Fitness Party Lessons

I know I have rhythm, I’m a regular Solid Gold dancer with slick Latin dance moves. It’s in my Guat blood and in truth it’s one of my favorite traits. But I’ll admit I was a little nervous. I had never participated in a Zumbathon. In truth I’d never even done Zumba, but as I mentioned before it was for a good cause. So I suited up in my best Costco sweatpants and t-shirt and was on my way.

Zumbathon Logo.

I didn’t know what to expect, but I can honestly say I didn’t expect to see this type of chick there. However when I walked into the basketball gym, I saw them … Dude. There they were all decked out in their full on Zumba gear, bracelets and hats included. I thought who the hell wears a hat when they workout. I mean if it’s not a baseball cap to hide your messed up Iris Chacon-Amanda Miguel morning hair, who wears that? Who wears hats like that to sweat?  Who does that? Zumba groupies I guess. I had been informally introduced to the Zumba groupie. I’m sure you’ve seen her, she’s the kind of chick that wears makeup to workout. After this encounter I wasn’t sure I was going to be enjoying this fitness party adventure.

The Zumba Groupies

But after a while, the majority of the Zumbathon people trickled in and most of them were wearing the “normal” sweats, shorts, yoga pants and t-shirt attire. Most of them were people from my old high school, most of whom I hadn’t seen since I graduated, and I was all right with that. There’s really no need to see certain people after high school, and some of them you don’t even want to run into on Facebook. Unfortunately, they find you. But I was willing to cowboy up and have the numerous Oh-my-God!-how-have-you-been conversations for the sake of raising money for my old acquaintance battling cancer.

So after all the hello hugs, I found a spot with my buddies and began the “fitness party” adventure. I had been warned that it might be a serious workout and that I might need to take several breaks within the two-hour frame. But in truth I was all right. I felt like I was on a dance floor at a wedding, only this time I was wearing my New Balance and not some killer high heels that would emotionally and physically damage my feet. Now don’t get me wrong there was a lot of sweat, but it didn’t feel like I was working out, which I guess was a good thing.

I enjoyed my first Zumba encounter, although there were a couple of things I learned through this experience.

The Zumba instructors and for some reason the groupies got into the shot.

I learned that the fake excited dance teacher that you see in DVD/videos really does exists. It’s not a myth. She’s real. She has all these cartoon character facial expressions and cheesy sayings that she really shouldn’t use, but she does because she thinks it’s going to motivate you. It doesn’t. It makes you lose faith in the Zumba philosophy, and it just makes you wish you hadn’t wasted money on that particular exercise DVD. Sadly I couldn’t turn her off. She was live and in progress. I was so grateful to learn that there were five other instructors that day and that fake happy dance teacher would not be returning to the stage. I also learned that the sixty-year old, gray-haired Zumba dance instructor was the most badass of them all. Sweat was pouring out when this lady took the stage.

Lesson Number Two: You Gotta Commit. In both life and Zumba, you gotta commit. I’d never taken a dance class but apparently it’s kind of like monkey see-monkey do. You pick up the dance moves as the routine progresses. Some of the moves were a little bit too involved for me. They were a little bit too much for everyone except for the Zumba groupies down in front. But as I saw the people in front of me half-ass the moves I thought  … dude that looks terrible. So non-athletic and non-dancer like.  I can’t be looking like that. Either you’re in or you’re out. So I fully committed to all the steps and if I messed up the Flashdance moves …  well … then … I went down in flames and I got a couple of laughs in the process.

Working it on the Zumba dance floor.

Lesson Number Three: Be Prepared to Pump It.  I had no idea that Zumba had a lot of these chest-pump dance moves. A lot. I felt like I was in a rap video — you know the kind where the chick is wearing Daisy Duke shorts with six-inch heels, and all of sudden takes a wide stance, puts her hands up in the air, and does her best Beyoncé-like chest pop. Apparently it has something to do with the abs, but I wasn’t feeling it and I looked nothing like Beyoncé. More like a chick with back problems, but nevertheless I remembered Lesson Number Two and forged on.

Two hours went by pretty quickly and in the end everyone was pretty sweaty from all that chest pumping. It was such a success that they said they might be planning another one in the fall. And who knows I might go again and learn a couple more lessons. But hopefully by then people will not feel the need to take pictures and post on them on Facebook. Maybe they’ll just take pictures for the sake of taking pictures.

