I’ve been struggling again. After the high of my Rev3 race in Knoxville, I’ve hit another wall. I’m desperately searching for an answer on whether or not I should do Ironman Louisville, but think my best play is to take a step back.
There are many factors going into this decision, but the biggest is: I want to race it well. Wrong or right, I have no interest in going up to Kentucky to simply finish. With that in mind, the only solution I have at the moment is to take a break from swim, bike and run.
I’ve decided to take 10 days to focus on the “little” things that will allow me to train with a purpose and hopefully race Louisville to my standards. I will be spending a lot of time on the Beso ball, foam roller, and hopefully massage tables. I will be doing yoga, planks, and glute/hip flexor exercises. I will be walking, hiking, and skipping. And quite possibly kicking back in a hammock.
The Clock is Ticking
I already feel behind in my training and 10 days off will put me at around 10 weeks until Louisville. Ten Days for Ten Weeks.
As I contemplated this decision, I scoured the web for info on rest while training and discovered a great article with this reassuring excerpt:
Both Kienle and Crowie rest for four weeks in their off-seasons with a little alternative activity. After that period of inactivity, they build back up. That might seem like enough rest, but for a top-level pro, a six- to eight-week period of rest would be more appropriate, as Allen has shown. Allen also took a full week completely off in early August, just eight weeks prior to Kona, something that would leave most athletes insecure so close to the most important race in the calendar. He would use this week to balance body and mind, and work on his strength of character. Read the full article here.
Triathlon is 90% Mental, the Other Half is Physical
Of course I borrowed that from Yogi Berra and replaced baseball with triathlon, but the point is made, sort of. I think the real point is, just like that quote, this decision is confusing. I realize it sounds a bit ludicrous to take 10 days off right in peak season, but I also know it’s wise to stop building a house if you screwed up the foundation.
I really, really want to do this race, but it’s all coming from the ego. Either to prove I can battle through another ridiculously tough day, or to be a mule on display for friends who will be there watching. None of it is coming from the right place and the more I haphazardly train, the more jumbled the choice becomes.
Seriously
If I can’t get serious about training, I’m not doing the race. I really think backing off is the only hope I have for Louisville.
Take yesterday for example. I went out for an open-ended run I thought might end up around 8 miles. For the first mile my mind was screaming stop the entire time. Somehow my legs fought it off, but that’s just not how I want this to unfold.
I did finish the 8 mile jaunt, but it felt more like survival than a training run. It seemed just as hard at the beginning as it did at the end. Not even a good hard. And if that’s how it’s gonna go, I’d rather spend a little more time in this bad boy.
If I heard it once, I heard it a hundred times, “Your neighbor is a nice guy.”
Hmm . . . “It’d be nice to meet this nice-guy-neighbor of mine,” I thought.
Technically, he lived about 3 blocks away, but as fate would have it, the day after Ironman Louisville 2013 I finally met him in the hallway of the Expo. He stood in relative obscurity despite having crushed the Louisville course a day before. First in his age group, and 10th overall.
Naturally, I had a few questions, so I introduced myself as his neighbor, then started in about my upcoming Ironman in Wisconsin. It would be my first, and certainly he would have at least one valuable tip? As it turned out, he gave me some of the best advice I’d ever received.
He was indeed a gracious neighbor and delivered the usual, “You’re ready,” and “You’ll do fine,” stuff, but after a few minutes I saw him dig deeper for a Zen reflection. Then he laid it on me.
“The thing I always try to remember during an Ironman is, never put too much stake in how you feel because it will change every 20 minutes or so.”
Hmm . . . “Don’t believe how you feel?” It sounds counter-intuitive, but on race day, it often comes down to survival and your will wears down before your body.
The ups and downs of a race are more manageable if you don’t take them literally. Ironman is the definition of “mind game” and the minute you start believing your pain or your high, you are in dangerous territory.
It’s a battle of extremes and the goal is to stay balanced. Once you jump in the water, your mind is in charge of your body but your soul controls the mind. Notice, adjust, and keep moving.
