Day 2: Mocktail Hour

We knew that one of the most difficult parts of the 30 day elimination challenge would be not drinking alcohol, and that Friday evening would probably be the hardest time. So, our first Friday on the plan, I mixed up some "mocktails." The fact that we also weren't eating sugar made things a bit challenging, but that's what creativity is for. I minced up some fresh ginger, zested and juiced a Meyer lemon, added those to sparkling water and mocktails managed. It was pretty tasty, with the ginger adding a very refreshing sweet heat. It would never be a substitute for that happy hour pint, but it was a fun and refreshing sipper.

Day 26: Clam Chowder

I've been toying with this idea since I made curried mussels (week 1, day 5 or 6), and was even more excited once I found celeriac at the local produce stand. I was going to make this last week, but was a bit intimidated by the idea, so punted and made scallop and celeriac salad instead (stay tuned for that winning day 20 recipe!).

This week I decided to do it on a Monday (weeknight! late dinner alert!), but prepped my celeriac in advance, as the peeling seemed the most time consuming. Turns out, once that was done, the rest was quite easy. Total prep and cook time (other than the advance celeriac prep) was ~ 30 minutes. I was originally envisioning using coconut milk to give the chowder a creamy texture (no dairy during The Challenge), but after tasting the broth mid-simmer, I decided it wasn't necessary. The soup is as delicious, flavorful, and filling as any chowder I've had, with the big caveat that I almost never eat chowder because of the presumed caloric hit.

Recipe:
Bring a cup or so of water to boil. I added some celery fronds, too. Add clams (used 2 1/2 pounds large live clams), cover, and steam until the clams have opened. Mine only took 5 minutes. Strain the clams, reserving all of the broth. When the clams have cooled, remove from the shell and roughly chop, then stash them somewhere safe from George the Cat.

Brown 5 slices bacon, then add about a cup of chopped onions, some diced celery (a few stalks), and a few cloves of garlic, minced. Once all the veg are soft, add the reserved clam broth, some fresh thyme sprigs, a bay leaf, and the peeled and diced celeriac root (one large bulb). Simmer until the celeriac is tender, 15 - 20 minutes. (I then popped in the immersion blender to puree some of the veg; this isn't really necessary.) Divide the reserved clams into 4 bowls, and pour the soup over top. Top with diced green onions and fresh ground pepper (optional, but delicious).

I served this with a spinach salad with apples, walnuts, and a walnut oil vinaigrette for a very light and tasty meal.

Introducing the Adventurous Triathlete's Paleo Cookbook
or, more accurately the not-so-adventurous mid-pack-triathlete's not-really-paleo blog

A few friends, Jeff, and I are wrapping up a 30 day "elimination diet" that is endorsed/supported by a couple of nutritionists (the one who is a friend of a friend who got us into this lives here on the internet). We've eliminated food types that are causes of frequent food sensitivities and inflammation as well as processed foods / additives. This leaves us with meat, eggs, seafood, fruits, vegetables (all but white potatoes and corn), healthy oils (coconut, olive, sesame), and nuts - all as organic / local / sustainable as possible. My motivation is to improve my eating/drinking habits and lose some weight - key goals for 2012 as I enter my 40th year. If I discover actual food sensitivities, that will be a great finding, but I don't have any real reason to suspect that I will (yet).

As we've been going through this process, we've had some highs, some lows, and a lot of great discoveries, some personal, and some culinary. A friend jokingly suggested a book, "the Adventurous Triathlete's Paleo Cookbook." While the title is a bit of a misnomer, I do think that this is great fodder for a blog, so I'll try to recreate some recent and future adventures, some culinary, some beyond.

Race Report - Ironman Canada

For our second (and perhaps last?) Ironman race, Jeff and I picked IM Canada for a few reasons:

• Within driving distance of home - just over 6 hours without stops or any delays at the border
• Single loop run, bike, and swim courses - the only single loop course other than Kona
• "Epic" bike course with two mountain passes - we like to climb
• It's in Canada - we have a saying, "everything's betting in Canada," because, well, it is!

We got lucky and were able to register online last August; the first time it hadn't sold out with in-person registration. I put in my vacation request the week before registering, explaining that I needed to know a year in advance if it was going to be okay to miss 4 days of work during the busiest time of the year. Fortunately, my boss and entire team are incredibly supportive and made this easy for me.