 

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Keeping A Badass Frame of Mind

Just when I thought I was badass, The Fight For Air Climb made me think again.

I knew it was going to be tough, but I didn’t think it would be so challenging. I thought I had trained for this. I was Rocky Balboa for about two months and I thought I was ready. I stormed bleachers and stairs and thought my Hulk Hogan-like quads were sculpted enough and ready to take on the 1,400 steps waiting for me.

Yeah … I thought. That was the problem right there …

I mean the morning started off all right, just a few jitters at the registration table.

 

My gear from the registration table.

 

But when I saw my t-shirt I laughed. I knew I was in the right place. I was still in my badass frame of mind. I mean you’d have to think you were a badass to climb this monster.

 

The Challenge. The AON Center. 63 stories and about 1,400 steps.

 

And so I remained in this state for most of the morning. However, I did have some help. The DJ pumped up the crowd with a few tunes and everyone was excited for the climb to start. Then I noticed the memory wall — names of people being honored during the climb — and I saw my dad’s name and it gave me an extra boost. It reminded me that this was more than just another BenGay moment.

 

The memory markers hanging near the starting line.

 

As I passed the memory wall I noticed a group of firefighters approaching.

 

Heading towards the front of the building.

 

I was like dude … did someone pass out already? But they seemed to be walking pretty slowly to be rapidly responding to a crisis.

 

The rest of the crew, getting geared up for the race.

 

No. No crisis. They happen to be walking to the starting line to join the multitude of elite climbers designated to go first. Apparently these firefighters were also participating in the race, however they were not wearing t-shirt, and shorts attire. They were in full-on firefighter gear. I really thought I was badass, but this … this seem to put me in the minor leagues. I couldn’t imagine climbing with all that extra weight. I could barely climb with an iPod. But I was here, and I was going to finish no matter what league I was in.

In truth, I thought I was going to do well. As always I watched clips from Miracle, Rudy, Remember the Titans, Hoosiers, Rocky, Glory Road, The Natural, Invincible, and Breaking Away. I listened to inspirational coach speeches. I thought I had prepared, both physically and mentally. I’m a nerd I always prepare. I reached the starting line, got the countdown, and took off.  I thought … I got this.

 

Standing at the starting line.

 

Uh … think again. When I reached the eighth floor. Something happened, and I had to think back to my training.

There I was in the outdoors storming the bleachers of the local high school and community college stadium, working up a sweat after about forty minutes and thinking … I can do this. But there was only one problem … I was outdoors, breathing fresh air.  Fresh being the key word here. So I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me earlier. I guess I should have known that fresh air, or fake air for that matter, does not circulate in skyscraper stairwells. It does not.

You know what does circulate?

Sweat, smell, and claustrophobia. Yeah … it spreads itself up and down those 63 stories, crop-dusting itself all over, in every nook and cranny. I couldn’t understand why my legs felt heavy after only twelve stories. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t storm these steps two at a time, like a real athlete, like I had during my training. I couldn’t understand why I got so tired so early and why my heart was beating so quickly.

And then it hit me. I was learning this lesson the hard way.

Oxygen. Pinche lack oxygen.

I was in the American Lung Association‘s Fight For Air Climb and I was literally fighting for air. This is when my fake running began. You know when you’re running at the park or track and you see some chick or dude half-assing it. They’re running in slow motion, it’s not even jogging. It’s slower than jogging, but they think they are actually sprinting because they’re pumping their arms and bobbing their head up and down. They’re going at the speed of walk. Yeah … that was me. I had become the half-ass chick because there was not enough oxygen and everyone around me was feeling it. We were in full-blown hypoxia mode.

Thank God they opened a few doors on various levels, and thank God for the high school volunteers trying to fan me with signs. That definitely helped boost my energy level a bit. And then just when I thought I was getting closer I looked up and saw the sign. I had barely cleared the 24th floor.

Holy crap. This climb was definitely going to kick my ass.

 

Most definitely.

 

But I didn’t want to stop, so I grabbed hold of the handrail and kept climbing. Once I hit the halfway mark I just stopped looking at the signs. I hated the fact that I was climbing so many steps only to realize that I had gone up a few flights. All I wanted to see was the 60th floor approaching, but I was so far off. This floor countdown was not cool,  so I just tried to avoid the signs.

