Gerardo (far left) actually stitched himself into this photo, which is why he kinda looks like a ghost.

There was a time in all our lives when we were instructed with nothing more than, “Get out of the house and go play!”  That was the only responsibility we had.  School was out.  We were too young to work.  So, we played.

That time ended for most of us around 12 or 13.  At least for me it did.  Newspaper routes, day camp jobs and ultimately being a cub news reporter filled the rest of my summers until college graduation.

I reclaimed a bit of my childhood during the last two weeks of December.  Our games studio closed for the holidays on December 15 and didn’t reopen its doors until January 4.  My wife had to remain at work during most of that time since we took an extended honeymoon in August and she was out of vacation days.

So there really was only one thing I could do…PLAY.

Instead of playing soccer, basketball or baseball like a did as a kid, I played triathlete.  Oh, and I played video games too, since you know, that’s a part of my job.  (So that part of my childhood didn’t change.)  I ran, swam and biked practically every day.  Though mostly I cycled, including eight outings in 10 days as part of an unofficial Fortius Racing Team winter training camp.  By the end of my “camp,” I saw massive improvement.  I felt stronger on hills, faster thanks to strenuous pace lines and sprint intervals, my descending skills improved and I found a great spot for scones at Griffith Park!  Yet I couldn’t really measure any of my progress officially since I STILL haven’t bought a computer watch to replace my lost Garmin.  I’m learning that sometimes what I can’t measure is more valuable than what I can measure.  If I can sense that I’m climbing a hill more powerfully (in the big chain for the first time) or descending a curvy road with more confidence (fewer brake squeezes), that’s good enough for me. And after capping my cycling camp with a sojourn from Glendora Mountain Road to the ski lifts at Mount Baldy, it didn’t matter what my watts were, what the elevation was or how fast I pedaled. All that mattered was that I made it to the top, saw beautiful scenery, hung out with my friends and enjoyed a new adventure.  Instead of losing the forest for the trees metaphorically, I appreciated them both literally.  In 20 years I won’t remember my average heart rate at Mt. Baldy, but I’ll remember the pain of the last two miles of the climb, the elation I felt hanging with Coach at the snowy ski lifts, and the rocket-ride descent back to the car.

I feel so fortunate that I could carve out a small block of time in my life at this age to play like a little kid again.  I realize how special those moments are and I truly savored every minute.  Yes, the training camp was hugely beneficial from a skills standpoint.  Coach Gerardo deserves a ton of credit (and probably some extra money!) for improving my cycling dramatically in such a short timespan.  But what I valued more was the opportunity to enjoy a cup of hot chocolate at 10 in the morning with my Fortius friends in the middle of a cycling break at Griffith Park.  I didn’t have to be anywhere.  I wasn’t missing a meeting.  I wasn’t disappointing friends or family by missing an event.  Everyone was accounted for.  I wasn’t missed.  I wasn’t missing anything.  I was caught up with bills, priorities, columns, life.

I had time to play. No strings attached.

For two weeks, I was 12 again.

You can go back to summer camp, even in the winter.

My grandmother is sick. In fact, she’s dying after a frustrating, heartbreaking battle with Alzheimer’s Disease.  She’s suffered from it for a few years now, going from someone who didn’t need a calculator to maintain the books at my family’s business for 50-plus years to not knowing who any of us are.

Of course, I remember many things about her, which I shared with her recently in a note I have no idea whether she understood let alone internalized. Yet we do these things not as much for the ill as for the living. Fortunately, my grandmother instilled in me her tough work ethic, never quit, never settle for anything less than the “A” mentality.  That’s what leads me to this past Saturday’s inaugural HITS series Olympic triathlon in La Quinta.

In the moment this race meant nothing. Ultimately though, it may come to mean everything.

For a week I teetered on whether I should race or stick around Los Angeles, waiting for the inevitable.  I visited my grandma during the week a couple times and saw that she was resting comfortably and without pain.  I made the hard choice to race knowing it was only a couple hours drive back to LA if things went south quickly.  Steph stayed at home for this race just to support the family in case that happened.

I drove down to La Quinta with mixed emotions.  It was selfish to race, yet I knew there was nothing else I could do but wring my hands.  In that regard, racing was the best thing I could do given the circumstances.  The one promise I made to myself driving down to the event was simple: This one was for Grandma.  That meant nothing but my absolute best effort, no excuses. No dumb errors.  Just me, the course, and a ton of fury.

RACE DAY RECAP

I almost broke my self-promise before the race ever started.  The night before I unexpectedly developed a stomach ache, an extreme rarity for me.  So much that I had to rush out from our Fortius pre-race team dinner to retrieve some Pepto Bismal from the store.  Minutes before getting ready to race, twinges of that ache returned, prompting me to pop some Pepto tablets I brought just in case.

Then, I went from stomach to headache, as the water temperature in Lake Cahuilla was a crisp 58 degrees.  Upon wading into the literally breath-taking water, my head froze and became tight at the temples.

