For endurance athletes, Saturday mornings typically mean one thing: long workout time!
My training plan called for a 45 minute run at IM pace, followed immediately by a 2:15 bike with several hard interval sets throughout, followed immediately another 45 minute IM pace run.
I remember tweeting cheerfully that I was about to start my own personal duathlon. I was excited to feel the endorphin rush of a well-executed hard workout.
Aaahhhh. Poor girl. She just didn’t know what was coming.
It was raining, but I love running in the rain. It makes me feel hard core. The run went well, and upon my return to the house, I promptly began my ride–on the trainer because I am NOT hard core on the bike – only when it comes to running.
About halfway through, the effort felt very hard. Yes, the workout was designed to be challenging, but I mean I-feel-like-slugglish-crap-hard, not this-is-a-great-challenge-hard (yes – there is a difference!).
My thoughts turned dark and a bit nasty. The negative voices wanted to take control. This was the first sign that maybe things weren’t exactly right.
I drowned out the voices by turning up my mp3 player, and finished the ride.
I thought to myself, “Just a 45 minute run and this one’s a wrap. More training in the Ironman bank.”
As I started out on the second run, I felt sluggish almost immediately, and my heart rate was pretty low. I tried to tell myself it was because I had already worked out for 3 hours, but I felt it was more than that. Something wasn’t right.
Then, I felt a bit dizzy about twenty minutes into the run. I get bouts of vertigo from time to time; I hoped it would pass. The voices wanted to convince me otherwise.
Shut up! I said sternly to the voices in my head, and I turned up the volume on my mp3 player.
But, there was no talking myself out of what happened next. I began to see black spots. You know the kind that appear like they are floating around your eyes?
I blinked several times, willing them away.
My hands began trembling, and my knees felt shaky. My breathing became labored, despite a very low heart rate. I could feel the blood draining from my face.
It occurred to me these symptoms were the signs of an impending loss of consciousness, so I started to chain out what I would do if I passed out.
Let’s see:
- I didn’t have my phone.
- I was in the middle of a little park set off from the road.
- It was a rainy Saturday afternoon, so there wasn’t anyone else around.
- I guessed that if I passed out, I would be laying there…for a while.
Then, I had an Einstein moment: Hmmm, maybe I should walk?
As soon as I started to walk, the black spots dissipated. The shakiness hung in there, but I could tell I was no longer in danger of passing out.
I walked home, 25 minutes in the drizzly cold rain. Yes, if you must know, it sucked. As I’ve written before, sometimes it sucks.
“I bonked,” I said to John when I walked through the door. “HARD.”
He immediately responded, “You aren’t eating enough.”
I had to begrudgingly agree. Two miscalculations were working against me:
- I hadn’t increased my daily calorie intake to match an increase in training volume because I thought maybe I could lose a few pounds (stupid body image issues making me want to lose weight no matter what the scale says).
- I had fueled for the day’s session using the same hourly calorie formula as I used last year in training, therefore neglecting one difference that is making a big difference in my nutritional needs: intensity. My training sessions this year are much more intense that they were last year–thus, increasing the amount of calories I’m burning, thus increasing the amount of calories I need to consume.
These two miscalculations led to a energy deficit that was too deep to dig myself out of. So, I bonked. It happens. I’d rather it happen in training than on race day.
I have since adjusted my calorie intake–very begrudgingly and after my coach Vince called me out on playing what he termed “the starvie game”. Whaaaa, who me?
Now that we’ve covered the bonk, let’s explore the meltdown, shall we?
The weekend after my spectacular bonk, I was determined not to let it happen again. I had a 4 hour ride and a 30 minute transition run on the schedule.
I could NOT mess up two key sessions two weeks in a row. Vince and I discussed what would be an adequate hourly intake given my increased intensity and size. (BTW: he has repeatedly said I’m a “small” person, and it makes me want to hug him every time.)
We settled on 200-220 calories an hour, which is an increase from 150-170/hour. So, this meant, I needed about 800-880 calories.
First, the fluids.
I had four bottles of fluid, two of which had 140 calories of Ironman perform in each for a total of 280 calories; the other two had only water. I like to drink water when I eat more solid food, such as bars or gels, and I drink the perform in between those feedings.
Now, the solids.
I laid out one PowerBar–240 calories.
I laid out three PowerBar gels for a total of 330 calories.
With a total of 850 calories before me, I started to consider how to divide it up – and here’s where the meltdown started.
As you can see from the picture above, I tried to calculate several different scenarios so that I could eat my calories in even increments every 15 or 20 minutes. If I eat more than 100 calories at once, I tend to bloat. (Notice the piece of paper and the calculator. Yeah, that’s totally normal if you are a freak.)
The trouble is, the packets didn’t allow for perfectly segmented portions.
I was getting frustrated because I couldn’t get the calories to add up perfectly to a nice, neat, symmetrical number, oh, say 200 calories an hour on the nose.
“What the f—!” I murmured emphatically, as I became frustrated on my umpteenth attempt at a fueling plan.
At this point, John walked into the kitchen.
“What’s going on over there?” He asked, seemingly puzzled. I guess not everyone does some math homework before their long ride.
“I’m trying to figure out this nutrition, but I can’t make it work!” I whined. I may have even stamped my feet a little bit. “This is so f’n frustrating!”
Once I let that out, the whining quickly gave way to freaking out.
“I bonked last week, and I can’t have two crappy weekends in a row.”
Voice now rising to the point where our 13-year-old lab Bella starting quivering a bit because she thought maybe she was in trouble.
“I just can’t get this nutrition to work out to 200 calories an hour. These gels are 110 calories, and it would really be better if they were just 50 or 100. It’s throwing everything oooofffff!”
“Maria,” John said, and I could hear just the lilt of exasperation in his voice. “Don’t eat the whole packet. Just leave a little bit in the bottom for 100 calories. Or eat half of the packet for 50 or so calories.”
I blinked. “Oh…right.”
I looked at my nutrition pile, my frantically scribbled mathematical scenarios. I considered my overblown response to this undoubtedly first world problem.
Then, I laughed. The scene was positively ridiculous.
With the tension eased, I gathered my carefully appointed stock of nutrition, and headed to my bike for a 4 hour sufferfest. Unlike the previous week, I was perfectly fueled and had one of the better sessions of this year.
Bonk averted, meltdown reset. All is right with my world.
Each of these sessions offered a valuable lesson–one practical, the other spiritual.
First, don’t cheat your body of the energy it needs on a daily basis or for fueling longer training efforts (beyond 90-120 minutes). It may work for a little while on reduced calorie intake, but it will catch up with you, and when it does, it won’t be pretty. As Vince admonished me, “Don’t play the starvie game. You’ll lose.” Indeed.
Second, while I take my training and racing seriously, I need to keep it in perspective. When frustration and stress appear, as they inevitably will, I need remember to be grateful for the opportunity to live this life, regardless of the (self-imposed) challenges.
Triathlon is a choice I make freely because I love it. Triathlon has revolutionized my life, and it’s a better life for the experience. I am blessed to be able to make that choice, to be able to live this endurance life, to swim, bike and run, to push my limits so I can learn more about the amazing machine that is the human body, as well as the extraordinary ride that is a human lifetime.
