Becoming Ironman: Legacy

On Ironman

2011-09-06T23:21:00.004-05:00

I've charted a course to Ironman again for 2013. I had toyed, a year ago, with the idea of doing Ironman again in 2012, but it's been one thing after another this year, making those plans unfeasible. But much more than that, the switch wasn't on. I wanted to race Ironman again. But I wasn't invested yet in becoming Ironman again. I don't know how to explain it, really, other than to call it a switch. A thing that drives me. More than just an idea or purposeful thought. It can live in my head, but it wasn't yet living in my heart. It is again, now.

When this blog began way back in 2006, and when I first had the outlandish, ridiculous idea of training for an Ironman race in 2004, things were different. I was different. I was only just emerging into a time of enlightenment in my life, after spending many years in a sort of haze and darkness. That first Ironman for me - and go ahead, start at the beginning if you like - my mother called it my Vision Quest. It was a mechanism through which I came to understand myself, my world, my potential. It was exhausting. And I don't mean the cold, rainy race day. That was only the very fitting environment to serve as capstone. The saga was exhausting. It required every ounce of my mind and spirit to outrun ghosts, make discoveries, join the living, find the world. I did not embark on the chase for any of those reasons - I just thought it looked like hard thing to do, and I was in a place where doing hard things was time well spent. I had no idea it would change me.

Inevitably, after finishing a first Ironman and considering doing another (in 2009) - and particularly with as much personal intensity as I approached the experience the first time - the battle cry goes from YOU WILL DO THIS (which is really just a manly rephrasing of HOLY SHIT, HOW WILL I EVER DO THIS?) to the far less interesting HOW FAST WILL YOU DO THIS. That seems to be the logical progression of perspective, and isn't that sad. One is exhilarating, terrifying, glorious, awesome in true sense. The other is narcissistic, competitive, self-serving. And okay, yes, the argument is there that triathlon, and Ironman in particular, can be generally all those things (can 6 hours alone on a bike be anything but self-serving?), but there's a distinction, at least to me. One is an exploration of mystery. The other is just…trying to get to the finish line as fast as you can. I've never gotten truly sucked into that - I've always thought it was a rare privilege just to be on-course - but in 2009 my race goals revolved around hoping to achieve time-based goals. So inevitably, if one doesn't achieve those goals, he takes it in stride, but suffers some disappointment, however tempered.

I think that's stupid. I think that's the wrong way to play this game.

All any of us should want - in anything we're doing, whatever it is in life - is to become part of the mystery. "Give me success or its constant pursuit, and I'll choose the pursuit." I saw that in a store once, and I've tried to attribute it to somebody but I don't know who wrote it. I have it on a huge poster in my training room. It's in fact something I generally subscribe to, however imperfectly, in all part of my life.

On my bike this weekend, while contemplating these things about Ironman, a fox crossed the road right in front of me. Just ambling along. A fox. If you've been here awhile, you know the fox has a certain kind of mysterious purpose for me specifically in regards to Ironman. On the one hand, encountering the fox blew my mind. Almost fell off my bike. On the other, seeing it made me say, "Of course. And welcome back." I don't understand it at all, and have no need to. I just know I'm supposed to pay attention. Be in the mystery. Or if "mystery" is too vague, then rephrase. Just - show up. Get in the game. Whatever that is for you. Truly engage. Don't spectate, don't sit in the bleachers and shout about how it should be done, just get to doing it. Put up. Try not, do. Pick it up and set it down.

So when I say "I've charted a course for Ironman in 2013", what I mean is - what I hope, after all this time we've all learned is - you see, it's already begun. The having to carve an Ironman's muscle again out of this presently lax form. Preparing for a winter of base training to race smart next summer, learning lessons and sharpening knowledge again. Working for something two years away, knowing that hell, anything can happen in two years. Race day is the celebration of that stuff. What I really mean, though, is step back into the mystery. Refocus. Rediscover.

And Ironman may, I maintain, remain just the vessel. I wonder if I purposely (though subconsciously) sabotage my fitness in the years after Ironman races, just so I reach some point where it seems a shade insurmountable to have to achieve it again. Because I like the odds against me. Because I'm goal oriented, and I like big goals. I run marathons, and I enjoy them very much - but truth? I don't take them too seriously. They hold no fire, only a tiny spark. Ironman is where it's at for me. So I will daydream again about a day in September a couple years from now and the way the sun rises over Lake Monona, and flying down Witte and Garfoot, and the cheers for heroes up the Three Bitches. The lights on State Street. I'll hope my daughter will know and understand and cheer me on with her mom, and I'll swoop her up in my arms and ask her to be a fast cat with me, if she still plays her game fast cats (which is "run as fast as you can") - which is doubtful, but see, it's the stuff I need now to get me back to the starting gun. Man that stuff will be thick in my head. But you know what? After the race, the next winter or the next summer or two, what I'll think about when I look back on Ironman are the purposeful sounds of the machine underneath me at 5:30am in June, and an 8-miler in a thunderstorm, and my Grandpa on the dock as I come in from an open water swim and me and D for three miles in the running stroller or helping me "fix my bike" when I'm changing tires or degreasing the chain. That's the stuff, man. That's it right there. And doing that outside of Ironman is great, and it's fun, and it's meaningful. But it's not the same. So that's what I'm already engaging in. And yes, I'll always be working to get faster, be smarter. Chase speed to see what I can achieve. But really - how fast I go on race day? Man, seriously. Who cares.

I've changed, too. I'm not infatuated with the gear and trappings anymore - I think first the engine needs work before a person drops $200 to save 20 grams. I'll always enjoy the shiny things - that's who I am - but it seems like energy and resources spent elsewhere. I'm not interested in proving to myself how far or fast I can go in training - I'm interesting in fitting training around the rest of my life instead of the other way around. I'm not paranoid about missing a ride or a run, or needing to make it up tomorrow (that doesn't work, yo), or making sure I have 4 century rides underneath me by August, or whatever. I like structure, and I like a plan - but my plans now are - by necessity and design - a lot more flexible and fluid. This is the stuff of enjoying the experience, rather than becoming slave to it. And it's only stuff that, for me, required experience and maturity - in the game and in life - to embrace.

One other thing - this will be it for the blog. A few reasons - "social media" wasn't even a phrase in January 2006 when I started this thing, and now twitter (xt4) serves me a lot better for the occasional training update or thought, or many of you are friends at Facebook. I will be chronicling the journey back to Ironman - but only through pictures, using instagram (also xt4). Mostly - talking about this part of my life isn't interesting anymore (as indicated by the total lack of posts in almost a year). There was a time when talking about it was as essential for me as doing it - not because it validated it, but because the experience was only complete when I could rehash, analyze, understand, quantify and qualify, deconstruct and reconstruct. None of those things are true anymore for me in the game. I just want to play it now, that's all. Besides, there's now a whole subset of my social circle - an entire small but meaningful universe of friends - that at first existed only through this medium. We only used to know each other by our blog handles because we were all working through this crazy thing together. And now I know what your kids are up to, and we talk about our jobs, you've met my daughter, we've hung out, and we could go have a beer and talk about any number of things away from the game. That's way cooler, anyway.

So in completing this thought now, as I throw my leg around the top tube and get to pedaling off into the sunset, I'll sign off. If I had any advice - well hell, this whole thing is full of my often foolish, rarely solid, but quite alacritous advice. But if I had any other advice, it's - do it. Yes, do it. Whatever it is. Whatever your Ironman is. You'll be changed for it. In so many ways.

Thanks for coming along. Tailwinds, one and all -

Chris

"xt4"

September 6, 2011

"You want to say something important and significant. You want some phrase that simply captures something momentous...something like "In The Beginning", or maybe "And So Began", or "Once Upon A Time", or "All children, except one, grow up", or "A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away", or at least, "Marley was dead, to begin with." But ultimately it's a day, just like most other days, and so in most ways unremarkable. Except that today, Ironman begins."

Race Report: Twin Cities Marathon

2010-10-05T08:33:00.004-05:00

Sometime right around the 10 mile marker, I passed the 3:45 pacing group and actually laughed out loud.

Everything was awesome. I felt strong and light, the day was truly flawless, and I was having a blast. I was high-fiving kids, bobbing my head to Billie Jean, pointing and laughing at signs that I liked. By far the most fun I'd had at a marathon.

I'd set out to maintain a minimum 8:45/mi pace - but I also set out to just go by feel and find a pace that worked. Often I'd find myself zipping along in the low 8's, or trotting happily at 8:20-something. When practical I'd slow back down, but if it felt good I'd just stay where I was. I was going to try and not overthink the day. I wasn't going to chase anything, but I wasn't going to just let it come to me, either. I guess I planned on trying to meet the race halfway.

I crossed the halfway mark at around 1:50 a full 5 minutes ahead of schedule, and on pace to finish 10 minutes ahead of my goal time of 3:50. I found the team shortly after that - my friends Susan, Mike, and Todd who have chased me around so many races, so many times, that they're experts at it. I shouted with a smile, "Can I hold it, or will I blow up?" and Todd yelled back "Pick it up and set it down!" I took in a gel - just as planned - and at the aid station walked while I drank some Powerade and water. So far everything was going precisely to plan. I was eating and drinking right on schedule, just as I had in training. I felt fast but not out of control. Most importantly I was really enjoying the day.

The morning was not just cool, but cold - low 40's to start the race. I kept my $5 Target sweats on until as close to the gun as I could, staying warm as long as possible. After I'd shed them, with just a few minutes to go, I heard my name shouted from the side of the starting corral. My friend Pete - who I haven't seen in years, since I moved to Madison and he moved to Denver - thought on a whim to find higher ground and see if he could find me (knowing from the blog what I'd be wearing and where I'd be lining up - awesome!). What a great way to start the day, with a quick chat with an old friend. I shook hands and a few minutes later, with cheers and applause, the game was on.

The first few miles of the Twin Cities marathon are, really, a total blur. You're downtown, the throng of people is so thick that when you look ahead you just see this moving, melding organism that covers the entire span of the street. It was easy to go fast in those first few miles - of course it was - so I was always mindful to back off, back off, back off. Friends are chatting, people are smiling, the streets are lined with spectators and families. It's noisy and busy and full and awesome. It wasn't until a few miles in, finally out of downtown and going around the chain of lakes, a few miles after I stopped to hug my mother standing on a corner cheering ("No hill for a climber!" - an old Dadism), where I took in the colors on the edges of a still lake, vapor slowly easing off the surface, the morning sunlight bright and blinding in the reflection, that I was able to pause internally for a second and observe - hey, you're back at it. Back in a big game. Having fun doing what you love. Fit enough for it. And so I gave thanks to whatever it is I feel compelled to articulate the words "thank you" to, for the opportunity to be running here with these thousands of other people and have a second like that all to myself, to see the sun low and rising like that, the color and spectacle and fanfare of it all. I think awesome is a word overused from its intended meaning (including most often by yours truly), but here it was just the right word.

Into mile 16 now, and I reviewed and adapted my original strategy. I'd wanted to treat miles 15-18 as kind of a final warm-up 5k, and then 18-21 as something more swift before a hillier climb to about mile 23.5. But I was still ticking comfortably along at around 8:20/mile or so, so I decided just to hold that pace to mile 18.

But by mile 17, I peeked into the hurt box.

And by mile 18 I'd thrown open the lid, jumped in, and slammed the door.

Two things kind of converged on me at the same time. The first is, I dramatically underestimated how hilly the course got at about mile 17-18. It starts what is really a slow, steady incline that, except when interrupted by an occasionally steeper section, doesn't really end until close to mile 24. My ability to deal with this incline was diminished by the second thing, which is that despite my planning and strategy and methodical efforts during the morning I was getting really dehydrated. So suddenly - and it was pretty sudden - my legs were just shredded. Of course I went out fast, and of course I was paying for some of that effort now, but that was to be expected. When you tank so quickly like that, though, it's a sure sign that either hydration or nutrition is off the mark.

This was the kind of dehydration that sneaks up on you though. It wasn't a hot day - the sun was bright and warm, but it was still just upper 40's, maybe a nice cool 50 degrees. My sweat rate wasn't high, and my heart rate was low. I was drinking about every 3 miles, consistent with my training. But it wasn't enough - and as I said to my friends after the race, it's like letting your car engine go without oil. Without water the muscles and tissue don't have enough of the right lubrication, and things start to freeze up. My legs started feeling in a constant state of just-about-to-cramp. By around mile 20/21, they felt totally alien - like I was having to forcefully use my hips in order to pull my legs along with me. I could actually feel my hamstring muscles jostle and bounce - at one time I reached back there to make sure something wasn't sticking to me, or that my race number wasn't somehow caught up in my shorts, or something to explain what a weird sensation I was having in my legs. It was unlike anything I've ever experienced before.

I didn't really know I was dehydrated, though - and that's usually how it is, isn't it. By the time you're thirsty, it's a little too late. Only after the race, sitting with my friends, was I shocked to see how white and chalky with salt my shirt was, to feel it on my face. Not enough water in my perspiration. I should've seen all the signs, of course, but it goes to show - I remain a lowly, consistently humbled student of this game. About the time you think you have some things figured out, some basic lessons come back to punch you in the face.

By mile 23 I was doing a combination death shuffle into power walk into light trot. With about 10k to go I'd done some math, and figured if I could just go with 9 minute miles I'd reach my goal of 3:50. With 5 miles to go the 3:45 pace group raced me by again. With 4 miles to go I was trying to work out how to break 4 hours. With 3 miles to go the math told me that goal was now also out of reach.

There's something in that moment that's pretty deeply disappointing, in the later miles of a race when you realize that what would be, on any normal day, a very pedestrian effort of, say, 10 minute miles is out of your grasp. When you know that what you have in front of you now isn't the specter of the extraordinary you'd hoped for, but now just a finish. And I don't mean to say that "just a finish" is any kind of meaningless goal - because it isn't, it isn't ever. But at this point I don't race "just to finish". I assume I'll finish, not because I'm over-confident, but because I'm a destination-driven person and part of that means setting goals ahead of just where the finish line lives. At this point I have other visions of grandeur in mind. And this one had slipped away.

The last half mile or so of the marathon is downhill, and awesome. My legs were screaming. I moved as fast as I was able. But I finished with a smile on my face - a real smile, a genuine smile, in 4:07:xx. It wasn't 3:50 - it wasn't even close. It wasn't under 4 hours - the benchmark that continues to elude me - and it wasn't even my fastest marathon ever of 4:02:xx. But I gave as good as I got this beautiful fall day, and that's the best I had in me. No regrets, and in teh grand scheme of life, nothing to be too disappointed in.

Bits & Pieces:

This just in: 26.2 miles is a long damn way.
If I was 5 minutes ahead of schedule halfway, and I finished almost 20 minutes behind schedule at the end, well then holy shit about the last half of that marathon, my friends. I hope the wheels didn't hit anybody when they came off!
Or in other words, sometimes you eat the bear, sometimes the bear calls you a name, you incredulously ask, "what did you say?", and the bear says, "you heard me," before adding under its breath, "bitch", and then when you stand up to take it outside it swiftly ninja kicks you upside the head until you fall flat on your back, then kicks you in the nuts, spits on you when you're doubled over in agony, and kicks you once more in the ass just to embarrass you before it says, "what now, huh? what now?" and when all you can do is groan back a meaningless reply it says, "yeah, that's what I thought" before bending down to steal your wallet.
This is only my 3rd stand alone marathon, and only my 2nd one where I had any notions to do anything but finish (my first, in 2005, was well over 5 hours). If you count Ironman, it's my 5th marathon, but the standalone is such a different animal from an Ironman marathon that it doesn't even feel like the same race. In Ironman, you're really just trying to slow down least. The adrenaline factors have mostly worn off, and you're also in a much more solitary space - the thousands of other races have all long ago found their own space. In a stand alone, for the first 10 miles at least you're shoulder to shoulder. It's buzzing and bouncing and hectic. You're trying to go fast - so your expectations of yourself and your body are really completely different. But like Ironman, the opportunities to really get it right are kind of few and far between. You can't do a marathon every weekend (well, crazy people can, but I can't), so just as it took me a few years to really understand how I can race my best Olympic distance or Half Iron, for instance (not that I'm done learning, there, not by a long shot), it'll take me a few years for this distance too, I think. The difference is, I can do 5 or 6 Oly races in a summer if I want and really study the distance from every angle. With life and other race goals, and the physical tax the marathon takes, it's a long long time between opportunities with the marathon.
I am disappointed that I couldn't go faster, because I thought I would. I expected it. It was all but forgone in my mind that I'd at least break 4 hours. I felt ready for it, physically able. And, maybe I was. Or maybe I wasn't - I finished with slightly faster than a 9:30/mile pace, which is pretty consistent with what I was running my long runs in training. But I suspect had I managed my hydration better, it would have been a different day. I don't know if I could've held on for 3:50, but - well, who knows.
But when I say "disappointment", it requires some perspective. I'm long, long past having much of an ego in this game. I had one race, an Olympic distance race in 2005, I think, where I was bent out of shape about my performance after the race, and it was a particularly douchey way to behave. So it's not that I don't care - I do, I really really do (good Lord look how much I write about this stuff, isn't it obvious?), and I really want to achieve these goals that I believe are realistic, and that I work so hard towards, and I really do get disappointed when I can't or don't meet them, and that disappointment usually festers into something more productive over time - but, well, come on. Have you seen my wife? She's friggin' gorgeous. My daughter is - truly - the most amazing person I know, and at night time she wraps her hand around mine and we sing Sweet Baby James together. I have a very cool business. I have great friends who I laugh with and love. I have seen true despair before and friends, race results ain't it. I do this stuff because I love it. I love everything about it, including the notion of having to bust ass to attain these goals - and that sometimes, maybe just as often as not - I'll need a few shots at it. I love that it's me versus me everytime out, and everytime out I can learn something to apply to the next time. So "disappointed" is in perspective. Suffice to say I mean it when I say it was an amazing day and I had a great time and as much as my legs still feel like I got hit by a truck, I kind of wish I could go do it again this afternoon.
And suffice to say I will be back, chasing that elusive 4 hours, maybe 3:50.
Speaking of my legs, holy crap. I've never felt this awful after a race before, not ever, even Ironman. I could hardly move Sunday night. My hip flexors on both legs are just out of control. My quads and calves are killing me. Going up stairs hurts hard. I always know if it's been a nutrition or hydration thing, including workouts on my bike, if I'm just wiped out to uselessness after the race/workout. I was useless Sunday night, that's for sure.
I'm missing something, and I'm not sure what it is, and I hope to find some answers this offseason. My Ironman marathon got tough because I was having GI issues from hell, and I fell apart in this race because of dehydration. That's two races where I just couldn't hang in there when it got tough. It's pretty easy to run the first 16 miles of a marathon - the last 10 miles is your proof, and this race proved that I have more to prove. Whether it's better endurance, strength, more attention to basics like nutrition and hydration - I need to review everything. Pick it up, hold it in the light, see where it fits in with everything else. At this point I don't feel like it's physical weakness or inability that's holding me back.
I want to shout out to my friend Steve in a Speedo, who ran the 10 mile race in under 60 minutes - his holy grail this season. Also shouting out to my Pharmie, who raced the marathon, and Kritta, who raced in Milwaukee, and my friend Sara who did the 10 mile this weekend as well.
Seemed to be some tracking issues - a lot of people weren't receiving all or any of the text updates they should have been. The official results page also seems to be listing my chip time wrong, in the 4:11:xx area, when that's the gun time. So if you check official results, I promise I'm not manufacturing 4 extra minutes to make myself seem so much more awesome.
Special thanks to Mike and Susan and Todd for coming out and hauling me around for 26 miles, and to Pete for cheering me on as well. I love you guys. To everybody who was tracking me via text, or online, or who shouted out during the race (RVS - great to see you!), or offered support at twitter or facebook or email, thank you so much for your support. I can't even articulate how much it continues to mean to me.
I have a whole other post on spectating that I'm going to write.
So, what's next: Not totally sure. I'm going to rest up this week, and then just do cool stuff for the next few weeks. Ride my bike as long as the weather lets me, that kind of thing. Planning on a hard 5k on Thanksgiving morning, and spending my winter busting ass to get faster. By next spring I hope to have the fitness to make plans that include a spring half marathon, some Olympic distance triathlons next summer, and the big bright beacon on the horizon, a Half Iron in July - and you can bet I'll be ambitious with all of those. But for now, rest is the order of the day. Let my legs heal up so I can get back out there and start it all up again.

Tracking me on race day...

2010-09-28T17:21:00.002-05:00

If you're interested in tracking me Sunday during the marathon, you can sign up here to get text messages on my progress:

http://run.convergent-solutions.com/Registration/

Race Week: Twin Cities Marathon

2010-09-28T08:29:00.007-05:00

Funny how rearranged my goals have become. For 95% of this training season the goal was to go under 4 hours - something I've never done (4:02:xx in 2008) but have felt capable of. In the last 2 weeks my goal has shifted to 3:50 - and my confidence is sky high, provided I can stay out of anything unexpected for the rest of this week. So, let's get to details, much of it mostly for my benefit (and with the warning that these are a lot of mundane details, but such is race day preparation...):

Nutrition

Starting today (Tuesday) I'll start to tilt my diet for the rest of the week towards slightly more carb intensive. Nothing crazy - not pasta every night, just a bit of an increase.

Friday night will be a large carbohydrate meal - planning pizza, which is a usual pre-race meal. Saturday night - the night before the race - I'll have a sensible pasta dinner at around 5:00pm. At around 7:00 or so I'll snack on a banana, maybe a PB&J. Hydrating well, as usual, throughout the week.

Race day nutrition - about 2 hours before the gun I'll my usual 2 packets of oat meal and a whole wheat bagel with peanut butter with some Gatorade. I'll sip Gatorade the rest of the morning.

Race nutrition - Nothing but water for the first 6 miles or so. At around mile 6 I'll have a gel and some Powerade (the on-course drink). From there out I'll have a Powerade about every 3 miles, and another gel at about every hour. I use the Powerbar gels - the first gel will have no caffeine, the second will be their "1x" amount of caffeine, and from there to the end I'll have "2x" caffeine gels. If all goes as planned, I'll likely take in my last gel at about the 3:20 mark of my race. Water as needed. Plan subject to change like everything else in the course of 26.2 miles.

Gear

I learned a long time ago to pretty much prepare for anything come race day, so (here's a helpful tip!) I've been packing my bag bit by bit since Sunday (a week before the race), so that if I think of something ("oh yeah, some thin gloves", for instance) I either go pack it right then when I think of it, or I add it to my to-do list so I make sure not to forget. So, I have contingencies in place for rain or cold, but as of right now the weather forecast looks just about perfect, with sunshine and a high of mid-upper 50's.

The essentials include:

Sugoi Fuel Tri Tank

This is the fancy Brand Champions exclusive kit, which as I really love Sugoi stuff and they happen to give me awesome discounts on stuff in calling me a "brand champion", I'm happy to share the love. This is a version of the same tank I've worn at Ironman Wisconsin 2006 and 2009, so it's tried and true. I like the fit, it's comfortable, provides some compression, and has some small but useful pockets (as opposed to too-big so stuff bounces around) for my gels. An all around awesome piece of kit.

Sugoi Piston 200 short

Two things I've learned about racing kit preferences through all my traithlon-specific gear: I love compression, and I don't care for floppy fabrics. The latter of which makes little sense because I train in the usual running shorts that we all do, but there you go. These shorts offer some compression through the quads and hamstrings, and I've found (mental or no) that for long distances the compression really helps with muscle fatigue. Plus, the more spandex the better, I always say. It's flattering, practical, and attractive on anyone, particularly me.

CEP Compression Calf Sleeves

See above about compression. And spandex.

Nike Elite Running Socks

"Really?" You say, "Are we really now covering which friggin' socks you're going to wear?" Aha, but these are no ordinary socks, for they are magic socks. Actually mine are slightly different than what's pictured, and they're black, but they're awesome. See all those colors and swoops and stuff - they're all different thicknesses of material, or different elasticities, or different sewing angles, or something - but they're thin enough where they don't add bulk under my shoes, and they offer some really nice arch support/compression and blister protection. Which isn't to say I might not get a blister, but I really came to love these socks in training. They're awesome.

Saucony Kinvara racing flats

After experiencing one too many foot issues with my otherwise beloved Newtons, I decided it was time for a new racing flat and spent some time earlier this summer on the hunt. I tried several - and these are my new favorite shoe ever. They're light and responsive, the soles are cushiony without feeling sloggy, and they provide a little bit of spring and feedback. Love 'em. The toebox is just a shade narrow, so I may deal with a pinky toe blister late in the game - hopefully the fancy socks do their part.

Halo Visor

For a long time I wore Headsweats visors, but I guess I sweat a lot when I run and I kept finding myself having to take off my hat to wipe down my forehead. These Halo visors are interesting - they have a groove of neoprene along the headband that channels sweat away from your forehead and off of your temples, which is kind of a weird sensation, but it's easier to wipe down your temples, I guess, than your forehead. It's also made kind of interestingly - the headband part of the hat is really entirely detached from the visor part (kind of hard to describe), so it kind of looks a little odd on the head. Anyway, it's good stuff if you've been finding yourself too sweaty when you run.

One other thing I'll add, because it looks likely:

Sugoi Piston 140 L/S Compression Top

If the temperature looks to be in the lower 50's or slightly cooler for the race, I'll likely wear this under my tri-top. It's another great piece of compression kit, but it's not insulated or anything (don't think Under Armour Cold Weather gear, for instance) - it's really just enough protection to stay comfortable, but not necessarily warm. I wore it for a 10k race last weekend in conditions that look to be almost identical to the race day forecast and it worked great.

So to recap: I'll be the guy in spandex.

Pacing

Well that was fun, but here's the stuff that really matters.

The Twin Cities marathon route is largely flat, even slightly downhill, except for a couple of hilly bookends. There's a bit of a climb from about mile 2 to 2.5, and a steady, sometimes pain-in-the-ass climb from about mile 21.5 - 23.5. The early climb I'm not worried about and will take care of itself. The later climb will hopefully be something I can strategerize around.

I'm going to line up with the 3:50 pace group, and aim to hold an 8:45/mi average. I'm not going to shackle myself to that group, or even that pace - particularly on descents, while I'm not going to go balls to the walls sprinting down or anything, I do like to just let gravity do the work there. Likewise if I feel like it's most sensible to back off, I'll let that group go. But ideally, somewhere in the later half of the marathon the 3:50 group will be either right with me, or slightly behind me.

I'm breaking the race into sections with its own strategy. The first half I'm not worried about - stay comfortable and easy. In fact, up to mile 15 it's just about settling in and running my race. From miles 15-18 I think I'll have a bit of a headgame - I want to remember this is just an easy 5k. At mile 18, I want three things to happen. First, to have stayed positive and comfortable so that I can think - I have 8 miles to go, that's just an average weekend run, no big deal. Second, to think again that I have a 5k to mile 21, and that's no big deal, and third - to try and push the pace just a bit if I can for that 5k. I'd like to arrive at mile 21, in advance of the last hilly section, with just a bit of cushion, or at least momentum.

The hills through mile 23 will take care of themselves. I'll keep the "crest", at around mile 23.5, as my beacon. Once I reach that, it's all downhill to the finish. Once I reach that crest, it's pedal down to the finish line - whatever I have left. The goal is 3:50. The secondary goal is anything under 4 hours.

So really, the race is broken up into manageable, thoughtful sections - the first 15 are really just comfortable, even considered a warm up. 15-18 are strictly mental - "it's just a 5k". 18-21 is more intentional - pushing the pace a bit for 5k - there is no spoon. 21 - 23.5 are about getting up the hill comfortable and in charge of myself. 23.5 to the finish is whatever I have left.

