Ironman – Page 45

November 15, 2013

Surviving Your Triathlon Off Season

It’s cold and dark. You’re fatigued. Your knees and feet hurt. There is no race in sight.

I don’t know about you, but I’m digging deep for motivation. The fear of losing what took me a year and a half to build helps a little, but the winter months are a totally different animal.

I’m hanging on by a thread with 3-4 marginal workouts a week, but if I want to make next year count, I’ll need to pick it up soon. Last night was a typical get-home-from-work-after-dark-funk, but I forced myself to dig up the reflective vest and do some work.

Almost everyone agrees that triathlon is won on the run. And after that short, but effective 4 mile run last night, I have convinced myself that off-season training is also won with the run. One simple reason: you can do it outside.

Let’s face it, indoor triathlon training blows. The pool, the trainer, the treadmill . . . all suck. Being outside and moving with no boundaries and changing scenery is where it’s at.

Flowing with nature is why I signed up for this. Six am swims in the lake, hell yes. Endless laps in a pool? Forget it. Four hours on a trainer or Natches Trace? Breathing fresh air in a beautiful and hilly park or jamming a treadmill for an hour?

Last year the indoor stuff came easier because my first Ironman scared the crap out of me. Motivation by fear. But my goals have changed. I want to be faster and there are no shortcuts. Life rewards you for putting in the work.

Next year’s races are won now. The indoor work is monotonous, but triathlon is about building mental toughness.

Putting in long hours on a bike that doesn’t move or in a pool that won’t let you out is very hard, but it’s the primer that makes your work stick. And while that kind of caged workout doesn’t make my mouth water, it’s good to remember I can break up the main course with a sweet desert called “outside running” over the cold months ahead.

November 12, 2013

A Moving Reminder of Boston and What Matters

I just saw a segment on The View with a victim of the Boston Marathon bombings. Erika Brannock is a school teacher who was running toward a dream and lost her leg to the explosion near the finish line. I stood in our break room and cried.

It rekindled a horrible memory and reminded me of the most pressing question I’ve had since this tragedy — how could anyone be so angry or disturbed to do something like this to innocent runners and the people there to support them?

Since I started running almost two years ago, one of my biggest surprises has been learning how many people renounce you because of it. All I wanted was to feel better, be happier, and enjoy life. For this, I’m often chastised. “Friends” that don’t want you to find happiness. It’s a sad blemish on humanity.

It’s not everyone, though. More than not support my lifestyle. Many have been inspired and tell me they’ve started exercising again because of my adventures. In turn, their efforts push me and we’re all better off with each other.

How bad does your life have to be that you will take to violence with someone that is running? A runner. Winding down a road or a trail searching for peace in an confusing and overwhelming world.

Is there anything worse than someone ripping peace and contentment from your grasp?

This summer, I was on a 10 mile run through East Nashville. As I turned down a quiet side street I stayed on the left near a curb. About halfway down the block, I noticed a truck turn the corner and the driver literally floored it right at me until turning away and flipping me off at the last minute. Oddly, I wasn’t scared, but I was boiling mad. I stopped, turned around and begged him to come back so I could drop him on the pavement.

In a split second, he sucked me into his ugly world. I was literally shaking in anger and it took 5 minutes to start running again. But two minutes from then, I was almost fine.

Life is about movement and being free. That is exactly what running means to me, but some people are so miserable they want to take that away.

At the end of that segment on the View, they put about 8 of Erika’s students on the screen to do a live talk-back. These little kids were so innocent and happy. Full of life and love. Everyone (including me) fought back tears as they professed admiration and support for their beloved teacher.

It was a moving reminder of what’s really important in life and one that I wish everyone could could remember. We’re all in this together. It’s not about money or fame or power, it’s about having people in your life who love and support you, share your freedoms and give you courage to run toward a dream.

. . . Runner’s hearts are in the right place.

November 8, 2013

How You Can Swim Safer and Faster In Triathlons

Here is a great article written on open water swim safety by my coach, Robbie Bruce. Even though I posted this after my analysis, Robbie’s perspective is the precursor for a lot of my opinions on swimming smart, safe, and fast. He looks at what’s right and what’s wrong with Ironman swims and gives a ton of solid information, including 8 things you can do now to be a better and more confident open water swimmer.

