Recently Jason and a number of my triathlon teammates raced Ironman Lake Stevens 70.3. I had been training for the race but decided at the last minute not to do it because I had traveled to San Francisco, Napa Valley and San Jose the week before and had too much booze and horrible food sloshing around my system to feel prepared to tackle a half Ironman. Nonetheless, I watched the race anyway to cheer on my friends and the BFG. A word of advice to any triathletes out there reading this: if you’re thinking of racing Ironman Lake Stevens, don’t. First of all, Lake Stevens sucks. If Washington state had a hillbilly cousin, Lake Stevens would be that hillbilly cousin’s poo-crusted butthole. It’s such a crappy town that the only thing the official Ironman race catalogs can advertise about the area is that it has a Buzz Inn Steakhouse, which looks about as classy as the bar where Jodie Foster got raped in The Accused. The town literally consists of this skeezy restaurant, a Subway, a crappy foodmart, a burger shack, and, inexplicably, a town museum (maybe they wanted to commemorate the day they scored a Subway franchise). To answer your next question, no, there are no hotels in Lake Stevens, so if you’re thinking of flying in to do this race then lucky you, you get to stay in Everett or a neighboring city. (And no, Seattle is not “twenty minutes away,” as I heard one race official tell someone over the phone; it’s more like 50 minutes.) Secondly, the “lake” part of Lake Stevens is filthy. It smells terrible and is full of garbage. When Jason swam in it the day before the race, he said the bottom of the lake was littered with beer cans and junk. Teresa said she spotted an old rusted chair while swimming. Jason and his dad once saw a half-submerged mattress in the lake after they finished a bike ride, and I had the pleasure of experiencing an obese kid with a rat tail throwing firecrackers into the lake as I was standing in it for a post-workout ice bath. This lake is the town’s urinal — they don’t give a crap about it and they certainly don’t take care of it, so excuse me for not wanting to pay a couple hundred dollars to do a race that involves swimming in it for 1.2 miles. Thirdly, the bike course is horrible. It’s two loops and is a challenge for sure, with a few tough hills, a lot of false flats, and many twists and turns. However, what I hate most about the course is that the town’s inhabitants are so mean and inconsiderate to cyclists that it makes for a stressful, miserable ride. Every time I’ve ridden the course I’ve had some redneck in a Ford F-150 angrily honk at me as he passes me at 50 mph. And surprise surprise, Ironman didn’t close off the course during the actual race so my friends said they kept getting passed by jerks in cars who would angrily swerve and honk at all of the cyclists who were racing. Jesus Christ, this race is one day out of the year — you’d think that these a-holes could show some courtesy and put up with a few hours of inconvenience, but no, they’ve gotta get to Walmart or a monster truck rally or a Larry the Cable Guy viewing party or wherever the hell they’re rushing to. The cherry on top of this turd sundae was the expo hall for the race. Race organizers had the expo hall in Everett, because, as I’ve...

My friend Colleen sent me this video of a triathlon trainer talking about the negative experience he and some of his athletes had while practicing the course in Lake Placid: Dude, if someone threw a tray of mustard at me while I was riding, I would freak the eff out and go apeshit on him. Then again, I can’t stand mustard, but still, that’s so not...

I’m finally getting around to writing my race recap of Ironman Boise 70.3. In a nutshell, it didn’t go great. In fact, everything that could go wrong pretty much did go wrong, except for the fact that I didn’t have any mechanical problems on the bike or any flat tires. Other than that, Boise was a bust but I still managed to PR by 20 minutes. Prologue The half Ironman was on a Saturday and boasted a point-to-point bike course (meaning two transition areas instead of one) and a 2 pm start. On paper that sounded awesome — you got to sleep in instead of getting up at butt crack of dawn o’clock, and you could get a proper meal instead of choking down oatmeal. Huzzah! I put off signing up until the week of the race because I had been having knee problems lately and wanted to make sure my body felt healthy before shelling out a couple hundred dollars for the race. Unfortunately for me, they closed online registration the week of the race so I had to sign up in person. Traveling to the Race Jason and I loaded up the Subee, strapped our bikes onto the hitch and drove the 8 excruciatingly boring hour drive through eastern Washington, most of Oregon and into Boise. The drive pretty much consisted of the following: brown nothingness brown nothingness brown nothingness ridiculous thunderstorm brown nothingness Pre-Race Preparations We finally got to Boise, and the next day Jason and I headed to the Expo Center to pick up our registration packet. I had to sign up in person and was forced to bequeath my unborn child over to the Ironman brand (Jesus Christ, race-day sign up is so freakin’ expensive). I also decided to rent race day wheels to see what they were like. They were kind of pricey but still tons cheaper than buying a set of race wheels (which can cost $2,000 and up). After Jason and I finished up at the Expo Hall, we drove over to the swim start so we could drop off our bikes at T1. After a test bike ride, we got in the water for a 10 minute swim, and holy hell was that water cold. I flailed around for a couple meters before running into a group of idiot kids who thought it was a good idea to take a dip in the sub-60 degree water in bikinis and swim trunks. I had the following conversation with one of them: Him: “Are you still cold even in your scuba suit?” Me: “Yeah, this water is pretty cold.” Him: “I’m freezing! How much did your scuba suit cost?” Me: “It’s not a scuba suit, it’s a wetsuit.” Him: “Oh…how much did your wetsuit cost?” Me: “$650.” Him: “Really? I only have $5…how much does it cost to rent a wetsuit?” At that point I was thinking, “Screw you, junior, I’m not lending you my suit,” so I swam off and finished my miserable workout. Race Day The next morning we woke up and went downstairs to eat breakfast in the hotel’s dining area. I grabbed a bowl of cereal but upon looking down at it, I felt a sudden wave of nausea overtake me so I only managed to poke at it with my spoon and not eat anything. When we got back to our room I promptly threw up. Twenty minutes later I yakked again, barfing up water and foamy stomachy goodness. Jason looked at me with a mixture of empathy and disgust, asking if I was feeling okay and if I should race. I called Teresa for advice. Teresa:...

