity.org/site/TR/Events/BTR-SV?px=2904268&pg=personal&fr_id=1691

Many many thanks, friends!!

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Preparing for the Big Day

Of course I am referring to the Royal Wedding.   I am sure Kate is nervous Nellie as she is about to get married in front of the world, and lay claim to some kick ass jewelry and a new title.

On the triathlon front, I too, am a bit of a nervous Nellie.  In honor of Kate and Will, I'm thinking I, too,need to follow some traditions to ensure a good race. So with me I will have:
  • Something old:  That would be me.  In the old lady wave, starting at 9:20am.  2nd to last.  Likely to be the last to finish on our team.  
  • Something new: Technically, I should have nothing new on race day.  But I have a new wetsuit (swum in 2 times) and hope it brings me fast swimming speed and no rashes in unsightly places.
  • Something borrowed: Energy from my team, our honorees, and my friends who are battling cancer.  To quote Steve Perry, "You're My Inspiration."
  • Something blue: My watch is blue.

A partial Team Awesome in Paradise!
In perhaps a more fruitful approach to preparation, my friend Diana, who is professor of exercise and sports, had me write down two lists.  One with all of my fears.  And one list of the accomplishments I've done that will give me confidence on race day.  One is decidedly longer than the other.   But the idea is to focus on the accomplishments and all the work I've done to get to the race, which should help calm me down.


Fears:
  • Getting the Swim Panic.  (I have had this in every race to date.  This involves freaking out, being unable to breath, thinking I can't swim, rolling on my back and floating, and then a long hard talk with myself.  Then pulling it together and finishing the swim.  Every damn race.)
  • Letting the wind defeat me emotionally.
  • Blowing out my legs on the bike.
  • Getting a mechanical issue I cannot fix myself (that would be fixing a flat.  And fixing a flat.)
  • Not finishing the bike fast enough and getting pulled off the course.
  • Having stomach issues on the run.
  • Being the last one to finish on my team, or the race for that matter.  A distinct possibility for a slow poke like me.
  • Getting overheated, dehydrated, bonking, etc.
  • Practice Triathlon 
  • And of course your everyday, general bike crashing fears.
Positive things:
  • I completed a half-ironman distance, a bike century and a marathon last year.  I can endure long events.
  • I've run a lot of hills this season and have felt mostly good on the runs.  My last 13 miler felt great.
  • During training weekend, I rode the course and completed it.  (albeit it was very hard.  but this is a positive stuff list, so scratch this parenthetical comment) I know what to expect and when.
  • My nutrition has generally worked out well this training season.  No serious bonking.
  • I have pretty pink running shoes.
Oh, and the most important!  I am racing to save lives.  I've raised $3000 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, which was my personal goal. But there's still work to be done.  If you would like to support me, please do contribute to my fundraising effort. Thanks to everyone who has helped me all season.  I will calling upon you in my dark times on the course!  Xoxoxo.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Will, Kate, Panic and Updates.

This morning, I woke up feeling pretty good about training.  We still have several weeks before the race and I felt like everything is within grasp if I just apply myself a little longer.  Being all confident and all, I ignored the email in my inbox about this weeks training and went straight to one entitled The Royal Wedding Update.  (Yes, I get updates about important news events like this.  So what?)

I am, sadly, very excited about seeing ol' Will and Kate walk down the aisle.  And I'm a little torn apart by the fact that said event is on the same day as Wildflower weekend.  (I'm working on some scheme to download it to my iPad and watch in the car on the way down there.  Pack the tissues, Eileen!)  Anyhow, the interwebs are all abuzz with their upcoming nuptials.  "William is apparently nervous.  The blessed event is only 22 days away."  *eyes come to screeching halt* WHAT?  22 days to the wedding.  That means 22 days to my race.  PANIC PANIC PANIC!

Now suitably in the proper frame of mind (panic), I realized that this is peak training week, and I really don't have very much time left to prepare.  And the fact that my plantar fascitis is rearing its ugly head, and my tailbone injury is haunting me one again, are all legitimate reasons to freak out.

I've calmed myself down since this morning by reading more about the Blessed Event. And I'm starting to see that I've done all the trainings to the best of my ability.  Though  I am nursing a bit of an injury, I went to see the amazing Dr. R who has gotten me through all of my endurance events so I am sure he will get me through this one.  And I do actually still have 3 more weeks of training, which I will definitely be doing diligently (after today, 'cause I'm skipping training right now. Shhhh.)