Triathlon Deaths – By Robbie Bruce

Over the past few weeks a lot has been written about in regards to the amount of deaths in triathlon especially in the swim portion. A lot of blame has been cast, towards pretty much everyone, and plenty of solutions have been suggested. The fact is, the blame falls upon us all. This problem will likely never see a 100% turn-around with zero deaths but there are plenty of ways we can improve while still keeping the sport tough. Here is USAT fatality study discussed:

http://www.usatriathlon.org/news/articles/2012/10/102512-medical-panel-report.aspx

Dangerous conditions and temps-

FINA (International Governing Body) came under some scrutiny in 2010 when American’s best open water swimmer Fran Crippen, 26 died during the 10k Marathon Swimming World Cup in the UAE. It was reported the water temp was a balmy 87 degrees with the air temp hovering around 100. Was he equipped to swim and race the distance? More than anyone. But, were the conditions unsafe? FINA has since set minimum and maximum water temp regulations but others have not followed suit.

From the OTD article:

“There is a growing consensus that a warm-up or pre-race water acclimation area can help relieve athlete anxiety, but races are not required to provide one. USA Swimming and FINA, that sport’s international governing body, have set minimum and maximum water temperature regulations for open-water races, but USA Triathlon officials have not.” (There are rules about when wetsuits can be worn.)

Veteran Southern California open-water and triathlon coach Gerry Rodrigues is sharply critical about the absence of water temperature “collars,” and maintains that the sport must protect amateurs in that area.”

“Generally, most triathletes are under-prepared for their triathlon open water swim segment,” he wrote in an email interview with “Outside the Lines.” “Introduce the extreme element of super cold water, coupled with their anxiety from a crowded field race environment, lack of prep, fast race start without warm-up, a tight wetsuit and a predisposed health condition, the formula is now there for increased problems.”

I absolutely agree that both USA Triathlon and WTC should implement a water temperature “collar.” That was my concern for athletes doing Ironman Tahoe. Some water conditions are often deemed too rough and many races have cancelled the swim portion of their event. Don’t get me wrong. I will swim in anything. I am lucky enough to have a background in open water swimming and I prefer it rough in the water. It benefits me from a competitive standpoint but I also understand the risk to the triathlete.

The swim portion of the New Orleans 70.3 race I signed up for in 2012 had its swim cancelled. I was personally bummed but as I ran past the lake on the pre-bike run leg I saw the conditions and thought to myself, “Man. That is some very rough water. I would swim it and have a rough time but I can totally see why they cancelled it today.” I hated it but it made sense. From an Race Director’s perspective, if you have it and then have all of your kayaks assisting swimmer who can’t finish what happens if someone does have an emergency? Who is there to help? The RD is the least favorite person when a race is cut short, but that is the part of their job.

Athlete Preparation-

Gerry is one of the most well regarded experts and coaches when it comes to open water. He has his team based in San Diego, CA called Tower 26 http://tower26.com. Click on the link and the first words you see in big/bold letters “BE RACE READY.”

That is where I believe triathletes set themselves up for, not only lost time in the swim , but potentially lost years off the rest of their life. As often as triathletes are lauded for their dedication and attention to every detail, they are also incredibly lazy when it comes to certain areas. We look for any way to buy “free’ speed. We will spend hundreds or even thousands of dollars on items just to help us “go faster.” The only item you can purchase that covers both safety and speed are those funny looking aero helmets. They cost around 2-300 dollars and we will maybe wear them 4-6x per year.

When it comes to swimming, triathletes have been told for year and years, “The swim doesn’t really matter. Don’t waste your time trying to get much faster. Just try and get through it.” Not only from a training perspective but a preparation perspective these types of attitudes have always rubbed me the wrong way. One of the most alarming quotes from the OTL piece to me is this one:

“A week before the race, they did a test open water swim not far from the triathlon course. They talked with their teammates and coach about how to stay calm if they got bumped or felt panicky in the water.”

In no way am I saying this increased a possibility of death but it did not help. The fact though is that this is much too common among triathletes. “Race is coming up! Let’s go try on a wetsuit and swim an easy 20mins in the lake. That should do it.” It is a lot like people walking into a nutrition store 2 weeks before Spring Break, purchasing a “weight loss” pill and expecting it to help the way they look at the beach. I hate to break it to you. It does not work.

If your race has hills on the bike. You train for hills. If it is going to be hot. You train in the heat. If the race is open water and could be rough you . . . train in the pool. Wrong.

But, that is the widely practiced and expected method of training and it should not be. This responsibility falls on the athlete and the coach. You can’t mentally prepare for the swim start of a triathlon. You must live it and practice it and then . . . you learn to love it. It is less about starting the race faster than your counterparts and more of what it does for your overall comfort in the water. You see more fear on the faces and in the eyes of triathletes as they walk to the swim. It is not the length of the 140.6 miles it is the 2.4 miles that await them in the water. Bottom line- quit over-looking the swim.

