I’ve often thought that the thing that intrigues me most about cycling is its dual personality. It’s gobs of fun to ride around (fly around really) on quiet roads with girlfriends, going nowhere and seeing, hearing, and smelling everything around.

But it’s one of the few sports I can think of that can immediately translate into practical transportation. Sure we could walk or run everywhere, but probably not all the time, and probably not fast enough to cover the distances most of us need to cover. On my bike, I get to work every day, I zip over to Target to fill a prescription, I tool down to the library to grab a book. If I was able to haul my teenage daughter around with my bike, I’d do that too.

I ran across an article by Rick Crawford over on Velonews.com that says it so much more succinctly than I can. How often do we think about our sport/outdoor time as energy wasteful? All those BTUs we’re churning out just evaporating into the atmosphere instead of powering our TV or computer? Of course, everything in life can’t be perfectly utilitarian and thrifty! We all need our fun and relaxation. But if you could catch the energy you’ll pour into your next triathlon or skiing trip and run your washing machine for a month, wouldn’t you? All that fun and a lower electric bill to boot.

I’ll let you know when I figure out a way to sell some of my cycling wattage back to the power grid!

As much as I moan, complain, and often joke about coming in last, I have never actually come in last. Not once. But this past week I came pretty dang close. For the first time, I completed a swim/run biathlon that I have forever been terrified of. It happens 18 times a year, every year, for the past 7 years that I have lived in the Santa Barbara area, but I have never once done it. I’ve done the run and the swim more times than I can count, but fear has kept me from doing both. When I realized my fear was not of drowning but instead of coming in last, I realized I had run out of excuses (no pun intended). So last week I attempted it for the first time.

I actually felt amazingly good on both legs. I remembered what my husband said (and that little blue fish from Nemo) and just kept swimming. Every time I wanted to spot the buoys or look for other swimmers, I simply did so while I kept swimming. Once on land I managed to get out of my wetsuit faster than I thought (I had visions of a 10 minute transition thanks to the new wetsuit that I swear is superglued to my body) and got myself off on the run with a few other transitioners still in site. I had some unexplained hamstring pain during the initial uphill, but is subsided quickly and I felt, dare I say, really good through the entire race. So I felt great, moved as quickly as I would have possibly imagined, and got to the turnaround with 1.5 miles left to run and. . .radio silence. No other competitors in site. One girl about a quarter mile ahead and one elderly gentleman about 100 yards ahead and that was it. How was this possible? I had fully expected to finish in the back but I felt so GOOD. How was I last? I kept on running and eventually saw a couple last stragglers behind me. But I ran the last mile and half in total silence; a vast change from the usual crowd I am surrounded with when I do only the run and finish in the middle of the pack. While quiet and a little bit lonely, I quickly grew to appreciate the peace. It was a rare moment where I just ran, with no other runners chattering nearby and no ipod; Just the salt on my skin and the breeze in my face and one lone course official directing traffic. I took a moment to yell a thank you to the officials who were still on the course, to see us last few make it in safely and I thought about how impressive and inspiring all of these back of the packers were (ok yes, toot my own horn just a tad) but seriously. I know the winners work really hard and all, but so do the rest of us! And we are out there for a long-ass time. We don’t have the satisfaction of first place medals to measure our success so we have to measure it in other ways.

I measure my success in completion of a goal. In finishing a distance I’ve never finished before. If I am not going to be known as being fast, I want to be known as being a trooper. Being known for running, swimming, biking, climbing, paddling, whatever- despite the fact that it takes hard work and the payoff lies only within my own ability to pat myself on the back. (And my parents and husband do a great job of this as well.) I took a test in the Triathlete’s Training Bible this weekend that measured natural born talent, and motivation. It was no surprise where the test thought my strengths lied. There is no doubt that I am going to need to work hard to accomplish my physical goals. But what would be the point if it all came easy? I am now on week 2 of my Olympic Distance Triathlon training program. I am looking forward to the trials and tribulations of training for a new distance.

How do you measure your accomplishments? Share your stories. I’d love to hear them.