Nothing is ever as good or as bad as it seems . . . in Ironman, and in life.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t go into Rev3 Knoxville with redemption on my mind. A couple months earlier I drove to New Orleans with a sub 5:30 goal and limped in at 6:20. I went to Knoxville gunning for an age group podium in the Olympic.
Jim, Corey, Marc, and Wasky led the dinner plans on Friday night and was I loving the Market Street vibe. The Holiday Inn was a few short blocks away and re-affirmed my need, desire, and craving to lodge close to the race, preferably near a downtown.
Saturday was spent waiting for the overloaded tech crew to look at my front brakes which started rubbing in New Orleans and, in true ACA fashion, I blew it off until one day before this race.
The transition deadline was closing in and they still hadn’t looked at my bike. Luckily I was talking with the local race director who told me the other guy in our midst was an awesome mechanic (and racing for All3Sports.com). I grabbed my bike and he promptly dialed me in.
A Sleeping Miracle
By 9pm I was in bed and by 9:30 made an amazing discovery. I can actually sleep before a race!
I mean seriously, I am Notorious BAS* when it comes to pre-race rest. I slept maybe 3 hours before Ironman Wisconsin.
My list of poor sleeping performances is legendary. In fact, sometimes I am genuinely afraid of dying because I feel like I will be tossing and turning in my tomb. And trust me, I realize this probably means I’m a self-absorbed a-hole who can’t let go (and has a lot of nerve believing he will actually be buried in a tomb) but I’m working on it . . .
So . . . I slept well then woke up to the awful guitar strumming sound of my iPhone alarm at 5am on Sunday. There is no “snooze” button for me on race day. I suck it up and go. Especially considering I had consciously made that choice the night before.
What happened when my feet hit the floor may have impacted my race more than anything. I calmly eased into some light yoga. I still had 3 hours before the swim, so I let my body wake at a comfortable pace.
I didn’t feel awesome, but trusted the process while moving instinctively to poses my body craved. The intensity was minimal, but soon I was sharp enough to both remember my name, and what the hell I was doing awake at 5am in Knoxville, Tennessee.
Pre-Race Transition
Me with Jim (Not the Grim Reaper)
I had plenty of time and all my gear was packed, so around 6:15, I slung my wetsuit over a shoulder, grabbed my tire pump, and made the dark and lonely trek toward transition.
Once I’d pierced the inner sanctum, I found my bike and started wondering why in the hell I brought my tire pump. I mean, I seriously asked myself, “What kind of guy brings his own pump to transition?”
Just as I uttered those words to myself the guy next to me said, “Hey, can I borrow your pump?”
I said, “It’s funny you asked that because I was just asking myself what kind of guy brings his own pump?”
“I suppose a prepared one,” he replied in a most serious manner.
You’re typically racked in the same place as your age group, so I watched carefully as what appeared to be a formidable challenger filled his tires. David, who was racing for Grim Reaper (another reason I tread lightly) had an eery calm and a confident look in his eyes that more or less said, “This race is mine.”
We exchanged small talk and I sensed he was sizing me up as well. After about 10 minutes he turned around, looked me in the eye and asked, “Okay, so what are you going to swim today?”
Ahh, the “Crushing Iron” logo was getting into his head.
“Oh, I don’t know, my swim is a wild card.”
“Roughly.”
“Well, last year I came in around 26 minutes.”
His poker face was impenetrable as we stared each other down in silence.
Finally I asked, “What about you?”
Without missing a beat he flashed a friendly smile and said, “Well, I’d like to do better than that.”
The Swim
Actually, I hoped to do better than that, too, but it was not to be. I’d like to go into a long and exciting story about the swim, like this one, but it was virtually uneventful. At least (unlike last year) I was in the water when the horn sounded.
The best news of the day was that I swam steady and didn’t stop. I recently read that alone can mean the difference of a couple minutes, so I was pretty well satisfied when I climbed onto the dock and started running up the hill to the boat house.
I am typically a little wobbly out of the water, but as I ran up the ramp, I was ready for the balance beam. Solid feet, solid lungs, solid legs. I picked off a few people on the short hill but as I tried to pass one more before we turned out the side door of the boat house, things got a little dicey.
