As crazy as the behaviour of endurance athletes unquestionably seems ("Seems, madam? Nay, it is-- I know not 'seems.'"), mention the acronym "LSD" to them and they won't immediately look shifty and ask you who your dealer is. (Nor, if they happen to live in the Chicago area, will they necessarily think of Lake Shore Drive-- though that *is* a fun, if pothole-ridden, place to ride one's bike on the few occasions during the year that one is allowed to.)
Nope. "LSD," to someone who trains for endurance events like triathlons, marathons, ultramarathons, century rides, etc., stands for "Long Slow Distance." In many training plans, it's the short form for the longest run/ride/whatever of one's training week. For many of us, LSDs are done on weekends, since that's when we're most likely to have time to complete however long our activity is for the day. Sundays are my LSD day for marathon training, so today's task was a relatively straightforward 8 miles at a 30-seconds-slower-than-projected-marathon-pace.
Straightforward, yes. Easy? Not exactly-- oddly enough, it's hard to run slowly! I certainly felt like I was merely plodding along today, particularly since I had to overcome a case of the don'wannas beforehand (a litany that usually goes something like "It's cold/grey/windy/raining...I'm tired...I don'wanna run!" to which the only reply is "HTFU* and Get On With It!"). But with the exception of a mile somewhere in the middle, my pace was decidedly faster than I should have been going according to the prescribed plan.
Clearly I'm accustomed to running at a faster pace; but with the addition of extra mileage, the plan's insistence on slowing things down makes considerable sense. The point of LSDs is not to finish utterly drained, but to feel strong all the way through, however long the distance. I've done 8-milers before, so that's probably a temptation to get them done faster. But once I hit the double-digit runs in a couple of weeks, I'm sure I'll be glad of the slower pace-- so I must work on slowing down on the slow days, while speeding up on the fast days. The combination is what leads to success, I'm told.
Since my training plan also calls for cross-training as part of my weekly workouts, I'm incorporating cycling into my schedule: shorter (usually 45 minutes to an hour) rides on my bike trainer** early in the morning on workdays, then an LSD ride (outdoors with a group if possible, indoors on my bike trainer if not) on Saturday mornings. Yesterday's ride was a 2-hour trainer ride while watching Die Hard 2 for the first time since it came out and being highly amused by all the incongruities with current airport practices. Silly and/or action and/or comically bad movies will, no doubt be a major incentive for those long hours on the trainer-- it's considerably harder to put in a 2-hour trainer ride than to ride for 2 hours outside, since on a trainer you have no coasting, no gravity to help you, and no interesting scenery to look at as you go by. At such times, cinematic fluff to take my mind off of the monotony is EXACTLY what this doctor ordered.
Besides, you gotta love the multitasking: I get my mental floss and my long workout at the same time. So perhaps one could call this form of LSD a mind-altering substance after all...
* HTFU = A common triathlon acronym, short for "Harden The Fuck Up." Frequently said as a form of tough encouragement to those whose motivation seems to be waning. Also a useful retort to get chronic whiners or complainers to shut up.
** bike trainer = A vaguely medieval-looking torture device that one clamps onto one's rear wheel, lifting said wheel off the ground and placing it against a steady source of resistance. Cheap trainers use fans for resistance-- inexpensive but VERY noisy. Better ones use fluid-- smoother and quieter, but it does take a few minutes to warm up. Ultra-chic ones are frequently attached to power meters-- TONS of fabulous data, but insanely expensive. Trainers are tortuous, especially on long rides, but they're unbeatable for convenience and indispensable in seasons when snow, ice, and other nastiness make roads potentially lethal for cyclists.
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Sunday, November 21, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Intervals.
A curious word, that: the OED defines "interval" as "The period of time between two events, actions, etc., or between two parts of an action, performance, or sitting, two sessions of Parliament, etc.; a period of cessation; a pause."
Runners define "intervals" as "speed-work:" after warming up, you run very quickly for a certain time or set distance, then slow down briefly, then repeat as many times as required and/or possible before you expel your last pre-run meal everywhere. Funny how the actual word refers to the miniature breaks one gets between bursts, rather than to the bursts themselves-- though most runners seem to think of it as being the other way around (running between intervals of slowness, perhaps?).
