On Bended Knee

I've really been loving the push, the post race endorphins, the crazy sense of "did I really just do that?"

Until recently, I would never have considered myself an athlete. My friends are athletes, my family members are athletes. But since November, when I did my first adventure race, I've come to think...maybe I am one too?

Three weeks ago I did my first trail race. It was a 1/2 marathon with a nice sprinkling of 3500ft elevation for good measure. It was much, much harder than I anticipated. Waaaaaaaaay more difficult than the 10 mile road race the weekend before, and hella more mentally challenging than the Sea2Summit (which was 2h longer). I got crazy calf-cramp-of-doom followed by inhumane-hamstring-tetany-of-death which stuck with me steady for the last 2 miles. Yeah, I was 'running' as if I had a wooden leg, whimpering, and generally feeling miserable and frustrated. But dammed if I wasn't going to finish it...and then chug a large glass of orange squash concentrate by mistake at the finish line (who has bottles of concentrate and no water at a finish line???)

So I've been kettlebell-ing and running a little and cycling, feeling pretty pleased with my fitness and shiny new upper-body strength.  Ok, maybe the odd twinge to my knee and feeling of fullness in the back of my leg. Then 3 days ago I squatted down in the emergency department and saw stars...um...why can I not squat? Oh, because my knee is blown up like a balloon. Awesome.

So ice, ibuprofen, ice, elevation...more ice...did I mention I bought this sweet gel sleeve that doesn't freeze solid and can cuff right around my knee?

No improvement. No acute injury...hell, I hadn't biked/run/kettled in a week.

Today I had a steroid / lidocaine injection into it just before heading into theater for the day. Ooooooooh maybe standing on it for 8h after wasn't super brilliant. And now I am here. Not allowed to run or squat, my knee hurts like a fecker and looks like it belongs to Rita McNeil.

So frustrating to finally feel like I'm getting into the shape I've always wanted to be in...with an adventure race coming up in 4 weeks, a 1/2 marathon in May, and a triathlon in June...GAHHHHH!

[Pouts]

[Reaches for bag of peanut butter cups.]

[Recalls how tight work pants already are, puts aforementioned cups down.]

[Steps away from cups.]

Signs off.

(Photo credit: pic of the race trail taken by my good friend Stephen Bennett.)

Racing: The Irish Way

 

A few weeks back I convinced my brotha-from-anotha-motha, Ryan, to run this 10 mile race. So he signed up. 

I balked. He trash-talked. I registered. I regretted.

It was actually pretty fun.

The drive there was an adventure, at one point the GPS (who I've named Dunce Cap or D.C for short) even got lost, telling us to turn left but mapping us to the right and then getting all hissy when I went left. I really want to throw that thing in the majestic river Shannon most days.  Though the road (pictured above) was scary and narrow, the directions were typically Irish ('after a long bend in the road take a left and follow that road') we somehow found the place. I had a moment of anxiety the night before when I realised that doing a race in the middle of February is actually a really bad idea. You see, it is too soon for there to be any resolutionists (as I like to call them). No one decides on Jan 1st to do a race 6 weeks later. Most would think it is not enough time to train for a medium distance run. And this race, in particular, is known as the 'most challenging 10 mile race in the country'. I'm not sure about this claim as it is possible that it is the only 10 mile race in the country. So, the folks running an ass-buster in Feb are likely going to be really in shape, doing it as a fun day out as they prepare for their next big race somewhere else. 

Oh I so called it. As we pulled up we could see a blur of lyrca stretching and light-jogging up the first hill.  Formidable specimens, they were. I could see the outline of their vastus mediali  from the parking lot (which, by the way, was a farmers driveway, complete with fowl and swingsets, pictured above).

This is what happens when you set a camera timer and try to look tough.

The weather was outstanding. It was indeed a challenging race with loads of hills. But both Ryan and I were happy with our times (Ryan had hoped to do it in 1:30 despite the elevation and he finished in 1:19)! I was hoping to finish under 2 hours since I haven't really been distance running since....oh....2008! But I managed to pull a 1:32 out which isn't exactly olympic qualifying time, but it got the job done. And I was pleased. And apparently haggard.

Hello, beauty.

After the race I drove home, grabbed some food, water, bathing suit, and towel, and headed to the icy Atlantic nearby. My car thermometer read 7 degrees yet somehow I managed to strip off my many layers and plunge in. I am a firm believer in the ice bath. It had to be done and I figured a sunset dip in the ocean would be better than the view from my bathtub.