My body drifted to the left, slowly losing all control, then I slammed into the door jam with my shoulder. I remember thinking, “Great, that’s my bad shoulder,” then hoping by some miracle the collision would somehow fix my other problem.
I started to feel sorry for myself, but remembered there are millions of starving kids and war and poverty and depression and disease and unhealthy relationships and people who can’t walk across a K-Mart. I repented, but solved zero of those problems as I ran up the blacktop path to mount my bicycle.
I had WAY too much crap on my transition towel. My back pack, tire pump, two pairs of socks, arm warmers, leg warmers, two pairs of gloves, a hat, a visor, and a stack of senior pictures. I looked down in disgust, then thought back to the pro transition I’d just witnessed. They grabbed their bikes and ran out of transition naked as j-birds.
I was rolling up arm warmers and jacking around with gloves, it was a mess. I decided to pass on socks and left my arm rollers dangle like the wide wrist bands Ivan Lendl used to rock.
THE WEATHER WAS PERFECT, and I was layering for an ice storm. I was embarrassed, and frankly, a little pissed at myself.
The Bike
I love the Knoxville bike course. You sorta tool out along the river, then jump on a freeway, then slide into some cool neighborhood roads, then climb a couple tough hills and come back.
My strategy was to attack. The problem was, the legs weren’t ready to party. I did my best to shred the climbs and recover on downhills, but just didn’t have the same juice I was used to last year. It may have something to do with the fact that I’ve only been doing intermittent one-hour trainer rides for a couple months.
I road at just over 20 mph and was reasonably happy with that, but I’ve got a lot of work to do.
The last 5 miles I noticed an age group battle building. He passed me, then I’d pass him. Back and forth. A challenge of wills. A mental game that stretched our limits and would lead to combat in the trenches once our feet returned to soil.
The Run
We entered transition mere seconds apart and I beat him to the run. But not more than 15 seconds later he saddled up beside me to say, “Wow, that was a hell of a bike. You kept passing me at the end and all I could think was, I hope he’s not a good runner.”
I was still gimpy, but did my best to smile before saying, “We’ll see!”
For a brief second I got a little boost of cocky adrenaline. I’m thinking, THIS is the challenge I’ve been waiting for. Yes, I will show this guy that I AM a good runner.
I was stiff and shuffling, but mentally ready for the challenge. I had flashbacks of the Ironwar in Kona between Dave Scott and Mark Allen. And today it would be me and this guy! A guy I didn’t know, but soon everyone will know and we will be forever linked to the Knoxville RevWar!
That’s when, and I swear on a stack of religious paper, he smiled at me and said, “Good luck,” before literally leaving me in the dust. He was gone. I mean like two blocks away before I spun my race belt to the front.
So much for the RevWar, but around mile one I felt like I was on my game and slowly picked up the pace. When I hit the 3 mile turnaround, I knew I was golden. I also knew my Pearl Izumi Streaks (which they no longer produce but can still be found) make a difference in the way I run. The lazy shuffle was gone and I was actually running, well.
This was also the first time I wore a Garmin for a triathlon. Corey was nice enough to set me up on Multi-sport the night before. It worked great on the bike, but somehow I screwed it up coming out of transition. The only thing I could see on my watch was a black line. No pace, no mileage, no nothing. So I just ran.
The coolest thing about this run was that I made a decision to force myself to do pick-ups. Every half mile or so I would sprint for about 30 seconds, re-training my legs to move faster. And every time I slowed to my normal pace it felt easier. Sprint, back it down. The reason I did this is because I haven’t been doing speed work and my legs are in a comfort zone. It genuinely makes me optimistic.
I turned the last corner to head down the chute and saw the finish line. I crossed proudly with my arms in the air . . . and that’s when I saw him sitting on the chair in front of me. David, my bike-rack rival, beat me.
He offered the chair next to him and I congratulated him on a fine race. We reveled in the comraderie of sportsmanship for a minute, then I looked at his calf and realized he wasn’t even in my age group! All of that pain, drama, and stress for nothing. Then, a different guy came up to me (this one in my age group) and told me I passed him on the very last stretch. I had no idea.