Great, my Grandma is reaching me with guilt even from LA, I joked to myself.

Then the race director blew the whistle, and all aches and pains vanished.  I swam smoothly and confident, avoiding the mistakes I had made at the Turkey Tri with sighting and paced myself properly.  The water temp eventually felt terrific, and though there was chop on the return loop of the two-lap swim, I swam consistent and never without breath.  The result was a 1:36 pace, a full 10 seconds faster on a freshwater course than the Turkey Tri and my freshwater PR by 7 seconds (IMAZ ‘10, 1:43 pace).

BIKE

Since I’m still not wearing a race watch, I had no idea how my day was faring.  I didn’t know at the time I had just PR’d my swim, but I did know that I wasn’t swimming at the middle of the pack for a change.  I seemed to be out with the first 15 people, which was new for me.  Unfortunately, I left some time on the clock because my fingers and toes were so cold that I struggled with my new Rocket Science Carbon wetsuit and putting on my cycling shoes.  Still, I clocked out of T1 in 2:14. Not great, but not bad either.  I rocketed out of the transition area, pedaling past several people trying to catch their breath on the bike after a hard swim.

The first half of the bike course was with the wind, which was picking up to between 12-15 mph by my estimates.  Again, I didn’t have my watch so I had no idea of my pace.  All I knew was that I needed to pedal hard, DO NOT STOP PEDALING HARD.  This race was for Grandma, and it was the last race of the year.  I was going to leave everything I had on this course.  If I wasn’t absolutely exhausted and drained physically and mentally then I didn’t race hard enough. Then I started picking people off, one after another.  I must have passed about 10 people before someone passed me, a beefy guy in my age group. He rode alongside and I implored him to work together (not draft) to keep each other going strong.

He did that all right, passing by me and never looking back.

When I reached the bike turnaround, I realized why I had passed so many people: the tail wind.  As was the case at IMAZ last year, the turnaround was a rude awakening.  The wind slapped me in the face. Hard.  The next 12 miles were an exercise in sheer will as I became demoralized and contemplated quitting my frantic effort.  I was being blown all over the course, like a tiny paper boat on a lake in a windstorm.  Many of the people whom I passed on the way out to the turnaround passed me on the way back.  All seemed bigger, taller, more built, better bikes, better equipment.  Minutes before, I thought maybe I had a shot at my first podium.  Minutes later, I realized today would be the same race as all the others…just on the outside of the elites looking in.

At one point I screamed in frustration to nothing in particular.

Then I remembered Grandma, in that bed.  And all the lessons she had taught me.  She helped raise me to be better than this.  To study hard even when nobody is looking.  To always go for the “A”, no matter what.

I found my second wind in the headwind, and pushed onward back to T2. Again, at this point I thought my personal race for a USAT slot was over and had no idea once again I had PR’d on the bike, averaging 21.7 mph.  As I came out of T2 in 1:08, still not feeling my toes (no socks once again), I shouted at Coach Gerardo, “Am I still in the running?!”  He said definitely and that motivated me enough to make one last push for the 10k run.

RUN

Despite my feet feeling more like stumps, I felt fresh and focused on the run. Almost light on my feet.  Having no watch freed me to just run how I felt and as fast as I could sustain.  There were enough people in front of me to constantly have a “rabbit” to chase, which helped propel me forward.  The main rabbit was a 54-year-old guy whom I just couldn’t quite catch on the first 5k.  He constantly stayed about 15 yards ahead of me no matter what I tried.  Then, an even older guy whizzed by me. I tried to stay on his heels but he was just gone, blowing by the 54-year-old.  Another moment of deflation…geez I can’t even catch these guys more than 15 years older than me!  Still, I kept at it, focusing on my grandma and simply pushing myself to do this for her, and for me. It’s the last race, her last race, just keep going.

At the turnaround, I saw that I was ahead of the guy on the bike whom I was trying to work with before he left me.  How did that happen?  He must have had a slow T2.  Then, next thing I know he’s on me.  And ahead of me.  I’m on his heels.  I don’t want to lose this guy!  No age sticker on his calf, so he could very well be in my group.  I’m not going to let him beat me, no matter what.  I chase for a couple blocks, wondering if anybody on this street is in as much pain as I’m in.  My breathing is hard.  I can’t feel my toes.  My quads are begging me to stop the pounding.  Am I going to have a heart attack?  I have a secret fear about that during every run, that I’m going to drop dead on the spot. It scares me.  Does anyone else think that too?