Last night I completed my second ocean swim of the year.  Despite being lucky enough to grow up 7 blocks from the ocean and spending more summer days than not, at the beach, I still have a bit of a love/hate relationship with the ocean.  I love it.  I do.  Really.  But it still seems to cause me a moments (or hours) hesitation, when planning my frequent reunions with it.  Whether it be kayaking, surfing or swimming, there is something about planning a paddle into its depths that gives me butterflies every single time.  I think it has to do with the unknown.  Not knowing what’s under the water.  Not knowing how the waves are breaking.  Not knowing how fast the tide is moving.  The possibilities are endless and you never know just what to expect until you are actually in it; swimming, surfing, kayaking.  Last night was an excellent reminder.

In preparation for “tri season,” as I call it, (despite the fact that I have exactly 1 triathlon on my calendar and that will make two, total, for my lifelong count of triathlons) I am starting back on a swimming plan.  Though my 16 week training plan doesnt officially start until Monday, I am getting a head start getting myself used to the idea of being back in training.  Every wednesday night there is this fabulous little local event here that involves a 1k ocean swim and a 5k run.  Last year I attempted the swim for the first time.  And because my expectations were so low (my ONLY goal was not to come in last) the swim was a total success!  This year however, I feel like I should be a seasoned veteran.  I swam last week and did not come in last and beat my time from the previous year.  hallelujah.  Last night I swam again.  It looked calm.  The water was warm.  Perfect conditions, right?  uummmm, not so much.  Turned out that peaceful rolling swell was not so peaceful when swimming through it.  I had no idea you could get seasick while swimming.  Turns out, you can.  And to add insult to injury my husband decided to stay back and swim with me at the back of the pack.  Nice, right?  Yes, until he started treading water, doing the butterfly, and swimming to far off places and then back to me, so he wouldnt get too far ahead.  He  seriously had to work hard to “keep up” (I mean back) with me.  All the while he kept looking at me concerned and asking if I was alright.  I kept responding I was fine and that this (slow and not-so-steady) is in fact, how I swim.  He just couldnt believe that anyone could swim that slow and be fine.  But I was.  I swear.

A little nauseaous and a little deflated, I finally made it out of the water with my husbands not-so-subtle hints of just how slow I was ringing in my ears.  He had nothing but the best of intentions and a little concern for his potentially drowning wife.  But his butterfly beating my freestyle may have nudged me just enough and made me realize that I have a ways to go before I am ready for my race.  And this, is a great thing.  Because I may have been getting just a little too comfortable in the back of the pack.  Maybe I can work my way up to second from the back. 

And by the way, last night turned out to be my fastest time yet.  Go figure.

There’s something about the mind of an athlete. I used to be one. Some days I still am. But, I have to think that athletes approach jobs, illnesses, and setbacks in ways most other folks don’t.

The saying “No pain, no gain” as a motivating mantra for football players and marathon runners means that they equate discomfort and trials with progress and improvement. Getting stronger and better hurts. You work through it. You believe the hard part is temporary. You strive for a payoff that’s not guaranteed. You suck it up. You fight. You win. Athletes spend 95% of their time training for competitions that might only last an hour a day or even seconds. And they find those moments worth it.

So are athletes better at rebounding from life’s hard blows? More resilient? I met a man at a conference who was doing research and writing a book on this very subject. He studied former athletes battling cancer. He found that they approached their recovery in much the same way they trained for races and competitions. They pushed the limits and reveled in small improvements. They believed they had control over their illness, rather than the other way around. They chipped away at getting better. Rationalized and regrouped when things didn’t work out as they’d thought. Took a glass half full approach. They trained their body and mind through their illness. Athletes believe they can do anything if they work hard and don’t give up.

I recently read that most female CEOs played sports. It doesn’t surprise me. I run my own company and at times it has felt like an ultra-marathon. Our new reader stats show that 40% of Women’s Adventure readers are owners or co-owners of their businesses. We fight. We win. We believe we can do anything with hard work and determination. I learned those lessons on the track with lots of sweat and interval work in the Texas sun. I ran through college. I still run.