I am still pretty unsure about my ability to finish this race, but you know what could help?  A donation to support the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.  I'm just shy of my goal of $3000.  Can you help me cross the finish line?

Anyhow, you probably don't want see any more pictures of Will and Kate (or maybe you do -- download the app!).  But here's a quick trip down memory lane of some recent trainings.

Running in the rain with Team Awesome.
















We do goofy things like simulating a mass swim start.  My friend Todd swam on top of me and push my head down under the water.  Thanks, Todd!


Here we are being crazy by swimming in the SF Bay.  53 in the water.  49 outside.  Neither terribly pleasant.

This little guy got freaked out by all of us splashing around.


 
That's me looking frozen with the red and white caps on.




This is down at the race site.  We did a practice swim that took an eternity.



Last weekend we had a brutal swim of 3000 meters followed by a 12 mile trail run that include 670+ of these puppies.  It makes me sick just looking at the photo of them.  Ouch.
This is one of my teammates. But this is what I felt like after the run.  Except maybe I was stuffing chocolate chip cookies in my mouth while on the ground.

Friday, March 4, 2011

Oh Yeah, I forgot

Me and my blues!
I must admit that the first few weeks of training have been hard -- mostly hard to motivate myself, hard to get excited.  The cold and phlegm situation has not helped.

Last week, the swim was okay, and the ride was lovely but left me feeling discouraged and tired.  This week, I trudged through a hard track work out of what seemed like continuous and never ending intervals/wheezing.  Then went to spin class the next day.  I was bitter and angry and unhappy the whole of the two days.  And the following day woke up with every single muscle aching and sore, and I was still bitter and angry. And this got me even more discouraged.  Clearly not feeling the love.

But then I forced myself to go on a run today, even though my cold seemed to have taken a slight relapse.  Again with the bitter and angry for the first few minutes.  But once I got out there and got into my running head space, I found myself enjoying running the up the hill -- pushing myself, breathing hard, feeling my muscles aches from the last week of training, and feeling . . could it be. . satisfied?  Then, it hit me, obvious as it is -- training is hard.  It's supposed to be hard.  Otherwise, everyone would be doing triathlons.  Hard is part of the point.  Somehow I had forgotten that.  Maybe I've been all high and mighty thinking that since I had done a half-ironman last year and a marathon, this should not be hard.  Not sure why that seeped into my psyche.
Me and Speedster

So I've got my attitude adjustment in place, I think. Can't promise angry and bitter aren't going to come back.  But being okay with the pain and suffering.  That's back and I hope it's hear to stay for a while.

But you know what will help keep the bitter and angry at bay?  Help me reach my fundraising goal for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society!  :-)

Saturday, February 26, 2011

Keys to Beautiful Bread

Ferment!
So I've started a phase of bread baking experimentation lately.  I've made various breads before, but now I'm exploring the world of wild yeast starters.  This basically means you mix some flour and water together and let it sit out so that little yeast guys floating in the air and bacteria in the flour inoculate your flour sludge, until it starts to bubble and smell a bit sour.  After a week or so of tending to it, you can start to bake with it.   This stuff becomes what you use to leaven your dough, instead of the dried yeast cultures you can buy. This process is fascinating and fussy and so far has produced two delicious loafs. 

I'm learning that bread baking is very much an art as well as a science.  In addition to measuring everything fairly precisely, you need to learn what the dough feels like and looks like and smells like in its various stages to get the timing right.  Given the cool temperatures in SF, which can affect the rate of rising, I'm finding I have to really get to learn to listen to and respond to the dough. 

So what is all this stuff doing on a training blog?  Wait for it.  (Deep, semi-profound, hardly-insightful analogy coming, I swear.)  Last night I started my leaven for another loaf of bread.   This morning, I mixed the leaven with more flour and water and salt.  Then I left for my morning run (a ha, training!) with the team down at Ocean Beach.  It was a gloriously beautiful day today, albeit extremely cold.  Probably about 39 when we started.   My lungs do not do well in cold, especially when I'm still recovering from a cold.  The run was only 5 miles, but I really struggled.  It was painful and I stopped a lot to walk.    And I had force myself to run even slower than I normally do, which is the only way I can run when my asthma is flaring up.  I was the VERY LAST runner out there, which is always a fear of mine. I don't mind being slow, but I hate being last.   I did manage, however, to put my ego aside and remind myself to listen and respond to my body.  I slowed it down a lot, and finished the run, thoroughly discouraged.

