When I got back from Hawaii I checked my training schedule to see what sort of torture Teresa had in store for me that weekend. She wanted me to do the Flying Wheels century ride, so I met my teammates at Marymoor Park at about 7:45 am on Saturday to get situated. I hadn’t thought much of the ride going into the workout and just figured a steady bike ride in zone 1-2 would be a piece of cake compared to the windy hellfest I endured in Hawaii the week before. Once I got there, however, I realized that the ride would be much crappier than I initially figured for a couple of reasons. First of all, my mind still must have been in warm, humid Hawaii mode because I was underdressed for the ride. The weather report said it would get to low 60’s but the entire day was overcast and I remained half-frozen throughout the entire workout. Secondly, before I even started the ride I realized my front tire was partially flat. I found that perplexing since I had pumped up my tires before I left my house, but instead of switching out the tube right there like a smart person would have done, I just had the REI dudes re-pump it up and hoped the mysterious disappearing air pressure was just a fluke. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t. I got a measly 40 minutes into the ride and was following my friend Kirsten up a hill when I noticed that I was working harder than usual to keep up with her. I started to wonder if my front tire had gone flat again when some dude behind me yelled, “Hey, your tire’s flat!” Guess that solved the mystery. I sighed and pulled over, watching Kirsten ride further away from me until she was out of sight. Tire Change Mode, activate! Unfortunately, Tire Change Mode was less Optimus Prime-y and more Herpy Derpy since my hands were frozen and resulted in a profound lack of dexterity. A five-minute job turned into 10+ as I fumbled to get the tire loose. Two of my teammates, Lyset and Ashley, stopped to help and were super patient as I rained expletives down on my stubborn wheel. When I finally got the new tube in, I promptly blew through a cartridge because I can never remember how to work the damn valve thing right, and I also freezer-burned my hand because I forgot that cartridges are full of COMPRESSED FREAKING AIR and was holding it like a moron while it was leaking all over the place. Thankfully, I had a backup cartridge and managed not to waste that one. Success! I rode with Lyset for a while and then we parted ways. When I rolled up to the first aid station, I figured I had to be at the halfway point because I had been riding for like an eon already. I pumped up my front tire the rest of the way at the REI tent, inhaled some chomps, and glanced at my watch, expecting to see something like “3:00:15.” It read “1:30.” Son of a bitch! The never-ending ride continued. I was starting to feel a bit lonely since I had lost my teammates, so I’d tuck in and draft behind random groups of cyclists before leapfrogging to the front in an effort to find someone I knew. When I got to the fork that split the 100-mile riders from the 65-milers, I had a Choose Your Own Adventure moment where I seriously contemplated saying “Screw this ride” and cutting it way short so I could go home and watch movies...

Last week Teresa must have weighed all her objectives and settled on one that was especially important to her: Operation Kill Rebecca’s Legs. And so she embarked on a week-long plan to destroy my little Asian stumps and succeeded quite handily. The week’s workouts weren’t too bad…who am I kidding, the entire week sucked. Let’s revisit the schedule of pain: Monday: dryland. I was already feeling kind of tired and Bridget sensed fatigue and pounced, making me do lunges, squats, burpees, and a bunch of other dumb crap because she’s sadistic and mean. Swim: Pacing/conditioning workout. Teresa tried to drown me by incorporating sculling into my workout and very nearly succeeded because I am terrible at sculling and think it shouldn’t be a thing that exists. Tuesday: track. Oh goody, a run test. I ran as hard as I could for 30 minutes, sucking in air like a Biggest Loser contestant on week one. On the plus side, I PR’d for a 5k and posted a good pace for the half hour test. On the minus side, the workout was hard and hurty and I got a wicked side stitch that hurt through the next day. Wednesday: dryland. Admittedly this wasn’t on my schedule but I had already signed up so I went anyway. Teresa showed some mercy on me and gave me minimal leg workouts so she could lull me into a false sense of security before destroying my lower limbs with the rest of the week’s workouts. Cycling class: Who gives a bike test the first day of cycling class? The TN coaches, that’s who. I emerged from this one exhausted, legs burning, and with new bike heart rate zones. Thursday: Sweet fancy Moses, a day off. I celebrated by gorging on fish and chips, a fish taco, and cupcakes from Cupcake Royale. That’s how you take advantage of a rest day. Friday: cycling. A 1:30 workout in various zones. Not too bad, but after that I had to run to… Swim: A tempo trainer swim clinic. I only ended up swimming around 800 yards and it wasn’t too taxing. I learned a lot about using the little tempo trainer device and posted my four fastest 100s ever, including a personal best of 1:33. Whaaaaaaat?! I never swim that fast. (And yes, I know that time isn’t fast for 90% of the triathlon population but it is for me. Maybe this “devote more time to swimming” strategy is starting to pay off…) After class I went out with a couple friends and had a few drinks that wouldn’t have affected Fat Rebecca but ended up giving Less Fat Rebecca a bit of a hangover. I didn’t get to bed until 2 am, which set me up for a grueling Saturday workout. Saturday: 1:35 run with tempo efforts. I was supposed to go to the group run but seeing as how that started at 8:30 and I was operating on no sleep and too many sickly sweet cocktails, I didn’t start hauling ass until about noon. The run wasn’t too bad but since it was colder than usual, I was atypically sore afterwards. I stuck my tight calves in some compression socks and headed off to a dinner party thrown by a fellow teammate. I debated sneaking off and taking a nap because I was exhausted but figured I wouldn’t get a return invite if Amanda caught me snoozing in her bed and drooling on her pillow, so I fought the good fight against consciousness and (barely) won. Sunday (aka D-Day): The triple whammy of workouts coming off a day where I was already getting pretty sore. Cycling:...

