blind insight

3:09:52

And that's my best Peak time yet! While this put me down in the bottom 30% or so in this ultra-competitive field, it's still a personal record, 5 1/2 minutes faster than last year's time. I improved a bit on all three elements and both transitions, and felt really good all the way through. I was a bit disappointed not to shave more time off my swim (I left the water a mere 40 seconds or so faster than last year), but given the inexplicable open water panic issues I've been struggling with all season I was delighted to feel relaxed and comfortable through the whole swim, and to be able to follow the course pretty easily.

Two other PRs on the day: I managed to ride the whole damn way up Olde Stage Road, a feat I have failed to accomplish in my previous BP outings, and, together with my friend Lisa, I was the very first participant to enter the transition area. This dubious feat was accomplished by waking at 3:40 a.m. and leaving the house before 4:30, and ensured me an enviable spot in the t-area and plenty of time to wake up, stretch, chat with all my tri buddies, and go to the bathroom 16 times before the race start.

All in all, it was an outstanding day, but boy was it a long one. It began at the aforementioned ungodly hour and continued unabated for the next 18.5 hours. Steve and my dad were there to holler for me at the finish line, and hung out with some of my friends and me while we rehydrated, scarfed up some food, and enjoyed the excellent post-race festivities. By fortunate (?) happenstance, Steve's company was having its annual picnic at the Reservoir that afternoon, so when we'd had our fill of triathlonness we headed over to the picnic area. Lucky me, I got to meet Steve's boss and all of his colleagues while reeking of sweat and Res water and sporting large greasepaint numbers on my arms and legs. But they were cool, as was their beer, and we spent a pleasant hour at the party. Then it was time to pack up my gear, strap it on our backs, and bike the 5 or so miles back to my parents' house.

Sounds like a full day's activities and time for a nap, perhaps? Not so much.

We arrived home around the same time as a cousin from California and her son showed up for a few hours' unexpected visit. Meanwhile, my brother, sister-in-law, and superlatively adorable nephew returned from a Pearl Street Mall excursion, necessitating extensive snuggling, face-making, silly-game-inventing, high-fiving, and other auntly activities on my part.

Later, it was time for my father's birthday treasure hunt (I'm sure I've blogged before about this excellent family tradition). Then there was more chatting, baby watching, cousin's child amusing, chatting, snacking, and more chatting. Suddenly it was 5:00, and my parents' friends started arriving for a combination birthday barbecue and show-off-the-grandbaby extravaganza. Steve and I snuck upstairs for a catnap, but I felt guilty about abandoning the festivities and went back down after barely 10 minutes of shuteye.

We schmoozed and mingled and ate and schmoozed and mingled and ate, but by 8:00, my eyes were drooping and I was drifting off mid-schmooze. So Steve and I said our goodbyes, piled into the car, and schlepped back to Denver. Some time after 10:00, I managed to get my exhausted body into a horizontal position and my weary head on a pillow.

Today I've been physically wiped, still on a bit of an emotional high from yesterday's fun and satisfying race, and happily not as sore as I anticipated. And I'm already calculating how I can break the elusive three-hour mark next year . . . .

UPDATE: Word on the street is that the swim course was somewhere between 100 and 200 meters long. So my swim time actually was quite a bit faster than last year. This really feels good to know, since I felt so comfortable in the water and the swim seemed rather longer than 1500m. Yay!

Odds and ends.

I'm feeling much better, thanks. Seems the combination of (nasty) sinus rinse, (nastier) sinus herbs, a stint in the eucalyptus-infused steam room, and vigorous blowing have eradicated whatever evil spirits have been colonizing my mucus membranes. I'm particularly pleased because I'll be spending the rest of the afternoon at a wedding and it will be nice not to have to stuff my tiny black purse full of Puffs and not to spend the entire event attempting to oh-so-daintily blow wads out of my schnozzle.

What's the deal with these weekday weddings, by the way? My parents are going to a wedding this afternoon, too, and not the one we're attending. I suppose you can save a bundle by not getting married on a weekend day or evening, but it's rather an inconvenience for the guests. It's not quite as rude as including the places you've registered in the invitation (a move that simply screams "buy me presents! buy me presents!) or adding a notation requesting cash in lieu of gifts (seeing the "buy me presents!" and raising it to "just hand over your wallet"). Still, it seems a bit of an imposition to ask people not only to put on heels and makeup and pantyhose in the middle of summer and shell out for a Nambe platter or a snazzy Chip'n'Dip from Pottery Barn, but also to give up a precious, sacred vacation day just to watch you get hitched. They're not even my friends, for crying out loud - I'm just the designated date.