But, did I make it to the top without crawling, without hanging on the stairs for dear life, or without throwing up like many of my fellow climbers?

Hell yes!

I rose to the top. I did it by any means necessary. Mostly jogging, the running had stopped at the eighth floor. But there was some dancing as I passed by my fellow climbers. I fought through the lack of oxygen and smelly hallways to finish in 87th place out of 350 chicks. It may not seem fantastic, but it was good for me.

So thank you Double Dutch Bus, thank you Mr. World Wide Pitbull Don’t Stop The Party, thank you Devil Went Down to Georgia, thank you Eye of The Tiger, thank you Michael Jackson’s Mama-Say-Mama-Sah Ma-Ma-Coo-Sah. You came through for me once I reached the 40th floor. But most of all thank you Tucanes de Tijiuana because La Chona helped me run my way to the top.

 

One of the views from the top.

63 Stories. 1,400 stairs. I clocked in at 18.41.

Surprisingly there was no BenGay this time, maybe it was because of the VIP sports massage I got after I finished the climb. However, there was plenty of ice for my weary 37-year old knees.

But the question remains … Still, badass?

Yes. Hell yes! Most definitely.

Now That The Flu is Gone, The BenGay Adventures Begin Again

The coughing. The aching. The overall feeling of crappiness that came with two weeks of the flu sidelined my athletic endeavors. No workouts. No biking. No running. No push-ups. No downward dogs. And the only stretching I did was for the remote control. For the most part, it was just a whole lot of nothing and with that I got thrown off the athletic wagon.

But I’m back.

Photo by James Hamilton.

I’ve been DayQuil and NyQuil free for three days, and I think my muscles are ready to attack my fat. It’s been building so this is going to be a battle considering my muscles have been on the bench and my fat became stronger. So I had to come back big. There was really no other way around it. And even though I still have a hatred for running unless there’s a purpose (you know I can’t run just for the sake of running) both of the challenges definitely involve running or at least a running motion. One is on wheels. The other is up stairs.

Now I never thought I would participate in something that would require a mouth guard and wrist guards. I don’t even know what wrist guards are, but I’m sure Sports Authority will … it’s like the mecca of sports equipment. And apparently I need both of them. I’m embarking on my first roller derby adventure this weekend and seeing how gravity is always trying to bring me down and cause chaos, I’m a little concerned about just getting on the track. I haven’t skated since elementary school, but I’m confident that my instructor Suzy Snakeyes will assist me in not being thrown over the rail accidentally or on purpose. I figure since it’s a beginning class that sort of thing happens until the third or fourth session. Stay tuned I’ll let you know how that little adventure panned out.

If I survive this session on wheels, I’ll move on to my other challenge. Something a little more daunting. I normally don’t use words like daunting, but for this it’s required. I won’t need a mouth guard or wrist guard for this one, but maybe I’ll need a Costco-sized amount of Ben Gay when I’m done. It’s called a climb, not so much a mountain or hill but more like 1,391 steps … 63 flights of stairs.

Now when I saw this online, I didn’t quite picture it in my head. All I thought was “sounds like a lot,” but I thought I’d be all right. I have BenGay and IcyHot. I’ve got my New Balance. I also got an iPod with plenty of tunes. I thought I’d be all right with that, but then I saw it. The building . I drove across the downtown skyline and saw it. I thought Holy Crap! This is not a building, it’s a skyscraper. I’m gonna need “Eye of The Tiger” blaring through my headphones if I’m gonna make it to the top of this one. How am I going to prepare for this monstrosity?

Fight For Air Climb

I mean what would posses me to take on such a challenge? Something new? Something different? Yes, and yes. But mainly it’s for my dad. It’s called the Fight for Air Climb and it’s sponsored by The American Lung Association. The climb helps raise funds for lung disease, and many of you know that my dad passed away almost two years ago from Interstitial Lung Disease. I think about him every day and thought this would be a great way to honor him … raising money for  research and helping to find a cure so nobody else’s dad passes away. So far my family and friends have been very supportive and Team Guat is on track to reaching its fundraising goal. I wasn’t aware of this race, but once I knew, I had to get involved. I think I might do this one every year, but stay tuned. It’s a pretty ginormous building, we’ll see how this turns out. I might have to buy more BenGay than anticipated. Do they make anything bigger than Costco size?

