Being a part of the Ironman Wisconsin Swim is probably the coolest sporting energy I’ve ever felt.  Nearly 3,000 triathletes bobbing in the water before a canon blast unleashes mayhem.

When I raced IMWI in 2013 I was obsessed with the swim.  It intrigued and scared the shit out of me.  I watched every video I could find and tried to imagine myself in the middle of that madness.

Eventually, on a perfect Fall day in my home state, it happened . . . and this is how it felt.

I had an odd sense of calm that morning, probably something to do with facing the no-turning-back factor.  But the reality was, I had only swam the full distance once before in my life and my history of freaking out in swims was well documented.

The best thing I did that morning was get into the water early.  It’s a floating start, and, with the Fab 5 nestled around me, I breast stroked to my position 20 minutes before the gun.  There is nothing like getting used to the feel of a wetsuit and water temperature to calm your nerves.

The scene is incredible.  I swear I looked at the shoreline and shed a tear.  There are literally thousands of spectators hanging from the rafters of the Helix.  It’s a mind-blowing sight and amazing that so many people will come out that early to support friends and family.  It’s a moment that will soften your heart.

I settled into the middle of the group near the ski ramp.  My guess is that the expanse of people fills a rectangle around 100 yards wide and 50 yards deep.  Starting position is a big deal in this race.

I felt like my swim was “pretty” good at this time and my logic was to start in the front row, but 50 yards away from the fastest swimmers near the buoy line.  It meant my swim would be 15-20 yards longer to the first turn, but avoiding the chaos of aggressive swimmers seemed well worth it.  The goal was to start slow and gradually settle into my race pace, which I hoped would be around 2:00 per 100 meters.

My strategy worked . . . for about 10 feet.  That’s when an avalanche of swimmers from behind me started pummeling my body.  They swam over me, collided with my ribs, and kicked in and around my face.  It was a free for all and I had no choice but to flip a switch.

The main goal when swimming a mass start is to locate open water and the only choice I had was to swim faster to get there.  I dug hard for about 200 yards, deflecting other swimmers most of the way.  Finally I found some breathing room and settled down.

The swim course is a rectangular box with the buoys on your left.  I breath to my right, so using the buoys for sighting my direction was not really in play.  In hindsight I think sighting too much was probably my biggest mistake on this day.

I should have just trusted the flow of the crowd.  The more I sighted, the less I seemed to see and the more I self corrected instead of moving forward.  Correct left, correct right, etc . . . is a recipe for zig-zagging and it’s probably what I did most of the day.

The first turn is to the left and there’s a tradition of “mooing” as a tribute to the cows in Wisconsin and I had a weird angst about that as a home-grown boy.  In a way seemed like screaming “Yee-ha” cornering a buoy in Tennessee.

Anyway, it was all I could do to breathe at that point, but I begrudgingly “moo’d” under the water as kind of a “fuck-you-but-I’ll-play-along-sort-of” and scrambled my head in the direction of the next buoy.

The problem with sighting buoys is that unless you can see the second one in line, it doesn’t do you much good because you need a long-range angle.

I wanna say it’s about 200 yards from the turn buoy to the second turn and that’s when I started noticing how choppy it was.  I was bobbing up and down as I swam and my sighting paranoia made me stop to gather my surroundings 3 or 4 times.  That short leg wasn’t too bad, but it was also really crowded, so I drifted away from the straight line again.  As I hit the second turn buoy I knew I was in for a battle.

The backside of the rectangle is about 1700 yards long and there is not much to sight from, so I tried a trick.  I went to the inside and kept the buoys on my right.  It’s perfectly legal, but I felt like a loner.

The waves were really throwing me around and it was all I could do to locate buoys.  “Just get the next one” I repeated over and over.  But this is exactly why sighting one buoy at a time is a problem.  Occasionally I realized I was taking a 45 degree angle to the buoy instead of going straight.  At one point I literally t-boned another swimmer.  One of us was really off course.

Once you make it to the third turn you have about 500 yards left and adrenaline alone will carry you.  You’re swimming right at the huge crowd.  You start to hear the music.  The energy just feeds your body and sighting is easy because of the Helix in the background.

I have to say, my hand hitting the shore underwater might have been one of the best feelings of my life.  A huge part of me wanted to bypass the rest of the race and run across the street to the hotel bed, but when you stand up and see the crowd, hear the screams, and feel the energy, it’s like a vortex sweeping you away.  You run toward the swirly helix and it’s lined with people dancing, playing drums, and throwing you high fives.  It’s impossible not to be pumped for the brutal ride that lay ahead.

Here’s a short video I made of the Wisconsin Swim Start in 2014 as a spectator.  Follow Crushing Iron on Facebook.

