Olympics, Swifts, Wildflower, Biking, and Spring Break

Perhaps one of my my literal blogpost titles ever. Again, it's been too long, and too many things have happened to fully report on, but I'll start with this. In February, Aaron and I went to watch the Olympics in Whistler. And it was rad. We were lucky enough to be able to sub-let an apartment that some of Aaron's friends from biathlon had secured years in advance, and the entire experience proved to be worth the hassle (ie the four hours spent waiting in lines for the buses transporting spectators from the venues to the village). We were also lucky to experience gorgeous blue skies every day we were there. The rain and sleet happened before and after.

I wish I had more photos of the friends and strangers we played with all week, but I have to say that I really felt like we were in the coolest place in the world. This was the view from our apartment window. Earplugs were in order every night, but we didn't have to wander far to partake in spontaneous dance parties, drink beer, and engage in hockey smack talk. We got out of there before the US actually lost to Canada, in the final, and I am glad for that. Hockey is one of the few things that turns Canadians into jerks.

This was the view of my xc skiing heroes during the men's pursuit. Marcus Hellner, Lukas Bauer, and Axel Teichman all in the same frame.

Then it was time to focus on my own athletics again, and with full-on gold medal envy, I begrudgingly participated in the national cross country championships which were taking place 400 meters away from my work. So I went to work, took a lunch break and "competed" in a national championship 8km cross country race and returned to work an hour later. Not a bad gig.

My awesome Spokane Swift teammates were out in full force, and we actually managed to win the team title. My team rocks.

In the end, I finished 34th, which put me (barely) in the top half of the field of 76. And I only ran 1 minute per mile slower than this chick! In my defense, she has an Olympic 10km medal to her credit. And some really little shorts.

Next up was my favorite early season running race, the Snake River Canyon 1/2 marathon. The race actually grew to nearly 800 participants this year, which is phenomenal for an event that takes place in the middle of nowhere. As per usual, the wind was a force to be reckoned with, but luckily, we had the tailwind on the way home this year. You never really know how the Canyon will toss you around in this event. Otherwise, it was a beautiful day and I ran a 1:21:05 and won my 3rd straight Snake River title, missing the course record (and a bonus) by 30 seconds. I don't know that my mini-string of Snake River titles will last for long though. Swift teammate Jodi Suter crossed the finish line only 12 seconds later and she then proceeded to stomp me in the St. Paddys five mile road race the next weekend. At least she's cool enough to know when a picture is supposed to be goofy. I don't know what the four Swifts on the right are doing with their chipper smiles.

The next weekend I flew south to San Diego for a spring break, a spell of warm weather training and the opportunity to train on the Wildflower course for a weekend. The mini-camp was spearheaded by Lifesport teammate Magali, and despite some frustrating travel-related delays, and some well-deserved exhaustion induced by staying up WAY too late chatting, we had a blast. I personally had a couple of rough training days, but Magali isn't only superfast, she is super fun, and being at Lake San Antonio in March is spectacularly beautiful. The wildflowers, wildlife, and greenery were spellbinding.

The view of the top of "Heartrate Hill," which is seriously overrated when compared to the difficulty of the run course.

Sexy vineyards

Magali and I might need some minders the next time we train together. It turns out that neither of us is a super-organized get up early and get 'er done type triathlete. So our training sessions ended just before sunset. It might have been a little chaotic, but it sure was pretty to see the late evening sun by the lake when we finished our bike rides.

And resplendent turkeys defining the expression "strutting around." We also saw vultures (Magali's good omen bird), chipmunks, ground squirrels, deer, and a hawk carrying an ill-fated one of those aforementioned ground squirrels.

Our training extravaganza culminated in Magali's unshowered, frantic packing job in the Day's Inn parking lot. She made her flight in the end, but I don't envy the person who had to sit next to her.

Then it was my turn to drive back down to San Diego for a week of playing with my bike and with Shelby, Aaron and Lily. My first bicycling date was a reunion with Bill Holland and Jason "CareBear" Lilly that included a spectacular ride up Kitchen Creek, complete with some UFO looking lenticular clouds.

More funky clouds over the Borrego Desert.

