Crushing Iron

May 20, 2013

Volunteering for Cedars of Lebanon Triathlon

This was my first time volunteering for a triathlon, and it was a blast. I was directing traffic for the “bike out” and was lucky enough to hear the line of the day.

A guy, and what looked to be his daughter, came walking by the bike transition with like 40 minutes until race time while Jim and I were busy getting instructions. They were stopped and literally standing next to the bike mechanic when his daughter says, “Do you think we should put some air in our tires?” And without missing a beat, the guy sympathetically responds, “Sorry honey, we don’t have enough time.”

My job was basically to stand there and tell people, “Turn right, and watch out for bikes coming up on your left.” I think I said this at least 300 times and it never got old!

It was a two loop bike course and I watched awkward bike mounts in front while racers whizzed by behind my back for about two hours. But while the anonymous gentleman had the line of the day, my thought of the day was, “People who live in the area versus triathletes trying to have a little fun.”

Somehow, a few cars slipped through onto the bike course and we’d have to politely walk over to their window and ask, “What the fuck is going on with your brain? Can’t you see you’re right in the middle of a bike race?”

Well, we didn’t really say that, but it’s a bit perplexing to see someone driving into a garden of orange cones with dozens of bikes blasting directly at their windshield. Like always, I tried to put myself in their shoes. How would I have handled it before I was in triathlon? I kept coming up with the same answer. I would have respected the course.

One guy literally just stopped in the road where second loop bikers were merging with T1 virgins. One of the Team Magic bosses patiently listened while spectators warned racers to “watch out for the car in the road.” I would have given anything to hear the conversation she had with that guy. Eventually he backed up out of the way, but it took about 15 minutes. Seriously, are you that bitter or anxious to get back to your trailer park?

Oh well. I guess triathlon is something most people will never understand, and oddly, that gives me great comfort.

May 20, 2013

How To Not Fail

The thing about training, and/or life, is you have to keep picking yourself up off the ground. I spent most of Sunday doing just that.

Saturday’s ride hit me hard. It was 50 miles I wasn’t ready for. The aftermath proved I wasn’t hydrated and my body was simply fatigued. I really believe I could knock out 50 miles in my sleep, but how I felt the day after put a ton of doubt in my head.

“You’ve got to get yourself together, you got stuck in a moment and you can’t get out of it.” – U2

My training schedule called for another long ride yesterday, but I just couldn’t get myself out of Saturday. I love my bike, but yesterday we were in a fight. I spent the morning sorting through my head with writing, then the afternoon doing yard work. I was moving, just not fast. I was hoping the energy for a ride would materialize, but it never did.

Even this morning I was a bit lethargic. Nothing gives you doubt like sore legs and low energy. But I got back to my plan. Hydration, nutrition, seize the day. I have two workouts ahead of me for this Monday, a swim and a run, and soon hit the pool with a renewed attitude. Time heals. So do perfectly timed posts, like this one by my coach.

May 19, 2013

Ironman Wake Up Call

I’m not going to put too much stock in one workout, but yesterday slapped me upside the head and left me seeing double. It was a day that reminded me that I’m training for an Ironman and Ironman is not a joke.

Jim and I volunteered for Cedar’s of Lebanon Sprint Triathlon in the morning then hopped on our bikes to do a four hour ride. I’ve only rode that long one other time and it was on a Spin bike, which I am now 100% clear is not even close to four hours on the road.

Admittedly I was a bit tired and stiff from standing around for hours, but our plan was to ride four 16 mile loops and follow up with a 20 minute run. It sounded a lot easier than it was.

The route was surprisingly hilly, windy, and rough. I told Jim before the ride that I’ve realized being in aero position a lot seems to make gloves less important. But a day later, as I sit here with my left hand numb, I’m glad I put them on.

In short, we only made three loops and rode just over 50 miles, then ran about two. I was out of time. We started the day in Lebanon, TN at 7 am and it was about 2:00 before we got off the bike. I had a video deadline looming at home, but frankly I wanted no part of that fourth loop.

Toward the end a rash flared up on the insides of my arms. After the run I was itching like mad and trying to figure out what it was. My very first thought was that I hadn’t drank enough water. I normally drink 80% water on rides, but we loaded our bottles with the energy drinks (served at the triathlon) and I’m not sure it was a good idea. I guessed my body was trying to sweat, but didn’t have enough water to push.

I started guzzling water and within about an hour the rash was all but gone. Heat rash.

To not load my bottles with mainly water was an unusual decision for me. I am a major advocate of water and believe most of societies “diseases” are actually dehydration in disguise. Training for Ironman can easily lull our hydration needs to sleep because we are often on an adrenaline high and forget we’re constantly flirting with chronic dehydration. A lesson remembered.

But the biggest lesson of the day is that I am nowhere near ready to race an Ironman. It’s funny because most people that aren’t training for Ironman say something like, “I could never swim or do a marathon, but I could do the bike part.” Wrong!