Race Directors-

I have never directed a race nor do I have the desire. Being an RD is a lot like being a long-snapper. No one knows your name until something bad happens. During the OTL show the subject of under-trained and prepared volunteers was brought up. This is a dicey area where there is no real answer or solution. Would it be ideal if every single volunteer in the water was open water rescue certified? Yep. Is that practical? Absolutely not.

I think most of you would agree, every time I walk into the YMCA to swim in the pool I look around and think, “If something does happen to me. I am pretty much screwed.” So even requiring a pool certification for in water volunteers would likely be a mute point from a safety/preventative point. In fact, a few weeks ago during a race I was actually leading in the swim and had my own personal kayak following me. I thought “man this is nice but if do have an emergency what is that person going to do to save me? There is no boat around. Good luck getting me in the kayak and to shore.”

There were not enough volunteers or boat safety. Last weekend I stood on the shore at the Goose Pond Triathlon watching some of my athletes swim the 2 loop 1.2 mile swim. It was well supported with 15-20 kayaks and 4 support safety boats. EMS was also parked by the swim exit. That race had maybe 200 participants. Did it seem safer? Yep. Could it have prevented a swim death? We will never know. What is the solution? No idea.

I do believe courses should be available to in water volunteers the day before or even 2 days. They are not handing out water and sponges. They should have to meet a criteria I believe. They have a bit more responsibility to put it lightly.

Governing Bodies-

As I stated before I believe a temperature “collar” should be implemented but it doesn’t need to stop there. World Triathlon Corporation has the “SwimSmart” initiative that includes a minimum of 52 degrees and a maximum of 88. I think the 52 is a bit low, and let’s be honest, they will drop that thermometer 50 times in order to find a 53 so they won’t cancel the swim.

Cancelled swim means lost revenue.

I think access to a pre-race warm up should be available at EVERY event. Especially when the temps are cooler. Stretch cords aren’t going to do it folks and don’t prevent anything. Make it happen. As great and safe as the new “rolling start” sounds there is no correlation to increased deaths because of mass starts.

I actually think the mass start, second only to the time trial start is the safest. You have 1-3 rows in the front going out hard. Most of these are experienced open water swimmers. As the rows go back you have the slower, less experienced swimmers. With multiple “waves” now you have actually increased the number of front row swimmers likely to go out fast or hard. It might reduce the “bumping” and “chaos” but I doubt the anxiety and lowering of your heart rate. Above everything else, just add a pre-race warm up.

What can you do?

– Prepare for the swim like you do the bike and run. It’s simple.

– Go in for routine check-ups with your doctor. We may think we are invincible and our kids may think we are the comic version of Ironman so do yourself and your kids a favor and get your engine checked.

– Bump and Grind. Find as many ways to simulate the roughest start possible. Do that and race day will feel calm.

– Make yourself swim hard and do it often. Most triathletes swim the same speed…all….the….time. Know how that feels. You will be a better swimmer and the first 100-200 meters of the race won’t be a surprise to your aerobic system.

– Choose venues that suit your abilities, experience and confidence.

– Swim in the open water as much as possible. You won’t only learn to hate the pool, you’ll increase you fitness. Ever notice how much harder long course practices are from short course? Go get in the open water. Increased comfort, fitness, and ability will follow.

– Learn to love swimming. If you can do that you will find more ways to prepare appropriately.

– Look at race history and the percentage of cancelled swims. Don’t like it rough. Don’t sign up.

Prepare to swim smart, safe and fast.

November 7, 2013

Mass Swim Start vs. Rolling Start

Recently, ESPN “Outside the Lines” spearheaded this piece on the dangers of open water swim in triathlon. It is a gloomy account that’s steeped in murky water — and I’ll likely be reminded about it for years to come by friends who prefer the safety of a couch.

Of course I feel bad for anyone who has lost a loved one to inopportune death. Two close friends of mine have died (outside of triathlon) when I least expected it, but no amount of advice or controls would have changed those endings. People go their own way, and people pursue Ironman because they have a desire to push themselves to the limit. They understand what they’re signed up for — and making them wear seat belts doesn’t mean they won’t be texting and driving. I could be the poster child for anxiety in the water, but the “danger” of open water swims is half (or more) of the reason I am so drawn to them. I have done every kind of swim start and have turned into a basket case in multiple races. I’ve clutched kayaks, buoys, and pool edges trying catch my breath, calm down and get a grip on reality. I understand how it feels to be in a major state of panic which can trigger something we are now referring to as “worrisome” situations.

9256_10101494399777790_778338974_n World Triathlon Corporation has responded to increasing criticism with “rolling swim starts” as part of their Swim Smart initiative.* Swim Smart is a solid and progressive idea, but rolling starts are are not a panacea.