Bench resting.  The dough is chillaxin'
The team went out to brunch afterwards, but I declined since I had to tend to my bread back at home.  The recipe calls for a 3-4 hour fermentation at this stage.  By the time I finished showering and eating, I was at the 4.5 hour mark.  Still feeling dense and heavy -- not right.  I let another hour go.  Still not quite right.  Now I was feeling little discouraged thinking perhaps I had screwed up this batch.  But low and behold at hour 6, it finally came together.

The next phase is to shape the bread and let it rest.  When I started all of this, I was doubtful that the resting would do much, but in the short 20 minutes it chills out on the board, the glutens relax and the dough transforms into this supple and wonderful thing.  Just to finish off the process, you shape it again and let it rise again for 4 more hours or so before baking.

Ok, so here's today's realization learned from the dough.

1)  Things don't always go as planned or how you would like to go.  Today's run falls squarely into the disaster category. But I shouldn't feel so discouraged about it because I listened to my body.  I didn't allow the pressures of the other runners or the bread recipe dictate what I should do.  I responded to the slow rise of the dough, adapted, and waited patiently for things to come together.

Final Product!
2)  Rest can make all the difference in the world.  I tend to beat myself up when I don't work out according to the schedule.  But sometimes I just need to rest.  So I'm done feeling bad for missing workouts.  Rest can transform me.  Listen to your body.

3)  In the final step of this dough, you invert it into a hot pan.  I totally screwed this up as it stuck to the towel.  My lovingly risen dough was all twisted and a mess.  But I forged ahead and look what I produced!  So yes, even screw ups and bad days of training can produce something beautiful.

I'm still in bread training, and think it will be a long adventure, much like triathlon training.  Still enjoying the journey.

PS.  I'm still in fundraising training too.  $1400 from my goal.  Can you help me cure blood cancers?  I'll share some of my bread with you, if you'd like :-)

PPS.  Check out Tartine's bread baking book if you want to learn more about the process.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

A Good, Swift Kick

Sometimes you just need a good, swift kick in the arse to get you going. I know this about myself.  I know I have good intentions and fail on the execution.  Alot. 

Like on Friday.  I got up and thought, "I am going on a run at lunch time. So I won't shower this morning.  I'll put on my sports bra and running shirt, and be ready to go when I get a break from work."  Around 6pm, I look up from my computer, all stinky from lack of showering, all chaffed from wearing spandex all day, and all stiff from not making it out the door.  Luckily, I look and smelled like I had exercised, so Chris never knew the difference. . .

When I signed up a month ago for another round of Team in Training to train for the Wildflower Half Ironman triathlon, I was well aware this type of day would come.  It always does.   The only way to combat this kind of day, is to sign yourself up for a team that has scheduled trainings where your friends expect you to be there.   And because I am not beyond letting my friends down from time to time (sorry guys),  I have to take the extra measure of publicly committing to all of my friends and family that I will train and fundraise for this event.  There is nothing like public shame to motivate.

And now you can help with the swift kick and the public shaming, by helping me with my fundraising efforts for the Leukemia and Lymphoma society.    Please won't you consider a tax-deductible donation to help find a cure for blood cancers?  At least 75% of your donation goes directly to patient services and research to find a cure for  diseases that an estimated 957,902 people in the United States are living with, or are in remission from. Every four minutes, someone new is diagnosed with blood cancer. Every 10 minutes, someone dies.

These statistics are always staggering to me every time I read them.  And recently, I just learned that a friend's sister-in-law was diagnosed with an advanced case of non-hodgkin's lymphona.  So many people I know are affected by these diseases.  It's hard to ignore it.   It's hard to not do something about it.  It's kind of like a swift kick.

So wind up that foot, and give me a swift kick, won't you? 

Sunday, January 2, 2011

Woefully Delayed Race Report and Thank You

It's 2011.  And my first new years resolution is to be more diligent about my writing.  And since I pretty much gave up on this very same resolution fairly early on in 2010, I'm going to make good for last year and catch up on this blog.