I think the only way I'd be disappointed with myself or my effort is if I execute poorly. If I blow the things I'm in charge of. The unknowns about going 26.2 - well those will show up, that'll happen, and I'll deal with it. If it means a sacrifice or rearrangement of my goals and priorities while on the fly, that's fine. If everything goes according to plan and I just physically can't hang, or blow up at some point, well that's fine too as long as it's not because of something stupid like missed nutrition or something else in my control - if I go down in flames, it'll be only because I lit the fire. I'm setting an aggressive but realistic goal for myself. If the day proves me wrong - that's racing. But I feel strong. Excited. Ready to roll. Just looking forward to the energy of race day more than anything else, I think. Another opportunity to be out there, to appreciate the fitness just to do this sort of thing, to enjoy a fall day doing something I love. It's not rocket science after all, any of it.

So, that's it. To do my best and choose extraordinary. Updates to come as race day approaches. See you at the gun.

There is (still) no spoon.

2010-09-23T13:20:00.008-05:00

Start with this YouTube clip: There is no spoon. (Sadly, embedding isn't available on this clip, so you'll have to just go watch it.)

If you've been here for some time, you'll know that I've referenced this before. A lot. Do a search up there for "There is no spoon" on the blog and you'll get all the entries. It's not a useless exercise - go ahead if you feel like it, I'll wait.

In short the idea is that our notions of ourselves, of our abilities - and not perhaps our actual abilities - are what define what we're capable of. We are - however great or small - what we think we are. Or rather, we will be however great or small we think we'll be. True enough in life, no question, but tangible within the confines of the game, for sure.

Inside Triathlon magazine had a great article in its July/August issue by Matt Fitzgerald called You Are A Quitter that speaks to this. It discusses research and science that reinforces the idea that it's our brains that determine when we've had enough - not our bodies. That when you reach that point in a run or a race when you feel like you absolutely cannot go another step - and so that's when you choose to walk, or your pace falters, or whatever - that's simply our brains determining that the suffering has reached a limit, and so now to stop the suffering, it'll tell the body to stop the activity. But physically, we're just as capable to keep going. This means - no surprise - it's all up top. It's in your head. If we believe we've had enough - then we will fulfill that belief.

Interesting concepts for interesting discussion. My friend Steve discussed this very thing lately at his blog.

Those of you who've been here for awhile also might know of my elusive Chasing Sevens. That is a 5-year-old battle to race a 5k (3.1 miles) with a pace of 7:00/mi or faster. I've done it twice in training - the fastest was in 2008 - but I don't count Personal Records in training, so it's always eluded me in a race. In fact, at one point I had seemed to make it mentally impossible. I knew when I hit about 2.25 miles into it that I'd hit a wall, my effort would collapse, and that would be it. I also knew this was mental, that I was predisposing myself to a predictable outcome - but seemed somehow helpless to do anything about it.

Last weekend I raced a small local 5k race. The route was right in my neighborhood - in fact it literally went right in front of my driveway (which made for convenient spectating from Amy and Dakota!), and was pretty much on all my usual training grounds. Which - that's pretty cool. But the course is really hilly. A few hills that are slow inclines, but one that is just down the street that's where I do my hill work - a serious hill, 6% or 8% grade or something. I wanted to use the race as my last hard speedwork workout before next weekend's marathon, but I didn't assume a PR was in reach simply because of how difficult the course was.

I was wrong. For whatever reason - because I wasn't expecting it, because I wasn't purposely chasing the particular goal, because what comes up must go down and I'm pretty good at descending - I obliterated the elusive 7:00/mi barrier that had plagued me for so long. I finished with a 6:53/mi average, but with consistent, slightly negative splits. The only time I felt my head get into it was with about .25 miles to go, when I turned a corner expecting to see the finish line just ahead but instead it was up one last unwelcome hill. I audibly dropped the f-bomb, then put my head down and pumped my arms and got to the top. Otherwise, I felt great, ran fast, and set a new standard for myself.

That single turn of mental events on a micro scale has quickly influenced a more macro one. I had, to that point, developed a whole list of reasons why my performance at next weekend's marathon wouldn't be terribly remarkable. And some of the reasons seem valid - I only got into serious training at the end of July, giving me about 10 serious weeks of training. I'm about 5 pounds off from honest race weight - so I figured I'm a bit too heavy or my best effort. But there's a flip side to each of those points - having only 10 weeks, my workouts have all been intentional and purposeful. I've not had any junk miles or workouts - and so I've avoided putting on too many miles, which has (knock on wood) kept me healthier than I've been in a long time. I may be 5 pounds from ideal race weight - but I'm about 10 pounds lighter than I was midsummer. If these points are equalizers, then, the x-factor could be the notion with which I began the training with 10 weeks ago: that I would train only for the race to be fun. That I wouldn't expect very much beyond that. That I was seeking only basic fitness to enjoy the race. Nothing wrong with those goals, certainly - and the part about having fun and enjoying the race are absolutely true.

But the numbers - and I'm a numbers guy - say that, objectively, I should expect more of myself. Daniels Running formula and McMillan's Running Calculator both say, even if I'm being conservative, that a sub 4 hour marathon should be within my ability. I don't make race goals or predictions based on emotional wishes - my "goals" at a race are really just expectations based on what I think the training realistically indicates. And I think the training is there, too. I surprised myself at the 5k - but largely because my head wasn't part of my pre-game process. I just wanted to run fast, and in knowing I needed to account for the hilly course, I was sure to start at around a 7:00/mi pace, instead of going faster like I tend to do (and then inevitably fall off in later miles). At times in the 5k I was comfortable at 7:11 or 7:18/mi pace, and I'd give myself just a little push in those times into slight discomfort. But never was I clutching to the pace - it just came, because my training was prepared for it.

So, to the marathon. I've decided I'm lighting it up. And if I go down in flames for it, well that's okay - at least I'll have lit the fire. I'm lining up with the 3:50 pacers. No excuses, no bullshit, no sandbagging, no mindgames. I feel confident that I can do it, I really do - even with the unknowns. Because if it's all mental - well hell, I've certainly had worse haunting my head than putting one foot in front of the other, no? Game on.

Now.

2010-09-13T12:04:00.000-05:00

26.2

2010-09-07T13:10:00.002-05:00

Training for a marathon is so dramatically different than training for anything Ironman. And I was thinking about this on my long run last week - about why that was; not just physically or physiologically, but strategically, personally, emotionally even. And I was struck by two ideas, both totally obvious but somehow surprising for me to find.

The first came as I considered yet again how and why the wheels fell off for me in the marathon at Ironman last year (2009). When I had, I thought, trained with realistic, predictable metrics for realistic, predictable results. I actually laughed out loud a little at my own thick headedness when I realized the fatal flow in my marathon training logic for Ironman. Of course a stand-alone marathon is a completely different animal than an Ironman marathon. The two have mileage in common, and that's it. What I somehow overlooked, though, was articulating that obvious definition.

In a stand-alone, you race 26.2. In Ironman, you endure it.

And that's the critical difference, which looks so easy to understand, but took me all this time to actually understand and integrate into a useful thought process. Right now, I'm training to race a marathon in less than a month. I don't think it'll be a PR performance out there this time around or anything, but I'm racing it nonetheless. I have a plan right now that involves starting out with a certain pace, and increasing that pace at 4 mile intervals. Last week my 18-mile long run averaged a pace that would see me finish the marathon in around 4:09 (my personal best stand-alone is 4:03:xx). Which is all well and good.

I approached my marathon training in similar fashion for Ironman last year - I started with a really conservative pace, thinking to account for the many hours and miles that had come before the marathon. I had devised nutrition strategies based on the influence of the swim and bike efforts and nutrition. But still, I trained like I was racing the Ironman marathon. That I'd move to a new pace after getting my legs under me.

But there's no way - none - to emulate an Ironman experience in training, so that was all just folly at best, a waste of time at worst. I was thinking last week that what I should've done is gone for a 10 mile run on 3 hours of sleep. Or tried to hit a fast 6 miler immediately after a huge dinner. Or gone for a run with a huge head cold. This is hyperbole, of course, to make the point: I should've trained my body better to perform under duress. To excel, or at least maintain, when uncomfortable. To turn off its usual logic and discover a new one. This is an approach I'll refine better when I do Ironman again - whenever that is, however many years down the road. Coach Rich Strauss of Endurance Nation says Ironman isn't about who goes the fastest, it's about who slows down the least. I'm some 7 years into this game now, a year into still trying to decipher my last Ironman race so I can learn from it, and I'm still trying to understand just what that means - to slow down least.

But, I digress - it's not an Ironman year, so let's get back to this marathon coming up.

I enjoy training to race a marathon. When it can just be about that singular experience, without all the attachments that come with the larger scope of Becoming Ironman. I've enjoyed it especially this year, as I get back into shape just as fall begins, which is totally backwards from my usual M.O. I've enjoyed seeing progress and accomplishment where I didn't expect to. It's too early yet to know what reasonable expectations I might have from this marathon - right now I think a 4:15-4:20 finishing time is realistic, but I'd love to push for a 4:10 if I can. If I can stay healthy and have a solid taper...well, like I said, still too early to say for sure.

I'm really looking forward to race weekend - the energy, the atmosphere. I'm looking forward to the race - the 3rd? 4th? time I've done the Twin Cities marathon, a beautiful course. I have some ideas for racing to take me through at least Thanksgiving, and hopefully this experience leaves me healthy and hungry for the "offseason" as I try and develop a new level of fitness for myself for next summer (at least a 70.3 in the works). All good things.

A few things to look forward to in the blog, I think - a more technical analysis after my next long run, and a few products I've been using that I think would be useful to pass along. Feel free to follow me at www.twitter.com/xt4 if you feel like knowing the daily training regiment and top-of-mind thoughts as they happen.

Finally, it's Ironman week this week here in Madison - which is a week pretty supercharged with excitement and emotion for me and any Ironman endurance athletes - particularly, of course, those racing this week. Sending my best to everybody who'll tread water with the rest of the heroes come Sunday. Get your heads and hearts right. I'll be cheering you on.

After Ironman

2010-08-27T09:05:00.002-05:00

Going into Ironman last September, I had big plans for the rest of the fall. In October I'd registered for a North Face trail run (13.1), and in November I was going to be serious about trying to race a fast 5k. I'd wanted to just stay active and fit throughout the winter, but I wasn't making any real plans for 2010 yet - I didn't want to commit myself to anything like a Half Iron after having summer 2009 really revolve around triathlon. So the plan was to stay fit, and with that fitness, be able to decide whenever I wanted to if I wanted to ramp up for this or that race.

But a few things happened. I mentioned life a little bit in my earlier post - one thing is that work got really busy. And as a partner in my company, my work is more than just my job - it's a big part of my life, of my imagination. And things started to take off a little bit, and I was happy and willing to devote more of my energies to that, even at the expense of training. I also started working on a few other important projects that I'd kept dormant for too long (here's one). My wife is writing a book (it's an academic book about teaching - very cool, totally over my head, to be published sometime in 2011 I guess. There is nary a murderer, ghost, or vampire to be found within its pages...), and so her writing time were essentially her long rides- it was my turn to head to the library with D, or go upstairs and play, or head to the park. And especially after missing out on some of that throughout Ironman training, I was all too happy to spend my time that way.

I had - to be expected - some pretty serious burnout after Ironman. I expected that, and allowed it of myself. I'm still learning how to be more moderate with my big goals. I'm a goal-oriented person, so I love to have something on the horizon - Ironman or a Half Iron or whatever that's months or even years down the road - and make it my total focal point for training. Inevitably, then, when I've reached the goal and its behind me, I'll find myself both floundering a bit for purpose, and needing recovery not just from the obvious physical toll taken, but the sudden absence of this thing in my head around which I've spent so much time and energy.

But what I didn't expect - and what might have contributed more than anything to a necessary break from the game - was how deeply I felt disappointed with my Ironman marathon.

If you want the full story I'll let you go back and read the race report, but the very short version is that I had a great swim and bike - perfectly to plan - but I fell apart in the marathon not because of heat or spent effort too early or stupid mistakes but just because I couldn't keep anything down. I kind of puked and lurched and hurled my way through those 26.2. I think the reason was green algae in the lake during the swim, but I'm still not comfortable with that - I still want to be able to hold myself accountable.

But you know what - that's racing. Shit happens, you deal with it. I'm not the kind of triathlete who lacks perspective with these things. I'm way past an era of maturity with the game where a DNF seems like the end of the world - it doesn't to me. I don't think Ironman finishing times are terribly important except/unless if they're important to the individual racing. So my disappointment with the run isn't really tied to anything like that - it's not really about a performance thing.

It's that the the situation made me more emotional than I wanted to be, and I feel like that made things a little harder on my amazing friends and family who came from so far to cheer me on. It's that I have so much of my heart dedicated to the Ironman race, and get to do it so rarely, that it wasn't just frustrating, but was actually sad, to know that I left something out there on the course (I simply couldn't run as fast as I wanted to, and was capable of, because I was gagging my guts out). It's like the olympic athlete who gets off the plane after waiting and training for 4 years and then stubs their toe getting into the hotel room and so suddenly can't race. (I'm apparently the olympic athlete in this analogy - brilliant!) What do you do with all that energy? All that fitness? All the goals and ideas and strategies you spent so much time carefully devising, to the smallest detail? The opportunity was gone, and that was that.

I wasn't feeling sorry for myself or anything, I just found myself in kind of a funk. In the moment - at Ironman - I was very good at dealing with the situation as it was, as it presented itself. But once it was over, it took a long time for me to really understand how I felt about it, and how it made me feel. I wished - again - that I'd just drank too much Gatorade or eaten too much gel or something self inflicted. But I can't logically explain the situation and why it happened, and so it really took something out of me. Combine this with all of the rest of above, and my heart just wasn't in the game for a long time. And the fact that this situation was so unsettling to me showed me how much I still had to learn, how much I still needed to mature, in this part of the game, in this part of my life. My nature is to want to get out there and start doing something with those lessons - hit the road again and start turning them over and seeing them from every angle and devising a way to make them a strength.

I ended up skipping that October trail race - family time was more important. I skipped that November 5k. Winter came and I spent a weekend getting my bike all set up on the trainer - and then never touched it after that. All these thoughts - which I've so neatly laid out in the paragraphs above - still really had no form or value to them, they just kind of hung around and made me confused. March came around and it should have been time to start itching to get out there - but I wasn't, really. I tried the familiar persona on - I got out for some rides, I'd get a few miles running in here or there - but it wasn't for purpose like I enjoy it to be. Work got crazy in April - like, 18 hour days crazy, and it stayed that way into June. Sometime in April I registered for the Twin Cities marathon, and I had these awesome notions that if I did x, y, and z, I could try and race it fast. But devising notions was about as far as that got - I charted a 20 week plan, which suddenly was a 16 week plan, which suddenly was me counting backwards and reorganizing my goals for, "okay, if I start next week, that gives me 12 solid weeks..." but still my heart wasn't into it. I wasn't training with any consistency at all. I was lucky if I got out there to huff about for 3 miles once every couple of weeks.

Now in case all of this sound depressing - it wasn't. I've spent my summer doing almost entirely what I wanted to do with my summer. Lazy days at the lake with Amy and D and my family. Saturday morning dozing in bed. An occasional nap on Sunday afternoons. Eating for the enjoyment of food instead of its strict nutritional value. When we took a family road trip I didn't bring my bike, didn't obsess about my running gear - Jack and I took long walks on gravel roads. Amy's Dad and I took a casual jog for 4 miles. I've taken more walks - just turn on the iPod and go for a walk, not always with the dogs, and not monitor my vital signs and distance and pace - just look around and enjoy the summer shadows on the yards in my neighborhoods. Take work off early on a Friday not to get in 30 miles on the machine, but to head to the pool with Dakota (who, incidentally, is honest-to-god an emerging swimmer, and runner.) This is the other stuff life is made of, the real stuff, and I made the very most of it. I've loved every single second of it. The break from the game has done me good. Its been instrumental in teaching me more about how to temperate and moderate my natural obsessiveness with the game - which is something I enjoy about it - with other passions. I don't want to enjoy these things only in off years. I don't want the game to the mortar between the bricks in the rest of my life, and I don't want the rest of my life to be the mortar holding my passion for the game together. To this point they've kind of been two separate entities in my life. I want to learn to merge them.

Sometime in late July I'd pretty much given up on the idea of running the Twin Cities marathon. But I was out on a walk one lovely evening with the dogs, and for whatever reason - I can't think of what on earth it was - the switch flipped. I though - okay, I have about 10 weeks to the marathon. What can I do with that? I devised a rough workout plan. My goals were totally unambitious - if I could train so that an 18 miler was fun, then I could have fun in a marathon. I'm not interested in a sufferfest, and I don't care how fast I go in this marathon - I wasn't going to try and cram training in to the point of injury or anything dumb like that. I had a little bit of base fitness, but otherwise it was really starting at zero.

That weekend I headed out for my first long run, which would be the barometer for where I'd go next with this idea. I just wanted to run easy for as far as I could - until my legs couldn't take it, or it wasn't fun. I managed 7 miles, and it was slow, and I walked a bit, but it was mostly comfortable. From that I devised a plan to get me to 18 miles. It involved adding a mile/week for the long run, having another run of half the long run distance at "race pace" (which, really, I didn't know what that was, but :30 or 1:00 faster than my long run pace), and then a third run in the week, half the distance again of that second run, which would be speed or interval work. So with that 7 miler as my long run, I also ran 3.5 miles that week at race pace, and then 1.25 miles of speed work. Start small, and work up incrementally.

In the last week or 10 days I've started to see some return on the early work. Things are getting easier. I ran 3 miles at around 7:35/mile the other day, which was faster than I expected (though I faded in the last mile). My long run is up to 12 miles, and tomorrow I'll be running 14 miles as a bit of a "race rehearsal" to see what kind of pacing I can achieve and work from. I'm on my bike at least twice/week as well, and loving it. I'm back to reading slowtwitch with frequency, back to checking in on twitter. I even raced - on a total whim - an aquathon last week. It was the last aquathon of the year, and when I realized it that morning I thought - life is short, and this is what summertime is for. I had not swam since Ironman - not one stroke. Last year, in peak fitness, the aquathon was really just a strictly fun way to get in some unexpected speed and race work. It was never too hard. Showing up on a whim last week was definitely hard. Everything was a little excruciating, a lot slow. I told Amy when I got home that I'll never take for granted when I'm fit and these things are fast and easy. Because there was nothing fast, and nothing easy, about it. But, I had a blast.

I'm still hauling 10-15 extra offseason pounds around, which is making things a lot more difficult, and as I said, I'll not be turning in any kind of PR at this marathon, and that's not the point. I really, really miss race day - so I'm just excited for the atmosphere of being back in a big race like this marathon. But I'm also hoping that this is the fitness build I'm looking for to head into an active - and not my usual hibernating - winter. I'd like to tackle that 13.1 mile trail run this fall, and that fast 5k in November. I think I'm going to look at some running showshoes for this winter, and see if I can find ways to have fun and stay active when the snow falls. I'm making plans to do a computrainer group ride on Saturday mornings, and a fun basketball league on Thursday nights this winter. I'd like to arrive to next spring fit and healthy and ready to take the summer seriously - already planning on a hard and fast 70.3 next summer.

So - you're up to speed. I remain, as ever, a student of this game. For every lesson it teaches me, I learn as much or more about myself. At some point you'd think there'd be some diminishing returns on that - you reach a point in life where, hopefully, you kind of have your shit together. And mostly, I do. Everything in triathlon used to be like a shock of cold water, all this decompressing and catharsis and eye-opening, its lessons would be for me. I feel like a much more seasoned student now - not too surprised by much, not needing those lessons as much, as often, or in the same way as I did 5, 6, 7 yeas ago - but a student nonetheless. If ever I make goals to be faster, or stronger, or go farther for longer, or be better...those are always, I think, secondary to my real purpose in this game, which is - what can I learn from it today? And how can those lessons in turn make me a smarter, more peaceful, more open person, father, husband, friend, human being?

May it be always so.

Revolution #9

2010-08-25T13:22:00.002-05:00

Hello there.

First off, let's talk about this blog.

When I started this blog in January of 2006, it was to chronicle what ultimately became nothing less than a personal Visionquest, through my experiences in training and racing for Ironman. If you go back to that time, you'll see a ton of minutiae in my just learning how the hell to be an endurance athlete (something I remain a bumbling student of). But then the perspective shifts a bit, and the blog gets into all this weird mumbo jumbo about learning to be a human being (ditto), through which - at that time - the lens of Ironman training was the filter.

Then began the chronicle for Ironman Again. But, naturally, there was less to say. Because as I figure out how to manage a 13 mile run or whatever, that process stops being so mysterious. And I've never been one to speak for the purpose of hearing myself. Then came the advent of twitter, or facebook, and so many of us who, nearly 5 years ago, commenced our relationships mostly in the blogosphere now had new, more efficient (and more personal?) ways to connect.

And I had a daughter. And my business is growing. In short my lifestyle changed, and doesn't allow the kind of mental energy (and capricious time!) to write to the blog like I once did. So - the purpose of this blog's function stopped being a high priority. And, my training shifted; I enjoy still, most of all, self-coaching. Figuring out how the hell to get this thing done. But articulating those many lessons became less interesting to me. 3 months ago I wrote a few quick blurbs about my experiment with a juice fast - but got so busy so quickly that even finishing the story (I cut the fast several days short, it kind of sucked, and I think "fasting" is for people who are not endurance athletes, don't already eat well, or are generally in need of whatever spiritual kickstart such things seem to culturally signify. I feel pretty good on all counts) proved too much. How lame is that?

I wish I could be like my man Steve in a Speedo, and be all prolific and interesting with these short bursts of hilarity or daily updates on training. But that's not my M.O. And so, inevitably, the blog just kind of flounders around for months at a time until and unless I have something of enough significance to share. Whatever "significance" might mean.

So I've thought about just posting - "Hey, this blog is retired, but feel free to look through it and find whatever's useful." But...I still want to reserve the right to reactivate it. To start talking again about something interesting or meaningful in training. So it's never going to retire, I think. But it'll go through periods of dormancy. Which is not in any way the ideal way for a blog to behave. But there you go.

And so with that - hello again, and I have something to talk about. I am (I think!) racing the Twin Cities marathon on October 3rd. But to tell you about my training, I need to tell you about my long hibernation after Ironman 2009. So, stay tuned. PS - Hi Alili.

Juice Fast: Day 1

2010-05-26T10:05:00.002-05:00

So yesterday I started this 5 day juice fast (read the entry before this one if you need to catch up). I declared it a 5-day fast in the morning, when I was well nourished and clear headed. By the afternoon I wanted to punch somebody in the face and I thought I'd be lucky to make it 3 days. Then I thought I'd be lucky to make it just through the afternoon.

The juice itself is pretty good. I described it yesterday as "clean". I'll clarify that and call it "earthy". If you've ever stood in the middle of a vegetable garden, it tastes like that. Which, if that sounds gross, it's not - it's a good thing. But nothing is really sweet - even the fruit juices. There's just kind of...more earthy, and a little less earthy. I've been storing my produce at room temperature, too, and I think if they were colder it might make a difference.

Anyway, the juice. I've had all kinds of concoctions to this point: A tomato, some carrots, a potato and some broccoli was for lunch yesterday. An orange, some carrots, some spinach. This morning was all fruit. Last night I tossed in a rhubarb stalk - man, are they sour. In the morning and evening I made fruitier stuff, and in the afternoon-dinnertime I made more vegetable stuff.

Nothing tastes bad -which is a surprise. Like, juicing up a potato and some carrots and broccoli, I might expect that to not go down so well, but it's really just fine. Not, like, my beverage of choice or anything, but I expected much worse.

You can also really taste the lack of bullshit like sugars and sweeteners and preservatives sodium and whatever. Which is why maybe things taste good, when I expect them to taste bad. Because my expectations are based on experience, and that experience is limited to manufactured foods. That's kind of a crazy deep rabbit hole if you think about it.

I found myself consistently finishing my juice, and then looking around for a handful for crackers or gorp or something. It was an automatic response - I wasn't necessarily hungry. That was useful, and made me really aware of how conditioned I am to eat for reasons other than nutrition. Which - is okay. When not in the middle of a juice fast, I do well to eat mostly healthy, and mostly for the purpose of training, but I also think life is short, and sometimes a fat cheeseburger and fries are just the thing, and I have no self loathing about that. Still, it's good to mentally engage in that process - am I really hungry? Or just feel like eating? Or is my definition of "hunger" jacked up on an American diet of too much junk? Am I addicted to that junk? Etceteras. However I end up answering those questions, it's useful just to have stopped to ask them.

Anyway, I did break stride, on purpose, at dinnertime. I had planned my potato-juice concoction, but as I was preparing it my daughter said, "It's dinnertime Daddy, come eat with us." At which time my priorities of stringent rules about a juice fast seemed really silly, so I said, "You're right, and I will." Dinner consisted of two pancakes and a ton of fruit. So, still pretty raw, and in fact I think it works better for my lifestyle, and for my family, if I limit the fast to the daytime, when I'm alone, but then have a small, "raw" meal with the family at dinner. So be it.

Last night I felt pretty great, and this morning as well. Amy said I had an odor ("that was pretty bad") coming from me last night - which is a little weird - and in the book the author said you might expect that, as your pores clear out of "toxins". Could be, or maybe I'm just repulsive. If true, though, that's an interesting phenomenon.

I felt okay - just okay - on my 3 mile run yesterday, and this morning I rode 20 miles and felt right on the edge of bonking the last 10 miles. This isn't discouraging to me - I expect it, and consider it part of the fast. On my ride this morning, though, I was really aware of how necessary my big dinner the night before and 2 bowls of oatmeal for breakfast are before a morning ride.

So - that's the update from Day 1. In the middle of Day 2 now, and about to go make my mid-morning juice. I wonder if I can squeeze a cupcake in that thing.

Juice! Fast!

2010-05-25T10:12:00.002-05:00

I was intrigued by an article in last month's Triathlete magazine about the author going through a juice fast. (Not the swimsuit issue, the one before that. And sidenote, I thought the swimsuit issue was pretty good this year. Not the swimsuits part - I think that's stupid and I've written about it here before - search if you're super curious - but the rest of the mag was useful. The shoe review in particular.)

The idea of the juice fast was to sort of "detoxify" from whatever "toxins" are harboring ill will within one's body. I put everything in "quotes" because some of the popular "detoxify" stuff feels a little new-agey to me, and much as I consider myself a spiritual person, I can't help but open one eye and look around the room when I'm supposed to be meditating on my inner child or whatever. That said, I'm a firm believer that most of what's presented to us for purchase to eat is crap, with little nutritional value, and if you scan the ingredients it seems most food now isn't really food at all but some kind of engineered substitute. But I digress. So the idea of trying something interesting and dramatic, such as a juice fast, has some appeal to me. Particularly right now, when my season is in a place where I don't require carbohydrate stores yet to be on my bike for 3 hours, I think it's a good time to give it a shot.