It turns out the guy in front of me gave in to doubt and pain. He grabbed his calf and suddenly stopped, hobbling over to the side of the road to stretch.  I didn’t stop.  I didn’t even look at him.  I didn’t bother to ask if he was OK.  That’s not like me but I was in the heat of the moment and possessed.  Angry.  Defiant.  Motivated.  He didn’t work with me, I wasn’t working with him.  He went too hard on the bike, that’s his problem.  Next up was the 54-year old.  I drew closer, and closer, finally on his back.  I’m drafting and then realize he’s slowing and I’m gaining power and steam.  I’m 1.5 miles away from the finish.  It’s time to kick.  I pull alongside and told the man to get on my back and that we could pace each other to the finish.  I didn’t think I could sustain my pace, knowing I had two hills to climb, and wanted company to share in the misery.  I kept running, pushing.  Then after the first hill I turned slightly around to see who was chasing.  Was the older man with me?  Nobody.  I was on my own.

I ran as if I wasn’t alone.  There was no telling where I was ranked in terms of competitors.  I felt like I was in the top 5 in my age group but maybe I could pass more people. Besides, I wasn’t after Top 5 today.  I wanted more. So I kicked it up once more, with everything I had left.  All I could think about was both my grandparents and everything they had done for me.  Everything they had taught me.  The examples they had set.  I pounded through the final corner, up a hill, down a hill, a sharp left and a sharp right into the finisher’s chute. Gerardo, Mark and Caritta are there, along with Carly, to cheer me in.

I swear I hear the announcer call my name and say, “Ryan, from Sherman Oaks, finishing at 2:21.”

Here’s the thing though, my PR is 2:26:45.  There’s no way I beat my previous best when I was in Ironman shape by five minutes.

Right?  Seriously!?  I’m training half as much!

Well, I did.  And I had broken my personal best 10k time too with a 42:58 (previously 43:43).  That’s a sub-7:00/mi pace.

RECAP

As I write this final 2011 season recap, I can share that after reviewing the full results this morning, once again I’m on the outside looking in at a USAT Nationals slot.  Again, by one place (there’s a math error with the finisher in front of me as my time is faster than his but it still wouldn’t matter).  I finished top 10% overall among all finishers, but top 14% in my age group.  Fourth out of what appears to be 28 in my age group.  Maybe 29 with the leg cramp guy, who finished less than a minute behind me but still with no age attached to his results.

Instead of dwelling on what I missed out on again, I’m just so happy to have done my grandparents proud.  To have lived up to what they taught me.  To have showed them, and myself, that never giving up is the prize in itself.  This race changed me a lot.  I truly raced my heart out and nothing felt better even though I came short of my personal goal.  I can’t be upset if I PR’d by five minutes and it still wasn’t going to get me to Nationals.  I can live with that.  I ran unhinged and got faster as a result.

I’ll get faster next year.  I’m making progress every day.  And I’ve got great teachers, alive and gone, who inspire me.  I’m having more fun than ever too.

I’ll miss my grandmother so much.  But she’ll be with me.  She’ll be with me every time I want to stop short of reaching my potential.

Thank you, Grandma. I love you.

I raced at the San Dimas Turkey Tri yesterday, where I personally played the role of turkey.  I misunderstood a turn sign at the end of the first bike course loop, dropped from fourth place in my age group to fifth, and lost out on another chance to qualify for the Age Group National Championships — by one place.

I have a good reason though, I swear.

"Ryan, mate, pay attention to the road signs!"

None other than Chris McCormack participated in the Turkey Tri.  And he rode up right behind me and then rocketed past.  All event racing tactics went out the window.  Like the dog from “Up” who sees a squirrel, I pretty much lost all sense of rational thought and wanted to chase Macca as far as I could handle.  You know, just to see where I stood.

Here’s the problem: He was finishing the second loop on the bike course and I was starting my second loop.  Here’s the other problem: Macca turned right toward the finisher’s chute, which is about 1/3 mile down a road that obscures the transition area.  I followed him until I banked left and saw the finisher’s chute and realized what I had done.  All I could exclaim was “Shit!” in front of rows of fans cheering for Macca as he dashed into T2.  I knew the race was over for me in that moment — and ultimately it was.

I should have known sooner that I had made a wrong turn because I was the only person behind Macca.

This is the only time in my life I’ll be able to write that in a race.  So even if I screwed up, I’ll savor it just for a moment.

Until I remember that finishing fifth out of 39 guys instead of fourth kept me from my goal of racing in Vermont next August at the USAT National Championships.  I can’t believe I did that, except I can.  Moreover, I still made a few “rookie” mistakes that hopefully others can avoid in the future.  Including:

– ALWAYS drive the course before a race.  This is something I typically always do, except for this race.  Because of the 1 hour drive and the Thanksgiving weekend, I didn’t want to go to the race site the day prior to scope things out.  I paid the price.

Feeling like a superhero in my new Rocket Science wetsuit. Didn't swim like one though!

– Keep practicing bi-lateral breathing when swimming. I’ve pretty much abandoned turning my head to the left when breathing in the water.  This is fine when the buoys for a race are on the right side and you can see them.  But when they’re on your left and there aren’t many to spot, you can spend way more time than necessary looking up out of the water to see where you should be heading.  My race pace (in my spanking new Rocket Science Carbon 2011 wetsuit!) was 1:46 but should have been closer to 1:42 were it not for frequent peek breaks.