Either way, the running version is challenging, to say the least. The plan I'm following called for a warmup, then three 1600-metre bursts of speed at a specific pace, with one minute's easier running in between. Much as I generally dislike running on a treadmill, the 'mill does at least have the virtue of consistency in pace: when you crank it, it stays cranked until you tell it to slow down. So unless I wanted to do a comic dismount of amusing but potentially injurious proportions in front of all the other gym-goers this morning, I had to keep up. I managed to do it, thankfully, but I certainly knew I'd been running when I was done. (Note to self: Time to put together a speed-training workout playlist for the iPod to keep me properly distracted on Wednesdays.)
I must admit, the feeling of accomplishment when I got off the treadmill after a cool-down was delightful, even if my legs were demanding, "What on earth was that for??" I told them to get used to it, and proceeded to my new strength-training and core routines to underscore the point. They quit complaining. (Tomorrow, however, may be another story: Revenge of the Quads, coming soon to an early morning near you.)
Runners define "intervals" as "speed-work:" after warming up, you run very quickly for a certain time or set distance, then slow down briefly, then repeat as many times as required and/or possible before you expel your last pre-run meal everywhere. Funny how the actual word refers to the miniature breaks one gets between bursts, rather than to the bursts themselves-- though most runners seem to think of it as being the other way around (running between intervals of slowness, perhaps?).
Either way, the running version is challenging, to say the least. The plan I'm following called for a warmup, then three 1600-metre bursts of speed at a specific pace, with one minute's easier running in between. Much as I generally dislike running on a treadmill, the 'mill does at least have the virtue of consistency in pace: when you crank it, it stays cranked until you tell it to slow down. So unless I wanted to do a comic dismount of amusing but potentially injurious proportions in front of all the other gym-goers this morning, I had to keep up. I managed to do it, thankfully, but I certainly knew I'd been running when I was done. (Note to self: Time to put together a speed-training workout playlist for the iPod to keep me properly distracted on Wednesdays.)
I must admit, the feeling of accomplishment when I got off the treadmill after a cool-down was delightful, even if my legs were demanding, "What on earth was that for??" I told them to get used to it, and proceeded to my new strength-training and core routines to underscore the point. They quit complaining. (Tomorrow, however, may be another story: Revenge of the Quads, coming soon to an early morning near you.)
Monday, November 15, 2010
Why I'm here...
...or, Ruminations of a Geek Who Speaks Jock. (Not the title of a Monty Python sketch, but almost as silly.)
Now bid me run,
And I will strive with things impossible,
Yea, get the better of them.
(Julius Caesar, II, i, 324-6 in the Riverside edition)
As philosophical as the title of this post might seem, the content is considerably more prosaic (despite the epigraph in verse, thereby setting out some of my geek credentials). There are plenty of books, amusing and otherwise, about triathlons out there; there are infinitely more blogs about both writing and exercise in general. Why on earth add to the chatter?
Several reasons do come to mind besides the usual desire to sound my yawp, barbaric or otherwise, to the electronic world. Most immediately, I've recently signed up to run the L.A. Marathon, from Dodger Stadium to Santa Monica, on March 20, 2011. I've done several sprint and Olympic-distance triathlons in my year-long career, but this will be my first marathon. (I'm really hoping not to repeat the actions of Pheidippides, the very first marathoner ever, who, having run from the Battle of Marathon to Athens in 490BCE, reported: "Rejoice! We conquer!" to the waiting Athenian leaders and promptly died on the spot.) Since I've never done one of these before, and I've already experienced plenty of amusing and/or odd things while training and racing triathlons, it seemed a good way to record the strangeness I'm almost certainly going to encounter along the way.
Case in point: shoes. One might think, rationally enough, that running shoes are just that: shoes in which it is possible to run, and thus available in a relatively limited selection given their stated single purpose.