No Worries, You’re Not Alone

Image via twentyfourcat.net

 

2013 goals, plans, self-improvement resolutions are hard.

The Crazy Hill and The Mighty Stop Sign

It’s a stop sign. A red octagon with white letters. And normally this traffic sign is insignificant. It’s a stop sign. You stop, then go.  But this stop sign … this one, represented a woo-hoo! moment for me. A holy crap I can’t believe it.

It sits there at the top of a long, winding incline, practically at the top of a mountain. Taunting runners and bikers alike.

Had I attempted to reach the top before, during my previous triathlon training regiment? Yes. Did I make it? The first time I barely reached the 25 MPH sign. The second time … well … the second time I reached the deer-crossing sign and told myself I could do it. And I made it, huffing and puffing and gasping for air, but I made it. It took two attempts and many bike training sessions in between to build up enough endurance to reach the mighty stop sign.

I told myself that this time around I would make multiple trips over there, but seeing how it had been raining last week, and then hitting temperatures of 102 and 104 degrees Fahrenheit the week before, I hadn’t gotten around to as much bike riding as I wanted.

Image via Durtbagz.com

But I needed to cowboy up, because in my last triathlon Devil’s Canyon kicked my ass, and I didn’t want a repeat performance. Although I’m not sure what the bike course looks like in this race, I’m certain they’ve got hills and mountains. So this weekend I busted out my two-wheeler, with its new tires, and hit the pavement.

Now I wasn’t planning on visiting that crazy hill with its stop sign today. It had been a rough morning and emotions were running high in the Guat household. In truth, when I left the house I was thinking of riding  about five or six miles and then just heading over to the 7-11 for some chocolate, but found myself riding  to the state park instead, looking at that crazy hill and its mighty stop sign. As I stood there, I noticed all these racing bikes whiz right by me and I thought … oh hell no, even if I don’t have Gatorade I’m going up there.

I found myself pedaling towards that crazy hill and the stop sign.

Now once I got to the 25 MPH sign I thought yeah … I’m feeling pretty good. I haven’t even shifted gears, but once I got to the deer-crossing sign I began contemplating just turning around. My quads had not prepared for a ride of such magnitude and altitude. But I kept going. I kept saying, just one more sign, or just one more tree and I’ll turn back.

However, I just kept going. And in truth it wasn’t the upcoming triathlon that was fueling my inspiration to reach that pinche stop sign. It was the family drama that took place that very morning that pushed my Guat butt up that hill. My frustration and anger fueled me all the way to the top. All I could think was if I made it to the top at least something positive would have happened to me that morning. I would have a happy, triumphant moment among the crappiness.

And you know what? Anger works, man.

I reached the top passing all the racing bikes that had zoomed by me earlier. I got off my bike and smiled. I grabbed hold of that stop sign, while trying to catch my breath. I stood there for a moment. Red-faced, sweaty, huffing and puffing. And victorious. I had made it on my first attempt. And it felt good. Real good. I don’t know how it’s going to feel tomorrow, but today it felt good.

Some random couple drove by as I was feeling the thrill of conquering that crazy hill and reaching the mighty stop sign. They looked at the bike, then at me, and smiled. It felt pretty good to have a random stranger give me an imaginary high-five with a glance.

However as I was taking deep breaths, in order to try and catch my breath, I didn’t get a whiff of fresh mountain air that athletes need after such a victory. My oxygen was tainted. Tainted with the smell of fresh horse manure. And not just a little bit either. I think they were giving a group tour or something because there was a definite aroma in the vicinity.

So I grabbed my bike and made my way down hill. I wish I could have stayed a little bit longer and relish in the moment, you know, take it all in, but unfortunately horse crap isn’t really my thing. And it wasn’t great for my deep-breathing victorious moment either. Maybe next time will be better.

 

Even Though I Hate This Step It Gets Me One Step Closer.

Two miles. I’m up to two miles a day. Normally I would say, you’re out of your #$^&%@! mind to be running two miles a day. What’s a matter with you? You hate running. You hate it. But when it’s an integral part of a race, it kind of seems necessary. Essential even.

