Worst Training Blog Post Ever
I am having a dilemma over what to write. I mean, I started this blog to track my journey to Ironman Wisconsin, but does that mean it has to be a snorefest? I didn’t think so.
I’m not sure how to handle it, though. I could ramble on and on about my fragile knee and everything I was thinking during my last run, but does that make it interesting? Well, let’s try.
During my last run, my knee hurt a little bit, but then it got to be sort of okay, then at the end, it sort of hurt again.
While I was running I thought about all the trouble in the world, like people without food and sometimes I thought about people with no arms and legs that have trouble running or swimming or even golfing. This didn’t put me in a good mood because generally I am a compassionate person and like for everyone to be happy and have good workouts or rounds of golf.
Then THAT got me thinking about my dad, who is a pretty damn good golfer for being 70, but it kind of bummed me out too because it is snowing in Wisconsin and long winters aren’t good for your golf game. And, of course, I started feeling the pressure of being a son and not buying a beach house in Florida that would make it easier for my dad to golf in the winter and my mom to work on crafts year round. That would be the same house where I could visit anytime I wanted and take all of my triathlete friends down for training and open water swims in the ocean.
All of these things crossed my mind a like a machine gun fire and that helped me forget that my knee was kind of sore, but it didn’t help with the fact that I was starting to feel like a failure because I haven’t supplied all of these rich opportunities for my friends and family. So, I had no choice but to start feeling sorry for myself and using the knee pain to legitimize my feelings. It was great until I remembered that my brother and sister would dig a beach house too. My bro loves riding mountain bikes, and while there are no mountains in Florida, I’m sure he would be happy to pound his way down the beach in front of an ocean. And my sister, damn, she just finished her first 1/2 marathon in Dallas, so Florida would be a great place for her and her husband to run or bring the three little girls on Spring Break.
And of course, Spring Break reminded me of baseball and how much I miss college.
Our baseball team used to ride a bus for 30 hours from LaCrosse, Wisconsin just to get our ass kicked. We’d get off the bus all pasty and white only to run into a bunch of tanned South Florida boys with big gold chains hanging around their neck. It was so cold in Wisconsin we hadn’t practiced outside yet and these guys had 25 games under their belt.
Of course we didn’t care about any of that — we were on Spring Break to party. One year, after our last game, we all went to the Dog Track and I mistakenly put down $4 on a Quinella bet because I had no idea how to gamble, but the race paid me $182. I cashed it in and we all went drinking on my money.
I really wished I hadn’t spent all that money on drinking and suddenly I was having bad memories. My knee started hurting again and I couldn’t shake it. I started to walk. Then I remembered my mom loves to walk on the beach, so I started running and I’ll be damned if I forgot everything I was just thinking, including all the good ideas I had for tonight’s blog.
More Pics from Rocket City Marathon
These are shots from the Rocket City Marathon. Many are East Nasties from Nashville. See my official stories in the posts below this one. 
Rocket City Marathon Recap
Some reflections on the Rocket City Marathon.
Yes, this is the one and only Bill Rodgers who was a former record holder for the marathon and won NY and Boston. According to his Wiki page, was not only a hero, but secondary fuel for the running boom of the 1970’s. That guy he’s hanging out with in the Mexican poncho and glasses is my friend Roger who just finished his first 26.2 mile race in 2012. As you can imagine these two had a lot in common and talked for hours.
Below is the “infamous tunnel” that every runner had to deal with twice. I heard from several (well, one runner, Roger) that for a few seconds it became “pretty dark” and “it was hard to see if you were stepping on lizards or pine needles.” Jim was also fascinated by the narrow runway, specifically whether or not his Smart Car could make it through. We decided it could, but I don’t think he tried. 
This is Cara just before the finish and what she claims is a marathon PR. I haven’t done the research, so I am hesitant to confirm. 
There is Captain Jim warming up in his post race cape after his “failure” to qualify for Boston. He looked strong as an ox at mile 15, but couldn’t quite keep the pace and backed it down to save energy for training. His next shot will take place in New Orleans. Make sure to give him a pat on the back. He loves that, especially while running. 
