i fear no beer! i fear 'gu' and protein powder.

i eat pretty healthy.  i definitely eat well enough to get in decent workouts, a good night's sleep, and avoid digestive discomfort.  but i know really nothing about post-workout nutrition or refueling.  my time doing endurance sports, i just went with what felt right.  sometimes that was even grabbing for... a diet coke... to satisfy that insatiable salt craving you get after mile 10 or so.  but with strength as my real destination on this path i'm taking, i need to make a change beyond my workouts.  it is probably time i start exploring post-workout protein intake.  and i'm scared out of my mind!  i had a 'gu' energy gel incident during my first half-marathon that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

every race i had done leading up to this half was pretty low-budget, even a little janky.  aid stations were almost all water or sometimes 'lime flavored sports drink'.  in the beginning, i never grabbed for water during the 5k runs. i would rather save those precious seconds, burn through the 25 minutes, and then just gorge on water at the finish.  then once i started 10k runs, i got into the rhythm of the grab and drink.  i would gladly take a water at every station and it really did help me to maintain and finish stronger.  but that only lasted so long. during a half-marathon relay, i grabbed for [what i thought was] a water, at a moment when i needed it most, but to my surprise and chagrin, it was that 'lime flavored sports drink'.  it shocked and disgusted me, i spilled it all over myself and what trickled into my trap gave me the worst cotton-mouth.  that turned me off from aid stations for awhile.  it wasn't until i decided to enter my fist half-marathon that i knew i had to get back on the hydration highway.

13.1 miles is a looong way.  i obsessively researched the course map.  this was the palm springs half-marathon, an event put on by a bunch of meticulous retirees and gays, so it was decked to the nines and impeccably planned.  clearly marked on the map were the water stations, port-a-potties, and "gu energy" stations... whatever the fuck those were, but they sounded amazing.  i felt confident that the runners would be taken care of during this race.  i ate well the night before.  i didn't wake up hungry, but i could eat and knew i needed something.  don't remember exactly what i had, but it was probably something along the lines of fruit, yogurt, and nut granola.  i also had a cup of coffee, because sadly, i hadn't yet had the a.m. b.m. every runner prays for the morning of a race.  i was hoping the coffee and copious amounts of water would assist, but they did not.  well, time to run.



don't they look delicious?

i don't remember much of our arrival, or the second the run started, or even the first few miles.  the trauma of what was about to happen to me is like dropping a boulder in a kiddie pool... and all time and events surrounding it are destroyed in its wake.  i don't even know if this was the first aid station, but it was the first one of grandeur.  there were a couple port-a-potties, unending cups of water, Gatorade (real, name brand Gatorade), and there was the 'gu'.  the tables had giant piles of these shiny silver pouches.  the dimensions are that of a playing card and no more than 1/4" thick.  they're shaped to look like little bottles, and each flavor has its own accent color.  they were a sight to see, visual marketing genius.  i had never seen them before, much less had one.  i had to have one.

the flavor i happened to grab was blackberry.  i ripped into that thing like charlie into that willie wonka bar.  i don't know what i expected, liquid maybe?  it had a consistency like frosting.  i squeezed a tiny bit into my mouth and it was DELICIOUS!  so i didn't hesitate to eat all remaining bits.  by this point, i'm already so far from the aid station that people's scattered, discarded water cups are out of sight.  i feel like it's officially littering territory if i were to chuck the 'gu' pouch.  i look around to see what other people might be doing.  well, i notice more than a couple people are actually rolling up half used 'gu' pouches and pocketing them.  alright.  i just palm mine until the next aid station.

next aid station is water.  i toss my trash and grab a cup to cleanse my palette.  the 'gu' did make for a weird sensation, as it actually was a little like eating frosting.  this is where it begins.  i downed this water while maintaining a running pace, which can sometimes really shake things up.  i started having flavored burps and felt almost a touch nauseous.  i was certain it was the running while drinking and knew to just walk for maybe a minute, let it settle, and be fine.  a few seconds later, there is already another aid station.  i would recognize those heaping piles of silver anywhere, 'gu'!  the lure of the 'gu' distracted me from whatever was going on inside and i actually shopped for my next flavor.  strawberry banana... and hell, a vanilla bean, too.  then, i don't know what happened next.  i don't know if because i was walking i forgot i was in a race, that the distance delirium already had its grips on me, but i leisurely strolled and ate BOTH of the pouches.  the instant i got that last squeeze down, i picked up my pace. 

