Snapshot from my TrainingPeaks account....
3/30/15 - TSS - 228.6 (Rode the Parkway in Tennessee Smoky Mountains) Acute Training Load: 195.4 Chronic Training Load: 113.9 Training Stress Balance: -78.8.
That's called a training hole, ladies and gentleman. Benjamin and I put in some solid riding over the past five days - tallying 360 miles with 10,468 meters of climbing. That's 34,343 feet. Whoa. That's higher than Mt. Everest. Dang.
So, what are you doing next March? Want to come to Tennessee and get your butt kicked? We're planning on doing the big daddy ride (120 miles with 11,000 feet of elevation gain) twice. Go big or go home. An excellent way to bring in another birthday and kick off a new year.
What's next? A little rest, some speed work and we'll be FLYING!
Tuesday, March 31, 2015
Friday, March 20, 2015
Dealing with lemons since 1978.
Sometimes life gives you lemons.
Working in the coaching industry, my job is reliant on people. They come in all shapes and sizes - not just physically but mentally too. I advise them on certain workouts to set them on a path to obtain their goals. And I help them carve out a balanced life approach, listening to their dreams and goals and encourage them to stretch and reach. I use a progressive periodized coaching principle - where successful completion of workouts means a little bump in load each week. Each workout builds on the previous one. Fitness is gained from week to week, day to day, interval to interval.
And then life gives you lemons.
Injuries happen. Accidents happen. Life happens. Shit happens. Whatever you call it - happens.
So we adjust plans, we move things around and calmly talk to clients letting them know what no matter what - we will deal with it together. A coach is a champion for their clients, holding their best interests in mind. Letting them know you really care about their success happens on many levels. Whether that's from day to day, week to week, race to race. No matter what, as your coach, I applaud your efforts because through each effort, each intention you set and complete or attempt to complete means that you are growing. And that is some cool shit.
I love my job.
Dealing with lemons since 1978. :)
Working in the coaching industry, my job is reliant on people. They come in all shapes and sizes - not just physically but mentally too. I advise them on certain workouts to set them on a path to obtain their goals. And I help them carve out a balanced life approach, listening to their dreams and goals and encourage them to stretch and reach. I use a progressive periodized coaching principle - where successful completion of workouts means a little bump in load each week. Each workout builds on the previous one. Fitness is gained from week to week, day to day, interval to interval.
And then life gives you lemons.
Injuries happen. Accidents happen. Life happens. Shit happens. Whatever you call it - happens.
So we adjust plans, we move things around and calmly talk to clients letting them know what no matter what - we will deal with it together. A coach is a champion for their clients, holding their best interests in mind. Letting them know you really care about their success happens on many levels. Whether that's from day to day, week to week, race to race. No matter what, as your coach, I applaud your efforts because through each effort, each intention you set and complete or attempt to complete means that you are growing. And that is some cool shit.
I love my job.
Dealing with lemons since 1978. :)
Tuesday, March 03, 2015
What's your bliss?
A woman from the car dealership picked me up today so I could retrieve my car from the shop. She was in her mid-fifties and had a ginger red bob haircut with pink lipstick. We started talking about cars and how nice it would be to know how to fix them.
"Guys have it easier, usually their fathers will teach them," she told me.
"Huh, that's interesting. My dad was a car salesman. And the only thing he taught me was how to wreck them," I responded. It's true. By the time my dad was 21 years old, he had totaled a handful of cars by reckless driving. I have him to thank for my love of speed and pushing the edge on rubber wheels.
Our conversation drifted from there. At one point I told her I could work on bikes.
"Well that's easier. Bikes are more unisex," she said. Are they?
Our conversation drifted further, and I told her about my cycling background and riding down by the river in Eugene as a kid. How sports were ingrained in my being from very young and how I enjoyed school and studying, but what I really lived for was recess. Dodgeball and basketball with the boys? You bet. I was often the last one in once the bell rang.
"Your dad must have taught you all of that," she assumed.
"Actually, I credit my older brother. I had to keep up with whatever he was doing," I said.
"Let me ask you this, did you always know? When you were little did you know you wanted to be an athlete?" she asked.
"I didn't think I had a choice."
She admitted to me she was curious about people who are passionate about what they do and figure out how to make a living from it. She had recently divorced and was now on her own, forging her own way. Except now she has no idea what that looks like.
"How do you follow your bliss?" she asked.
"That's an interesting question. I've been doing it so long, I don't know what it's like not to," I said.
I didn't tell her that I experienced tragedy and that it made me not want to live another minute not doing what I loved. Life is short. We have one shot so we better live it to the fullest. Bucket lists, dream goals, living it up and enjoying each moment is a top priority for me.
"I will say that you should surround yourself by people who are doing what you want to be doing," I mused. "Don't settle. Take little steps and set a goal, always striving toward. Until one day you wake up and realize you're doing exact what you want to be doing."
"Thanks, Jennifer," she said.
"Thank you - and follow your bliss!"
"Guys have it easier, usually their fathers will teach them," she told me.
"Huh, that's interesting. My dad was a car salesman. And the only thing he taught me was how to wreck them," I responded. It's true. By the time my dad was 21 years old, he had totaled a handful of cars by reckless driving. I have him to thank for my love of speed and pushing the edge on rubber wheels.
Our conversation drifted from there. At one point I told her I could work on bikes.
"Well that's easier. Bikes are more unisex," she said. Are they?