I have a fairly strong bike background. I road everywhere as a kid, and raced mountain bikes for a couple years. 20 and 40 mile off road races have definitely prepared me for some of this grind, but if I have any hope of reaching my “goal speed” I’d better get my shit together. I often “put off” the bike because it’s my strongest event, but yesterday I finally realized how taxing it will be to ride hard for 112 miles. The constant spinning, the decisions, the mental wear down. The the heat, the flurry of foreign particles flying in your eyes, the grind of the steep hills.

This is no stroll in the park. Another lesson remembered.

May 17, 2013

Friday Morning In The Lake

I just looked in the mirror and can’t be sure I recognize the person staring back at me. Just over a year ago (and for all of my life, really) I would have gone out of my way to avoid getting up at 5:30 in the morning. Today, although I did hit snooze and almost overslept, I was actually excited to grab my wet suit and drive 20 minutes to a lake in the middle of nowhere. What happened next, changed a little bit more of my fiber.

I was about 10 minutes late for open water swim (can’t change everything overnight) but I slid into my wet suit and joined the rest of the crew for a few mass floating starts and drafting. Fortunately, for me, I missed the in and out of the lake transition practice, which was probably the toughest, but I swam a little extra at the end.

Today was my 3rd time in open water in the two weeks and the progress is just remarkable. I “almost” felt like a little kid again back at Turtle Lake in Delavan, Wisconsin. I’d spend hours in that seaweed infested water, hoping to end the day with a kiss from one of the Chicago girls in for the weekend. Never really happened, but I did love me some water.

The swim was over at 7, but I had to make up being late, so I swam another 4 or 5 hundred by myself. I got to the last buoy and started walking out of the water. It was so gorgeous and peaceful, I didn’t want to leave. I just wanted to float around and swim the morning away. But this job thing can kinda cramp your style.

When I got back to my car, Ironman Louisville aspirant, Wasky, was dressed for a run and asked if I wanted to join. After some careful deliberation, I said, yes. We knocked out about 7 miles and I stood near my car smelling like a sweaty-lake-skank trying to decide if and where I could get a shower. It was about 8:30 and work was calling, so I put on some fresh shorts and hit the highway.

When I parked at work, the wind shifted and I got a big whiff of my own aroma and realized I smelled like a fish. This was confirmed when a pack of stray cats followed me to the front door.

The good news is, nobody is coming in my office.

May 16, 2013

Mom Understands Ironman, But What About Dad?

My mother is active, energized, and a searcher of truth. My father is laid back, a methodical saver of energy, and a man with exceptional hand-eye coordination. Mom is a passionate doer; dad a purveyor of logic. I, am all of the above.

Mom is very excited about my quest for Ironman, but I’m pretty sure dad thinks I’m nuts. He gave me the gift of learning through analogy and, in his mind, the only comparison close to his son doing Ironman is his buddy Bill who used to run marathons.

Dad and I both thought marathoners had a screw loose. Unless there was a basket, base, or end zone waiting, running was not something Tarrollys embraced. Even then, it was questionable. We never seemed to be in a hurry, and the thought of running 26.2 miles, let alone 90 feet, seemed a little silly.

So now, I’m pretty sure dad thinks I’m doing a marathon and is confused when I talk about swim and bike. Hell, even I didn’t really understand it until last year.

He told me he’ll be at the race, but I’m not sure the time investment has sunk in. He’ll drive to Madison that morning at 5am, scramble to find parking, then stand around for 13 hours trying to catch a glimpse of his son doing something he thinks is an exercise for the paranormal.

But seeing is understanding. And he’s a competitor.

One of my earliest memories with dad is when I was 6 years old and he’d crouch with a pillow in front of him as a human blocking sled. I’d wear my Green Bay Packer’s helmet and smash into him like John Brockington while he encouraged me to run harder, faster, and with more power. We’d do it over and over until he wanted a PBR or I wanted a Mountain Dew.

I think like most dads, mine wanted to live re-live his athletic days through his son. On the little league, or Pop Warner fields, he was there. I’ll never forget the sound of his voice echoing through my helmet ear holes after I got a hit and ran my little heart out down the first baseline, “That a baby!”

He was always proud of my accomplishments and, like any young boy, I always wanted to impress my dad.

Now, his oldest son will tackle the biggest challenge yet: Ironman. In lieu of a field, this game will play out over 140.6 miles of water and pavement. It will be a test of will and endurance that has little in common with the split-second reaction needed to hit a baseball, or take a jump shot, but the competitor in dad will eventually get hooked. Timing chips, splits, and transitions will be a foreign language, but dad will translate Lake Monona and the streets of Madison as my grown-up-blocking-sled while he encourages me to run harder, faster, and with more power.

