I'll be honest, I've had a real crapper of a day. ....just one of those days you wish you'd never gotten out of bed. Everything was going wrong, I was getting pulled in a million different directions, equipment malfunctions, and a mountain of training to contend with as well (which I am still not done with, so I have to be brief here. FOCUS, DEDE!).....

Anyway, back to my crapper of a day. I was in a pissy mood and getting pissier by the minute.

And then.....like that....on a dime.....a 180.

I got an email from an old friend. Not a friend who is old, but a friend I've known a long time.

She wrote to a bunch of us old friends; friends who don't get to see each other as much as we'd like to. In her email, she told us about a tradition they have at Harvard that she'd learned about recently when she hired a recent Harvard graduate.

They have a tradition at Harvard where graduating seniors write an essay of retrospection. "Senior captains and representatives of varsity teams write a Senior Perspective essay and then they compile all of them into a book and hand them out at a Senior Letterwinner's Dinner," she said. "(this) essay and it brought back so much incredibly strong memories of all of you guys and how special it was to be a on team with each of you - so thanks for the smiles, laughs, trials and tribulations that we all shared together - As we get older, I still look back on our college days as some of the finest of my life!"

Here is the essay:

"“What are you doing over Christmas break?” That’s a questions I’ve been asked numerous times, like many other people while growing up. My answer was always the same. “Training. Swimming,” I would say anxiously, and a little jealous of my classmates who would enjoy a week of sleeping in and movie-watching. Quickly that emotion would leave me as I would tell myself that all my hard work would pay off. And pay off it did indeed.

My answer to this question would change once I made it to Harvard. I would say, “I’m spending it with my team.” While my break would still be spent swimming and training, I would be given the added bonus of saying I was going to Puerto Rico, Key West, St. Croix, or Barbados. The difference between my breaks at Harvard and my breaks at home was more than just the destination, however. My change in answer says it all. I was part of a team, part of something bigger than me. I was no longer training in the hopes that my hard work would benefit myself, I was training so that an incredible group of young women would have faith in their ability to lean on me.

Growing up, swimming was never a team sport to me. I competed for myself, against a clock without any regard for team scores. When I was being recruited, the Harvard coach called me and I told her exactly this. Thankfully, she saw an ability to change me, or perhaps she knew the magic her team, in particular, carried. Before I arrived at Harvard as a freshman I felt my experience over the next four years would be one completely different from my previous ones as a swimmer.

Unlike many other nervous freshmen arriving at Harvard eager to make friends, I had thirty of them before I even arrived. I had a group of girls who would prove to be there when I needed and who would support me in countless endeavors. They would be the first to congratulate me, wish me luck, and comfort me. We would say every year that the current team was a special one, one capable of doing great things, and I believed this from the moment I stepped onto the team.

The environment at Harvard can be a competitive and stressful one. Throughout my four years I felt that walking over the bridge was like crossing into another world. It was a place to leave all that behind and spend some time in the water where I belonged. Even when the idea of a tough practice seemed daunting, knowing I would be working for and alongside my team made it seem welcoming. Whenever I was having a rough day, I knew there had to be someone else within this large group of girls who needed me to help get them through whatever obstacle we were being thrown. Knowing that I could be someone else’s encouragement was enough to make me realize that their problems were mine and mine were theirs. We were united in a way that meant our lives would become entangled and overlap beyond the pool.
Having the opportunity to lead this magnificent group as co-captain this past year was the biggest honor that I could have been presented with at Harvard. This team of young women who I had relied on was choosing me to lean on in the biggest of ways. I just hoped that I could give back in this time even half of what I felt the team had given to me over the first three years. I anticipated welcoming the freshmen, supporting the sophomores, and encouraging the juniors to see how they were the inspiration for much of the team. I can only hope that I left the team with fond memories and maybe a few lessons.

My years over the bridge at Blodgett Pool will be some of my most unforgettable. These moments helped me realize that my time at Harvard was not about what I accomplished as much as who I encountered. I do not know if I will ever have the honor of standing alongside thirty strong women behind a single cause again in my life. I do know that even if a similar situation arises, I will forever remember my team at Harvard as teaching me the emotional significance of working for more than myself. They taught me that I can be a part of something bigger, something extraordinary."