Oh dear me, no. Walk into any decent running store and you will be faced with WALLS of shoes, each purporting to do ever-so-slightly different things with the goal of making the wearer faster, lighter, and generally more Hermes-like in the course of her or his athletic pursuit. Shoes for pronators, supinators, trail runners, sprinters, plodders...and now there are even shoes for people who prefer to run barefoot. (This last may indeed seem odd, but is perfectly true, I assure you. I can only imagine Eddie Izzard doing a bit about being a fly on the wall at THAT particular marketing meeting: "Come on, lads, we need to expand our market share somehow in this dodgy economy: let's hear some ideas!" "I know, I know-- let's sell shoes to people who don't like to wear shoes!" *baffled silence* "Erm...not quite sure I follow you there, Jeff." "No, really-- we tie some dental floss around a bit of old tire, then tell 'em that these are specifically designed for their non-shoe-wearing needs! They're not really there at all!" "That's brilliant! Someone call Detroit!"
Eddie Izzard, however, who is both hugely talented and no slouch as a multiple marathoner himself, would be far more funny. And he'd do it while wearing heels infinitely more elegantly than yours truly could ever manage.)
I did, in fact, buy a new pair of running shoes today: some Gore-Tex Nikes for me to stomp my way through puddles, slush, and whatever else might be lying around this winter as I train for L.A.. There was a recent discussion on one of the triathlon forums about the moment one realized one had become that guy or that girl who did triathlons; responses ranged from "When you've got sweat-wicking fabric drip-drying from every available surface in your home" to "When you test-drive your new car by driving it home to check if your bike fits inside it before buying it" (*cough* guilty *cough*). All highly amusing stuff. But you really know you've become that girl, specifically, when you realize that the only shoes in your wardrobe on which you've spent $100 or more are either running or biking shoes.
On the other hand, you know you're taking this training thing with the levity it so richly deserves when you gleefully realize that your new running shoes are black...and thus if you ever want to give up your current job for a career as a ninja, that option is now sartorially open to you.
I was telling a dear friend about my triathlon training a while ago-- he listened with some interest, then exclaimed, "Wow-- you're a jock!" It took me a while to digest that, but I have to admit he's right.
Yep. I'm a heavy-tome-carrying professional nerd who knows what the term "lactate threshold" means and actually owns a heart-rate monitor with GPS built into it. Someone who goes running through Regent's Park before spending hours in the manuscript reading room of the British Library whenever she can. Someone who willingly gets up before 5AM on weekdays so she can pedal her bike on its stationary trainer for an hour or so (while watching Eddie Izzard concert videos) before getting ready for work. And someone who does all this with absolutely no expectation that she'll win any of the races she enters: I'm a solid middle-of-the-pack-er. I do this (most of the time) for the fun of it.
Can't get much sillier than that, I figure.
Now bid me run,
And I will strive with things impossible,
Yea, get the better of them.
(Julius Caesar, II, i, 324-6 in the Riverside edition)
As philosophical as the title of this post might seem, the content is considerably more prosaic (despite the epigraph in verse, thereby setting out some of my geek credentials). There are plenty of books, amusing and otherwise, about triathlons out there; there are infinitely more blogs about both writing and exercise in general. Why on earth add to the chatter?
Several reasons do come to mind besides the usual desire to sound my yawp, barbaric or otherwise, to the electronic world. Most immediately, I've recently signed up to run the L.A. Marathon, from Dodger Stadium to Santa Monica, on March 20, 2011. I've done several sprint and Olympic-distance triathlons in my year-long career, but this will be my first marathon. (I'm really hoping not to repeat the actions of Pheidippides, the very first marathoner ever, who, having run from the Battle of Marathon to Athens in 490BCE, reported: "Rejoice! We conquer!" to the waiting Athenian leaders and promptly died on the spot.) Since I've never done one of these before, and I've already experienced plenty of amusing and/or odd things while training and racing triathlons, it seemed a good way to record the strangeness I'm almost certainly going to encounter along the way.
Case in point: shoes. One might think, rationally enough, that running shoes are just that: shoes in which it is possible to run, and thus available in a relatively limited selection given their stated single purpose.