Turns out, I was right. Shortly after my dip the clouds rolled into this amazing formation that nearly took my mind off the fact that every cell in my body was shivering. I sat in my car, cranked the heat on (sorry environment, it had to be done for a few minutes) and ate my picnic supper. I made a mental note regarding what a lovely date I'd taken myself on, and deciding that yes indeed I would go out with myself again. Once the beach was dark I drove to the gym and vegged out in the sauna and decided that life was pretty much all I ever hoped it'd be. Oh Ireland, I really (heart) you sometimes.

Hurt So Good

Okay so I think it is safe to say I am officially hooked on adventure racing. 

I get by with a little help from my friends.

 Wow, that was a ridiculously good time! Where do I sign up for the next one?! Granted, the absolutely perfect weather yesterday has probably amplified my infatuation with the whole concept of thrashing my body for hours on end. I have to wait for official results but from the numbers last night it looks like I came in 9th for the women!! I was hoping to finish in 5h and so was really pleased with my time of 4:39.

Can't write a proper post right now as I am on a mission to buy some jam from a market I spotted yesterday after the race. I would have bought some at the time but I had no wallet on me...plus I probably looked like public health threat given the fact that I was leaving a trail of hay, seaweed, mud, and sweat in my wake.

Thanks much-ly for all the tweets, emails, and comments of support! I was having second thoughts about doing it all week so all those little nudges meant a lot.

For you data nerds: run, cycle, hike, evil cycle, ocean sprint/obs course*/run.

*And by 'obs course' I mean going over hay bales and running through tires, etc. not learning how to manage labor presentations. Whaaaaaaaaat...c'mon...medical people read this blog, someone might need clarification!!

An Unexpected Test--Part II

I'd get to the girl, first I wanted to make sure Maggie was stable.

Maggie was well bundled up which made a quick primary survey almost impossible. I put my hands under her jacket and tried to feel along the bony aspect of the back of her neck. I pressed down on each vertebrae while asking if she was having any pain, numbness, or tingling. She said no.

I tried to move my fingers systematically around her skull feeling for any ridges, deformities, warm tangles of blood, boggy swelling. Nothing.

I quickly checked the pulse in her wrist—strong. That was a good sign, she had a decent blood pressure and wasn’t tachycardic, which meant she wasn’t going into shock (yet) from some hidden injury that was causing blood loss.

Maggie was alert and talking to me the whole time, she said one of the girls on the hike had lost control coming down too fast from the top. Maggie lunged after her, also losing her footing and going head first down the steep and rocky terrain. Now I was getting worried about this unknown girl and felt fairly certain that Maggie had no immediate threats to life or limb (despite my woefully brief and incomplete initial survey).  I asked the 3 young girls with her to try their best to keep each other warm, to continue talking to Maggie. I asked them to send someone over to me if she suddenly became confused, nauseated, or started complaining of numbness or tingling. 

I scurried over the slippery rocks to the second cluster of people, perched on the lateral aspect of the slope. A young girl was buried under a similar assortment of raingear and jackets, crying out in pain. Two of her teenaged friends were huddled against her, shivering in their thin hoodies and track pants. Her legs were splayed awkwardly but with no visible deformity, blood spattered the rocks near her feet. Under the hood of a green raincoat I could see that her hair was thickly matted to one side of her face with blood that appeared to have come from her scalp. Her cheek was also cut, just under the eye. She opened her eyes when I asked her to and told me she’d started coming down the mountain and couldn’t slow down, she didn’t know how she’d fallen or if she’d been knocked out.  Her pupils were of equal size, they constricted when she focused on my face, she knew where she was, and who she was there with.

Again I wrestled with the tangle of clothing trying to feel her neck and scalp. She said she had no neck pain but yelped whenever I touched her head, especially near her forehead. It seemed impossible to locate the cut as all the blood had dried in the lumpy nest of hair.  I looked in her ears and under her nose for blood or clear fluid that might indicate she had fractured her skull. Dry. She didn’t have the characteristic pattern of bruising associated with basal skull fractures, the bluish tinge behind the ear or black circles referred to as ‘raccoon eyes’.