– Never take a race for granted. The premise of the San Dimas Turkey Tri is to give seasoned tri-vets and novices a chance to burn some holiday calories off in a festive way.  There are fun gimmicks like pumpkin pie for every finisher along with a medal that doubles as a bottle opener.  So the race course should be flat and fast, right?  Accessible at the very least.  Well, not exactly.  The San Dimas Bonelli Park bike course features rolling hills, sharp corners, rough pavement, and an annoying little headwind.  The run course, while scenic, is hilly — especially at the beginning.  Throughout the bike ride (when I wasn’t making wrong turns) and run, I kept thinking, “Damn, this course ain’t what I expected!”  That’s really not something you want to be thinking on race day and is totally avoidable (see mistake #1 above).

Despite this miscues, I am grateful for my finish and the race.  I did some things right too, such as a 1:58 T1 (2nd fastest in age group) and 1:05 T2 (third fastest in age group).  I also lived my own advice too from my last blog and smiled more during the race — even pausing to high-five Steph in the finisher’s chute before crossing the line.  Heck, I high-fived Macca as he approached the run finish and I was beginning my 4.5 mile jaunt.  Speaking of my run, despite the unexpectedly hilly course, I was pleased with my 7:18 pace.  I think I can drop down into the high 6:40s on a flatter course.  That’s my goal for this weekend’s HITS Triathlon Series race in Palm Springs.

My other goal is not to self destruct due to pilot error.  I’ve had enough of that by now.

Who knew volunteering could be so much fun, and so exhausting!?

It’s appropriate that volunteering at Ironman Arizona this past weekend coincides with Thanksgiving.  As soon as I got home from Tempe yesterday, I called my parents and told them how truly grateful I was for their support last year along with the rest of my family.  Sure, I wasn’t as physically fatigued from volunteering, but still my feet cracked with pain, my lower back was on fire, my senses were overwhelmed and I darn near felt delirious as Mike Reilly started dancing down the finisher’s chute before midnight.

I think volunteers deserve a medal along with a T-shirt, free food and early admission to the following year’s race.  And I didn’t even have to endure rain, wind or hail!

Rather than go into a hour-by-hour recap of the weekend, I’d like to focus instead on some larger observations about the day (and night).  Just stuff I noticed.  For those of you who raced or also spectated, I’m curious if this is something you’ve encountered as well.

Observation #1: LOTS of full disc wheels this year.  It felt like roughly 1/3 of the bikes I saw roll through our special needs area had full disc wheels on the back.  They make the coolest sound when riding by, but not when you’re being passed.

Observation #2: 99% of Ironman participants are exceedingly polite even in the middle of a race.  My job (along with my Fortius teamates) was to retrieve racers’ special needs bags and hold them out for riders either to rummage through on the spot or grab and ride.  Most cyclists stopped but the faster riders grabbed the bag on the go.  No matter what, all but one cyclist (bib #1680, you’re rude!) thanked us volunteers, stopped to chat for a second if asked how they were doing, and thanked us again before taking off.  Now, a quick tip for future Ironmen: If you want your bag, make sure you give us plenty of time to get it!  Don’t ride by at 15 mph expecting us to be able to throw you your bag when we have two seconds to get it — are you listening bib #1680 — and then tell us we suck.

Observation #3: Ironman cyclists like their sandwiches.  The most popular food I saw riders who stopped at special needs to eat came in the form of white-bread sandwiches.  I thought this was funny only in that we’re obsessed with healthy food throughout the year and then we’re drinking cans of Coke and eating sugar bread at every break we can.  Yes, I get it…we need the sugar intake.  But still, I guess I would have expected more Clif Bars, Gu Chomps, etc.

Observation #4: I saw less compression gear on the bike this year.  There were fewer calf socks than I recall from the past two Ironmans I’ve done.  Maybe people are realizing that the studies are inconclusive at best on compression as performance enhancer (read Joe Friel’s blogs on this topic as he goes into depth on the research he’s analyzed).  I did see plenty of full compression socks during the marathon though, so who knows if that message is getting through.

Observation #5: Cyclists are unashamed to stick their hands down their pants…to apply body glide.  Right there, right in front of you… . The female contingent of volunteers often blushed and looked the other way when male cyclists would grab a packet of chamois butter and go to town right in front of them.  I suppose this carries over into real life, as I shared a hotel room over the weekend with three other triathlets, two female.  All of us changed in the room pretty much in front of each other, knowing we’ve all seen each other practically naked in lycra swimsuits or in the locker room already.  What’s the big deal, right?

How can you not smile when you've got this crazy group of volunteers yelling for you??