And now, while I battle MS, I’m back to running 5 miles. Three weeks ago, I had to walk most of my shorter routes. But, I’ve been chipping away at it. The 5 miles feels good. But, my body still isn’t ready for it. It’s as if the run activates my brain into overload. A 5 mile run at any speed means that I’m down for the count the next day with muscle fatigue, tremors, spasms, and skin sensations. I’m foggy. Unable to focus. Just need a dark room to calm everything back down. But, I feel really blessed to have that 5 miles. I know it’s a gift.

So, I rest. I let my brain reboot. And, by my next blog, I expect my recovery time to be better. Normal. I believe if I work hard and don’t give up that I will control my disease instead of it controlling me. I have the mind of an athlete. It’s a placebo. Because whether or not what I am doing helps me get faster, better, healthier, my belief that it does, changes everything for the better.

Yesterday on my run I truly felt as though I actually had a piano strapped to my back. I don’t remember asking the training gods for the added challenge, but apparently they don’t really care. The whole week has been a little rough. It started out with a super early call time for my swim on Tuesday morning. I stumbled out of bed, put on my suit, and drove to the gym. I love that my gym is literally five minutes away (and yes, I drive). The short commute does not allow my brain enough time to register just how tired my body is nor does it have time to finish the debate of whether or not I should push my swim back until later in the day. In general, I am pretty good about not even allowing these thoughts into my head, but when it’s six o’clock in the morning and my bed is calling my name, it’s hard not to.

I made it to the gym without falling asleep at the wheel and counted six yawns between the parking lot and front door. As I handed over my member id, the super perky receptionist couldn’t help but make a comment about how I need to WAKE UP! I wanted to say, “Really? No kidding. Maybe you could fork over some of the “speed” you are on and it would make my morning a whole lot easier; not to mention I could probably finish my swim in about the half the time.” Instead I gave her a smile and headed to the locker room knowing that she didn’t want to be up and at work that early either.

I managed to get my butt in the pool and after about ten minutes the lights went out and the place was pitch black. I had a split second where I sort of felt like I was in the movie Jaws. It was dark; there was splashing, and it only made sense that somehow a shark would have entered the pool. Just as I was about to plan my escape, my brain quickly fired the thought “Wait, am I dreaming and is it possible I’m still asleep?” Nope, the power was out and we had to evacuate the building.

The rest of the week has felt a little bit like that experience. My legs have felt a little dead, my eyes a little heavy, and my butt a little sore. I knew that there would be weeks like this and I am prepared to push through these valleys. Ok maybe I’m not really prepared, but just like most things in life; you don’t really have a choice but to find your way through it…and so that’s what’ll I’ll do.

Training for a Triathlon Half-Ironman

A 1.2 mile swim, a 56 mile bike ride, a 13.1 mile run. You wonder what I was thinking when I registered for this event, and the truth is – I’m not entirely sure. I do know that I clicked the “register” button after having a glass of wine (or two) with my family on a trip home to Chicago in December. Sometimes we need a little push from behind or a bottle to take that next step. I embraced that little nudge and clicked the “register” button while my mother sat quietly next to me while shaking her head.

I woke up the next day realizing that not only had I just put another couple hundred bucks on my already well-used credit card, but I committed to doing a half-Ironman! Keep in mind, I’m not afraid of a challenge nor am I afraid of spending hours training for an event, it’s just that, well, that’s a BIG challenge and a LOT of training. At least I was smart enough to allow myself enough time to prepare. You know to get things like a swimsuit and cycling shoes and maybe one of those super tight, hot triathlon onesies. It’s all about how you look, not how you feel, right?

The race is August 2nd in Benton Harbor, Michigan. I chose that location in hopes of racing in 115 degree weather and, if I’m really lucky, the humidity will be at 95%, which will be ideal for the mosquitoes to stick to every inch of my exposed skin. I also knew that picking a race as close to Chicago as possible would be my only hope of getting the family to watch me crawl across the finish line. Let’s be honest, I’m going to need someone there to carry me to the car and spoon-feed me ice cream after the race. I’m just hoping they, too, are training for this.