I felt her wrist, trying to locate her pulse. As I measured her heart rate, which was fast but not worrisome, she complained of pain. I was reassured though, by the lack of a sickening crunch or odd angle to the joint, something I’d come across many times in the Whistler emergency department. I put my hands under her jacket, asking her to take deep breaths while I felt her chest rise and fall. Her rib cage felt stable and she said she had no troubles breathing. Good. She had a blood pressure and no breathing issues.  I felt her belly, tested the bones of her pelvis for pain or instability. She cried out in pain when I brought my hands down her left thigh and leg. I couldn’t feel any swelling or grinding under my pressure, the leg didn’t seem shortened but it was hard to tell and I didn’t want to move her limbs unnecessarily.

Somewhere in all of this I found out that the man with them was Father Henry, the priest who had been escorting a church group up the mountain, which is a famous pilgrimage for Catholics.  Maggie was the other leader of the group, which left him running back and forth between the two huddles, with one cell phone (and sometimes two) pressed to his face. 

It was during my assessment of Tina that I too started to shiver. Suddenly the combination of wind, fog, sweaty T-shirt, and stillness left me very cold and wishing I’d brought more clothes. I pulled on my damp wool shirt and windbreaker. Once I was crouched behind Tina with my hands along side her jaw and neck to stabilize her cervical spine, I realised that if I was that cold, the girls lying on the ground were in even bigger trouble.

At this point an athletic Swiss couple, each dressed in layers of hi-tech looking gear, arrived and offered extra coats to pile on the injured hikers. The woman pressed up against Tina’s legs, the man against her right side. Tina’s two friends took up positions on the left. A tall middle aged Scotsman came up and suggested we use his large backpack as something to put underneath Tina. 

I cringed with the realization that I should have thought of that ages ago.

CAcBCDE. Catastrophic bleed. Airway/c-spine. Breathing. Circulation. Disability. Environment. 

All of this had been drilled into me again only weeks ago at the Advanced Trauma in Community course I’d taken. Environment. As in, assess complications due to environment such as cold temperatures and adjust to protect against these dangers. 

And so there we were.  All of us freezing, worried, and wondering how long it would take for the mountain rescue crews to arrive, if they were sending a helicopter, and if the helicopter would even be able to land amidst the fog and wind.  I asked one of the girls to take over c-spine for me as I went back to check on Maggie. She was well bundled up and had a similar gathering surrounding her. The tall and quick thinking Scotsman and his wife were monitoring her. This gave me peace of mind over the nagging thought that I was ignoring one of the casualties. Maggie was still alert and oriented, nothing had changed since I had first assessed her. She said she was more worried about Tina than anything else. I tried to reassure her before running back to my post: holding on to Tina’s neck.

We heard ambulance sirens in the distance which gave us hope that help was soon to arrive, hopefully with blankets at least and and possibly stretchers.

“Wait!!!” I asked Matt, the teen to my left, to grab my nearby camelback.

“I had an emergency blanket in there this morning…did I leave it in or put it in my other pack?? Ohhh…” 

And then I remembered the brief conversation I had had with myself before heading off this morning. “I am only going on a road ride and a run, I am definitely not going to need my emergency blanket or my headlamp.”

Of course.  Dammit! We really could have used that emergency blanket now.  Tina was shivering uncontrollably to the point where her teeth chattered causing her to cry in frustration, “Get me OFF this mountain!!!! Where are they??”

We tried to calm her by talking about Justin Bieber, the hot blankets that awaited her, the exciting helicopter ride she was going to have…it distracted her for short periods of time. Father Henry would threaten to start singing if Tina went quiet for too long. This proved to be an effective technique for getting her to start talking again.

By now, over an hour had gone by since I arrived on the scene.  I thought about sending the teens down with one of the hikers who was offering to help. Were they going to get hypothermia while trying to keep their friend warm? Were we only creating more casualties by keeping them with us? What was the legality of sending minors down the mountain with strangers? What if we were up here until the middle of the night? I remembered only a couple of months ago a woman being stuck on Carrantuohill until 4am waiting to be stretchered off the mountain with a broken ankle.  At least now they could get down safely in the daylight. For the time being we decided to keep them with us. 

Surely mountain rescue was going to arrive any minute.

 

An Unexpected Test--Part 1

At 0800h I was standing in my room at the B & B, holding the silver emergency blanket in my hand.  I gauged its weight and worked at stuffing it into my already bursting camelback. The pack was full, mostly due to the 2L water bladder, but I had also managed to squeeze in 3 nutrigrain bars, a headscarf, my mobile, a few tissues, and a headlamp. My first adventure race was only 2 weeks away, so I had driven to Westport the night before to join the training group and suss out the upcoming racecourse. In a rush I’d ‘packed’ by basically throwing all my outdoor gear into the car, hoping I’d managed to toss in all the essential pieces of kit.