Now, these guys I’m not sure what to make of. Well, actually, I am. They are good dudes and friends who temporarily lost their minds while winning over hundreds of runners in the process. Don’t be fooled by their quiet demeanor, either. They dished extreme vocal support to unsuspecting runners, nearly to the point of startling them off their stride. Seth and Daniel, marathon spirit team number one.
Roger channels his inner Bill Rodgers as he approaches the finish line. Shortly after the race, Roger told me, “You know, Bill was right. He said as you get near the finish line, remember one thing . . . You will never win a Boston or NY marathon, but you won’t win the Rocket City, either. Just make sure you follow the pace group with the sharpest looking ladies and everything else will fall into place.” 
It doesn’t matter how fast you are, entering the dreaded Rocket City tunnel brings out the nervous smile in everyone. Especially when you’re this tall and the tunnel ceiling was meant for middle school kids. 
Truth be told, it’s scenes like these that make me wonder why I drive 2 hours to take pictures of marathons. But then again, something here is remarkably awesome, especially when chants of “USA” ring in the background.
Here’s a shot of Roger going too fast at mile 2.5.
Let’s make no mistake, watching a marathon is exhausting. Thankfully Meg grew up in Huntsville and knew the back roads that kept us in front of the runners. Her family was also gracious enough to cook a mind blowing pasta feast that propelled East Nasty runners to excellent showings at Rocket City.
A New Perspective on Digging Deep
I have experienced it first hand as I struggled to finish my first 5k. I have watched friends complete half and full marathons while heat pummeled their bodies. I have witnessed a good friend finish Ironman Louisville despite puking multiple times on his 112 mile bike ride. The very nature of these races forces you to dig deeper. But what if we looked at the concept of digging deep in terms of trusting your plan?
Saturday at 7 am, I stood near the start line of the Rocket City Marathon with two friends who were there to watch. One of the guys said he signed up, but wasn’t running and like a flash, my brain skulled into overdrive. I went from casual spectator, to seriously contemplating a 26.2 mile run.
My gut bubbled. This would be the surprise of the day. I would headline the 10 o’clock news; people would be astonished by my feat; I would be limping for a week.
Thank God, logic choked me.
The Huntsville Marathon was not part of my plan and I think this is why most companies, teams and people get in trouble. They settle on a strategy, but ignore it for a deviant opportunity. The Steelers, St. Louis Cardinals, and folks at Apple stick to a plan . . . and it works.
I was thinking like the Titans yesterday. I was looking for a quick way to make fans and get closer to my goal of an immortal mortal. I know the hail mary is bad form, but sticking to a solid, long-term plan is one of the hardest things in life.
In fact, I was even imparting this wisdom the night before.
“I know you’ll feel good early, but resist temptation to start this marathon too fast. Finishing strong is a way better option.”
I mean, EVERYONE who runs knows this, but it is very difficult to stay with that plan.
“You’re running a race, for god’s sake, run the mother fucker!”
Of all the races I’ve completed, I did not take my advice in any of them. I always go out faster than I should and imagine I would have done the same had I decided to launch into the Rocket City Marathon.
So, I’d like to put a spin on the phrase “dig deep.” The obvious definition is to find something extra inside of you while you’re on the course. To swim one more lap. To spin when there’s nothing left. To pick up legs that can barely move. But what about digging deep when it comes to your character and a plan?
While I don’t know how deep I actually dug yesterday, I acted rationality. We endurance athletes often confuse going the extra mile with what’s best in the long run. I really try to remind myself to pull in the reigns with regard to training. It’s one thing to be a pro and push your body to the limits, but a big reason I’m committed to doing an Ironman is for the side benefits. I really believe it will unleash a better and more consistent person.
There is imbalance with any pursuit of passion and that holds true to training as well. What point is all of this working out if it makes you hurt? What point is there in settling on a plan and throwing it out the first time you’re tempted to do something else? Or do we simply prepare to be predictably irrational?
Heading to Huntsville Marathon
If you would have told me a year ago that I would be taking road trips to watch people run I would have slapped you upside the head. Now if you told me that, I would say, “You’re right.”
