I Might Be Able To Forgive You, Lance Armstrong

If Lance Armstrong is found guilty of doping, I may just have to forgive him.

The fact is that I hate that there is doping in sports.  The idea that people cheat, using illegal and possibly dangerous drugs, is disturbing.  It makes sports more dangerous and less fun.

In full disclosure, I sort of dope, especially during the winter and allergy season.  I am on a daily regime of Zyrtec (OTC), Cingulair and Advair (the baby dose, usually), and I will take one shot of Xopenex before engaging in athletic activities.  I have a doctor’s prescription for all my drugs and they serve the purpose of addressing symptoms such as sneezing, runny nose, watery eyes and my inability to breath normally (Cingulair, Advair and Xopenex are all targeted at allowing my lungs to function normally) caused by my allergies.  During the winter, I drop the Zyrtec, but I keep up my asthma-drug regimen to address my athletic induced asthma.  I try to take a break from drugging myself during the summer when the hot air helps to mitigate the effects of athletic induced asthma.

But, enough about me. 

This past year, Barry Bonds was tried and found guilty of obstruction of justice for lying to a federal grand jury about the fact that had used illegal, performance enhancing drugs (which are also known as PEDs).  Bonds was acquitted of some of the charges levied against him and a mistrial was declared on other charges, but that is getting away from the point. 

What is amazing to me is that the charges levied against Barry Bonds are child’s play relative to the charges that could potentially be leveled against Lance Armstrong (yes, that “Live Strong”, Sheryl Crow’s ex, Lance Armstrong).  The U.S. Department of Justice has asked Interpol officials, including French, Belgian and Italian officials, for help in gathering information on an alleged international doping program, allegedly formed and utilized by Armstrong and his U.S. Postal Service cycling team.  Charges of fraud and conspiracy may be pursued and phone and bank records are being gathered by the DOJ.  Agents from the FBI, IRS, DEA and the FDA are all involved in the investigation, with the DOJ serving as the lead agency.  This is much bigger than the Roger Clemens or Barry Bonds investigations ever were.

So this past Wednesday I hopped on to an “Expresso Bike” at the Scarsdale (ooh, fancy – but not really) New York Sports Club.  For those of you who were too lazy to click on the link above or would have a difficult time navigating multiple windows on your smartphone, an Expresso Bike is a high tech exercise bike.  The bicycle has toggles on the handlebars that allow you to shift gears up and down and there is a screen, which displays a scenic route, in front of the bicycle.  Before you start peddling, you choose a route from one of the many route options, each of which has different scenery, ascents, descents, distances and difficulties.  There are other riders on the screen, you can pass them or they can pass you depending on your speed, the scenery changes (as I was riding a horse started galloping next to me, which was a wonderful, yet strange experience – mostly because I was enjoying the feeling of being in touch with nature, and then I realized that it was in a basement in a gym), you have a speed gauge, your RPMs are displayed and you can see your progress on the course.  It is imperative to keep up with gear shifts, which can be rapid, because you can get mashed by steep ascents that pop up quickly and you can miss the opportunity to take advantage of descents.  Anyway, I finished a 13.66 mile course in 1 hour and 3 minutes, moving at a sloth-like 13 miles per hour (I need to bicycle 25 miles in the triathlon).  I was absolutely spent.  The ascent of 900+ feet killed me.  What is crazy is that this would be a joke of an easy day on the Tour de France.  My pace was pathetically slow.

So here is the thing – I cannot forgive Barry Bonds, Jose Conseco and other PED users who play(ed) baseball.  Baseball players get to bat 4 times, maybe 5 times, per game, swinging a 2.5 pound bat 12 – 25 times a game…that isn’t that tough.  Baseball players might sprint after a ball, running 100 – 200 feet 10 to 15 times a game.  I know that they need to have lightning fast reflexes and would like to hit the ball a long way and pitchers need to throw a ball fast, and they all need to recover from injuries.  However, the stresses on baseball players’ bodies pale in comparison to the torture that football players or, as I am learning, professional cyclists endure. 

All I am saying is that after a little more than (a mere) 13 miles in a little more than 1 hour (forget a Tour De France, which is a 3 week, 2,200 mile ride – yes, that is approximately 100 miles/day – up fantastically steep mountains), I think I could have easily gone for a PED or two.  It would have made walking up the steps @ NYSC much, much easier.

The Mother Run

After running Cinco De Miles for Cinco De Mayo, I felt obligated to create a cheesy-titled run that was inspired by Mothers Day.  The result: The Mother Run.  With no milage requirement implicit in the name "The Mother Run," I had to look to the name of the run for guidance on the distance of the run.  It took me only a moment to realize that this run had to be bigger and badder than any run that I had ever done before (sure, there had only been three...but, it's what I've got).  So, this past Sunday, after BBQing for 11 people at my house (chicken, hot dogs and burgers, for those of you who are curious), cleaning up and putting the kids to bed (all with assistance from family, of course - did you think that I was that good of a person?), I ran longer and harder than I had ever run in my life - I ran 6 miles [queue the smattering of applause from a not-too-impressed group of readers].  I returned from my run at 9:45pm, and as I pried my sneakers off of my feet I truly understood what it felt like to be a mother; I was dead tired and could barely wait to get to bed.

PLUG FOR SPONSORSHIPS: Please donate to an amazing cause and force inspire me to finish this triathlon.  Sure, I ran 6 miles, but I didn't have to swim for a mile and bike for 25 miles before the run.  You can donate directly using your credit card here: http://pages.teamintraining.org/wch/wchtri11/aspiraq31y.  Thank you for your support!