“I am only going on a road ride and a run, I am definitely not going to need my emergency blanket or my headlamp. The last thing I want is an overstuffed pack bouncing on my back while trying to run” I thought.

I pulled the blanket and headlamp out of the camelback and transferred them to the larger pack that I take on hikes. This pack always contains my mitts, 2 winter hats, spare socks, earmuffs, and rain pants. Just in case.

I couldn’t have predicted that 5h later I’d be pulling the camelback apart thinking,

“Wait!!! I had an emergency blanket in there this morning…did I leave it in or put it in my other pack?? Ohhh…”

So I finished getting dressed in my long biking pants, tank top, t-shirt, long-sleeved merino wool top, and windbreaker. I usually end up overheating and cursing every layer once my heart rate gets going, but it seemed windy enough to warrant the wool shirt. I kept it on and headed out the door for what I thought was going to be a morning consisting of a bike maintenance workshop, followed by a group road ride, and short run.

Due to a miscommunication with Paul, the trainer, regarding the schedule, I ended up cycling to the base of Croagh Patrick without my running shoes. He felt terrible and offered to head back to town and collect them for me.  I was embarrassed that I’d misunderstood the plan and contemplated going up in my clips, but he insisted, so I gave him my keys and waited.

By the time Paul returned most of the training group were trickling back into the parking lot after hiking to the shoulder. He handed the shoes over and suggested that I hike to the top (since that was how far I’d have to go on race day). He gave me his mobile number and said he’d go through the rest of the course with me on my own once I’d cycled back to town, later in the afternoon.  I was so mortified over being the most high maintenance participant of the day that I didn’t mention that I had no way of locking up my road bike while heading up the mountain.  I waited for everyone to leave and then negotiated with the elderly Irishman selling walking sticks from a stall in the parking lot. I told him I’d be 2 hours maximum and he agreed to keep an eye on my bike as long as I propped it within view of the stall.

It was noon, there were snatches of blue sky scattered amongst the clouds, but the top of Croagh Patrick was wrapped in a heavy grey fog. It was the best that one could hope for in terms of Irish weather so I struck off.  I started my GPS timer and (mostly cheesy) ipod running mix, trying to move as fast as I could up the mountain, partly to take advantage of the weather and partly because I didn’t want to keep Paul waiting once he was done with the training group.

An hour later I was nearing the top of the mountain, which is mostly a rocky scramble. Despite the cold wind and scattered rain, I had long ago shed all my top layers and was down to a sweaty t-shirt. I was hammering away with Daft Punk and Fat Boy Slim blaring, feeling good.

Then I saw a small cluster of people crouched down on the trail ahead.  I thought for a moment that it was just a group of melodramatic teenagers taking a breather from the sustained final push to the top. Then I noticed that one of them was lying on the trail with blood on her face.

I crouched down and she opened her eyes. I asked what had happened and if I could help. The person on the ground was a woman in her thirties with soft brown curls framing her bruised and swollen face. A cut across the bridge of her nose bled in a line down her cheek and along her neck. She was covered in a mix of raincoats and sweatshirts, visibly shaking. Her clear blue eyes opened when I asked her her name and she told me it was Maggie. A hover of teens surrounded her. They said she’d fallen and hit her head but she hadn’t been knocked out. A frantic looking middle aged man in a blue cableknit sweater and khaki pants spotted with blood approached me and said that mountain rescue had been called and that they were on their way.  I asked if there was anything I could do, he said “Uhhh…I don’t think so, mountain rescue will be here shortly…” 

In these situations I never know how to state my credentials, going into a ramble about being an ex-ER / arctic nurse, now 3^rd year medical student, with a smattering of trauma and backcountry courses, seems a little too long-winded and confusing. So I decided to distill it down to ‘student doctor’ even though it sounded vaguely ridiculous at the time. Especially since that part of my background was probably going to help me this least at this point.

“I just want to make sure she’s ok, I am a student doctor...can I quickly check her out?”

“Wait…what?”, the man said, “oh thank God! You’re a student doctor? Once you’ve looked at Maggie can you come and see the girl? I think she is in worse shape.”

The girl?

It was then that I saw a second huddle of teens away from the trail, on a steeper aspect of the scree, about 5 meters away.