My friend Roger moved to Nashville from Wisconsin about 15 years ago. He settled into his Inglewood home and dreamt of the day he’d be a full time musician and/or songwriter. That dream festered for years, but in less than two months, it will be a reality. He’s taking his catalog of beach-friendly-originals and moving to the Keys, a true Cheesehead in Paradise.
We met at the Village Pub one night and have spent numerous hours reflecting on our Wisconsin roots over cold (and sometimes warm) beers. He likes to say I’m not really from Wisconsin because I grew up a stone’s throw from Illinois and am not very good on a grill, but there is an undeniable connection that typically shines in the stories we tell about our friends.
Roger and I formed Badger Nation Nashville one night on a bar napkin and spent much of last season pounding beer and pulling for new quarterback Russell Wilson and our beloved Badgers. But one night last November, we noticed a similarity neither of us liked.
We had slowly turned into blimp versions of ourselves and each vowed silently to address the problem. The next year would be different.
Today at 1:00 I’m jumping in the car with Roger and heading to Huntsville for the Rocket City Marathon. I’m not running, but will be screaming from the sidelines as Roger crosses the finish line of his first marathon.
I’ll also be cheering for my buddy Jim, who is setting his goals on the Boston Marathon. Jim has completed two Ironman’s and several other long distance races, but this will be his first stand-alone marathon. If all goes well, I will be running the last 6 miles by his side as he chases history.
If I had to point to one reason I am so involved in training and pursuit of Ironman Wisconsin, it would be Jim. He sacrificed a lot of time to plod along with me as I learned to love running. He spent countless winter nights holding back his pace and dishing out motivation as I slowly built my confidence and ability. I really hope to give something back to him tomorrow.
It really is kind of crazy in my head to think about driving 2 hours to watch a marathon, but I know those limited sightings go a long ways in helping runners push toward the finish. That, and the more I get into endurance sports, I realize it’s less about me and what I can bring to others. Hopefully my presence helps both of these guys hit their goals.
How Being In Bands Helps Me Train
I’ve been in a few bands in my day, and let me tell you . . . it’s rarely as fun as it sounds. In many ways, the biggest high I had in rock n roll was coming up with ideas and imagining how cool the band was going to be. Being in a band is sort of like training for an Ironman . . . it’s a lot of work.
Practicing Technique
My first official band was Stinky Chicken and we played one show at my house. The set list was loaded with Lenny Kravitz and Zeppelin covers and I was so nervous I wore a wig.
I’d been playing drums for about 6 months and really sucked, but loved hearing guitars over my back beats. Working on cover tunes stretched my nervous system to the limits. I wanted to let my legs and arms flail at will, but that usually sounded like shit (much like it translates into a crappy run time).
I had to train my brain and muscles in new ways. Drills in drumming are no different than drills in swimming, biking, and running. It’s not fun, but they really pay off when it’s showtime.
Training Needs Focus
My next foray into the glitzy world of rock n roll was with a band we coined Big American Cock. It was a group of guys who had big ideas, could play fairly well, and evidently thought they had big dicks. We spent most of our time cooking up marketing plots to conquer the world. Our practices were free-for-all’s that started and stopped at will. We melded originals with covers and I honestly don’t think we actually got through a full song without someone stopping to yell at the singer. We never played a show.
The boys from Big American Cock had no focus and liked the “idea” of being a band more than actually putting together a plan. It was more fun to slam beers, break shit and talk about how cool we “could” be rather than actually hone our skills into tangible songs that make women throw panties on stage.
Repetition Creates Courage
Brain Kingdom was my third project, and went in the complete opposite direction. It was just me on drums and Don on guitar. We met at a rummage sale and practiced almost every night for a year. We amassed over 20 original songs before we enlisted a bass player and found the courage to play in front of an audience that wasn’t Don’s dogs.
I was so damn nervous before the first show. I literally felt like I didn’t belong on that stage, which was almost the exact feeling I had before my first triathlon. But I made it through both, and went on to many more.
I rarely felt comfortable playing drums on stage and the only remedy was repetition. I had to get up there and do it . . . often. That’s exactly why I’m planning to sign up for as many tris as possible before I head to Wisconsin for Ironman 2013. Nerves are my biggest enemy.