In the Triathlete magazine, the author used the book Toxic Relief by Dr. Don Colbert. There are myriad resources, books, articles, etc. to try the juice fast, but as the author seemed to have a mostly positive experience, I purchased the same book. Let me talk about the book a little bit:

I bought the book on Kindle for my iPad for less than $5, and I'm glad I didn't shell out $15 or something at Borders. Like a lot of these kinds of books - the kind where the objective is to eat differently - it is mostly crap. The writing is mostly crap - with constant repetition of something dude said three pages ago. The organization of the book is mostly crap - with something in this chapter that really should go in that chapter. It also spends a great deal of time wanting to scare the bajezus out of you. It spends page after page after page talking about how modern pesticides are killing us, and modern agriculture is killing us, and restaurants are killing us, and if we don't all stop what we're doing and drink juice right now we'll likely implode within the hour. I skimmed through huge chunks of this thing before finally just going to the table of contents and trying to zero in on what I wanted - some facts, some advice, some recipes.

It's useful to note that the book is apparently written for people who are in really bad shape, who are drinking soda and smoking cigarettes and eating nachos as the appetizer for every meal, which will then consist of buffalo wings and fried cheese curds. So that's part of the scare tactics, and for that audience I imagine it has its place. The book suggests a 2-week "pre-fast" program that basically involves eating the kind of sensible stuff I eat all the time. So, the book isn't geared towards endurance athletes, or athletes at all. I had to filter through a lot of that common-denominator talk to get to the parts that were useful.

It also spends a lot of time with a very God-centered philosophy, which was unexpected. Fasting is of course an important tradition in a lot of religions, and Dr. Don Colbert is a Christian who applies a lot of the physical benefits of the juice fast to its spiritual benefits. I'm not applying those parts, but thought I'd mention it in case it bears relevance to anybody.

Okay, so with that long list of criticisms ended, here's the point of Colbert's writing, which if you sift through the fear-mongering I mostly agree with - the things we eat are over-processed, come from factories, are imported from a zillion miles away, and largely lack meaningful nutrition. This is true not just of junk food, but of a lot of breads, crackers, pastas, etc. I do what I can to make good decisions, particularly in context of training/recovery, etc., but coming out of my offseason, it seems like a sensible time for me to hit reset a little bit. I don't know what, if any, "detoxifying" will be going on in my juice fast, but I'm mostly interested in seeing what it's like to eat (well, drink) only raw, natural fruits and vegetables.

Today is a Tuesday, and I plan to continue my fast through the weekend - ending on Sunday night. I bought a juicer, and this morning I had my first beverage, which consisted of 4 carrots, some spinach, and an apple. The orange elixir pumped out of the juicer - I was surprised how much juice comes out of carrots, who knew? - and I held it to my mouth, ready for a kind of strong V8-ish taste - but I was pleasantly surprised at how good it was. The first word that came to mind was clean. It was a new experience, so that's a good start.

I'll be drinking lots of water for the next 5 days, and otherwise having only juice. All fresh juice, and there's lots of stuff going in - apples, blueberries, grabs, raspberries, spinach, cabbage, carrots, sweet potatoes, parsley, broccoli, tomatoes, oranges. I have no idea how things will taste. I have no idea, really, what to expect.

Dr. Conrad promises "increased energy!", but again - if his target market are fatso's who put down the Doritos only long enough to pick up a cigarette, then any change from that will likely create "increased energy!", so we'll see. I'm concerned about my workouts, but I'll allow myself these concessions if necessary: my usual chocolate milk as a recovery drink, my usual Infinit mix if I'm on the bike for more than an hour, and my Powerbar Gels as needed. Otherwise, I'm giving the juice fast my solid attention. I'll report here each day to let you know how it's going.

Can you juice burritos and cheeseburgers though? Hope so.

Triathlon: The Sprint Distance

2010-03-24T08:40:00.003-05:00

So, we start this little series with Here's What I Know About Sprint Distance Triathlon. My thinking is this post will be mostly geared towards the newbie, considering or preparing for their first triathlon. So if you're a grizzled veteran, take note. A reminder again that this is just in my experience - peep the preface to this series by reading this post.

The Sprint distance is a great way to cut your teeth on triathlon in general and see if you dig it, or to do once or a few times in a season just to really go hard. If you want to really race the distance, you can just redline the whole thing with very little strategy - just go fast all the time. Or, if it's your first foray into the game, the distance gives you a great taste of what all those people in lycra are in love with. So here, in no significantly meaningful order, is what I know:

At this distance, less is more. At my first race ever, it was a chilly May morning. In Transition 1, I stopped to put on Under Armor tights over my tri-suit, and a tight long-sleeved compression top. Putting them all on while wet. Then I put on some cycling gloves. I could have ordered a pizza and watched an episode of Mad Men in the time it took me to get on the damn bike. Remember that transitions are part of the race - not a break between events. Get in, get out, get going. Of course dress comfortably and for the weather, but try and get by with the least amount of moving pieces - ideally you wear one thing (for me, usually a tri-suit at this distance, or a tri-top and tri-shorts) for the whole race, swim through bike through run. Cycling gloves are really designed to help with discomfort and fatigue that can come from having your hands absorb vibrations for a long time on the bike - I wear them only for Iron distance races. A typical Sprint race is 12-15 miles on the bike - taking the time (I timed myself on videotape once, after my second race ever, and I spent 2 minutes in T1 trying to get my gloves on. 2 minutes!) to negotiate gloves is probably time wasted.
This is true for nutrition and hydration as well. Even if your pace on the bike is a relaxed 12-13mph, and you walk the run at a 15:00min/mile pace, the race would still take you a little more than 2 hours. If you're going hard, you'll finish in a little over an hour, 1:15-ish. You don't require more than a few hundred replacement calories in the course of a race. Again on my first race - which was a 13 mile bike - I had 4 full bottles of Gatorade on my bike. What the hell am I doing to do with 4 bottles of Gatorade in an hour!?!? It was a lot of extra weight on my bike, not to mention the prep time and hassle factor to get them filled up, transported along, and ready to roll. At another early race I had one of those fancy aero-drink things on my bike, again fully-loaded. It started to leak from the bottom before the race, so I was getting sticky Gatorade on my front brakes, calipers, and tire. I sent Amy and my friend Mike on an emergency Duct Tape run so I could fix it. So when I should be relaxing, thinking about the race, instead I was worrying about my stupid beverage holder, and panicking that I wouldn't get it fixed before the Transition area closed. At this distance, at most you can manage with a single bottle of Gatorade and a bottle of water. I prefer just the bottle of Gatorade. (Of course, if it's 92 degrees outside you'll want to be more attentive to hydration concerns.) In my experience the bike course in a Sprint race rarely have aid stations, but there's likely water somewhere on the run, which will suffice. Nutritionally, a single gel on the bike (for me, actually an hour into exercise, so whatever your swim time is accrues to the time you spend on the bike) is probably all you need. Every once in awhile you'll run across somebody's bike in transition that has 14 gels taped to the top tube. Oy. No.
The Sprint distance is a great race for any level or experience triathlete. If it's your first race ever, you might consider one where the swim is in a pool - you'll typically share a lane with one or two other swimmers, and swim 10 or 12 laps or so before getting out and running to your bike in T1. Having a comfortable, controlled environment for the swim can be a great way to get into the sport. If your first triathlon is in open water, make sure you've done some open water swimming first. A wetsuit isn't necessary for a sprint distance race (I'll let you be the judge of if water temperature is an issue or not, but I speak as a matter of speed or strategy), but you'll not want for your first ever open-water swim to be surrounded by 50 other people. There are lots of adjustments to make that your pool training simply can't emulate - water chop and temperature, sun glare, lack of visibility in the water, sighting (where you lift your head every few breaths to see where the hell you're going), and - oh yeah - all these limbs around you. The thing about swimming in a crowd is you can only get comfortable with that - and learn to use it to your advantage - with time and experience. You should do some training in open water to develop an understanding of all the other stuff I mentioned, but on race day, feel free to hang wide on the edges of the main group, or way in the back and wait until the large mass is underway. My first open water race ever I positioned myself right in the front - where I have no business being (the fast people start in the front!) and got totally mowed over as soon as the race started. I nearly suffered a panic attack and had my race end before it even got underway. Nobody wins the race in the water, so it's better that you take your time, and are safe and comfortable. On the other hand, if you're ready to rock with everybody in the water, staying in the mix will allow you to draft off of other swimmers, and allow you to save some energy. The big mass will disperse after a few hundred yards, and the swim distance in a Sprint race is short enough where the advantages of drafting aren't, in my experience, terribly significant - but if you have ideas for racing longer distances like 70.3 or Ironman, being in the mass of swimmers who are hell bent to go as fast as they can is great for developing experience that you'll use elsewhere in your triathlon career.
With those notes on effort in the water, I'll mention that I redline every Sprint race I'm in. I go as fast as I possibly can through all 3 disciplines. I treat the race as a very hard, brief brick session (a brick workout is combining two disciplines into one workout - swim/bike, or bike/run, for instance). It's a great speed workout, a great way to get the heart rate up, and a good assessment for strength and speed moving from one sport to the next. That effort doesn't have much real-world significance on my favorite distance races (70.3 and Iron), but it's great in context of a season-long build, or just to get out and have a fun day at the races.

There you have it - a few thoughts on the Sprint distance. Sometime in the near future I'll work up some thoughts on the Olympic distance. Questions or better advice? Leave 'em in the comments!

The Advice of Fools

2010-03-23T12:36:00.003-05:00

Well first off, if you're checking in at the blog (as opposed to an aggregator or reader), you'll see that it's finally undergone a much needed facelift. So that's something.

After a few false starts (what can I say, I loathe winter training. If it takes me longer to get dressed than to workout, I lose interest) the season, like springtime, is finally and officially underway. I wanted to share a few insights in the coming days/weeks about training and racing - a series of "Your First Triathlon" kind of things, something like that. I have several friends racing this summer in their first Sprint, Olympic, or Iron distance races, and thought it'd be useful to get these thoughts down where anybody can check them out. So, stay tuned for that - the first of which coming in a matter of days.

But a caveat emptor to the upcoming series; I'm no expert. This will be my 7th season in the game, and I still feel like I'm figuring it all out (and may I never feel otherwise...). My best race is still ahead of me. I can think, of all my races, of one - the Lifetime Triathlon in 2009 - where I truly put it all together. So as usual (and really, it should be the parenthetical title of this blog for as often as I want to say it) - what the hell do I know? You should, as always, take what works and throw out what doesn't. I seek only to share what I know, and even if I speak with some sense of authority on something, I trust you'll figure out your own path doesn't necessarily jive with mine.

So with that, I'll be writing about the Sprint distance, coming soon. Stay tuned.

Returned

2010-01-11T07:57:00.002-06:00

Uh...hello? *tap tap* is this thing on?

Hi everybody. Or one-body, or however many bodies are tuning in after a 4-month absence. 4 MONTHS! That's crazy, and longer than I intended. I like to take a break after the season, and usually it's about 2 months long, but this one was the extended version, I guess. Just pretty exhausted after last season - not burned out, but in need of recharge away from the game. As you know, I'm pretty utterly absorbed during the season. To a point that, I acknowledge, isn't constantly sustainable - especially as a parent, husband, business owner, blah blah blah. Ironman was such a full throttle experience last year that the break required more of me, I guess. I sacrificed and compromised some other things in my schedule, especially last summer as training really ramped up, so I was happy to just focus on some other things for awhile.

But anyway, I'm back, and here we are in 2010, which is crazy. By the way - happy 4th birthday to this blog, which is also crazy. I had, after Ironman, some big ideas for this blog in the offseason...which totally didn't happen. So I'll see about getting to those slowly over the next few weeks or months. I had also fully intended on closing the doors to this joint - as I am no longer Becoming Ironman - but even in my hibernation I had so many random, kind and meaningful comments from people finding the video, or getting ready for their first Ironman and stumbling on something I wrote 3 years ago, or whatever, that I'm convinced that changing venues with this thing doesn't really serve the greater community - which is kind of where my efforts with the blog will, hopefully, channel (for instance, one thing I want to get working on pronto is some kind of Everything I Know About Training/Racing Ironman post that kind of distills all my experiences from training/racing 2 of these into something sensible that people can refer to, or acknowledge, or ignore entirely, or whatever). I have several friends training for 2010, and I'm passionate about throwing in my two cents to whatever might contribute to their successes.

Meanwhile, I'm training for a more relaxed, fun season. I haven't managed the details yet, but I'm thinking Olympic or shorter this year, emphasizing on getting faster. Some trail races would be fun, maybe an XTERRA. Maybe finding some new races, too, that I haven't done before. I dunno, we'll see, I'm figuring all that out now. I do plan on either the Twin Cities marathon or Chicago, next October. Stay tuned.

In other news, I was named a Sugoi Brand Champion for 2010, which is very cool for me - if you know me, or have ever asked my advice on tri apparel (or been around when I submit my often unsolicited advice...), you'll know that I love their stuff. Being a Brand Champion means I get discounts on their stuff (which is friggin awesome), and I'll post thoughts and reviews in kind. Hopefully it's useful to people other than just me.

That's about it. Look for the tone of the blog to maybe change slightly - still focused on training and racing, but I want to really start to articulate my many lessons learned from and through Ironman as they occur to me - my hope is that people training will find this place and have useful things available to them. Not entirely sure yet how that will look, or even if there will be any significant changes to speak of, but that's what's rattling around in my head.

Looking forward to 2010 everybody. The blog is back open for business.

Race Report: Ironman Wisconsin

2009-09-15T10:16:00.037-05:00

The Ironman will be begin in one minute.

Mike Reilly said it simply, without artificial enthusiasm, as though somebody had asked him when the next train arrives. Still, when his voice carried over the loudspeakers and across the water, around the winding helix of Monona Terrace and up to its top levels, behind to the Capital building, throughout all of waterfront Madison, the place exploded. Even with my earplugs in I could feel the cheers from the thousands amassed on the Terrace vibrating in my teeth. The swimmers around me lifted fists and shouted and cheered.

And I suddenly remembered leaping over snowbanks piled on the corners of the streets in my neighborhood, Jackson nimbly navigating them just behind me as we slide and slosh our way through 3 miles in January. I thought about that day on my bike, the morning Dakota was born. Crisp autumn air, the sun tinting the world with a weaker shade of gold than it did just a few weeks earlier. I thought of Dakota, who instructs, "Daddy, run!" so that I chase her around and around our kitchen, she grinning ear to ear and tossing glances over her shoulder - perhaps to be sure I'm still there, or perhaps to gauge her lead. Of posing for pictures with my Grandma after placing in my age group at her church's 5k race last year. Of riding my mountain bike in advance of "the biggest snowstorm of the year", the frozen creek beside the trail sliced open in icy fragments. Countless hours on the Ironman Wisconsin bike course trying to get smarter, not faster. A rainy marathon last October, my mother standing with an umbrella to cheer me down the street. These and so many other quick glimpses into the last 3 years that have all, in one way or another, led to this now. These thoughts were there and gone in an instant.

I felt good going into the race. Whereas in '06 my energies were almost entirely dedicated to the mental and emotional preparation - which is a bit overwhelming - this time I spent more time focused on the race itself, my strategies and ideas. Lacking all that emotional intensity, though, meant I could relax more and enjoy myself without all the crazy nervousness. The day before the race I took one last glance at the forecast; high in the mid 80's, zero chance of rain, wind 0-5mph. Quite a difference from '06, but a forecast that would present its own challenges. I started the morning before raceday by cutting my hair very close to my scalp, feeling like that would help me stay cooler, or at least help me feel like I was staying cooler. Some of the Team came with me to the Terrace to check in my bike and transition bags. We headed to the Janus Inspiration Station so I could check in my fundraising efforts with them, and the Team all went in and made some fun signs and posters for the Motivational Mile - a mile stretch where all these signs are staked into the ground, and we athletes see all the cool things friends and family have created for us as we run by at around mile 9 and again around mile 21.

Later that day the rest of the Team arrived, including my brother and sister, and lots of friends. All tolled we actually had more on the team this year than we did in '06, which meant I'd have another awesome crew to lead the charge on race day. Amazing. Totally humbling. We enjoyed dinner together, caught up a bit with each other, and finally it was time to wish each other well with promises to "see you out there".

The next morning, all preparation done I started finally making my way down the helix. It is surreal when so many things get summed up. When it all comes down to, finally, just a downhill walk before everything a person has worked for so long, so much, so hard for comes to pass - in whatever way it will. I remember in '06 being a bit overwhelmed with these thoughts. Today - I just tried to soak everything in. The cool concrete beneath my feet, the crisp air of the helix. The din of a thousand murmurs as fans and friends lining the helix waited anxiously for the race to begin, for their athlete to start, for their Ironman to commence. I was excited. I was happy. I was thoughtful. Then I looked up and saw a handful of familiar blue t-shirts, their backs mostly to me as they looked out over the edge of the helix. "Is he here yet?" I asked, and my friends and Amy all turned around, as happy to see me as I was to see them. It was nice to stop a moment and just catch up - on where everybody was, on how many hours of sleep I got (4), on how we were all feeling. It was also great to get one last hug before we said goodbyes.

I was thinking about them, especially glad to have seen Amy one last time, as I heard another voice say "Chris!", and it was my friend Bob's wife, Gaye. I gave her a quick hug, she wished me well, and I told her I hoped I see her out there to give me updates on how Bob was doing throughout the day. We live in the same town, and while we never trained together, Bob and I were always sharing thoughts and Ironman preparation through the year, and I was cheering him on.

A little further down the helix and I heard "xt!" My man Thomps was there - he gave me a quick fist pump, wished me well, then as I started off said, "Hey!" I turned around, and he said, "It's all execution, now". He knew that I'd trained with some specific goals in mind, and executing those plans was the order of the day. I gave him a thumbs up and headed down. It was so great not to make that walk down the helix alone with just my own thoughts. By the time I reached the bottom of the helix, it felt like a sendoff. A great way to start the day.

The swim chute was lined with rows and rows of spectators, volunteers, and supporters. I put in my ear plugs and put on my swim cap, and pulled the rest of my wetsuit up while I slowly walked to the edge of the water. I thought I heard somebody shout for me, but it was hard to know with the sound muffled and mixed with the music and cheering. Finally, at about 6:40, I entered the water, got acclimated, and made my way out into the start.

The Ironman will begin in one minute.

I looked around, assessing one last time my starting position as the sun rose liquid crimson over an utterly still Lake Monona. In '06, I started almost right on the first turn buoy - way out wide of the field. I swam mostly alone all day, and thought I was an insider to a clever trick - avoid the carnage by starting way out here! Apparently in those 3 years everybody in the world has read this blog. There was zero solitude out by the turn buoy, people now starting even way inside of it. So, I started back of the field, looking to position with swimmers closer to my pace, rather than get mowed over all morning because I was the slow guy in front, and found a bit of space in the midst of everybody else trying to find a bit of space. I thought we'd get a countdown, or a ready...set - but suddenly, without fanfare, the cannon went off, and, after all, the Ironman was underway.

It was chaos from the start. Limbs flailing, bodies smashing into one another, arms and legs wrapping around legs and arms. I expected it, and for the first several hundred yards did nothing proactive for it, or even reactionary - just swim. I'd bump into people, they'd bump into me, but we'd just swim. I concentrated on keeping my effort low and comfortable, and just - literally - going with the flow. Not that anything in a race ever seems to go "slow", but having all these other people to have to think and act around made the first length of the first lap fly by - I hardly noticed the Terrace sliding by on my right whenever I turned to breathe. I stayed close to the turn buoy, having to breast-stroke in the traffic jam, before finding daylight on the other side to start swimming again. Then the next corner, which would take us back across the Terrace and to the start of the second lap, I thought the scrum would loosen up, as it usually does. It didn't. Still crazy beating and bashing everywhere. Twice I took a punch in my eye and had to stop and adjust my goggles - who knew goggles served the dual purpose of being protective eyewear? A few times I found myself getting into a nice rhythm before I'd hit ankles or calves in front of me, and when I'd look up to sight I'd see a wall of swimmers in front of me - no place for me to go left or right. So, I'd just slow down, deciding that I'd sit on their heels and wait for an opening, conserving energy in the meantime. A few times a faster swimmer would go gliding by, and I'd hang on their feet as they went, using them for a fullback to clear a path that I could get through. The entire first lap I mostly swam "slow". Whenever I tried to get into my pace or rhythm I was affected by swimmers around me, so I'd just slow down, sit in the mix, and wait for the next strategy to reveal itself.

As I turned onto the second lap, I thought for sure it would loosen up. It didn't! Of course it wasn't as crazy as the start, but I was still adjusting my swim to those around me. At this point I figured maybe something good was happening - if I'm still in the mix, maybe I'm swimming with a slightly different crowd than I'm used to, perhaps a bit faster pace or something. I hung with it, still trying to have solid technique, swim comfortably and never too fast, and just stay in the moment. It wasn't until the turn around and final length back that things spread out enough where it was just me, swimming how I wanted to. At that point I felt like I'd conserved all kinds of energy, so it was easy to get into a rhythm and just hang onto it. Before I knew it the last big red buoy was in sight, and it was time to turn left and back to dry land. I'd had a blast out there, never had such a fun swim. More importantly, I felt fresh and relaxed, like I hadn't worked hard out there at all.

As I approached the shore a volunteer reached out his hand and I grabbed it and let him yank me up to the ramp. I glanced at the clock at the swim exit and saw that I'd swam in 1:24:47. I actually laughed out loud as I ripped off the top of my wetsuit, my goggles and swimcap, and remarked, "holy shit." Granted the water conditions in '06 were totally different - choppy and rough - but c'mon, eleven minutes faster? 8 minutes faster than I'd swam the same distance, on the same lake, in a race just 3 weeks before. My expectations were to swim 1:30 - anything under I'd consider outstanding, but 5+ minutes were beyond any expectations at all. And not because I did any crazy awesome swimming, but because I got in the mix and let everybody carry me. My race plan - to race smart, not hard - was already seeing success. Awesome.

I lay down quickly on the mats and let the strippers tear my wetsuit away from me, then headed through the rest of the chute and back to the helix. I looked up to see if I could spot some of the Team, but wasn't sure if they were still there or no. Still, I pounded on my chest to let them know, if they were there, that I was feeling strong and was with them. As I cruised up the helix, I found them where I saw them the first time, and high-fived to their cheers as I went past.

In '06, I treated the transitions like intermissions. Stopped to catch my breath, relax a little, change clothes. With the weather so nice, I stuck to the same tri-top and shorts all day, and had packed and planned my transitions to be quick in-and-outs. Transitions, I decided, were to be treated like any other race - free speed. To the efficient and expeditious to the rewards, so I did my best to prepare for quick work.

I grabbed my bag and had a seat, and an awesome volunteer stopped right away to help me. I'd put a gel flask and salt tabs container, held together with a rubberband, in my right shoe, for quick placement into my right rear pocket. Multi-tool and extra tube, also rubberbanded together, were in my left shoe, to go into my left back pocket. Race belt on. I put on my right sock, which was also stashed in my right shoe, while the volunteer looked for my left sock, which was in my left shoe. I waited. He looked. "No sock." He said. He looked helplessly through my bag again. "No sock?" I asked? "No sock." He repeated. I laughed. "That's Ironmnan," I said while I took off my right sock, grabbed my shoes and helmet, and said, "What's your name?" "Mark," he said. I put out my hand and he shook it. "Thanks Mark, you're awesome." And I bolted from my chair. "Wait!" He shouted. "Your Garmin!" I had my run Garmin in my Bike bag so I could turn it on while on the bike and not wait for satellites to find it when I started the run. Would've sucked to forget it. I grabbed it and shouted back my thanks, and crammed my gloves into my back pockets as I ran out of the Terrace and onto the tarmac, where a long run down would bring me to the bike.

Because (I found out race morning) I did the Janus Charity Challenge, my race number was low - #93. This also meant my bike was racked way on the farthest wall of the Monona Terrace parking lot. This was cool, because I didn't need to run at all with my bike - I essentially just needed to grab it, take a few steps to the mounting area, and get on. I ran steady and swiftly through the parking area, surrounded by athletes running with bikes, picking up bikes, shouting numbers to volunteers. I heard cheers from my left as I got closer to my bike and was surprised to see a wall of blue t-shirts; most of them had left the helix sometime during the swim (I think?) and positioned themselves at Transition to watch the bike exit. It was so awesome to see them there, and I quickly blew them a kiss before shouting "Ninety-Three! Ninety-Three!" to the volunteers as I got closer to the bike. When I arrived at my rack a volunteer met me with my machine, and I quickly sat down and put on my shoes - without socks. I'd never ridden without socks before, ever, and certainly at Ironman, where I consider comfort a premium, I would never even consider it. But somehow in all my diligent planning and packing a left sock was abandoned, so there you go. I had stashed an extra pair in my special needs bag, so I figured if it was that bad I could put some on in a few hours.

Finally read to rock, I grabbed my bike and headed to the dismount, lifting it close to me on the way so I could whisper, "this is it now, just like we practiced". Just as I was about to get on my bike, I heard somebody say, "Ninety-three, you lost a glove!" I turned and a volunteer had picked it up and was about to throw it to somebody on the side of the Terrace. "Mine!" I shouted. "Hey baby, that's mine!" Hey baby? First, it was a dude, and second, hey baby? But what the hell, at Ironman you lose control of a whole list of faculties, the gift of language apparently first among them. He heard me and ran the glove to me. "Thanks baby!" I shouted back to him (really?), and I finally mounted the machine and started my descent down the helix.

The first few miles of the bike are spent just getting away from downtown, so you spend some time on some frontage roads and a narrow bike path with big "no passing" signs to let you know to go slow. I spent this time getting into my groove, using my teeth to get my gloves on, and settling my heartrate down from the awesome hysteria that is Monona Terrace on raceday. I heard a shout for me just as I left the Terrace - I think it was my friend Erin, but wasn't sure - and pedaled mostly upright, not in the aero bars, just slowly rolling along as we finally wound around the Alliance Energy Center and then only some real roads. Finally we found ourselves out of Madison and onto Whalen Road.

Where I was surrounded by people who apparently thought the race ended in Verona.

Everybody pushing huge gears, standing up and launching themselves over even small bumps in the road, screaming past me like their tires were on fire. I wished them well, sometimes calling out after them as their names were on their race bib numbers - "Looking good John", "Stay strong Carrie", that sort of thing. But, almost to a person, they left me in the dust. And this was totally okay. My plan was to take it stupid easy to Verona, and beyond - the first 45 miles or so I planned to just spin easy, feeling no effort at all from my legs. I'd stop pedaling on every descent, even small ones. I'd sit up in the saddle often, and just relax. Like a Sunday ride out in the country. I didn't know what anybody else's plan was, but if it involved rocket thrusting to Verona, then God bless 'em and I hoped it's a great day out there for them.

The first 16 miles or so gone and into Verona, and I saw the Team on the corner just before the course gets more serious, on Valley Road. Impossible to miss, they were a huge wall of blue, obvious from a half mile away. I saw my sister, who had flown in late the night before, and was happy to see her among the rest of the masses. They roared for me as I went by, and I gave them a fist in the air. It was so good to be back. So good to blaze by them on a bike again. So nice to have the sun shining on us, to be in the Ironman. Somebody pulled up alongside and said, "Wow, those guys were loud, that was awesome." I told him I had an army out here with me today.

I saw the Team again in Mt. Horeb, them shouting and screaming and me yelling various versions of "Yeeee-hoooooo!" as I cruised by.

Already 30 miles into the bike, and with Mt. Horeb behind me it was time to buckle into the meat of the bike course. I took stock - so far, so good. Nutrition was on point, sockless feet felt fine. It wasn't hot yet, but I was still hydrating more than usual in anticipation of the heat. My effort was easy, just where I wanted it to be, and with no wind out there my pace was slightly faster than I would've expected at that point. All arrows pointing in the right direction. I felt a touch of discomfort in my stomach, but nothing that raised any red flags for me - just something to keep an eye on (Ahem. Cue ominous music here).

