Talk about surreal. We started this morning with a gorgeous sunrise and by the time I got out of the water (50 minutes later) it felt like I was swimming in the English Channel. I’m not gonna lie, it was pretty damn cool, even though I felt like the Loch Ness Monster was ready to pounce at my first sign of weakness. In a nutshell, you become a faster swimmer when cryptids share the water.
Please follow me @miketarrolly for more on the Loch Ness Monster and occasional triathlon related content.
1. It was the first Ironman I watched and the catalyst for me doing IM Wisconsin last year. I honestly couldn’t believe people were doing it, now I will be in the asylum.
2. I’ve spectated twice and really like the courses. Cool swim, challenging bike, and a downtown/big city run.
3. The challenge of the heat. I’ve seen some tough people wilt under these conditions.
4. Louisville has turned into one of my favorite cities. Lots of cool little places downtown, alive but not overcrowded, and really nice people.
5. It’s close to Nashville and I love that I can easily stay within a few blocks of the finish line and transition. In fact, I may stay there a week or two after the race.
6. I love swimming under bridges. I actually think there are only two, but the town is full of huge industrial iron that gives the swim a bit of intimidating flavor.
7. There’s a cool cycling shop with a freaky basement that you have to see to believe. I believe it’s Bike Couriers on W. Market.
8. Since I’m not spectating I won’t have to eat cold cheeseburgers in La Grange. BUT, I highly recommend street fair atmosphere to watch the bike loop.
9. Because two of my training buddies talked me into it and moved out of town 3 weeks later. Now I’m putting the guilt on them in hopes they come to watch.
10. The Finish Line. It really is a party and will be a sight for sore eyes, ankles, and hip flexors.
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Here’s an IRONMAN LOUISVILLE VIDEO I made while spectating last year:
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I slid over to the YMCA for a quick 35 minute swim at lunch and when I’m getting out, who do I see? The Cyrus of East Nasty!
Most of the blame for my triathlon addiction goes to Jim, but Cyrus was a huge influence on my running. He has the kind of poise and confidence that could convince you to warm up for a half marathon with somersaults.
So, he’s climbing in the pool as I’m sitting on the edge and I cannot resist tapping his genius with a few questions about my sore Achilles.
“You training for something, Cyrus?,” I pried as a set up question.
“Yeah, I’m gonna do a little sprint,” he answered with no sign of weakness.
“That’s cool, you ready?,” I asked knowing he was.
“Well, I haven’t been on a bike since Ironman,” he replied to my disbelief.
(To my best recollection he did Ironman Louisville at least 3 years ago).
“Haven’t seen you out at East Nasty lately,” he scorned while pulling on his swim cap.
And the table was set!
“Yeah, I’ve had some problems with my Achilles.”
“Oh, yeah, seems like I fight that once a year. Always when I haven’t been running much, then go too far.”
Aha! That is exactly what I did, so I am inching closer to him on the edge of the pool in full suspense of his magical remedy.
“Uh, so, what do you do about it?,” I asked with a casual face, but a beating heart.
“Well, I do a little ice, and roll it out with my stick, but honestly . . . ”
And this is when I knew the good stuff was about to flow.
He tilted his head in kind of a way that says, “I hate to tell you this,” then calmly admitted, “I usually just run through it.”
And there it was, the answer I was hoping for. Well, kinda. I quickly told him my latest remedy for a nagging bout of Plantar Fasciitis was to “Refuse to acknowledge its existence.”
He shook his head in agreement, pulled down his goggles and said, “Every human being is the author of his own health or disease,” before disappearing under the chlorinated sky.
The whole conversation felt like a random meeting with my Zen Master. I stared at the ripple of his waves, then slowly climbed to my feet and went about my day.
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If you’ve ever watched a Duke game at Cameron Arena, you know what basketball meant to my high school. Beloit Memorial dominated Wisconsin by winning 7 state titles and our “gym” was one of the most electric sports atmospheres I have ever seen.
Opposing teams loved and hated playing at the 4th Street Arena. The crowd was rabid and there was never an empty seat. Parents, jocks, geeks, thugs, and rebels alike went bananas over basketball. It was the only game in a blue collar town . . . us against the world.
The PA Announcer gave an apathetic introduction of the visiting team, then the lights dimmed and he’d launch into a spirited rant, “And NOW, here are YOUR Beloit Purple Knights!” The crowd would erupt with pre-ordained chants and you couldn’t help but get goosebumps.
It was bone chilling stuff and I lived for it as a child. Players wore purple blazers on game days and I watched in awe as future college stars and NBA draft picks electrified Friday nights in my otherwise sleepy town.