The ESPN article says, “There are no simple answers,” yet, I think this line, buried deep in the piece, is the key to everything:

“There is a growing consensus that a warm-up or pre-race water acclimation area can help relieve athlete anxiety, but races are not required to provide one.”

Most outsiders would probably look at rolling starts and say, “Oh, yes, that is much safer because of fewer people and less body contact,” but as a relative beginner and someone who has been there, I don’t believe those are the main issues.

I consider myself a “decent” swimmer and felt comfortable enough to start in the front row of a 2.4 mile swim with 2,800 people, but just six weeks later I nearly freaked out 500 yards into a wave start with 60 swimmers at the Goosepond 1/2 triathlon. Why?

Top tier athletes are experienced and in good enough shape to “get by” without a good warm up, or acclimation to the water, but marginal swimmers or older age groupers (like me) are not as equipped physically or mentally. And I’ve learned, that it’s not the anxiety of body contact as much as the rush of the race that throws me off. When the cannon fires, people lose their minds and for some reason think they can sprint an entire Ironman. At the very least, most forget their plan and go out way faster than they should.

It’s not like rolling starts prevent contact. You’re still talking several hundred people starting at once and there will be flogging. Two athletes I trained with this summer just did the rolling start at Ironman Florida and one got a fat lip . . . the other a black eye.

If you want to talk about tough ways to start a race, look at Ironman Louisville (which I will be doing next year). 3,000 racers stand around in the dark, then shuffle down a pier and jump into the water with tight feet. As far as I know they don’t even let you warm up in the water (unless you’re a pro) at Louisville — and I think going in cold is by far the biggest concern.

Getting into the water 20 minutes early at Ironman Wisconsin saved my swim. I was in tune with my surroundings, acclimated to the water, and treading that long was a good warm up. It was an mass start and by far my longest open water swim, but I had no abnormal anxiety.

If we want safer races, which we do, triathlons and coaches should put more energy into educating people about the importance of a warm up, or be clear that they start comfortably at their own pace. Rolling starts may spread out the humanity, but they do nothing to slow a person down, in fact, they may speed them up in the worst way possible.

Ultimately, this comes back to the athlete. Nobody knows your body better than you and ignorance of the law is no excuse. I have “failed” in multiple swims, but I cannot blame that on the race or race director. It was me that didn’t warm up. It was me that didn’t put enough time in the pool or open water. It was me that didn’t listen to the coach or doctor. It was me who didn’t meditate, hydrate, or get enough rest.

I got into that mass swim start at Wisconsin fully aware of the risk, and that’s what I loved about it. I am here to live, not sit around and hope life shows up in a child proof package. But it seems we are on an impossible mission to take all risk out life, and our obsessions usually tend to make things more dangerous.

Deaths in triathlon are a sad, but inevitable fact that has more to do with individual preparation and precaution than simply changing the rules of the race. I realize the short term focus is aimed at pleasing lawyers, but triathletes I know prefer to deal with the real problems rather than mask the symptoms.

——————————-

* IRONMAN defines a rolling swim start as: Athletes will enter the water in a continuous stream through a controlled access point, similar to how running road races are started. An athlete’s times will start when they cross timing mats under the swim arch.

November 6, 2013

Chasing A Swimmer's Dream – Guest Blog

By Robbie Bruce – Lead Performance Specialist at RX Endurance

I could list all the wonderful things my mom has done for me but I believe signing me up for “swim lessons” before I could walk was one of her greatest gifts. I have loved the water ever since.

I feel more comfortable in the water than with my feet on land, actually. Mom also told me that no matter what, always do what makes you happy and do not be afraid to fail. Ever since I could swim I’ve dreamt of wearing a USA parka and standing on the podium listening to our anthem being played, and crying like a baby with tears of joy. I think representing your country is the greatest honor in sports.

I swam 6 days a week for my entire life until I was about 14. I broke a lot of records and swimming was my life for a very long time. I actually remember the day I quit. I was in the middle of a kick set (probably why I hate kicking so much now ;)) and I was kicking as hard as I could, yet, I could not feel a thing. No pain. No nothing. I actually did 4×50’s crying. Trying to kick so hard with no feeling. No mental pain and my legs did not hurt. I felt nothing because I had nothing. Swimming was no longer fun for me. I did not want to be at practice nor did I want to race. As good as I was and as “promising” as people told me I was. I got out of the pool that day, walked up to my favorite coach and told him I was done then called home to break the news to my parents.