So it’s become part of my training regiment. A necessary evil. But that’s just me. There are hundreds of people who enjoy hitting the pavement at a brisk pace. Apparently some of my friends find it liberating. Rejuvenating. Calming. Stress relieving. A journey that clears your thoughts and centers your mind.

Image via Durtbagz.com

This does not happen to me.

Most people get to run in the morning. They wake up charged up and ready to go. However since my kids wake up at sunrise, and I’m not the greatest morning person, I’m never really in the wake up-charged up-ready to go kind of mood. I’m more in the holy-crap-I’m-exhausted-type-of mood.

I don’t get any “me” time until nine o’clock in the evening, when they’ve both gone to sleep for night.  So my runs happen at night. Not a good place to let your guard down and feel calm or relaxed. No rejuvenation going on here. Just paranoia. Most of the time you’re extremely aware of your surroundings, making sure nobody comes out of the bushes and tries to slash you. However I do get a couple of daylight workout hours during the weekend. But I prefer to bike on those days. Bikes and nighttime traffic don’t really mix.

So I try to liberate, rejuvenate, and calm myself by walking, swimming  or biking during weekend daylight hours.

Running. It’s not for everybody, but in my case it’s something that needs to be done. It’s step one on my path, a dreadful step one. But a very necessary one for success.

And for me, success in triathlons is the finish … making it to the finish. No need to be showboating and finish in first in the 35-40 chick category, the top three hundred is fine.

And what do I need to get there? Nonstop service from the starting line to the bike transition station. That’s the goal. So I’m just gonna cowboy up, lace up my shoes and hit the pavement. I dread thinking about it, even when I’m out the door I question myself. I question the insanity of running. But once I start, I keep going because I know it’s bringing me one step closer to my goal.

One step closer to not passing out when the running part is done. One step closer to not being that chick, you know, that chick that walks during the race.  One step closer … that idea is all it takes for me to keep running in the dark. Night after night I think “one step closer.” And if there’s chocolate waiting for me at the end … well then I’ll run a little faster. Incentives rock when you hate step one.

With The Help of DayQuil, NyQuil, and Ricola I See A Lot of Checkmarks.

Those calendars days stare at me. They lay there bare naked, no checkmark. They mock me. Damn it.

I started off so well. I was bionic and I crossed off each day in victory — overcoming the lazy I-don’t-want-to-workout early stages of training. The calendar marked my awesome daily athletic progress with large checkmarks. I got an enormous sense of satisfaction marking those days off. But now … now I’m just a regular body filled up with DayQuil, NyQuil, Ricola Cough Drops, and empty calendar days.

Image via Durtbagz.com

The flu is a bastard.

Sleeping about three to four hours a night for the past few days kicked my ass. My enthusiasm for triathlon training went down hill. The sad thing is I didn’t even have the flu this week. It was my kids. That children’s Advil and Tylenol work their magic for about four hours and then it’s over. The crying, the bad moods, the coughing, the congestion, and the mucus set off the night shift alarm, and I’m the supervisor.

However now, not only am I the supervisor, but I’m also a patient. So, I’m all about the over-the-counter medicine traveling through my body. Vicks Vapor Rub, bring it on. Tea with honey and lemon to comfort my body, yes. Thai shrimp soup, spicy to sweat it out, most definitely. I’m trying all methods to make this 37-year old Guat body recover as soon as possible so that I can return to my exercise mode. When training for a triathlon, you need every day, well at least I do. I’m 37.

I look like crap and feel pretty much the way I look. No mineral makeup to cover up this mess. The flu is in my blood and seeing the three calendar days without check marks burns me out. Stupid virus.

Why? Why is it that whenever you decide to get all jazzed up about an event or adventure there is always something that gets in the way? The flu. No babysitter. Sprained ankle. A flat tire. Your period.

All these little impediments momentarily stopping you from succeeding. Don’t they — the Powers That Be, The Universe — know that the race itself contains plenty of obstacles that challenge your body. You don’t need any extra rings of fire. You don’t need anymore downers.

You really don’t.

But nevertheless it happens and you just have to lace up the shoes and move on. There’s nothing that can be done about those three check-less days. There’s nothing that can be done about the 72 hours I lost. They’re gone. I can’t look at the calendar without wincing. But at least September is coming up and I don’t have to look at the month of August. It mocks me.