I kept my effort precisely to plan. I was feeling great - pedaling easy, bike moving fine, a fantastic day to race. I sat up in the saddle at one point and said out loud, "Thank you for this. Thank you for this opportunity, this race, this day." Maybe I talk to my God, maybe to his intercediaries, maybe just nature and the earth and the world. I don't know, it just felt like words I should have said. I love this race.

Approaching Cross Plains, I saw a dude on the side of the road in an Elvis costume. I said to him, "I don't get it, but I like it!" He shouted back, "You'll get it in a second!" As I turned the corner to the waiting aid station, I was greeted by a woman in a corset, with fishnet stockings and feathers in the back. Awesome! They'd gone with some kind of Vegas theme for the aid station, totally cracked me up. I did what I did before every aid station - downed whatever water I had left in the on-board bottle, grabbed one bottle from the station and downed several big gulps, then tossed that bottle and grabbed a fresh one for the bike until the next station.

In '06, the weather was just so awful that hardly anybody came out. This year the Bitch Hills were pandemonium. It was awesome! People everywhere, camped out on the side of the road cheering us all on. I think people thought I was in agony or something because when we'd reach a hill, I'd back way off and pedal up easy, while everybody around me when cruising up the hill. Spectators would cheer for me to "catch him! You can do it!" I'd just smile and give them a fist pump. Up and down the first Bitch, then into the second Bitch at Midtown. People everywhere! I thought of how many countless times I'd climbed this hill in training - slow and steady, all alone except for that "water here" homemade sign that kind roadside homeowner had up all summer. Now it was packed with people banging drums, honking horns, cheering and yelling and screaming. So much fun. So much more entertaining to climb that hill.

Finally on Midtown, I saw the Team again - an ocean of blue, Grandpa Doyle with binoculars around his neck, my friends Chad & Krista (parents, if you've seen the video from '06, of Thunderstealer - their daughter Addison, born 2 days before Ironman '06, was on course with the Team today. Very cool.), my family, my friends. My friend Todd running after me as I tucked into aero. It was amazing. You can't know, unless you're out there, what it does for you to hear a familiar voice call your name, to see a familiar face to hitch your gaze onto and pull strength from. From what I understand it was a crazy caravan of traffic law breakers out there, chasing me down from one stop to another, hurrying to get there in time. I never knew when I'd see them, but I always hoped it was just around the next bend or atop the next hill.

Finally on the straightaway on Midtown, I locked down into my race strategy. Lolligagging was over, now I'd ride my bike. The plan was actually very simple; Still, I'd never push the pedals. I wanted to feel no effort in my calves or quads. But I'd ride aero almost all the time- no more sitting up when I felt like it. And, I'd pedal when nobody else was; mostly this meant on descents - instead of stopping my pedal just as the bike got moving, I'd pedal easy through the gears until I was going too fast to pedal anymore. But otherwise, I'd keep my cadence at 90rpm and my effort easy. It wasn't about going fast, it was just about not going slow.

I had a personally special moment while climbing the Third Bitch. Rich Strauss is a traithlon Jedi in every sense, and runs a team called Endurance Nation - you pay some money to access their training plans and knowledge centers (google 'em). I'm not an Endurance Nation athlete - self coaching is sort of the whole point for me - but he has a lot of insight and advice he shares online in blogs, videos, and other resources that are widely available. So much of what he teaches and preaches - including starting the bike ride stupid easy - I've come to agree with and incorporate into my own training. When I first got into Ironman training, back in 2005, his was a voice that rose over the noise to have some real depth and wisdom in how to train and race for the Ironman. I saw him there on the side of the road, holding an Endurance Nation banner, and as I climbed by I patted him on the arm and said, "I wouldn't be here without you." Which is the honest truth. I think I startled him, but he thanked me, and that was it. It was unexpected to share some space with him, but I was grateful for the opportunity - I don't think I've learned more about the nuts and bolts of triathlon than I have from that guy.

Into Verona, and fans lined the streets in rows. It was amazing. I heard my name again a few times I think. I stopped for my Special Needs bag after Verona, and decided my feet were feeling fine, so I'd skip taking the time to put on socks. I grabbed my new fuel bottle and new gel flask, and noticed a card from Amy. I opened it quickly - there was a note from her and Dakota, and a small stone with the word DREAM etched into it. I put it into my back pocket and hit the road.

I saw the Team again climbing the Little Bitch into Mt. Horeb - there they were lining the road, ready to haul me up the hill, my cousin Erin running along with me. Man, getting off of G and 92, which are tiresome little roads, and seeing that billboard for Cave of the Mounds and looking up that hill to see a sea of blue shirts - that's some good stuff right there. They cheered and shouted for me, and I gave them a fist pump and cheered with them.

In Mt. Horeb I made a brief pitstop at the aid station to use the portable - I'd had to pee for an hour or more. It felt good to stand vertical - the cramping I'd begun to experience early in the bike never really let go, and intensified just after I'd eat gels, so as the day went on I relied less and less on gel and more and more on liquid nutrition. It wasn't affecting my ride - my effort and comfort were fine, but it was a curiosity for me - I wasn't sure what was causing it. I started considering it in terms of the run, and stopped immediately - I was going to stay focused on the task at hand, which was riding the bike smart, not hard. Anything to come after that, I'd have to deal with then.

Just before the Roller Coasters, on S, I passed a rider, then thought I heard my name. As I started my descent down the roller coasters on Witte, my friend Robert pulled up - he's another local triathlete, somebody who's blogs we've exchanged, who I've raced with at some local races, as well as his wife. We ran together a bit in June at a long training weekend. He said he was feeling great to this point - "no complaints", and I told him I was having a great time out there too. He looked healthy and strong, and I wished him a great day.

I'm not entirely sure when it happened - somewhere in the middle of Garfoot, I think, around mile 70 or so - every inch of my race strategy to that point was confirmed to me. Like somebody hit a switch, all of the sudden everybody came back. Everybody. All these dudes on rocket ships that went blazing by me in the first 10 miles in their race to Verona, now they were slowly churning along, clearly uncomfortable, paying for all that effort. Lots and lots of riders who's bikes I'd marked for one reason or another in the first 20 miles were suddenly just standing still as I flew by rider after rider after rider. I'd try and offer encouraging words - I'd pull up, reading the name on their bib, and say something like, "Hey Jim, how you feeling?" I think they'd be surprised to hear their name - do we know each other? - and say something like, "a little tired" or "moving along" or "getting hot out here". They had that glassy look about them. I'd wish them well and be on my way.

I can't remember the last time I saw my team - sometime in Verona, I think - but I shouted to them "Let's bring it home!" and before long I was on Whalen, headed back. When I hit mile 100, I reverted back to my early strategy - no more pedaling on descents, back to sitting up when I felt like it, easy breezy riding along. There was a very slight headwind now, and my speed slowed as my strategy shifted, but I didn't care. The hard work was over. It was time to rest up and prepare for the run. I stopped with nutrition for the last 10 miles or so, drinking as much water as I could. I felt just fantastic. Like I hadn't been out there for more than just a few hours. The fans, the other riders, my Team, it just made the day so much fun.

Still, when I pulled into Madison around the Energy Center, I spotted the Capitol for the first time. My immediate unedited thought when I saw the Capital was (and I may have said this out loud, I tend to say things out loud as they occur to me when racing/training) was: "Awesome things I can think of: Dakota. Making Dakota. Seeing the Capital after being on the bike at Ironman."

The rest was just formality - be smart, avoid checking out mentally and winding up with a flat or worse. The Team were buzzing back into Madison, and they honked and cheered for me as we shared John Nolan Drive for a bit. Finally I swung back into an easy gear as I climbed the Helix. I thanked my bike for everything we'd been through together all this time, all these miles, all these rides, just so we could climb back up the helix together. As I approached the bike out, my friend Chad was there cheering for me, and I gave him a fist pump. I pulled into the waiting arms of a volunteer who grabbed my machine. I slowly peeled myself off - a little tedious in cycling shoes (which are normally clipped onto the pedals when I dismount while racing shorter distances), and I think that caution made the volunteer a little nervous. "Are you okay?" He asked. "Fantastic!" I replied, and meant it.

I'd seen my team, we calculated later, something like 10 times on the bike. I saw Gaye another two or three times, she always with helpful updates that Bob was doing well, and my friends Erin and Aaron (and Newton! And Leonard!) helped me up the last Bitch Hill on the course. Figure I never went more than 10 miles or so without seeing a friendly face, and man. Breaking your day up into 10 mile chunks makes the whole day more manageable.

This next statement, as you'll see, gets an asterisk next to it, but I rode the bike as well as I ever have. I rode the bike precisely to plan, with an average of just under 17mph - the "top shelf" average that I thought might be realistic based on the quality of my training. I never blew up, I never lost control of my effort. I hydrated well, I never overheated. I was fast when the course allowed me to be fast, and I was slow then the course required a slower pace. I got off feeling great - not just like I'd physically had a quality ride, but that I'd really enjoyed myself. I'd gotten the most out of myself and the race. I put all my training to work, and I did everything I'd hoped to do out there.

As soon as I picked up my Transition 2 bag and headed into the changing room, my friend Steve in a Speedo met me at the door. It was like he'd been waiting for me all day. Right away he said, "Here I'll help you with your stuff."

I sat down, and started clearing my pockets from what I no longer needed from the bike. Reached into my left pocket and hey! Hello sock! My thinking is that the mysterious missing sock from Transition 1 attached itself to the velcro of my cycling glove, then came detached and hung out in my rear pocket for the rest of the ride. Crazy.

Steve dumped out my bag while I started sorting through my gear. Steve is an Ironman. He understood that I wanted to be efficient without being hasty. "Need this?" he'd ask and hand it to me, or I'd say, "Hand me that," and he'd do it without looking up, still sorting through my stuff. Mentally I felt good. Focused, sharp. While Steve and I got me ready for the run I prepared preemptive measures against the heat; it had really been a non-factor on the bike, and I knew I'd hydrated well. I'd throw on my arm coolers now and soak them, and I grabbed sponges from my T1 bag to soak as I left transition. With no more work to be done, Steve wished me well and I gave my quick thanks, downed a couple glasses of water, and headed outside.

Not sure I can articulate what it means to have a friend meet you in Transition - a totally unexpected bonus at Ironman. Somebody who knows what you're going through, what you need, who wants to help and make an effort so that you can get the most out of your day. I know Steve was just "doing his job", but he's a class act. I'm sure in the flurry of transition I didn't express it, but it was good to have you there Steve. I appreciate it. Thanks.

I left the Terrace, and hit the portables quick before the sunscreeners slathered me up. I drenched my arm coolers, soaked my sponges and tucked them inside my top, and tossed back some Gatorade before grabbing a handful of ice cubes in each hand. Chad yelled some support for me, and I tipped one back in his honor. This was the heat management plan I'd practiced, and I knew it worked for me. I was ready to roll.

The plan for the first 3 miles was to relax, find a 10:00/mi pace, and walk the aid stations, eating and drinking in each one. I was consistently clocking 9:15-9:30/mi in the first 2 miles, and was encouraged by that - just like in training, I was having to hold myself back. I was patient, and followed through with my hydration and nutrition strategies. But in the second half of mile 2, I started developing a sideache - only it wasn't on my side, but more on the right side of my stomach. By mile 3, I was starting to belch almost constantly, and the Gatorade I'd been taking in wasn't settling right at all. I glanced at my watch, and was just where I wanted to be after 3 miles. I tried to ratchet up to the planned 9:30/mi pace for the next 3 miles.

As I was running around the football field at Camp Randall, belching with every damn footfall, a woman said, with some incredulity, "Who keeps belching?" I raised my hand, "That'd be me." She said, "Dude..." with an aghast look on her face. Oh I'm sorry, I did not say, "am I offending your delicate sensibilities at the fucking IRONMAN???. I pushed what I had to get as far away from her vibe as possible.

I tried to keep my planned strategy through mile 5, but it wasn't working out. I'd take a sip of Gatorade and gag. I grabbed a couple pretzels, and they were hard to chew my mouth was so dry. I'd toss back a couple cups of water and try to put together another mile or so. Sometime in mile 6 I vomited for the first time - all liquid, just whatever Gatorade I'd taken in that far I suppose. Sometime after that I saw the Team for the first time. My sister was clapping with a huge smile on her face. She and my brother both took extraordinary measures to get here for raceday - my sister's flight delayed until 9pm the night before. She reached her arms out wide for me. I fell into them - so happy to see her. "Hang with me guys!" I shouted. I moved to others in the team, giving them a big hug. They were clapping and cheering, Amy's Dad pumping his fist. "It might be a tough one, hang with me out here!" I leaned in to hug my Grandpa, who was sitting down he stayed out there with me all day long. With high-fives and more hugs they saw me back out onto the road. Like I did on the bike, I glanced at my heartrate whenever I saw the team during the run; I'd immediately spike 10 or 20 beats per minute. Actually pumping blood for me, these people were. I wish they knew, I wish they understood.

By mile 8 I was in some critical shit. Nothing I'd tried for nutrition was staying down - and considering that, as per strategy, I stopped taking in calories for half an hour before I got off the bike, I was running supremely low on fuel. Add to this that the slight cramping I'd felt throughout the bike, which was then a small sideache, was now a full blown fist clenching my gut. My form took on an exaggerated bend as I fought the awful cramping in my stomach. I vomited again, and finally hit a portable just before the Motivational Mile.

It felt like 10, but probably more like 5 minutes later I teetered out of the john, immediately went through the aid station and grabbed what I could - a nibble from a cookie, 2 pretzels at most, a revolting sip of Gatorade before tossing it, and as much water as I could. I made the decision then that I needed to stop and walk. For maybe the next mile, maybe more. This was ridiculous. My calorie deficiency had me all hazy, my head swimming, my sensibilities on the brink. I walked through the Motivational Mile trying to sort through what the hell was going on. I couldn't understand this sudden cramping, this nutritional cataclysm that I'd not faced in any training. I was frustrated that all my efforts training for this were rendered useless; I had the legs, I was even managing the heat well, and my head and attitude were there. I just couldn't go without the fuel. So many hours training for this. So many hours spent away from Amy, from Dakota, and it was falling apart like this. I felt like I was letting them down. That my one job out here was to make it happen, to pick it up and set it down, and I was confused about what had happened that I just couldn't eat.

I scanned the signs that covered the Motivational Mile, which friends and family and fans had made a the village the days before the race. I spotted those my Team made. Tears ran freely down my face - just an outlet, I guess, for the pain so far, the frustration, the fatigue. Touched that so many people were out there, and out there behind computers at home, giving a damn that I was putting one foot in front of the other. I guess at every Ironman you face some prospect of "maybe I won't finish this race afterall", and this was mine.

I stood taller then and tried to pick myself up a little. There are lows and highs in the Ironman, and you know that, and this is just a low. Get your shit together kid. You're in charge of how this will go. Just you. Make a decision. I saw a sign then that Amy had made for me, popping up on cue. RUN DADDY RUN! it read, with a picture of Dakota tacked on with ladybug stickers. Run Daddy Run! And she and I would fly around the kitchen, she stealing glances. And she navigating in her stroller, I piloting from behind. And she surrounded by bouncing dogs outside on the way to the park. Run Daddy Run!

So I tossed my cups and my sad attitude with them, and like pulling a stick from mud got some momentum to run. Just half a mile at first - and at the next aid station I grabbed some Coke and put in a cup of ice, a water, and some pretzels. Pretzels first, chased with water, then nurse this Coke for a short bit. In '06, chicken broth was elixir from the gods. Today it was Coke. So sweet! So tasty! So bubbly! So not making me puke! I finished the rest of it, and got back into the game.

I saw the Team again shortly after, and I think they were surprised when i wanted to give them hugs instead of high-fives. My friend Mike Wimmer, who is becoming Ironman, had this to say about the race, which is one of the most accurate and enlightened things I've ever read about the race, "You live in every moment at Ironman and do whatever you need to so that you get to the next moment.". My Team didn't realize the kind of moment I'd just been in, and the kind of moment it was for me just to see them again. "I'm trying to put it together," I yelled, "Stay with me!" They cheered and hopped and clapped, and Amy's Dad ran with me a little ways and asked how it was going. I told him I hadn't been able to keep anything down the first 8 miles, that I was running fumes, but I was trying to get back into it now. He slapped my back and told me he loved me and cheered me down the road.

I stopped again for Coke at mile 10 and was starting to feel like a human being again. I picked it up to run to the next aid station. My gut would feel okay for half a mile, then start to slowly and painfully clench tighter and tighter. I thought about my big plans for race day - hadn't I said out loud that I was shooting for a 4 hour marathon? and laughed out loud. Not cynically, just openly - to make plans at Ironman is pretty much folly. The day hands you something, who knows what, and you deal with it. You put together the best race you can. You do the best you can. The term "best" gets redefined by each one of those moments.

I wasn't running fast, and I was trying to ignore the increasing tightness in my stomach, but I was running. I walked one more aid station at mile 11, then decided I'd been cautious enough - let's see what I can put together. I thought, maybe - even if slowly - I can put together something for the second half of the marathon. Maybe the worst is behind me.

Somewhere in these miles I saw Gaye a few more times, and I heard lots of cheers for "xt4!" I think some of these were from friends (G, Bert's wife?), but I think some of these were from people I don't even know. I ran through the turnaround, and my attitude was back on point. I high-fived the volunteer at turnaround, and I truly wasn't miserable at all to see the finish line come and go. I high-fived my old high school friend Aaron, another Ironman, and that was a weird, sweet flashback to Coyote football '92. I knew I'd be going slow, but I started feeling like I could put something together again.

Shortly after I saw my friends Erin and Aaron, and they ran with me a bit. Erin's an Ironman. "Shit it's hot out here," she said. I told her it wasn't the heat, I didn't know what it was, but I'd had an awful first half. But I was putting one foot in front of other now. Aaron said to me, "Run with a Lion's heart", and that stuck right into my soul. The fell back behind me, but they stayed with me the rest of the race.

At mile 14 I decided I'd try some Gatorade again - let's see if I can start with a clean slate and put this second half together. 3 minutes later I was back in a portable for 5 minutes. Dammit! I'd chosen to skip the mile 13 aid station, so my precarious hold on calories was now back in the hole (uh, literally). I got that dizzy, swooping feeling again and slowed to a walk to get myself together again. At mile 15 I made a bee-line for the Coke, and I'd live on that and pretzels for the rest of the race. When I saw the Team again my mother was there - she too moved mountains to get here, and her flight got in just an hour or so before. I was thrilled to see her, and gave her a big hug. She said, "There's my Ironman!" and told me she loved me. I told the team again that it was a tough one out there. I felt bad for feeling so emotional - that the day had gone so awesome until early in the run, and now they were having to pick up the pieces with me on the run. My sister started running with me then, and she said, "I have literally seen a man become a machine today." I turned my head, and 5 or 6 of them were running with me. I just suddenly turned my head and I'm flanked by blue shirts. They're all smiling, gleaming really. It was awesome. They fell back after a few strides, wishing me well with promises to see me around mile 20. They didn't know it either, but they too stayed with me the rest of the day. If we could see through more enlightened eyes you'd see a whole mess of us crossed the finish line that day.

I stopped for Coke at every aid station after that. I know it doesn't sound like, but I wasn't having a horrible run. It hurt, yes, and I only had about a mile and half in me before my slowly tightening stomach was too unbearable to continue and I've have to walk and nurse it a bit with more Coke, and yeah it was a wicked slow pace. But I was rarely in survival mode - except for that awful mile 8, and a bit of mile 14, I was always power walking if I wasn't running. I was always thinking, making a plan and a strategy to do something with what I had. It was slow, it wasn't the 8:30/mi pace I'd trained to be running at that point. But that's Ironman. My head was clear, and my attitude was right, and I was still glad to be out there, despite any disappointment. "Disappointment" at Ironman is pretty relative. Things weren't going as planned, or as I'd hoped or expected. But I was out there. I was doing it. I'd worked hard to get there. These are things you can't take away from me, however the day was going. Most of all, I was surrounded by my friends and family, and was high-fiving friends that I didn't even know 3 years ago, that today were a significant part of my day. This was the Ironman, and there I was in it, and that's not so bad at all.

The late afternoon temperature cooled rapidly, and it was comfortable running. In that bad stretch on mile 14 I'd snatched from my back pocket the stone that Amy and Dakota had put in my bike special needs bag - I'd carried it with me all this way. I'd been using it now as a kind of worry stone - I gripped it in my hand, and ran my thumb along the word DREAM with each stride, using it as a meditative device of sorts - channeling attention and energy to it to take away my focus on my screaming gut. I was forced one more time to stop at a portable - I probably spent 15 or 20 minutes sitting still during the marathon.

At around mile 18 or 19 I saw the team for the last time, on State Street, and Amy was there with Dakota - I hadn't seen Amy for most of the afternoon, and didn't expect to see Dakota out there at all. D hardly knew what was happening, I think, but seeing her little ponytail on top of her head was just about the sweetest sight imaginable just then. This time my brother came out and ran with me. He high-stepped next to me while I shuffled along, saying, "This ain't so hard! Easy peezy! Give you one of these!" and then he turned around ran backwards. "Huh? What you think about that!" It was good to have to laugh. He patted my shoulder and told me to finish up strong, he'd see me at the finish line. Add another to the crew.

As darkness came and I ran along the lake I saw my friend Mike coming the opposite way. Just seeing him, I knew he'd gotten off the bike, and I knew he had concerns about that. Beyond that, I had no idea how things were. "You finish it up now!" He said. I asked him how he was, and he gave me a tentative, "okay...", but then reiterated that I should be strong. I don't know Mike well, but he seems that kind of guy. Ready to channel some positive mojo your way, even if he has little mojo left to spare. These are the kinds of people I've met in this game. Mike, I brought you with me too.

When I came upon the Motivational Mile again just before mile 22, I stopped and grabbed that picture of Dakota off the sign she'd made. You bet she's coming across the line with me. Run Dakota Run.

I planned out my last 4 miles - a quick Coke here at mile 22, then probably I'll need it again at 24. Power walk when the stomach got really bad, but once I hit mile 25 I was running it out.

But then; If Ironman is a series of moments, then my moment of moments happened while sipping that Coke after mile 22.

As I walked the tail end of the mile 22 aid station, I found myself next to another athlete, also walking. "I can't understand it," he said. "My swim and bike went so well." He had a glassy look about him, and I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or himself. "Me too," I replied. "Had a great swim and bike, but must not have been that great if I'm stuck here walking like this." "Just...can't understand it..." He mumbled. Then two women appeared out of the darkness and joined us. An ambulance stood watch further down the road. "Don't let that ambulance see me," she twittered with a perky laugh. "Don't want them to see me moving this slow, they might toss me in back!" Her friend laughed, and the guy perked up too, laughing with them. I sipped my Coke, and one of them made another joke about if it was legal for the ambulance to drive you across the finish line.

No. I thought. No. You are not going to stay here with these people and wallow in mediocrity and do just enough to get across the finish line and be okay with that. Laughing about it. No. This is not why you woke up at 5am every weekend. This is not why you spent so many hours away from your family. This is not why your Grandpa refilled your coolers on hot runs. This is the Ironman. This is what you asked for. This is your last shot. It didn't go as planned, but here you are. Do not choose the easy road. Not now, not ever. No. No. No.

This passed through my head in an instant, and one last time I forced myself forward and started running. The guy tried to run with me for a bit, but he backed off when he realized he just didn't have the legs.

I ran. I didn't stop to walk up the hills. I ran. I didn't stop at the aid stations anymore. I ran. My goddamn gut was a fist that was so tightly clenched I thought it was going to punch its way out of me and hit me in the face, but I ran. It wasn't fast, but it was all I had. I high-fived the volunteers as I went by. I ran. I high-fived the spectators as I approached the Capital. I ran. Out of the darkness came flying my friend Sarah - she slapped me on the back and hooted and hollered. She's an Ironman too. She knows what this feels like, this last stretch. My friend Steve, her husband, who had put me on my feet so many hours ago out of T2, he cheered and yelled for me, and ran up the road to take out his camera and snap a shot. I think I gave them a point, I maybe gave them a high-five, I know I didn't say anything to them. I was hurting, and I was running, and there was a finish line up there, and they were the last push I needed. You must see now that I crossed this line utterly surrounded.

I have seen this place in my dreams so many times in the last 3 years. So many times. No reflections on the wet cement this time, no frozen fog coming from my breath as I approached, but there it was. I have waited and waited to be here again. It is the stuff that fills in the spaces. It is, when Jack and I sprint at the end of our 2 mile runs, the secret place we suddenly imagine. It is the backdrop to the anthems on my iPod in the middle of winter. Bright lights pinned against the dark, a tunnel of loud, shining, joyful brilliance to welcome us home. The people! My God there were people everywhere! The music pounded, and Mike Reilly's voice captured for eternity in the vibrations on the ether each of our names. And I stopped and threw my fists up in the air and shouted. It didn't matter that I had so little energy left, my stomach pain was irrelevant, the blister that had popped up on my left foot in the last mile was suddenly anesthetized. There was, in my series of moments, this final spectacular moment. I tried so desperately to soak it in, to memorize it, to take it with me. I took a few steps and raised my arms and shouted again before running it home.

Then I crossed the finish line. Then we crossed the finish line.

Bits & Pieces

• My finishing time was 13:39:45, my marathon was 5:20:20, with a pace of 12:14. I don't know what happened to me that kept me from keeping anything down on the run. The most obvious explanation is that I went too hard on the bike. And I'm willing to accept that, I guess. It doesn't jive, though, with my countless hours of training - I didn't do, or face, anything I didn't expect or hadn't faced in training a million times. A second explanation was the heat, which I am famously awful in, but that's just an added source of frustration because really, I managed the heat just fine. Better than expected, in fact. A third plausible explanation is, the lakes here have been really bad with blue-green algae, and the week leading up to the race was still and warm. It's plausible, particularly since I started feeling the cramping just 30 miles into the bike, that I just had a tough reaction to ingesting some on the swim. I'm least comfortable with this explanation only because I can't take responsibility for it. I want to be able to say, "aha well see, you had a Big Mac in transition you idiot and therefore your run was crap (uh, literally). Anyway, it's one of those things I guess. That's part of the challenge at Ironman - you really take a lot of separately constructed concepts and put them together just once on race day. Unlike shorter distance races, where you can tank one week, make sense of it, and try something different at the next race two weeks from now. You get one shot at Ironman.

• I had it as a contingency plan if I felt awful on the bike, but I'm embarrassed to say it never occurred to me on the run to just stop. To find an aid station, get some food and drink, and sit my ass down for 15 minutes and see what happens. If I'd done that early, I wonder if it would have helped - if I could have headed off the downward spiral. Live and learn for next time, I guess.

• All of that said, I was much more present in the run this time around, and for that I'm pleased. In '06 I had a tough go mentally, and had a lot of hopelessness out there. I was mentally engaged most of the day this day, it was just the nutrition that kept me from doing what I had hoped to do. Certainly hopelessness never entered into it.

• I want to really, sincerely thank everybody who was out there cheering me on - on the course; my friends and family, the friends and family of my friends that were also competing. The strangers who came up to say they've watched the video or read the blog - I had some really humbling, kind comments about that stuff. The people cheering for "xt4". Also in the virtual world - I had lots of you following along with the GPS, keeping track and tabs on the day, cheering me on. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it from everyone. That you'd spend any of your personal time doing that is pretty amazing to me.

