Amy Reinink

Ever since I got back into swimming in 2008, I’ve been intrigued by the idea of participating in a triathlon relay with some of my running buddies. It was my answer to the natural question that arises when I mention I participate in endurance events involving running and swimming: Oh, so you’re a triathlete?

Short answer: Nope.

Longer answer involves my bike making my hip cranky, and me being unwilling to spring for a reasonable, good-fitting bike to solve that problem. Longer answer also involves my being about as interested in cycling as in squash, and in it feeling really arbitrary to take up a sport just to participate in a certain kind of event.

I swim …

And I run …

… but I don’t bike.

I’m proud to announce that I’m participating in the Luray International Triathlon at 8 a.m. Aug. 13 in Luray, Va., with two of my favorite running girlfriends—one of whom is bravely taking up the bike! Guys, I am SO excited about this! The swim portion is 1,500 meters—not even a mile—in a lake. Easy-peasy.

At least it *would* be easy-peasy, if I weren’t part of a team of fit, motivated ladies who are totally inspiring me to try to swim it quickly, or at least as quickly as I can.

Here’s how this race will push me out of my comfort zone: I’m a terrible freestyle sprinter. In high school, I once clocked a 50 freestyle split during a 200 IM that was *slower* than my preceding 50 breaststroke split (It was a pretty darn fast breaststroke split … but still). So to train, I’ll actually focus on short intervals during my tri-weekly 3,000-meter swim workouts, rather than the 1,000-meter reps I did while training for the Great Chesapeake Bay Swim.

Our team name: The Killer Honey Badgers. Why? Because we’re fierce. If you’ve seen the viral YouTube video about the honey badger, you know exactly what I’m talking about. The video isn’t exactly work-appropriate, so I’m not going to embed it here. But if you’re at home, and aren’t offended by some bad language, check out this link. You’re welcome.

Have you done a triathlon relay, or participated in the swim portion of the Luray International Triathlon? If so, any and all advice would be appreciated!

I’m a sucker for milestones. If you’re reading this, it’s likely you are, too (why else do thousands of adults gather at road races on any given weekend, if not for the sense of accomplishment that comes from crossing an actual finish line, then having someone drape a medal around your neck?). And I’ve got a big one at lunchtime today: My last-ever physical therapy session!

Happy graduation day to my knee!

More than five months after tearing my tearing my ACL in January, I am finally celebrating my knee’s “graduation” from physical therapy. In February and March, PT meant regaining use of my right quad, which had “fallen asleep” after surgery, and regaining my strength in said quad (it’s hard to get stronger when you’re napping). In April, PT meant working on agility exercises, which have helped me not only get physically ready to ski again, but to mentally get over my anxiety about doing so, which proved to be a great reason to keep up at least occasional PT appointments (once ever couple weeks, with additional workouts on my own).

I will leave PTSAC feeling quicker and stronger than before my injury, and feeling motivated to start living a new beginning.

What’s motivating you this week?

So, ‘member when I complained a couple months ago that I was suffering from goal overload leading up to the Bolder Boulder 10K and the 4.4-mile Great Chesapeake Bay Bridge Swim because I’d failed to consider how much time I’d need to train for both events, plus continue my post-ACL PT routine? And ‘member how last month, I was all self-congratulatory about my advance-planning skills, having plotted my race calendar for the foreseeable future to avoid another training crunch?

At the Bolder Boulder finish line, I thought: Never again will I run a race on so little training. Oops.

I’ve been looking forward to the Rockville Rotary Twilight Runfest 8K for months, so it’s unclear how it crept up on me. It’s like when you forget a close friend’s birthday—you know their birthday is on June 1, or whatever—you just didn’t realize June 1 is TODAY. I knew the 8K was at 8:45 p.m. July 16. I just didn’t realize July 16 is next week. Oops …

Backpacking: Not running.

What have I been doing instead of running since the Bolder Boulder 10K in May? I did the Great Chesapeake Bay Swim. I rested. I focused on strength and agility, knowing my knee still isn’t 100 percent. I backpacked for three days. I traveled. I skied.