But September is a new page on the calendar, and all I see is checkmarks in my future. With the help of DayQuil, NyQuil, and Ricola I see a lot of checkmarks.

Giddy up!

 

 

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I’ve Gone From Warrior to Tinman

After much searching I’ve found it. Something to bring me out of my Warrior Dash Withdrawal Funk. I mentioned it last month and now I’ve gone and did it. Another athletic adventure awaits me. I officially signed up. There’s no more thinking about it.

I wasn’t sure what else I could do to top my last adventure, because after all what can top the race with mud, sweat, obstacles, fire, and beer?

But the athlete in me needed a challenge. I couldn’t workout without any motivation, especially if it involved running. As I mentioned before, running without purpose is not for me. You know, running just for running sake? No, I need to be training for something … a race, or running away from a crazy criminal. So in an effort to remain semi-athletic, I searched for anything adventurous out there within the near future. Something out there for my Guat body to build up to, something needing glucosamine … and then I ran across this little triathlon. The Tinman.

Image via Durtbagz.com

I did it about six years ago, but I think I had more than two months back then to train … four months, no kids, and eight hours of sleep a night. Now … well now I’ve got gray hair, stress, and two extra human beings that need constant attention twenty hours a day. Well, my three-year old not so much. He sleeps at night. My ninth-month old, she extends my mom-shift well into the darkness of night and early morning. I work double shifts. I need a raise.

But regardless of my domestic engineering-motherly duties I’ve said it. It’s out in the open. Now that it’s out there in the blogosphere I must commit. The countdown is on. I got the bike out of storage, I washed my New Balance shoes, and I’m on a mission to find a urine free pool.

No obstacles this time, but there’s still a chance I could fall. It happens even when I walk. My only concern now, other than gravity working its magic, is velocity. How hard and fast can I fall from a bike? Fast enough that it would probably require an ambulance I imagine. But even with a helmet? Yeah, I’m sure it’ll hurt. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, I just need to be careful when going downhill. Maybe I’ll watch footage of the Tour de France or maybe I’ll watch Breaking Away again. Maybe I just need to get my ass on the bike and practice going down hills. Gotta cowboy up!

Either way The Guat is in training now. I’ve gone from Warrior to Tinman. I think Warrior sounds better. Nevertheless here I come. Giddy up!

I’m Having Warrior Dash Withdrawals

Yeah. I’m suffering from Warrior Dash Syndrome. I’m having withdrawals. I’m craving a challenge. I was left with such an awesome feeling that I want to repeat it.

But I have to admit I don’t like running.

I feel like if I’m not training for anything there shouldn’t be any sprinting involved. I feel like if no one is chasing me, there should not be any running within a five-mile radius. Running should have purpose. I need to find another race. Another challenge.

I’m on the lookout.

made specific for the triathlon wikipedia page, made up of licenses images from wikimedia as well as a few of my own photos which I release to public domain (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I found a race I’ve done before. The Tin Man Triathlon. Not IronMan … TinMan. The lightweight metal on the Periodic Table of Elements. Wait. I don’t even know if it’s on the Periodic Table of Elements. It’s sort of a metal-like substance. Well regardless of its lightweight status, it was one of the proudest athletic moments of my life, other than the Warrior Dash. It was on The Bucket List, and I was so happy to have crossed it out.

Could I do a repeat performance?

Possibly.

Training for the running and biking part was doable. Although while I was training for the biking portion of the race I was zooming along and a parked U-Haul came out of no where and sort of crashed into me while it was sitting there on the corner. I mean I saw it, but for some reason my brain didn’t send the message to my body parts and before you know it I was en route, semi-airborne, and smacked right into the back door of the U-Haul. It was a short trip. My body was up against a picture of some walrus and an interesting Venture-Across-America-Did-You-Know fact, which wasn’t really interesting at the time. 

I had to take a minute to recuperate. Several actually.

So training is not super easy, but it’s not exceptionally difficult either. I made it through the race all right, until I hit the swimming part. I trained in my uncle’s pool, and well seeing how there’s a rift in the family ever since my uncle passed away I’m pool-less.

Can I go to a public pool? Sure. Sure, but I have issues with swimming in urine. It’s just not for me. So this is my predicament.

I’d have to swim at least a couple of times before heading into the race. I mean how can you train for a triathlon and not splash around in a pool? How do you train for swimming when there’s no pool. Maybe I need a giant tub.