• I'd like to thank Kaili, Michael & Alicia, my Uncle Mike and my Aunt Pat, who stayed back all day and watched from her computer with my Grandma; Amanda & Gabrielle who hung out with Dakota much of the day, Marlyn & Debbie, who came all the way from Western North Dakota (New York City is honestly closer) just for one day of cheering me on; Mike, Susan, Erin & Jimmy, my Grandpa Doyle who is my biggest fan - his involvement with Ironman goes far beyond race day, and I appreciate that very much; Jay, my brother Matt, sister Heather, and my mom - they uniquely understand what this might be for me, and how important it is to me that they came all this way - my brother drove 8 hours home that night, after the race, my sister flew out the next day, my mother and Jay home the next day too. Lots of miles just to get me across the finish line. Todd and Patrick and Ben, Tara, Chad and Krista and Addison, and of course, most of all, Amy and Dakota. My thanks won't ever be adequate.

• Steve in a speedo took a few of the pictures you see here - thanks Steve!

• Congratulations to my friends who competed in the Ironman on Sunday. I was glad anytime I saw you out there, got an update from your peeps, or caught up with your day afterwards. It's truly an honor and privilege to toe the line with you people. Truly. To those of you still becoming Ironman, or becoming Ironman again; know I will be tirelessly cheering you on and living vicariously through you (so put together a decent marathon, alright!?)

• I haven't yet gone through much of the video the Team (Ben) shot, and haven't received many photos yet from The Team, but if there's a story there to tell from all of it, I'll try and put it together in another documentary. I hope there is - the day, the Team, all of it is too cool, and too much, to adequately put into any kind of race report. So stay tuned for that.

• The blog is going to undergo some changes in the coming weeks and months. There's a lot of decompressing to do yet from Ironman, and I have some specific things I want to share with those of you who are doing Ironman Wisconsin in the future - things I hope you can incorporate into your own universe however you wish, and maybe use in your own becoming. But my own story of becoming Ironman is coming to a close, and it's time for this blog to adapt to that.

• Which is a good segue to say no, I'm not doing Ironman again next year. Or the year after that, or the year after that. For any kind of foreseeable future my personal journey through Ironman is over, or at least I suppose you'd say "indefinitely suspended". I'll hope to do Ironman again when Dakota can be part of the decision. "Dad's about to take on a sort of second job. He'll be gone a lot of weekend mornings, and his brain will sometimes be on other things. What do you think about that?" Provided she's agreeable, and Amy's agreeable, and then that I'm agreeable - and that I'm not going to miss anybody's dance recitals or soccer games or karate or gymnastics or Mathlete meets or whatever on earth this little person finds herself interested in...well as you can see, there are a lot of moving pieces to sort out before I'll be ready to consider another Ironman. Which - this is a good thing, it's a right decision, I welcome it. I'm not leaving triathlon or anything - I plan on a marathon next fall, doing a trail race in just a few weeks. I'll still be here doing what I do, being a part of what you all do. But not at the level that I require of myself for Ironman.

But I'll miss it; I'll missing that tiny speck on the horizon, where each pedal crank or footfall is another pull of the oar, bringing you impossibly closer. I'll miss the smell of Coppertone at 4:30am in July, I'll miss seeing the fields turn from slushy puddles in March and April to bright green and lush in June and July to tired and ready by late August and September. My heart lives there still, and it always will, and whether I get back, or when I do (and I do hope to, however many age group changes may occur), I'll always long for it some.

But time moves differently when training for Ironman. You never really live in the moment; instead of it being early summer, it's x weeks until your mileage should be at xx. Everything revolves around it, exhaustingly so, and I found myself this summer wondering where time went. I spent all winter waiting for spring to get on my bike...all spring waiting for the wind to go down in summer and for long mileage to start...all summer training for hot weather and mentally preparing for September. The stuff of life - the barbecues and swimming pools and running in bare feet...that only got squeezed in. I look forward to it being priority, instead.

In part, this is what made this race such a bittersweet symphony; I knew with every revolution and every turn of my Newtons that this was it for me. That I have no plans to be back. And if you know me at all, if you know anything about me if only from reading this blog, you know that I love the Ironman a great, great deal. I love the distance, I love training for it, I love racing it, I love it's potential and possibility. It's always more than a race to me. For me it embodies and represents something that reaches deep into me, that I've encountered nowhere else. And, my best race is still in me somewhere. I hope I get a chance to find it sometime. But between then and now, I'll likely be teaching a little girl how to ride a bicycle. Get her started early, y'know. Just in case she likes it.

More to come. Thanks again everybody, and much love.

Choose extraordinary ~

x

Tracking me on race day

2009-09-11T11:25:00.005-05:00

If you'd like to follow my progress on race day, there are a few ways you can be part of the action. The race starts at 7:00am on Sunday morning.

1. Go to www.ironman.com on race day, and choose to "Track an Athlete". My bib # is 93. I'll be wearing a timing chip, and everytime I step over a timing mat on the course, my times will be updated online. This means you'll get the first update after the swim, then another when I start the bike, another mid-way through the bike, and another when I'm off the bike. You'll get a few updates, about every 6 miles or so, on the run.

2. The easiest, and coolest way to follow me is via MyAthlete; this year I'll be wearing a GPS device on me throughout the race (after the water - so, on the bike and run). You can access a website on your computer or your mobile device such as an iPhone, Blackberry, Palm, etc. and see my progress in real-time; where I am on the course, how fast I'm going, etc. A great way to see what's happening as it happens! If you're here in Madison and will be on course, a good way to keep updated so you know when you might expect me.

For web browsers on your desktop/laptop computer or your iPhone, visit:
www.MapMyAthlete.com/vemap.aspx?name=044136

For other handheld devices such as Blackberry or Palm, visit:
www.MapMyAthlete.com/pda.aspx?name=044136

Note: Certain versions of the Blackberry browser do not work. You can download for free the Opera-mini browser on your Blackberry at http://www.opera.com/mini/download

3. Starting at around 3:30pm, www.ironman.com will have a live video feed of the finish line - just look for the link to "live coverage". Somewhere around 7:00 or after I'll be crossing, and you can watch a live video feed of my finish. The best way to manage this would be to track via the other options first, so you know more specifically what time I'll be crossing. Note too that last week, to everybody's pissed-offness, the video feed was AWOl from Ironman Kentucky. Hopefully they've got it straightened out now.

4. Finally, I'll be turning over the Twitter controls to Amy and the Team for race day. The plan is that somebody will update as the day is going by with news and reports for how it's going out there. My Twitter automatically updates Facebook, so if you follow me on Twitter or are a friend at Facebook, you should enjoy the play by pay.

Put all these web options up on multiple browser windows and you shall have a veritable potpourri, a bonanza, if you will, of Ironman geekery and information. Awesome.

That's it! I'll be wearing a white, red and black Ironman Wisconsin racing kit; primarily white top, black bottom. On the bike I'll have a huge blue aero helmet on that makes me look like a dorky astronaut, and my machine is a little hard to miss - it has a big blue and black disc wheel on the back (click the picture for bigger/better resolution):

On the run, about the only things that might set me apart from everybody else are my crazy lime green Newtons:

And I might be wearing white sleeves on my arms; arm coolers, to manage the heat. I'll have my number on me, though - 93 - and under the number it says my name "CHRIS".

There you go - thanks for all the support everybody, I really appreciate it!

Promises to keep.

2009-09-09T14:18:00.003-05:00

Abby
Doyle & Mary
Aaron
Patrick
Richard
Michael
Rob
Tara
Steve & Sarah
Kim
Mike
Terrie
Keri
Jodi
Heather
Sara
Megan
Debbie & Marlyn
Matt & Amber, Shadai, & Shia
Pat & Mike
Michael, Alicia & Connor
Todd
Gayle
Dave & Linda
Susan
Aaron
Casey
Chad, Krista & Addison
Sara & Ben, Megan, & Emmy
Laura & Sam
Alicia
Erin
Richard
Frances
Rohith
Maria
Connie

You come here in honor of, in support of, in memory of your son. Your husband. Your uncle, your grandfather, your family. Your brother. Your Dad. You are here in memory of a friend, in honor of a child, in support of a team.

You give in honor of family members who have battles to win.

You support The Lionhearted among us.

You stand up, and you brush off, and you wipe your forehead and swallow hard and look back up the road in support of sure and certain hope.

Whatever your reason for donating - because I asked, because you could, because you wanted to, because you somehow felt you had to; I am grateful. Whoever you are - a friend, a family member, a stranger, somebody who knew my Dad, somebody how knows my Dad through me, even someone indifferent about my experience but who gave because of your own - I thank you. Together we have raised nearly $4500 for the American Heart Association. We more than quadrupled the original goal. You did this. You chose to. I thank you.

There are a lot of things in life bigger than the Ironman. There are a lot of things in the Ironman that are bigger than the Ironman. This is one of them. This is bigger than any miles I spent on snowy roads or stormy highways or sunshiney paths or lap after lap after lap in the pool. Those things, like a lot of things in Ironman, are really just a means to this end; the privilege to carry with me, in the culmination of all that effort, your heart. The things inside you that compelled you to give a donation to this cause. That's what I'm making my day about. I will race because of, and on behalf of you, and your uncle and your Dad and Grandpa and son. Your brother. Your grandmother, your friend's sweet baby daughter. Your friend, your family members, your memories, your sadness and certainly your hope. Because this - however small or large it is in the grand scheme - this union, this commonality of fighters who are represented in the smiles of State Street in the evening, of the cheering crowds of Verona after 50 miles, in the waterside Monona Terrace, packed with so many versions of you for so many versions of me out there in the water - this is ultimately a day a of celebration and reward and joy, of hard work and achievement, of potential and possibility. And that stands in absolute opposition to falling on one's knees screaming into the December winter wind in utter abandonment.

Where heart disease has devastated, let us in this gesture choose something powerful and good against it - each other. That is what this means to me, and what I hope to represent.

It is a tall order. I have no illusions that I am particularly cut out for it. But I promise to try. To do my very, very best for you. To keep these things that are important to you, important to me. Because - the best part - is I don't go it alone. We're in this together.

I've been thinking - and maybe it's audacious to even think it, much less say it aloud, but maybe however this $4420.35 gets used in researching, in treating, in educating and informing - maybe in some small way, through some butterfly effect, maybe something we've done here will mean that somebody's Dad, or grandma, or friend or child won't die. And wouldn't that be something.

With all my heart,

x

This is the necklace I'll be wearing at Ironman; each donor is represented with a single red garnet. I found this interesting information about the garnet: According to legend, Noah used a finely cut, glowing garnet to illuminate the ark during those dark wet days and nights. Hebrew writers include the garnet as one of the twelve gems in Aaron’s breastplate. Christian tradition considered the blood-red garnet as a symbol of Christ’s sacrifice. The Koran holds that the garnet illuminates the Fourth Heaven of the Moslems. The Greeks said it guarded children from drowning. Moreover, Garnet is symbolic of a quick return and separated love, since Hades had given a pomegranate to Persephone before she left him to ensure her speedy return. Therefore, Garnet may be given to a beloved before embarking on a trip. It has been said that a garnet engraved with the figure of a lion is an all around effective charm that will protect and preserve health, bring him honors, and guard him from all the possible perils in traveling.

Race Week: Ironman Wisconsin

2009-09-03T19:41:00.008-05:00

Ladies and Gentleman we have landed, you may now use your cellular devices. Please remain seated with your seats in the upright position until we have arrived at the gate.

This week is seriously as close to Christmas-as-a-kid as I get. I love Ironman week around here. This is my 4th Ironman week - the 1st in 2006 when I came to town, the last 3 living here near Madison. This place gets triathlon drunk and it's awesome. You start noticing little things like the Ironman flags going up, the Ford fleet of vehicles moving into town, M-Dot hoopla dotting the edges of everything. By Thursday the Village will be set up, and all of downtown will be crawling with geeks in compression socks up to their knees. There's a buzz - it's electric, almost physical, like something you feel humming deep in your gut or vibrating in your teeth. Partly because it's, well, Ironman, and partly because its timing coincides with what is really the end of the triathlon season, it just feels like such a culmination. Like a big celebration of triathlon - which for me is what it is. I look forward to it each year.

Oh, but hey! There's a race! Let's get to it. Details provided for my benefit as much as anybody's, feel free to tune out when it gets into the minutiae.

Plans & Principles

The Swim
Something I've applied all season - to great results - and will apply across the board at Ironman, but nevermore-so than in the water, is that the swim will take care of itself. Training says I should expect to be in the water around 1:30. If I'm out any faster than that, I'll be surprised and exhilarated; provided I get out faster while still taking it easy. For some reason, likely because it's the "shortest" leg, and so time becomes more condensed (or something, I know what I mean anyway), three minutes or five minutes or hell, seven minutes gained or lost in the water becomes some big deal. If I finish the race in, say, 13:26 instead of 13:29 will anybody on earth, including me, care? If I get off the bike in 7:12 instead of 7:09, does that matter in the grand scheme? Unless you're pro of have Kona aspirations, no, so why people (or in this case, I) get hung up on oooh, that was 29 seconds faster than last time! in the water is a little weird. So the name of the game in the water on Sunday is to relax. Don't get taken in by the adrenaline rush, don't do stupid things (another truism to be screamed from the mountaintops regarding anything Ironman), and simply go as fast as solid technique allows me to. Get out of the water ready to get on the bike; not requiring a break, not needing to sit down because I worked too hard, not hungry because I burned too many calories. Chill out. If I'm out in 1:40, I'm out in 1:40. Who cares. In '06 (and by the way, from here to eternity it'll be only marginally useful to compare anything about this race to '06, because the weather on that day was, literally, a shitstorm. But, it's the only Ironman experience I have, so I will, if for only my own internal measurements, inevitably gauge some strategy, performance, and outcomes against '06. Okay, carrying on.) the water was choppy and rough - very tough swimming. Maybe it'll be choppy and rough again, posing its own unique issues and challenges. Go with the flow, literally, and I'll be okay.

Strategically, I'll start the same place I started in '06 - just next to the turn buoy. This puts me on the very edge of the field, and in fact I may again swim inside the lane buoys, like I did in '06. This removes me from achieving any kind of draft, but seriously I'm not a good enough drafter or swimmer where I can honestly say that comes into play. Mostly it'll be about staying out of the washing machine of humanity, getting into my rhythm early, fighting off the adrenaline, and settling in.

Transitions
Well the first thing that'll happen is I'll actually be prepared with my Transition bags. Seriously, in '06 I was so taken by surprise by the weather, and I was NOT packed for it. This time around I'll have every possible go-to item of water/wind/weather gear in my wardrobe available to me as raceday approaches, and will be able to make smart decisions about what to pack in the bags and what to wear. Living in Madison is huge, as I can adapt on the fly and bring something in with me on race morning if necessary. So that's key number one.

Assuming, however, that a wholesale wardrobe change is not required, I really plan to get in and get out. The run to T1, going up the helix, etcetera is time consuming, and I have no real time goals for transitions except just to smoothly but quickly be ready to roll.

The Bike
Just as I wrote that, I took a huge breath because, really, it's all about the bike. Even where it's all about the run - which is what I'm hoping for this year, first it has to be all about the bike. I have got to ride the bike smart - not hard - to get off with fresh legs and be ready to run, and not just survive, the marathon. If you've followed along at all, you know I've had a couple 100+ race rehearsals, wherein I've both bombed the day entirely and had a fantastic race emulation. These have been invaluable experiences in learning how to ride this course. The great thing is, I haven't put it all together entirely. I know what to do, and how to get there, but I haven't gone 112 miles. I haven't had a special needs pickup. In short - I haven't had race day to take all the tinkering and apply it. So I feel like I'm 90% there with what to expect from training - which is right where I want to be. For me, having a touch of mystery creates a little extra something, and I generally perform well. So I don't feel like I go into the race feeling like I know all the answers. I feel like I know most of them. Which is perfect.

I'll take the first 45 miles or so stupid easy. Easy spinning at 90rpm or higher, sitting up in the saddle when it's convenient, never pedaling on descents. I'll do no work. I'll let my training take care of all of it. Relaxing, not tapping into any energy stores, chilling out. In T1, I'll down 2 gels to compensate for the effort in the water. I won't take in nutrition again until 30 minutes into the bike. Then it's a big gulp of Infinit every 15 minutes (2 gulps on the 45) followed by 3-4 big gulps of water. A gel at the top of every hour (no Infinit, then). Easy breezy nutrition strategy. If necessary - that is, something unexpected happens and I'm required further fortification, I'm good for some bananas at the aid station and some Gatorade. But I won't plan on those things. In fact, I won't use the aid stations at all except for water.

The most critical part of the day - especially in the first 40-45 miles - is no ego. If it's a bit windy, or the weather is sketchy, or it's hot, or even if everything is just plain awesome, I'll back off at the first inkling of effort in my legs. I want to feel nothing in my quads or calves. I want to feel like it's just the bike's momentum getting me down the road.

At around mile 45 - I'll take this by feel a bit, but as I write this my mental mile marker is just after the top of the 2nd Bitch Hill, on Midtown, where then you have that nice stretch of "flat" before the big descent and finally the 3rd Bitch - I'll get intentional about riding the bike. This does not mean killer effort, it does not mean Eat my Rubber! (Griswold, Clark). It means I'll tuck into aero for the remainder of the day unless climbing. It means I'll pedal a bit of some descents, and I'll treat descending a bit more for racing than strictly recovery. I'll push my pace just a bit. This is when the mental game really gets interesting, because I'll have to know where I am with my effort, and not be deceived by race day excitement, etc. But, this is a good place in the course, geographically, to turn it up; except for the 3rd Bitch before Old Sauk, there's a lot of flat and some descending all the way through Verona.

At Special Needs, I'll pick up a fresh bottle of Infinit (a 3 hour mix) and a new gel flask, loaded up for the second half. Strategy is mostly unchanged - take from Verona to Mt. Horeb very easy, knowing that's where time is lost on the bike, not really where it's gained. I'll still be pushing slightly, aero always, and descending with purpose. Climbing any hills, however, is still stupid easy - that stays true from the beginning of the bike to the end.

Contingencies? Covered. I'll have rain gear available to me. Knee warmers if it's chilly. Arm warmers too. Get a flat? Get off and fix it. Nothing to spend time on here except to say I'm not afraid of any of it. Part of the game.

If - and one tempts the Iron gods by beginning any statement with that word - there is no drama, no insane wind or precipitation that drenches the day - I think I have the training for somewhere around a 6:30 bike. Could be closer to 6:45, I'll be surprised if it's shorter than 6:30. But - those are just guidelines, and not goals; the bike leg is about execution for the run, period. So if something goes haywire nutritionally, for instance, you can bet I'll get off my bike at and aid station and eat for 10 minutes before I'll drive myself into a glorious bonk that would cost me an hour or more on the run later. So if it takes me 7 hours to get off my bike but I did those 7 hours smart and according to plan, then so be it.

The Run
So now I will break every one of my own rules and say something out loud that I would ordinarily keep quiet. It is, according to popular conventional wisdom, the status quo for many, and even a little bit still for myself, crazy talk. The kind of thing that makes people roll their eyes, shake their heads, and privately wonder what the hell is wrong with me. But in telling you, I guess it's so we all have something to cheer for. Something while you're at home watching your computers or however you might be aware of me on race day, that you can mentally keep track of. For the Team, on course, something for you to know and push for as well.

I've been training for a sub 4:00 marathon.

Crazy! you say. I know! I say. Thing is, I ran the Twin Cities marathon last October in 4:03:xx. I had 4:00 or sub 4 in my grasp, and a weird IT band issue that I'd never come across before or since suddenly showed up around mile 21 and sabotaged the effort. But I knew I had it in me. So what makes me think I can go sub 4 after a 2.4 mile swim and 112 miles on the bike? I'm not sure. But it's not some pie-in-the-sky daydream of an idea. It's not some crazy goal that I've invented that has no basis in reality at all. I did strength training all winter. I did speed work in the spring and early summer. I trained my long mileage "fast" in the 8:30's or lower until early June. All as a strategy to run sub 4 at Ironman. Everything says, everybody says, that the run at Ironman is really a "shuffle". Or that it's all about how fast you go on the bike, and the run takes care of itself. Or even, don't think about the run until you get to it. And that's cool, whoever's subscribing to those philosophies I think you're often right, and if it works for you, awesome. For me, getting to the marathon with fresh legs is entirely my point. I don't necessarily need to feel like I road the bike race of my life. But I'm saying out loud right now that I have trained, and intend, to run the marathon of my life.

At an Ironman.

A tall order, I know. Believe it, though, because I do. And, I've underestimated myself a little bit. I had a goal last year of a sub 2 hour half marathon. I spent all my energy focused around a strategy that got me eeking across the line just under 2 hours. When race day came, I was perfectly prepared and ran it 15 minutes faster than that. Same with my half Ironman that was my A race last season - all these plans to scratch out a sub 6 race, and instead I had it in me to go 5:35. This season I had a run strategy planned for the Lifetime Fitness Olympic distance triathlon that would, if all went as I expected it to that day, get me across around 2:50. Instead I cruised, easily, to 2:34. I mentioned these times in an earlier post, and again, I don't do it to be self congratulatory. It's just information; it's like how every year Apple projects a revenue of $x.xx, and every year they crush that because they're being conservative. Conservative has it's place, I guess, but I'm going out on a limb and choosing outlandish instead.

So the plan is; first, get to the marathon healthy and ready to run. It's important to note, however, that this does not mean mailing in (would that be possible at an Ironman race?) the bike race - as you know, I have a plan there, and haven't put in all this time just to joyride the thing. It's about that balance of just hard enough, but not too hard.

So, ass-u-me-ing I get to the marathon ready to rock, I'll run 10:00/mi for the first 3 miles, and 9:30/mi the next 3. I'll take in nutrition - solid and Gatorade - every 2 or 3 miles. Hopefully, I'll have to hold back to maintain these paces.

At mile 6, I'll settle into a 9:00/mi pace. I'll take in Gatorade every 2-3 miles. A gel every hour. I won't revert back to solid foods, or cola, or broth, or any of that stuff unless/until I am required to (in '06, for instance, my system immediately revolted Gatorade, so I was left to improvise). I'll allow that 9:00/mi pace to err on the side of caution - if it turns out to be around 9:10/mi or so, as long as I'm not having to push to achieve that, then that's fine. But if I've done it right, I should arrive at mile 16 somewhere around 2:30 into the marathon.

My whole day, and (not) incidentally all my visualizing on the bike and run, all my training objectives on the bike and run, since friggin' January, is about getting to mile 16 ready to rock. At this point, I should be ready to turn it up to 8:30/mi for the next 4 miles. At this point, it may begin to hurt, and I may have to push, and I expect that. At mile 20, all bets are off. No plans. Do I stay at 8:30/mi? Do I have something left to push even harder? Will I find myself in a slow decline that has me in a survival shuffle suddenly at mile 23? I don't know, and that's Ironman. At mile 20, I'll be doing my best - whatever that is. But if I've executed right, if I've stayed on point nutritionally, if I have encountered anything so unexpected as to have to rewrite my agenda for the day, and if I've stayed healthy, then I should be running, running, running.

And I suppose it's not at all irrelevant that I've never felt in better shape. I think I'm peaking at the right time. I've had a great taper and I don't think I've ever felt more ready for a race, any race. When people lately ask me, "Are you ready?" I forgo the usual self deprecation and just answer truthfully, "yes." I am ready for this.

So that's the plan - cheer me on, peeps, I need the love. Finishing time? Who knows. If you do the math and everything goes "according to plan" (ha!), then I'm in somewhere around 12:00, 12:15 or so with transitions. Mostly I just want to finish the race. I want, obviously, for all these grand schemes to go brilliantly well, but if they don't, I'm not going to be crushed or anything. I suppose that's a good seque into goals of the day; you've seen the performance goals of the day - and those are crucial, really, let's not pretend it doesn't matter to me how fast I go because it goes dammit, but ~

Know how fast I ran the marathon in '06? I don't. 5 something. It was cold and lonely sometimes. Know how fast I rode the bike? Me neither. 7 something. I had to go super slow because of the forsaken rain. I think the best, most important parts of Ironman happen away from "times" and "distances". And it's weird, because a lot of my memories of '06 are artificial memories; they come from reading my race report, or seeing the video, or hearing the stories. But actual, tangible memories that I have of the day - it's weird, and a little sad - how blurry they are to me. Maybe to be expected, it being my first one, and the weather being so crazy and all - maybe it's normal that I wouldn't really have a grasp on a lot of details.

Two things I remember: Feeling really low on the bike for awhile, a few miles into the second loop really until Cross Plains. And, being mildly hypothermic, exhausted (from the day and also I only got 2 hours of sleep the night before for nerves), and nutritionally in a funk, actually trying to justify to myself closing my eyes a little bit on the run and catching a nap while running. Like, I was in some kind of drunken haze where that idea was worth honest consideration. Race objective: none of that. Manage the physical exertion, and demonstrate the mental toughness, don't go to dark places like that.

Other things I remember; deciding on a whim to stop and hug my team early on on the run. I remember Amy's mother shouting something to me in the rain about how I can do this; this was after it was clear to everybody that I was having a tough time, later in the run. I remember Amy, in full hooded raingear and a mish-mash of winter clothing, asking how I was doing, and I not having it in me to respond, and she saying, "it's all will from here". The sound of my cousin Erin's voice. These things are crystalline. Race objective: Enjoy, truly and tangibly, every. single. second. of being surrounded by so many friends, people I cannot in any way feel adequately deserving of, who are coming out here to represent the Team Bintliff contingency and support me in this race. Whatever the reason they come all this way to follow me around Wisconsin all damn day, it means the absolute universe to me, and there's no better way I can pay tribute to that than to actively appreciate it all day and so my best for them.

Race Objective: Have fun. I love this game. I love Ironman. I love this distance race, and everything required of it, and everything one has to do to get there, so much. If there is no other truism for me in all of this raceday, it is this; use this Ironman race simply to celebrate the game, life, the opportunity to even be out here doing this. The friendships I've made, the experiences I've had, the lessons I've learned, the ways that it has, literally and metaphorically, changed my life. I'm not out there for my dinner, my daughter will still want me to go running running running if I have a 4 hour marathon or a 5 hour marathon, my mother will still cheer me on if I don't have the best "race", my wife will still love me the next day. So there is no pressure here, except upon myself to do my best - and that is how I give back to this opportunity, how I celebrate this game and all that's involved in it - to do my best at Ironman. This all sounds so corny and hokey I know, but there it is. I am, on this day, in the midst of and surrounded by something greater than myself. I intend to act like it, and do it justice the only way I can.

Race Objective: My sister has a friend, and she and her husband had a baby with a heart condition. The baby, Sophia, lived a day, even after having a pacemaker put in, before she passed away. I don't know these people at all, I've never met them, but my sister made a contribution to Team Lionhearted in her memory and honor. This is, of course, such a sadness; but having Dakota in my life for coming up on 2 years now, anything involving somebody's children just takes on a whole other resonance, and just breaks my heart. My friend Sarah, her Grandmother Aggie passed away several years ago, and she and her husband Steve donated to Team Lionhearted in her memory. These are just two instances - and I'll have more to say about Team Lionhearted, much more, in a later post - but I take these things personally. The stories, whatever they are, that are behind the people who have so generously donated to the American Heart Association as part of Team Lionhearted are sacred to each of them, and I feel like in some very small way I've been entrusted to represent those things through this effort. That has nothing to do with how fast I race, or how awesome I do, or anything like that. It is something that most sufficiently brings to mind for me this scripture from Hebrews 12:1, important words in my Ironman legacy: As we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight and run with endurance the race that is set before us. My wife has just finished creating the most excellent necklace that I'll wear for Team Lionhearted on race day, and there is on it a garnet for each donor. Each story represented. And the lion pendant that hangs from it, it'll peacefully thump against my chest with each stride I take on race day, and I'll take that pulse to remind me, every step of the way, that there are bigger things than Ironman and he who does it, and so I bear responsibility to that. That there are many stars in these constellations.