Skiing on the Fourth of July: super-duper awesome, but also not running.

It’s too late to go back in time and add a few miles to the easy, 3-mile trail runs I’ve been doing a couple times per week. What I can do at this point: manage expectations, and focus on not judging where I am at this moment in time. Last year, I remember being kind of disappointed in my finish time of 41:12, which meant my average pace was something like 8:18. This year? I’ll be lucky to cross the finish line without walking, and that’s OK.

So my goal for the race is to chill out and go easy on myself. I’m going to run through the sprinklers, high-five kids on the sidelines and eat my weight in watermelon at the post-race party. It’ll be like the Earth Day 5K, which I ran weeks after being medically cleared to run again—I’ll jog and chill out for most of the run, and “race” the last mile if I feel like it, or just keep jogging if I don’t feel like it.

Hamming it up for the camera at the Earth Day 5K.

How do you approach races you haven’t trained your hardest for (or simply haven’t trained for at all)? Do you shift your time-based goals to process-based goals? Abandon all goals? Fill your CamelBak with beer and try to forget the fact that you ever had goals? Let me know by posting a comment below!

Let me start by answering an obvious question: I wore a T-shirt and ski pants.

Now that the “what did you wear” question is out of the way, let’s talk about the fact that I SKIED on the Fourth of July. Like, on snow. In 60-degree weather that made me regret not joining the bikini-wearing masses in the early part of the day (though when the sun hid behind the clouds and the wind picked up in the afternoon, I was very, very happy about my wardrobe choice).

Bikinis=easy target in the massive snowball fight that broke out in the lift line.

Colorado’s epic snowfall last winter led many resorts in the state to push their closing dates into late spring and early summer. Naturally, as soon as Steve and I learned we’d be attending his family reunion in Denver over the Fourth of July weekend, we started keeping our eyes peeled for Arapahoe Basin’s closing date—which turned out to be July Fourth.

Arapahoe Basin is one of mine and Steve’s favorite resorts. It’s known for being a bit less commercial than its big-name counterparts, and for closing later than other resorts nearby thanks to its higher altitude (about 10,000 feet). It’s not unusual to see dudes cracking open beers while putting on their ski boots in the parking lot. What is unusual: Seeing those dudes wearing sombreros and no shirts while doing all of the above.

When we walked into the base lodge, we saw a few guys drinking tall boys of PBR while eating Froot Loops. We saw Uncle Sam hats and sparkly red, white and blue shirts, girls in bikinis and guys in Speedos. A LOT of guys in Speedos.

We also saw lots of costumes, from Shredder …

… to a guy in a skin-tight tiger suit.

Steve and I both decided early on we’d wear ski pants and T-shirts, and Steve had the brilliant idea to wear our “DYD” shirts from our Whitetail ski-patrol Outdoor Emergency Care class. This was especially appropriate for me, since this was my first day of skiing since a tiny, human-shaped missile slammed into me during my first day of on-the-snow ski-patrol training in January, tearing my ACL.

I can’t tell you enough how confidence-boosting it was to road-test my knee, which I was medically approved to ski on again last week. My first run wasn’t fear-free, but that fear quickly gave way to confidence, strength and pride. By the end of the day, I even skied a respectable bump run.

Mostly, I was too busy enjoying the huge party taking place all around me to be too worried (Steve noted at one point that I side-slipped rather well, without even realizing it, while taking a picture of a guy in a full bear suit downhill from us). That party included a truly delicious barbecue lunch …

… an awesome live bluegrass band (who can blame the ThunderCat for dancing?)…

… and snowball fights in the lift line. Guys wearing Speedos and women in bikinis got pelted with snowballs …

… while the guy in the full gorilla suit made out just fine.

We’ve been dealing with some stressful stuff recently, and I am happy to report that it’s physically impossible to hold onto stress or anxiety while participating in a snowball fight in the middle of the summer.