Find A Plan and Stick To It
After 25-30 shows with Brain Kingdom, I still kinda sucked, but felt like I was ready for the big time and moved to Nashville (I actually moved here for a marketing job, but music always seems cooler). As luck would have it, my neighbor –Tommy the DUI lawyer–was a friend with the newly formed Muzik Mafia, which eventually produced Big & Rich and Gretchen Wilson.
Through Tommy and his traveling limousine parties, I met a lovely and talented Muzik Mafia performer named Rachel Kice who challenged me creatively like no one I had ever met. We launched a new project called King & Queen, rented a one room shack in Ashland City, and wrote songs for 3 days.
While not the most polished, it was (and is) some really cool shit, but for some reason (likely my real job and anxiety) the project never really took off. It’s kind of a bummer because it was a piano/drum sound that I believe was ahead of the White Stripes and other two person crazes.
In reflection, King & Queen needed more organization. We spent more time making videos and brainstorming than finishing. Impulses and ideas were flowed but rewards never came in proportion. I didn’t give enough energy to actually getting in front of people with our show. If you wanna race, you have to sign up.
Dreams Come True, Sort Of
Rachel eventually moved to California (but still loves me) and I practiced on my own until Scott asked if I’d sit in for a gig with his band. “Who, me? Are you sure?” He was sure and I quickly learned 10 of their original songs.
The Frolics were a husband (Scott) wife (Amy) fronted kind of a punk rockabilly meets Quentin Tarantino deal and it was way out of my realm. I was sort of laid back and funky, but now it was time to thrash (which is an exact opposite of my swimming dilemma).
The first show went pretty good and they asked me to stick around. We played at all the Nashville hipster spots. Exit/In, The Rutledge, 5 Spot, Foo Bar, and The Muse, which was so punk it didn’t have heat in the middle of January (and has since gone out of business).
I was working very hard on machine gun chops and felt great about the direction of the band. We had gigs, a hot and talented lead singer, and really cool original music. I was inspired, confident, and ready to conquer the Ironman of music. That’s when Scott and Amy told me they were moving to Canada to find a hot chick drummer.
Getting to the Finish Line
So, I guess the Frolics were sort of like my Half Ironman. We got out and played a lot of shows with nice crowds, but the race ended before I was ready to quit.
Ironman Wisconsin is lurking next September and my experience with trying to create polished bands and sold out shows will certainly play a role in my training. Anyone can visualize the pretty picture at the finish line, but it’s understanding how to navigate the other 140.6 miles that constitutes the real work.
The Post-Race That Changed Me
Saturday, I cut a few more notches in my belt. It was a bittersweet day that, in many ways, changed who I am as a person.
Rebekah and I met Roger at the start line around 7:30 to shiver and discuss strategy for our 12K run. It was the first annual 12k Winter Warm Up and I knew it would be a little hilly, but it proved to be a beast.
12k turns out to be about 7.2 miles and would be the longest run I’d done in a while. I was coming off a nice 4-Mile race on Thanksgiving and decided to set my goal pace at 7:46m, which is my buddy Jim’s goal next week for the Huntsville Marathon. If he can do that for 26 miles, I can do it for 7.2! The competition bubbles.
There was also a 6k and the 12k was two loops. I’m not a huge fan of that set up, but it turned out to be kinda cool because we kept running by each other. I had mentally set a goal of 31:00 for the first 4 miles because I did that distance in 28:51 the week before. It seemed manageable and would put me in good position for the last 3.2.
Talking about these paces is a little surreal to me. In March, I was literally unsure if I could “finish” a 5k, let alone bust one at sub 8 after already running 4 miles. But, it’s a testament to what we can do if we stick with something.
Anyway, the course was filled with rolling hills and descents, but not much in terms of flat. I’ve actually come to love hills, though and feel like training with East Nasties has given me an advantage. In fact, there was a solid line of people I train with busting down the other side of the road ahead of me all day long.
To make a long and boring story short, I took first in my age group with a time of 56:39. Thing was, I thought there was no way I’d come close after running the first bastard of a loop. What’s kinda crazy cool is that I ran my first 5k in March at a 9:10 pace and it was a flat course. Yesterday my pace was 7:51 on a tough 12k track.