He will sit near the final mile and marvel at the fact that I actually finished. Not that he doesn’t think I can do it, but I’m sure on some level he truly believes Ironman seems impossible.

But for years he poured into my head that anything is possible. And on that day I will remind him that he helped me believe in myself by defining the world as a free market. Insisting it’s there for the taking. “You have the ability, intelligence and desire to follow your dreams. Just go do it.” And, whether or not this is what he had in mind, one of his son’s most compelling dreams will soon unfold, right before dad’s eyes.

May 15, 2013

Time Flies When You're Training for Ironman

I realize this is a little off, but the calendar has flipped and it makes me a tad anxious. True count is 116 days, which is more toward 4 months, but it’s coming quick!

May 15, 2013

Our "Plus One," Allison, Guest Blogs Her Gulf Coast Half

Allison started training with the Fab Five in January and has stayed with us the whole way. She was right there in early January, hammering spin bikes for hours, then joining us for frigid “brick” runs through the shadiest Nashville neighborhoods (Ie…Wasky’s* hood). It didn’t take long before all the guys welcomed her as “plus one” to make the Fab Five, “six.” Below is her awesome recap of a race that weighed on her mind for months and pushed her limits beyond anything she imagined.

70.3 – Gulf Coast Triathlon Race Re-cap – by Allison Leigh Miles

I was nowhere ready to train for a full Ironman when the Fab Five started tossing around the idea of racing Wisconsin, but I thought if I put my mind to it, I could focus on the 70.3 distance. Jim suggested the Gulf Coast Half, it was his first, it was at the beach where I grew up and it was in May so I had 5ish months to train. I was nervous but I committed to doing that race.

Race week got here much faster than I anticipated, but it was almost as though my mind was preventing itself from being nervous; I was way too calm. I had so many sweet friends write encouraging letters and cards. My good friend, Season, even wrote everything I needed to remember in a small square that I could attach to my race bib!

Jim and I rode packed up his Smart Car and headed down to Panama City bright and early on Thursday morning. He thought it was crucial that I have an extra day to get acclimated, settled and calm since this was my first 70.3 distance race.

We checked in to the hotel about 1pm and decided to do take a quick swim to test out the water temperature. Once Robbie got settled in his hotel, we met up with him, grabbed some dinner with a few of his other athletes and settled in for the night. We planned a SBR (swim, bike, run) workout the next morning with all the X3 athletes and I was a bit nervous. I was the only one who was new to triathlons and this distance specifically; they were all racing for PRs and podium finishes for their age group, I was simply TRYING to finish.

The swim workout did NOT go well for me; I was struggling to swim parallel to shore, got separated from our group and was wondering why in the world I thought this race was a good idea. I could tell by the tone of Robbie’s voice and the look on his face when he finally spotted me in the water that he was concerned too.

I was in full on silent panic mode coming out of the water, barely said a word to anyone else on the bike or the run, both of which went well I think but I was so mentally distracted by the swim I honestly don’t remember. Robbie, Jim and I met for a post workout chat/lunch and they knew I was freaking out so we talked a bit about expectations and what I needed to focus on going in to the race. I had a lot of things to remember, mostly regarding nutrition, but for the first time coach gave me a really vague race plan, and per usual I was banned from wearing a watch:

Swim controlled

Bike smart

Run fast

My first thought was seriously?!? I made it all the way here and THAT’S all you’re going to give me? I asked a few more silly newbie questions and started to feel better; I trust coach to help me achieve my goal, but made up some arbitrary goal times.

Swim- 60 min

Bike – 4 hours

Run- 2.5-3 hours

That put my estimated finish time right at 7.5-8 hours (I’ve been told to note that both Robbie and Schwan thought these estimates were complete crap and way too slow)

Robbie, Jim & I went to dinner at Angelo’s Steak Pit, with the other elderly snow birds just as they were unlocking the doors at 5 pm – that place was a madhouse, but we managed to get our pre-race steak and potato meal in, plus a glass of wine and a picture with none other than the local celebrity, Big Gus.

By 6pm the seasoned vets were ready for bed, but I was wide eyed and nervous as hell, no way I’d be sleeping much tonight. Between newbie jitters and the head cold (which I’ve just learned developed into bronchitis) I acquired almost a week ago, I woke up about every 2 hours. Around midnight I had a notification of a new Crushing Iron post Tarrolly wrote regarding the three of us racing -I read it, loved it, and remembered a note he sent me a few days earlier- he reminded me that the work was there, I simply had to trust it and stay out of my head.