We started ramping up our training around March, with a plan that I cobbled together based on a friend's professionally developed plan, with tons of tweaks, including my incredibly scientific (not!) run/bike/swim 45/45/10 training effort mix ratio (I figure that's the ratio of level of effort for the race, so training should about equal that), balancing in workout schedules, other training events, etc. We also learned from the other IM experience, and added more running, more bricks, and overall more volume. We joined the Cycle U tri team this year, which provided track workouts, some coaching, a few clinics, and a very sharp race kit (i.e. triathlon-specific shorts and top for races). We also got terrific virtual support leading up to the race from the team. We did a lot of long rides in the spring with team HPC - the best and hardest of which was the Chelan Century. That ride includes a climb that is the hardest thing I've ever done on a bike. As another rider commented to me at the top (I'd let him know I was training for IM Canada), "that climb flattens Richter Pass" (the first of the two passes on the Canada course). We picked what was supposed to be a hot 70.3 race for our tune-up race, ChelanMan, which was a lot of fun and would have been terrific simulation for Canada, had it not been cool and wet the day we were there - a very rare situation. We traveled to the race location, Penticton, B.C., in July and biked most of the bike course (skipped an out-and-back in the middle) and swam in the lake and had a really lovely little vacation. It was good to get familiar with the area and see just how hard those climbs really are. Turns out, not so hard, but long, with a lot of tough rolling hills in between, which makes for a tough, but fun and amazingly scenic ride.

We arrived in Penticton for the Sunday race Thursday evening. We were lucky to get a room in town within a mile of the race start and just a few blocks of the run course. We did a short tune-up ride on the way into town, just catching the last of the evening sun. We caught of first glances of other racers, distinctive with their IM gear (visors! jackets! m-dot tattoos!), low body-fat, and silver bracelets. In the past, I've let the sight of other racers get in my head, and compare myself unfavorably to them (I'm not skinny - how can I possibly be ready?), but having successfully done one of these things before and having had a very successful season (a 1st and a 3rd place age group finish at the two races I've done this summer), I reminded myself that there are a lot of very fit and impressive looking racers who have finished after me in races before, and this one probably wouldn't be any different.

Friday we checked in, checked out the merchandise tent (Ironman is nothing if not a money-making enterprise), then went for fruit smoothies at a local fruit stand recommended by our friend Silvia - Iron Pirate, Fit with Fido volunteer, and IM race volunteer extraordinaire (more about Silvia later). We spent the rest of the afternoon sorting gear and prepping bikes (Jeff prepped bikes; I made lists and sorted out bags). Saturday, we went for a short swim, bike ride, and run, dropping off bikes on the way back to the hotel. On the bike ride, I felt a sharp pinch pain in my leg that I attributed to a rock bouncing off the asphalt at the time, but it continued to hurt, and a nurse in the med tent checking in volunteers for the race confirmed that it was a bee or wasp sting. It continued to swell and grow into a sore patch about 5 inches wide, despite some ice and benadryl. My parents arrived that evening after a few days in the Canadian Rockies, fortunate to get a last minute room at our hotel - they had thought that they'd need to stay in Kelowna, an hour north, which would have made for a very early morning if they'd come down for the race start. We had dinner at a local Greek restaurant, which ended up being a much longer walk to and from the hotel than we'd thought - in retrospect, we should have driven. I mixed up all of the race fluids - gel bottles filled with thick Perpetuum mix, Clif drink mix for bike water bottles, and packed the special needs bags with zip lock backs of salt & vinegar potato chips and clif blocks and gels. We ended up getting to sleep ~ 11 pm - not early, but late enough that we actually fell asleep and got a moderately decent sleep, considering what was to come.

We got up at 4:45 for coffee and bagels/peanut butter/banana breakfast. Jeff also had some cereal. We gathered up all of our stuff and got out the door to join the throngs of other racers and spectators heading for the start. The walk ended up being longer than we thought - being diverted around the finish line and associated tents - but got into the race area ~ 6 am for body marking. Our friend Silvia drew our numbers (very clear and perfectly placed) and gave pre-race hugs and we headed into transition. Jeff topped off all of our tires while I filled water bottles, and we were in line for porta-potties ~ 6:30. We finally reached the front of the line just as the Canadian national anthem was sung for the professional start at 6:45. We donned wet suits, got another pre-race hug from Silvia, and headed out to the beach for the start. We placed ourselves at the far right of the field, which was on the inside of the race buoys. I got near the front of the pack and Jeff seeded himself in the middle. Another round of "Oh, Canada," and we were off, promptly at 7.