I don’t know. I mean I didn’t swim every day, and it showed when I got to the swimming portion as numerous people passed me. It got to the point where I was so tired that I stopped doing the freestyle and started doing the backstroke. For some reason that seemed easier to me and I went zooming along. Well not really zooming, more like Nemo, cruising the waters. I was pretty exhausted.

But I got my medal and I was ecstatic the entire day. My first triathlon. I felt badass.

Maybe doing my second one will feel even better.

 

Even Without a Cape … Guatemalan Warrior in the House!

My back aches, my shoulders hurt, my muscles feel sore, my feet are tired, my body is worn-out … but I feel good.

http://www.warriordash.com

Why?

I survived the Warrior Dash.

Despite the gloomy and drizzling weather, which doesn’t happen often in Southern California not even in winter, I made the two-hour drive to Warrior Dash Central. I was anxious, nervous, and filled with butterflies in my stomach.

Big Time Warriors

As I made my way from the parking lot to registration, I started to notice a pattern …

The Bear Naked Peeps

Dude. I felt something was missing. Something was not right with my t-shirt and shorts outfit … A superhero costume would have been more appropriate.

The Lumberjack Crew

I felt like the Lone Guat in a sea of costumes. There was a Superman family, Wonder Woman, Xena Princess Warrior Chicks, brightly colored fluorescent people with matching head bands, The Smurfs, Ghostbusters, The Bear Naked people, the barely naked people with matching Speedos, chicks with pink wigs, chicks with pink, green, and blue tutus, dudes with hazmat suits, and even dudes dressed up as chicks. It was like The Justice League reunion with a motley crew of party crashers, and I didn’t get invited.

My dude said … “I don’t think this is the kind of race you do alone … but at least you got a cheering section.”

My kids and dude made the trek.

So with my Guat-Mexican party of four I made my way to the starting line.

“Good luck, mom. Don’t go in the muddy water. Those people look yucky. Win the race!”

All I could think about was don’t fall. Don’t fall and finish.

“You’ll be fine. We’ll be waiting for you at the finish line.”

I walked over to the starting line and began my athletic ritual. Everyone has one before an event, consciously or unconsciously: stuff like, stretching out and counting to seven, but not eight; stretching out your left leg first; and doing your arm thing to loosen up.  Whatever the ritual may be every one was doing it. If you don’t have a ritual, you’re probably not a real athlete.

Ready, Set, Go!

As I stretched and did my routine, I looked around … the chicks and dudes with the 80s fluorescent leotards and matching headbands were in front of me and the Xena Warrior Princesses were next to me.  I was nervous. I felt like I needed a cape. I looked behind me … regular t-shirt and shorts people like myself were among the sea of costumes.

Countdown begins … 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1.

I did the Sammy Sosa ritual move and took off.

With all that adrenaline I took off faster than usual, but kept my steady pace. As I reached the half-mile mark, I noticed all the costume people trailing off little by little. Xena Warrior Princesses probably fell on their swords or something because I didn’t see them at all.

There were no obstacles until after the half-mile mark and the first one being the Road Rage Tires.

I was like one of those state-champion double-dutch chicks. Dude. It was on! I made it through that obstacle pretty quickly. The only time I slowed down was when they triple stacked the tires.

Then came the Barricade Breakdown where I hurdled over barricades and crawled under barbed wire. I used my Dukes of Hazard jumping-over cars skills to jump the barricades that were chest high.

More running after that, where I continued passing costume after costume. The Justice League and the Smurfs were gone. My T-shirt and shorts people made their way to mile two and saw the rock-climbing wall. I was like Spider-Man as I scaled that thing up and over no problem. Sweet. Once I got to the top, I slid down the pole like a professional firefighter.

After mile two, the challenge hits you …  all the obstacles. They are spread out, but between mile two and the finish line I was huffing and puffing. That was my soundtrack, in surround sound, because everyone else was breathing heavily too.

My next obstacle was the one I feared. The Teetering Traverse. My heart was pounding and all I wanted to do was go fast, but I knew better.

I was causing traffic, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to eat it.

After conquering that bad boy, came the Horizontal Hike. This didn’t scare me when I saw the online description, but once I saw the arching geodome and all the cargo nets and pieces of wood I had to hold onto in order to cross over, I knew why there was a paramedic on standby. I made it through with only a couple of rope burns and scratches.