 

in the 'shit your shorts' runner fog

when i come out of a walk during a long run, i dig in for awhile and then taper down to my race pace.  not five minutes into hitting it hard and heavy, my gut made an unholy noise and there was an internal tremor from my chest to my colon.  my only thought was "uh oh."  my gut segued right into a full on cramping.  and then i got the shittiest feeling a runner can have (pun intended); i felt like i was going to crap my shorts.  it was a shit without warning.  i knew there were port-a-potties about four miles shy of the finish, so for a second i felt at peace, but then i realized i didn't know where the fuck i was in the race!  this moment of g.i. misery caused me to lose my goddam mind.  i couldn't remember the last mile marker i saw if my life (or shitting my pants) depended on it.  so all i could do was RUN.

i get to the next (and last) set of port-a-potties.  i barely remember going in or my time inside.  i had just done a monster sprint for an unknown distance, with something brewing within me; it made me more than delirious.  when i came out, it was horrible.  i have never been so disoriented in all my life.  i was at the hub of a million different turn-arounds; there were runners going all different directions.  it took me atleast a minute (which is eternity in a run) to get my groundings and figure out my path.  the middle of my run was fueled by 'gu,' but the remainder of my run was fueled by fury at the 'gu.'  what the hell was in that shit?!

a day later when i'm home and still physically and emotionally wrecked from the race, i decided to do some 'gu' research.  well, apparently it's standard to have some and save some.  i immediately flashed-back to all those people i saw when i was wondering what to do with my trash. and it's customary to eat maybe one packet during a race.  i ate three.  and pretty much all at once.  it's all over the internet about 'gu' causing people stomach upset, that you should definitely try eating it during training to see how you react, before bringing it to a race.  reading this was killing me.  how could i have been so dumb?!  i don't even take the 'lime flavored sports drink' because i don't know what the sugar will do to me, why would i take packets of frosting called 'gu'?

that experience has completely ruined me for any foods or drinks that are energy or recovery centric.  i imagine i'll get a 6a workout in and then follow it with some protein powder in a glass of milk, that i drink on my way to work.  and i'll feel fine... until i get to work and the tremor hits...

there's more than one way to do a push-up... and i'm not fond of any of 'em

(written 1/6/11)

upon beginning this new chapter of physical fitness, i knew there'd be push-ups.  i knew because there are ALWAYS push-ups.  it's one of the first movements a child is made aware of when they learn what the hell exercise is.  and they for damn sure know what a push-up is if they play sports and can't keep their mouths shut when coach is talking or are guilty of habitual horseplay (which i was).  from there, you associate the push-up with punishment.  but as a kid, you can get away with a rapid full body bounce, something like a plank position dry hump.  those were the only push-ups i could do before i found out what a real push-up was.

a typical meg "push-up," circa oct 2008

 maaaybe a year ago, i was watching that show on bravo with the dyked out gym owner who trains wealthy fat people.  they're working out and complaining to alarming levels about doing push-ups.  i scoffed!  that was the lamest exercise and easiest to fake... just feverishly dry hump in a plank position.  WRONG!  she expected these people to get their chests to the ground and then push themselves back up.  i had never done a push-up like that before.  it didn't look too hard, so i hopped off the couch and gave it a go.  one, i could barely ease myself down, and two, once down, there was absolutely no pushing myself back up.  i never tried another push-up by my own design.

so there i am at the second intro class to this, not yet horrifying, group workout thing.  i've already been to one class, where i've been desensitized to the facts that the guy leading us is young and not a toad, i'm an idiot, and everyone is stronger than me.  i thought the worst was realized.  he gives us a rundown of the workout, which happens to begin with push-ups.  he eases our beginner minds by letting us know he doesn't expect we all can do standard push-ups.  if need be, we can have our knees to the ground  or use the bench to push from. then, almost under his breath, like he doesn't even think he needs to say it, but it's standard to say it, so he'll do so fleetingly; he points to a tall stack of tires in the corner and says we could even push from those.  that sad stack in the corner.

somehow, we all ended up in some kind of circle at the start of the workout.  all facing each other, he tells us to get in a couple push-ups.  we drop and i couldn't get one!  i couldn't push my own body weight off the ground.  probably the most basic movement for any kind of survival is getting yourself off the ground.  it was my ultimate nightmare come true... attempting push-ups in front of people.  so off to the bench i went.  down... wait for it... i couldn't do one!  over to that sad stack in the corner.  it was for six weeks that i was doing push-ups from what was essentially a standing position.  there are a lot of things i can't do at this place, but that was the most demoralizing.  i didn't get called up to the majors and start getting my fuck on until i tried a push-up outside of this place.

miami, dec 2010

on a dancefloor in miami, jose and i dropped and gave them [unknown number]!  i barely remembered doing this and was sure that, if anything, it was a good ol' fashioned dry hump push-up.  well, a video later viewed of it happening showed me that, no, it was the closest thing i've ever done to a legitimate push-up BY FAR.  while i'm sure the largest chunk of my previous inability was my lack of strength, i will admit, for the first time ever, my head trip was contributing to my physical failure.  i haven't been back to that tire pile since.  i max out at five legitimate push-ups unbroken, but i can do 'em with my knees to the ground all day!  and for right now, that's got me satisfied.

my farewell to boobs!... and welcome to my nightmare!... and my resolution?