Race Objective: Soak it in. If all these things I've said are assumed true, then I want to remember everything. Just soak in the cheers, the sound of cranks turning, the rush of water, the help of volunteering good people, the shouts and joy of and among friends. The emotions, the mysteries, the curiosities, the wonderments. The shining lights, the booming sounds, the enthusiastic voices. Being surrounded by so many like minds and energies. Being on a bike. Putting one foot in front of the other. Cold water on my face and the spectral image of the Terrace, alive with excitement, through my goggles as I slide by in the lake before it. See and appreciate each thing for what it is, in context of race day and on its own. Pick up my head and actually have a look around at this amazing countryside. Shout to bewildered cows and horses, like I do in training. Collapse at the end of the day not just for having physically exhausted myself, but for having just experienced so much.

So there it is; the race that is set before us. Much more to come this week here and via twitter as race day approaches, the Expo and registration and the village get underway, and all things Ironman come to pass, so stay tuned. We've come this far, only a little more to go.

You can change the world.

2009-08-30T19:56:00.011-05:00

As I write this, we are less than $300 from raising $3000 for the American Heart Association as part of the Janus Charity Challenge. Less than $300! When we started this craziness, the original goal was to raise $1000. We've almost tripled it! It is so close. Let's do it! This is the Ironman! Anything is possible. Let's exceed the expectations.

Update! Holy crap we've passed $4000!!!! This is amazing! How high can we go!?!? Whoohooo!!!

If you've been following along, you've seen me mention this campaign - Team Lionhearted - in my original post about it, here. If you're a friend at facebook (and why wouldn't you be? Come find me. My real name is Chris Bintliff. But tell me you're coming from the blog or I might ignore you) you've heard me mention it a bazillion times. You may have even seen this cool article that my hometown newspaper ran about it, which raised awareness and led to several new donations! But - well, we started talking about this way back in April. You've maybe been thinking, "hey, cool, I think I'll donate to that, but I have plenty of time. His silly race isn't until, like, September or something." Well hey! September is, like, here! Pretty much! And - for me to have all my logistical ducks in a row, I'm asking that all donations please be in before race week starts - that's between now and next Monday, the 7th! So if you've been holding out, sending good energy our way and intending to donate, please consider doing so now.

And if you haven't considered it - why not? All the cool kids are doing it. We have 31 people who have made donations. Some people I don't even know. Some people I know but have never met. Some people I haven't seen in almost 20 years. And some that have lived through the nightmare that is heart disease and have chosen this small but important gesture to fight back. But whatever their reasons, all of them have been touched by heart disease. And I'm bringing all of them with me on September 13th. We are Team Lionhearted, and we've been waiting for you to join us. We need you to join us.

So please consider giving anything you can. Seriously, $5, $10. $2. Whatever you give helps. It's all meaningful. It's all important. It all makes a difference educating, or researching, or developing, or instituting, or creating the technology, resources, and information to save somebody's life. I hope you choose to be part of it with us.

Give easily and safely online: http://januscharitychallenge.kintera.org/wi09/chrisbintliff

Sincere thanks ~

x

The End, and The Beginning

2009-08-26T09:57:00.006-05:00

So...apparently how it works is, I have really limited time for blogging anymore. This means the updates are more scarce, and a bit more intentional - but apparently pretty damn long once I finally get an opportunity to post. So, sorry about the length, it is what it is. Oh, and apparently I also lack time for prudent grammar and speeling attention, which is a peeve of mine, so apologies for the reckless blathering as well.

Last weekend marked my ramp up of "Peak Weak", and will a few key workouts ended the build, fitness phase of training for Ironman, and began the taper. It was an interesting week and weekend, with some solid workouts and cool experiences.

Thursday Aquathon
The weekend of training "officially" started with a 1000 yard open water swim and 5k run in the last of the local aquathon summer series races here in Madison. I intended this swim to be an assessment of a few hard weeks of pool work, trying to improve my stroke. I had hoped to improve my times from the previous two races and 17:xx and 18:xx - but instead it became an exercise in mental toughness. The water conditions were insane. Here's a video of what faced us that evening:

Heading out to the first turn buoy was especially crazy. I have to acknowledge that, as I stood there on the beach waiting for the start, I had some trepidation - which is unlike me. Earlier that week a woman about my age died while training for Ironman in Lake Monona. She was wetsuited up, she was with a few other swimmers. I'm sure you've read as much as I have lately about triathletes dying in the water - I was at a race a few years ago where it happened. It's a statistical blip, really, for how many of us there are swimming each day and each weekend, but no less tragic. I can usually, with more information, attribute this tragedies to swimmer inexperience, or an existing condition of some kind, or some other extenuating circumstance beyond just "swimming". But not so with this woman (her name is Mary, and I did not know her). It's a sad, sad thing, and for whatever reason it really struck me and stayed with me. Not necessarily in an enlightening kind of way, were it causes me to reevaluate what I'm doing or its inherent risks or anything like that - just for its raw sadness, how unexpected it was. So in any water conditions, I think I would have found myself standing on the beach feeling a little thoughtful about this stuff. As it is, the water was crazy, so I suppose it makes one pause.

In any case, the swim was as nuts as I figured it would be, the waves compounding with the usual washing machine of bodies to make the first several hundred yards out to the turn buoy total chaos. But all in all, it was a lot of fun more than anything else. Like running in a crazy rainstorm or something, where how fast you're going becomes irrelevant because you're just at the whims of nature and you can either fight that or go with it. I tend to go with it, so I enjoyed myself. I finished in 20:xx, but it wasn't the kind of day to hold times up against other times, and that's okay. I ran the 5k easy, not racing, and just enjoyed the evening run.

Friday "Long" Ride
I was scheduled for my last 100 mile race rehearsal on Friday, so I headed out early, about 6am, to beat the "showers" that were due in the afternoon, and instead hope for the best with the "some showers" that were forecast with 30% likelihood that morning. I brought a rain jacket with me just in case and hit the road.

Not much to report. I rode the first 15 miles according to plan - stupid easy - but somewhere just after Mt. Horeb it started to rain. And rain. And rain. It was windy and rainy, and wow did it feel a lot like Ironman 2006. It wasn't as cold - which was a good thing - but seriously, the weird flashbacks of hearing wet tires slosh by on the road, the reflections of headlights on the road for the darkened day, the constant drizzle from the top of my helmet - kind of eerie. By the tail-end of the loop I had long since stopped riding according to "strategy" - it was too wet and slippery. Everything was just slow down and ride it out. I decided at the end of the loop (I had tacked 10 miles onto Whalen at the beginning of the loop, rather than the end) that I'd stop after 50 miles. Certainly I wanted to go those other 50 miles - but there was just nothing to be gained from it, and more risks than any limited rewards were worth; I had no fitness to develop, I couldn't execute my strategy, and believe me I don't require riding 100+ in the rain while training to know I can do it. So, I closed up shop for the day and headed home. I felt good about the decision - which was an indicator that I was training right, and prepared for taper; there was no panic that I left some miles out there, or my whole life would be screwed up now since I didn't get that race rehearsal in, or whatever. Part of the game is being flexible and improvising, and that's how it goes.

I will say, though, that it'll suck if it rains on race day. I'll do it, of course, and I'll do it willingly and cheerfully and with a positive attitude, and I'll feel bad for my Team (of impressive numbers, more on that another time) for having to slog through another day of rain, but mostly it'll suck because all this work, all this time and energy spent on the course devising a race-day strategy that allows me to excel, rather than just experience, will kind of be out the window. Certainly not to say it's all for nothing or anything like that, but I want to reach mile 50 ready to push play on my plan. If it's raining like that - there's no more plan, really. Just survival. Just hunker in, slow down, and be safe. I'm not afraid of it or obsessed with the weather or anything, but just saying...I'm hoping it doesn't rain all day. Like everybody else.

Saturday Swim Race, Bike, Run
Saturday morning broke bright and crisp, with temperatures in the low 50's. I headed to Monona Terrace for a 2.4 mile open water swim race put on by a local swim club. It was my longest swim workout before race day, and my best opportunity to practice, get in some good work, feel out some race-day positioning, and enjoy a good swim. The water was beautiful and still, and it was fun to be back at Monona Terrace for something akin to racing.

The course was designed to be very similar to the Ironman course - 2 loops of 1.2 miles. The entire course was a bit closer to shore than the true IM course (the ski ramp pretty much marked one turn buoy, for instance, whereas at Ironman it's kind of in the middle of the lane). It seemed most of the other 200 (?) or so swimmers there were also doing Ironman and using this as a training race, so it was fun and interesting to be among that crowd. I had some friends doing the race too, but didn't end up seeing any of them. I headed out to the turn buoy, about where I started at '06, tried to manage the usual nervous energy, and at the gun took off with the rest of 'em.

It was an okay swim. Much of it was experimental - it's not often you get an opportunity to swim 2.4 miles in a race environment that doesn't involve the full Iron distance - so I tried a few things. I practiced drafting when I could. I tried hard to be mindful of my technique, which I've been working on. At the end of the first loop I tried kicking into another gear, pushing my kick harder than usual. I kept that up for the next full length, until the turn buoy, and then went back to my normal pacing. I got clocked in the eye pretty good and thought for sure I'd end up with a black eye (I didn't), so had to stop and adjust my goggles at one point. All in all it went fine - but near the end I got to thinking about how damn far 2.4 miles is - a sign of some mental fatigue - and I was feeling a little wiped out. I hit the beach ready for a bagel and some Gatorade. I finished at 1:32:xx; I've mentally budgeted about 1:30 for Ironman, and I finished in 1:37:xx in '06 (in tough water conditions), so I suppose the 1:32 is an improvement, and about where I expected to be. I have some ideas to manage effort better, but I'll take it more easy than this on race day, which could slow down my time - I don't know. I'm certainly not going to push that kick for half a mile like I did, or do anything at all that might wear me out. The swim will take care of itself on race day, and my goal will be to take it easy and let it come. I wish I were faster, though. But, it's fair; I've spent the least time working on my swim (which, I know I know - it's a limiter, I should dedicate some serious off-season work to it sometime, but it's also my least favorite of the 3 disciplines and I don't do this for a living, thusly it should be fun, no?, and so you see the mental conundrum I suffer...) so I can expect my time there to be slow. I have, it appears, zero natural ability in the water, so I have to work hard to take what I can. In any case, I accomplished my goal for the race, which was really just to have a safe, productive swim, get the miles in, test the waters a bit (literally and metaphorically), and see what came of it.

After regrouping a bit on shore and downing a bagel and some Gatorade, I headed up to the Terrace parking garage to get my bike and ready for an easy ride. There were a lot of swimmers heading out for a long bike - many of them the full 100 or 112 miles. I was just heading out for 30, aiming to ride the stretch from Madison to Verona at "race effort", which meant "stupid easy". The wind was pretty wicked, most of it a headwind on Whalen, and I felt a little bad for all the riders heading out for a long day having to face that wind. But, it was sunny and cool, so all in all a pretty nice day for a ride. I took it easy going out to Verona for about the first 10 miles, then decided to increase effort a bit since I had legs from my abbreviated ride the day before, and only had 30 on the docket. It was useful to be on course with so many other riders - if only because it helped to mentally acclimate. I'm the kind of guy that can sort of unintentionally lay chase if I see a rider in front of me, or at least get into a mental game where I'm constantly considering my position relative to theirs (am I getting closer? Farther away?), and none of that is on my schedule for race day. So, it was good to just let everybody and their brother pass me by those first 10 miles, sit up in my saddle, out for a joy ride. On the way back I had a considerable tailwind, which was fun, and it was useful to refamiliarize myself with some of those roads coming in and out of Madison (by the way, city of Madison and state of Wisconsin: repave McCoy. Stop patching the damn thing up, repave it already. It's obnoxious. Chief of Stuff, make some calls.)

Back at the Terrace I got situated for a short 3 mile run, taking it easy as I had 15 miles scheduled for the next day. Nothing much to report. It was fun to run around Lake Monona. There were lots of people. I didn't know people fished so much off the Terrace. I wrapped it up with a pace of about 8:26/mi (this seems my "effortless" pace - I think I could run 3-5 miles in exactly 8:26 in my sleep), and called it a day. I'd had a great morning of workouts, enjoyed the day tremendously, and felt prepared to say goodbye to the Terrace for the next 3 weeks.

Sunday Long Run
Sunday morning was my last long run until Ironman - well, longer than 12 miles, anyway. 15 miles, and I headed out to dense fog and temps in the upper '50's - perfect running weather. I executed race effort and pacing, and again ran loops between my house and my Grandparents' house, where I had Gatorade, gel, and water at each station. It amounted to 3 loops of about 5 miles. I ran according to plan; the first 3 miles at around a 10:00/mi pace, the next 3 miles at around 9:30/mi, and the next 10 miles at 9:00/mi pace. The first 10k were pretty foggy, and made for a very cool atmosphere for my last long run.

After that the fog broke as the temperature increased to the low 70's, and the sun broke through for a bright, beautiful day. I had zero drama - it's actually a huge testament to how well the weekend went that I can say "not much to report". I ran in my Nike Lunar Trainers, and they gave me no troubles - I'm undecided on those or the Newtons for race day, so I'll let the weather and conditions dictate that decision (the Lunar Trainers are bad in wet, so any rain or heat where I'd be dumping water on myself puts them out of contention. They have a bit better support, though, so otherwise they might be just the thing.) I finished with a 9:23/mi average, and was right on schedule. If I can reach mile 16 of the marathon in about 2:30, I'll be ready to rock and roll, I think. I spent the last mile in an unexpected bit of nostalgia, which again I'll intend to hold back until later, after Ironman, but considered a bit the long road it has been, and its many bends and winding stretches, to reach this last long run in Becoming Ironman. Stuff like running around my hometown the day my Grandpa died. Seeing my mom, my only cheerleader that day, on the side of the rainy road last year at the Twin Cities marathon. Gravel roads in North Dakota with Jackson faithfully at my side. Each of those runs leading inevitably to this run, so that this run can lead me strongly to the one that matters on 9/13. The stuff of life that happens to me when putting one foot in front of the other.

My iPod was dead when I readied for my run that morning, so I ended up running with my (bulky, awkward) iPhone, so happened to have a camera with me. Snapped this shot just after stopping on the run.

Monday "Long Ride" Continued
For much of the season I was riding on a Koobi saddle, which was giving me all kinds of issues that aren't good times, like numbness and it-sucks-to-pee stuff. So I've been trying out an Adamo saddle, which is some kind of technological wizardry, and it's been awesome in relieving all of those issues - but by nature of intending to relieve those issues, the saddle is a bit wider in the nose. This, then, has caused a whole storm of chafing issues that has really, really sucked. Only for some reason it was only late last week that I put together that those issues started the same time as the new saddle; I'd been thinking it was my cycling shorts or something. So after doing some research, I realized I'd been sitting on the Adamo incorrectly, so I repositioned the saddle as it should be. Now my thighs weren't hitting the saddle, which was a good thing, but I was much less comfortable - I am just not the kind of rider who can live on the tip of the saddle nose. So I did some more research, and went and picked up a Specialized Toupe. This is all a winding way of saying that I had some new gear to check out only 3 weeks before race day, which is not at all ideal, and were I not so uncomfortable with the Adamo, with that discomfort having some clear ramifications on the run (funny story - after a ride a few weeks ago, I had a long run, and so I slathered up with some chamois cream. The run went well, but I had a foamy, gooey mess of chamois cream seeping out of the pores of my running shorts. It was as awesome as it sounds. And reminded me of that Friends episode where Ross has the leather pants), I certainly wouldn't be tinkering with something as critical as the saddle this late in the game. So, with that in mind and considering that I had left 50 miles on the course from Friday that, I felt, were to my discretion if I picked them up, I headed out for one last ride on the Ironman loop (no Whalen this time), to test out the new saddle and ride as "lap 2" effort, which is still easy, but a bit increased.

First off, the new saddle was blissful. I had to stop and adjust it a few times, but I'd honestly forgotten what it felt like to be comfortable on the bike. Huge difference. Life is good. I'll be especially attentive to its comfort in the next few rides as well, but it would appear, problem solved. Whew.

Otherwise, it was a great ride. A little bit breezy, but not bad. I ticked past 40mph twice (both on descents), which is fun. The roller coaster on Witte, which to this point has been wrought with loose gravel for the past several weeks, is mostly cleaned up and I was able to open it up without brakes and tucked in on that section. The only "event" of the day was that somewhere I lost my tool bag, which really does quite suck. Luckily I didn't need it, but it was a pretty nice little collection of tubes, CO2, tire levers, even a chain tool. Bummer. It popped off the back sometime, no doubt too loosely attached to the new saddle. So, something to remedy before race day. Oh, and during one of my saddle/saddle height adjustments I'd apparently not tighted the seat post up quite enough, so just before Timber Lane I noticed my knees were hitting my elbows, and I felt all wonky on the bike, and lo and behold my seat was all the way down. So that was weird. Anyway, all glitches that didn't much affect my day, and it was a good, strong last ride on course.

Taper officially begins.

Takeaways

• I am not only ready for Ironman, I am ready to have a ridiculous day. There are a lot of x-factors at Ironman, though, and I know that. And I'm not planning to any certain time, or chasing any crazy goals beyond just finishing with a smile. But I believe my training has me prepared for a great race. Can I execute? Isn't that always the question. I've worked hard, and to great success, learning to execute my races for the last few years, crushing a sub 2:00 goal at a half marathon last year (coming in 1:46:xx), crushing a sub 6-hour goal at half Iron (5:35:xx), crushing a sub 3:00 goal at the Olympic distance (2:37:xx). None of this is self-congratulatory, it's just facts - if I can trust in my training and stay out of my own way, race my race and not worry about speed or finishing times or any of that, and just concentrate on execution, I think I've put in the work to have a great Ironman. Will my finishing time reflect that? Who knows. I need a half-decent weather day. No tech drama on the bike. No unexpected injury or malfunction. But - I can't do anything about that stuff, so no sense thinking around it. What I can control has been my training, and I'm pleased with how it's gone and where it's brought me.

• That said, I'm taking nothing for granted. I'm not confident, per se, just ready. I'm going with whatever current the day of Ironman provides for me, that is all. Not fighting it, not going against it, and not for one second believing I'm in charge of it.

• I'm more excited for this Ironman than I was in '06. That's a surprise to me, because you'd think after your first, anything else would slightly pale. But at this point in '06, I was nervous more than excited. My excitement was a nervous excitement. I was sleeping horribly for all the unfinished business in my head. I was emotionally exhausted by it, I know now. I'd been through, and put myself through, a lot in preparation for '06, much of that having nothing to do with time in the water, or on the road. This time around, I'm much more clear-headed. I'm having a lot more fun - and I had a lot of fun last time. I'm excited and looking forward to it. I have good thoughts around it. Good energy.

• I have a plan. In '06, I had a plan just to finish. That was it. Everything was just about enduring the distance. I had no strategy in mind for approaching the bike, or approaching the run from the bike, beyond vague "save something in the legs so you can run". This revealed itself plainly in some of the tough times I had on the run - just mentally and physically wasted from the bike. Granted, it was an awful weather day, and maybe there was no helping this - but I had no real awareness of it in the first place, or proactive approach to it. This time I have a plan. I even have a plan for the plan. I know how I'm approaching the bike, and approaching one section of the bike compared to another. I know what to expect from the run, and what I hope to accomplish on this mile as well as that mile. That's exciting.

• From here - taper. Which doesn't mean all work has stopped, or get fat and lazy. I still have lots to do, and this week especially is still a bit considerable - lots of pool time, a 3 hour ride this weekend, a 12 mile run. But all easy-does-it. Just stay sharp and stay out of trouble. But mostly now, enjoy it. Enjoy this time, this build up. I fought it last time - letting the nervous energy get pervasive. This time, I want to celebrate it. Use some of the lesser volume to pay back some lost time, when I'd be on my bike for 7 hours earlier this summer, to family. See the forest for the trees a bit. Life is good. You're doing Ironman. Hell yes.

Bits & Pieces

• Team Lionhearted is growing, and we've almost TRIPLED the original goal!!!! There is much more to say about this, and I hope to dedicate some time to a post about this later this week, so stay tuned.

• I saw a lot of people pushing way too hard on the way out to Verona on my ride on Saturday. Now, as usual, what the hell do I know, and I'm not wanting to be critical of anybody's training, approach, strategy, whatever. But I think if you're pushing a big gear at 75-80rpm in the first 5 miles of the Ironman, you'll regret it later. Just saying.

• Please take care of your machines. I also saw a lot of people with black, gunky chains and drivetrains that had never been cleaned. I saw (or rather, heard) machines - some $4000 rocket ships - come clattering by me with a noisy drivetrain from a front derailleur just crying for some adjustments. Or shifting that sounded like a dinosaur eating metal. Ugh. If I can hear you coming up behind me before I can see you, or can't hear you breathing for the rattle of your components, then a tune up is in order (though that said, if I can hear you before I can see you, it means you're about to pass me on your bucket of bolts, so again - clearly - what the hell do I know?). Not trying to be a bike snob or anything here, but some easy, basic maintenance - cleaning your chain, learning to tune your barrel adjusters on your derailleurs, a regular wipe-down of the bike - this stuff will put your bike in such better working order, but also give you an opportunity to get really familiar with your bike - so if something's going amiss, you'll be more likely to catch it before it leaves you stranded on the road. So please, for the sake of your very awesome raceday that you've worked so hard for, make sure you give your machine some love.

• While I'm dishing out unsolicited $.02, make sure you can change a tire! Practice! Practice with CO2 cartridges! Did you know they get super freaking cold when you inflate a tire with them - so you can't hold them with a bare hand? That you get one shot to fill up your tire with a cartridge, so if it's seated wrong somehow on the stem you could waste a precious cartridge? Work this stuff out now, during taper, so you can handle anything unexpected that might come your way race day. Here's a great video on some basics for how to change a flat:

Bike Barn Penticton - Flat Tire Change from cks on Vimeo.

Okay, all for now. More to come as race day approaches, so stay tuned. Getting closer everybody! Whahoo!

Peak Week

2009-08-16T21:52:00.004-05:00

So, this is it. I'm trying to not yet get all reminiscent about this road to Ironman - that'll come later, after there is, in fact, this Ironman - but after everything, after all the cold December running and doing gross sweaty pushups in my basement in February and running yet another cold and rainy marathon last October and watching The Wire from iTunes in the dark of January while pedaling on my trainer and trying to train away the dead spots in my pedal stroke, this week is the last week of developing, pushing, firing, defining, finding my limits. After this week, I go into taper, where the objectives are to stay sharp, stay healthy, and start tuning in to race day. One week left to do good work and make some deposits, for withdrawal September 13th. It's a bit surreal, and not just a little bittersweet, to go into this last week of hard training for Ironman. It can be said, accurately, that at this point...there's very little - if any at all - fitness to be gained or developed. I think that's almost true right now - but I can squeeze a bit more out of this lemon, I think.

I'll have a 100 mile race rehearsal ride, a run of 10-15 miles (TBD), and an open water swim race of 2.4 miles this weekend. I'll have several run-offs and an occasional bike-off. I'll (hopefully) race an aquathon where I can see if some of my pool time lately working on my stroke is paying off or if I should just suck up how slow I am. I had a really good, tough ride today; that was my last interval workout. I won't be strength building this week; no speed work or intervals; but dialing in race efforts. By the end of the week I should feel, physically and mentally, like I've arrived. Like I have worked hard. Like I have something to taper from. No surprises, no drama, just good, solid, well-planned and well-executed hard work.

And...I intend to smile a lot this week, enjoy the game and the earned ability to even go out and crank out these kinds of miles, and just generally have a hell of a good time.

Have a great week everybody. Train smart.

Race Rehearsals (x3) Report

2009-08-01T08:36:00.007-05:00

(Warning: Long. And high Geek quotient.)

The purpose of Race Rehearsals are, well, to rehearse races. Glad we could clear that up. I scheduled them to coincide with my longest run of 20 miles, about 6 weeks out from Ironman, with a second bike race rehearsal scheduled for the weekend of August 23rd, that being my last long ride before taper. Everything is, as close to possible, emulating race day. What I'm wearing, full aero rig (complete with space-hat on the bike - yeah, I'm that guy training in an aero helmet), what and when I'm eating/drinking, the works. It's a chance to rehearse logistics, but it's also the first true test of just what all the training this far can deliver - practicing race pace and execution means finding out what you've really got in there.

The weekend started with an uneventful 1 hour open water swim, about 1.5 miles or so, on Thursday. Not much to report. It was wet. It went fine.

Bike Rehearsal: Take One

Friday was the first true test - 100 miles on the bike, with a planned 6 miles runoff. Remember - because this will be important - that the purpose is race emulation. So with that in mind, I promptly went out on Thursday evening and went grocery shopping for my Special Needs bag. What might sound good at the halfway point of a 100 mile ride? Hmm. Salted Nut Roll might be nice. Ooh, one of those little 8oz Pepsi's would be perfect. Pizza flavored Combos? Don't mind if I do! Fig Newton's? Sure, why not. Hell, let's throw a Pop-Tart in there, you never know.

So Friday morning, my "Special Needs" bag hidden under the front wheel of my car (I really mean it when I say "race emulation", which includes the general temperature of the food/drink I toss into my Special Needs bag, thus the sitting outside for several hours while I'm riding), I was off.

Remember that little map of the course I provided when I did my "Keys of the Bike" post? It's useful to reference here, because it's how I break up the course when I ride. I ride each section with a slightly different strategy, and mentally break up the course in this way. So here it is again:

You can click on it to blow it up, but in general...
Section 1 is from Madison to Verona
Section 2 is from Verona to Mt. Horeb
Section 3 is from Mt. Horeb to the top of the last hill, turning onto Shady Oak
Section 4 is from Shady Oak back to the turn onto Whalen, in Verona
Section 5 is from Verona back to Madison

How I constructed my 100 mile ride was to start in Verona (so, starting with Section 2), and Section 5 is about a 4 mile out and back on Whalen (turning around at the stop sign just after Tina's Hill). I do that twice.

So, I begin my day, a 3 hour concentrated bottle of Infinit onboard as my only nutrition - a magical elixir that I've customized to ridiculously exact specifications for the amount of calories, carbs, and sodium I require each hour, and which has been a huge benefit to my season, ridding me of the need to carry an assortment of Gatorade, Clif bars, and gels - a 24 oz water bottle, and another 20 oz water bottle stashed in my jersey (on race day, I'll just retrieve water from the aid stations). I set off
from Verona to Mt. Horeb with my usual plan of pedaling stupid easy. I ask myself "Is there any way I can go easier right now?" instead of "is there any way I can go faster?" I coast on even the smallest descents. I sit up in the saddle whenever it's convenient. Total joyride. Zero pressure. I took 2 big gulps of Infinit every 20 minutes, chased with water. All was well.

13.85 miles in to Mt. Horeb, and I finished Section 2 with a 16.0mph avg speed, Heart Rate a nice and low 117bpm, and cadence a relaxed 92rpm. So far so good!