As I climbed up the ropes of my next obstacle, The Great Warrior Wall, I saw her behind me … struggling. It was Wonder Woman…she was not that wonderful at climbing ropes. So in my sportmanship-way I yelled at her:

“C’mon Wonder Woman…You can do it!!!”

She smiled and grabbed hold of the rope.

She must have done well because at the Chaotic Crossover, a series of tangled nets we had to cross over much like the horizontal hike but lower to the ground and with more opportunities to get snagged and left behind, I saw her causing traffic grabbing hold of the nets. She was spread out like a bad twister game. She lost her amazon bullet proof bracelets and golden tiara.

photo via warriordash.com

But she seemed to make it through, because I saw her again at Deadman’s Drop. I climbed this tall structure with extreme caution. Not one, but two paramedics were on site. The “unhandy hurdle” at the top was a bitch. So as I was moving slowly I saw Wonder Woman down at the bottom. I couldn’t let a chick like that beat me, so I pressed on and slid down the other side with caution. No splinters.

The Cargo Climb was tricky. Not only did I have to control my own balance, but I also I had to be aware of other people’s maneuvers. A foot here, or a hand there changed the way the ropes moved. Grabbing onto the wooden frame was also a bad idea as the rope trapped my fingers and crunched them when people pulled and tugged on the nets with all kinds of body parts. I was pretty tired by this point, but then I saw three 50+ year-old Ironman type of ladies pass me by … just jogging like they were beginning the race. All cool and under control.

Dude. The competitive side of me said, “C’mon now, you can’t let all these ladies pass you by, you’ve got to at least beat one of them.” So I got enough strength from who knows where and kept running to the next obstacle and beyond.

The Petrifying Plunge was a fun slip-n-slide. Most people went head-first. I preferred to go feet first, because I didn’t want my face to plunge into the murky cold waters below.

The Capsized Catamaran awaited me in the freezing waters. This obstacle killed me. It killed everyone. The water was about five-feet deep and you had to pull yourself up and over this plastic structure. Then plop back in the water, swim, or walk if you were tall enough, to the next plastic-up-and-over obstacle. However there was nothing you could push off of … it was pure upper body strength hauling your tired ass out of the water. Catamarans suck. This obstacle took me about fifteen minutes.

The water was so ice-cold and the chick and her dude in front of me were not climbing this thing fast enough. So even though I didn’t know her, I gave her a boost and pushed her up and over, so that I wouldn’t drown while treading water. However by the time I got to the second up and over, I struggled during the “up” part as did everyone else. Some racers gave up and swam to shore, including Wonder Woman, a big body-builder dude with a dragon tattoo, and even one of the Ironman 50+ ladies.

Me. I continued struggling. Then I found some chick wearing a Winnie the Pooh backpack who was struggling too, and said:  “Hey I’ll pull you up, if you push me up.”

Normally the backpack would have thrown me off, but as I was freezing and desperately wanting to finish this obstacle I tagged teamed with the Winnie the Pooh chick and we became the Wonder Twin Powers.

photo via warriordash.com

She pushed…I pulled.  Push and Pull. Repeat. We were a dynamic duo. However, on the last leg of this obstacle I pulled too much and I fell over into the water. But it’s not like I wasn’t wet so it didn’t matter. The wetter the better because The Warrior Roast was next. So I didn’t mind the fall.

As I made my way out of the water and up the hill, I tried to muster enough courage and energy for the fire. I was out of breath and needed to sprint in order to gain enough momentum to jump over these logs. Winnie the Pooh girl saw me hesitating and said “C’mon, you can do it.”

So I busted out my best hurdle-jumping ballerina leap and made it through unscathed. No firefighters or extinguishers needed.

Crawling through Muddy Mayhem

After that came the Muddy Mayhem, where we “scrambled” beneath barbed wire in muddy, rocky waters.

Everyone was dragging and hurting, but made their way to the finish line.

My shirt was wet, shorts drenched, and my New Balance shoes and socks were soaked.

Heading to the finish line

After crawling out of the final pit, I ran toward the archway. Not walked, but ran.

I didn’t need the cape. I was a Warrior.

What did I learn from this Warrior Dash Saga? Tune in tomorrow.