Oh dear.

I Have "Hapless Female" Qualities

I took my little blue beauty into the bike shop today after my cycle for a 'tune up'. It was embarrassing.

Me: Hi. I bought the yearly maintenance package for my bike and I wanted to bring it in...

Bike dude [in hurried manner]: Ok, what does it need?

Me [suddenly realising how ridiculously hapless I am at very basic bike maintenance]: Yeah, it pretty much needs...um...air in the tires, a little oil on the chain, and...I dunno, the pedals tightened? Er...maybe the shifters...[stares at ground, toeing invisible mark on floor] shifted...[trails off, mumbling incoherently]

Bike dude [expression softens as realises he's dealing with moron of epic proportions and takes pity on me]: Ok, that shouldn't take very long [chuckles to self] we should have it ready by Wednesday [enunciating well and speaking very slowly].

Ok, so I am a ridiculous damsel in distress when it comes to my darling road bike (and killing spiders). 

Today's event cancels out the fact that I wielded very heavy machinery last week in a very non-girly way (with a steady hand and...ok...the odd high pitched squeal of delight).

I hate those moments when I feel like a hapless female, but dammit I don't have time right now to learn about gear shifters and spider aversion therapy...I am in the thick of it with trying to piece together a smooth cardiac exam without being reduced to a blubbering mess in front of the ward sister, the reg, the SHO, and several medical students.

And so, for now, I pay the bike shop 25 Euro a year for unlimited bike maintenance. And I am ok with that. Usually. 

Sunday Riders

So today Pádraig (the surgical SHO) and I decided to do a reckie of the road biking portion of a race he's competing in next week. We started at the Gap of Dunloe (a.k.a Kate Kearney's Cottage) and ended at the Torc Mountain waterfalls. A fabulous ride in part due to the spectacular scenery the entire way, and a delicious visit to my favorite purveyor of fine Irish food: The Avoca Café.

I also learned a couple of things today. For instance, my tiny little sewing-machine of a car can fit two road bikes in the back and two people who love blood and guts in the front. GO TOYOTA YARIS!

Another lesson learned was that not only are directions from Irish people usually nonsensical and obscure, the road signs are equally unhelpful. Unless, of course, you are looking specifically for tea and scones or a farmhouse with ensuites. Have you reached a fork in the road on random back country lane? Are you searching for a particular town or road number? Sorry. Can't help you there. Tea and scones? Take a left.

I've been to the Moll's Gap Avoca a couple of times but have always approached it from a different direction. So after a particularly sustained uphill we decided to pull off and have snacks, figuring the Avoca was at least another 20kms or so away. After some Clif bars and trail mix we started up again on the bikes, only to come across the "AVOCA, 500 METERS" sign within about 3 mins of departing.

I did hear Pádraig scream "NOOOOooooooooooooo!" through the fog.

I think he made up for the disappointment in having already eaten lunch by putting himself into a pre-diabetic-coma with the most delicious banoffee dessert evah.

And it was all downhill from there, friends. An outstanding day, topped by my new routine of sauna / ice-cold shower / sauna / ice-cold shower at the gym.

Ain't life grand?

New purple Icebreaker, for the win.

Scenes from the Day

I (heart) fall.

The Blasket Blast

Last week I was whining to Paddy (our surgical SHO) about the fact that my bike needed a tune up, M.C overheard and kindly offered to get it road worthy for me. From this, the topic of the Blasket Blast road ride came up. It is an organized bike ride that goes around the Dingle Peninsula, along some of the most breath taking scenery that this country has to offer. So M.C asks Paddy and I if we want to enter the event with him as he's going to be participating. In true ABB form, I agree without asking any questions (you know, shoot first, ask questions later). I either didn't hear that it was 150 kms or figured that he was exaggerating.

I forgot all about the discussion until a few days later when M.C informed me that he'd paid my registration. Paddy was out because he was on call and couldn't get anyone to switch (how hard he tried is unknown!) Right, so at that point I started asking for details because the longest road ride I've  done is ~70 km in Prince Rupert TWO SUMMERS AGO. He tells me it is 150 km and 8 days away, that was when I started to get really, really worried. This was compounded the day my roommie met M.C and uttered immediately afterward: you are so screwed! He looks seriously fit. Great. Thanks.

Thus began my week of fretting and bike riding. I did ~80 kms last Sunday, then two 35 km rides during the week. I had no idea what was going to happen but I figured I better give it a lash. 