For me, that section is the toughest section of the whole course, and Section 3, despite it having the 3 Bitch Hills in it, is generally faster. Same plan as before, especially on the first loop - nice and easy. No pushing, comfortable 90rpm cadence, easy like Sunday morning. Especially when climbing hills, I'm careful to back off, let it go nice and slow so I'm not pushing huge watts under me. Just let the miles and speed, whatever it is, come. My whole goal is to save legs. Drinking my Infinit on schedule, chasing with water, life is good. Temps are in the low 70's, there's a slight breeze, and things are going great.

19.85 miles to Shady Oak, and I averaged 17.3mph, 112bpm heart rate, and 89rpm cadence. Everything is going exactly to plan!

Section 3, from Shady Oak to the turn-off at Whalen, is the shortest leg, just 6.75 miles. It's mostly downhill except for climbing easily while in Verona, and there are lots of fast stretches of road. 19.2mph, 110bpm, 87rpm.

Now turning onto Whalen for that 10 mile (5 out, 5 in...and it's actually about 10.15 miles) stretch. A bit hillier, and a touch of headwind, but no big deal. 17.1mph, 110bpm, 88rpm.

And we're back to Fireman's Park, halfway mark! Everything has so far gone amazingly well. I'm riding easy breezy, I'm comfortable, heart rate is low, and I'm averaging something around 17mph for the first loop. Time for Special Needs!

Wherein I completely screw everything up, derail the rest of my ride, and suck at everything.

I ate about half of a Salted Nut Roll bar and drank about 4-6 oz of Pepsi, and swigged some Gatorade. I tossed back a couple Vivarin (which I have never in my life taken...well, except that night before Winter Finals 1992, but that's a whole other story entirely, and was equally as successful an endeavor). Swapped out my now empty Infinit bottle with a fresh 3 hour bottle, and I'm ready to roll.

Here's what happened behind the scenes: First, I just ingested about 200 calories of stuff, mostly high-sugar, low nutritional value. Stuff I hardly ever eat, nevermind while training/racing. And stuff I've never ever tried in a training/racing environment. It's stunning, the stupidity, when I think of it after the fact. Totally defenseless decision. Also, I introduced solid foods for the first time all day into an otherwise liquid diet. I'm not sure what effect Vivarin had on anything, but I'm pretty sure it sucked too. I also drank Gatorade, which I'll spare you the science lesson but it's a fructose, and not a dextrose like Infinit, and so how it is absorbed and used by the body are totally different. Most critically - I did all of this in a "race emulation" environment. Now, I think it's good to experiment - in friggin' June. You don't toss in a mixed bag of new stuff when you're trying to nail down race-day execution. What the hell is wrong with me.

So the second loop is when I "ride", as opposed to "joy-ride". I'm still easy breezy, but I just pedal a bit more. On descents, on flats. I don't push, necessarily, but I'm more intentional about getting from here to there, instead of just letting there show up sometime along the way. Still saving my legs, still thinking of the marathon, but pedaling with some purpose. At least, that's how it's supposed to go.

From Verona to Mt. Horeb, where I averaged 16.0mph on my first loop, now averaged 15.4mph. My comfortable 92rpm's for the first loop turned into 88rpm. This might seem small, and it is subtle, but it's huge. It's not because I was pedaling slower, or a larger gear - the difference is accounted for in the times I stopped pedaling altogether. My stomach was at work trying to digest my banquet of craptastic food stuff. I started to feel crappy, and like not eating. So, I started forgoing my usual 20 minute intervals of Infinit.

From Mt. Horeb to Shady Oak - usually a bit faster, and with lots of opportunities to be intentional about building speed - and where I averaged 17.3mph the first time around, now averaged 16.4mph. Almost a full mph slower. And cadence fell to 86bpm - remember that I always try to hover around 90rpm. Watching the numbers like this, you can actually see me getting slower.

The short stretch from Shady Oak to the turn at Whalen - where I comfortably cruised at 19.2mph the first loop, was now 17.8mph...and a cadence of 83rpm. I'm stopping pedaling often, now - and not as a matter of strategy on flats or descents. Because I'm feeling shredded. Good Lord this is excruciating.

So now I'm back on Whalen for the 10 mile out and back, and I am utterly miserable. Instead of my Infinit bottle being almost empty - which at this point is should be - it's 3/4 full. I've had maybe 4 sips the entire second lap, and all of those forced. I'm deeply calorie deficient, dehydrated, and uninterested in eating anything. I have bonked in spectacular fashion, with all my might. My liver has no more sugar to give me. I'm a mess. My mind is blurry. I'm trying to sing song lyrics, to refocus, and I can't remember basics. I pull over under a shady tree and just stand there in a stupid daze. Cyclists pass by me and ask if I'm okay - I toss back a cheerful "doing good!", like I'm just stopped to enjoy the scenery or something. I say aloud, "You're wasted. You should turn back now." I answer myself. "You're right. I should." I do not. I push myself to the top of Tina's Hill before finally turning around. I'm pedaling as infrequently as I can. I limp back into Verona, that last stretch of 8 miles averaging 15.3mph. There's no way I can do my "easy run-off". If this were Ironman, I'd be screwed.

"Bonk" sounds kind of cute. Like, if you haven't experienced it, or maybe aren't an athlete, it sounds kind of silly. Like you did something whimsical and humorous in "bonking". It's not any of those things. It means you've deprived your body of fuel. You're toast. And it's almost out-of-body. Lacking such essential nutrients for basic fuel, you get weird. Hazy in the brain. Drunk feeling, almost. I can't remember every bonking this bad before.

I sit in my car and slowly try to choke down the first food I find - those damned Combos. I wince at Gatorade going down. My system's in revolt. I want to puke everything up. I sit there, with the air conditioning on, and try to come back to earth. I can't get my cycling shoes off. I consider, in my stupor, that maybe I should take from now until Ironman off. Certainly my 20 mile run scheduled for 2 days from now can go to hell. I managed to get my bike into the back of my car, and now I keep thinking I hear air hissing in escape from the front tire. I turn around to check it 3 times. This is crazy.

Much later, at home and after some calories and sustenance and settling down, I'm able to be clear headed about things - but a sure sign of a ride or run go awry for me, even a long one, is if still hours later I'm shot. I might feel some natural fatigue after a healthy ride, but not totally useless and lacking of any energy at all. It's obvious, of course, what went wrong - but I'm really, really disappointed with myself for it. I can't believe I sabotaged my ride like that. I can't believe I made such stupid, rookie mistakes. You'd think I'd never done Ironman before. I was frustrated that all this training, all this good work, all this time spent all winter and spring and summer, all these countless lonely hours to get better, faster, stronger, more efficient, were tossed away haphazardly because - what? - Salted Nut Rolls might taste good. I don't even know where I got the idea. More than anything else, I feel a sense of shame for having the audacity to take something - anything - for granted with Ironman. I must have thought, after these years in the game, the bazillion times I've ridden the course, all the study I've done of the course and how I want to manage it, that I was entitled to improvise a bit. See how things go with some new stuff. It was a hard lesson, a valuable one. Ironman will put you down. It's easy to say that, it's obvious to know that, but for all its challenges this was my first truly awful experience with it.

Once clear-headed, I decided, both for the sake of fitness but mostly confidence, I'd give it another go early the following week. I assessed my failure and how to remedy it, developed a plan, and got on with life. I decided it was a tough, but ultimately good experience to have, and that's why they call it training. 2 days later was a 20 mile run rehearsal to prepare for.

Run Rehearsal

After the complete debacle of a ride race rehearsal, I was committed to not shooting myself in the foot for my 20 mile run. I'd get started in the morning, but temps were forecast to climb to around 80 - and heat is just a killer for me. I had my run scheduled for Sunday morning, so Saturday night I brought a cooler full of water and Gatorade over to my Grandparents' house, about 2.5 miles away. I had some gels stashed there as well, and some Fig Newton's. Sunday morning before I went out, I put another cooler of the same, with sponges, in my front yard. The plan would be to just make 4 5-mile loops, running between my house and my Grandparents' and back. I'd have an aid station every 2.5-3 miles, with stuff similar to what'll be on-course at Ironman.

My race execution plan for the run is this:
Miles 1-3: 10 min/mile pace, with main objective a low heart rate and low perceived effort. Stupid easy. Get my legs under me from the bike and get comfortable with the run.

Miles 3-6: 9:30 min/mile. Increasing pace just a bit, but it should still feel easy. I should have to hold back for that 9:30 pace.

A main objective of miles 1-6 is to eat and drink, front load calories just a bit. This means about 4 Fig Newtons between the 6 miles, and about 6 swigs of Gatorade, and another 6 of water, at each aid station.

Miles 6-16 settle in to a 9:00/mile pace. Better to err on the side of caution, so I'd rather find myself around 9:15 than 8:45. Gel at the top of each hour, and Gatorade and water, about 12 ounces/hour. Walking through every other aid station or so. If it's hot, then sponges, and I bought these Arm Coolers, made from Craft, that look like thin white arm warmers, but they're supposed to, as the name suggests, keep you cooler - something about sweat or something. By appearances this smacks in the face of basic science - the body naturally cools via perspiration, and covering up part of the body would seem to hinder that - so it seems a big gimmicky, but, if you keep them wet, they're pretty awesome. Not heavy or water-logged, and they do emulate sweat when they're wet so that a nice breeze is chilling.

The whole goal is to reach mile 16 and feel good. Ideally, I'll have been holding back all day, and at 16 I hope to kick into an 8:30/mile pace. The plan now is just to sustain that pace to mile 20. I'll walk through aid stations only if it feels like I should.

At mile 20, it's improvisation for the last 10k. If I feel good, I'll maybe ratchet up a bit more, or stay where I am in hopes to kick down the last 5k. At that point in the Ironman, who knows what'll happen.

That was the plan anyway. Now it was time to see if it was a good plan, a realistic plan.

Miles 1-3: I averaged 9:48/mi, holding back the whole time. My Grandparents passed me on their way home from church and my Grandma hung her arms out the window and waved, which was awesome. I walked about 20-30 seconds into my Grandparent's driveway, to emulate walking through an aid station, before stopping my watch at my first "aid station" to eat 2 Fig Newtons and chase it with Gatorade and water. It wasn't too hot yet. So far so good. Heart rate was a silly low 119bpm.

Miles 3-6: Average 9:29/mi, still holding back and so far everything is perfectly according to plan. I stopped at my second aid station, back at my house, at around mile 5 and repeated the Fig Newtons, Gatorade, and water. Nothing extraordinary to report. Heart rate still crazy low, 117bpm.

Miles 6-16: Settled in, and averaged around I think a 9:10/mile or so. I say I think because I confused the Start and Stop on my watch at one aid station, so I while I was "paused" getting water/Gatorade, soaking sponges, etc., my clock was actually running. Then when I was finished I hit "Start", but really I was hitting Stop. So for 2 miles of running, I wasn't keeping time. Anyway, I had to figure out the math all in my head, and it came out to almost exactly 2 miles of unrecorded time, but my pace was still indicated on the watch and I know I wasn't doing anything too crazy away from 9:00-9:10/mile. Officially, including that "pause", my clock paced this stretch at 9:18/mi, which is fine, heart rate still just 117bpm. The bottom line is that it went easily and smoothly, I was comfortable, and was hydrating and soaking up Gatorade just how I should. No GI issues, nothing too interesting to report at all. By this point it was getting hot outside, but I was managing things great with wetting down the arm coolers, carrying soaked sponges, and - most importantly - knowing, mentally, that I only had 2.5-3 miles to go before I could do it all again. It made a huge difference knowing I had those two aid stations waiting for me. I was never stuck with counting miles - I just made a bunch of short trips between houses. I'll try and view race day this way - just short trips between aid stations. Unlike other long runs, where I'm budgeting my carry-along hydration or nutrition, or am increasingly baking in the heat with no real options, I set things up for this run so I had all the support I needed. It was awesome.

I hit mile 16 feeling unbelievable. My legs felt fresh, my mind was sharp, I wasn't tired or bored or hungry or looking for the end already or anything. Spirits were up, morale was high, and especially coming back from the terrible ride just 2 days previous, I was feeling confident. I'd done the math from my botched 2 miles lost in the space-time continuum, and figured that finishing my 3 miles as usual from my Grandparents' to my house would give me 21 miles on the day. I shifted easily into an 8:30/mile pace (avg pace for these 5 miles was actually 8:28/mi), and had no problems comfortably reaching the end of my long run. I could've gone another 10 miles. I had energy and legs to, I think, go sub 4:00 marathon with ease. It was crazy. I've never felt anything like it running.

Obviously, making a good plan and sticking to it, and creating a situation where I had the right hydration/nutrition available to me, made all the difference. It was a true race-day emulation, and I was really encouraged. The trick, obviously, is to get all of that done after being on the bike for 112 miles, but I'm encouraged by how easy it felt on my legs; making me feel like I have some margin for fatigue to still have a good run. Most importantly, I need to come off the bike with ready, strong legs, and having accomplished healthy nutrition/hydration for 112 miles so I'm ready for the run. Having finished my longest run before Ironman, and feeling like my race plan was a proven quantity now, I rested on Monday and set up a rematch for the 100 mile bike rehearsal on Tuesday.

Bike Rehearsal: Take Two

The weather forecast was almost identical to the Friday before, though perhaps a bit warmer. No fooling around this time - I came loaded up only with the right stuff; gels (1 at the top of each hour) and my extra bottle of Infinit at Special Needs. I had a water bottle on my bike, and another in my jersey. That was it, time to ride.

Verona to Mt. Horeb 1: This time I rode it a slow 15.4mph average. My cadence was 85 - indicating I was doing a good job of not pedaling whenever I could. Heart Rate was just 113bpm. One reason I had Vivarin with me on the last ride was because I'd been experiencing mental fatigue at around miles 50-60. After analyzing my bonk, I decided this mental fatigue wasn't because of mental weakness, requiring a stimulant to overcome, but just poor nutrition. So even things out a bit better I shifted to 1 big gulp of Infinit every 15 minutes, chased with 3 big gulps of water. Staying more regularly fed and hydrated (as opposed to 20 minutes as I'd been training) should be helpful.

Mt. Horeb to Shady Oak 1: My average speed came up to 16.8mph, cadence 87bpm, HR 114bpm. It's important to remember that my main objective for the bike is managing my effort. I'm not thinking about speed, or wondering about it, or worrying about. I've done a pretty good job this year of ridding myself of ego on the bike. I just don't care how long it will take me, or how many people go flying by - I want legs for those last 10 miles of marathon. That's the thing I continue looking out on whenever I'm on my bike. So if I feel any tension, andy pressure or exertion in my quads, calves, or hamstrings - and at this point I'm pretty well tuned in so I rarely, if ever, have those accidental bursts - I back off.

Shady Oak to Whalen turn 1
Whalen out-and-back to Verona 1: I forgot to hit my "lap" button on my watch when I hit the Whalen turn-off, as usually these are two different "sections" of about 6.85 mile and 10.15. In any case, I averaged 17.8mph for this section, 86rpm, just 111bpm.

I headed back into Verona, my first 50 mile loop done. I came in just under 3 hours, so my average speed would have been 16.7mph or so for the loop. I was feeling great - hydration was clockwork on point. Infinit was doing its job. 1 Gel every hour.

Taking stock, to this point I'd ridden just about flawlessly - much as I had the Friday before. Easy pedaling, lots of coasting, a real joy-ride perspective. That's my plan for race day as well - the first 50, and last 12, are super easy. It's the middle 50 - which I was about to begin - where I'm more diligent about pedaling.

I quickly got my replacement bottle, refilled my water bottles, and was back out on the road.

Verona to Mt. Horeb 2: 16.5mph, 89rpm cadence, and Heart Rate, a reflection now of some actual work going on, at 122bpm (though still quite low - awesome). About a 3.5 minute advantage over the same stretch ridden the first time.

Mt. Horeb to Shady Oak 2: 17.7mph, 87rpm, 119bpm. See how consistent everything is? Cadence is suddenly going south. Heart Rate isn't suddenly pushing 130 or some madness. I'm still taking it easy, but just taking advantage of opportunities when it's smart to pedal. Almost 6 minutes gained from the same section the first time around, and I'm feeling fantastic. It's in this section when, if I'm going to derail, it'll start to really show itself. Knowing I was feeling strong - consistent, in control - was huge at this point in the ride. I felt mentally sharp, in the moment. Best of all, I was having fun.

Shady Oak to Whalen
Whalen back to Verona 2: Combining these sections so my numbers can compare with the first time around, speed was 18.6mph, HR 122bpm, cadence 87rpm. This last section was getting warm, but I was doing fine. I eased back on the Infinit, and stuck more to water, for the last 10 miles - just like I plan at Ironman - to prepare for the run.

I came back into Verona after 101.5 miles, an average speed of 17.1mph, HR of just 116mph. I'd made up around 8-9 minutes on the second loop, an easy negative split. Best of all, I could have easily kept going and was feeling strong. I finished the rehearsal with a quick transition to a 2 mile run-off, complete with Fig Newtons and Gatorade like I'll have at the first aid station, and had to hold back a 10:00/mile pace, just like I'd practiced 2 days previously. It all came together - I know I have a nutrition/hydration strategy for the bike that will work. I know I have an effort strategy that leaves my heart rate low, my legs feeling fresh. Huge for this point in the game. I can, at this point, start to visualize Ironman. I can train these last few weeks to squeeze the lemon, trying to eek a bit more strength and stamina out of these legs, rather than worry about "if".

Of course, race day will present it's own reality. Maybe it'll be hot as hell, maybe it'll be crazy windy, maybe it'll be 52 degrees and raining. How long it takes me on the bike might change, but that's not the point. I feel like, finally, at last, I have a strategy dialed in on the bike that combines fitness, effort, and fuel. And that's pretty much what it's about. I'm very encouraged.

Next up: I won't hit 100 miles again until the 3rd week in August - my last long ride before taper, and another opportunity for a race rehearsal to work out any lingering kinks. My run has, unbelievably, already begun a slow taper. I have a long 2.4 mile swim planned for the week of August 23rd that will mark the end of all build training, and begin taper. Until then, more intervals everywhere, staying healthy, and not doing anything stupid is the order of the day.

Train smart everybody -

Race Report: Door County Triathlon

2009-07-20T08:38:00.003-05:00

When I arrived at Transition - yes, among the first handful of athletes - race organizers were still setting up, inflating the swim start arches, organizing the buoys for transport out into the water, testing the sound system. It was chilly. A weird morning for July - it felt a lot like September. As I set up, waiting for the sun to rise above the woods around us and warm the place up a bit, I ended up getting some coffee just to warm my bones a bit. And I'm no coffee drinker.

The Transition racks were a bit low, and my brake handles are short (I think like a lot of others'), so the only way I could rack my bike was using the saddle - like a lot of others - so the setup was a little weird - lots of bikes kind of crammed together. I've never had less room in transition - my mat was directly underneath my bike, and everybody was just kind of smashed together. I chatted with my neighbors, and we figured as we were all in different swim waves it'd likely be a non-issue as far as racing went. Just a few minutes after I'd managed to melt my mouth off with the hottest coffee in history, the sun came up and the world warmed up. I connected briefly with Erin, who was committing to the swim and bike (she's nursing a running injury), and it was time to head to the the water.

I was in just the fifth Wave, which if fantastic because it messes with my mojo a bit to get all into "race mode" leaving Transition only to sit on the beach while you wait for your wave an hour later. The race starts with a mass start, but about waist-deep in water. We wished each other well as the count ticked down, and finally we were off.

The water was 62 degrees or so - definitely cool, and I was glad I'd warmed up a bit in it, but generally it felt refreshing. Lake Michigan was crystal clear - I've never swam in water so clear. It made it great for drafting a bit off of other swimmers, which I tried to do whenever possible. I felt great - relaxed, and really having fun. I tried to keep technique on point, but really, open water technique is so different from when you're in the controlled environment of the pool. Especially if drafting at all, you tend to keep your head tilted a bit more forward. When dealing with the rolling waves, you breathe on one side more than another. It's just a different animal. I kept the zigging to a minimum, which was an objective of the day, swimming with the buoys close on my left all day. About halfway or so into the swim I hit somebody - or was hit, who knows - and jammed my right ring finger. I instinctively threw an F-bomb - while my face was underwater - then laughed at myself a bit for swearing in the general direction of fish. My hand hurt the rest of the day, still a bit tender as I type this.

The distance felt right, whatever that means, for 1.2 miles, and I came out and crossed the mat in 41:51. The ramp up out of the water was covered in nice carpet, and there were wetsuit strippers (a la Ironman) helping out anybody who wanted it. I decided to forgo their assistance and just head to my bike, stripping my suit as I went. I had no time goals for the swim, but thought anything around 45 minutes would be realistic, so I was encouraged with my time.

In and out of T1 in 1:50, and I was on the bike.

The plans for the bike were the same as the rest of my race-day executions this summer - do no work. Rely entirely on my training to get me from here to there, and save my legs for the run. So, I backed off whenever I felt a push, rested whenever sensible on descents, and kept my spinning at 90rpm, easy and comfortable. I practiced nutrition and hydration exactly like I've been training, and just enjoyed the ride.

The crowd and community support for this race were fantastic all day, and lots of families were set up with lawn chairs at the end of their driveways as we rode past. I waved a lot, said thank you for coming out, for cheering us on. Another goal of the day was to have fun, and to act like it. I wanted to keep a smile on my face, keep my attitude light, enjoy the atmosphere and the crowds and volunteers. It was fun to have that back and forth - when they cheer for you as you fly by, and you cheer for them as you do, and they get a little crazy at the acknowledgment. Fun.

The course had a gentle tailwind for most of the way out, and many sections of road were nice, new pavement. There were a few sketchy areas, but not too bad. It was mostly flat - not Racine flat, but the gentle rollers encountered didn't make for anything too dramatic. I probably used my small chain ring three or four times all day. I only saw one group of obvious drafters (I'm talking to you, dudes in Gear N Up garb), which will never make any sense to me, but otherwise there was enough room with the roads and the swim waves where we were all able to find some space. It was a really, really fun bike ride.

Except at about mile 45, when a bee or wasp or some stinging creature plowed into my face, right between the top of my glasses and the bottom of the helmet, on my left eyebrow. It almost immediately stung me, and I instinctively threw out another F-bomb and swatted my left eye. In doing so, I smashed my sunglasses and the left lens popped out. I was able to quickly grab the lens and my frames before I dropped anything, but I had to precariously put my lens back into the frames while moving at 22mph. Within minutes my left eye had swelled shut, and it stayed that way for the rest of the bike and into maybe 3 miles on the run. That part wasn't really too fun at all. But, by the end of the race the swelling was gone and it was as if the whole thing hadn't happened.

The end of the bike course takes us back to the first stretches of road where we started, so I waved again at all the spectators watching, chatting to them, giving them a fist pump, just returning their enthusiasm. I got back to Transition in 2:50:53, good for a 19.8mph average speed, done on no work. I'll take it.

In and out of T2 in 1:18, and I was feeling good, legs feeling fresh, out to the run.

The run-out shoot was a really popular spectator section, so I cheered and whooped loudly, raising my arms up, acting obnoxious. Everybody exploded with cheering, and I smiled and laughed with them. It was great energy, and I enjoyed it.

My plans for the run - which turned out to be pretty much backwards - were to pace the first 7 miles at around 8:30/mi, feeling easy. Then, if I felt good, I'd throw down with whatever I had left in the last 10k. As we headed out of race headquarters and onto some long stretches of road, the runners around me all commented on how great the crowds were, how awesome the volunteers were. I agreed - this was an incredibly well-put-together race. The athletes were also cool, though - we encouraged each other as we went, offered a kind word to those we saw that were already suffering. In that way this race had a very Ironman feel to it, and this was maybe the first time that this was noticeable to me in racing - when you're doing shorter distances like Sprint or Olympic, it's a bit of every man for himself. Nobody's a jerk or anything, but you kind of keep your head down and go hard, because you understand a bit how you're going to distribute your energies for the task at hand. When it gets longer, like 70.3 or Ironman, you get out there and just kind of settle in. You had a plan, but you know that two hours later you might still be out here with a new plan, so the OCD drops considerably. People are more thoughtful of one another somehow, like we're all in this together. We have some sense for the training it took for that guy to be here next to me, or whatever, and maybe there's some mutual respect there that causes...well, frankly, kindness. You say things, you chat each other up, with a comfort level that you'd never, ever have if you encountered the same guy at the counter in the gas station. I said it after Ironman in '06, but it struck me again yesterday - I wish real life were a lot more like raceday sometimes.

As it is, we really only had each other and the volunteers at the aid station for support - the long country roads weren't conducive to spectators for the first several miles, so we just put our heads down and got it done. About 5 miles into the run we came into town (Sturgeon Bay? Egg Harbor? I'm not sure where we were...) and were met with fun cheering and crowds. Like I did on the bike, I was conscious to thank them, chat them up, high-five the little kids. It was awesome. Whenever I went through an aid station, manned often with some older people, I'd thank them and say "high-five!" and the old ladies would squeal and giggle. So cool.

At mile 7 I ticked my lap counter, and tried to gauge what I had left for the last 10k. My pace easily increased to 8:00/mi, so I felt comfortable clocking along. Then we met the first of 2 obnoxious hills. This hill was long and winding - not terribly steep, but it got your attention. It was starting to get warm now, and all around me athletes stopped to walk, or some pulled off to have a stern discussion with the legs about the cramping that was going on. I'd been carrying a bottle of my Infinit with me for the run, and I was pleased to be able to run up the hill without any horror, no drama or craziness, if a bit slow. About 3/4 of the way up I heard someone shout my name, but as I had no team out there with me for this one I assumed it wasn't me. I heard it again, and this time looked over - it was my man Brazo's wife Gaye, with Brazo and their youngest son cheering right next to her. "Hey!" I yelled and swung widely to the right so I could high-five them all. Brazo started running with me then, asking me how I was and how the day was going. I told him I was feeling good, I'd been having fun, my legs felt on point. He gave me a bit of recon on what to expect for the rest of the course, "You have on more hill after this one - it's not as long, but it's steep. It's the 'bluff' everybody talks about". I high-fived him again, hoped to see him later in the day, and kept on. It was an awesome, awesome boost to have them out there - it hadn't occurred to me until then how morally helpful it is when it's getting hot and tough to have people cheering your name. Thanks for running with my for a bit Brazo, that was a highlight of my day.

At the top of that hill we got to go downhill for a bit, and it felt good to let gravity do a bit of work after fighting it so hard a few moments earlier. The descent took us back into town, so more high-fives and spectator cheers from the great crowds. I maintained a nice, solid pace between 8:00 and 8:15/mi, and continued to enjoy the day. I hydrated as much as I comfortably could, thinking of that second hill I'd been promised, and not wanting to deal with any cramping issues. I overheard runners talking about the hill coming up and the best approach for it - seemed like a big deal. I expected it anytime...but mile 7 turned to mile 8, then mile 8 to mile 9, and still no big hill.

Cue Voldemort Music.

Just before the 10 mile mark came "the bluff". The race materials advertise "you can't bluff the bluff", and here it was, the dreaded last hill. I think, coming from the Ironman Wisconsin bike course, I was feeling a little proud of myself - like bah, whatever this "hill" is must just be something the locals get excited about, it can't be that bad. Just a hill, after all. It's inevitably over before too long. Blah blah blippity blah. This thing was awful. I've never encountered geography like this. It doesn't even make sense, it's so steep. Like, how do cars get up this thing in the wintertime? Two guys were biking it in front of us, and both of them had to get off and walk while we were "running" (I use the term absurdly loosely) up the hill. I honestly don't think they make an easy enough gear to bike up this thing - it damn near required belay ropes. I tried, in utter futility, to keep some semblance of a "runner's pose" going up the hill, but I might just as well have - and should have - just power walked. The net gain would have been better. It winded to the right - which was tough, because you couldn't see the top - and people on the sides of the road tried to encourage us with that - "great job, the top is just around the bend", but it was hard to believe in that promise. What a hill. No joke. Just a heartbreaker.

