Punk Rope. 55 minutes
A fun-filled, high energy class for the whole family (4 years old and up)! You will learn a variety of jump rope techniques lasting two-to-three minutes. Beginners welcome. We provide the jump ropes. In between jumping, we will partake in group exercise games, recess-like drills, something like boot-camp, relays, solo conditioning drills, and playful pylometrics. It’s a blast!
www.punkrope.com
Being held at the Allard Center YMCA, Goffstown:
Wednesdays 7:05PM
Fridays 6AM
Thursday, September 13, 2007
I'm teaching Simply Kickboxing
Simply Kickboxing. 45 minutes
Basic kickboxing moves without being choreographed. Punch and kick your way to a stronger, leaner body. Simply kickboxing focuses on form, one move at a time. Expect repetition with purpose. Front kicks, side kicks, back kicks, jabs, upper cuts, hooks, crosses, speed bag and more. Kickboxing conditioning for every body.
Being held at the Allard Center YMCA, Goffstown
Mondays 7:05PM
Basic kickboxing moves without being choreographed. Punch and kick your way to a stronger, leaner body. Simply kickboxing focuses on form, one move at a time. Expect repetition with purpose. Front kicks, side kicks, back kicks, jabs, upper cuts, hooks, crosses, speed bag and more. Kickboxing conditioning for every body.
Being held at the Allard Center YMCA, Goffstown
Mondays 7:05PM
Monday, September 10, 2007
Reach the Beach Relay (New Hampshire)
Our all ladies team is looking for 3 or 4 more runners to run Reach the Beach www.rtbrelay.com relay this Friday, September 14 - Saturday, September 15. Reach the Beach is a 200 mile relay race that runs all day, through the night, and all day again. Please email me for more details if you are available to run. We're getting desperate, and may switch to a mixed team of males and females... so if you have any interest at all, please let me know.
Lisa Richards
lisa_richards@hotmail.com
cell: 603-396-8763
Lisa Richards
lisa_richards@hotmail.com
cell: 603-396-8763
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Death by Deer Flies
I started my run at 7:30AM on the Fourth of July. I began up my 500-foot driveway, right onto Merrill Road, left onto Mountain Road, straight onto Lesnyk Road, left onto the dirt of Bog Road.
And here begins the realization that I was about to be re-introduced to the Tabanidae family: deer flies, yellow flies, horse flies, pine flies … 35 species or more of pesky insects that inflict painful bites on warm-blooded humans. Oh, yes, I had been introduced before.
I thought I was a champion when I stopped running abruptly, turned around and swatted with my bare hands at two deer flies. They fell to the ground, and then I stepped on each to ensure they were dead. “I can handle it,” I thought to myself. “Fight!”
By the time I next turned around, about 15 of the ferocious flies were trailing me. Kill or be killed. This was war. No sword was going to help me now. I looked like I had ants in my pants the way I was dancing around. One landed on my left arm. I slapped myself, the brave fly dropped to the earth, sentenced to death. I resumed running.
Interestingly, it is only the females that are vampire-like. The male flies collect pollen instead of blood. I know the determination of females since I am one. Fear it. Don’t mess with the Tabanidae family. And don’t mess with me.
I understand the power of visualization. I sometimes pretend that I am being chased by bears; that I am in a life or death situation, and that I must outrun that which is about to attack me. Under the fight or flight response, I intuitively choose flight. But here I was not having to pretend anything. I had to keep running because the vicious flies were gaining on me. The faster I ran, the more warmth and oxygen I gave off alerting more biting flies to join the pack of fierce predators. It was like I was Forest Gump, and along the way, I was picking up violent flies rather than jovial runners.
I tried to defend my super-self, but there were too many now. It wasn’t making me happy. Perhaps I should have remained sleeping with the enemy (i.e., longtime boyfriend) under the safety of rooftop and walls. At this point, it sounded like a better idea.
A massive swarm of flies were hovering all around me. One darted into my mouth when I let my guard down. I spit it out. “Ew. I mean, Gottcha.”
Occasionally, I used my hands to wipe the beads of sweat from my forearms to ensure they were free of feeders. My sweat whisked into the air like a water sprinkler on a lawn. The sweat was dripping down my legs, and my eyes glanced around to make certain that I wasn’t being assaulted.
Some of the flies were small. Some seemed giant-size, like the size of a bat whirling around me. I felt like prey. I felt powerless, as a fly landed on my back and bit me through my blue Montrail singlet. “Aaahh,” I screamed, while running faster and twisting sporadically to look behind me.
Has anyone has ever died from being bitten by these dangerous insects? Death by deer flies? I prayed that I would survive. With my survival instincts on high alert, I ran faster. Running with flies can make a slow runner fast. I know firsthand.
I counted the cars that I let slip away. Each one of the drivers could have rescued me. I’m sure they saw that I was running in a panic, my arms flailing behind my body and then whipping around to slap the air. I contemplated taking a rest in the shelter of a stranger’s screened-in porch, but I continued on my route instead. I dreamt of the retreat of my home.
