I made this while watching friends do Ironman Louisville last year and it was something I need to watch this morning. Seems like it helps.
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Ironman Is Only One Day
My “Countdown Meter” says 26 days, 19 hours, and 56 minutes. That can only mean one thing . . . Ironman Louisville is coming fast.
It also means, four Mondays from now I will have quite a different feeling in my body . . . and mind. Or will I?
If all goes as planned, I will have just covered 140.6 miles under a hot Louisville sun. I will have pushed myself to the limit and achieved something most never dream of, and . . . it will be over.
What happens the day before four Mondays from now will be directly related to how I handle the time between today and the race. The most important thing I can work on is . . . confidence.
Without faith, we are sunk.
There are many ways you can drum up belief in yourself, but for me, the best way is Nike’s model: Just Do It.
For the next 26 days, 19 hours, and 52 minutes I will be squeezing out doubt. Not by force, but by fueling my brain with stuff that builds confidence.
I will celebrate the victories and not dwell on the defeats. I will expect challenges and figure out plans to conquer them. I will face pain with courage and know that it doesn’t last forever.
Ironman is one day.
One day when we have no choice but to live in the moment and trust the accumulation of hours, days, and months of work. The effort on that day is all that matters and whatever effort I can summons, is enough.
More than anything, I want to go into that race clear. Free from distraction. Unobstructed by doubt. Ready to flow with what is.
And what is will be millions of mini-moments that happen whether we want them to or not. There is no more room for fear, worry, or doubt.
I will be there, and technically there is no different than here.
Finding Your Flow
Three things happened yesterday that reminded me that racing is all about finding, and keeping, your flow:
1. I was swimming in a 50 meter pool, relaxed and beautifully. It was my pace and something I felt I could hold and slowly build. Then, someone in the next lane swam up and started passing me. I lost my concentration and either consciously or subconsciously tried to keep up with them. I started breathing heavy and lost my flow. The swim was sunk.
2. I have been building back slowly because of a sore Achilles, and yesterday was time to stretch my run for the first time in a while. I felt good out of the gate and it set me free. After a couple miles, I thought, “I’m back!” I slowly picked up the pace, pushing to beat my imaginary competitors, and by mile 6, my Achilles was starting to scream. I had a solid run going, but pushed out of my comfort zone, and lost my flow. I was four miles from home and, instead of walking back, I decided to manage my pain by staying inside my box. Inside my limits. It turned out to be a tad painful, but I regathered my flow and it was a good lesson for how to stay in my zone.
3. After my run I wrapped my ankles in ice and watched the replay of Tour de France. Jack Bauer, from New Zealand, led from wire to wire. He spent nearly 5 hours in front of the pack. With 900 meters to go he had a 16 second lead and the race appeared to be his. But the Peloton, fronted by the world’s fastest sprinters was closing in . . . and Bauer felt the pressure. Even the announcers thought it was his race, but Bauer kept looking over his shoulder at the pending carnage. He kept looking back . . . again, and again, and again, his bike swaying back and forth instead of straight. Ten meters from the finish line, he was blown away by 9 other riders.
I’m not trying to pretend I know how to win a stage race, but it looked to me that Jack lost his flow. His mind was reacting to others instead of trusting what got him there. Protecting the lead instead of owning the win. It was a heartbreaking finish, and I wonder if the outcome would have been different if he just put his head down and found the fastest rider inside of himself.
It’s easy to lose track, and once again all of these things reminded me of something that is ultimately the secret to endurance, and frankly life. You will always have competitors, but the ultimate battle is always with yourself. Believe in what you do, and trust your flow.
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Building Confidence for Ironman #IMLou
It sounds jacked up, but one of the most amazing things about doing Ironman Wisconsin last year, was just how fast that day went by for me. One minute I was floating by the ski ramp, the next I was hobbling my way around the State Capitol.
Twelve hours passed in what seemed like an instant.
It’s really a testament to why I love endurance and training in general: It keeps you in the moment.
It’s also reminds you to slow down and enjoy the process. Even when it’s painful. Especially when it’s painful. That’s the experience you will need the most on race day.
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The Hardest Parts of Writing About Triathlon
I’m closing in on 500 original posts about triathlon. Seems like I would have run out of fuel a long time ago, but it proves to me this blog is about much more about the human condition than simply swim, bike, and run.