I also got the chance to ride with Brian Maiorano, who kicked my butt on one loop of the Great Western, only to leave me nice and exhausted for loop number 2, which I had to do solo. I love my San Diego friends. But mostly I love these people (and Aaron).

I wish spring break lasted a month!

At some point I'll get around to reporting on my first triathlon of the season, the SuperFrog on Coronado Island.

48 hours in San Diego

Forty-six and a half hours, to be precise. I had intended to escape to sunny San Diego for at least 60 hours, but in life and racing, things rarely go according to plan. My original plan was to head straight from the cadaver lab to the airport on Friday, but with California's weather being what it is . . . you know, those classic southern Californian squalls . . . my flight didn't manage to leave on Friday. And that meant that I had to set my alarm clock on Saturday for a gawdawful hour that is the reason I don't do 4:30 am masters practices at the Valley YMCA. Because it's just wrong.

Luckily, I made it to San Diego after a protracted layover in Denver that was a perfect opportunity to study for my anatomy exam on Tuesday. It was also the perfect opportunity to let my stomach settle, as it has apparently decided to start getting violently ill every time I fly. How convenient.

San Diego was just as it should be. Sunny. In fact, it was even better than it should be because the recent rain has made everything green and crisp. A tantalizing glimpse of springtime in January. Considering that I had so few hours to spend in California, I think I made good use of my time. I ate a taco and some sushi, I saw my first ever episode of The Secret Life of an American Teenager (which was awful, sorry Shelby), I won the Carlsbad Marathon, I had a Jamba Juice, I witnessed (but didn't get to play in) some wicked surf, I watched for whales at the Cabrillo monument, I experienced Avatar in 3D, I cooked a scrumptious pot of ribollita, and best of all, I got to hang out with Shelby, my -ator. Hehe.

So before I go on flattering Shelby too much, I should mention that the marathon was the real reason that I traveled all that way for a measly 46.5 hours. Though Shelby's living in the area may have contributed significantly to my having chosen that marathon in the first place . . .

It was a good choice! The weather was perfect. Cool and clear. It was especially cool at 6 am when the starting gun sounded. I was a little miffed to have to start running a marathon at an hour when I am rarely awake, but I'm proud of not having gone back to bed when my alarm went off at 4 am. That's not to say I didn't consider it. My preparation for the event was okay. Originally, I had big dreams, but life and some minor niggles intervened, so I just planned to go enjoy the day and take what it gave me.

The day gave me a lot to be happy with. First of all, it gave me a spectacular sunrise about 4 miles into the race. It was in that early morning light that I noticed how incredibly glassy the surf was. The waves were PERFECT and I couldn't understand why there weren't hoards of surfers out playing. After a short stint rolling along the coast, the marathon headed inland and uphill. In fact, miles 4-9 were all uphill, with the steepest portions being between miles 7-9. It was still early enough in the race that everything felt easy, but I think the subsequent 4 mile downhill took a toll on my quads that I didn't really feel until mile 24.

As a triathlete, my typical marathon m.o. (within the context of an Ironman) is to be ultra conservative, and I adhered to that for the first half of the race. I got dropped by the lead female at the start of the climb and I just let her go, figuring she was either a lot better than me or that I would catch up to her later. My Forerunner 310XT let me monitor my HR and pace and keep it perfectly sustainable. I got a little scared about halfway through the race, as I began to feel the stress of the downhill, but thankfully they were serving GU on course. A Vanilla GU always puts me right. By mile 14 I was ready to roll. At this point we were back along the coast, the sun was out, and the road was straight and rolling. I felt fantastic and could see the leader in the distance, so I decided to go get her. I kept reminding myself that there was still a long way to go, but my legs were feeling frisky and I obliged them. I caught the leader just before the 20 mile marker and felt pretty confident that the win was mine at that point. I had no reason to believe that I would bonk and I doubted that anyone else behind would start running sub-6 minute miles to catch me.

So I let myself relax and enjoy running. It wasn't hard to do, with the beautiful surf, the perfect weather, and the awesome crowds. At mile 24, the inevitable muscular fatigue settled in, but it wasn't insurmountable, just a tad uncomfortable. It didn't help that my GPS said that the race was 26.45 miles long, which probably accounts for my having taken the anti-tangent of every curve. Classic Cooper strategery. Truthfully, I wouldn't have complained if the race were 0.25 miles shorter!