I invite you to read my stories about the rest of this journey into “crazyland” right here in the Women’s Adventure blog. I’m heading into my fifth month of training and it’s been entertaining to say the least. I can’t say that I’ll be a resource for tips on how to do this best, but I can promise not take myself too seriously and be open with you about all the embarrassing moves I make!

On May 11th my Aunt, Grandmother, and cousin drove me to the Mexican border and at 6:30 I turned north and began my walk to Canada. The three of them hiked the first couple of miles with me and it was strange to be standing there alone in the wilderness when they turned back. I have been planning for this adventure for such a long time I still cannot believe that it is really happening. Even now, seven days into the trip, I have to stop and think “Wow, I am really here, this is really happening.”

The desert in the morning is perfect. Cool and full of life. It is only the first week of my hike and I have already seen three hummingbirds, a horny toad and a bobcat. Unfortunately, the cool weather of the mornings does not last very long. You can see dawn’s ribbon of light approaching long before it hits. It may be beautiful, but it is a reminder of the heat to come. I have been trying to get as many miles in during the mornings as possible. I usually start walking at around 5:30 after a quick breakfast, stop at noon for a siesta and set up camp at 7.

There have not been a lot of people out on the trail and after the first two days of my hike I did not see a single person for the next 48 hours. It is nice to have the trail to myself but I am definitely looking forward to catching up to other thru-hikers who started earlier than me. The trail has been so beautiful and the views so varied that there is no opportunity for boredom. I am so excited to see what is around the next corner that I have to force myself to rest when it is time to take a break.

Two days ago I passed through what is called Scissors Crossing, a notoriously hot and exposed piece of desert. Even by eight thirty the sun was so brutal, I felt the need to take out the umbrella I keep in my pack so that I could walk under a little bit of shade. As I was approaching the road, I saw a wooden structure off to my left with a sign on it that read “Welcome PCT 2008 hikers.” It was filled to the brim with gallon jugs of water. After three days of extreme heat, it was pretty much the most beautiful thing you could have put before me. If I hadn’t been so tired I probably would have jumped up and down.

Yesterday afternoon I made it to Warner Springs (mile 110) and tonight I will be heading back out onto the trail. I feel safe and happy and cannot wait to see what lies ahead.
-Kristin Gates

I hear mewing. I’m alone on a trail with my two twenty-five pound dogs who haven’t heard it yet. I stop. Listen. Definitely mewing. Coming from behind some thick brush about 50 meters from me. I actually do think for a split second that I might go investigate. But the moment passes.

Three days prior, I sat on the couch in my living room. Call it intuition or some other type of sixth sense, but I glanced out the window toward the Flatirons and caught sight of a mountain lion racing downhill. By the time I’d grabbed binoculars, he was way gone. It’s a blessing to see a mountain lion. A rare occurrence.

The next day, I read in the paper that a 2-year old male mountain lion had been tranquilized, collared, and moved from someone’s backyard two blocks way and back into the wild where he belonged. That lion was a male, though. Not likely to be the one raising the cubs I hear. My pups and I move on before anyone else sees us and finds out our secret. No, I won’t tell the division of wildlife. I don’t want the lion and her cubs disturbed. Yes, she’s chosen a high-traffic area to nurse her cubs. But, she’s not bothering anyone. And, I chose to run there. I could have run on the pavement, down Sixth street, to the river.

Later that same afternoon, I’m weeding in front of my house. A ranger pulls up his truck, gets out, and trains his binoculars up the hill. I’m thinking someone else has heard the mewing. Someone called the cavalry. I’m relieved when he drives away. I check the paper in the morning to see if any lions and cubs have been tagged and moved or euthanized. Nothing but a short blurb about two men who simultaneously tasered each other at a bar over the weekend. The lion can relax for a while. Law enforcement is busy with more important things in Boulder.
-Michelle

I miss my 20-year old, pre Multiple Sclerosis body. This was my thought while walking the second half of my morning run today. I’m not prone to whining. But heck, if I can’t vent in a blog, where else can I do it. I’m not talking about the way my body looks. I’m okay with the exterior (and posterior) of my 41-year old self. Nope. It’s the inside stuff that needs a facelift. It’s downright saggy. And because I have MS, it’s hard for me to determine if my digestive, breathing, and muscle weakness problems are caused by the disease or just the natural aging process. The fact is it doesn’t really matter. There’s not much I can do about MS or being over 40, except exactly what I’m doing. Eat right (my big downfall), exercise, and keep my stress levels low.