It kind of blows me away . . . mainly because I have stuck with it this long. I haven’t made money, but I’ve gained a better understanding of myself and how to deal with the intense ups and downs of training for Ironman and how that impacts our lives.
My blog traffic suggests that a fair number of people have enjoyed reading about my journey, but the truth is, there are always questions. Sometimes it’s like being all alone on your run at mile 19. You question the point and want nothing more than for it to be over. But as hard as that marathon can be, you have to keep moving.
I Don’t Know What I’m Talking About
As I write about triathlon there is always temptation to “start acting like I know what I’m talking about.” That’s what they tell you . . . “be an expert.” But the truth is, I am not.
I love to get into the mind. Play with the psychology. Explore the limits of this crazy pursuit. Find solutions and somehow get to the finish line.
The answers are never obvious and my opinions/strategies are constantly changing. But, the one constant is, “My body knows if I listen.” The truth is inside me fighting its way to the surface. Some days it may be different, and, in the end, I am pouring feelings, often unclear, onto the page.
Staying the Course
I’ve watched a ton of music documentaries in my life and there’s always a point when the band is getting popular and the label starts trying to control everything. But legendary groups stick to their guns and make the music that’s inside of them without compromise. That is how I want to approach my writing.
They say, “write what you know,” and for me that is passion. Passion for the sport, the lifestyle, and the quest to become a healthier person.
Do I want people to enjoy my website? Yes. Do I want to do whatever it takes to get the most views? Sometimes, but I would rather grow organically than by using artificial tactics that lose focus of the reasons this blog is important to me . . . and hopefully you.
“Marketing is Everything”
Ironically, I am a professional marketer by trade, but the writer in me refuses to listen to that asshole. Well, he’s not that bad, but like most executives, he has a tendency to overlook one very important part of the marketing mix: the product.
In my professional life, I spend a great deal of time writing what are ultimately lies, or at best, illusionary truth. Covering up flaws with beautiful words that hope to sway your opinion about something you don’t want.
That’s exactly the opposite of what I want to do here. I am fallible, vulnerable, impossibly human, and everything in this blog is a true reflection of those flaws. Those beautiful flaws that I believe everyone can relate to.
An Authentic Voice
This is about being real. Admitting my struggle, knowing that is ultimately the best way to get through it.
I’ve had the pleasure of meeting a ton of talented writers and musicians in Nashville. Great, creative minds that push the envelope with their thought. But often, that innovative soul is stripped in the name of commerce.
They pour music and words from their purest hearts, only to adapt mechanical approaches to please the masses. Their original material becomes diluted in the process of chasing numbers.
They learn nuances of “getting attention” and “manufacturing fans,” but it’s often a compromise that leaves them unhappy. This is where I struggle as a writer.
If we are quiet enough and listen to our gut, we instinctively know how to deal with any situation. But when “influencers” start impacting decision making, we tend to lose our way.
Are you willing to throw away your lyrics and your soul just to get a little attention? Are you willing to stop running just because it hurts?
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You Know As Much As Your Doctor
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I used to play competitive softball. Yeah, I know, that sounds like an oxymoron, but this shit was intense. Our team had a tour bus and we’d drive all over the Midwest to drink cases of beer at night, then shake off hangovers to face the best of the best.
Our home field was in Rockford, IL, but our weekends took us to Detroit, Minneapolis, Louisville, Cincinnati, St. Louis and many points in between. Most of our team was made up of ex-minor league or college baseball players. I played shortstop, and we won a ton of tournaments.
One summer we drove 6 hours to play in the USSSA Regional tournament in Louisville with 69 other teams. It was double-elimination and even if you didn’t lose, you still had to win 6 games in two days, and that’s exactly what we did.
We were called the Shockers, and we absolutely rolled through the bracket that weekend winning every game by 10 runs or more. Everything was clicking. In the semi-final, I took a throw at 2nd base to turn a double play and felt something go wrong with a finger. I pulled my glove away and the ring finger on my left hand fell limp. It didn’t hurt but was clearly jacked up. I thought it was dislocated so I jammed it back into socket.
While we waited for the next game, my finger started to swell. It was hard to put on the glove and even tougher to hold a bat, but I played the and celebrated a regional championship. We boarded the bus with our big trophy and headed home with about 5 cases of beer, many of which went in my belly to subdue the pain in my finger.
By the time we got home it was midnight, and I had been sleeping for the last hour. My entire hand was swollen, but I was so tired, I didn’t really care. By morning it was the size of a softball.
