3-5-5-5-3

When I was younger, I did not think of myself as competitive. My soccer career, despite what may be suggested by having received a varsity letter, was the implementation of a non-aggression pact between all the players on the field. Friends came to watch me sit on the bench for all but five minutes of game time, while I relieved various players for water breaks.

It's all rather unfortunate, given that I have discovered of late that I love competing. Having no experience at competitive sports, I'm at somewhat of a disadvantage when it comes to racing and training. I lack the requisite technophilia for true triathlon competitiveness: I rode a mountain bike for my first couple of races, without even removing the rear rack. My bike shoes are from the late 80s, purchased off the remainder rack at Bike Nashbar. My tires are the all-weather variety (No flats!), double the weight of race tires. Five seasons later, I don't even have clip-on aero bars. And compounding my racing career, I have little sense of how to race: keeping my focus, knowing when to accelerate, how to attack. And, from Mychal's perspective, I set my goals too low.

This season, I had hoped to get a podium finish. And I got five: two thirds, three fifths.

Next season, I told Mychal, I wanted to shoot for third place in all my races. Which, as a former track star, he found ridiculous. If you're going to shoot for anything, shoot for first.

This season, I had twelve races. Axel was nursing around the clock for the first seven races and through the day for the last five; I was top twenty in all but one (the first, my favorite.) When I set my goal of getting a podium finish, I really didn't think it would happen. So the final, and most debilitating, aspect of my non-aggression pacts is that I lack the confidence to truly believe in myself. Setting a low bar is the easiest way not to fail.

This season, instead of the race bike I've been dreaming about for four years, I'm grabbing some attitude: first place is mine, baby!

how-to manuals

After Axel arrived, my dear friend Ayelet sent us some books with the note:

"You may not need books to understand your baby, but here are some books to help explain you two to him."

They've got these fabulous block images in bright colors, showing the myriad daddies and mommies out there: with mismatched socks and crazy hair, surfing and dancing, cooking and working, painting pictures and flying airplanes. He loves them. (And, despite the glaring absence of bicycles, the books are pretty accurate representations of the Mychal-Amy conglomerate.)

It took me a while, but eventually I got us some parenting books. The first to enter the house was about sleep. I know people who've read all of the sleep books and who could have given me advice. But we put it off until we'd lost all patience completely, and one day I simply got in the car, drove to the nearest bookstore that wasn't a conglomerate and scanned the shelves. Well, shelf. I was tempted by a book whose author had Ph.D. following her name and reluctant to give a second glance to a book with a corny title. By an author who calls herself the "sleep lady." Sleep lady? But the god-awful writing of the first and the practicality of the second decided the matter. Ayelet had described a sleep-training program that had a parent in a chair in the doorway of the child's room reading--an adult book, not a child's book. That sounded pretty good to me. So once at the bookstore, I scanned books looking for "chair in the doorway." It didn't take too long. The book could have been a pamphlet, as the method can be summarized in three sentences (okay, maybe ten). And it worked. So that book is on our shelf.

I bought our second parenting book that same night. I wasn't looking for one and wasn't motivated by the same desperation as our need to sleep through the night. But the easy prose and refreshing honesty sold me. So the best parenting book ever joined the sleep book on our shelf (As soon as I had read it cover to cover, in a mad dash. It's that good.).

The third book on our shelf appeared ten days after Axel had a fever of 105 degrees--under his armpit. I kind of thought it was too high--even called my sister for moral support, and, after she'd looked at her parenting books about medical stuff, called the doctor. Who is an aging hippy, and told us, "well, it could go as high as 106." Ok, but what do I do then? Especially if it's after 5 pm? So, after several calls and conversations with advice nurses and a late-night trip to the emergency room where they tortured Axel (blood draw and a catheter) to find out exactly nothing, I hopped on amazon and bought Your Child's Health. This book is still on the shelf, but having read it cover to cover in two days (impatiently, fruitlessly looking for the information I needed and cursing the book's ridiculous organization), it's shelf-life is nigh to expire. Still looking for that encyclopediac book about "My Child's Health" which will let me cross-reference symptoms with ailments. One-handed and in the dark, of course.

The last book to make the shelf just arrived for my birthday. This one will stay--despite the fact that I'd already borrowed it from the library and read three-quarters. It's one of those book that is permanently on hold (translation: no renewals). I haven't finished the library copy and it was due yesterday, and I'm wracking up fines as I write.
It's written by a neuroscientist, although the truly awful passages are not the scientific explanations, but the anecdotal examples. Otherwise, it is fascinating reading, describing in minute detail the neurological development from conception onward and how that impacts motor and cognitive development. Despite the author's biological background, she presents a strong argument for the importance of environment in shaping an individual's experience and intelligence. Too paraphrase her, "environment is everything."

running preggers

Before I became pregnant, I did a lot of background research--from Naomi Wolf's Misconceptions to Ariel Gore's Hip Mama's Survival Guide, meta-analyses of childraising advice manuals Raising America and The Mommy Myth, A Potent Spell, Motherguilt and, because I hadn't yet, Backlash and The Feminine Mystique.
But the information I most sought was also the most difficult to find: research on female athletes and pregnancy. I tried every imaginable combination of pregnancy, exercise, athlete, vigorous exercise, competition, racing in google and academic search engines. Mostly what I found was advice about what not to do: don't over-exert, avoid raising your heart-beat above 140 bpm, don't exercise in the heat, avoid high-impact sports (like running), or high-risk sports (like biking). In short, most everything that I could find about exercise and pregnancy suggested walking or swimming. Which are fine things to do, indeed, but not quite the same as triathlon training.
Eventually, I discovered research by James F. Clapp, M.D. and his book Exercising Through Your Pregnancy. His research on female runners and pregnancy was the nearest I could find on vigorous exercise and pregnancy, and his book became my ersatz bible. My only complaints were that his research dated from almost ten years ago, and that his cohort's exercise patterns were still somewhat modest. In my opinion, the book could use some more current data.
What I couldn't find, however, were pregnant women like me--who continued to maintain a high level of activity (and by high, I mean averaging 10 or so hours a week of running or biking or swimming) through their entire pregnancy.
Today, nearly two years later, I came across something quite promising: a blog on Runners World magazine chronicling an avid runner's pregnancy. Like many of her readers, I am thrilled to see this topic discussed in such an open and public forum. Most pleasing of all are the comments--I knew there had to be more women like that somewhere and now, finally, I am finding their stories.

Photo: Wildflower Olympic Tri 2006, 17 weeks