I’m also happy to report something that probably seems obvious to you: My knee works better than ever! It’s going to take a while before I feel comfortable doing one-legged drills on that leg. But skiing on the Fourth gave me something I’ve been yearning for all season: a victory in a sea of disappointments and stresses.

Some factoids from A-Basin’s website:

The last time A-Basin stayed open to July Fourth was in 1997, 14 years ago.The resort has been open on July Fourth four times, in ’93, ’95, ’96 and ’97. In 2003, A-Basin stayed open until July 2; warmer temperatures and lack of snow coverage stopped the resort from reaching July 4. In 1995, A-Basin stayed open until August.

Curious about the conditions? The snow was a little bit slushy and sticky, but it’s nothing we haven’t experienced in Pennsylvania in March.

On Tuesday, I passed my five-month anniversary since ACL-reconstruction surgery Jan. 28 after tearing my ACL in early January, which means I’m officially re-released into the wild, and can twist, turn and otherwise play to my heart’s content. On Friday, I fly to Colorado for a family reunion. On the Fourth of July, I may go skiing.

I may be skiing here, at Arapahoe Basin, on the Fourth of July. Seriously.

That’s right—skiing. Like, on snow. Arapahoe Basin, one of my favorite ski resorts in the world, is open until the Fourth, and if it works out with our family obligations (this is a rather large “if”), we’re planning to spend the morning skiing. Clearly, I’m terrified. I’ve spent months avoiding this exact kind of motion.  But I’ve worked hard in physical therapy to get over my hang-ups about using my poor, banged-up knee again, and I’m going to make like Eleanor Roosevelt and do the thing I think I cannot do.

I won’t be posting Friday, thanks to the aforementioned travel plans. Have a wonderful holiday weekend!

I have a confession: I’m maybe the only runner in the world who’s not into those adventure races. You know the ones I’m talking about—the ones whose courses have you run over some large, wooden obstacle course, through a man-made mud pit and maybe even over a fire, after which you are rewarded with a fuzzy Viking helmet and a turkey leg.

I know I’m in the minority here, and I’m not judging anyone for their love of man-made mud pits and fuzzy Viking helmets. I’m just saying that it’s not for me, and my trip to the Monongahela National Forest last weekend reminded me why that is.

We went to the Cranberry Wilderness Area, which is essentially one big bog. That means the ground beneath us was soggy and mucky—not because someone filled a pit with mud, but because a glacier created a cool little microenvironment when it plowed through thousands of years ago.

We didn't stomp through this particular bit of soil/peat, as it was within a protected area. But it gives you an idea of the conditions.

We hiked through seas of ferns and spruces that made us feel like we were in a northwestern rain forest rather than a West Virginia bog.

Brilliant-green ferns brushed our ankles throughout our trip through the Cranberry Wilderness Area of the Monongahela National Forest.

We sidestepped our own version of those wooden obstacle courses in the form of falling-apart footbridges.

Falling-apart footbridge in the Monongahela National Forest.

On our route, there were two spectacularly dangerous footbridges to hike around—which meant “fording” the small streams the bridges went over.

This photo is totally out of focus, but you get the idea.

We even fought our way through tall grasses when our path carried us through overgrown meadows.

This was actually really hard work!

We were rewarded with the peace and solitude that only comes from not seeing another soul for 24 hours or more …

Spruce forest in the Cranberry Wilderness Area of the Monongahela National Forest.

… and with some stunning vistas.

Pictured: Me, and gentle rolling hills in the Cranberry Wilderness Area of the Monongahela National Forest.

We finished the three-day, two-night trek covered with mud, and full of peace—a prize I’d choose over a fuzzy Viking helmet any day.

What’s motivating you this week?

Monday marks my five-month anniversary of ACL reconstruction surgery, meaning I can now pivot, ski, hike and bike to my heart’s content. I feel there’s no better way to celebrate than with a (doctor-approved!) three-day, 20-mile backpacking trip in the Monongahela National Forest in West Virginia. Early July deadline for the story about it+July Fourth travel plans=gotta go now. Wish me luck, and stay tuned for some great stories and photos on Monday!