We all hobbled to the monitor and I punched in my bib number, 817. There were a lot of numbers, but the only one that mattered was “3.” I got third place and would be standing on the podium after all.
On the way to work I listened to an interview on 104.5 The Zone with former University of Tennessee and Dallas Cowboy football player, Dwayne Goodrich. His story is one of tragedy and triumph. Charged with vehicular manslaughter for killing two people, he went to prison and it gave him a lot of time to think.
The interviewers asked all the tough questions, and Goodrich didn’t run away. He has owned up to what he did, but puts all of his energy into being a better person and helping others do the same. In the end, he hopes to get this simple message across to young people: Your choices define your consequences.
As I walked across the parking lot at work I thought, “Hey, I’m a ‘young people,’ I should really think about this.”
How does a young person like myself make the right choice? And is it really possible to control consequences?
I sat at my desk, and the first thing I saw in my email was this little gem called “Your Choice” from Seth Godin.
He talks about how our habits, giving, reactions, words, work, ideas . . . everything is choice. And they all bring consequences.
For me this all points to being aware and consciously in the moment. Too often I find myself “somewhere else” and doing things on impulse. Mowing down a bag of chips or haphazardly running out the door dehydrated and tense.
Preparing to be Prepared
Triathlon training is a delicate balance and a great way to learn the value of making good choices. Relentless workout schedules and a constant need for fuel can be a good recipe to get off track.
One of the biggest mistakes I consistently make is not being prepared for my workout. Often it’s because of poor diet or hydration, but mostly it’s because I don’t make time to be ready.
I’ve played sports my entire life and every single time I stepped onto the field, I warmed up before the game. Even if it’s “just a workout,” it’s still a taxing event and the body doesn’t go from zero to sixty without consequences.
On the Saturday before my Sunday race at Rev3 Knoxville, I went to the river for my practice swim around 1:00. Without thinking about it, I put on my wetsuit, jumped in the water, and started swimming. Seven hundred yards later I held onto the edge of the pier and floated for 10 minutes. I felt like I got hit by a Mack Truck. I didn’t “think” I swam that hard, but I was breathing heavily and a little off balance. This is what happens to me. It’s always happened to me. I seemingly never learn.
But I did learn.
Preparation Pays Off
Before the race on Sunday, I made the choice to get up earlier than necessary and spent a good 45 minutes easing my body into being awake. I spent time on the foam roller, did yoga, and meditated. I was preparing to be prepared.
When I got to the Swim Start I focused on loosening my arms and getting the blood into my upper body. I kept moving and added light stretches. I jumped into the river as soon as I could and did some easy swimming to acclimate to the water.
I’ve screwed several races by bastardizing the swim, but Sunday was a perfect example of making a choice to be ready, and it paid off. I eased into the swim, bike, and run that day, and the payoff was feeling stronger at the end of each event.
I made one choice and it delivered a string of positive consequences. I’d imagine that can also work in reverse.
Just a quick little story about my swim at Rev3 Knoxville on Sunday. Well, this actually isn’t about the swim as much as the transition.
After you are lugged out of the water onto the dock, you head up a little ramp and into the boat house. Once you break the threshold of the main “big” door, they have you make a sharp right turn and go out the side door. It’s really a pretty easy maneuver, but I had a little issue.
I’m typically a little wobbly when I get done with a swim but Sunday I felt strong while heading up the ramp. You might say I even got a little cocky.
I picked up steam to pass someone as we entered the rowing barn, but totally lost my equilibrium and started drifting left then slammed into the door frame as highlighted below. (Betsy is a friend and has nothing to do with the event, I just borrowed this awesome picture to illustrate my lameness).
It was really quite comical, but hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. The adrenaline is flying, so I didn’t even think about it until halfway through the bike when I looked up from aero bars and discovered this . . .
Saturday night after dinner, I was exhausted and shuffled back to the Knoxville Holiday Inn a little after 8:00. As I circled through the revolving door, I remembered something very important . . . I had nothing to eat before the race in the morning.