(written 12/28/10)

i had been swimming forever and was completely confident in the water, any water, for endless amounts of time.  i was already attached to my bike at the ass, regularly clocking some serious mileage on a single speed beach cruiser.  and i picked up running after a bout of 'left out syndrome', watching my closest friends compete in distance races.  eventually, my super slow brain put all the pieces together... you're a triathlete!  so i took that and ran with it!  i ran, swam, and biked with that bitch.

athletic build?  for a skeleton!

i put the word out to my co-worker who i had already dubbed my 'unofficial running coach' and opened myself to any and all info he wanted to send my way.  a minute later, i bought a road bike and full on triathlon training began.  well, training as best i could put it together by myself, for myself.  a lifetime of having to work my ass off just to be decent at a variety of sports had really turned me off to group fitness.  so basically, my life was intervals and distance.  i can't manage anything more sophisticated than that on my own; the nanosecond i break a sweat, i lose my goddam mind!  as i swim my first 50m, i seriously think, "1, 1, 1..." and the next 50m, i think, "2, 2, 2..."  during intervals, i think, "hard, hard, hard..." and "rest, rest, rest..." for however many minutes at a time.  my progress was steady, i never really hit that "training plateau", so there was plenty of motivation there.  but then there was this... one day, after a lap swim, i realized i looked like a starved, drowned rat.  i had dropped so much weight and was so scrawny on top, it was like a double bilateral mastectomy pediatric patient.  but what did i expect?  i was morphing into all the middle aged women i'd met over the seasons of races.

so for seven months, i went sedentary.  i aimed to gain weight in all the right places and it worked.  my rack was back and i was looking mighty confined in my jeans.  at the start it was hard for me to not break a sweat everyday.  it affected my sleep and moods for the worse, but my achievements in packing on the pounds made it worth it.  at about the 10 pound mark, i started to feel it in my [arthritic] joints, but even that wasn't reason enough to get back on the workout wagon.  it wasn't until one fateful day at work, as i struggled to peel an orange, that the decision was made to make a change.  i was 15 pounds heavier and happy with my visual, but i was weak as fuck and my joints were begging me to not even walk.  seemingly, the only perfect solution was to find a group of people to workout with, because if i go it alone again, i'll just be back at unhappy drowned rat.  this was my farewell to boobs!

so after my failure to launch on that fucking orange, i remembered this freebie workout thing i went to a couple years ago.  i didn't even go back to the spot to jog my memory on it, i just blindly emailed and let them know i'm down to join.  if i were to join a dime-a-dozen gym, i knew i'd just end up isolating myself and jumping on a treadmill or elliptical or whatever the hell else i could hop on to imitate the same shit i've always done.  well, i go and i have to tell you, this place doesn't have members, it has disciples!  it was my worst nightmare come true.

much like the dodgers taking the division title in '09,

this cleavage won't be seen again for a long time!

we're doing stuff at this place, lifting weight, where you really have to consider form and maybe even a sequence of movements.  i struggle wrapping my brain around it, each and every time, and i convince myself as i go that no one there is looking at me.  but the second i'm convinced and entering confident, someone starts cheering me on and telling me what a good job i'm doing.  i'll kill myself!  and then there's your times and weight amounts lifted that they want to write on the wall.  i guess some people look at it and think about their next goal based on that number or even get overcome with pride at a PR posted.  i look at it, and that number shames me.  i have only very recently convinced myself that my level of strength is actually very important to our little exercise community.  it's the level to which all comparisons begin.  if it were a number, it'd be 0.  i keep hearing "everyone starts somewhere", but i've been to this place 22 times thus far, and i haven't seen any other people starting at (or even near) my somewhere.  and see, i don't really mind that i'm starting at 0, but i don't want to be reminded, consoled or cheered about it.  it can just exist, i'll have it written in my heart, and everyone else ignore it.  we'll use the day i can do one push-up as our indication to acknowledge my presence in the gym.

 i'm loving the actual shit that we do.  the workouts are great and i already feel stronger in my back, which is making my runs butter, and i'm on my bike with no problems from my hip.  i wanted to workout in a group and that sure as shit is turning out to be the worst part of working out in a group; the group.  so while i'm sure many people join these things and the toughest commitment is the actual workouts or schedule, mine is overcoming this social retardation i have in a fitness forum.