Editorial Note: Our endurance yoga friend Sage just sent us this email. Listen to her newest Yin Yoga podcast and get those hips working for you at your next race as it did for her at her last race. After you listen to the podcats read her most recent race report and you'll see the benefits of Yogo for endurance athletes.
There's a new podcast episode on my Web site. This is a relatively long one for Sage Yoga Training: fifteen minutes. But just five poses.
It's yin yoga, a style I have come to love for its affinity with endurance sports training and racing. (You can learn more about this approach at yinyoga.com, Paul Grilley's Web site, and Sarah Powers's Web site.)
The mind goes through a very similar process in, say, a five-minute pigeon fold and a thirty-minute tempo interval. First you feel just fine. Then you start to feel the intensity grow. Then you wonder why you're doing this to yourself, and how you're going to make it through. Breath and form are key here; if you can keep them together, you'll make it to the end, pause to observe the effects, and feel really good about your experience.
Physically, the yin style helps work in the deeper structures of the connective tissue that binds our athletic hips, causing all sorts of implications for our swim and pedal strokes and our strides.
Freedom at the hips is a wonderful thing!
White Lake Half Ironman Race Report
This race, in the middle of rural North Carolina, was my first at this distance (1.2-mile swim, 56-mile bike, 13.1-mile run). It’s about the polar opposite of the Valdese race: lake swim, flat bike, long, unshaded run.
Swim (40:13)
The sandy-bottomed lake was clear enough that I could see beer cans on the lake floor. Apart from a section on which my goggles were horribly foggy, and an unwanted encounter with the business end of someone’s toenails, the swim was calm and uneventful. Some reports say it was measured long—buoy placement is an imprecise science. We were to exit the water by climbing a ladder to a pier. The bottom rung was missing, and I couldn’t get my leg up to the next step. (Happily, the water off the pier was only waist-deep.) A chivalrous gentleman behind me put his hands on my hips and hoisted me onto the ladder.
T1 (2:29)
Apparently through the luck of the draw, I had a great bike rack, stationed four rows from the bike exit/entry. Following a long run through transition, I shed my wetsuit and promptly got both arms stuck in my bolero jacket. After flailing like a T-rex for a bit, I managed to extricate my hands and headed out on the bike.
Bike (3:03:57)
The first few miles of the bike course wound through the beach-resort-y town of White Lake. Along the way, I passed my clients Robyn and Rachel, who kindly snapped the pictures you see here.
This first photo fascinates me: not only does it capture me in the process of passing two dudes and spending the only time I would all day in my big chain ring, it’s a great example of the “type A” (flattish, as in mine) and “type B” (curved, as in theirs) backs evident on the bike.
The remainder of the ride wasn’t nearly as boring as I’d feared. It did become increasingly apparent I’d have to stop for a pee break, but once I bit the bullet and did, it was easy enough to focus on turning my ideal 95 rpms, taking in electrolytes, calories, and water, and staying aerodynamic. I had a little circling pack—nondrafting, of course—of folks to ride with, including an age-group friend and a dude wearing what can only be described as hiking boots. Mostly I focused on keeping up a steady, moderate effort, then raising my heart rate in the second half of the ride. Occasionally I pondered the mysteries of the open road: Why did I see two dead cardinals, forty miles apart? Where were the road seams I’d heard were so annoying? (Apparently, they were paved over.) How can hog farms smell so bad when bacon smells so good? Why am I riding in my little ring? (OK, so that’s not a mystery. It felt a little wimpy, but better than any of my big-ring gears.) I saw a few riders who had flatted, and I was passed by the ambulance once (didn’t seem to be a bad wreck). A large insect hit my arm, but I had my arms covered (mostly for the sun protection; the temperature was ideal, around 60–65 degrees) and it deflected without incident. This is obviously because of the EpiPen I’d duct-taped to my top tube—an amulet to ward off a bee sting.