I did enjoy the carb loading part of the whole thing and took it to the next level...indulging for several days before the ride. You know--popcorn for dinner, hummus and crackers several times a day, granola by the handfuls...and chocolate mousse the night before (there are carbs in chocolate, right?)

A scene from the night before, all the food and water ready. And spare socks. Of course my riding shoes with clips were nowhere to be found so I busted out the sneaks. Awwww yeah.

First coffees, just after the summit of Connor Pass.

So there were two rides, one that was 110 kms and one that was 150 kms. We were doing the latter with about 40 other people, men in tights to be specific. Ok, there was one other woman doing the long ride...at least we think she was...a woman. If you note the biker in the background you'll get an idea of the one-piece spandex jumpsuits and waterproof clip booties that everyone else was wearing. All the long riders were SERIOUSLY decked out. We looked like we'd found our gear at a garage sale the night before, by comparison. Both M.C and I were also the only people wearing running shoes. We got some very disappointed and looks and clucks throughout the day due to our athletic faux pas of epic proportions!

And then there was the flat tire. The guy who stopped to radio the support car with a foot pump informed us that he hadn't gotten a flat in 4000 miles. We were undeterred though our place at the end of the line was definitely secured.

And then we got stuck behind some sheep. As you do, when you're riding the Tour De Irelande.

 

Some lovely scenes from the day. 

The Blasket Islands.

 

The above photo shows the Irish version of a 'highway', and how wide a bike rider can expect the shoulders to be. 

 

First lunches. And a latte from a road-side bus! This was my kind of race. 

 

 At the 95 km mark we decided it was time for ice-cream.

And a photo op of the old ABB and her bike.

Finally! Several hours, 150 kms, 2 pairs of socks, 2 lunches, 3 coffees, 1 ice cream, several rainstorms, and 3 pee breaks later we arrived back at the start. We had a really fun day, actually. I even managed to pull out my last bit of juice on the final summit and trash talked M.C all the way to the top.

And it was GREAT!!

I am so glad I did it. I love it when I surprise myself! Go Team Sneaks!!

12 Things My First Triathlon Taught Me Today

1. Being flat chested is a blessing when you're running in a bathing suit.

2. You care a little less about the rain when you're running/biking in a swimsuit...because a wet t-shirt makes you feel like you're in a bad beer commercial from the 80's but a wet bathing suit makes you feel like...you're in a wet bathing suit.

3. When in a swimming pool, the three sweetest words on the planet are not, "I love you" but in fact, "one lap left". 

4. Grey hair and pot-belly do not a slow swimmer make.

5. The only thing more crippling than the foot arch cramp of doom in the pool is the calf-muscle cramp of death on a bike.

6. Energy drinks do not provide energy.

7. Even though they say it to every single person going past them, when a stranger yells, "you're doing great! Keep up the good work!" the world seems a little brighter, for about 5 seconds.

8. It is hard to put socks on damp feet, fast.

9. Sports gels taste pretty much the same going down as coming back up (though they are slightly less viscous, which is pleasing).

10. "Swimming pool" = "water torture".

11. My older siblings are still kicking my ass at everything in life. (Except blogging. I have mad blogging skillz. And I tweet, so BOOM. IN YOUR FACE SUCKAS!!!)

12. You never notice the helping hand of a tailwind but you sure do feel the bitch-slap of a headwind. 

--

Expect a complete, boring, sports-interview style breakdown of the triathlon tomorrow when I have recovered from the full body tetany which I am currently suffering from.

In the meantime I'll just say that I had a great time out there, I gave 110%, and the best offence is a good defence. Or something.

WOOT!

Pre-Race Terror

So...tomorrow is my first triathlon and I must admit, I am going through waves of nausea, excitement, and pure fear right now. This morning four of my nieces and nephews were in the kids race which proved to be highly entertaining. The first group were the 5 and 6 year olds...so hilariously awesome I almost had a maternal urge! Half the time they'd come out of the pool and forget that they were supposed to be running to the bike zone. Like this little gang pictured below, they were sort of sauntering and having a chat until some of the parents starting hollering, "RUN!!" which is when they picked it up a notch.

Oh right! We're in a race!

My niece, Rachie, actually won the girls, my nephew Aidan came second for the boys, with Luc and Taylor also in the top ten. Pretty amazing.

Rachie coming out of the swim--it was cold at 0900h this morning!!

Aidan, just one giant fast twitch muscle.