The swim was the part of the race I'd been dreading the most. Just thinking about it made my stomach clench up remembering the panic I felt on the IM CDA swim. This time was much better. The first 10 minutes or so were very crowded - there were people on all sides with very little room to move, but no one seemed to be trying to push over or past anyone. I think folks self-seeded very well, and we all seemed to be going the same speed with the same effort. I had to stay very focused, however, on keeping that pace and position, and was worried about the amount of effort it was taking and wondering if I could continue for the entire race. I faced a little panic at that point, but tried to keep that at bay, reminding myself that I'd trained for this, I was a stong swimmer, and just had to relax, breath deep, and I'd get through. Fortunately, things spread out as we got further along the first leg, and by the time we'd gone a half mile or so there was a little more space. Things pinched up again at the first turn, but, again, folks seemed pretty respectful of others space, and as long as I kept moving quickly, I didn't get swamped. I looked down as I turned around the first buoy and spotted a diver sitting on the bottom, looking up at the swimmers. It was comforting to know that we were being looked after from below as well as from above the waterline. There were a few times when there would be a huge pack all swimming close together that would surround me, but I managed to pull to the side or fall a little behind, and then again find myself with some open water to swim in. I managed, with minimal siting (other than looking at the swimmers to the left and the right when breathing) to stick close to the buoys, at times finding myself swimming directly into them. As always, the final leg into the beach was the easiest. When I stood up at the end, heading into transition, I was excited to see 1:11 on my watch; my agressive goal was 1:10, and my previous time was 1:15, so I was off to a good start. I found Silvia in the transition and she stripped my wetsuit. I grabbed my transition bag, headed to the tent, put on socks and shoes, race belt, and helmet, and was off to the bike. I was riding out at 1:16 - a good transition time, probably 5 minutes faster than last IM T1.

The bike felt terrific. I've been feeling really good on the bike this summer, having done 4 centuries, including the aforementioned Chelan ride and the course itself. I'd ridden passes around Mt. Rainier, so knew that I was ready for the course. I saw a lot of flats in the first 20 miles or so, enough so that another rider and I commented on the number. I kept telling myself that it was due to newby-nerves and overinflated tires and that it wouldn't happen to me. Turns out, someone had sprinkled carpet tacks on the course - a friend fell victim to one and found the tack in his tire. The first 40 miles roll through vineyards and fruit groves past fruit stands and wineries; I tried to not let myself get caught up with competitive instincts as many women passed me, and kept an easy spinning pace - it was going to be a long day, and it's easy to go too hard too early and not leave enough for the end. I sipped my Perpetuum and kept drinking sports drink and stopped for the bathroom in Oliver. It seemed no time had passed before we were in Osoyoos and turning off to head up Richter Pass. It was good to start climbing and I hit a good rhythem. There were clumps of spectators along the climb, whose enthusiasm added to the fun of the ride. Finally, I started passing people instead of getting passed. Crossing Richter, I felt strong with plenty in the legs, but at some point I developed a head ache that persisted through most of the ride. The rollers were as tough as I remembered, but I tried to take it easy and save energy. We hit the out and back, which we'd been warned was the toughest part of the race mentally as you find yourself going "the wrong way" for much longer than it seemed on the map. I was looking forward to this part, however, as I had yet to see Jeff on the course and I needed to reassure myself that he was okay. Normally, I get out of the water first, and then he passes me on the early part of the bike course. I didn't see him pass me this time, and I had just been hoping that he'd passed while I was in the port-o-potty. I finally glimpsed him about 6 or so miles from the turnaround, so was relieved that all seemed to be going well with his race, too. At the turnaround we got our special needs bags, and I munched potato chips (mmmm, salt...) while putting the second Perpetuum flask in my pocket and pb&j sandwich in the bento box on the bike. I went to the bathroom again, having to wait for a few minutes in line. Rolling again, I had a sip of the Perp, only to find that what had been frozen solid in the morning was now very hot from sitting in the sun all day. I decided not to risk drinking it and thus didn't get the 500-or-so calories I'd counted on getting. I tried to eat my sandwich, but it was hard going, and ended up eating only about 1/3 of it. This is in contrast to IM CDA, where I was really hungry by the time I hit special needs and scarfed down the sandwich I'd packed. The heat of the day was starting to take its toll. I kept drinking, however, and refilled my bottle with 3 bottles of powerade and 2 bottles of water. Once out of the out-and-back portion of the ride was my favorite part of the ride. While this is supposedly the beginning of the climb to Yellow Lake, the road is very flat and very fast. I was feeling really good at the point, and figured that since I was going to have a slow run regardless, there was no use saving anything on the road during the rest of the ride. I picked up the pace and started passing other riders. The crowds on the side of the road grew as the road started to climb, and the support was tremendous. I spotted Sylvia, again! and she got a photo of me with a silly grin on my face. The rest of the ride was anti-climatic. Most of the end is downhill, but was into a stiff headwind. I'm a skittish descender in the best of circumstances, and so rode the brakes a bit, but with the headwind, I didn't need to use them much, and didn't lose a lot of time on the descent. During the final miles into town, I realized how cooked I was feeling, and started worrying about how the run would go. I spotted Jeff running out on the course and marked the time to see how far ahead he was. I headed into transition, changed shoes, made sure to get a thorough application of sunscreen, and headed out onto the run course.

