The Finish Line!

Well, it's done. Yesterday saw me swim, bike and run 32 miles along western Manhattan (and the Bronx . . . it was an equal opportunity triathlon), and I have survived to tell the story. Later this week I'll write more on the lessons learned and valuable insight revealed from swallowing a mouthful of the Hudson, but for now, on my day of rest, I'll hold you over with a few simple (though still profound) comments on my race to the finish.

1. You have to get up early to run a triathlon. Really early. Like 3:45am early if you live in Jersey. Lucky for me I had a husband who cared enough about me to fake alertness and drive down the Turnpike blasting the Zach Brown's "Chicken Fried." I can guarantee you we were the only people rolling through the Bronx jamming to country music.

2. Lots of other people do triathlons too . . . about 4,000 of them. But I have to say despite my training run-ins with poorly attired cycling snobs and Wallstreet types in Speedos obviously overcompensating for a lack of something else, these athletes were some of the nicest people I've ever met. Everybody was incredibly encouraging, eager to help out, and generally the opposite of every person I have run into at a New Jersey Dunkin' Donuts. There is quite a bit of camaraderie when we're all dressed like seals waiting in line for a port-a-potty.

3. Despite not having a fancy Italian bike or those pretentious clip on shoes, I beat the shit (sorry Mom) out of some of those chicks on the bike course . . . and all without changing gears . . .once. A few months ago, I decided to take a "naturalist" approach to cycling and committed to using only the power of my short muscular legs to carrying me up hills and through long flats. It was my way of giving the finger, or toe in this case, to all of those riders who were constantly clicking up the course. They may get to the top faster than me (some of the time), but my legs would look a hell of a lot better in short shorts.

4. The volunteers and crowds were some of the most enthusiastic and supportive people I have ever come across. They were also a bunch of liars. As I entered the final mile in Central Park, I heard shouts of "Only 1/2 mile left!" or "The finish is just around the corner!" Being appropriately concerned about the melodramatic moment of my impending finish, I began to sprint, (mistakenly) believing that I was just a few strides away from the end of this journey and conjured up every mental trigger for tears I could possibly muster; Jon's brain hemorrhage, the struggle of passing the Bars and moving so far away from my wonderful friends, and the incredible family members who had passed away from obesity and neglect of their own health. I began tearing up and sprinting through this mental montage through the finish. Then . . . there was another turn, or another "1/2 mile left!" And I lost it . . . no, not "lost it" as in I began sobbing though Central Park but "lost it" as in I was over it. I could only sustain my cinematic game face for so long before I just got pissy with all the onlookers and wanted to yell, "You said that shit 2 miles ago!" By the time the finish line snuck up on me, my mental focus had turned to whether my braid had stayed in place for post-race pictures. It had. It's about the journey though people, not the finish (because you can always take fake finish line pictures later).

5. And finally, a Jimmy Buff's stuffed double cheesesteak sandwich never tastes so good as after a gulp of the Hudson.

All Suited Up!

It was my original intention to swim the Hudson in just my "tri-suit" but after googling "death and NYC triathlon" earlier this week (hey, it's important to be well informed) I had a change of heart. Apparently a swimmer passed away in 2008 after being attacked by a swarm of jellyfish, and the critters have continued to be a problem in the last couple of years. The bodies and dragnet of state's evidence in the river didn't bother me so much, but a jellyfish sting really hurts like a bitch.

Armed with this new information, I made my way to Jack Rabbit Sports on the Upper East side to get fitted for my suit. I explained to the staff that this was my first triathlon and I was looking for something that would keep me warm in the water, deter marine life, and elongate my legs. After taking my measurements, she brought out what was essentially a rubber onesie that looked like it would fit my 19 month old nephew. I assured her that there was no way that 1) this suit was making it over my left butt cheek and that 2) even if it did I would have a panic attack from the constriction, and my mental health coverage for the year was already used up (shocking I know). She told me to just relax (a bit easier for her to do since she was in clothing that did not require special lotion to get a sleeve over your forearm) and that it was completely normal to feel like you couldn't breathe while standing up in the suit. I would eventually get used to the compression and barely notice that my kidneys had been pushed to the front of my body. Faced with either putting the suit on or having to look like a wimp in front of a store full of athletes (they were serious athletes too . . . the kind that don't wear makeup and have sock tans), I dragged the suit into the dressing room and began the 10 minute process of getting it on. I have to say, it wasn't as bad as I thought. All those years of trying to fit a size 12 toosh into a size 2 dress (that was obviously just cut small) had paid off, and I emerged fully zipped and ready for the three way mirror.

Because the suit is built to make swimmers buoyant in the water, there is about a two inch thick paneling of foam and rubber between the interior of the suit and the outside. Swimmers extol this padding because it increases your speed and efficiency in the water ten fold. I, however, thought it added unnecessary pounds and would gladly sacrifice 2 or 3 minutes of swim time for something a bit more slimming. However, the look in the sales lady's eyes told me I should not inquire about a different model that perhaps didn't accentuate my hips.

In the end, I not only got that suit, but I actually started to hit a groove posing in front of the mirror in my Wonder Woman Onesie. There was something very powerful in knowing that I would be using this suit to complete an event that I had dedicated countless hours and buckets of sweat training for. I looked as strong as I felt, and it was great to have the outside match the inside. Now, I just have to find a great pair of earrings to match!

Ursula's Yoga Madness

Check out Ursula's website (and if you can one of her classes) . . . This woman is responsible for many a clear minds and tight tooshes!

Thank you for everything Ursula!