Observation #6: The slower the bike rider, the more they seem to smile on the course.  My team saw every cyclist pass the special needs area at least twice (pros once).  As the day wore on, as the faster cyclists sped by and hurtled toward their Kona slots, slower cyclists populated the special needs area more and more.  Each of them fed off our team’s screaming, chanting and cheering.  They were genuinely happy to simply become an Ironman regardless of how long it took to reach the finish.  These folks knew it was going to be a long day and didn’t seem to care one bit.  They appreciated us, our time, and most important, the moment itself.  That felt like the true Ironman spirit and something I’ll really take with me for future events.  People, it’s OK to smile even when you’re flying low to the ground.  (You just run a greater risk of getting a bug stuck in your teeth!)

Observation #7: Mike Reilly is a stud.  That man makes every single Ironman finisher feel special, and in the case of Ironman Arizona that meant close to 2,500 people.  He really gets going around 11 p.m., whipping the crowd into a frenzy with a towel and jumping up and down in the finisher’s chute imploring everyone to BRING THESE LAST FEW RACERS HOME!  It’s truly the best part of the Ironman experience.  If you don’t get goosebumps or well up with tears I challenge whether you’re actually a human being.

Observation #8: Paul Amey is a stud too.  The man raced his guts out and came up just two minutes short of winner Eneko Llanos’ sub-8:00 finish.  Still, he joined his girlfriend (full disclosure, a Fortius teammate and friend of mine) in the stands to watch other finishers come down the chute.  He was cheerful despite his fatigue level, like almost every pro triathlete I’ve ever met.  This truly is the greatest sport because the pros are every bit as classy as the 17-hour Ironman finishers.  Can you imagine Tiger Woods winning a tournament and coming back to the 18th hole to cheer in the rest of the pros? (OK, can you imagine Tiger Woods winning a tournament anymore?!)

Observation #9: Giving an athlete a high-five during the marathon equals a .05% pickup in speed.  Alright, that’s not scientifically proven.  But I observed that as the sky gets darker and the lights become brighter, runners need a little extra help and encouragement to keep them moving.  A high-five and a shout-out of encouragement can do just that.  Calling out their name on their bib helps too.  I remember it worked for me in the final lap of my Ironman Arizona journey last year.  Runners who aren’t smiling at all will crack a grin and extend their hand when they feel like someone cares about their journey and their struggle in that particular moment.  I fived a lot of folks, and I’d like to think they finished .05% faster because of me.

Observation #10: I’m done reminiscing about Ironman Arizona 2010.  Volunteering at IMAZ 2011 closed the door on one of the best days, one of the best years of my life.  For 365 days I got to live the life of a pro athlete and accomplish something I never thought possible.  I was, I am and will always be in the Ironman Arizona Class of 2010.  This year, I got to usher in the Class of 2011.  Originally, I had mixed feelings about the experience.  But when the time came to experience my race on the other side of the fence, I appreciated my own accomplishments that much more. I remembered the struggles, sacrifices and pain.  And that it’s my choice not to participate in Ironman Arizona 2012 even though I had early access to registration.  Despite the peer pressure among my friends, I resisted.  That meant two things. First, I’m not ready to commit to the sacrifice just yet.  Second, I don’t feel a need to validate myself through another Ironman.  I graduated.  Officially.

I will not write about Ironman Arizona again, except in passing.  It’s time to move on.  Now that I see everything through new eyes, there are other journeys to embark upon. New adventures.  Ironman Arizona won’t be one of them for a long, long time.

Congratulations to all the finishers on Sunday.  Welcome to the club!  I hope you give back at a race near you in the future.  It will be just as valuable an experience to volunteer, if not more so.

One year ago today, I arrived in Tempe, Arizona, scared and excited to reach a yearlong quest to become an Ironman.

My feelings then are still so vivid now.  The unabashed pride entering the Athlete Registration tent and Body Marking tent.  I never wanted that paint to wear off my arms and legs.  I remember how I knew I belonged in that tent and there was no place else on the planet I’d rather be in that moment.

I’m going back to that moment this weekend though.  Except I’ll be a volunteer and not a participant at Ironman Arizona. (I’ll be at Bike Special Needs Area 2, so say hi as you ride by!)

I have mixed feelings about traveling to Tempe this weekend. I’m ashamed to admit them though.  While I can’t wait to watch my friends cross the finish line and realize their dreams, I wish I could go back in time and recapture my own moment from last year.  Even though I didn’t quite hit the time I wanted, finishing the event was the single greatest physical achievement of my life. The sensations I experienced at Ironman Coeur d’Alene seven months later didn’t come close, even though I had a fantastic time there as well.  Everything in Idaho just felt expected (except losing my watch during the swim!), like it was so “been there, done that” even after just one Ironman.  The excitement was there, just not the flat-out giddyness that one can only achieve as a first-timer.

So, the more I think about IMAZ 2011, the more I miss 2010.

Over the course of 12 hours last November, the ground in Tempe became sacred to me.  A place where something special happened.  I stepped into the unknown of personal willpower and pain, defying my own expectations and persevering on a day fraught with terrible weather.  Now, as I return to such a special place, I’ll be cheering on my friends and hoping they reach their own goals.  Secretly (or not so secretly now) jealous that they’ll likely encounter none of the weather issues my friends and I endured and thus more likely to achieve their race goals.  I can’t help but wonder given my training last year, how well could I have done with near perfect conditions?

