Fit and Hungry

Yes, I’m late posting my results. Yes, I’ve kept you waiting longer than you should have. Yes, you should forgive me. And yes, I was thinking about ice cream the whole time.

The DC Triathlon: Daiquiris, Soul Music, and Pot

The swim: I walked the green mile to the swim entrance, lowered myself down the ramp and watched my body disappear into the dubious river. I treaded there and noticed the other competitors looking at peace as if drowning was the furthest thing from their mind. So I tried to pretend the same. Pretend I’d been swimming all of my life. Pretend the water was full of $100 bills. Pretend a muscular, brown cabana boy would be greeting me with a strawberry daiquiri when I exited the water. The gun went off and shattered my peace. I put my head in the water and fought as my competitors pushed me around vying for real estate. At that point, I declared swimming dangerous and stupid. Why do I keep doing this? Soon, I calmed down. I looked up to check my progress and noticed people standing on the water. What? I swam a little further but worried, I came to a complete stop to get a good look at what might be Baby Jesus. It wasn’t. The people I saw walking on water were spectators standing on the shore. I was going the wrong direction. Per-fect. I turned around and swam back to the course. I never acclimated to the current and swam off course three more times. Shoddy swim skills plus taking the long route = 33 minutes 49 seconds

Transition 1: I exited the water alive with limbs still attached. (In D.C., we don’t trust the Potomac and are surprised people are cleared to swim in its murky secret). I jumped on my bike and pushed my lungs back into my chest. I was exhausted from the swim but optimistic about the future. The worst was behind me.

The bike: The bike course was two laps. On the first lap, I was Speedy Gonzalez. I felt great. On the second lap, I was Speedy Gonzalez after 3 beers and a hot dog. Apparently, I tired my quads from kicking that extra 400 meters during the swim. I ripped open an energy gel and let the sugar bring me back to life. I maintained an honorable pace and enjoyed every part of the ride. Decent leg strength + 2 mango flavored gels = 1 hour 11 minutes, 20.5mph

Transition 2: This would prove to be my shining moment. I racked my bike, changed my shoes, ate a gel, put on my race number all before Amber and Eliza could run from the bike entrance to the run exit. (It’s not far.)  Amber still insists I skipped this part of the race altogether.

The run: Did I mention it was hot that day? It was over 90 degrees and humid. I knew the only way I’d get through the run was to distract myself. And I did! I spoke to every person that cheered for me. Strangers and friends alike. When spectators said “good job”, they received a breathless “thank you” in return. When my friends screamed, I delivered a fist pump and a smile. When I saw Keisha waving a Team Angel sign, I said, “wanna switch places?”. She laughed. Then said, “no”.  At mile 3, I saw a woman on the sidewalk sipping an iced drink.  I said, “Is that caffeine?”.  She was too surprised to respond. Or didn’t get the joke. Then I heard soul music pumping from an upcoming water station. I grabbed a water and started high-fiving the volunteers like they knew me. They didn’t. I also started mouthing the lyrics and bobbing my head. Seconds later I realized how exhausting that dance break had been. Who does that?!? At mile 5, I heard my friend Badiyah screaming my name. I didn’t know she was coming to the race so I screamed back in excitement. (Note: screaming is also exhausting.) I was close to the finish but there was a girl infront of me I needed to pass. Get her, Angel! I focused on keeping my breath controlled and my stride quick when all of the sudden, out of the blue, my sister screamed, “You lookin’ good in the unitard, baby. Work that spandex!” No she didn’t. I busted out laughing then sped up in pursuit of the brunette. Enroute I passed a male competitor who shouted, “Damn! What you smokin??!” I smiled. Okay, Angel, let’s get this done. It’s hot. I sprinted to the finish passing my supportive friends and that brunette. Ice cold towelletes + friends + a good attitude = 43 minutes 49 seconds, 7:04 minutes per mile

My final time was 2 hours and 32 minutes. In my age group, I was 4th (top 5.5%). Overall, I was 22nd out of 262 women (top 8.7%). My bike rate was 20.5 mph and my run rate was 7:04 min/mile.

The female winner was an elite triathlete who completed the race in 2 hours 14 minutes. She had a bike rate of 22.6 mph and a run pace of 6:28 min/mile.

Bottom Line: I am 18 minutes away from being competitive with the Elite women. This will be a challenge. This will test my limits. I’m going for it anyway.

Plan of attack: Do track workouts to improve run time. Build leg strength to improve bike speed. Use a boat to get through the swim.

Thanks to everyone who supported me throughout this journey. A special thank you to Keshia, Shan and Cohen, Amber, Eliza, Alex and Nico, Badiyah, Charis and Rohin, Tia, and Sabrina for coming to watch me compete in the DC Triathlon. Thank you to all of my clients who sent emails checking on my progress. And thank you to my blog readers for the messages of encouragement. Thank you all! I am humbled and moved by your support.

Next race: August 15th

These are the Exorcist Steps. This staircase is a popular landmark located in Washington D.C., near Georgetown, just beyond the Key Bridge. This is the place where well-meaning humans go to get their guts checked. This is the place where names are taken and legs are annihilated. This is the place where the weak feel weaker and the strong feel stronger. This is the place where dreams are realized and records are shattered.

The Exorcist steps have become a staple in my training as I attempt to become an Elite triathlete. I run the 60 steps – each way – as fast as I can. When I get to the top, I close my eyes and pray for the strength to do it all again. And I do. This week I broke my record and completed 17 rounds. Today, walking is difficult. So is sitting, standing, and stretching.

If you want to get your body into incredible shape, build beautiful legs and indestructible lungs, stair training is your ticket. If you can’t find a staircase as tall as the Exorcist steps, a set of high school bleachers will work.

If you can only find short a staircase, make the most out of it by adding resistance. Run those steps carrying a backpack loaded with unread New Yorker’s and cans of low sodium soup. And do it over and over again until you’ve done enough to get the results. How do you know when you’ve done enough? When you can’t lift your head or stop your legs from shaking.

Your assignment: go out and find the biggest staircase in your hometown. When you get there, tighten up your laces, pound your chest, and sprint to the top as fast as you can. And should you get mid-flight and start to question your ability, close your eyes and listen. When you do, you’ll hear me cheering for you. Go get’ em, champ!

Check out this video to see what the Exorcist steps can do to a person:

One of my clients returned to the fold to gain what was lost: perfectly formed quads. On her first day back, I gave her a look that was familiar but more intense. It said, “This ain’t the hokey pokey but you will be turning yourself around.” After three weeks under my tyranny, she began logging her soreness sessions in a journal. One session moved her in such a way she was compelled to send me a copy of that day’s entry. Here it is: Read the rest of this entry →

Legs,

First of all, I love you. I know, every time that I say I love you, its followed by crossfit front squats, an endurance spin class, or an inhumane number of burpees. This time its different, though, so listen, okay? Like I said, I love you. I love you because you’ve been there for me when it mattered the most: You’ve helped me walk away from bad relationships, you’ve helped me run a marathon, you’ve helped me stand up for what I believe in, but, more importantly, you’ve helped me hover over nasty gas station toilets. You’ve even held me up over toilets in posh nightclubs where I should have been honored to sit. My hovering skills got so good that one time I texted a friend (while in hover mode) in the middle of the longest pee of my life. I did this and still remained on target. You were steady as a rock. That’s what you’ve done for me, you see. And nothing can take that away from us. But it wasn’t always this way. I used to resent you. Read the rest of this entry →