As I started to run, I felt terrible, and really wondered how I'd be able to run for 26+ miles. I just put one foot in front of another, however, kept the pace slow, tried to stay relaxed, and plodded along. I walked through each rest station that were located at each mile and drank powerade and water at each station. I tried to eat the clif blocks I'd loaded into my pocket, but had a hard time working through them. There's not much to say about the run - it was long, and I never felt good. There were times when I was halfway between stations that I wondered if it was safe to have all of out here running in 90 degrees already depleted and dehydrated. The ambulance passed back and forth, full of racers being pulled off the course to get rehydrated in the medical tent. I kept running with the understanding that it was the fasted way to get to the finish line. Never again, I told myself; I only had to get through the run and I wouldn't have to do this to myself again. As I approached the 11 mile point, once again I started looking for Jeff, who I'd figured started the run about 40 minutes ahead of me. I spotted him after the 12 mile point, which meant he was slowing down more than I was, but he looked strong and gave me a positive shout-out. I had forgotten about the special needs bag until I was passing them. I happily grabbed my second potato chip bag, and carried them to the next aid station where I munched a few while frantically sipping water. After that I started adding Pepsi to the collection of cups I grabbed each time through the station - trying to get in as much caffeine, calories, and electrolytes as possible while walking from one end to another. Finally, the course turned back into town, the crowds thickened, and I passed my mom, cheering like crazy, so I smiled as much as I could, hoping that she had no idea how miserable I was feeling. I continued the smile as I passed through the finish area, unbelievably happy to be done. Again, it was Silvia I saw who gave me a big hug and supported me with her boyfriend, Phil, to the finishers food area and we found Jeff. We couldn't manage to eat anything then, so slowly made our way back to the hotel, checked in with my parents, and showered before returning to the finish area to get some pizza and collect our gear.

Surprisingly, I was not that sore the next day and had almost no chafing - most remarkable considering how very hot it was. It took a while to get rehydrated - the wine tasting I had planned was much abbreviated, and we traded in winery visits for another fruit smoothy.

The best thing about the Canada race are the people. All of the volunteers, spectators, business owners, and racers are incredibly friendly and supportive. Despite the heat and the misery of the run, I would highly recommend the event, and am looking for reasons to travel back - the gran fondo, perhaps, or to volunteer, or just taste wine, as long as there isn't another hot marathon..

Since Dear Blank, Please Blank* probably won't publish this...

Dear RV driver,

Hi! Isn’t this fun, out on the open road? Open, windy, hilly road… It’s making you a little nervous; I can tell. Not so nervous that you’re going to slow down, though. You’re not going to let this road get to you. After all, you got this RV for ADVENTURES! You’re not going to let those pesky cyclists get you, either. I don’t know why they need to use this road obviously meant for the true recreational-vehicle-driving-adventurer, but, here we are together, sharing. Speaking of sharing, could you do a little more of that while you’re passing? Washington State law requires 3 feet distance when passing bikes, but I’d be perfectly happy with 2. How about we split the difference? You move over 1 foot, and I’ll stay one foot to the right of the white line. This will guarantee that I don’t get hit with one of those big side mirrors if I flinch when you fly by at 70 mph. Did you ever take physics in high school? Remember that Bernoulli's principle thing? That’s what happens when a big flat vehicle traveling fast creates a slipstream that I can actually feel pulling me into the road when you fly by; cool in theory – a little scary in practice. I know that you don’t want to be a burden to the others on the road by moving over, even just a foot or two. The semi-trucks, however, somehow always seem to give me at least half a lane; an extra foot or two from you would be great. Enjoy your adventures, you recreational-vehicle-driving stud.

Sincerely,

The fellow traveler balancing on two skinny tires with nothing but spandex separating skin from pavement.

* Jeff's company makes the iphone app for this site; terrific time waster!

It's Back to the Blog for Ironman #2 Training Reports

Jeff and I are training for our second Ironman this year. Second and last, according to Jeff. He says this just about every time we run together (which is a few times a week) just to make sure I don't forget. Thus a public record to remind us.