I never swam year-round again but I did choose to swim summer league for my club. It is much more laid back and fun. Every Tuesday in the summer I would line up against old teammates still dedicating their lives to swimming. I would hop on the blocks with baggy swim trunks (dude, I’m about 16 right now and Speedos are frightening) while everyone else wore skimpy Speedos. I still had guys that were “rivals” and have always been competitive so I always wanted to win. We would race and some of my proudest moments were dusting them with my board shorts on. I even remember swimming next to them on purpose until then end before I floored it for the win. Swimming was fun for me then. It was laid back and I wanted to be good because it was in my heart and not because it was on the schedule on the fridge.

Fast forward pretty much 1/2 my life and the past few weeks I have had the itch to go after my dream again. I did not train very well swim wise but cranked off a 55:00 and obviously came in under prepared for Swim the Suck but managed 20th against some Olympians and All-Americans. Kind of dawned on me after that race when the Olympic gold medalist and race winner walked up to me and said, “Have you been ninja training? Because if you haven’t and ever decide to train we will all have to work harder.” I took it as a nice “aw shucks” compliment at first but as the weeks have progressed it’s changed. Is 33 to old? It might be. I think its worth finding out.

Swimming for me now is different. It is not the black line at the bottom of the pool, it is the open water and the freedom it gives me. Hell, swimming with our training team 3 days a week at the lake has taught me more about swimming than the 10 years I swam year-round. I love it. I know that some people think I am some awesome swimmer but I am not. I have the ability yes. But I have not performed, trained, or ever 100% focused on it before in my life. Couple that with wanting to and having a passion for it I believe I finally have the recipe I have always needed. Too late? Maybe. It’s time we see.

I love the sport of triathlon and everything about it. I will compete and participate in triathlons as long as I can. I also love open water swimming and believe I owe it to myself to finally find out. Find out if I have what it takes to make the US Open Water National Team. Wear the Red. The White. And the Blue. Am I behind the 8-ball when it comes to training and likely age? Hell yes I am. I’m okay with that. I think it favors me actually. It is fresh and new. I have the heart now and I truly believe I have the talent. I admittedly have always slacked on my swim training because it came so easy. Shame on me. I know. Wont happen again, I promise.

For 2014, I have decided to focus 100% on trying to qualify for the US Open Water National Team. I will likely still do a few shorter triathlons but no Ironman races for me which was tough to swallow. You know I want to go back and dominate the IML course (and I will). In a very appropriate twist of fate. My qualification race is the day before IML next year so their is no way to try and do both. So, I am going with where my heart is. I can assure and promise you I will still be totally immersed in the sport of triathlon, the training it takes, training improvements, coaching, etc. So please do not worry. In fact, I think this year might make me the best coach I have ever been. I liken it to working in a restaurant for a long time and just not enjoying eating the food. My training will be fresh and my coaching will be better.

My venture wont likely lead to me lining up for the open water event in 2016 at the Olympics in Rio for the chance to win a gold. Will it lead to me being named to the US National Team? I feel like I have a shot. Weather I end this journey with a gold or some red/white/blue attire, if I merely find out I just did not have what it takes to get there. Either way I will go to bed knowing I went after a dream and at least know it wasn’t in the cards, OR I will go to bed every night knowing I made that dream a reality just by taking a chance. So if you need me tomorrow and I don’t answer your call, text, or email immediately, I will respond within at least 1.5hrs. I will be busy in the pool working on a dream I had almost a 1/4 of a century ago with the same joy and vigor I had when I dreamt it. Dreams never die. It is your desire and belief to go for those dreams that fade first. Don’t let your dreams die one second before you do. Go all in.

October 27, 2013

Ironman Louisville 2013 Video #IML

Ironman Louisville has always had a special place in my heart. The last two years I’ve watched it, and will finally be racing this course in 2014. I shot this video and finally got around to cutting it to Eminem’s “Lose Yourself.” It’s focused on my friends Robbie, Wasky, and Corey. Hope you enjoy.

Here are a few screen grabs of the stars of this video. Wasky above, Robbie and Wasky below. Corey in the third frame.

October 24, 2013

Bob Babbitt Inspired #IMKona

From that day I watched my first Ironman race in Louisville, I was hooked. But it seemed so strange — 3,000 people putting themselves through what seemed like torture. There must be something more. Why? What was going on here?

The deeper I got into my own training for Ironman, I began to realize the stranglehold it can have on you. It literally changes your life and dozens of friends have told me what I was doing motivated them to start running or get a bike or get back in the pool. The lifestyle is contagious.

And Ya know, sometimes you just get the feeling you should be doing more with your life.