My alarm went off at 4 am- we had to get out the door and walk the mile from our hotel to transition by 5 because my swim wave was the first to go off at 6:20 am and transition most likely closed by 6. By the time I got set up in transition, body marked, my wetsuit on and met up with the other x3 athletes I had about 5 min until my wave went off-

SWIM- CONTROLLED

My swim got moved up by 10 min, which I found out late the night before; I don’t like change AT ALL, so I was very anxious and antsy. Once I started walking towards the beach the nerves set in and needed a pep talk—I couldn’t find Robbie or Jim, but thankfully Carrie and Betsy offered to walk down to the start with me since their wave was going off second. We got there about 4 min before my start, some photographer that Carrie knew snapped our picture really quick, the girls zipped me up, got my cap on, talked about breathing, staying calm, and not worrying about time. They kept reminding me to stay relaxed and just focus on getting to the next buoy, not stress about how far I had to swim.

I stepped in to the start chute, had about 3 seconds to decide I wanted to start at the back of the pack, looked around to see if Robbie or Jim made it down to the start, didn’t see them, waved to the girls, and then the horn blew. I knew the water would be shallow at first and I could wide knee jump the waves, then it would get deeper and I’d have to swim, before hitting a sand bar and being able to stand up and jump again. What really happened was all the women decided they were going to wade out to their necks, then doggie paddle to the sandbar— that hindered my plan a bit because I couldn’t get around them until after the sandbar. Once I got beyond that, I started calmly swimming. It was a bit crowded at first and I had nowhere to go so it was a very slow start. Some girl next to me was having a complete meltdown so I decided to talk her through it since I couldn’t move any faster–that allowed me to stay calm before actually having to put any work in. Finally the field broke up, and for whatever reason–probably poor sighting on the lead swimmers part, the field took off to the right and I sighted the shortest path left to the next buoy.

I was still behind most people, but I didn’t want to go out too strong with such a far distance to cover. I focused on picking off the buoys one by one and finally got to the turn; everyone was out right so I got to cut close and just as I made the turn my cap fell off. I found it, stuck it back on, caught my breath and a glimpse of “control” written on my hand and re-focused. I turned and made my way across, I couldn’t see the shore or the other buoys yet so I sighted off a sailboat just ahead of me to the right–occasionally looking left to figure out when I could see the buoy–finally caught the top of it and headed towards it-made the turn towards shore and mentally took an assessment–legs weren’t kicking, arms weren’t tired, breathing wasn’t bad. I felt good but still had 950 meters left.

I picked off the rest of the buoys, elbowed a girl in the face pretty hard because she was trying to swim ON my back (Season told me not to be nice haha) then at the last buoy, with 125 meters left I decided to hammer it….two seconds later BOTH of my calves cramped up and I had to sit up in the water. I remembered Daniel Hudgins saying he tries to run through his cramps and they usually go away, so I flexed my feet, put my head down and plowed toward shore. They relaxed pretty fast, but the twinge would last all day. I swam over the sandbar and didn’t stand up until I knew the water was about thigh deep. I was walking faster than people were swimming around me so I started pulling my wetsuit off.

When I hit the sand I looked up at the clock and it said 44 min and some change. I was surprised and I remember thinking that the clock must have been wrong or that it restarted with each wave. I was so confused by my time that the woman behind me thought I couldn’t get my wetsuit unzipped (I paused with my hand on the string when I was trying to focus on the clock) and she kindly yanked the zipper down for me. There was no way I swam 1.2 miles in 44 minutes. Robbie later told me that my swim time was shocking, as in, no one expected me to come out of the water that fast, myself included. I walked the few hundred yards up the beach to the showers, ran through the showers and sat down on a bench to pull my suit off. I thought this was a better plan than trying to pull it off in transition and it paid off.

T1-

T1 was just about 4 minutes. I had to chug some cough syrup, spray some sun screen, and dry my feet off enough to get socks on. I decided not to risk the no-sock ride since it was probably going to rain and my feet would be drenched. I grabbed my helmet and sunglasses, slipped my bike off the rack, and made my way to the bike exit. My garmin was already set up for the 10 min interval alarm so I didn’t have to worry about starting it. The women that passed me while I was sitting on the bench calmly removing my wetsuit were still struggling as I rolled my bike out and on to the course. I rolled a couple yards past the bike mount sign, clipped in and I was off.

RIDE- SMART

Robbie told me I needed to ride smart, not hammer it, and basically survive. It was a fairly flat course with the exception of one bridge we had to cross twice, but I also knew it would most likely start raining at some point. Nutrition was going to be a HUGE component for me, so I needed to focus on taking in Gatorade or water every 10 min and nutrition every 30. Jim set my Garmin up to alarm in 10 min intervals, so all I had to focus on was spinning my legs and hearing the alarm. That worked beautifully.

The day before Season told me not to worry or get upset by the amount of people passing me on the bike. She told me that there were a TON of much faster, much more experienced athletes that would be coming up fast behind me and that if I just followed Robbie’s plan I would pass a lot of them on the run. These words turned out to be invaluable to me during the 56 mile ride.