I made the team as a junior, but never played. In fact, I never even dressed for games, until one week I had a tremendous stretch of practice and elevated my status to 7th man going into a showdown with conference powerhouse, Madison Lafolette.
I was literally shaking when I put on that uniform before the game. I was uncontrollably jacked to get on that floor.
We stood in the tunnel waiting for the sophomore game to end and one of the seniors said he wanted me to lead them out. That gesture gives me chills till this day.
When the band (which is still kicking ass) launched into Chicago’s 25 or 6 to 4, it was our cue to run out, circle the entire court, then go into our layup line. The house was packed, and I was soaring.
My long hair flopped on my warm-up collar and I did my best not get distracted by the faces in the crowd. It was surreal. A freak show and I led the pack.
Like a open water swimmer, I came around the last buoy and sighted the goal. I was so pumped I contemplated throwing down the first dunk of my life. Thankfully I thought better of it, but exploded off the hardwood with more force than I’d ever generated in my life. That’s when it happened.
I landed with a thud and was suddenly limping toward the back of the rebound line. The ultimate high was replaced by a dark sorrow when I realized I’d blown my Achilles.
I fought through warmups and my coach obviously didn’t notice because after our pre-game huddle he said, “Mikey, I want you to sit here right next to me.”
Talk about an embarrassing moment. He was really going to play me!
I confessed my injury, then slid to the end of the bench to watch the cheerleaders. It was the first and last time I wore the purple blazer for Beloit Memorial High.
The Epilogue
Now, what seems like a million years later, I am once again nursing my left Achilles. I’m not sure how I healed it back then, but I remember it being a major pain in the ass.
I’m pretty sure there’s no shortcut and rest is the only answer, but I can’t afford to rest right now. I have a little thing called Ironman Louisville hanging out there in 47 days.
Three things are about to happen:
1. A bump in swimming and low intensity biking.
2. Lots of rolling pin/foam roller and massage.
3. An onslaught of fresh juice that includes bell peppers and cucumbers.
The latter is courtesy of the Juiceman, Jay Kordich, who claims peppers and cucumbers are loaded with silicone which is good for lubricating tendons.
I’m obviously concerned, but think I can manage this problem if I play it smart. I pushed too far on my run yesterday because I was being stupid and wanting to prove to myself I could finish before I started.
Unlike that one and done basketball game, I have a second chance at Ironman and my high school lesson reminds me to be patient. Ease into the day and don’t blow it all on the first layup.
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I’m not overly concerned yet, but I pushed a troubling pain too far yesterday. My Achilles has been on the edge lately and I tried to run through the pain. Bad idea.
I’ve been sifting through YouTube like a rock group looking for a cover-band-replacement-singer and landed on this video from the Sock Doc that gave me some relief.
I really dig his main philosophy, which is: Diagnose WHY you have a problem not WHAT the problem is.
In the case of Achilles Tendinitis (which some say isn’t technically tendinitis) he says you focus on trigger points in the calf. The actual tender spot should not be messed with, and this is exactly how I feel about most health related issues.
Like most YouTube videos it’s a little long winded, but he has some really good stuff, including how lifestyle, diet and stress impact the health of your feet.
If any of you have other great solutions, please let me know. Thanks.
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The thought of doing an Ironman is a bit like deciding to start a band. It’s a lot easier as a fantasy.
But once you click submit, Ironman is real.
For me, the time to get real, is now. 51 days and counting . . . quickly.
That’s 7 weeks to find the top of my game. That’s just under two months to prepare for the toughest day of my life . . . and it’s time to work.
The first time Ironman buzz is gone. A lot of the fear that pushed me last year is buried. Now it comes down to discipline, focus and sweat.
There’s no more room for “10 Days of Rest” or losing my mojo. I have to drag myself out of bed and grind it out after work.
I have to own each stroke, spin, and stride. I have to fuel my diet, hydration and mind.
I have to believe, and not just in finishing, but finishing well. And while I’ll have tons of support, it comes down to me.
It will be me alone against the elements. The water, the fire, the tremendous distance.
You can live in the fantasy, but Ironman is patient. Eventually she looks you in the eye, and you’d better be ready for the conversation.
So, last night I went wild with a Seinfeld rerun, ice, and a steak. Nuts, I tell ya. It was the one where George pulled a pre-emptive break up with his girlfriend. What’s really crazy is, I pay $180/month for cable and that’s about the only thing I watch. I understand that is not logical, but not much in my life is these days.
Legs feel good. Feet and ankles, not so much. I can honestly say this is my biggest concern right now. A small tweak in my Achilles, and a lingering heel pain. I’m getting more optimistic, but I need to figure this out.