Rachie nearing the finish line. Probably thinking about Justin Bieber.

Aidan looking prepared for combat and finishing the ride.

Luc (my Godson whose birth I attended--making me feel very old) is the football player of the family.

Taylor finishing the run.

Taylor looking frighteningly like a mini-me of my brother!

Random child who wandered onto the course when his older sister started approaching the end of the race. She just started laughing, picked him up and ran across the finish line with him. TOO CUTE!!

Aww...what can I say? I am a proud Auntie!!

The scary part was seeing all the totally ripped parents along the sidelines--where did all these uber-fits come from?? I felt like the fat kid at summer camp who developed a sinking suspicion that I will get my ass handed to me tomorrow. I know, I know...it is supposed to be fun--which, er, I hope it is fun and not humiliating!!!

I must say though, the kids were totally inspiring. When I was that age I was a total butter-ball whose main activities included watching satellite t.v and hiding my fathers cigarettes so I could sell them to the junior high kids at school. Seeing how athleticism is already such a central part of their lives is so wonderful (though it makes me a little sad that I didn't get into sports until later).

Also, did I mention that I was tricked into this race? My brother in law called me up and said that all my siblings/their spouses were doing the race, so I should do it as well. I reluctantly agreed and then when I came home last week I found out they are all in teams!! I am the only one doing the whole thing...ok, ok, I will stop whining now and get back to my studying.

Well at least tomorrow I will be able to make a line on my bucket list! Wish me luck!!

Things I've Learned This Month

1. The pool is actually not the most horrifying place on the planet. Close though.

2. I am motivated by little green lines. And little orange ones, turns out.

Green on days I trained, orange on the days I studied biochem.

3. Cinnamon and cloves actually taste really good in Latin soup recipes. Not freakishly odd like I anticipated.

4. 1st years like to buy useless textbooks off 2nd years. Mwahahahahahah.

5. I may not drown in the swimming portion of the triathlon in 3 weeks. May not.

6. I may actually pass the USMLE after all, heck, I might even get a respectable grade on it.

7. I suck really bad at medical genetics. As in, 0% on my full length practice exam I wrote on Saturday.

8. With a (fledgling) beard, Tobie looks a bit like a guy who has been working on his first novel for 7 years. One that will have limited sales but will be critically acclaimed.

"I just can't get the ending right..."

9.  Queen almost didn't put "Another One Bites the Dust" on the album, The Game, because they all felt lukewarm about it.

All of us suckers volunteers in the Himalayas reading Mortenson's book.

10. Greg Mortenson is a lying, thieving, conniving, power-tripping, intimidating, swindling, falsifying, Big. Fat. Fake. If you'd like to read to what extent, I recommend Krakauer's essay, Three Cups of Deceit. He gave it a more politically correct title than I would have. Krakauer is classy like that. And a babe (for an old guy).

A Good Workout

Is when you bend over to stretch your hamstrings and sweat pours from your neck into your mouth.

Disgusting? Yes.

Proof you are having a good workout?

Definitely.

Oh the Puns, I Don't Even Have to Tri...

Couldn't help myself. Sorry! It is just too easy.

Yes, I am going to attempt my first sprint triathlon this June. I am going to do a novice race here in May and then the 'real-deal' this June back in Canada.

I know this is no great feat for many people (like OMDG who did like a hundred in the past) but for me it is HUGE. Not for the reasons you are probably thinking, either. No, it'll be tough mostly because I have a near phobic fear of being in a bathing suit in public, and a deep hatred for chlorinated pools, changerooms, swim caps, and goggles.

Oh, and I. Hate. Swimming. 

Much of my recent posts have been to do with how little time I feel I have, how stressed I am about school / USMLE, and how I have no time for hobbies, so it might seems a little ridiculous to take on training for a triathlon. Well, it probably is ridiculous, but I figure it'll FORCE me to squeeze in daily exercise and it'll give me a little training mojo. I have been in a major slump in that regard lately, and thanks to tendinitis in my wrists, the yoga has been on hold. This is forcing my rump out of bed for spinning and my pegs onto the trails for running. And come tomorrow morning...into the pool for swimming.

[Cue blood curdling scream].

The one advantage in that respect is that I have a national team swimmer in my class and she's offered to show me some tricks in the pool. In return I have offered her hyponotherapy for the PTSD which may ensue once she sees me in my swimming zoot-suit. Oh, the humanity.

Wish me luck.