A Broken Kilometer

Wednesdays are swim days. This particular one was cold and blustery--not exactly ideal conditions to plunge oneself into a pool of only slightly tepid water, indoors or not. But a promise is a promise. Not only was Christine, my training buddy, expecting me, but it was also the first Wednesday of the month--test day.

Joe Friel, author of The Triathlete's Training Bible, describes a broken kilometer as follows:

After a standard warm-up, swim 10 x 100 meters at maximal effort with 10-second recovery intervals. Time the entire set, including recovery intervals.

I subject myself to this routine once a month. Some months go better than others. Lots have gone better than today. With so much of my time committed to other activities, training has definitely taken a hit. Something had to. There is only so much a girl can do.

The downside of being such a compulsive measurer is that things don't always improve. This month the broken kilometer took a little longer than usual. Okay... a lot longer.

What do I say to that?

Draft 4 is almost done and, slow swimmer or not, the kids at the school are expecting me. I couldn't be happier.

Course de l'Escalade

My so-called friend, Christine, challenged me to run the Course de l' Escalade shortly after convincing me to train for next summer's Geneva Triathlon. At the time I think I readily agreed. But as the date crept closer, my resolve began to wane.

"We'll see," I would say whenever the subject came up.

In the interim months since accepting my first physical goal since pregnancy, the realities of a fifteen year break in training had become abundantly clear. By mid-September I could only run one minute and walk for one minute seven times in a row. Any more and my knees would object with a painful debriefing that would linger for days. I had even suffered my first minor injury, a tendonitis reminiscent of one I had experienced during university when I was running 30 kilometers a week, not three.

Enter my personal physiotherapist--me.

My assessment:
Symptoms consistent with patello-femoral pain due to patella maltracking and concurrent ilio-tibial band (ITB) tendonitis.

Recommended treatment plan:
Ice: 10 minutes, three times a day
Twice Daily Stretching: quads, hams, gluts, piriformis, 20sec x 3
Strengthening 3 times a week: weights with focus on strengthening vastus medialis to correct patella maltracking

Enter the worst patient I've ever treated--again, me.

The truth is, I hate weight training. It has to be the most mind-numbing sport known to man. But for the sake of my personal goal I persisted for seven weeks--then quit. Four weeks later I re-injured.

Grrr...

The Escalade was only three weeks away. I'd paid my 30 franc. I'd passed on the cancellation insurance. Worse, I wanted to run it, injured or not. I was officially hooked.

This is why I never aspired to treating athletes--they just don't listen.

So, for the next three weeks, I behaved myself. I iced, I stretched, I cross-trained--even weight-trained-- and yesterday morning boarded the tram for the big event without so much as a hint of knee pain.


Over 27,000 people were registered to compete in this year's race, 1,685 of which would be running with us. Crowded in at the start line, my fingers were clammy and I needed to pee. The boom of the starter's pistol was a relief.

The course was a hilly double loop following the cobblestoned streets up through the vieille ville. Spectators lined the route and leaned out of windows, sipping vin chaud and nibbling roasted marron while cheering us on.

"Allez, allez!"

It was nothing short of fantastic. I ran the whole way, sprinted to the finish, and can walk without pain a day later. Now, if I can just keep to the advice of my physiotherapist, I'll be there next year, too.

We'll see...

Why Tri? Why Not!

I am training for the 2008 Geneva Triathlon.

No, really.

And why, you ask, am I adding yet another act of self-flagellation to my already full schedule? Isn't novel writing torture enough?

Well, it's not for the experience. I've actually already done one. Olympic distance, no less. Of course, that was 15 years and two kids ago. Did I mention that I nearly drowned? Let's just say I finished but it wasn't pretty.

It's not for the glory. I have no aspirations of winning, not even in my age group. If I work on my gray between now and then, I may lead the pack in the 'over 70's.' But then again, maybe I won't. There are some pretty scary seniors around these days.

And it's not even as simple as wanting to get into shape. In fact, I don't think all the training is going to be all that 'shape'-inducing. On the contrary, I fear 'the girls' may well disappear entirely.

But dangle a carrot before a donkey and it will bite. My good friend, Christine, dangled. I bit.

What intrigued me was the physical goal. I can't say I've had one since wanting to stop wearing maternity pants after Mighty Mouse was born. Given that she's four and a half, I think I'm due for a new one. But even more persuasive is my location. Never have I lived anywhere with such easy access to training space. As you can see by the photos I've posted, it's not too hard on the eyes either.

So now I've done it: an electronic line in the sand. Save injury, I'll be splashing like an injured seal in Lake Geneva next August. Sit near the emergency response vehicles and you'll be sure to see me.