I nailed a sub-4 mile last night, actually 3:53. Yeah, well, it was on rollerblades, but still it should count for something.
As you’re cruising along at that speed, I cannot comprehend someone running alongside. I mean, it’s not that fast, but still to run a sub-four mile is incredible.
Then, I looked up the World Records for inline skating and I am not even in the ballpark. Just remarkable thinking these cats can blade faster than I bike.
| Event | Name | Country | Result | Date | Place | Average speed |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 500 meters Progression | Jeremy Wotherspoon |  Canada |
34.03 | 9 November 2007 | Salt Lake City | 52.89 km/h (32.86 mph) |
| 500 meters × 2 | Jeremy Wotherspoon | Canada |
1:08.17 | 9–11 November 2007 | Salt Lake City | 52.81 km/h (32.81 mph) |
| 1000 meters Progression | Shani Davis |  United States |
1:06.42 | 7 March 2009 | Salt Lake City | 54.20 km/h (33.68 mph) |
| 1500 meters Progression | Shani Davis | United States |
1:41.04 | 11 December 2009 | Salt Lake City | 53.44 km/h (33.21 mph) |
| 3000 meters Progression | Eskil Ervik |  Norway |
3:37.28* | 5 November 2005 | Calgary | 49.71 km/h (30.89 mph) |
| 5000 meters Progression | Sven Kramer |  Netherlands |
6:03.32 | 17 November 2007 | Calgary | 49.54 km/h (30.78 mph) |
| 10000 meters Progression | Sven Kramer | Netherlands |
12:41.69 | 10 March 2007 | Salt Lake City | 47.26 km/h (29.37 mph) |
If you’re pinched for time or just want to get a high quality hour on the trainer, I invite you to the Bike-O-Ghetti. This is a knock off of the run version, which is just as exciting.
It’s a speed and power workout that had every inch of my body dripping wet last night. I highly recommend you set up in a hot garage.
Bike-O-Ghetti – 1 Hour
15-20 min warm up. The “ons” are all out in TT position and the “offs” are in your hardest gear, standing, SLOW cadence!!!! Working on posture and full leg turnover. You’ll be going up and down, hard and controlled.
:30 on, :30 0ff, 30 on, 30 off
:45 on, 45 off, 45 on, 45 off
:60 on, 60 off, 60 on, 60 off
:75 on, 75 off, 75 on, 75 off
:90 on, 90 off, 90 on 90 off
Then just go back down the ladder.
Cool down steady.
Then, for kicks, throw in a 25 minute run when you’re done. You’ll feel like you just ate a bowl of Wheaties.
Thanks to my coach for having this vision. [follow_me]
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My childhood idol was Elton John’s lyricist, Bernie Taupin. (Here’s proof). I marveled at Taupin’s words and their magical collaboration. They were fearless, and changed the world.
I recently saw an interview with Elton and he said that he and Bernie were rarely critical and never argued. They were different personalities, but in it together and implicitly respected the others’ process.
I used to spend hours holed up with a notepad, scribbling potential song lyrics. Eventually I learned how to play drums, started a band, and handed over my words.
One of the first lyrics I wrote was called “Who Am I?” The song was awful, and more Freud than Taupin, but I will never forget the opening verse:
Who am I to say you’re out of control
And who am I to let your time rule my soul
The wonders cease as my mind grows tired
But who am I to dismiss all my fear?
It was likely my first exploration of genuine compassion. I was chasing Gandhi, and confused about why people were so critical of each other . . . and themselves.
I’ve been immersed in many of the same feelings lately. Triathlon makes us vulnerable and has a tendency to bring out the critic. You put your soul on the line for a greater quest and the road is fragile.
Being critical is a natural defense. When we’re down, someone’s failure helps us feel better, a perfect recipe for late night TV.
It takes courage to attempt Ironman. It takes dedication, focus, and many failures along the way. We get called crazy, we struggle through injuries, we battle doubt.
Friends back away like pursuing a healthy mind and body is a disease. Our passion for self-improvement is called self-absorption.
And yet, many of us, including me, are critical of others on the same path. Parishioners denouncing the church.
Triathlon is a tribe. We are like minded-people that want to crush weakness and be our best selves. And it’s far more potent (and evolved) when we do it together.
There’s really no point in questioning another athlete’s methods, or letting their actions consume our thoughts. It wears us down and takes away our own power.
It takes courage to use fear in a way that makes us stronger. And treacherous rides are always more efficient with the Peloton.
The competition is ourselves. Allowing others (or yourself) to steal focus is a recipe for losing, not only a race, but a life.