But that’s good news.
As we were walking back to our cars, Rebekah suddenly tripped and fell straight to the pavement. It was so quick she was already picking herself up before I realized what happened. Halfway up, I heard her say, “My tooth,” as she reached out to pick a white spec off the sidewalk. I was paralyzed.
She stood up and looked at me with a swollen and bloody lip . . . and sure enough, half of her front tooth was gone. I felt an incredible surge of compassion wash through my body. I leaned in, hugged her and said everything would be okay. Her pain was mine and I felt the horror that had to be racing through her mind. The flukiest of accidents had changed the entire tone of the day. The race was gone. The afternoon was gone. The smiles were gone.
I gathered myself, put my arm around her and we staggered to the car. I reassured her it would be okay, but had no idea what to do next. Then, in the most calming of tones, she spoke through her bloody hand, “Well, good thing my dad is a dentist.”
I was so proud of the way she handled her fate. Roger gracefully followed as we drove to her parents and knocked on the door. An unsuspecting mother opened the door to see her little girl in pain and it brought a tear to my eye. We explained what happened and her father calmly assured her everything would be just fine.
“Honey, this is what I do, I will take care of you.”
She laid back on the couch with ice on her lip and I knelt by her side wiping the moisture from her cheek. It’s the unknown that scares us and there was enough to last me a lifetime.
I took her car and waited in agony for some news. Would he be able to save it? Would she need a new tooth? Was a dentist’s daughter ready to face the world with a cracked smile? I felt helpless, but the flood of compassion kept rushing through my veins. In the face of her pain I literally felt my ego dripping away.
Two hours later I got a text message with a picture of her pretty smile restored in between big swollen lips. It was one of the greater senses of relief I’ve had in years. I could feel my body relax, a true, deep, and sincere calm. Hearing her upbeat voice helped even more.
The power of emotions is undeniable and I feel like the last year of training has unearthed many buried feelings. Saturday was another roller coaster that started on top, sank to the bottom, but set the tone for another magnificent climb to greater heights.
I didn’t swim, bike, or run on Sunday, but a renewed energy had me bouncing off the walls. I wanted to be with friends. Help people. Listen, love, and learn. I felt a sense of gratitude to be surrounded by so many amazing people and training for an unimaginable quest like Ironman with four other great guys and an inspirational coach.
It may be fleeting, but for now I have an increased sense of the moment. I’m excited and grateful for each training session that lies ahead. I’m optimistic that I will continue to improve and reach internal and external goals that have been patiently waiting for me. It’s all about enjoying the process and putting in the work. And considering the overall winner in that 12k beat me by 20+ minutes, I certainly have room for improvement.
Somedays Ironman Gets In Your Head
Yesterday, I ran a 12k. Today, I slept in before riding my bike a mile up the road to the local pub for lunch and a couple beers. Riding 111 more miles seemed like a daunting task at that moment. #IronmanWisconsin
Coach Throws a Bash
Last night, our coach, Robbie Bruce, and X3 Endurance put together a little shindig at the former CAO headquarters in Nashville. These triathlete cats are swank! 
Free beer, food, wine, and damn near anything else you may want from a health conscious workout crew, including samples of Huma, which is a Nashville based energy gel patterned after the Tarahumara diet. There were several endurance big wigs in attendance, including Nashville Running Company’s, Lee Wilson and his staff. 
X3 had big white sheets of paper on the walls with 2013 races across the top, which the athletes all signed if they were planning to knock it out. The Fab Five all checked in under the Ironman heading and took a team picture by the fire pit. 
The triathlete contingent in Nashville seems to be alive and well and I look forward to pounding some open water swims in February!
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Tomorrow, I will be taking my talents to South 12th Street for the 12 South Winter Warm up 12K. Lots of 12’s in that sentence! I told Jim, who is above with the flowing silver mop, I am shooting for his Huntsville Marathon pace goal of 7:46. We’ll keep you posted on that one. After the run, there is a big time beer festival, which I am evidently partaking in, that starts at 11:00. Wish me luck on both accounts!