I failed to write a report on my Chicago Marathon experience in October.  So without further delays:

My last training run 3 weeks before the race went really well.  21.5 miles and I was still smiling and walking the next day.  My training ladies came out and kept me company on the cold, wet day.  I was feeling pretty good about it all.  But then about 2 weeks before the race, my plantar fascitis flared up. I wasn't able to walk without pain.  I couldn't sleep because of it.  I started to freak out a bit.   I went to see Dr. R who told me to not run for the next two weeks, to ice daily, and to take a deep breath.   He said, "You can run the race, but it's going to hurt."  Hard to get excited about that.

But we packed our bags and headed to Chicago.  We ended up staying right downtown, very close to the race finish.  The city was buzzing with skinny people in sneakers.  I spent the two days before the race icing, massaging, and trying to stay calm.  My foot still hurt, but I was determined to do the race.

Pre-race jitters
On race morning, we got up at some ungoldy hour, and walked the .5 mile to the race start in the dark.  I met up with the Chicago Diabetes group, for whom I had been fundraising.  My foot was aching, and my stomach was in knots by the time I got to the start line.  Chris kissed me a on the check and left me to face my challenge all alone -- alone with 40,000 other people.

It took about 25 minutes to get to the start line, which was surprisingly short given how far back I was in the pack.  But I took off slowly, sticking to my plan to run/walk the whole race to give my foot a break.  8 minutes of running, 1 minute of walking.  Repeat about 25 times and then I'm done.

The sun had risen by the time I started running, and a smile emerged across my face.   I felt pretty good.  My pain in my foot had stopped aching.    I stopped at the bathroom around mile 6 and remember thinking, OK, this isn't going to be so bad!  Then I put my headphones back in and headed off dodging people all the way as I picked up my pace every so slightly.  The crowds cheering us on were amazing. 

Then about half a mile later, my foot started aching.  And then the front of my shin started seizing up.  I had to slow to a halt and stretch it out.  This was an entirely new pain.  A few minutes on the side of the road, and it was gone.  OK.  minor set back.  Still on schedule to meet my goal of 4:29 (to beat Katie Holmes).  Still feeling mentally strong.

10 minutes later, the pain came back.  Instead of 8 min of walking 1 minute of running, I was running 8 minutes, and stopping and stretching for 2 or 3 even 5 min at a time. But some how, I kept it together.  Just one foot in front of the other. Stop and stretch, but keep moving forward.   This is pretty much how the remaining 20 miles went.  The temperature was rising quickly, topping out around 84.  I concentrated on staying hydrated and just moving forward.
I'm in there somewhere, about to cross the finish line!

Everyone says that around mile 20, you hit a wall and you don't want to go on.  But I never really did.  I knew I was going to finish, was determined to finish, and in fact, by mile 22, I knew I wanted to do a marathon again.  I knew could do better, and most importantly, I knew that was not going to beat Katie Holmes, so I had to do it again!   I saw Chris and my friend Marion finally around mile 21. Ran and gave them a hug and then kept on running/limping/stretching.

The marathon is an interesting emotional experience.  After a while, you're sort of out of your body, just observing the pain, observing your emotional ups and downs.  You find that trying to keep up with the woman in the pink shirt turns out to be the most important thing ever.   And that seeing the guy running with an 8 foot Eiffel Tower costume on really pisses you off.  You find the fact that the race has run out of bananas hysterical.  And you find it perfectly acceptable that you are eating food from random strangers on the side of the road.  Even seeing the man who had fallen down and was bleeding 250 ft from the finish line was mildly entertaining.  Things aren't quite normal in this marathon state.  Events seem to take a back seat to emotions.

Somewhere around mile 24 my right contact came out of my eye.  I ran for about a mile winking and running into people.  Finally stopped and managed to put it back in, more annoyed by the sweat in my eye than the fact I couldn't see.  Somewhere around mile 25, I bit the bejezus out of my cheek and was dripping blood down my lip.  And somewhere around mile 26, crossed the finish line.

I don't really remember too much in the last few miles, but I do remember crossing the finish line having to fight back a few tears as I had my photo taken with my medal.  And then I remember being really pissed off that I had to have a new found respect for Katie Holmes, by 4 minutes.

Anyhow, I really enjoyed the race.  Chicago is beautiful.  The race is well run, and there were people on every block of the the 26 miles to cheer us on.  It was a great first (but not last!) marathon experience. Thanks to everyone who donated to my fundraising, too!