Last weekend, while enjoying a lovely home-cooked meal at a friend’s house, I found what I’ll likely refer to as my favorite bread recipe for the next year or so. She served this lovely flatbread with feta cheese and wine on her back porch, and after my first bite, I basically pointed to the bread and asked how I could make it happen in my kitchen. Happily, it’s super-easy, and I’m including it here for experienced bread-bakers and yeast-o-phobes alike.

I’ve been meaning to try making flatbread ever since stumbling across Mark Bittman’s whole-wheat take on it several months ago. My friend’s recipe comes courtesy of the excellent cooking blog Smitten Kitchen, courtesy of Gourmet magazine, and I doctored it only slightly, using half whole-wheat flour in place of the white flour. I can confirm that both versions were totally terrific.

Crisp Rosemary Flatbread
Adapted from Smitten Kitchen, which adapted it from Gourmet, July 2008

1 3/4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour (I subbed a cup of whole-wheat flour for some of this, and it turned out great)
1 tablespoon chopped rosemary
1 teaspoon baking powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup water
1/3 cup olive oil plus more for brushing
Sea salt

Preheat oven to 450°F with a heavy baking sheet on rack in middle.

Stir together flour, chopped rosemary, baking powder, and salt in a medium bowl. Make a well in center, then add water and oil and gradually stir into flour with a wooden spoon until a dough forms. Knead dough gently on a work surface 4 or 5 times.

Divide dough into 3 pieces and roll out 1 piece (keep remaining pieces covered with plastic wrap) on a sheet of parchment paper (I used tinfoil, and it turned out fine) into a 10-inch round (shape can be rustic; dough should be thin).

Lightly brush top with additional oil. Sprinkle with sea salt. Slide round (still on parchment) onto preheated baking sheet and bake until pale golden and browned in spots, 8 to 10 minutes. Transfer flatbread (discard parchment) to a rack to cool, then make 2 more rounds (1 at a time) on fresh parchment (do not oil or salt until just before baking). Break into pieces.

Flatbread can be made 2 days ahead and cooled completely, then kept in an airtight container at room temperature.

I enjoyed mine slathered with a soft cheese called “quark,” which I purchased at the Takoma Park farmer’s market last weekend. The placard advertising the cheese said it’s a traditional, European farmhouse cheese that many Europeans ate daily for its supposed health benefits. That’s why I ate it—for health.

In other news, I will never again joke that my primary goal for the 4.4-mile Great Chesapeake Bay Swim is, “don’t die,” after reading that a swimmer did, in fact, die in the water that day. Check out the full report in The (Easton, Md.) Star Democrat (ironically, the first paper I worked for), and the Washington Post obituary—I got the chills reading both, and have been thinking about C. Grahame Rice and his family ever since.

I typically pride myself on remaining flexible about race registrations. I like to feel ready and able to jump into an event at the last minute if it sounds interesting, fun or rewarding. But a case of goal overload leading up to the Bolder Boulder 10K and the 4.4-mile Great Chesapeake Bay Bridge Swim has led me do a bit of advance planning for my races over the next few months, so I don’t feel such a crunch to train for more than one biggie at the same time. And guess what? It’s actually pretty motivating to write some race dates on the calendar *before* the calendar fills with other obligations (Full disclosure: Yes, these dates are written in pencil.).

Rockville Rotary Twilight Runfest 8K 8:45 p.m. July 16. And it’s only $31 through June 30!

Daiquiri Deck Tropical Splash 5K swim, Sarasota Fla. 7:30 a.m. Oct 1. (No race website, but you can download information here.)

Finishing the Daiquiri Deck Tropical Splash last year.

Philadelphia Half Marathon.  Nov. 20.

Finish the ski-patrol training I had to postpone after an ACL tear: Not a race, but certainly a commitment that will take up some physical energy in December.

Yuengling Shamrock Half Marathon. Virginia Beach, Va. March 17, 2012.

Great Chesapeake Bay Bridge Swim. June 2012.