I don’t know why, but I had some faint hope that my aggro Ironman training wouldn’t really kick in until the start of 2012. One one hand, I’m really focused on hitting my workouts and pulling a Knutson and training like a hardcore mofo for Ironman Canada 2: Ironman Boogaloo. On the other hand, the holidays are fast approaching and I really want to enjoy my monthly pies, so I was hoping that I could enjoy my newly uninjured body by doing no workouts whatsoever. Wouldn’t it be great to stay thin, strong, and fast without putting in any of the hard work or effort? “Not by a long shot!” my chipper coach Teresa most likely exclaimed as she loaded up my workouts with classes and utter bullshit. For example, here are just the classes and group workouts I’ve got scheduled for this week: Monday: dryland strength class (It sucked; I was tired and Bridget made us do burpees with a biceps curl, one of the poopiest circuit workouts along with triceps pushups, which she also made us do. I hate Bridget.) Tuesday: track (in which I get to do a speed test which basically involves running as hard as you can for 30 minutes so Teresa can assign me new heart rate zones. FML.) Wednesday: dryland strength, cycling class Friday: swim class Saturday: group run Sunday: cycling class, swim class That’s not even counting the additional swims (two) bike workout (one), core workouts (two), and runs (one) I’ve got this week. Tell my wife and kids (meaning “Jason” and “pie”) that I love them, because this girl is going to be living and breathing fitness for the next 10...

Last week was the first time I swam since doing Ironman Canada at the end of August. There’s nothing quite like a 3 1/2 month break from doing something to really make you feel like you royally suck at it when you pick it back up again. I maintain that giving swimming the cold shoulder isn’t entirely my fault — when my coach puts “45 minute swim or bike” on my schedule, which option do you think I’m going to go for? The one where I can waltz over to my bike and do a spin while laughing at the poor decisions of the latest 16 and Pregnant girl, or the one where I have to dig out my swimsuit, drive to the pool, jam my crap in a locker, rinse off, hop in the pool, and swim back and forth while fighting off the limbs of Old Guy McLane Hog who’s frog kicking next to me?

Last week I spent four nights in New York City, came home for a day, went to Penticton over Memorial Day weekend to train, came home for less than 24 hours, and flew to Denver (where I am right now) for work. Despite all of the jet setting, I managed to get in a decent training weekend. I have tasted Ironman Canada, and it tastes hilly and challenging. Jas and I drove to his parents’ house to carpool up to Penticton. On the way we stopped at REI so I could pick up some leg warmers because I realized it’d likely be ass cold over the weekend and I had forgotten to pack tights. We arrived at our hotel in Summerland, unloaded the bikes, and enjoyed the overcast views of the lake. On Saturday Jason, his dad and I woke up and prepped everything for our ride. We parked a few miles from the transition area and started setting everything up when I realized that the black rolled up wad of fabric I grabbed and shoved into my bag wasn’t arm sleeves like I thought, but rather compression sleeves for my legs. Fudgers! It was going to be a gray, chilly day, and my wimpo arms were surely going to freeze without some sort of cover. Jason suggested I just wear my compression sleeves as arm warmers. I didn’t have any better options, so that’s what I did. I ended up with 90 miles of compressiony goodness, but unfortunately I realized two things after the ride: The sleeves, which typically go from under my knee to my ankle, weren’t long enough to cover my entire arm. Even though the sun wasn’t out, that doesn’t mean the rays weren’t poking through the clouds. As such, I ended the ride with this B.S.: The watch tan I’m used to. The half-forearm tan? Not so much. (I’ve grown accustomed to the hairy arms though, so deal with it.) Anyway, I started riding for a whopping minute before realizing that, no fucking way, my bike computer’s cadence sensor wasn’t working again. What the shit, I just replaced this stupid thing two weeks ago! I angrily fiddled with it for a while, and it went from not reading my cadence to not reading anything. Great, now I was going to ride 90 miles with no indication of my speed or cadence. Frustrated and fueled by rage, I took off and anger-rode for an hour. After a while, Jason appeared next to me, slightly out of breath, exclaiming, “It took me forever to catch up to you! You need to slow down!” Apparently I was averaging about 24 mph and was climbing rollers going 20. To be fair, the first 30 or 40 miles of the Canada course are pretty fast, with lots of flats/downhills and a few inconsequential hills. I pouted a bit more about my broken computer but decided to slow it down in anticipation of Richter Pass. Before we got to the pass, Jason’s dad got an epic flat by running over a huge kinked wad of wire. He wrestled it out of his tire and changed the tube but wanted to stop at a gas station to properly fill the tire with air. While he was fixing his bike, I stopped inside to use the bathroom and buy more fuel. When I came out, I saw Jason barely hiding his irritation while a filthy grifter with roughly four teeth peppered him with questions about our bikes. Apparently this Canadian mountain man had been marveling at how nice our bikes were and said that someone should build an eight person stealth bomber...