(http://ursulavari.com/)

MFing Triathlon

With only one month left to train for the big event, I started to get nervous that my legs wouldn't carry me through all three grueling segments in succession. I mean, obviously I am a machine of incredible athletic prowess and steel will, but it's always good to get some extra insurance with those big purchases. So I decided that on Saturday I would host my own little suburban salute to the triathlon by competing (against myself) in a 25 mile bike, 6 mile run, and 1 mile swim here in Livingston. It was roughly the same distance that will be covered next month, and the only real differences were that my transition stages were downstairs at my in-laws and my swim was in the pool at NYSC (which in all truth is probably more disgusting than the Hudson). I completed the "MFing Triathlon" in a little under 4 hours (including changes) and am happy to report that I did not have to stop once to throw up or ask someone for a ride back home . . .

I would like to thank the following for making this victory possible:

To the drivers of Livingston NJ, without your recklessness and road rage I would never have been compelled to peddle my short legs so fast if not for the fear of you killing me on the way to an Ed Hardy sale. Oh, and to the soccer mom with too much face work and leathery skin driving the Lexus that almost side swiped me on the corner of Livingston Ave. and Northfield, I got your plate number.

I would also like to wish little Stephen a Happy 6th Birthday . . . I would like to say it was a pleasure sharing the NYSC swim pool with you and 15 of your closest friends yesterday afternoon, but alas it was not. Due to what I can only assume was a group effort to see how much urine you guys could seep into the pool, the temperature was uncomfortably warm. How about Chuck-e-Cheeses next year?

To the group of 13 year old boys who refused to give me free lemonade (when it was advertised as "free lemonade"), I would like to say 1) You are too old to be selling lemonade anyway you little creeps and 2) I hope you never get laid.

Finally, I would like to extend my warmest gratitude to the world's best husband for serving as my coach and assistant during yesterday's festivities. No one pulls of cheerleading from the couch like he does, and even though he ate the last piece of chicken breast I was saving for after the workout, he redeemed himself by ponying up for sushi last night.

Onward to New York!

Just Chew It

A huge part of any lifestyle overhaul is just getting out there and moving. But if one of those movements you're having trouble with is pulling your jeans up over your hips, sooner or later you'll have to turn your attention to the fork-lift (as in lifting your fork to your mouth). I did not turn in my resignation as the West Coast's Chapter President of the Chub Club by exercise alone, although it would have been easier if I could have. No matter how many squats, sprints, and sit-ups I mastered, the pounds didn't really start their downward spiral until I took a new approach to my diet. And you know what? It sucked. It really really really sucked. It's not fair that I have to watch what I eat when I log in seven or eight hours of exercise a week. Hell, I should be able to go through 1-12 on the McDonald's value meal menu with the amount of intervals I clock . . . but I can't. And neither can most people. Even you're shredding 500 calories a workout, you still have to create a daily caloric deficit to lose weight. Translate: "Congratulations on the 18mile bike ride . . .now put that mother^&*#ing bag of chips down."

I don't just like to eat, I love to eat. I love to have people over for a shrimp boil and beer, and I love to cook big meals for friends and families on the holidays. Food is the great common denominator in some of my favorite memories, and because of that I refuse to look at it as the enemy. Instead, food is my "frienemy" I will always have food in my life, and I will always have a great time when we're out on the town together trying new things. But sometimes my frienemy is just a little bitch that wants me to buy a pair of elastic pants.

For me, the best way to handle this relationship has been to focus on quantity. Seems silly I know, but it was quantity that got me into this mess and quantity that got me out. I made a deal with myself that I could east as many fruits and vegetables as I wanted . . . no limits. But in exchange, I would reduce the amount of simply carbohydrates and fats I consumed. I keep my plates around 30/70. 70% veggies and the other 30% lean protein and complex carbohydrates. For example, if we were having spaghetti and marinara sauce for dinner, I'd thrown in some extra veggies in the sauce and then serve mine over steamed cauliflower instead of pasta. Is it the same as a rich sauce over linguine? Hell no. But it's not half bad, and I got in about 4 more servings of veggies than the schlub eating the shells and a fraction of the calories. Another trick is doing breakfast for dinner and throwing in a whole package of spinach with an egg white scramble and whole grain toast. The variations go on and on. By focusing on fruits and vegetables as my diet's mainstay, I not only get all the essential nutrients I need to keep me going, but I can also eat a ridiculously big plate and still fit in my skinny jeans tomorrow.

I'm posting one of my favorite summer recipes below . . . Watermelon Salad. Its got tons of lycopene, antioxidants, and tummy filling water. Make yourself a big bowl and serve it with some grilled chicken or fish. You'll have a complete meal, a well fueled body, and zero guilt!

Watermelon Salad*

Seeded and Cubed Watermelon

Arugula or Some Other Peppery Lettuce

Red Onion, Sliced Thin

Maytag Blue Cheese

Toss all four together and serve cold.

* I don't know quantities because I'm Southern, and we never measure anything. But the general gist is to use a lot of watermelon for the sweetness and scale back on the cheese (you really won't need that much anyway because it's such a strong flavor).

The Glamorous Life of an Athlete

Long Run. Long Bike. Really Long Bike. Swim. I'm too tired to write but my face pretty much says it all . . .

A Friendly Public Service Announcement

Don't forget that there's a link to the right that allows you to donate (however big or small) and support my fundraising effort for the American Cancer Society. We're about $1,000 short of our goal and only two months left to go . . .

Your money goes directly to ACS and helps fund cancer research and treatment. It helps them out tremendously (it also helps my marriage out tremendously, because whatever balance I don't manage to raise is charged on Jon's credit card).

Thanks so much to all of you who have already donated (and there are a lot of you), and I look forward to writing thank you notes to the rest of you in the near future!