In the last two miles, I eased off to get ready to run, as per some good advice I’d gotten. From this picture, it looks like I had a full motorcycle escort (funny, I never even heard them) as I rolled into T2.
T2 (1:22)
Having learned the hard way that stiff fingers can’t unbuckle a bike helmet, I’d used some silly finger wiggling on the bike to keep my joints loose. T2 was fast and pretty smooth, with Rachel yelling at me, “You’re a runner! You’ve worked so hard!” Helmet, shoes, hat, race number, Fuel Belt, go.
Run (1:52:04)
My fears had been focused on the bike—the specters of flat tires, bee stings, cruddy muscular endurance, and utter boredom—and I hadn’t really wrapped my mind around the idea of running a half marathon after more than three and a half hours of exercise. Well, I’d have almost two hours to think about it. My legs, used to shorter runs off the bike, set off at a 7:30 pace, with my heart rate just under lactate threshold—a good ten beats higher than I’d intended to start the run. It looked like I had two choices: (1) let the legs get it out of their system and hope to ease back to a more sustainable pace after the first mile or (2) walk off the bat. I didn’t want to walk.
It was long, it was flat, it was getting a little hot. Eventually I settled in to an 8:30ish pace, with a decay setting in toward the second hour of running. I missed a number of mile markers, but I did see an uptick in my pace toward the end—gratifying, because I was working at the utmost limits of my capacity. Maybe I was setting new ones. (There’s a truism/joke: Why do you always find a lost item in the last place you look? Because it’s the last place you look—you stop looking when you’ve found it.)
The pictures of me running belie the effort it took. I seem to be floating in them. (Lily said, “Hey, you’re flying.”) Here I am approaching the turnaround of the first lap, laughing, trying to give a thumbs up, and conveniently not touching the ground. Note the good-luck martini socks.
The course was a double out-and-back, which gave lots of opportunity to cheer on fellow racers. I didn’t manage to find anyone to run with for more than a few steps, though there were plenty of palms to slap—those of my teammates Paul and Dave; the guys I presumed were from Fleet Feet in Hickory (they were at the Valdese race, and they seemed to respond to being called “Hickory”); my friends: Juliet, Ashley, Misty, Christy, Laurence, Todd, Stuart. No one seemed to feel much like talking. I worked my mantras and got a long way with “One Love” and “Watching the Detectives” (an apparent reggae theme) running through my head.
By the last three miles, with the help of a caffeinated gel and after throwing away the Fuel Belt, I could almost do enough math to figure out how much longer I’d have to fight the growing urge to walk. By then, there were lots of walkers, many of them in collegiate tops, strolling along, munching potato chips from the bag. Stubbornness got me through—that, and the certainty that my legs would seize up if I stopped running for longer than the two slower steps it took to grab a cup from an aid station.
Finally, the chute. By then, smiling was too much effort. From the picture, I can see I was using my arms to keep me moving, leading to over-rotation, but at least I was still floating.
Total: 5:40:03
Reflections
Immediately after the race, as I stood around dizzy and thirsty, I considered how the experience and childbirth were similar. I finished both exhausted and elated, thinking, I don’t want to go through that kind of intensity again. (Also, like many a new mother, I might have benefited from a saline drip.) My friends are asking if I’ll do an Ironman next. That’s like asking a postpartum woman if she’s ready for a grandchild. I need to spend lots of time dealing with this experience—and recommitting energy to my family—before I’d consider doing it again, let alone going twice as far. That said, I have already forgotten most of how difficult it was, and I’m really pleased that my body seems to be recovering quickly.
Highlights
Eating peanut M&Ms and gazing at the lake with Juliet and Jay, feeling totally relaxed the night before the race; my goggles defogging on their own; first laying eyes on Robyn and Rachel in front of their hotel; seeing anyone at all I knew, or even recognized; executing swim and bike plans; doing a good job with nutrition and electrolytes.
Room for Improvement
Hydration—should have finished the plain water I took on the bike, duh; force on the bike (time to amp up the power yoga and hit the weight room); pacing the early run.
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