Yet when I type those last two sentences above, it doesn’t sit well with me. It’s not quite accurate.  Upon further reflection, here’s the real issue: Time marches on.  What once was MY MOMENT a year ago simply is last year’s race.  There’s another race happening in Tempe in just a couple days.  My accomplishment remains embedded in my mind, but it is long gone in terms of months passed.

So far it feels like being a graduating senior in high school one year and then going back the next year to visit campus, only to realize you’re simply last year’s news.

Now I know how a retired pro athlete must feel after walking away from the spotlight — only on a MUCH smaller scale.

Nothing would make me happier than if I could pack my gear tonight, drive to Tempe tomorrow, register for the race, and try again on Sunday.  Am I trying to recapture lost glory?  Yeah, a little.  Do I think I could do better even with less training?  Call me crazy, but yeah.  I’m a better, smarter triathlete now, as I should be.  But none of that matters.  I realize I have to “let go” of IMAZ 2010 and remember that while nobody can take that moment in time away from me, that first-timer Ironman experience can never be recaptured again.

In the end analysis though, the true victory is being able to say I’m an Ironman at all.  The achievement itself will live forever. Just like a pro athlete’s legacy lives on long after he or she leaves the sport. The record books log all the players who ever played the game, no matter how prolific their careers.  It’s official no matter what.

My friends’ achievements will live forever as they triumphantly run down Rio Salado waiting for Mike Reilly to call them an Ironman for the first time.  I will be right there for them in the finisher’s chute.

I hope they forgive me though if I get a little emotional at the end.  Those tears will be for them, and for me.

See, I left a part of my soul on that course.  Soon, they will too.

Malibu Gran Fondo race site featured lots of animals...like this character!

A year ago tonight, I was walking around the neighborhood with Stephanie checking out Trick-or-Treaters’ costumes after my final Build phase workout leading to Ironman Arizona taper.

Tonight, it’s an off-day of training and recovery from a hard 40-mile ride yesterday.

A year ago this past weekend, I completed nine hours of training in two days back-to-back.

This weekend, I completed less than half.  Though it’s far more intense with back-to-back track workouts and a 4,500 foot climb at the Malibu Gran Fondo yesterday (benefiting the Livestrong Foundation).  A year ago, I learned the lessons of someone trying to figure out why I was so exhausted heading into the taper phase.  A year later, I’m missing the naivete that comes with the wonderment associated with “Can I do it?”  Yep, I miss the nerves from a year ago. The giddy sensation.  The fear of the unknown. But what I’m learning now is that my fitness level isn’t really that far removed from my Ironman race shape.

Take yesterday’s ride.  I started off slowly amidst a large group of cyclists doing the medium (Medio) range ride instead of the Grande 65 miler (7,000 feet of climbing).  I simply didn’t think I had that kind of climbing in my legs nor was I in shape to even try.  My early performance validated my thoughts.  Cyclists of varying shapes and sizes passed me on the first couple hills, which used to be my specialty.  Even though the event wasn’t a race, I couldn’t help myself when I felt that telltale shock to my pride being passed by.  By the time we began our second loop of the course, I was in the middle/front of the pack and wondering where my speed and power had gone.

Then, we began a seven-mile climb up Mulholland Drive at the base of PCH.  Again. a couple cyclists started passing me.  My morale dropped further, which is never a good thing when all you’re looking at is a LONG climb upwards while the temperature rises with it. I knew from experience that if I just kept focus on pedaling that I’d simply get through the ride.

But a funny thing happened.  All the riders in front of me must have started bonking.  Slowly, steadily, I started passing people.  Each time, I felt a little stronger as, if my confidence rose while others’ bodies faltered.  I know it’s bad to admit that probably, but screw it I’m competitive.  I like beating people down on the bike. Especially on climbs.  I enjoy it.  I enjoy torturing myself to see if I my punishment will lead me past more polished, less disciplined riders. And so it went, right until the end of the ride when another soul into self-torture and I crossed into the finisher’s picnic area ahead of everyone else who had completed the course according to the map specifications.

I needed that.  And after reading last year’s blog post I realized that it’s just as rewarding to be reminded that you’ve still got “it” as it is to wonder excitedly what the biggest sporting moment of your life will feel like.

Knowing can be just as satisfying as wondering.

Pre-race excitement!

I’m not a big country music guy, but since my wife is a somewhat closeted country music gal, I’ve been exposed to it over the past several years.  I’ll even admit that I kinda like Rascal Flats and that maybe if one of their songs was on the country music station I happened to flip through on the radio dial, I’d stop and take a listen.  Just maybe I might turn the volume up a bit too. As long as I’m by myself.