The gates were closed on the hotel store and I cringed at the thought of navigating Rocky Top to find pre-race food. But, when I looked a little closer, I noticed one of the gates was halfway open and there was activity inside.
I did a little limbo under the metal and noticed Eddie from Nashville was buying a few things from a very helpful clerk, who I will call Chuck. It was obviously after hours and the older gentleman behind the counter was a freak of courtesy, even while balancing his till.
Eddie left with his goods, and I apologized for the inconvenience before asking if I might buy a few things for the morning. Chuck was all in.
“Sure! Whatever you need, my friend.”
I scoured the shelves for fuel. Bagels, bars, and bananas. This was a blessing and I loaded up. But I couldn’t find peanut butter.
“Oh, hang on buddy, I’ll go get some from the kitchen!”
Seriously? What a guy!
He came back with four packets and sheepishly asked if it was enough. I assured him it was.
These are the little things in life that I crave and never seem to find enough. It was more than “service” it was kind human behavior. It was someone who put others ahead of himself.
He was lighthearted and asked genuine questions. He even told me a story about Wisconsin and promised someone would be there at 5:30 in the morning if I forgot anything.
I tipped him kindly, then noticed three or four other guys meandering about the store. I ducked under the gate again and heard Chuck in full glory, ready to feed the next wave of hungry triathletes.
The Rev3 Experience
I’m telling you, Rev3 puts on a great race. You just get the feeling they really care about the athletes and takes pride in the little things. To a man, and woman, everyone I know that raced said they would definitely come back.
First of all, I love the course they designed. The swim in the Tennessee River rocks. It just feels big and anytime there is multiple bridges, count me in.
The bike course was, as many people describe it, tough, but fair. It’s really the perfect course for me. Lots of turns, challenging climbs, and fast descents. The scenery was gorgeous and everything was well marked.
The run course was a little blah, but still enjoyable. It was mostly on a bike path, but there was a nice creek/river along the way and it’s always cool to run through parks. The last .3 miles was uphill back into the finish line and probably the most memorable portion.
Rev3 is professional, yet accessible. The finish line felt big, but had a warm mid-sized town feel to it. I love their attention to detail, like the big monitors at the end showing your finish and a little tent where you can pull up your splits on the screen. It’s not the Final Four, but it’s definitely Elite Eight, and on some level that is more intriguing.
I plan to write more later on why I believe Rev3 is poised to challenge Ironman for attention in the shorter distance races.
Location, Location, Location
I absolutely drool when races are in a city and are PART of the city.
I love Ironman Louisville and Wisconsin because they showcase the location. Both run through their respective downtown’s and you always know where you are.
I was underwhelmed by Ironman Muncie and New Orleans. Both could have easily been in Bowling Green, Kentucky and I wouldn’t have known the difference. To me it’s the difference between playing a baseball game at a stadium versus your practice field. There is cache’ in the venue.
Rev3 Knoxville set up right at World Fair Park. I decided to stay at the Holiday Inn which is normally attached to the finish line, but moved about a block this year because of a book fair (which I regretfully didn’t attend).
Transition was a few blocks from the finish and nearly close enough to make my post-race bike fetch enjoyable. In New Orleans, I had to drive 20 minutes to get my bike after the race and got lost in the hood along the way, which actually came in handy in the form of ridiculously delicious hot wings, but other than that, driving to get your bike blows.
At Rev3 Knox, everything was a short walk, including Market Square, which set the pre-race table beautifully. Just a cool little town that genuinely seemed happy to have a bunch of goofy triathletes walking around in spandex.
Because of their excellent planning, I am “this” close to signing up for Rev3 Wisconsin Dells. I’ve been there many times and it is a crazy little place with a lot going on. Water parks, bearded women, fire eating jugglers, and I’m confident I’ll see them all.
The swim is where they hold the Tommy Bartlett water-ski show and the run course appears to be nicely entwined with the tourism absurdity. And what could be better than a ride on the amphibious Wisconsin Dells Ducks to wind down after a glorious day of pain?