Our conversation drifted further, and I told her about my cycling background and riding down by the river in Eugene as a kid. How sports were ingrained in my being from very young and how I enjoyed school and studying, but what I really lived for was recess. Dodgeball and basketball with the boys? You bet. I was often the last one in once the bell rang.
"Your dad must have taught you all of that," she assumed.
"Actually, I credit my older brother. I had to keep up with whatever he was doing," I said.
"Let me ask you this, did you always know? When you were little did you know you wanted to be an athlete?" she asked.
"I didn't think I had a choice."
She admitted to me she was curious about people who are passionate about what they do and figure out how to make a living from it. She had recently divorced and was now on her own, forging her own way. Except now she has no idea what that looks like.
"How do you follow your bliss?" she asked.
"That's an interesting question. I've been doing it so long, I don't know what it's like not to," I said.
I didn't tell her that I experienced tragedy and that it made me not want to live another minute not doing what I loved. Life is short. We have one shot so we better live it to the fullest. Bucket lists, dream goals, living it up and enjoying each moment is a top priority for me.
"I will say that you should surround yourself by people who are doing what you want to be doing," I mused. "Don't settle. Take little steps and set a goal, always striving toward. Until one day you wake up and realize you're doing exact what you want to be doing."
"Thanks, Jennifer," she said.
"Thank you - and follow your bliss!"
Monday, March 02, 2015
New name, new life.
I'm getting used to my new name: Jennifer Sharp.
And there are things I miss, things I long for and things I said good bye to when I decided to make the change.
An identity, a connection to someone, a previous life.
Triplett was my married name. Ryan and I met when we were teenagers. We grew up together, navigating through life and experiencing more than most. Mountains, rocks, trees, hikes, wandering the western United States, National parks, getting stuck on 7,000 foot granite faces, outdoor playgrounds... a life I miss when I see photos of climbers with their torn skin and strong hands.
To love someone that much and then lose them was a gift I was given. One that cut a deep, deep scar. One that made me see the true beauty in life and appreciate more, love more, smile more.
I embrace my new name, my new loving husband, my new life. My passions are still strong, though evolved from before.
Last week I ventured into the mountains with the puppies in the backseat of the Subaru. I left in the afternoon as big snow flakes covered the road. I escaped the Denver metro area an hour before it shut down, before white snow encased it. The roads looked foreign - unrecognizable from the storm. The freeway shut near Copper Mountain and traffic diverted through Leadville. I sensed danger, I could feel the mountains reclaiming their passes. The Subaru fishtailed down a slick road, causing mild alarm and yet I drove on until I couldn't anymore. Traffic stopped.
And it reminded me of a time when I was by myself. When I had to forge my own way. When I rediscovered my own identity. In some strange way, I loved every minute of it. I needed to feel, I needed to process, I needed to be alone in the middle of a blizzard on a 11,000' mountain pass.
I called Benjamin to let him know I was alright. He was thankful to hear from me as he had seen photos of the jack knifed semi trailer that blocked west-bound lanes. I was more than alright - I felt alive.
Ryan's dad passed a little over a month ago. The original Triplett. He death was painful and somewhat quick. He died within a few months of his diagnosis. I went to his memorial service last weekend and gave a heart felt eulogy. He was like a father to me. And I miss him.
Standing in the middle of the storm made me shout, "IS THAT ALL YOU'VE GOT?!?"
And I wonder if the storm was, in its own way, screaming back at me, "YOU CAN DO BETTER THAN THAT!"
So then I played the next four days in its snow covered mountains. They're good for the soul, you know.
And there are things I miss, things I long for and things I said good bye to when I decided to make the change.
An identity, a connection to someone, a previous life.
Triplett was my married name. Ryan and I met when we were teenagers. We grew up together, navigating through life and experiencing more than most. Mountains, rocks, trees, hikes, wandering the western United States, National parks, getting stuck on 7,000 foot granite faces, outdoor playgrounds... a life I miss when I see photos of climbers with their torn skin and strong hands.
To love someone that much and then lose them was a gift I was given. One that cut a deep, deep scar. One that made me see the true beauty in life and appreciate more, love more, smile more.
I embrace my new name, my new loving husband, my new life. My passions are still strong, though evolved from before.
Last week I ventured into the mountains with the puppies in the backseat of the Subaru. I left in the afternoon as big snow flakes covered the road. I escaped the Denver metro area an hour before it shut down, before white snow encased it. The roads looked foreign - unrecognizable from the storm. The freeway shut near Copper Mountain and traffic diverted through Leadville. I sensed danger, I could feel the mountains reclaiming their passes. The Subaru fishtailed down a slick road, causing mild alarm and yet I drove on until I couldn't anymore. Traffic stopped.
And it reminded me of a time when I was by myself. When I had to forge my own way. When I rediscovered my own identity. In some strange way, I loved every minute of it. I needed to feel, I needed to process, I needed to be alone in the middle of a blizzard on a 11,000' mountain pass.
I called Benjamin to let him know I was alright. He was thankful to hear from me as he had seen photos of the jack knifed semi trailer that blocked west-bound lanes. I was more than alright - I felt alive.
Ryan's dad passed a little over a month ago. The original Triplett. He death was painful and somewhat quick. He died within a few months of his diagnosis. I went to his memorial service last weekend and gave a heart felt eulogy. He was like a father to me. And I miss him.
Standing in the middle of the storm made me shout, "IS THAT ALL YOU'VE GOT?!?"
And I wonder if the storm was, in its own way, screaming back at me, "YOU CAN DO BETTER THAN THAT!"
So then I played the next four days in its snow covered mountains. They're good for the soul, you know.
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