And that, unfortunately, was about where the "race" ended for me. I got to the top of that hill - which God bless 'em they put an aid station right there - and while I loaded up on ice and water and some more ice and yes please, I'll have some more water - I felt just spent. I walked through that station - my first walking all day - and just relaxed for more than a quarter mile or so - hydrating, collecting myself, stunned maybe that such a hill as that one exists in the world. I chewed on ice for awhile, feeling the sun, now hot, beat down; these last 5k were totally open and unprotected. I felt hot after the hill. I finally started running again, but the mojo was gone - it was a survival shuffle. All around me I was getting passed up, which was kind of a bummer - to know the execution had fallen apart after all. At the last aid station, around 11.5 miles, I grabbed two handfuls of ice to try and cool my core temp a bit, and tried to run it home. I ended up walking again for a short bit just before mile 12, but then I finally got it together and ran it in. My run time was 2:02:56, with a 9:23/mi pace. My finishing time was 5:38:50.

Bits & Pieces

• It was really just poor planning that sabotaged my race; I didn't know, or plan well enough, for 2 big hills in the last 10k, especially that the last hill was so tough, and dumped you out onto a very hot and open last 5k. If I had, I think I would've flipped my run script, and kept it slow and conservative - maybe a 9:00-9:30/mi pace, maybe all the way through 10 miles, with hopes to have something left to finish strong the last 5k. So, I don't credit the meltdown necessarily with a fitness issue or anything, just a strategic mishap. Next time I'll do my homework better on a new course.

• Heat. Ugh. I finished the race with it being my biggest concern for Ironman. If it's a hot, sunny day, then all bets are off on the run. I'll need to plan to go very conservative, especially the first 13.1 miles when it's still afternoon, and keep ice and hydration the primary objectives. Pace and speed will be out the window, and it'll just be about staying healthy. Hopefully I can get some hot days up here for some training ground.

• I think I'll eat a bit on the bike. I've been keeping exclusively to Infinit, which has worked just great, but I got a little bored. Have to give this some thought, particularly for my special needs bag on the bike.

• I can't say enough about how well done this race was. It has huge volunteer support, great crowds, great community support. In that way it felt very Ironman. But there were also smaller details - actual bottles of Gatorade at the bike out available, a guy checking race number credentials as athletes went in and out of transition all morning to make sure only athletes were in transition, carpet on the swim-out ramp. These guys have a very special race going here, and I strongly suggest it for anybody looking for a fun, challenging 70.3. Yes, it's the same weekend as Racine, but at least you're getting a correctly measured swim distance here. (zing!)

• Best moment of the day, bar none: An old woman, with a walker, the kind that has a little flip-down stool built in, sitting at the end of her driveway, having made her way down from her house, clapping sweetly and cheering us on on the bike. I yelled, "thank you!" as I went by, and she says, "thank you", like I was doing her some favor. I wanted to stop, get off my bike, and go give her a hug.

• Second best moment of the day: Dude arriving at the race riding his bike. With his wetsuit on.

• The medals for this race were awesome. But huge silver shiny things. Just another small detail they got right - no skimping on the hardware, even when hardware isn't too important to me.

• Thanks to Erin and her husband, and their friends Andy and Lisa, for hosting me at their rented cottage Saturday night!

• Thanks Brazo and family for hanging with me in the Finish line area while I chowed down a BBQ sandwich!

• Big nasty blister on the left big toe...I don't think the Lunar Trainers will cut it at Ironman. But, I've been leaning more towards the Newtons anyway. For me they just are a great shoe.

• From here: Well, I generally feel good. My bike strategy is working, so at Ironman I'll plan to "do no work". That means from here to then I'll need to amp up the intervals and speed work so that I'm as strong as I can be by race day. The x-factor, I suppose as always, is the weather. I'll have to develop a few plans for the run, depending on how the weather is. I feel good about the swim. There are (besides said weather, which I'm hardly going to sit and think about as that's pointless) no glaring weaknesses, no huge problems I'm foreseeing. I'm right where I want to be, I think - in good shape for a final hard push to taper.

Congratulations to friends who raced this weekend - IGN, Robert, RobbyB (who killed it) all raced Racine - looking forward to all of your reports. Who else was out doing crazy things this weekend?

Thanks for the support everybody - looking forward to the final climb now before the descent.

The Keys to the IMWI Bike Course...

2009-07-13T11:42:00.005-05:00

I shot out for 100 miles yesterday on the IMWI course; one of my main concerns is developing mental toughness on the bike. It seems my standard operating procedure calls for some mental weakening from about miles 50-70 or so. So I'm increasing volume a bit this week to try and really address this.

I approached the ride having two purposes. The first, as I said, was the mental toughness, but more specifically to really experience the highs and lows. To learn what I'm feeling leading up to the lows, so I know better when they're coming and how to anticipate them. How to get through them while biking well, and develop some confidence knowing that, inevitably, they'll pass. So I really wanted to tune into my own head a bit.

The second purpose was to really analyze how to most efficiently ride this course. I've ridden it a bajillion times and raced on it once, but I think having a really close, analytical look at it is worth my time. So I really tried to study the course, and what I was doing and why, and I'd make a mental note whenever I encountered something that I knew, on loop 2, I'd want to do differently.

So here, for your perusal, are some of my discoveries. Your results, of course, may vary. And I'm not using a power meter or anything like that, so I don't have any empirical data about anything, just experience and anecdotes. And I'm no expert in anything, just a guy on a bike. This advice is geared certainly more for the MOP'er or first timer - if you're, y'know, trying to qualify for Kona then what the hell are you listening to me for. And, of course, this is just what I found is working for me. So. Do with as you wish.

• I like to divide the course into 4 sections. Each requires it's own strategy and approach, and an understanding of its place in context with the other sections. I call Section 1: From Madison to Verona, the start of the bike (well, and back again on the way home). Specifically, I think Section 1 ends at the turn onto Paoli Street. I think it ends there because A: that's when the terrain of the course takes on a dramatic change, as you head into the hills on Valley Road, and B: On Paoli is where the Special Needs will be after the first loop. Knowing this is the halfway point after the first loop creates, I think, an important mental shift. Section 2 continues until the top of the last hill before the roundabout in Mt. Horeb, just on 8th St. It's not enough to just think "Mt. Horeb", because Mt. Horeb kicks your ass with a hill that is too often forgotten about. More on that in a bit, and I'll explain my thinking on why Section 2 goes all the way to that last hill, specifically. Section 3 goes to the turn-off onto Shady Oak Lane, just after the last of what I call the 3 Bitches; the big hills in the meat of the course, the last of which is on Midtown. I think this is another important mental milepost; once you turn right on Shady Oak, it's downhill, and then a generally easy ride all the way back through Verona to the start of your second loop (or to the turnoff back onto Whalen, heading home). At the end of Section 3, the worst is behind you. Section 4, takes you back through Verona. Here's a helpful illustration:

• I think the key to success on the entire bike course is how one manages Route 92 through the last hill before the roundabout in Mt. Horeb.. Let me say that again. I think the key to success on the entire bike course is how one manages Route 92 through the last hill before the roundabout in Mt. Horeb. This is a tough bit of road that gets none of the respect or glory that the fearsome hills in Section 3 get on this course. But it occurred to me yesterday that this stretch is a friggin' energy vampire. There are some rollers, nothing to write home about, but anything that looks like flat ground is mostly a false flat. So you keep coming off of a small ascent or descent and think, sweet, now I can just plug into the big chain ring and settle down for a bit, but pretty soon you realize that you're better off going back to the small chain ring because this sucks. And you do that over and over again because in your head, this doesn't look like it should be this tough. So meanwhile, you're wasting all kinds of energy dinking around in a gear that's too tough before you back off, or you let your ego drive the machine and push a bigger gear than you probably should because, again, it doesn't look like this should be too tough. This would be fine if you didn't have the hills in Section 3 waiting for you, or if you didn't have to do this all over again. I think the smart play is to love your small chain ring on this section. Of course move to the BCR when it's sensible, but you will use energy so much more sensibly if you just take it in the nuts on this section. Your speed will slow down, you'll be rocking 14, 15, 16mph and hating life, but if you get your head out of the way and just pedal easy, you'll be in so much better shape later on. The rest of the course, it really takes care of itself. You know you have a big hill, you know you have a big descent. It's obvious to gear up or gear down. This section tricks you. Don't get sucked in. It's pretty much uphill to Mt. Horeb, you just might not realize it. Relax and take it easy.

• The hill into Mt. Horeb is formidable, and as tough as any of the 3 Bitches, but because it's not grouped up with them, I'm going to call it Little Bitch. But it's not little. But there you go, and now when you see that billboard for Cave of the Mounds you can say to yourself, ah, hello Little Bitch, I have come to destroy you. But here's the thing about Little Bitch, and why you need to be smart about it - it's not over when you think it's over. It looks like it's over when you see the "crest" after the overpass, but it's not. It winds to the left and keeps taking you to that high school or whatever on the right side. But, then it crests and you get a small descent and think "ah good, that's over" - it isn't! You crest again just after the high school and get a bit steeper small descent, and you think, "ah good, that's over" - but it still isn't! You get one last little climb, the top of which has you overlooking the roundabout to which you're about to descend, and now it's over. So again, don't be dinking around when you get to the high school and hit this little descent, thinking you'll move to the big chain ring. Just stay in the small chain ring, even through the little descents, until you get to that last little crest. "Ah, who cares," you say. "It's not such a big deal to move around the chain rings." Possibly, especially if you're a strong cyclist. If you're a Middle-O-Pack-er like me, though, or this is your first IMWI, then I think these little things matter. I think tiny mistakes, or at least opportunities to not make mistakes, can have a huge impact on how you're doing on this course when you're on the second loop - not to mention the marathon. I think even a momentary burst of wattage while you push too hard up a tiny hill just because you shifted too soon or something adds up if you do that several times over the course of the ride - which this bike course will do to you if you're not careful. So I say - when in doubt, take it easy.

• I'll repeat this same story for how to handle the first 2 Bitches in Section 3. You hit the first big hill - it's long, and it winds to the left, and you get a false flat in the middle of it. This is on Old Sauk Pass. You get to the top and you think, "ah, that sucked, glad it's over", and you get a small descent with some gentle rolling for the next half a mile or something. When you start that descent, it's easy to want to get into a bigger gear, maybe mash just a little to really build something on that descent. You think, "now I'll get some back after that hill". The road winds right onto Midtown and now you hit the second Bitch, which is a friggin' wall. Short, but steep. So I say, between the two Bitches, just stay in the small ring and rest. Don't descend for speed, descend for rest, and spin easy while you can between them. I think you just don't gain anything valuable if you try and push between the two hills.

• Last bit of specific insight, then on to a few more general things - Whalen kind of sucks. Especially leaving Verona and heading back into Madison. The first few miles of Whalen is kind of sketchy road - it's not in great shape. As soon as you turn onto Whalen heading home, the first thing you get to do is climb a bit. And there are a few other rollers. Nothing on Whalen is terribly sinister - the worst is definitely behind you - but they will get your attention. It's easy to think, once you're done with your 2 loops and heading back into Madison, that "whahoo! Home free now!", and that's not an entirely bad attitude to have, I don't think, but do keep yourself in check a bit. Don't have spent everything you have on the Verona loops so that you're struggling to get those last 16 miles home. Don't have raced smart only to let adrenaline get the best of you and push too hard going back into Madison. Try and settle down and keep riding smart, not hard.

Okay, some general thoughts:

• Any kind of significant wind on this course is a pain in the ass. You're just never really in a good position to take advantage of a tailwind, and the course is already so challenging that a headwind can be really demoralizing. Especially if you have a headwind heading home on Whalen, or on County G or Route 92. Each of these "long" stretches still require focus to manage the rolling hills, and a headwind can just kind of make you want to punch somebody in the face. Again, you just need to deal with it; that's racing. Trying to power your way through it will kill you by the second loop, nevermind the marathon. Depending entirely on the weather, it may mean whatever "speed" you're used to on the bike is dramatically slower. Again, you have to just let your ego go with that and ride smart, so you can run smart later. This course isn't made for PR's. It just isn't.

• Get to know your small chain ring. Get to love it. Spend quality time with it. Give it a name, buy it gifts.

• Get your machine dialed in before race day; you'll have never shifted so much in your life. You very realistically may use every single gear you have. Know you can shift easily and with confidence. This means a clean, well-lubed chain, too. Be sure your bike is getting a lot of love in prep for IMWI.

• For the love of pete, conserve energy. I was behind this dude for awhile yesterday that, on every single ascent of any significance, got up out of the saddle, stood up and mashed. And I don't know, maybe that was his goal for the ride, so I'm not wanting to be critical of him in general, but - pick your battles. If you need to stand up and mash, know what you're doing. You almost always use less energy, and go no slower, just staying in the saddle in your most comfortable climbing gears, putting your head down, and getting it done. When you're descending, rest. Let me say that again. When you're descending, rest. When I'm training, it's fun to push the pedals on descents and see how fast I can go. But when I'm riding "for real", I realize how valuable that time and energy is for when my legs are called on to do real work. Any opportunity to stop pedaling, however briefly, I take it. I actually have a mental image, where whenever I get to stop pedaling my "energy gauge" start to fill back up. Your legs will thank you for loop 2, and especially the marathon. Let all those crazy cats in carbon disc wheels churn by you on the descents, who cares.

• So to recap; what you do in Section 2 is critical to how you manage Section 3. And Section 3 is your litmus test; your marathon may be defined by how you ride it.

• Oh by the way, I struggle with every bit of this, all the time, just about every time I ride. It's a constant effort to ride for a marathon, and not to just start cranking, or descending crazy, or whatever. Why they call it Ironman, I guess.

That's what I know. What else do people think? Please contribute your own $.02 in the comments. Best of luck out there. Ride smart, not hard!

Race Report: Lifetime Fitness Triathlon

2009-07-11T18:06:00.011-05:00

Like all my races this season, this one fit into a Grand Scheme of approach to Ironman. I'm looking at race day to practice execution - not to worry about how fast I can go, or if I can even beat that guy ahead of me. So I had two objectives for this race; the first, do no work. What I mean by that is, I wasn't going to go in with guns blazing, pushing some incredible and unsustainable pace, mashing pedals, whatever. I was going to let my training do all the work. I didn't want to get out there and sabotage my day with some obsession with 22mph or something.

My second objective was to stay in control on the run. In my head, I made the entire race about the last two miles of the run. If I could get to the last two miles of the run feeling like I could dictate my pace - choosing whether or not I wanted to bump up the pace, or not, or whatever, I'd have executed a good race. I didn't want to find myself feeling "great" for the first 1.5 miles of the run, only to start losing the pace, then getting into that feedback loop of trying to push back only to lose more ground, only to talk myself into a bit of a water break at mile 4 to recover a bit, blah blah blah. No death shuffles. I wanted to be in charge.

I say all this last because I have sucked at this race the last 3 times I raced it. In '06 they shortened it due to heat (that was the last time), but in '05 - another excruciatingly hot day - my run pace was relegated to..wait for it...11:11/mi. I remember pushing the bike that day and feeling awesome that I came in with a 20.2mph avg speed (topping 20 something I'd never done at that point), only to melt down with such splendid vigor on the run as to make the entire effort pointless. So, full disclosure; because I have only my past experience on this course to compare, I'll be referring some to that race in '05. But...it was 4 years ago. A lot has changed, and I wouldn't in any way say it's fair to really "compare" that race and this race. So just something to keep in mind.

The weather! Wow, the weather was awesome. Such a refreshing change from the suffocating heat I'd come to expect from this race. I started setting up in transition with temps in the low 60's and a slight breeze - just cool enough where long sleeves were most comfortable. As the sun came out things warmed up a bit, but only to about the mid-60's. It was a beautiful day - sunny, with enough breeze to keep us honest, and temps at the race start in the upper-60's, getting to the lower-mid 70's as the race went on. Just about perfect. Here's a shot of Lake Nokomis as the sun began to rise:

Here's a look at the special Pro section they had set up, and some of the machinery being prepared. It was an amazing pro field and race (more on that in a bit), especially for the men:

And here's a look at Vapor all set up and ready to rock.

They close Transition for everybody way early - the Pro race starts by 7:00, and they do some announcements and the national anthem, etc., so Transition closes by 6:45. I made my way out of the gates with the rest of the athletes; my wave wasn't due to start until 7:51, so I had some time to kill. As I was leaving Transition my man Steve in a Speedo saw me and called me over (alas, he was wearing neither a speedo nor the famed "bowl of sunshine", instead relegated to boring civilian attire. I was, I admit, a shade disappointed...). He was out to watch a handful of friends doing the race and had his camera in tow. We had a fun chat for 15 minutes or so as we gawked at the pro's as they headed out. Steve had printed his own little spectator program with all the pro bio's in it. And a handy sheet with all his friends' race numbers and start times. It was pretty Type A, so you know I found it pretty awesome. He also had on his person an entire roll of toilet paper. "Just in case". Dude is hilarious.

I wished him well, headed out to warm up in the water a bit, stretch, and relax. The swim start is a time trial kind of start, so you get in a big line when they call your wave and head out in 3 second increments. This is nice in that it keeps the proverbial washing machine to a bit of a minimum, but you maybe lose a bit of the draft advantages without all the people around (like I'm a good enough swimmer to take advantage of drafting, ha!) Here I am just about to get my number called, looking tough. Thanks Steve for all of the in-race photos!

Ready, set...

Go!

No big excitement in the water - the plan, as always, is to just keep solid technique, get into a rhythm, do my thing. I was trying to keep zig-zagging to a minimum, and may have swung a bit wide at one point and had to recover a bit to come back into the mix. I felt like I was out there for a long time - and I was. When I finally got back to shore I took a glance at my watch; it read 30:34. A PR on this course by about 2 minutes, but a shade slower than my last Olympic distance race. Good enough. This bit of info here doesn't matter at all, but will be interesting to note as the race report goes on: Out of 139 finishers in my age group, I came in 55th.

The run into Transition was a long one, and my bike was racked in a location that put me quite a long way from the bike out. But, in and out in 2:39 and I was on the machine, ready to roll.

So in keeping with my strategy that this whole race was all about the run, I mentally adhered to feeling nothing on the bike. I wanted to spin an easy 90rpm cadence and feel zero tension in my legs; if I felt even a hint of effort from my quads, or hamstrings, or in my knees, I'd shift gears or back off. Again, I'd let the training do all the work. I had no big plans for speed at all, I just wanted fresh legs when I started the run. I also was thoughtful about nutrition; I think one reason why in years past the Olympic distance has been such a tough one for me is that I've underestimated the caloric requirements, and toll, it takes. I've been a bit lax with nutrition on the bike. This time I had 300 calories of Infinit onboard with me, and planned to make sure I'd drunk the whole bottle by ride's end.

It was a pretty uneventful ride - lots of people out there, mostly flat and fast. The breeze was a non-issue, every once in awhile providing a bit of a tailwind, but I think all the aero gear made any kind of headwind mostly unimportant. The only really notable thing about the bike were the friggin' roads. Awful. I'd heard some people talking about this in the registration line at the expo - the number of potholes on the course - but seriously. Clean it up Minneapolis. There was hardly any stretch of road that wasn't teeth-chatteringly bad. It made for increased mental fatigue because you had to be really attentive to the road conditions. It made my hands tired and numb from vibrations and hanging on (no gloves for this distance race), and I saw lots of other riders, too, finding a rare calm spot to stretch out fingers and flex their hands. Between obnoxious gaping cracks in the road and avoiding well-marked-but-still-sketchy deep potholes, it was a crazy ride.

I finally rolled back into Transition after 1:13 on the bike- good for an easy, totally not-worked-for 20.8mph. This was another PR for the course by about .5mph - in '05 I pushed hard for 20.2mph. Not a lot faster, then, but that wasn't the point; I remember spending a lot of time out of the saddle mashing pedals in '05 for that 20.2. I came in 39th out of 139 in my AG.

In and out of T2 in 1:11, and now onto the "real" race. By the way, my T2 time was 2nd place in my age group! Why the hell don't they have podiums just for transitions? I'd be a contender, dammit.

I headed out to the run course, which is 2 loops around the lake on the paved running trail. It's mostly wide open to the sunshine, and especially around "race central", where you start and come back around for the second loop, it's crazy with spectators and a big aid station and all kinds of energy. I quickly found a pace I thought was comfortable and checked my watch - 7:15/mi. I hadn't gone into the run with any kind of pre-planned pacing, instead I just wanted to let my energy naturally find where I should be. I did assess earlier in the week that I think I've been mentally underestimating myself at the 10k distance; if I can do a half marathon with a sub 8:00/mi pace, there's no reason why, even in a triathlon, I can't expect a little more of myself in a 10k. But, I knew that I wanted to be ready to rocket the last 2 miles, so 7:15/mi was too fast. I decided to slow to 7:45/mi and see how that went. The plan was - find a comfortable, easy pace for the first 2 miles. At mile 2, if I feel good, bump up a bit. If I don't feel good (which would've meant I poorly judged the first 2 miles...), at least try and stay the same, or not slow down, so that by mile 4 I could push hard with whatever I had left.

So I dialed in 7:45/mi, had a nice spring in my step, only about .5 or less into the run, when CRACK, I'm, like, on my face.

I heard this comedian on the radio on my drive to Minneapolis, and he was talking about getting into a car accident. He said that being in a car accident is like going down one of those crazy fast, straight-down water slides. Only first you're in the shower just going about your day as usual, and then suddenly out of nowhere you're going straight-down on a water slide. This is like what happened to me. I'm just doing my thing, nothing out of the ordinary, and I'm suddenly, with no helpful segue, on my knees on the middle of the road. I'd stepped in a mother-effing Minneapolis effing pothole. My left ankle abruptly twisted in and I hit the ground hard, my right knee taking most of the impact. I swore, loudly, as much out of surprise, I think, as anything. I heard somebody around me say, "are you okay?", but I didn't answer. I got right back up and started running again, my left ankle screaming at me. I was limping badly, and had trouble putting weight on it. I had these visions of a hairline fracture in my ankle. Of a deeply purple sprain. When I was in high school I stepped on a buddy's foot when landing while playing basketball and did something very similar to this, and it ripped all kinds of ligaments in my ankle - just before football season. I was injured for the first few weeks of the start of the season, and slow (well, slowerer, not like I was ever some bullet) for 6 weeks. It sucked, and I had visions of something similar just 60 days out from Ironman. Oh, and I also thought of my daughter, who lately has been skinning the same knee every time she falls, which is frequently as she's running all crazy like she does and trips up on a crack in the sidewalk, or is trying to learn to negotiate uneven segments of ground. I thought - geez, I hope it doesn't hurt her this bad everytime she falls, that would suck. All this went through my mind in about two seconds.

I couldn't be sure what the real damage was, and what was maybe just initial pain from a sudden impact, so I just kept running, trying to consciously correct my stride from the limp, and continue to put normal weight on my left foot. It wasn't long and the pain mostly subsided altogether, which told me it wasn't anything too serious, thankfully.

I ticked past the Mile 2 marker feeling good with a 7:36/mi average. I bumped up the pace just a bit, with an eye towards not going any slower than 7:30/mi. Things felt good and drama free. When I came around again, on the second loop, to the location where I fell, I had a look at the road to see if I was just a clumsy idiot or what - nope. Big fat pothole-crack in the road. Awful.

I hit the mile 4 marker still feeling very good - relaxed and fresh, still with a spring in my step. My pace had increased to an avg. of 7:27/mi. Perfect. Now I just had 2 miles left, and I felt fantastic. I threw down with whatever I had left, buzzed a bit with the knowledge that I'd arrived at these last 2 miles precisely how I'd hoped to - that I'd executed my strategy just about flawlessly.

It's important to me at this point, I guess, to say that I hope none of this sounds too, y'know, self-congratulatory. I don't feel that way about it - I really feel much like an observer of some kind of experiment. I'm making hypotheses, and then I'm testing them. So when things go well, or according to plan, it's not really a "hey look at me, I rule" kind of thing, it's just...interesting.

That said...you know how at the end of a race, and you're feeling pretty spent and maybe miserable, and then some dude or woman just blows by you? And you feel like punching them in the face with all their spritely prancing down the road with ease? I was that guy. And I've wanted to punch my face an awful lot in my life, so this was a new experience for me. I was just flying, having to go around runners, split between them, go off the path to avoid big masses. Like the whole world was standing still. It was crazy how good I felt - I think I could've run all day.

I cruised into the finish chute knowing I'd had a blast, that my training had prepared me for a great race, that I was able to execute. Nothing more I could ask for as I prepare for Ironman. Here's a final shot from Steve as I approach the line.

The last 2 mile split was at 7:05/mi. My official run split was 46:21, for a 7:29/mi pace (the Garmin said 7:22, but whatever), good for 25 out of 139 in my age group. I finished in 2:34:17 - a 26 minute PR for this course, and a 19 minute PR for this distance. I finished 33 of 139 in my age group - good for a top 25% finish. Oh, and I went from 55th place out of the water up the 33rd. The moral of that story - it's all about the run, and execution is king.

Here's a self-portrait after the race, thumbs up on a great day.

Bits & Pieces

• I never set out to PR the course, but I figured I would, just because my '05 time was so obviously slow, and I know what's up a lot more this time around. Still, I was surprised. I didn't know my training had prepared me for that easy of a bike at almost 21mph, and that easy of a fast run. Very encouraging. It's not, I don't think, very quantifiable to any kind of Ironman perspective, except to say that my race-day approach to execution is paying off, and I'll emulate it at Ironman.

• Knock on wood, but...no glaring weaknesses. Nothing really felt out of joint at all. I swam about how I figured I would, did the bike how I planned, and the run took care of itself. Nutrition and hydration were on point.

• Can't over emphasize enough how much the weather helped have a great day. It takes a whole other, crucial element of difficult out when you're not having to obsess about heat and hydration management. Now if I could just get a halfway decent weather day in September...

• Craig Alexander isn't as crazy looking in person. Like, in all his ads in Triathlete mag for Orca or Orbea or whatever he's schilling, he has this lunatic death stare going on. He looks like a pretty regular dude in person. Shorter than I thought. Also, I think Steve has a little bit of a man-crush on him.

• I shook Andy Potts's hand at the expo. I'm pretty sure that makes us BFF.

• Newbies: I love you, you know I do. You don't need a Batman utility belt, though. You don't need seriously 8 flasks on your fuel belt. You just don't. Make it easier on yourself, you know?

• I think doing an Olympic distance race on a mountain bike would be tough.

• Amy and Dakota are out of town now, and I really missed them at the race.

• Thanks again, Steve.

• The Pro men came down to a sprint finish between Andy Potts and Matty Reed. It looks like it was a close, great race all day. Can you imagine sprinting down the finish chute for $20,000? Like, I'm all Type A in transition before a race just to have my own geeky little goals and aspirations, but can you imagine having your paycheck on the line? Or missing out on that $20k by less than one second? That's crazy. It kind of hurts my brain.

• Here's a great, brief video of the pro race that somebody at Slowtwitch took. Check out Matty Reed's fantastic move in the last 100 yards - he just bursts out from the pack and turns it on. Awesome.