Finishing the Great Chesapeake Bay Bridge Swim this year. And yet, I'm still anxious to do the swim again next year.

What’s motivating you this week?

A few years ago, The Onion ran an infographic titled “chat room shorthand.” It included this acronym: NTBUSWAB, which stands for Not to bring up Star Wars again, but … (it also includes 18/F/NYC = Pockmarked 46-year-old in bathrobe; and WSTS = Weeping silently to self).

So. NTBUTGCBSAB …

This partially aims to serve as a note to myself for future years (Yes, I am planning on doing that crazy business all over again next year. Every year. Like some weird, masochistic anniversary with myself.). It’s partially so others attempting the swim in the future can learn from my mistakes, so they don’t make the same ones.

If you swim three times per week, with one of those being a long swim, you will finish. I realized pretty early on that in order to finish this swim quickly, I’d have to swim a heck of a lot more meters per week than I was currently pulling. So I decided to train to finish, and I did. I only swam three times a week—sometimes two—and averaged about 12,000 meters per week, maximum. The other days, I ran, or focused on physical therapy for my ACL. I’ll likely approach the swim the same way next year.

Long swims helped me get ready to swim the length of this bridge.

Build confidence with long swims. 4.4 miles equals roughly 7,000 meters. My go-to long-swim workout: 7  X 1,000 meters, with each 1,000 as evenly paced as possible. There’s nothing like covering the exact distance of the swim to build confidence that you can, in fact, swim that distance in the open water.

But know that it’s not about the distance. Or even the chop. For me, the biggest challenge was the tide. I’d like to think that I’ll find a way to prepare for that next year, though I have no idea how. For others: Just know that if there’s a way to practice swimming against a current that strong, it would be a reeeally good idea to make that happen.

Honor thy shoulders. As soon as my shoulders recover from this swim, I’m going to start strengthening my rotator cuffs for next year. Waiting until I’d started my long swims—i.e., once my shoulders were already hurting and making alarming snap-crackle=popping noises—was a mistake, and I was lucky to get away with that. I recognize that things might be a bit easier when I can use my legs for more than the last three weeks of training (no ACL tears next year, please).

I'm glad this moment wasn't my first in the open water this year.

Test yourself in the open water. During my training, I stumbled across a terrific post-race report from the 2010 swim from Rob at RobAquatics.com. I emailed Rob to ask for any last-minute training advice, and he suggested getting out into the open water shortly before the race, if I hadn’t done so this season. I had finished a 5K swim in the Gulf of Mexico in October—surely that was enough? Nope. Getting the feel for “sighting” (looking forward to spot landmarks in the distance to ensure you’re swimming straight) and breathing in chop was invaluable. Squirming into my wetsuit and testing my stuff in a Bay tributary a couple weeks before the race was a huge confidence booster! So was a reminder from Bay veteran Al Gruber’s pre-race report:Your wetsuit always fit better last year. Ha!

Mid-race self portrait courtesy of Rob Dumouchel of RobAquatics.com.

Mental toughness is paramount; practice this during long swims, and after traumatic injuries. I know what you’re thinking: But she tore her ACL, and therefore had all this extra practice in not getting inside her own head and being all crazy in the middle of a tough physical endeavor! Lucky! In all seriousness, I’m more proud of my mental toughness during this race than anything else. I got all the crazies out during a few early long swims, during which I realized that your head game can go south pretty quickly when your head is underwater. In the training swims leading up to last Sunday, I learned to love the meditative stillness of swimming again, and to settle into a relaxed pace for long periods of time. I also learned how to come back to that relaxed pace after something throws me off. During the swim, lots of stuff threw me off—but I simply acknowledged the condition, and then kept swimming.

And finally, plan to be worthless the Monday after the race. This race is less like other open-water swims I’ve done and more like a marathon. Your body will need to rest and repair itself, so build in some time to allow that to happen.

Make sure you check out what other Bay swimmers have had to say about the race: Read Donna’s post-race musings here, and Amy’s here.

Did you do the swim? What’s your biggest takeaway? Maybe I can learn from your mistakes!