Eventually, I made it home ... with only a few fly casualties and only a few actual bites to speak of. It wasn’t an ill-fated run after all. I declare peace.
And here begins the realization that I was about to be re-introduced to the Tabanidae family: deer flies, yellow flies, horse flies, pine flies … 35 species or more of pesky insects that inflict painful bites on warm-blooded humans. Oh, yes, I had been introduced before.
I thought I was a champion when I stopped running abruptly, turned around and swatted with my bare hands at two deer flies. They fell to the ground, and then I stepped on each to ensure they were dead. “I can handle it,” I thought to myself. “Fight!”
By the time I next turned around, about 15 of the ferocious flies were trailing me. Kill or be killed. This was war. No sword was going to help me now. I looked like I had ants in my pants the way I was dancing around. One landed on my left arm. I slapped myself, the brave fly dropped to the earth, sentenced to death. I resumed running.
Interestingly, it is only the females that are vampire-like. The male flies collect pollen instead of blood. I know the determination of females since I am one. Fear it. Don’t mess with the Tabanidae family. And don’t mess with me.
I understand the power of visualization. I sometimes pretend that I am being chased by bears; that I am in a life or death situation, and that I must outrun that which is about to attack me. Under the fight or flight response, I intuitively choose flight. But here I was not having to pretend anything. I had to keep running because the vicious flies were gaining on me. The faster I ran, the more warmth and oxygen I gave off alerting more biting flies to join the pack of fierce predators. It was like I was Forest Gump, and along the way, I was picking up violent flies rather than jovial runners.
I tried to defend my super-self, but there were too many now. It wasn’t making me happy. Perhaps I should have remained sleeping with the enemy (i.e., longtime boyfriend) under the safety of rooftop and walls. At this point, it sounded like a better idea.
A massive swarm of flies were hovering all around me. One darted into my mouth when I let my guard down. I spit it out. “Ew. I mean, Gottcha.”
Occasionally, I used my hands to wipe the beads of sweat from my forearms to ensure they were free of feeders. My sweat whisked into the air like a water sprinkler on a lawn. The sweat was dripping down my legs, and my eyes glanced around to make certain that I wasn’t being assaulted.
Some of the flies were small. Some seemed giant-size, like the size of a bat whirling around me. I felt like prey. I felt powerless, as a fly landed on my back and bit me through my blue Montrail singlet. “Aaahh,” I screamed, while running faster and twisting sporadically to look behind me.
Has anyone has ever died from being bitten by these dangerous insects? Death by deer flies? I prayed that I would survive. With my survival instincts on high alert, I ran faster. Running with flies can make a slow runner fast. I know firsthand.
I counted the cars that I let slip away. Each one of the drivers could have rescued me. I’m sure they saw that I was running in a panic, my arms flailing behind my body and then whipping around to slap the air. I contemplated taking a rest in the shelter of a stranger’s screened-in porch, but I continued on my route instead. I dreamt of the retreat of my home.
Eventually, I made it home ... with only a few fly casualties and only a few actual bites to speak of. It wasn’t an ill-fated run after all. I declare peace.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Ironman Coeur d'Alene
The race director declared the swim was the most dangerous conditions they have seen in 13 years of Ironman history, with two-foot swells. Strong wind was driving the waves and the currents. Never mind the mass swim start. With safety being the number one concern, the athletes were given the choice to skip the swim, do one lap of the swim (1.2 miles), or do the expected two laps (2.4 miles). No offense and no judgment meant, but that’s hogwash and it’s highly unusual. An Ironman consists of a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and a 26.2 mile run, and thus, I didn’t even consider bailing on the swim. I am an Ironman.
There were more kayaks, boats, and lifeguards on surf boards to help any swimmers in trouble than maybe any Ironman has ever seen before. And some people were pulled from the Lake.
The Idaho bike course was new for this year’s race: more scenic and more mountainous than previous years. From Lake Coeur d’Alene transition, nearest City Center, the course followed the Lake’s edge, and turned back in the opposite direction some 8 miles in. The course then ventured into Hayden Lake area again following the Lake’s edge, scoring hill after hill, and looping back around.
I saw a triathlete laying on the road, obviously waiting for an ambulance. It appeared he had not made one of the many sharp turns and blood was spat upon the tar, and leaking generously from his head. Of the 2196 athletes who started this Ironman, he was amongst the 110 athletes who wouldn’t finish this race.
The first loop on the bike, I was laying the hammer down. I felt pretty strong and thought I could keep it going. The hills were amazing, and just kept on rolling. By the second loop, I had lost some momentum.
Starting the run, I didn’t feel particularly energized, but I expected my energy level to change. I was walking within the first few miles of the marathon, one foot in front of the other. And within those first few miles, I felt blisters developing on the balls of my feet. In a few more miles, I could feel blisters developing on both of my heels as well. Shoot. This was not going so well. At an aid station, I took off my shoes and applied some Vaseline. I considered Band-Aids, but they wouldn’t have stayed in place, nor did I think they would have helped when it came down to it. I put my shoes back on my feet, over the egg-shaped fluid filled blisters. I continued to walk, leaning toward the outside of my feet on every step. Each step was painful, like walking on a bed of hot lava rocks. I pretty much walked the whole marathon. The run course followed the edge of the Lake, as it had on the first stretch of the bike course. The scenery sure was pretty.