In truth, though, I'm not all that annoyed about taking the afternoon off. I sauntered into court this morning and managed to lose a case before my coffee even kicked in, and I'd just as soon get out of Dodge early and enjoy some fresh, head-clearing mountain air. Must be nice to be the Gubbermint and win cases just by showing up and saying your name. Ah, well. You lose some and you . . . lose some more.

Tomorrow morning, we'll head straight to Boulder for packet pick-up and assorted other pre-race activities. And by the time I crash tomorrow night I expect to have received the all-important, successful-race-ensuring sloppy kiss from His Adorableness, my nephew Nathan, who arrives tomorrow in honor of his grandfather's birthday. I don't anticipate setting any PRs on Sunday, but I'm feeling tan, rested, and ready and I can't wait to hit the Res. Race report to follow - sure to be cheerier than the Danskin recap.

I'm getting pretty sick of this.

In case anyone (other than my mother) was wondering, I'm still battling this $#@&%*! cold. For weeks now, it has ebbed and flowed, ranging from fever and dizziness to "mere" horrendous congestion to sore throat, wracking coughs and assorted points in between. I'm pretty sure it's not allergies, as the allergy index hasn't been terrible these days and my symptoms have responded to Nyquil but not to Claritin.

Really, I've had enough of this being sick garbage. Boulder Peak is coming up on Sunday, and I kind of have my heart set on doing at least little bit better than last year's 3:15 finish. But at this rate, I'll be lucky to survive, let alone to shave a few minutes off my already bottom-bracket times.

Have I gone to a doctor? Well. Um..... not exactly. But I have been popping ColdSnap like candy, guzzling tea, getting extra sleep, taking pretty much the whole week off from exercising (let's call that "tapering" so I don't feel like a total slug), avoiding booze, and eating various vitamin-rich foodstuffs. Assuming this is the bad cold it feels like, what more could my doctor possibly tell me to do? And on the off chance it's something for which medicine potentially could be prescribed, I'm not about to go on funkiness-inducing antibiotics four days before my "A" race. So what if it's an ear infection (not that it feels like one, but the possibility has been floated)? Do you really think I'm going to follow a doctor's orders to stop swimming and skip the race at this point? Not so much.

Really, though, I think my poor immune system is just worn out from training, sleep deprivation, considerable emotional stress from unbloggable sources, and too much exposure to commercial air conditioning. To the best of my knowledge, they don't make drugs for that (yet). In any event, the doctor will be just as in on Monday as he is right now. If I still feel like crapola then, p'raps I'll pay him a visit.

Untitled.

I had a short visit this weekend from some old and dear friends. I met the male half of this couple during my first year in law school. He was an unfortunate conservation bio post-doc who got stuck living in the basement of the law dorm. I was delighted to discover a non-law student to chat with, even more delighted to find a snarkily funny, sophisticated, British non-law student whose work related somewhat to my then-passionate interest in all things internationally environmental. We became great friends and have enjoyed many a long and winding conversation over the years, in points near and far.

He and his wife were in town briefly the past two Saturday nights, sandwiching a mountain vacation. We enjoyed a lovely dinner with them and other mutual friends last week, then this Saturday they stayed chez moi for the night before flying home. Though we had less than twelve hours together, we managed to squeeze in some quality chats, a baseball game (the Rox even won for me!), and a nice, cold bottle of pinot grigio at my favorite neighborhood bistro. Then they woke us up at 6:30 on Sunday morning to say goodbye before heading to the airport. So it was a quickie, but a fun one.

Steve told me later that my friend mentioned that he didn't notice any real change in my vision from our Stanford days. Hearing this upset me, and I've been mulling over why. Primarily, I think, because my vision is much worse than it was when I met this friend, and much worse than when I graduated from law school. While I was legally blind by then, my field of vision was several degrees wider than it is now, and I really could see more. I was more comfortable moving in crowds, better able to navigate in the dark, and I even drove a little until some time in my second or third year. Plus, I'd just had cataract surgery the year before starting law school and my brand new lenses were crystal clear, whereas now things are a bit fuzzier, particularly when I'm tired. So I felt a twinge of anger and sadness in thinking back to those days, a decade ago, and realizing how many measurable increments of sight have slipped away in the interim.

I think his statement upset me also because he felt the need to make it. I know he cares deeply about me and feels a great sadness about my vision loss, and that anything he said was simply an observation meant in good faith. But it bothered me nonetheless, particularly that this conversation took place without me. Yet now that I'm writing about it I can't really articulate why.