And that was that. Winning is always more fun than not winning, but really, I was just happy to have fun and feel comfortable running 26.45 miles. And an off-season paycheck is ALWAYS welcome. I had a disastrous 1/2 marathon a few months ago, and I had really begun to doubt my health and fitness. While this marathon wasn't smoking fast, it gives me confidence that my off-season fitness is on track. And it was fun!

Shelby and I wasted no time having more fun afterwards - a Naked Cafe breakfast in the VIP tent, whale watching, surf watching (it turns out that there weren't many surfers out because the race had blocked road access. the ones who were out were getting some fantastic rides though!), sight seeing, singing WAY too loudly along with radio, cooking, and an entirely-too-brief get-together with Peven and Dre. In all of this commotion, there were approximately 3 photos taken. Yup. One of my more action-packed weekends in a while, and I took 3 pictures. So there wasn't a lot of editing or culling. Here you go.

Shelby getting gasoline. Riveting, I know.

Still at the gas station. Despite what this looks like, I am not giving the #1 sign with my freakishly long index finger. I was actually explaining to Shelby why your nose stops smelling farts after it starts smelling them. There really is a physiological explanation for this.

And this truck just begged to be photographed. Enough said.

Everything that happened when I had a camera

It's 2010 now, and that's a good thing. Practically speaking, it's really all just a continuum anyway and arbitrary human designations describe any given date. That is, of course, unless you subscribe to the theory of relativity in which timespace is not at all linear. But I digress. For my intents and purposes, a new year means a new triathlon season and I have every reason to be stoked about it all.

To begin with, I just like the sound of 2010. Twenty ten. Two thousand and ten. Two thousand and nine never really jived with me. I like this twenty ten thing much better. Secondly, I got to begin the new year with an outdoor ride, as the city of Spokane seems to have been spared the barrages of winter that crippled us for the past two years (and seem to be blanketing the rest of the country in cold and snow). Two thousand and nine presented what was for me the first unwhite Christmas in recent memory. Another good reason to be done with the blasted year. And now, a week and a half into this twentyten, I have an armchair pulled close to the fire, three adorable cats and a computer competing for prime lap space (mine), and really, life is good. Yet I can't help but wonder when this dog lover became a cat lady?

Of course, I can't complain about how 2009 panned out. I ended the season on a mildly disappointing note, with a sub-par performance at Kona tricking me into thinking that the whole season was a bust. In hindsight, however, I know that I made my typically slow, steady gains throughout the season, and I really made my season into what I wanted it to be. I raced in 3 Ironmans, 6 half Iron-distance races, and I additionally did a super-fun smattering of sprints, Olympics and Xterras. I raced in my favorite local events that I was sad to have missed in 2008, I experienced some new, top-quality events (Ironman Canada, Hulaman), I got married, I got hit by a car, and I got humbled by Madam Pele once again. Life is fun to learn.

After returning from Kona, Aaron and I decided to embark on what was meant to be the first of a year long series of honeymoons. With our vacation budget substantially reduced due to his bursitis episode (and that was with health insurance and an HSA), we decided to keep it on the continent for this go-round and when torn between Nova Scotia and Copper Canyon, Mexico, the hurricane forecast sent us North and East. To the homeland of Coach Dan. Our plan was to explore the Cape Breton Highlands and to then ferry over to Newfoundland to see what there was to see, but the distances proved vast, and we relied mostly on our own feet for exploration. So it turned into a week and a half of trail running/hiking/slogging. We covered about 15-25 miles each day, and though the pace was never fast, we experienced a lot . We especially experienced a lot of wet, as is the nature of trails in deciduous forests in late October, we learned. It sure was a pretty wet though.

Day 1: Still dry

Pretty birch trees in fall


A solitary blue heron

the first time we realized that wet feet were inevitable

. . . and cold . .

but it was worth it because it was beautiful

and occasionally there were bridges

and insanely cute sciurids

and dramatic light effects

along with short autumn days

our first taste of snow

some goofing off

trails that end in the perfect place

beautiful coastlines

waterfalls aplenty

moose blocking the trail

and my favorite wildlife find - an Eastern toad! Cool, eh?