Once I hit the highway, which comprised the majority of the ride, I watched the road ahead of me; it wasn’t smooth and the cones were not in a straight line so if you took your eyes off them for one minute you risked hitting one. My biggest stressor was the fact that other racers did not respect the “on your left” etiquette when passing. I spent a lot of time in aero, more time than ever before and felt comfortable; the next thing I knew I was half way through the ride and feeling great.

Up to this point, Robbie had caught up to me around mile 5, I saw Carrie and Mike on the first and second out and back and finally saw Jim around mile 38. It was so calming to have familiar faces on the course. I clearly was wearing a “newbie” sign somewhere on my back because it seemed like every experienced cyclist that passed me had some encouraging words or tips; I thanked each person for their offerings.

This was the first long ride that I didn’t have any negative thoughts or “get it together Allison and get through this” moments. When I hit mile 40 I stopped wanting my food, but kept drinking fairly regularly and right about the 45 mile mark it started POURING. It was sprinkling before, but this was full on downpour. I slowed down a bit knowing that it was notoriously windy the last 10 miles and I didn’t want to crash on the wet roads. I witnessed several crashes, falls, and many a racer that had clearly taken a spill based on the road rash flying by me. I had to come to a complete stop with about 5 miles left in the ride because a pickup truck decided to back out in my path, unfortunately the jerk riding behind me didn’t head my “I’m slowing” signal, sped around me, started yelling about not slowing or stopping during a race and promptly rode right in to the side of the truck—so sorry sir, you should’ve listened.

I got back in the groove, finished out the last 5 quite cautiously and couldn’t believe I was 2/3 of the way through the race. My time took a hit for riding smart, I finished at 3:40, but my legs would thank me later.

T2 took a bit longer than I wanted because the girl on the opposite side of the bike rack decided to rack her bike DIRECTLY ON TOP of my transition stuff, with her back tire resting squarely on my running shoes. She jammed her aero bars on top of the rack leaving it impossible for me to unwedge my shoes so I had no choice but to flip her bike up and grab by shoes (please note, its illegal and grounds for immediate disqualification for touching another athletes equipment. Had an official noticed any part of this, both her bike placement and my subsequent flipping, we both would’ve been out) I finally got my shoes on as a kind volunteer was picking up that girls bike from the ground on the other side of the rack, grabbed my race belt, visor and some nutrition which were all linked together and took off running, putting it all on as I tore to the opposite side of transition. About halfway to the exit I remembered that my garmin was still strapped to my bike. Robbie told me to leave it there, but the control freak in me just couldn’t let it go. I made a turn and snagged it off the bike, picked up speed and headed out to run. Just about 2:30.

RUN-FAST

Run fast, that’s what I was supposed to do. I had NO guidelines pace wise, just to listen to my body. I blew out of transition too fast, about a 8 min mile now that I’ve gone back to look at the splits, but I ended up catching up to an older super talkative guy. He asked me my plan, I said run fast and he said that he was planning on run/walking the entire race. I was only going to hang with him till I caught my breath and slowed down, but then he said he could complete the entire half on that plan in 2:06. I made the decision to stick with him as long as I could.

Even though my legs felt great, I was still worried about my calves cramping again and wasn’t sure how the 13.1 miles would play out for me. I saw Robbie on the second mile, of course in the midst of our first walk break, and I knew he wasn’t happy with me. I needed to stick with this guy and come out with a quick-ish half otherwise I’d never hear the end of it from coach. My buddy talked a lot and I blocked him out a lot but he stuck to the 5 min run hard, 1 min walk brisk and what seemed like 5 minutes later I heard him say we were approaching the 7 mile mark. My only thought was “well hell that went by fast…I’ve got this”.

Once I focused, I realized I hadn’t taken any liquid or nutrition yet and remembered Meg Willoughby telling me to drink the coke if it was offered. I snagged one at the next water stop and it settled well- I was feeling great. My hands were sore from gripping my bike in the rain, so I was grabbing the cold sponges, one for each hand, and holding on to them so I didn’t clinch down too hard. The miles ticked away and then we hit 12. Buddy (I don’t remember his name) said he was going to skip the last walk break and hammer it the last 1.1–I told him to go for it…I wasn’t going to walk either; I knew I couldn’t keep up with him but I would run as fast as I could. I sailed in to the finish, saw my sweet friend Lisa and her yellow lab cheering for me and caught a glimpse of the race clock. I thought it said 6:44 something. I WAS ECSTATIC. I had finished under 6:45!!!! All in all I finished my first 70.3 roughly 45-75 min faster than my estimate and 17 minutes faster than Robbie’s guess. I FELT AMAZING! I couldn’t believe it was over so fast or that I felt as great as I did when it was over.

* Wasky eventually became +2

May 15, 2013

Open Water Swim Clinics

I’ve never been much of a morning guy, but NOW . . . I seem to roll out of bed at ridiculous hours. Today was 5 am so I could join other triathletes for open water swim. The worst part? I didn’t even get in the water.