This morning I woke up way before the alarm and got out of bed naturally. The first thing I laid my eyes on was Twitter where I saw a link to a story about Bob Babbitt who has been involved with Ironman for 35 years. They had me at hello.

Babbitt grew up in Chicago as an outdoor lover, got tired of the winters and moved to San Diego. He started a gym class in one of the local schools, and became good friends with Tom Warren, who won the second Ironman in 1979. Babbitt decided to compete the next year and essentially dedicated the rest of his life to bringing triathlon to the average guy. Along the way he also co-founded the Challenged Athletes Foundation, which he says is, “his proudest accomplishment.”

He also was the co-founder of Competitor Magazine.

When I read stories like this, it touches a place far deeper than I can explain. It’s about purpose and passion, not simply going from point A to point B. Babbitt spent many of those early years around Ironman covering local races for free, but he got far more than money can ever deliver.

It’s more than times and racing up and down roads, it’s a vibrant approach to living. It reminds me of the feeling I had when I started Creative Pig Minds. I had a dream and nothing would get in my way. I “worked” 15 hours a day and was completely engaged. It was hard work, but incredibly Zen, “in the moment” kind of stuff.

That is exactly how I would describe my first Ironman experience. Completely in the moment for 11 hours and 58 minutes. I was flooded with purpose. I knew exactly what I was doing and literally lost myself in time. To me, that is the epitome of living.

When we trudge through life with jumbled thoughts we are bound to be unhappy. Our subconscious doesn’t like to be thinking one thing and wishing it were doing another. It’s a recipe for conflict and a perpetual flight mode.

Babbitt went with his heart and created a lifestyle he couldn’t resist. He embraced a direction that was engaged and filled with purpose. It sounds simple, but going where you really want to be takes a lot of courage because most people, including yourself, don’t want you to leave.

October 23, 2013

My Great Ab Workout Revealed

This was from way back in the beginning, but it proved to be a staple over the course of my Ironman training. It’s also a great example of how to keep your dog occupied during those long winter nights.

October 22, 2013

Goosepond Half Triathlon – Race Report

I’ve had a difficult time pulling myself together to write a Goosepond Race Report. Frankly, I wasn’t ready for this race, and it showed. It was a painful day and I’d rather forget most of it, but I’ve learned that these are exactly the kind of races you need to remember.

Goosepond was my first race after Ironman Wisconsin and I have concluded it’s similar to a band playing Red Rocks, then sitting down for an open mic the next night. It can be fun, but it’s a completely different motivational challenge. That said, the best bands (and athletes) put out the same energy whether they’re playing in front of one person or a packed house.

Wasky, Corey, and me looking marginally hungover before Goosepond. My only other 1/2 was Muncie and the night before, I could barely sleep. Before Goosepond, I was out like a light. I just did a damn Ironman, 70.3 would be a breeze!

As we checked into transition it really made me think about how much goes into putting on a triathlon. The logistics of an Ironman are staggering and here were a bunch of people who likely didn’t know much about triathlon doing their best to make Goosepond work. It was more of a small town feel, while Ironman was New York City.

I was in auto pilot and kept forgetting stuff back at the truck. My socks, my timing chip, my helmet. It was a weird, zombie-like feeling and eventually, coach Robbie jumped my ass about getting my shit together. It was 10 minutes before the race and I wasn’t in my wetsuit.

The Goosepond swim is actually in Lake Guntersville, which is gorgeous and full of seaweed. My swim wave was old men and young women (which could have had something to do with my elevated heart rate) and I flopped around the water for a few minutes before they shot the gun (or quite possibly just said, “go”). The first 15 or so meters were great, but I was quickly transported back to my bygone panic-mode-days. It really wasn’t as much panic as I couldn’t find my breath and literally thought I had forgot how to swim a mere six weeks after swimming 2.4 miles. What the f8ck was going on?

As I rounded the first buoy (maybe 500 meters in) I slowed to a stop and tried to catch my breath. Why didn’t I warm up? I will never learn.

I watched as the rest of my wave slowly pulled away and there was nothing I could do. It was a jail break and I was the lone prisoner wedged in the escape tunnel. Stay calm, you’ll catch them.

Wasky coming out of the water top 20 and oblivious to the trouble ahead. * All good photos courtesy of We Run Huntsville

A couple minutes later, I eased back into my stroke but I was someone else. The wetsuit felt tight, my sighting was blurred, and my energy low. I took at least three breaks on that first loop and was a little stunned by the fatigue in my arms.