The day goes by fast, but I did have time to appreciate the fact that my body is capable of swimming, biking, and running long. I had time to analyze what it takes to make it to the starting line of Ironman and what I can do better next time. I had time to think about my courageous dad, who is struggling with his health at this very moment. I had time to remember my loving mother, who died in 2001 before I did my first triathlon. I know she would be proud of me.
Reaching the finish line in 14 hours and 39 minutes was a relief. I endured and completed my fifth Ironman.
There were more kayaks, boats, and lifeguards on surf boards to help any swimmers in trouble than maybe any Ironman has ever seen before. And some people were pulled from the Lake.
The Idaho bike course was new for this year’s race: more scenic and more mountainous than previous years. From Lake Coeur d’Alene transition, nearest City Center, the course followed the Lake’s edge, and turned back in the opposite direction some 8 miles in. The course then ventured into Hayden Lake area again following the Lake’s edge, scoring hill after hill, and looping back around.
I saw a triathlete laying on the road, obviously waiting for an ambulance. It appeared he had not made one of the many sharp turns and blood was spat upon the tar, and leaking generously from his head. Of the 2196 athletes who started this Ironman, he was amongst the 110 athletes who wouldn’t finish this race.
The first loop on the bike, I was laying the hammer down. I felt pretty strong and thought I could keep it going. The hills were amazing, and just kept on rolling. By the second loop, I had lost some momentum.
Starting the run, I didn’t feel particularly energized, but I expected my energy level to change. I was walking within the first few miles of the marathon, one foot in front of the other. And within those first few miles, I felt blisters developing on the balls of my feet. In a few more miles, I could feel blisters developing on both of my heels as well. Shoot. This was not going so well. At an aid station, I took off my shoes and applied some Vaseline. I considered Band-Aids, but they wouldn’t have stayed in place, nor did I think they would have helped when it came down to it. I put my shoes back on my feet, over the egg-shaped fluid filled blisters. I continued to walk, leaning toward the outside of my feet on every step. Each step was painful, like walking on a bed of hot lava rocks. I pretty much walked the whole marathon. The run course followed the edge of the Lake, as it had on the first stretch of the bike course. The scenery sure was pretty.
The day goes by fast, but I did have time to appreciate the fact that my body is capable of swimming, biking, and running long. I had time to analyze what it takes to make it to the starting line of Ironman and what I can do better next time. I had time to think about my courageous dad, who is struggling with his health at this very moment. I had time to remember my loving mother, who died in 2001 before I did my first triathlon. I know she would be proud of me.
Reaching the finish line in 14 hours and 39 minutes was a relief. I endured and completed my fifth Ironman.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Liberty to Liberty Triathlon
What does the statue of liberty stand for? Liberty, as in independence; as in freedom. When would the sound of the liberty bell be heard? In 1776.From New York City to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. In the horizon of the Statue of Liberty and on to the Liberty Bell.
I was a New Englander on Memorial Day weekend kicking off the summer under a sun that was laying out a day reading ninety-one degrees. My point here is that in New England, 91 degrees is plenty hot, especially when we haven’t acclimated ourselves with much warm weather. Sixty-two degrees was the water temperature; perfect in my opinion. Let’s face it: I am practically part whale with the amount of extra fat I am carrying, and I was wearing a full-length Aqua Sphere wetsuit.
Each time a breath, a roll. I had thought the salt water would be very dirty, disgusting, in fact. It was fine where we swam. Upon exiting, I was doused with fresh water from a garden hose.
The transitions were not timed during this race: part of the lure that makes this race unusual. From the swim, we walked a mile to board a ferry. Proceeded with a 45-minute ferry ride to the bike start. The first few miles of the bike, we rode as a touring group. At a set point, we started the competitive bike leg. We were ordered by swim finish. I was the 31st competitor out of the water, so I was 31st to start the bike in a time trial format. Each rider began ten seconds behind the previous.
The next four hours over seventy-six miles, I was in race mode. The pollen was thick amidst the haze. It was sticking to my tires where they rolled upon the pavement. It was sticking to my sweating body in the humid air. It appeared as if I had painted the creases in my elbows yellow. Side thought: this doesn’t make me want to eat elbow macaroni. I ranked better on the bike, finishing the bike leg 21st overall.
Again, the transitions were not timed. So, I changed comfortably from my bike shoes into my running shoes, and had a quarter of a turkey sandwich. Then, as a loner, I lined up at the run start and set off to complete the 6.2 mile run
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course. This is where I was glad that the run was fairly short. It was hot, and I was uncomfortable. I slacked a lot on the run, justified taking walk breaks. It was about an hour, and I had arrived at the finish line. I drank blue Gatorade until I thought I was going to be sick. I was thirsty.Many athletes dropped out of the race due to heat exhaustion before they even began the run along the river. I continued; always moving. Finished at the Philadelphia Art Museum stairs where a statue of Sylvester “Rocky” Stallone stands.
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