Oh dear me, no. Walk into any decent running store and you will be faced with WALLS of shoes, each purporting to do ever-so-slightly different things with the goal of making the wearer faster, lighter, and generally more Hermes-like in the course of her or his athletic pursuit. Shoes for pronators, supinators, trail runners, sprinters, plodders...and now there are even shoes for people who prefer to run barefoot. (This last may indeed seem odd, but is perfectly true, I assure you. I can only imagine Eddie Izzard doing a bit about being a fly on the wall at THAT particular marketing meeting: "Come on, lads, we need to expand our market share somehow in this dodgy economy: let's hear some ideas!" "I know, I know-- let's sell shoes to people who don't like to wear shoes!" *baffled silence* "Erm...not quite sure I follow you there, Jeff." "No, really-- we tie some dental floss around a bit of old tire, then tell 'em that these are specifically designed for their non-shoe-wearing needs! They're not really there at all!" "That's brilliant! Someone call Detroit!"
Eddie Izzard, however, who is both hugely talented and no slouch as a multiple marathoner himself, would be far more funny. And he'd do it while wearing heels infinitely more elegantly than yours truly could ever manage.)
I did, in fact, buy a new pair of running shoes today: some Gore-Tex Nikes for me to stomp my way through puddles, slush, and whatever else might be lying around this winter as I train for L.A.. There was a recent discussion on one of the triathlon forums about the moment one realized one had become that guy or that girl who did triathlons; responses ranged from "When you've got sweat-wicking fabric drip-drying from every available surface in your home" to "When you test-drive your new car by driving it home to check if your bike fits inside it before buying it" (*cough* guilty *cough*). All highly amusing stuff. But you really know you've become that girl, specifically, when you realize that the only shoes in your wardrobe on which you've spent $100 or more are either running or biking shoes.
On the other hand, you know you're taking this training thing with the levity it so richly deserves when you gleefully realize that your new running shoes are black...and thus if you ever want to give up your current job for a career as a ninja, that option is now sartorially open to you.
I was telling a dear friend about my triathlon training a while ago-- he listened with some interest, then exclaimed, "Wow-- you're a jock!" It took me a while to digest that, but I have to admit he's right.
Yep. I'm a heavy-tome-carrying professional nerd who knows what the term "lactate threshold" means and actually owns a heart-rate monitor with GPS built into it. Someone who goes running through Regent's Park before spending hours in the manuscript reading room of the British Library whenever she can. Someone who willingly gets up before 5AM on weekdays so she can pedal her bike on its stationary trainer for an hour or so (while watching Eddie Izzard concert videos) before getting ready for work. And someone who does all this with absolutely no expectation that she'll win any of the races she enters: I'm a solid middle-of-the-pack-er. I do this (most of the time) for the fun of it.
Can't get much sillier than that, I figure.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Setting Up Transition Area...Pardon the Mess
New day, new blog... I feel rather like I've just arrived at a race site at oh-Gawd-thirty in the morning, wheeling my bike and toting an enormous bag full of gear that somehow has to fit in a space the size of a hand towel next to my front wheel. What do I need? Where do I put it? And, most importantly, how will I find it when I come barreling into transition partway through the race and find that someone else has apparently marched a phalanx of elephants through my meticulously planned area on their way to the next stage of the course?
Ah, the mystery...
At some point, I'll get at least vaguely organized and set things up here in as legible and attractive a way as possible. In the meantime I shan't hold my breath, but am pleased to have got this space at least vaguely demarcated, in that setting-out-my-towel kind of way. (An excellent essay topic, that. "Triathlons and their connections to the works of Douglas Adams: discuss.")
With any luck, any triathletes reading this have chuckled once or twice. For those of you reading this who've no idea whatsoever what a triathlon is, or what towels and transitions (never mind elephants) might have to do with them, I'll do my best to make things clear as I go on.
Welcome to you all! Let the chaos begin...
Ah, the mystery...
At some point, I'll get at least vaguely organized and set things up here in as legible and attractive a way as possible. In the meantime I shan't hold my breath, but am pleased to have got this space at least vaguely demarcated, in that setting-out-my-towel kind of way. (An excellent essay topic, that. "Triathlons and their connections to the works of Douglas Adams: discuss.")
With any luck, any triathletes reading this have chuckled once or twice. For those of you reading this who've no idea whatsoever what a triathlon is, or what towels and transitions (never mind elephants) might have to do with them, I'll do my best to make things clear as I go on.
Welcome to you all! Let the chaos begin...
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