Corey, daydreaming about Tahoe in the morning glow of Lake GuntersvilleBy the time I got to the end of my first loop I officially hated two loop courses. Even though it was just water, and all looked the same, I didn’t want to see lap two. Later, Robbie would tell me I took a really wide turn around that buoy and I’m pretty sure it’s because I was thinking about swimming to that pier, getting out of the water, and cheering for Wasky and Corey from the comfort of a portable hammock.

But I put my head down and cranked out lap two, which turned out to be much easier once I loosened up. I really need to get serious about my pre-race regiment.

Swim Time: 42 Minutes (Muncie was 37, Wisconsin was 1:20).

T1 – I was actually a little disoriented going into transition, but pulled it together, grabbed my bike and ran across the mount line. That’s when I noticed I was still holding onto my gloves. I stopped and patiently put them on while Robbie watched shaking his head. “Good thing you got those gloves on,” he said as I wheeled past him with a smile.

Redemption on the Bicycle

I didn’t know my time, but when there’s a group of you racing and all your spectator friends are waiting for you at the Bike Exit , it’s a pretty good indication your swim sucked. But, as soon as I clipped in, my remorse was gone and I had one focus . . . crushing the bike.

The initial plan for Goosepond was a relay. Robbie would swim, I would bike, and Season would run. But, a twist of fate landed Robbie in a swim race that would change his life and I told him I might as well do the whole damn Goosepond by myself. So, bad swim aside, one of my sub-plots was to ride like I would have ridden in a relay. I was also curious to see just how hard I could push the bike. It was on.

Here’s me drafting and looking like a jack-ass with my chrono watchI had logged a mere four hours on the bike since I raced IMWI and had no idea how riding a hard 56 miles would feel. I came out and tried to stay around 19 mph for the first 5 miles and it was pretty easy. I tried to lose myself in the scenery, but kept taking peeks at my bike computer, where the miles seemed to be turning over more like a calendar. Seven miles, eight, nine . . . ugh. This was going to be hard.

Since I was so late out of the swim I was picking off people like flies. About 20 miles in I had yet to be passed and that became my new goal. Don’t get passed on this bike.

I was busting down a country road and noticed a guy on the side changing his tire. “Shit, that’s Wasky!” I slowed a bit and asked if he was okay, but immediately wished I would have slowed more. I “thought” I heard him say, “Yes,” but I wasn’t positive. I hoped he didn’t need a tool or a tube. I briefly entertained turning around, but eased my fears by reminding myself that Wasky is the most prepared man I know.

I settled into aero and dreamed about the finish. I felt bad for Wasky because I was pretty sure he had a good swim and now I was going to beat him off the bike. It had been five minutes since I’d flown past him at 21 mph; I figured I was at least two miles in front of him now. My thoughts drifted back to not getting passed on the bike and I thought that was a real possibility. Not more than 30 seconds later, I heard someone breathing hard to my left. Damn! I was getting passed!

Who did this person think they were passing me?!? I was NOT getting passed on this ride. But, his tire broke the line and I started falling back out of the draft zone. I wasn’t even going to look up, but they said something like, “Keep pushing.” I glanced over to say thanks, and it was Wasky! Before I could even ask how the fuck he caught me, he said, “Two flats, brotha.”

Damn, that was his second flat and somehow he got from corpse position to downward dog in a mili-second. He shouted, “Stick with me and we can pace each other on the run.”

“Stick with me???” What the hell was going on? I was crushing this bike and Wasky is telling me to stick with HIM! He was in beast-mode-squared and all I could do was shake my head.

It took about 2 minutes for him to lose me, then around mile 30 (which also doubled as the ONLY bike aid station) I caught him. His mood was a combination calmly livid, mixed with a case of the beat downs, and topped with a dose of, “I’m gonna kill this course.”

I passed him about a mile later and he slowly fell into the distance. I honestly thought he might be toast. Then at mile 45 or so, he flew by me again. “Come on man, let’s bring it in. Ten more.” I just shook my head.

He rode a good hundred yards ahead of me for a while, then I passed him, which he immediately countered with pass of his own before pulling away for good at mile 54. Two miles to go and I was feeling my legs. It was a flat course, but I didn’t stop peddling for more than 10 seconds the whole ride.

I cruised into transition and Robbie kinda gave me one of those, “Damn, dude, you crushed that bike looks,” before actually saying, “Nice bike.” All I had to do now was run a solid half marathon and I would surely be on the age-group podium. Easier said than done.

Bike Split: 2:40:26 (and tack on a very questionable 4:00 drafting penalty). One of two penalties handed out to my training club. I have decided not to go into it, but let’s just say this is a very suspicious chain of events.

T2 – Yep . . . it happened.