My shoulder’s been a little wank lately, so I went out to shoot video for the Crushing Iron documentary. And, even though I didn’t swim, I got a huge charge out of watching others working to be great.

These clinics are first and foremost about feeling more comfortable in open water. The more you do it, the more the techniques Robbie gives us pay off. You work on real open water situations like mass starts, beach starts, sighting, and drafting. Open water is a serious hurdle for some people, but I’m sure they would be surprised how quickly they’d embrace lakes, rivers, and oceans if they did a few of these clinics.

Training for three disciplines puts you in a perpetual state of questioning. You decide your run is in a good spot, then focus on swimming for a couple weeks only to feel like your run falls off. It’s a major balancing act that never ends. That said, the more I think about Ironman, the more I feel like the swim is the key. People rarely think about it that way because it’s by far the shortest time spent, but a bad swim can make those next 138.2 miles miserable.

I’ve had two races this year. An early season sprint and an Olympic 10 days ago. The sprint swim was a mere 300 meters and left me a mess. I was completely anxious, out of breath, and my heart rate was through the roof. It killed my bike and likely dabbled in my run. The Olympic swim started rough, but I settled down, had a nice time, and came out of the water fresh to hammer the bike and have a decent run. I definitely think my Open Water Swim Clinic with Robbie Bruce helped, and I’d only been ONE day. Imagine what a whole summer in the lake would do for your big race?

May 14, 2013

Gulf Coast Triathlon Guest Blog – Robbie Bruce

Last Saturday, Jim, Allie, and coach Robbiewent to Panama City to crush Gulf Coast. The following is a race recap from Robbie who continually inspires me with his words and actions.
He takes us through his preparation, his game plan, and how it all played out in the race. It’s a great read that’s loaded with helpful triathlon strategy.

GCT Recap- Freedom to find my Edge – Robbie Bruce

There is a certain freedom that comes with going into a race without real knowledge or data of your current fitness level. The last 4-6 weeks have been both frustrating and enlightening. Battling and nursing a nagging Achilles injury leading up to Country Music Marathon was frustrating. But my result, and what I learned about myself and my fitness at CMM, was enlightening. It will most likely go down as one of the defining moments of my triathlete career.

I spent the majority of the 2 weeks before Gulf Coast Triathlon just trying to recover and get healthy enough to give myself a shot. Not just to “complete” it, but race it. My race week usually goes from ready-confident-relaxed to nervous-anxious. The week before GCT it went in the exact opposite order. Many of my friends asked “how do you feel?” And my response was,” I’m actually pretty confident and I have no reason to be.” It as a weird feeling. One that I have not been accustomed to but will welcome back with open arms if it presents itself again.

I drove to Panama City Beach solo on Thursday. It was actually nice to make the trek alone. It have me plenty of time to think, plan, re-think, and plan again. I was brainstorming a variety of game plans on how to attack GCT. All were quite different but with the same objective. Find out where I am and where I need to be for Kansas 70.3. I shared my options with many close friends and athletes. Having so many people in my life that are involved in the sport, that I coach, or just close friends is so invaluable when it comes to races. They always give great insight and are totally objective and usually in areas that I fail to be. I got into PCB around 3-4. I checked in, grabbed my packet and tried to settle. I was staying by myself and I must say, I enjoyed every minute of it. I got to create my own bubble of focus. Finished the night off having dinner with a few of my athletes and turned in early.

Fri- The Day Before
I woke up with a feeling of freedom. I was loose. I was ready. I had a SBR workout with all of the X3 athletes that morning and told myself I would listen to my gut and decide on a game plan when I got done. It was so great to have my athletes around. They are all so fun, positive and just flat out great people. It’s an easy bunch to stay loose with. I have found over the last 2 yrs that the more athletes I have at a race the better I do. I think it helps relax me as well as view the race much differently. The workouts went off without a hitch and I retreated back to my condo for decision time. It was pretty clear to me as many of my friends had also pointed out the day before. The Final Game Plan I have myself was:

I’m going to play to my current strengths. I will crush the swim. On the bike I’m going to play it conservative. I know I have the short term power but no idea where my bike fitness is so ill play it safe until mile 40ish and listen to my gut. The home stretch will be the hardest and windiest. I’ll count the guys in my age group that pass me on the bike. Then, I’ll get off the bike and run like hell for as long as I can and as fast as I can. Steady in the first 5-6 then negative split the back half. That’s it.

Swim- My ability.
Bike- smart.
Run- like hell

I was confident with that plan. Now it was time to prepare for it. Spent the rest of the morning getting everything ready for Sat. Grabbed a quick lunch with Allie and Jim and then back to the condo for more rest and preparation. Bike was checked in at 4 and then Jim and Allie and I hit up a steakhouse like true snowbirds at freakin’ 5pm. I got back to the condo around 6:30. Again. More relax and prep time. I was getting impatient. I was just ready to race. When I get to that point I just get bored. Bored. Bored. Nothing to do but sit and think. Think. Think.