My favorite country music song is by Toby Keith, “As Good Once as I Ever Was.”  If you don’t know it, Keith sings about how he may have lost a step or two over the years, but that when it ultimately matters, his mind (if not his body) thinks he can muster just one more virtuoso tryst/bar fight, etc..  I think it’s the ultimate Weekend Warrior song, and it aptly describes how this past weekend’s Playa del Rey Triathlon went.

“I ain’t as good as I once was, but I’m as good once as I ever was.”

I haven’t raced a sprint or Olympic-distance triathlon in more than a year.  I haven’t raced at all since Ironman Coeur d’Alene in June.  I just started training again a few weeks ago, and as a result I’ve felt just a bit sluggish (and therefore not so confident).  My coach, Gerardo, has proven to me otherwise in the pool though, where I’ve seemed to have gotten faster overall.  Still I’m not at where I used to be in my training.

We put that to the test at the sprint triathlon Sunday morning.  Steph rallied once again with a 4:30 a.m. wake up call, as did my sister and future brother-in-law Craig.  Steph and I reminisced on the way to the event how jacked up I used to get before races — pumping the rap music, firing myself up with the theme song from Rocky. The Thousand Yard Stare. Cheesy, I know.  This time, we drove down the empty freeway in near-silence, just playfully joking around every few minutes.

I started to worry with around 20 minutes to go until race time that I was too relaxed.  The event was a small one, there were only 237 finishers.  Compared to the frenzy that is an Ironman, this was literally a tenth of the drama and energy.  I brought some Astro Gaming headphones with me just for this purpose, got my groove on and strutted around the parking lot bobbing my head.

Ahhh, that’s where my Race Persona was.  Good to see you again, Mr. Intensity!

So, how did it go?

This is the Intense Face.

I finished fourth in my age group with a 1:12:20 for a 600 meter ocean swim, 12-mile bike and 3.1 mile run.  My swim was fairly abysmal (2 minute T-pace w/ strong currents), my bike was decent (20.6 mph average) and the run turned out a little better than I expected (6:49 pace) with only a handful of training sessions.

I beat my own expectations by a couple minutes.  So why was I bummed?  Honestly, I thought for the first time in my brief-ish triathlon career, I might make the podium at a triathlon.  I had daydreamed once again about hearing my name called in the awards ceremony for a week.  My finish time this year would have put me squarely in third place last year.  But several more elite athletes showed up to Playa this year. So much so that after I got out of the water, I never saw the top three finishers again until the awards ceremony.  Third place in my 35-39 age group this year equaled 1:06 — a six minute difference between me and the podium!  Last year, 1:15:59 would have been good for bronze.

In the end, after a few days of reflection, I realize that perhaps I focused on the wrong things.  Instead of dwelling on how maybe I’ve lost a step or whether I’ll ever crack the podium, I’m now realizing that I was still in the top 16% of my age group with half the training as when I trained for Ironman.  Not to mention that I’m a little heavier (for me!) and that this race was a great start to the 2012 season.

In short, maybe I’m not quite as good as I once was, but I’m gosh darned close.  This rodeo’s just gittin’ started too.

And that’s something to hoot and holler about, OK y’all?

Post-race dessert at Sherman Oaks street fair!

You know you haven’t blogged in a while when you forget the password to your own site!  (But I did write a piece recently for my buddy Jim Gourley’s blog.  You can check it out here!)

First off, I expect nobody to read this.  I don’t blame anyone for that but myself.  I took people on a journey — one that I’m very proud of after re-reading my entries from more than a year ago — and then I abandoned whatever audience I had accumulated. I needed a break, plain and simple.  I needed more free time.  Time with my now-wife.  Time with friends and family I had also abandoned at times in pursuit of my own Ironman quest.

What I gained in time over the past couple months, I had lost in fitness.  After my honeymoon, I got back to working out but with nearly 10 pounds extra on my frame.  Those close to me told me I needed the excess weight.  I had never looked better, they said.

How frustrating!  Physically, I had never felt worse.  What a conundrum.  I spend all this time training and racing and on some level, part of it is because I want to be proud of my physique.  Yet when I’m in peak condition all I hear about is how gaunt I look.  Then, I go travel for two weeks, drink a lot of wine and eat pounds of red meat and all I hear is how great I look.

I wonder why that is.  Is it because I genuinely look like a refugee, with the lines of my ribs showing and my face becoming sharply angular?  Or is it because people take comfort when you look closer to how they look — and they’re not in shape.  For example, when I hang out with my triathlete friends, they never say I look “bad.”  In fact, what my friends and family think of as gaunt, my tri-friends would call “lean.”

Beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder.

***

PS: I have a lot more to write about.  I wasn’t even planning to write about this topic when I opened up my blog.  But it’s a start. I’m rusty.  If you read this far and had been a fan in the past of my blog, please accept my apology for going AWOL.  I can’t promise it won’t happen again, but I can promise to offer what I hope is insightful commentary on life as a triathlete/career man/husband/family guy.  I won’t be writing every day, but I’ll try to be more consistent than this summer’s massive drop-off.

So this is what it’s like to be a “retired” athlete.