After tooling around the Cape Breton Highlands we drove to Baxter State Park in Maine to climb Mt Kathadin, the highest point in Maine and the northern terminus of the Appalachian trail. We considered just running up it like we had everything in Nova Scotia, but ultimately decided it would be better to pack lunches and warm clothes and that turned out to be the right decision. The peaks in the West are a lot higher, but East Coast trails are decidedly harder. They don't bother with switchbacks and instead take the most direct route to the summit. I had some similar experiences hiking in Vermont, but I have to say, it was even tougher than I remember. The mountain didn't look terribly intimidating, but there was a lot of ice to contend with on the trail, and it was STUPID cold at the top.

Then we got home and decided that a new kitten would be a good thing. We lost Atilla last year and Jeremy seemed to like her well enough, so a new feline friend was in order. Unfortunately, we got to the shelter and just couldn't decide which one to take, so we got two. Meet Floyd and Leroy.

Despite our wanting to find him a friend, Jeremy was relatively unimpressed with our new additions and spent a lot of time defending his territory.

But eventually the kittens' cuteness won Jeremy over because seriously, who wouldn't want to be friends with this?

I thought it was particularly cute when Leroy started hanging out in the ficus. That was until he started crapping in it. Crapping in plants is not cute.

Conversely, children and kittens are cute. Especially when the child is a dimpled one.

Otherwise, life continues in the Cooper-Scott house. I finally feel like I'm really back in the training groove and I've even been able to eek in some skate skiing. My favorite time to go is just before sunset. It's such a peaceful way to bid farewell to the day and the sunsets and shades of gray are so much more spectacular on the mountain. Of course, they're shades of gray that my camera does a miserable job of capturing. Just trust me, it's amazing.

This sunset was so much more spectacular in real life.

The gloaming. My favorite time to ski.

Soon, I'll actually give triathlon related updates, including some exciting sponsor information, but tonight I need to get back to my anatomy textbook. I'm a little bummed that school is preventing my participation in some pre-season training camps, but ultimately it's for the best. Human anatomy and physiology are SO COOL to learn about. We're studying the brain right now and every time I swim or ski, I'm astounded and thrilled at the brain's ability to process all of the incoming sensory information to coordinate and learn new movements. It's incredible and I'm SO lucky. Yay for brains!

Ironman Hawaii 2009: Good practice

I just saw this quoted on Slowtwitch:

"Rule 5.10c): Right-of-Way: [in part] a cyclist shall not crowd the other participant and shall allow reasonable space for the other participant to make normal movement without making contact. "

I just thought I'd put that up there in case any of the multitudes of shamelessly cheating male age groupers happen to read my blog (doubtful, I know). It's bad enough that a "world championship" event is illegitimized by packs of 30+ guys riding together into the wind, but they could at least have the decency to not try to run the women they're overtaking off of the road in the process. I suppose I'm used to pro rules where it is required to move 2 meters to the left before entering the 10 meter draft zone, but it is insane how close these guys come in their efforts to suck as much wind as possible. Just for the record. It is considerate to at least make sure your rear tire has cleared the front tire of the person you're passing before moving right again. And I don't want you riding so close that I get splattered by the sweat blowing off your elbows.

Yep, there was a lot of getting passed in store for me on race day. But perhaps I should start at the very beginning. A very good place to start. When you read you begin with "a-b-c." When you sing you begin with do re mi. I digress. And I respect the dorks who actually get the reference.

I showed up in Kona on September 22nd, grabbed my rental car, and headed for the Rubios place in Kailua. I stayed with the Rick and Karen for a spell in 2007, and I intended to do the same for a while this year. Little did I know that a "while" would end up being the entire 2.5 weeks I spent in Kona. Holy generosity! I settled in, went for a swim (my favorite thing to do in Kona) and called Aaron before going to bed. He started the conversation by telling me that he had a very interesting day. Apparently, while studying in a coffee shop, he knee went from looking and feeling normal to looking like this

He went to the ER, was diagnosed with a cellulitis, administered a course of IV antibiotics and sent home. The next day, sicker, and with his knee more inflamed and swollen, he returned to the ER. I, meanwhile, was beginning to tackle training in the steam room that is Kona. On the third day, Aaron was admitted to the hospital and prepped for surgery, and I rode the IM bike course. When I got back to the house that afternoon, I booked tickets back to Spokane. Attempting to fly back to Kona 1 week prior to the Ironman made for a very expensive plane ticket. But hey, he was my husband of two weeks, what else was I to do? I returned to Spokane to find this. . .