I was nibbling on a Fig Newton and contemplating arm warmers when a blaze of fire erupted from the Tennessee River and raced into the Rev3 transition. The first group of men, ejected from a hurricane . . . all hunting for blood. Ladies and gentlemen, meet professional triathletes.Cameron Dye was the only familiar face, but like a school of sharks, they were close enough to be considered one. Literally on each others heels as they tore across the asphalt in bare feet.
Cam turned down the wrong bike aisle and had to backtrack, which probably cost a grand total of 7 seconds . . . but for these guys, that sliver of time can be the difference. They all landed in the row right next to me and it was an incomprehensible flurry of action.I leaned on the fence and watched as these cats spent about 10 seconds stripping their wetsuit and ripping their bike from the rack. And just like that . . . they were gone.
Their transition times were around a minute and a half, but most of that was running in and out. The time they actually spent at their bike was minimal. Maybe 20 seconds.
Talk about getting your blood pumping. Bike shoes are on the pedals and the thought of socks, gloves (or arm warmers) didn’t cross their minds. Bare is the game and animal is the lifestyle.
I can’t even comprehend the pressure of racing at that level. A group of 5 or 6 guys ran their bikes out together, all ready to pounce on weakness. Hell, I get cold sweats and fight dry heaves if I even SEE a guy with my age group number on his calf. These guys live in that world . . . and it’s no place for bait.
QUICK THOUGHT ON TRANSITIONS
When I first got into triathlon I was digging for information on everything and one time went to a “Transition Clinic” that included how to lay out all your crap on a towel. But after watching a Pro Transition, I think I could give my own clinic and it would go something like this:
1. Run as fast as you can from the water to your bike.
2. Rip off the rest of your wetsuit
3. Put on your helmet.
4. Grab your bike
5. Get your ass on the course
CAMERON DYE
I raced in Knoxville last year when Cam Dye absolutely destroyed the course in miserable conditions. His swim was 14:55 and he averaged 28 mph on the bike en route to a convincing 1:47:53 victory in the Olympic .
Over the course of the year, my buddies and I joked about me going back to Rev3 to get revenge on Dye. All I had to do was figure out how to cut 53 minutes off my time. As it turned out, he raced the mid-range distance this year, so the Rumble in Knoxville never happened, but we did have a marginally intense discussion about Twitter after the race.@miketarrolly @camdyetri
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I have a ton of thoughts about this weekend at the Rev3 Race in Knoxville, but have been a little tired. Until I hunt and gather my opinions on Knoxville, the Pros, the Holiday Inn, and the race, here are a few pictures (including the group custom finisher shots) as a visual guide.
The moment that Ironman bracelet clamps shut on your wrist, you known it is real. The door is closed and you are locked outside with the beast.
The day before Ironman Wisconsin, I walked around Madison fighting to suppress the rumble in my gut. It’s hard to relax when you know your body is about to check into hell.
I suppose it’s different if you have one under your belt, but I’m not convinced that’s an advantage. Ironman is not to be taken lightly.
You must respectfully acknowledge your opponent, which happens to be yourself. You must accept, then ignore every twinge in your body. You are strong, confident, and trained — yet fragile like a child.
Every step is calculated and while you are about to cover 140.6 miles, that extra trip to the hotel lobby becomes noteworthy. Fifty four unnecessary paces for resting legs.
Sipping water and electrolytes, hoping for the perfect balance. The optimum level of pre-race hydration that will be your last minute base for the next day.
Light stretching to ease tension that is mostly in your head. Meditating in the middle of an air-attack while bombs explode around you.
How do you contain the fire? How do you balance ferociousness?
The anticipation will crush you. Your mind does back flips as it plays through everything yet to happen. It’s senseless to obsess, but impossible to let go. You are mere feet from walking onto the plank.
And oddly, once your bare feet hit that cold wood, you look over the edge and the nerves wash away. You accept your fate and focus on why you came. You no longer have to imagine how it will look and feel. It’s right in front of you, familiar, and waiting for you to join the fun.
This is where you exist. This is where you belong.
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Best of luck on Saturday to everyone racing Ironman Texas. This is for you, and especially Rodney and Daniel who I have watched prepare for this monster. We’ll all be watching and pulling you toward the finish.