So thanks, Harvard grad, for writing what so many of us who swam together on extraordinary teams at extraordinary universities have thought, but who may not have put it down on paper. My Stanford girls are a group of uncommon girls with whom I share a bond that is hard to describe; except to other swimmers who have swum with other extraordinary girls....and even then, it's not the same. Some immeasurable bonds grew out of that 50 meter x 25 yard x 4.5-8.5 foot deep tank of water. I value more, those friendships and bonds than any I've developed since (well, except for maybe with Davey G). Who knew that out of all that suffering could come such remarkable good?

So thank you, Janel, for turning my day around and sharing that memory with us and for reminding me that even all these years later, when I am having a crapper of a day, I still have extraordinary teammates who have my back!

Hail Stanford!

Where does it all go? All that juicy fitness I busted my butt from November to May to build? One Ironman race. One easy recovery week of about 5-6 hours of training. And suddenly I don’t even feel like an athlete anymore.

Shameful.

Depressing.

Reality.

So after my week “off”, I’ve gotten back to work. The first week? OK, I could laugh it off as easy as the next guy; extraordinary case of squat-ass (now an honest to goodness medical condition, thanks to Kevin Burns….I knew you were on my side!), Z1 paces that were off the charts (and not the right end of the chart), Z1 wattage that couldn’t fuel a pen light……sure, it’s easy to laugh. …..for the first week.

Now into the second week, and I am starting to feel like the joke is on me. Though there are signs of hope.

Last week, I went out for a 35’ ZR run. ZR is really easy. “Stupid easy” as my coach calls it. My max HR for ZR is sometimes achieved just standing up from the couch, so you get my drift on how slow ZR is on most days. Anyway, last week, I said to DaveyG, “Hey, I am doing an easy run. Wanna come?”

DaveyG and I don’t often get to train together, so with me just coming back from an Ironman and DaveyG getting his legs back under him after a couple months of not being able to train, it was a perfect opportunity for both of us to suck together.

We set out, and before I knew it, “Sorry, babe. I have to slow down. Too fast.” So we slowed down. 30 seconds later, “Sorry…..still to fast.”

This continued for the first 20’ of the run. I kept looking at my HR. “Crap, too fast”. Slow down. “Crap, too fast.” Slow down.

I actually started feeling bad for Dave. Could we run ANY slower? I kept apologizing for how slow I had to run. DaveyG, as always, so supportive. “You have to start somewhere. This really isn’t that slow,” he said, as a woman in a business suit and 3 inch heals walked buy us, while talking on her cell phone. And sipping a non-fat, no whip, soy latte.

This week, DaveyG came with me again. Same drill. 35 minute run. Zone R. About 12 minutes in, we actually PASSED someone! (and exchanged a celebratory fist bump). In all, 4 people passed during our ZR run last night! 4!!!! AND, we averaged 1:03 per MILE faster than a week ago, at the same HR.

So no; don’t think I’ll be busting out a sub 4:00 mile any time soon, but hey, it’s progress and we all gotta start (back) somewhere!

Some new toys added to my stock this week!

Brand new, GORGEOUS Kestrel 4000. (kiss, kiss). LOVE this bike. Feels great, handles better, fits best ever. And let’s face it…..it’s hot!



























Then, because my life isn’t filled with enough torture, Coach Jesse “suggested” these: Power Cranks. Imagine the hours of torture, the 4-letter expletives, the paralyzed hip flexor muscles. I had my first ride on them just this morning….you know….to see how long I could make it. Didn’t bother putting bike shorts on. Didn’t figure I’d be riding that long. Yep. 5 minutes, 22 seconds. I know. I’m a rock star.



























So yeah, the weeks of post-Ironman aren’t the most satisfying, the most confidence instilling, the most impressive displays of athleticism. Still, when DaveyG sits down to a steak dinner, and I get to look over at this face…..I know, there’s no place like home and it’s good to be back home and into the swing of things.

So I made it home from Brazil. Sounds simple enough. All you gotta do is sit on a plane, right?