. . . and a significantly less sick spouse. I was only home for 5 days, so we had to find unvigorous activities that involved zero risk of falling on one's knee. Luckily, the honeycrisp apples had just come into season at Greenbluff, and we received a hard-core potato gun as a wedding gift (Aaron's favorite gift by far). After picking up lots of apples and squash, we stopped on a quiet dirt road to have some real hick fun.

Don't be fooled by the use of an innocent Joe Blow bike pump to power this thing. At 60 PSI a potato shot straight into the air can't even be seen. And it can be used up to 100 PSI. It put a hole in Aaron's cousin's fence and essentially atomizes any vegetable matter that it shoots into tree trunk or cement wall. Apparently, this is really fun for boys. I find it mildly entertaining. Note the rather entertaining looking squash we couldn't resist purchasing in the trunk. t

A side note; the morning before I flew back to Spokane, Rick and I got to do a really fun local tri - my first race since Canada. It was called the Mangoman, and it was a blast. Totally low key Kona local style. Naturally, I ran into Wee there, but her coach wouldn't let her do the whole race. Instead, she just obliterated the swim, and left the rest of us to bike and run up Hualalai 4 times total.

Back to Kona then. I got off the plane and squeaked in a 3 hour ride out to Kawaihai and back before dark. It may well have been the most fun ride I've ever had in Kona because I had a ridiculous tailwind on the way home. Like spinning out at 35 mph on the flats style tailwind. Yeehaw. I almost felt like I do when racing in Kona except that it was about a million times more fun.

The next day marked the beginning of the Lifesport Prep camp which made for some quality training opportunities, including getting to swim with Linsey and Wee (or watching Bree's bubbles grow ever more distant. Whatever).

As per usual, the camp was comprised of great people from disparate parts of the country and world. It was an insanely likable group of people. What fun.

Once camp ended, "race week" began. Race week is meant to be relaxing, but it tends to be anything but. I did a pretty good job of managing my obligations promptly and heading straight back to the sanctuary that was the Rubios' house, but there were still plenty of days when bedtime rolled around and I asked myself how it was possible to have been so busy. Nonetheless, I was lucky to have such a relaxing, quiet place to stay with hosts who really made me feel at home and kept me well fed, to boot.

A major perk this year was not having to worry about my bike being race-ready. The Zoot Ultra team was provided with our own super-duper bike mechanic, Chris Davidson, who not only got my Orbea perfectly tuned and road-worthy, he washed it too. Like straight off the showroom floor clean. If only Kona was my real life . . .

so pretty

But all of these meeting and camps and flights and training sessions were intended to set me up for a great race, right? Unfortunately, despite all of this, my mind and body weren't totally invested in the race. I was certainly calm and focused, but I knew where I stood fitness-wise and recovery-wise, and neither of those were very good. I was confident that I could pull off a decent Ironman, but when a Kona slot makes itself available only 6 weeks prior to the race, it can't be an "A" race. Especially when the fitness was already much diminished those 6 weeks prior and there was a wedding thrown into the mix as well.

These aren't excuses as to why I had a mediocre race, but rather my understanding of the ramifications of structuring my season the way I chose to. I was honored to be able to participate in the race, and I was ready to take the steps necessary to prevent total disaster a la 2008, but it was my "dessert" race - a reward for having put in the hard yards during a relatively long season. Time to have fun and to practice the famed Hawaii Ironman. I won't lie and deny that I wasn't hoping for some undeserved flash of athletic genius that would propel me to a PR, but I was pretty realistic regarding my chances of that.

Race morning was smooth and fun. Rick dropped me off and walked me to transition. Then it was just a matter of preparing myself and my gear as I have done so many times. It was great to bump into so many friends. In fact, it was the fist time that I saw Eve all week.