Within about a 15 minute span I got 3 messages all from 3 different people that really put my focus for the race into overdrive. One was the photo you see below about “The Edge,” and then a text and Facebook message both centered around my epic debacle at Ironman Louisville. Both, in a light -hearted banter of seriousness, the theme was . . . “Don’t let that happen again.” It wasn’t “don’t fail.” It was more, “Just do it.” I had my plan and now it was to execute that plan all the way to the edge. Stay on the edge for as long as I can and when it’s time to go over, just make sure you’re falling forward and not backwards. Test yourself. It was time. I was ready to race. Hit the sack around 9 and slept like a baby.

Race Morning–
I often wake up on race morning in a massive hurry. Hurry to get ready. Hurry to war. Hurry to get to transition. This morning I was calm, focused and relaxed. Got my stuff together. Checked in with my athletes and walked out of my condo for the short walk to transition. Headphones in. Music flowing. An easy stroll. Totally relaxed. No expectations. No “I should be able to do this today.” Instead it was, “Today I will give my absolute best effort and empty whatever “fitness” tank Ive created.” I can control that. Everything else is out of my control. Meandered my way into transition to prep my area. A friend from Nashville spotted me walking into transition and said “Man, you’re cutting it close huh. There gonna close it in a minute.” I didn’t seem to care. I was just relaxed.

I prepped my area and as I was about to walk to the swim 2 guys on my rack stopped me and asked if I had ever done this race before. I responded with “Yes, this is actually my 5th straight year.” They predictably countered with “Do you have any tips for first timers.” I said “Yea. Just have fun man. That’s it. Just enjoy it and have fun. Too many people take themselves to seriously. Especially on race day.”

As I heard myself uttering those words I also came to the realization that I’ve come along way since my first race at GCT. I have so much more fun now. The sport is meant to be fun. I made my way to the swim start (had to switch swim caps) and chilled with my athletes before the start. It’s such a cool experience being able to go through a race like this with them. Sometimes it’s difficult to find the right coaching, friend, I’m also racing balance when I’m participating too. But I do the best I can. Everyone seemed loose, which made me relax even more. Grabbed my wetsuit as everyone else made their way to the swim start. Jim and I didn’t start till late so we got to kill sometime hanging out. We shared some laughs. Both of us fairly relaxed.

As my wave crept up I made my way to the starting corral. As all the guys flowed in to the corral, looking around, sizing up the competition, nervously chatting I made my way to the front corner. Quiet. It was game time. The calmness, relaxed, laid back feeling vanishes when I put my goggles on. It’s a different view. It’s what racing looks like. The feeling presumably comes from all my years swimming. Goggles on. Step on the block. GO! I went over my game plan in my head. Pressed my goggles against my face. Shook the hands of both the gentlemen on my right and left, wished them good luck and set my line to the first buoy. 5-4-3-2-1 BAM!

The Swim-
As the gun goes off my first thought is, lets see if someone jumps out hard in front. I’ll hop on their feet and let them pull me. Some guy started like a bat out of hell. I made my way across the water to try and get his feet. Held it for a minute. Damn. This guy is in a WHOLE other league than me. I could prob hang but I’d be toast. I fell off his feet and began to cruise with another guy. We stayed side by side. Both waiting for the other to make a move. I was probably about :2-3 faster per 100 than he was so it was decision time. Work with him, or drop him and go solo. I felt great in the water and decided go on my own.

There wasn’t much current so sighting was easy. As I hit the first turn buoy the NASCAR game started. I began to catch the waves in front of me and the ocean became a congested highway of slower swimmers, people floating in their damn back, breast stroking . . . Come on people. Move!

I spent the cross section weaving in and out, hit the final turn buoy, and headed home. I picked up pace and sighted off the hotel. Weave. Move. Go around. Sight. A lot of the same. I sighted the finishing chute and picked up my kicking. As I streamlined it towards the chute I had no idea what my time was or if others in my age group were ahead of me. Got out of the water. Looked at my watch. 28 mins? Man. Nice swim, Robbie.

I was pumped. As I ran up to T1 a guy yelled “2nd blue cap out of the water. Two minutes down.” I thought “Man, that dude was flying.” He ended up with the fastest swim of the day and it was obvious my choice not to go with him was a smart one.

T1-
Same stuff as usual. Helmet, shoes, blah blah. I hate talking about transitions. So I’m not.

Bike-
Heading out on to S. Thomas Dr and settled in. I was preparing for 56 miles of NO IDEA what I’m capable of. I knew I would get passed but also knew I could catch some on the run. I kept telling myself to relax. Be patient. It’s all about the run. The forecast called for storms and wind rolling in and if it was anything like last year the last 16 miles would be hell.