Cinco de Miles for Cinco de Mayo

With today being Cinco De Mayo, I was inspired to run 5 miles on the 5^th day of the 5^th month of the year.  I decided that I would reward myself with a margarita when I finished my run.  Of course, I felt strongly about celebrating Cinco de Mayo because of my deep Mexican roots, which extends as far as a single trip to Acapulco, Mexico when I was about six years-old (I remember 3 things: (i) I got a really nasty sunburn; (ii) there was a guy who worked on the beach named “Watusee” who had something like 20/10 vision and could see things that no one else could; and (iii) there were sharks in the water, so I was too scared to go into the ocean) and 2 years of high school Spanish with Señora Posnik, who I believe was originally from Mexico… or maybe she vacationed there, whatever.

I am happy to report that I am alive and well (better now, with una cervesa in me) after completing my 5 mile run.  And, I want to make it clear that I know that Cinco de Miles is grammatically incorrect; I think it means “five, which belong to miles.”  I don’t really know, but please chime in if you do.  Incidentally, I am glad that all that time and effort that I spent on high school Spanish was an absolute and utter waste.

Finally, I am still flummoxed, confused and confounded by the physical action of drinking and running at the same time.  Currently, what I have worked out is a mechanism that is rather similar to drinking horrible tasting alcohol, such as bad tequila or cheap whiskey – I gather the drink in my mouth, hold my breath and in a single, large gulp I down the contents, sort of like a shot.  If anyone has any suggestions, ideas or recommendations regarding classes or a degree program that I can enroll in where I can learn how to drink while running, I would appreciate it.  I am thinking of Tivo-ing marathons and watching the runners drink in slow motion – I am getting that desperate.

Just a point of clarification, I drink Powerade while running and, unfortunately, not margaritas, tequila or whiskey. 

An Open Apology to Woggers

Dear Wogger,

You know who you are and I owe you an apology.  I have laughed at you and mocked you over the years.  Though I looked down on your clunky, ugly, gray New Balance sneakers and your too-short running shorts, your dress code was never at the heart of my mocking thoughts and scornful looks. 

It was your speed.

Wogger, I mocked you because, though you intended to jog, you moved at the pace of a walk.  Your leg muscles strained, your arms swung back and forth and your sweat-stained shirt all said “run”, yet, sadly, your body responded with “walk”.  Your aspirations were those of a jogger, your reality was that of a walker.  Thus, I dubbed you “Wogger.” 

 “Is that really the best you can do?”

 “That’s just sad.”

“Why don’t you just walk?”

I apologize for these thoughts, for my haughty manner, for my better-than-you attitude, because I have been humbled.  You see, I am now a Wogger, and I am the slowest type of Wogger there is.  I came to this realization as I watched gap grow between me and the fifty-something year-old man who was slowly walking his dog.  Though I was “jogging”, his meandering pace was somehow faster than my own.

So to you, Woggers of the world, I say that I now know that you wog because you refuse to stop.  You wog because you are tired, but refuse to be limited by your body.  You wog, though you are in pain, because you are mentally strong.

I wog because I am in horrible shape.       

(Short-lived) Optimism

Friends and acquaintances who had participated in last year’s triathlon brainwashed encouraged me to sign up for this year’s event, promising that if they could finish, so could I. 

I bought the lie.  I drank the Kool Aid. 

Full of exuberance, devoid of a reality check, I laced up for my first run; nothing too aggressive, just a 30 minute jog.  With sneakers laced up, ipod playlist ready to go and optimism oozing out of my pores, I took off.  I made it half way down the block before a very powerful thought pounded through every corner of my head, “THIS IS A BAD IDEA, TURN AROUND RIGHT NOW!” 

Here is what went wrong: (i) everything hurt, right away; (ii) my breathing was out of control (thank you, asthma!); and (iii) I realized that I had no desire to subject myself to the pain and discomfort and that I was experiencing for another 29 minutes and 30 seconds.  I kept running.

To keep this post on the shorter side, here are some highlights from my 2.75 mile, 30 minute run:

1)     I figured out that my strategy for running needs to be to run as far away from my house as I can until I am sure that I am ready to pass out, and that is when I turn around.  I start to feel like I can’t run anymore at around .2 miles from my house, which is why I wait until I am sure that I am going to pass out, which takes longer.

2)     I discovered that I am unable to do two things at the same time when jogging, namely run and breath, run and think, or run (even slowly) and drink at the same time.  I have been told that drinking while running is something that everyone needs to work on at the beginning, so I don’t feel so bad.  My inability to accurately switch songs on an ipod is by far the most troubling fact.  I feel rather inadequate about this.

3)     I am in horrible shape, despite playing soccer (indoor and outdoor), basketball, softball and taking a boxing class (not all the time, but usually 2 – 3 activities a week).  Apparently, I watch a lot more of the game than I play in it.

Three is the Magic Number

The only way that I know that I am going to finish a triathlon (of any distance) is to do three things (i) set specific goals; (ii) make sure I have a strong support and training system; and (iii) expose myself to public humiliation and ridicule if I don't compete and complete my goals.

My goals: Raise $3,333 for The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, lose 33 pounds and finish the triathlon in under 3 hours, 33 minutes and 33 seconds.

Quite frankly, I am skeptical of my ability to acheive any of these goals (stay tuned for my next post to learn why... but let's just say that my first 30 minute training run was a train wreck of sorts). However, with your support (financially, please!) I promise to physically challenge/abuse myself to the extent necessary to meet or excede all my goals.

For those who want additional info: I've joined Skippy's Team and will race in the Jarden Westchester Triathlon, which is an olympic length triathlon (.9 mile swim, 25 mile bike, 6.2 mile run - and for those that are curious, the Ironman Triathlon is a 2.4 mile swim, 112 miles bike ride and 26.2 miles run, which is about the most insane thing I have ever heard of), on September 25, 2011.  Tick, tock, tick, tock... less than 5 months to go.