The swim was pretty wretched. I got off to a great start (how many times have I said that this season?), and actually swam with a big fast pack for a long while. I think I got bumped off the back just a bit too soon because I swam alone for a LONG while before getting caught by a group of 6 or so near the far turn buoy. I would like to think that if I had just hung on to the fast pack a little longer I might have gotten spat out with some slightly stronger swimmers, but who knows. The group that caught me wasn't actually going that slowly, they were just going all over the place. After turning back towards the pier, the guy leading the group repeatedly sighted off of the buoys on the other side of the course and was oblivious to numerous water patrol volunteers who tried to steer him straight. A couple of times I left his wake and headed for the correct buoy, but it was always a lost cause because he was just that much faster than me and we usually reconvened at the next buoy anyway. Eventually, I resigned myself to being thankful for the tow and made the most of the tiki tour of the Ironman swim course.

I have to admit to being gutted when I saw my time though.

The bike wasn't a whole lot better, but at least it was done on my terms (except when sitting up and trying not to be run off the road by the aforementioned AG cheaters). I revisited my super-conservative bike strategy from Canada and mostly enjoyed the course, oblivious to how slow I was going. Again, it was my plan to be conservative, but it was not my plan to be so conservative that I sucked. A bit harsh, sure, but even given my relative lack of cycling fitness, that bike split was ugly! Once I start swimming better I'll have a better gauge of what the other girls are doing on the bike, and I won't be tooling around in lala land like I did.

Despite being slow, the bike felt like it flew by and then it was time to run. This was going to be my trump card. After such a conservative bike, I was going to slowly motor through the girls who pushed too hard early on. But it didn't happen. Despite a rock solid stomach, perfectly executed nutrition plan, and positive spirits, it just wasn't in me. The reality of my running form became evident fairly early on, but I promised myself that I would be nice to myself (lots of self love, eh?) and enjoy the day. And I did! After the sauna that was Ali'i, I got up to the Queen K and focused on how pretty the ocean was and how easy it actually was to put one foot in front of the other, albeit slowly. I had some good conversations with fellow competitors, some real bonding moments with aid station volunteers, and smiled about as much as I ever have during an IM marathon.

Of course, pulling out and saving myself for Arizona or Florida came to mind, but I knew realistically where my physical and mental fitness stood and that this would be my last Ironman of the season. Why not make it a party? The party really got started at mile 18 when I finally resorted to drinking Coke, which, it turns out, is a miracle beverage. I hate the taste (always have), I hate its role in diabetes and tooth decay around the world, and I hate how it feels against my teeth, but it instantly made me run 1 min/mi faster. Again, these weren't very fast miles to begin with, but those 8 minutes stood for 8 minutes sooner that I would be able to celebrate my day down the finish chute on Ali'i and get a post-race massage (one of my best ever, I might add).

It was the first Ironman that I finished feeling almost normal. No dizziness or nausea, just a roaring appetite for pizza, which was promptly satiated. Satiated by 6 pieces, in fact. Then I took the world's most blissful cold shower in the outdoor showers by the pier (Tyler Stewart planned ahead and brought soap) and stopped by the Lifesport lounge for a tad. The result was this:

Not sad, not happy, but done and badly tan-lined. Those beautiful bike short lines are still with me and will likely persist for the remainder of a cold, northwestern winter. Rick and Karen's friends had made balcony reservations at the Fish Hopper, a restaurant right above the finish line, so I got to spend another few hours eating and watching competitors in their final seconds of their races, completing what was for some a life-changing accomplishment. Even if my race wasn't brilliant, knowing that I had just shared the experience with 1800 others and that we had collectively undergone just about every possible physical and emotional sensation, well, that was cool.

Thanks are, of course, in order. Thanks firstly to Rick and Karen, who not only agreed to take in a relative stranger in a pickle 2 years ago, but who treated me like family for 2.5 weeks. Their hospitality and friendship were unparalleled. Thanks also to Aaron for sacrificing me to triathlon for yet another 2 weeks and for being endlessly supportive. And to Lifesport and Coach Dan - thanks for another brilliant camp in Kona and for letting me fully recline while "on duty" in the Lifesport Lounge. And many thanks to Zoot and to Team sports for treating us so well while in Kona. The dinners, goodies, and bike mechanic were invaluable.

Now it's on to 2010. A great year it will be. I have plans and they start with getting fully recovered earlier than I have in the past so that I can commence a quality "off-season" a little sooner. Should be fun. Thanks for reading.