But the reason I run has always been less for my health and more for the way it makes me feel…which used to be good. Now it’s a little like gambling. I still bet each time I go out that I’ll catch a little glimpse of that athlete and connect with that effortless motion akin to my childhood dreams of being able to fly. Today, I couldn’t get off the ground. And maybe tomorrow will be the same. But, if I keep trying, I believe I’ll get there again. I always say that my health is where it needs to be when I can run 5 miles. Right now, I’m running downhill 1.5 and walking the remaining 1.5 back home.

That said, there’s always something good about being out. Everything’s in bloom right now in Boulder. You have to love purple and fuchsia blossomed trees. It’s like something out of a Dr. Seuss book. The Boulder Creek is also running fast. Makes a nice soundtrack with the beat of my feet. Complements the new Counting Crows playing through my iPod Shuffle. And hard as the run was, it still beats sitting in this office typing. I feel cleansed and awake. Because with running, there is an afterglow. So for now, I’ll stop my whining and bask in it for a while. Thanks for listening.
–Michelle

My name is Kristin Gates. I am a junior at Colby College in Maine and this is the first installment of my adventure on the Pacific Crest Trail. In mid-May I will be heading down to Mexico to begin a walk north on the PCT. The Pacific Crest Trail is a 2,655 mile footpath that stretches from Mexico to Canada through California, Oregon, and Washington. It starts in the scorching deserts of the south and after crossing the Mojave, climbs up into California’s high Sierras and then north through Oregon’s Cascades and Washington’s rugged wilderness.

When I was thirteen years old I made a promise to my Great Aunt that I would live life to its fullest. Unfortunately, she passed away when I was fifteen and, by the time I turned nineteen, I had never done anything particularly exciting with my life. By the fall of my sophomore year in college I had followed all the rules and done everything that was expected of me. But then, a fear that had been sitting in the back of my head began to creep up on me. A fear that one day, when I am old and gray, I will look back on my life and realize that my dreams had never been accomplished. That next semester I traded in my school bag for a backpack and my books for maps and a compass to thru-hike the Appalachian Trail.

In March of 2007 I flew down to Georgia by myself, got a ride to the southern terminus of the Appalachian Trail from a hostel owner, and spent the next four and a half months walking north. Over two thousand miles later I was standing at the summit of Mt. Katahdin in Maine finishing my first thru-hike.

I went back to school in the fall, but the trail stayed with me. Lecture halls and labs left me longing for the freedom of the mountains. The world seemed so big and I could not bear to be trapped in such a small corner of it. That was when plans for a new adventure began to develop and, like so many travelers before me, my dreams turned to the west. I decided to try for the second jewel of the Triple Crown, the Pacific Crest Trail. The Triple Crown includes our country’s three main long distance trails: the Appalachian Trail, the Pacific Crest Trail, and the Continental Divide Trail. I had first learned about the PCT while I was preparing to hike the AT. I remember smiling as I read its description and wondering if the trail would be in my future. By January of 2008 I decided that it was. Over the coming four months of my summer break, from May until September, I hope to make my way from Mexico to Canada.

The puzzle pieces are starting to fit together now. My gear is organized, my thru-hikers permit has come in the mail, and my plane ticket to California has been purchased. Now, all that stands between me and this adventure are the last 12 days of spring semester. Only 12 more days and I will be free. It is time to wipe the dust off my old boots. It is time to take a walk.

I will be updating this blog when I pass through towns to re-supply about once a week. I hope that you will join me on what promises to be an amazing adventure.