Not when traveling with “The Travel Gods Must Hate You Griesbauer”.

Somehow my travel plans called for a 10 hour layover in the Sao Paulo airport. Clearly my travel agent (me) wasn’t thinking when I booked these tickets. Still, facing a 10 hour layover, I was armed with the most valuable asset a traveler could have; an Admiral’s Club Membership!

Prior to my trip, I’d consulted with Admiral’s Club staff (both the customer service call in center, and in person at the Miami club on my outbound flight…..I’m anal that way – like to double check EVERYthing. Not proud…..just sayin’….) Because the Admiral’s Club is on the other side of security, and because the American Airlines employees don’t get to the check-in counter until 4PM, I needed to figure out how to pass security so that I could sit in the far comfier Admiral’s Club, complete with free wireless, and more importantly, free food and drink! Both my sources confirmed; so long as I had pre-printed my boarding pass, I’d be fine to clear security and relax in relative tranquility.

Pre-printing a boarding pass seemed easy enough, but because the travel gods hate me, our hotel had no internet access the last 24 hours I was there, so I dragged my new favorite friends, Justin and Jason, to an internet café at 11:30 PM (I wasn’t real thrilled to be wandering out alone that late at night) to procure said boarding pass.

So with boarding pass in hand, I could nearly taste the delightful little finger sandwiches they serve in the Admiral’s Club. I was off the core for the week, so for once, I was anticipating getting to eat what looked good, instead of laboring over the CHO content and how eating whatever I was contemplating eating would throw my numbers for the week.

And as quickly as I could say “finger sandwich”, my plan was thwarted. The security guard looked at my boarding pass and started saying in Portuguese, “No free food and drink for you.” At least that’s what it sounded like to me.

I was turned away. I went to the AA ticket counter and was met by the most rude woman I think I have ever met in my life. I explained my situation to her and despite the huge sign in the ticket office that said “Admiral’s Club; available all day”, I was made to understand that what the sign really meant was “Available all day, but here in Brazil, “all day” means only after 4PM, so despite the fact that you've paid a hefty membership fee to utilize this service, it's a service we are going to provide you access to only sporadically, even though we've told you otherwise, so settle in, sweetheart. You are stuck in the plastic chairs, without internet access, and there’s a McDonnalds in terminal 2”.

Right then.

I was pissed. And I sent a strongly worded email to the Admiral’s Club (for which I paid nearly $10USD for internet access in an internet café). That didn’t make me feel that much better, so I wandered to McDonnalds and had a McFlurry and that helped soothe the beast a little.

I did ultimately make it home, after some 27 hours of travel. My bike arrived after some 33 hours of travel.

My “down week” which wasn’t “down” as in sad or bad, but down in terms of training which means not off, but light, was busy. Wednesday, I took a nap and did laundry. Thursday, I re-assembled my bike, did more laundry, and in general, got stuff put away. By Friday, I was on the road again; off to the Rev3 Quassy race where I’d been invited to do live commentary on the women’s pro race.

The travel gods kicked in again in Connecticut, as when I arrived, I found that I didn’t have a hotel room. “Clerical error”. I wasn’t on the list, and was told there were no rooms, when in fact, there were 9 available. While I was slightly panicked, as after calls to 6 other hotels, I was still shut out, I tried to look on the bright side; at least I could speak the language. Getting out of a travel pinch when you are fluent in the language you are trying to speak is loads easier than when you can’t speak or understand what is being spoken to you.

In the end, the travel gods took pity and I found an available room in a hotel that was a mere 3 miles from the race site. Happy day!

The Rev3 race was fun; though I learned I much prefer being a part of the action and not describing the action!
And before I knew it, it was Monday; back on the core (no more McFlurry), back to a full training load. In honor of day 1, I was greeted with 5 x 800 in the pool on Monday morning.

It’s amazing to me how quickly it feels like the fitness disappears. When a mere week before, I clobbered the swim course in Brazil with complete easy, yet during my 5 x 800 main set, I got suddenly panicky after 3, looking nervously about the pool deck for a life guard.