Well, the girls are heading to Knoxville . . . Me, Corey, Jim, and Wasky will soon hit I-40 East to tangle with Rocky Top. For most of the ride, I reckon I’ll be trying to figure out the “Rocky Top” lyrics, which will be good to get my mind off the race.
For years the first two lines alone have been enough to throw me into a mental straight jacket. I could never figure out how they would goup to Rocky Top down in the hills, but clearly they were in Kentucky or something longing to be back home, which I’m guessing will be how the four of us will feel about Nashville after riding our bikes up into those mountains on Sunday.
According to Wikipedia, “Rocky Top” was written by married songwriting duo Boudleaux Bryant (1920–1987) and Felice Bryant (1925–2003) in 1967, which took about 10 minutes (Corey’s average transition time) to write, served as a temporary diversion for them (and clearly for me as well).
I’ve posted the lyrics below, but here is a short summary of what someone thinks each verse means, along with my interpretation of how I think the mystery inside this legendary song will apply to us at Rev3 this weekend.
Rocky Top Lyrics Defined
Wiki: Despite its fast and upbeat tempo, the song is actually a lament over the loss of a way of life.
Crushing Iron: Fast and upbeat will be a stretch, but the “loss of a way of life” part certainly applies to us considering we spent most of last year together and now all we do is text.
Wiki: In the song’s opening verse, the singer longs for a place called “Rocky Top,” where there is no “smoggy smoke” and there are no “telephone bills.” The singer reminisces about a love affair he once had on Rocky Top with a woman “wild as a mink.”
CI: I’m almost positive there is no cell service in those hills, so at the very least our phone bills will be reduced. While it definitely won’t be a love affair, I’m pretty sure Corey will get a tad bit sentimental about the fun he had on the bike last year. And I wouldn’t put it past Jim to know a few wild minks in those hills from his time as a rock star UT.
Wiki: The song’s second verse recalls a story about two “strangers” (apparently revenue agents) climbing Rocky Top “looking for a moonshine still,” but never returning (conflict between moonshiners and “revenuers” is a common theme in Appalachian culture).
CI: This is the part that scares me. Wasky and I are both from the north, which could easily put us in the “stranger” category. On top of that, Corey and Wasky are both finance guys, which immediately lumps them into a “revenuers” category. Our only hope is Jim, who will likely have a few connections, but I’m not sure his new aero helmet will be a hit with his moonshiner buddies.
Wiki: In the third and final verse (which consists of just four lines), the singer again longs for the “simple” life, likening life in the city to being “trapped like a duck in a pen.”
CI: These four strangers, invading Rocky Top to spread their “cramped up city life ideals,” may indeed wind up “trapped like a duck in a pen” if they’re not careful. And somehow, despite the fact that texting really isn’t that complicated, we may need to convince some of these half bear-half cats that we’re sweet as soda pop. The lycra should help.
Here is my 3 part race summary from a cold and rainy Rev3 Knoxville 2013:
The Swim – My first real venture into ice cold water The Bike – Including quotes from the great Ernest Shackleton The Run – This could have nearly doubled as the swim
This is a different Mike and Cindy from their hike on the Appalachian Trail. Click photo for more on their adventure.
Rocky Top Lyrics
Wish that I was on ole Rocky Top
Down in the Tennessee Hills.
Ain’t no smoggy smoke on Rocky Top,
Ain’t no telephone bills.
Once I had a girl on Rocky Top,
Half bear the other half cat;
Wild as a mink as sweet as soda pop,
I still dream about that.
CHORUS
Rocky Top, you’ll always be,
Home sweet home to me.
Good ole Rocky Top,
Rocky Top Tennessee.
Once two strangers climbed ole Rocky Top,
Lookin’ for a moonshine still.
Strangers ain’t come down from Rocky Top,
Reckon they never will.
Corn won’t grow at all on Rocky Top,
Dirt’s too rocky by far.
That’s why all the folks on Rocky Top,
get their corn from a jar.
CHORUS
I’ve had years of cramped up city life;
Trapped like a duck in a pen.
All I know is it’s a pity life,
Can’t be simple again.