I went into an Immediate Care type joint where the “doctor” took some x-rays and concluded it was sprained. He gave me a splint that reminded me of a Popsicle stick and I was on my way. By the end of that day I was pounding Advil and icing the shit out of my “sprained” finger.
This went on for about a week until I decided something was seriously wrong. I drove to the emergency room and by great fortune one of Rockford’s best orthopedic surgeons was on shift. He took x-rays and came back in with a very long face and said, “We need to get into surgery as soon as possible. Like tomorrow! You have a torn tendon and a shattered knuckle!”
I was like, holy fuck. No wonder this hurts so bad.
We scheduled surgery for that week and I coped with the pain. Then he called and told me we’d have to push it back a few days. Then a week. And another week. I didn’t flop on the operating table for nearly 4 weeks after the injury and to make a very long story short, my tendon had atrophied to a point that I still have a curl in that finger. It works and doesn’t hold me back from much, but there has been a constant, subtle nagging ever since.
I was never a big fan of doctors and that was the nail in the coffin. That was probably 15 years ago and I have only been to the doctor a couple times since then. Once for a broken foot, the other for something I can’t remember. I just don’t trust them much and feel like illness is something we innately understand.
Back in college I had a business professor from London. He used to rant and rave about American health care and offered this in defense of socialized medicine.
“You see, if someone goes into the doctor’s office in England with the sniffles, the bloody doctor will kick him in the behind and tell him to go drink some fluids. They don’t put up with psychosomatic illness.”
That always resonated with me, especially several years later when I watched my grandmother squander a small fortune on pills over the last 5 years of her life. Her doctors literally turned her into a junkie. She’d sit at the dinner table pulling out pill after and I wondered when she would be healed.
It never happened, of course, and eventually she fell prey to years of poison. A sad ending to one of the most caring people I’ve ever met.
Grandma was also depressed at the end, and who wouldn’t be when your nutrition comes from a pill box? The older I get, the more I realize that it’s okay to be depressed. People get depressed. The problem is, we don’t realize that sad can be a good thing. It’s telling us something. But society wants it to mean everyone is fucked up.
This is one of many reasons I am strongly opposed to health care as we know it. One misleading “study” after another is broadcast like gospel from any media outlet that can get their hands on it.
“It’s gold, Jerry!”
My theory on health has always been pretty simple. Pain is your friend.
If something seems wrong, change it. If you are tired all the time, cut back on sugar and coffee, exercise and eat lighter foods. If you’re cold, move around and eat something that burns hotter in your body. If you have a fever, rest and let it work its way out. If you drank 12 beers last night, it will probably affect how you feel for the next several days. Just because your head hurts, doesn’t mean you need surgery or “meds” that will make you more dehydrated.
These are the kinds of things I always try to remember with endurance training. We’re always on the verge of extreme dehydration, so I drink more fluids than I think I need. I never underestimate rest and recovery. I focus on the cause of my nagging injury, not just the symptom.
I stay in the moment. I visualize success. I keep the faith.
In short, I think about the body and mind as one, and rarely trust someone who wants to give me drugs. Oh, and if I think I broke a bone, or something more serious, I go to the emergency room.
Ironman Louisville?
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These were some thoughts I was having before I signed up for IM Louisville. Nothing amazing here, but interesting to see where I was with this decision about a month before I made it.
Memorial Day weekend, and time for a decision.
I have been stewing on this for months. Do I bring it back with Ironman Louisville or rest a year and sign up for Chattanooga or Wisconsin again?
Sometimes you have to write it out and that’s what I’m doing right now. As I look at that above paragraph it suddenly sounds stupid to do Wisconsin again before I try another race. I mean, I loved that race, but there is a major draw to Louisville.
It will be hard, hot, and painful. It will change my summer. It will force me to ride the Trace, which I love and hate. It will tease me every day. It will change how I make decisions. It will seep into my veins.
There’s a lot of things at play here, but the key variable is that I just don’t feel like racing for the sake of it. I don’t want to go there and be slower. I fight with that on several levels, especially when I’m trying to be more and more Zen in my lifestyle.
I did 11:58 at Wisconsin and if I sign up for Louisville, I would likely have a much loftier goal. With that, of course, comes pressure. Or not.
I just did an Olympic and it felt pretty awesome, but Ironman is 4 times that distance. Four.