“Trust Me, This Run is Pancake Flat”

I’m not a great runner, but thought I could easily put down a 1:50. I felt surprisingly good as I left transition and patiently waited for my running legs to show up. Spectator support was a non-issue, so I picked out a woman with good pace and ran behind her for the first 1/2 mile. Then, I made a very unusual decision for me, I ran up next to her with the intention to actually talk for a few minutes. Talking on a jog is one thing, but I am just not a fan of it in a race. I kinda like to focus on pain.

I was just about to say something when she says, “Hi Mike.” I was like, huh? It was Ann, who also races for RxE, the Knoxville crew. And that’s when they snapped this picture of me about to blow out my ankle. I have to admit, I was a little stunned. We actually started in the same swim wave and she was saying how slow of a swimmer she is, etc. Clearly she’s not that bad of a swimmer because I knew I hammered the bike and here she was still in front of me. Ann is a really strong cyclist.

Then there was this guy rubbing it in my face As engaging as Ann can be, I had a race to win, so I plowed off into the rolling hills, followed by a charming campground, and then a tricky little cut-thru trail onto the first of many roads that would break my heart.

That’s when I started hearing Wasky’s voice again, but this time it was in my head.

“Trust me, this course is pancake flat. You will crush it.” And I really did trust him, but for some reason I was standing at the bottom of a 1/2 mile climb.

I told myself this must be “the hill.” Every course has “its hill,” and this was Goosepond’s. Ah, no problem, I love hills and this isn’t really that steep, but it was kinda long.

It was getting hot and I was dying for water. I didn’t hydrate well the week before and my mouth was burning for liquids. As I crested “the hill” I saw a right turn ahead that dropped me on the road to nowhere.

Another slight climb to an aid station before a very long descent that nearly made me cry when I saw people running back at me. I made a mental note of the climb-to-come and then, for the second time in one race, broke my no-talking rule with a woman who looked like she knew the course.

“I thought this was supposed to be a flat run,” I said with that awkward, yet undeniable bond runners have as they waltz through hell and think they own the place.

“Oh, you must not know the Race Director,” she replied with that “I’m an insider” attitude that outsiders like me, Wasky, Corey, and Robbie detest.

“Ummm… well… I… uhh…. sorta…. No, I don’t,” I said knowing full well that I had exchanged dicey emails with him earlier that week.

“Yeah, he’s notorious for putting together tough run courses,” she roared with a half-out-of-breath masochism.

“Awesome! Can’t wait to see what’s ahead,” said no one ever.

We hung together until the start of a sub-division, which also meant the beginning of another hill. Now, mind you, none of these hills were “tough” but when you think a course is going to be flat, it’s sort of like facing a pitcher who doesn’t throw that hard, but has a great change-up. His fastball always seems like it’s harder than it really is.

Adding to my unruly disdain was the fact that they had zero mile markers on the course. And yes, it’s my fault for not going to the athlete’s meeting, I suppose, but give me a bone. Even the aid station volunteers seemed unsure about their location, and since I wasn’t wearing a Garmin, I literally had no clue where I was on the course. At one point, I thought it was mile 9 and it turned out to be mile 7. When I hit the “real mile 9” I was toast. That’s when my running became simply something that would get me off that god-forsaken course sooner.

This was also about the only time I saw Corey during the race and neither of us seemed particularly talkative.

Soon thereafter, I re-engaged with the treacherous cut-thru and headed for home. Just as I cleared the scattered brush, I met with aid station volunteers who excitedly exclaimed, “Only one more mile!!!” I looked at my chrono watch and realized I had 10 minutes to run that mile and finish under 2 hours. Sweet!

So I pranced off at a decent clip knowing, if nothing else, I would secure a sub-2-hour half marathon after all that other crap we do in triathlons. And I ran . . . and ran . . . and ran . . . and watched the clock tick past 2 hours . . . then 2:02, 2:03, and finally end up on 2:05. I just ran a 15 minute mile? Awesome.

Turns out it was about 1.5 miles, but who’s counting?

——————

Epilogue: The setting for Goosepond was beautiful, but I haven’t perfected checking out scenery during a race. I much prefer people yelling and challenging me to keep pushing on. I forgot to mention the gut cramp that seized me for most of the run and the sharp knee pain I felt around mile 10, but if I hadn’t been so un-prepared I would have totally enjoyed the swim. The bike was pretty sweet and most of the roads were nice, though I wish they would have had another aid station. The run was tough at the back half of a triathlon, but I think it was fair. My mind and body weren’t ready for the challenge but we all had a good time . . . I just wish we would have brought our tents and camped out for a while doing Twitter.

—————–

This is me, Wasky, and Corey celebrating after Goosepond.

Category: Ironman