I went by feel. Left my heart rate monitor at home in purpose. Just thought to myself “I can hold this for X duration.” Vroom. Vroom. Vroom. One after another. Passed. Passed. Passed. Dropping . . . 3, 4, 5 in my age group.

As disheartening as it was. It is what is. I could’ve gone with and then walked the run. Just stick it to the game plan. Be patient.

The next 30 miles was more of the same. It was nice to see my athletes on the course. Give an encouraging word and get one in return. Don’t know why. But it makes the ride always seem shorter.

The rain and wind began to come it about mile 50ish. As I hit the coastline I was averaging 22mph. I wasn’t going under that. Nope. I had plenty in the tank and was realizing I may have held back too much. But who knows. Vroom. Vroom. Vroom. Vroom. 6-7-8-9. I got passed by 4 guys in my AG in the last 15 minutes of the ride. Every ounce of my competitive valor screamed GOOOOOOOO! Go with them. My mind. My confidence. “Robbie. Chill. They can’t run with you. You’ll pick them off one by one. Just wait. ” I had absolutely no idea if they could or could not run with me. But I told myself they couldn’t. Cruised the rest of the way into T2. Time 2:32. 22MPH.

T2- strip down. Load up. That’s it. Now we race.

Run-
Simple. Negative split. Run like hell. Pick them off.

I came FLYING out of T2 like I was shot out of a cannon. I was a little too amped. About a 1/2 mile in I had already caught one guy. Mile 1 — 5:48.

Ummmmmmmm. Robbie. Cool it. You’re not Crowie. Relax unless you wanna do a 10k recovery walk back to the finish. I still had 12 miles to go and plenty of time to catch people.

Pace slowed to a 6:40 for mile 2. Another one bit the dust. I passed 1 guy in my age group every mile for the first 5 miles. I was feeling solid. Smooth. Like a runner. The rain began to fall and helped cool me off. Every time I would come up behind someone I’d make an effort to pick it up and blow past them. Bye. Break them. Leave them with no inclination they could stay with me. The pass was permanent. The one on your bike was not. As I rounded out of the park I was done seeing people in front of me. I couldn’t see anyone to catch. I was also creeping towards my “edge.”

The first 2 miles were a mistake. I went to fast. Legs were hardening. Pace was slowing . Body was heating up. I was on the edge. I hit about mile 7 and it became “you can hold this “feeling” for 6 more miles.” Had no idea of my pace, but figured I could teeter on the edge for that long.

In a focused haze I mustered a few hand signaled “Hey, thanks,” to friends as they passed. Remembering some. Not others. I was red lining. Came around a corner and saw Allie, and remember her saying “finish.” That’s what I was going to do. She also informed me later that it looked like I had fallen on my face when she saw me because of how red my face was.

Miles 10-13 were a blur. A lot of the same. I wanted to walk so bad. I looked at my watch and new getting in under 4:40 was a shot. I’ve done this GCT so many times so I knew the run course was long. So I couldn’t go by pace, time, calculations. I just had to go. I was hurting bad. I turned the corner down S. Thomas for the home stretch. I could see the finish line. I was still a ways away. 500-600 meters maybe. Looked at my watch. 4:47…. Not going to lie. For a moment I thought “it’s long. So of you just cruise it in no shame in not going under 4:40. ” No. Not today. The old me would’ve taken that route. But I’ve changed. It was go for broke. Empty the tank. All of it. Head down and give it hell. Fall over the edge. I sprinted with all I had. I crossed the line. 4:39:52………. My hands on my knees. Legs wobbling. Chills from overheating. Red faced. Tank emptied. I couldn’t quite muster a physical smile but was smiling inside.

1:33:56 for 13.41 miles to finish. I was helped out of the finishing chute where I was asked if I needed to go to the medical tent. “No mam. I always look this bad when I empty the tank. ” I was happy with my time but more so bc I wasnt so afraid to fail that I didn’t give myself the opportunity to win. I don’t mean “win” an award or getting 1st place. Giving 100% of your effort now matter the time is a win. I gave it all I had. I left every ounce of the athlete I brought to GCT on that course. Now. Recover. Reload. Do it again at Kansas 70.3 in June.

GCT STATS
26 overall
Swim- 10 OV
Only out swam by 2 people in front of me and I ran faster than both

Run- 13 OV
Of the 13 that beat me. I out swam them all by more than 2:00

May 14, 2013

Couple of Pics from Rev 3 Olympic

One of the bonuses of doing a race in the rain can be the gritty nature of the photography. The wet roads and raindrops make for an excellent backdrop.

I mean, I actually sorta look like a triathlete in this picture. And, I just love the one below because of the bridge in the background. But, what I would like to know from fellow racers and/or bike experts is what is wrong here? I got this bike fitted back in the fall, but feel like my back should be flatter. It “feels” fine, but 25 miles is much different than 112. I want to make sure I’m in the optimum position. All feedback is welcome.