Day 1 got a little worse when I headed back to the gym to start our heavy lifting phase all over again. The 3rd exercise on the list? 3 x 3 chin ups. Or in my case, 1 chin up, and then the hang. Oy. A wake up call that we are firmly back at square one!

But after day 1, there is a day 2. And while day 2 has met me with a soreness from day 1, rendering me near useless, I have to laugh (well, not really, because my abs are so sore, it hurts to laugh)….we have to start somewhere! And it’s all about the journey!

It’s been a few days since I raced Ironman Brazil. I’ve been waiting for a wave of inspiration for a blog worthy update, but if I am being honest? I got nuthin’. Maybe it’s the exhaustion brought on by 9 ½ hours of racing, followed by 3 nights of little or no sleep, coupled with over 24 hours of traveling, but still…..my mind is blank.

Maybe too, it’s because I have such mixed feelings about the whole trip. It was so great, and so frustrating at the same time, that I think I’ve just come out neutral.

Once I finally arrived in Brazil, travel traumas behind me, the race week itself was pretty quiet and uneventful. I got the most awesome-est chance to visit with my dear friends, Hillary Biscay and Amanda Balding, and their respective honey’s Maik Twelsiek and Luke McKenzie. Maik was there supporting Hillary, as he’d raced IM-Lanza the week before (as did Hillary, the freaking beast, but we all know they broke the mold on her, so Maik did NOT opt for back-to-back IM races!) and Luke went on to very quietly and confidently smash the course record, become the first non-South American male to win IM-Brazil in like a million years or something and then party the night away on Monday night in a battery operated shirt. Truly impressive.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

Race week was quiet and as usual, as the race day approached, I was filled with that tortuous mixture of excitement and dread. Excitement to see how all this new training was going to work out for me in the end, and dread because let’s be honest, while we all love the sport, there is a fair amount of dread and anxious build up that comes with the territory.

One of the ironies of the week; WTC had asked me and several of the pros to be guests at the Executive Challenge dinner during the race week. I had agreed, but was kind of dreading it for a lot of reasons. But, because I knew it was the right thing to do, and because, in my heart, I care more about the athletes in the sport and less about the politics and the proverbial BS, I agreed to go.

It ended up being the highlight of the trip, as I met some truly fantastic athletes who I am now, proud to call friends. I think we, as pros, were inspired by these athletes, their entrepreneurial spirit (many working for companies they started themselves), their ability to juggle challenging roles in business with the demands of Ironman training with family life, etc. I think they were wide eyed to get a look behind our lives; the sacrifices we’ve made to make a career of this sport, the effort and attention to detail we put into our training and some of the challenges we face as pros in a small, still fledgling sport.

But back to race week.

I had a couple pre-race massages during race week. Now, I am not that shy, as lord knows, I’ve done more than a million deck changes in my life, peed along many sides of a road, more standing beside a shrub than actually hiding in it. However, stripping down completely naked and being massaged sans draping was a new experience for me; and not altogether relaxing, if I am being honest. By the second pre-race massage, I was at least prepared for the experience, but when my female massage therapist willingly invited a male massage therapist into the room for a quick consultation, I must say, ……it was an experience definitely filed in the “new” folder. Parts is parts, I suppose. We all got ‘em.

As for the race itself, well, I’ll be honest; it was disappointing not to defend my title. I’ve come to love IM-Brazil over the 3 years I have done it. I wanted nothing more than to defend my title there. I fought hard, raced my race to the best of my ability, but I got beat. It broke my heart just a little, but I could not have done more on the day, and so for that, I can not be disappointed. It wasn’t a perfect race for me, so from it, I take away a valuable learning experience that will help shape the second half of the year of training and racing.

As for my trip home? Well, it’s over; for me, anyway. My bike is still MIA. If possible, travel home was worse than travel down, but I am just too darn tired to re-live it all.

I’ve got a light week this week of training, get to eat what I want, when I want (but if I am being honest, I am already sort of over it), and we’ll be back to work on Monday and start the road toward Kona.

Obrigado e adeus!

PS – if anyone knows how to resolve this toe issue I have going on, I welcome your input. And yes, DaveyG is a lucky man!!