Now that the Official Wedding Countdown Clock is ticking loudly, I’ve noticed that my workouts are becoming fewer and farther between.  What used to be a 1.5 hour trail run has become a 30-minute jog around the block.  A 1.5 hour bike ride at Griffith Park has become a one hour (albeit quite intense) session on my new CompuTrainer.  About the only thing I’ve kept up with is my swimming, on strict orders from Coach Gerardo that I get in the pool four times a week to work on improving technique.  I’ve even failed at that, hitting three swim sessions a week appears to be my ceiling at the moment.

I’m having a hard time watching my fitness vanish in front of my eyes.  I’ve gained a couple extra pounds — which is great for wedding photos but bad for my psyche.  I know this is the time where I’m supposed to be totally OK with letting go of training, but I just can’t quite do it.  Am I experiencing withdrawal?  What’s wrong with me?  Shouldn’t I be able to just relax a bit and “let go?”

I don’t think letting go is really in my nature.  Instead, I try to juggle everything equally.  It’s been pointed out to me that all my activities suffer equally when I don’t prioritize.  But at the same time, maybe it’s stupid pride or ego but I always think I can keep everything rolling just fine at once thankyouverymuch.

I’m not sure what to do next.  I still schedule and fill out my Training Peaks workouts even though my true goal is just to stay in shape through the honeymoon so I can resume my coached training full-throttle.  Yet the workouts get shorter and less intense.  I wonder if I should just let it all go for a bit and not worry?  How much base fitness would I really lose if I just started over in late September?  Even when I schedule the workouts, the high volume of red indicating my lack of completing them means my plans and reality just aren’t meshing at the moment.

I don’t think I’ll ever know if I can just let it all go.  Frankly, I’m feeling rather addicted to staying in shape, for better or worse.  I’m simply happier when I get a run, swim or bike ride in every day.  I suppose the real challenge then is managing the addiction.  There’s got to be a better way.  Either don’t train and don’t worry about it, do train and be happy with whatever workouts I can fit in, or rigidly schedule a rigorous schedule at all costs.  Currently, I’m in the middle situation, yet I still long for pushing myself harder.  At the same time, I love the free moments on a Saturday or Sunday where it’s the middle of the day and I can do pretty much whatever I want.  I’m not atop a hill in Malibu with another three hours of training.  If Steph wants to grab lunch or an early dinner, it’s no problem.   So I’m split between laziness and hunger.  I want the results without the high price that comes with achieving those results.

I suppose that’s not too different a feeling even when I am training!

Right now, I’m marveling at how I even found the time to complete two Ironman races.  When you’re in the moment doing it, it seems perfectly normal.  When you step away, the achievement becomes magnified.  Not because of the race, but because of everything that led to it.

Maybe that kind of context is necessary?  Maybe I have to lose some fitness to gain some perspective?

Two weeks from tonight, Stephanie and I are getting married.

It feels pretty similar to that overwhelming feeling I got two weeks before my first Ironman.  Instead of relying on all the training that got me to that moment, all I could think about was the unknown of whether I’d reach the finish line.  This past week, it was hard not to think about the statistics working against Steph and me, the high divorce rates, shrinking marriage numbers and total strangers I met during my bachelor party weekend who bitterly told me of their failed relationships and why I should reconsider my own.  On top of that, wedding planning reached a feverish peak.  We had tension in the house, deadlines closing in, bills to pay, seating charts to make, and one hell of an Excel spreadsheet filled with to-dos.

It almost became too much to handle.

Then, I recalled my Ironman training and the race itself.  First, I got to the finish line. I made it!  I trusted the hard work and it paid off.  Then, I remembered the team of supporters I had rallying around me.  I didn’t do everything on my own.  More important, Steph was such a supporter to me of my Ironman journey that I needed to rally here at the hardest of moments and be the same kind of rock. I then recalled that simply staying calm and focusing on the immediate task in front of me can pay huge dividends. Marriage can seem difficult and overwhelming when you present it in the same metaphorical terms as a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike ride and a marathon run.  Now that I’m not training as much, I’m getting more easily overwhelmed by those distances and wondering how in the world did I pull it off?  However, when you break down each distance into more manageable mini-races, the task seems more reasonable.

I never thought that completing an Ironman would change how I approach even larger life milestones, but it has.  I’ve learned how to remain calm and focused when I used to freak out.  And more important, I have a successful blueprint for how to handle big changes in my life.

I’ve heard many of my friends tell me that the final two weeks before their wedding were the worst.  Lots of fights, lots of tears, and ultimately people trying to block that period from their memory banks.  I was on track to be exactly like everyone else, until I remembered my Ironman training and that though the event is much bigger, I’ve been down this road before.  Once I realized that, which essentially occurred during a morning jog by myself today, I took a huge breath and let a lot of stress out of my system.

What a relief!

So, with exactly two weeks and counting to my wedding, I think I’m officially “ready” for my Lifetime Ironman.