It’s been a while since I’ve posted (traveling and work has keep me occupied), but I thought I’d finally introduce a new series I’ve been wanting to blog about for a while now. I’ve tentatively dubbed it “It Ain’t Easy Being a Triathlete,” but for brevity’s sake I’ll just call them “Triathlete Woes.” For my very first woe I thought I’d talk about something that, well, bugs me about training: the bugs. I’ve run through countless gnat clouds and have had to pick teeny bug carcasses off my sweaty face. Trust me, few people can pull off the “bug beard” look, and I am not one of them. I’ve also eaten/inhaled many a bug while running and biking, causing me to choke and sputter as the creature unsuccessfully attempts to escape out of my stomach and lungs. I think the absolute worst, though, is when you’re biking over 20 mph and a frickin’ bug bounces right off your face. You hear that “THWACK” noise and feel a heavy sting as a blurry black object ricochets off your cheek, and you immediately think “Ewwww.” So true. (Diagram courtesy of Indexed) Last year I did a 50 mile ride in Yakima, and I was riding along a long, open stretch of highway when I felt something bounce off my inner thigh. I didn’t think anything of it until about ten seconds later when I felt a sharp, searing pain on the inside of my leg. I stopped and hopped off my bike to inspect what the hell had happened. It turned out that a freakin’ bee flew towards my leg ass-first and stung me. I had a sting mark on my inner thigh for the entire summer. This year I went back and did the same Yakima ride, only I rode about 62 miles. As I started, I jokingly thought to myself “I better not get stung by a bee this time around.” No sooner did I think that when I felt a series of stinging, sharp pains under my boob. I panicked and smooshed/itched at the area until the sensation subsided. Eventually I forgot about it until later that day when I was stripping down to take a shower and discovered smashed bug carcasses stuck to my chest. Those little effers had flown down my shirt, got trapped in my sports bra, and decided to bite me over and over again until I crushed them against my bony bosom. What the hell?! So yeah, triathletes are like little bug magnets. Every triathlete I know has had some sort of bug encounter (most recently, Jason forgot his pair of sunglasses for a ride and had a bug bounce directly off his eyeball). I know that protein’s good for athletes, but I’m getting tired of sucking face with gnats. I mean, the least they could do is buy me a drink...

In part 2 of my three part bullshit series, I thought I’d talk about the bullshittiness that is biking. My trainer scheduled us for a 55 mile bike ride over the weekend, and since it was a sunny, lovely day on Saturday we decided to finally break free from the bike trainers and our stuffy, dark living room and allow our bicycles to touch actual pavement. Jason insisted that we do the Ironman Lake Stevens 70.3 course, to which I begrudgingly obliged. We rode the course twice last year, and I hated it both times. It’s a fairly technical course, with a lot of turns and a number of irritating hills. Also, it’s in Lake Stevens, which means that as you’re riding you get passed by huge pickup trucks that blare their horns at you for daring to venture out on the road in anything that’s not Hemi-equipped. Our track record with Lake Stevens isn’t great. The first time we rode it went okay, but we were with a giant group who actually knew where they were going. The second time we did the course, Jason’s friend broke his rear derailleur while miserably cranking up a hill and had to wait around in a combination general store/bait and tackle shop while Jason and I rode back to the car so we could pick him up. (Naturally, we got lost on the way back.) This time around, we packed up our bike stuff and headed to Jason’s parents’ house to meet up with his dad who also wanted to ride the course. We got to “downtown” Lake Stevens (meaning the street with the Subway), parked, used the bathroom, checked our maps and ventured off for our hardcore 55 mile bike ride. When we came to the first intersection we immediately made the wrong decision and ventured in the completely opposite direction of where we were supposed to head. We biked for about 4 miles before realizing that we had to be horribly lost because we ended up riding directly into a construction zone. Barriers were placed right up against the white line, forcing us into the lane as hoards of vehicles zoomed past us. I prayed that I wouldn’t get clipped by a car while trying not to pass out from the mixture of exhaust fumes and construction stink. After another mile or two we managed to wrangle free from the construction zone and stopped to check our maps again. We found the road that led back to where we parked, so we decided to take it all the way to the starting point so we could get our bearings and find the proper course. After riding for a bit, we stopped again to check the map to make sure we were on the right track. It was at this point when Jason’s dad realized he had broken a rear bike spoke. Great. Okay, Plan B: Ride back to the car, head to Jason’s parents’ house so his dad could swap out the tire with his other bike’s spare rim, then find a new goddamn course that’s easy to navigate and relatively free of toxic fumes. We rode onward: me in front, Jason a bit behind me and his dad bringing up the rear with his broken spoke. I was pedaling pretty steadily when I happened to run over something pretty hard with my front tire. I had about enough time to mentally utter “Shit” before my tire imploded. GAHHHH. I stopped and Jason rode up next to me, exclaiming that he had heard my tire pop when it happened (and he had been a ways behind me). I started...