I, on the other hand, seem to have been enjoying training, at least until about 3 weeks ago when an unidentified muscle (I think it's the left hip adductor - very tippy top of the hamstring) started hurting while running. Until then, everything was feeling great, body responding to ever increasing mileage, riding fast, doing speedwork, swimming well. The swimming and biking still feel great, and (hopefully) the leg/hip thing is healing slowly. There is something about knowing that the body really will perform if you just put in the time and effort. I see muscles appear that don't normally show themselves, and I can eat ridiculous amounts of food without gaining weight. The problem, however, is that eating ridiculous amounts of food doesn't lead to weight loss, which is the big missing piece of my race prep. Ideally, I'd weigh about 15 (or more) pounds less than I do right now. There's still some time to lose part of that, but I'm coming to terms with the fact that I won't be at ideal race weight for this one.

Enough for now; new early bedtime! (sleep - another part of the training / preparation that has not been happening as it should)

Stay tuned; possible more tri-me-obsessive posts to come...

"It's the Camper's Creed"

What?

You know, you can set up your tent with your sleeping bags and stuff and then leave it all to go do something, and no one will take anything. It's the Camper's Creed.

I've never heard that before.

Yeah, I just made it up.

Fear of Falling

Fear is my least favorite emotion. Unfortunately, I feel it all too often: feel of failure, fear of the unknown, and, most often, fear of falling. This time of year, the roads get slick with rain and wet leaves, the wind gusts, and there are days when my morning 3.5 mile ride to work is spent desperately clutching the brakes of my bike, hoping that I don't hit that bad patch or unexpected opening car door and go down.

Earlier this fall, I was "softly doored." Getting "doored" is my and every cyclist's nightmare: riding fast down on the right side of the road near parked cars, and one of those car doors opens without time to swerve and bike hits door, with the cyclist usually taking the brunt of the accident; severe injuries are usually the result. My experience was much less brutal. I was riding through crowded evening traffic - early fall, so still daylight - in the bike lane on the left side of 4th ave in the heart of downtown Seattle. I was going no more than 10 mph when I saw the passenger door of a taxi open into the street in front of me. I saw the door open with time to react: I slammed on my brakes, yelled, and when I fell, I don't think it was due to impact with the door, just the quick stop without time to clip out of my petals. I was lucky and the car behind me saw me fall and stopped. As I quickly got up, a few shocked pedestrians asked if I was okay while the idiot who was getting out of the cab (into traffic - who does that when one can get out of the backseat of the cab onto the sidewalk?) just stared at me dumbly as if puzzled as to why a bike was trying to crash into his cab. I wasn't really hurt, some very minor scrapes and bruises, but was shaken and sore (from the panicked stop) for days afterwards.

Last night I tripped and fell as Jeff and I were trotting through our neighborhood (in the dark, slippery streets) to catch a bus. The worst part is when I start to fall - the worst result flashes through my mind, and the fear sets in. The landing is always just a shock; there is rarely pain at first. The taste of blood in my mouth makes me wonder if I bit my tongue or broke a tooth. I get up and try to figure out if I'm okay. Wet patches on my knees and my shin. Sore hip where I took some of the fall. The wet on my knee is just mud, the shin hurts more. Hands and elbows took a beating as well, but hands aren't bleeding. Turns out the shin was the worst of it; good thing I'm wearing old blue jeans and sneakers; they soak up most of the blood until I can get to a drug store. Again, no serious injuries (although the shin will have a very nice scar), but the shakiness and fear afterwards and the internal berating - how could I be so stupid?

There should be a point to all of this. The fear is the worst part, never the fall. If only there were a way to avoid the fear. What could I achieve if I didn't get so scared and neurotic? I keep biking to work despite the rain and wind and stupid, taxi-riding tourists. I swim in open water despite the liklihood of a kick to the face from another athlete. I keep going to work even though my work doesn't always make everyone happy and sometimes fails to fully deliver. I do these things through the fear, despite the fear, perhaps because of the fear. The more I fall and get back up again, the easier it is.

Test, test, 1 - 2 - 3

Does this thing still work?

Updates:

Jeff and I both had a good race back in June and are "Iron-man and -woman" respectively. I had a long post that I started the days following, which was never finished, but perhaps I'll try to resurrect.

Work has continued to be crazy; it's been the year to beat all years in my office. Things are finally starting to slow down, but with a new boss coming in on Tuesday, things will get interesting in an uncertain way as we see new staff come and old staff go.

Facebook has become my online media of choice and pretty much the way I keep in touch with life, friends, and the world. There is, however, still room for other expression and longer exposition.

Stay tuned?