I haven’t written about it much, but I’m in preparation for Ironman Wisconsin, which I also did in 2013. Over the next several weeks I will revisit the course, environment, and lessons learned.  Make sure to follow Crushing Iron on Facebook to catch all of these posts.

It’s noon in Nashville and I’ve yet to ride today, but all thoughts are on the Wisconsin Bike Course, especially after watching the Mountain Stage of the Tour de France the other day.

I’m not here to say it’s as crazy as the madness on Mont Ventoux, but as an amateur Ironman, the crowd support on the hills is as good as I’ve seen.

The Ironman Wisconsin Bike is surrounded by lore that’s hard to get out of your mind.  It’s synonymous with hills, and while I realize it’s relative to where you train, I don’t think it’s quite as bad as its reputation.

The hills aren’t devastating climbs, but they are certainly relentless.  You cannot ride this course well if you’re not ready to eat them for lunch.  There are many corners and around most of them waits a new hill a tantalizing climb for desert.

The mindset has to be attack.  Your head will likely drop at the sight of another hill, but keep attacking and recover a bit on the descents.  Eventually they will be over until you get back to the Helix and have to ride up a swirly to return your bike. But, you will be dying to put your feet on the ground and that last climb will feel like nothing.

In general, I think this picture is a pretty good representation of what a day on the Ironman Wisconsin Bike Course will look like.

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I ran across this finish of the Ironman European Championship on Twitter and found it to be an excellent source of entertainment.  The video shows pro triathlete, Mel Hauschildt, coasting toward her Ironman European Championship, but about 50 yards out an Age Grouper guy bursts by the camera crew and Hauschildt to claim his own glory (which turned out to be 25th overall and 4th in his AG).  I posted a few of the tweets below, including one from 2015 Ironman World Champion, Jan Frodeno, who was not impressed by this guy’s move.

your post undermines the efforts of every 9hr AGrouper racing for a kona slot. Congrats to @melhauschildt on the win

— Ronan O'Cathain (@ronanocathain) July 3, 2016

he should of been DQ, classes act by a loser

— Zach Miller (@ZachTris2Run) July 3, 2016

don’t understand the hatred for these AG men that are around pro women in ability. Doesn’t he deserve to cross finish line too?

— Jason Pedersen (@jasonpedersen) July 3, 2016

https://twitter.com/irunshirtless/status/749706430442123268

don’t ask people racing to go slower.

— Jason Pedersen (@jasonpedersen) July 3, 2016

https://twitter.com/LOKenyon/status/749613517905530881?replies_view=true&cursor=BCBVLOpGZwo

THE GOOD & BAD

The first thing is, most people really aren’t themselves when running down the Ironman chute.  I have literally been out of body in good and bad ways.  That said, there’s no doubt that guy has has been spraying “I beat the woman’s champion,” all over Deutschland.

This is clearly no longer a “race” at this point and Mel was just cruising in her glory, slapping hands with all the fans.  He’s just lurks in the draft ready to pick her off like Peter Sagan.

I’m also not sure about his “Let me hear you” arm pumps to the crowd.  It’s actually pretty hilarious, but frankly, most triathletes seem to think they’ve won the race no matter their finish position.

LET’S FIX THE FINISH LINE!

A few people in that string of Tweets suggested having two finish lines.  One for the pros and one for the age groupers.  To this I say, why stop there?  Let’s have a separate finish line for every age group!  It could look similar to the starting gates of the Kentucky Derby.  Maybe add turnstiles just to make sure people aren’t going too fast when they get their picture taken.

Someone else was a little upset by how narrow the chute was, and I have to agree.  The danger is really unfathomable.  Can you imagine if two runners moving the same direction were to exchange body fluid or inadvertently knock off someone’s race visor? It would ignite Twitter rants of exceptional proportions.

RACING WITH PROS

I have raced alongside pros several times and let me tell you, they are not necessarily the friendliest bunch while on the course.  In at two of my runs, everyone was winding both directions on a snake-like, out-and-back greenway and the pros would not hesitate to cut the corner by running right into my lane.  This, of course, forced a survival of the fittest moment and needless to say . . . both times I meekly stepped to the side and ate a banana on the grass.

While I don’t know this for certain, I have detected an ongoing friction between top age-groupers and pros.  Age groupers are like wild dogs creeping around a moonlit neighborhood while pros are on a peaceful stroll with their significant other.  Some of these age-groupers just can’t seem to shut off testosterone.

I love pro triathletes and wish they were in all of my races.  I think it adds to the fun and excitement, but the reality is, age groupers want to kick ass too.  It’s all relative.  By my count this guy finished ahead of 19 male pros that day, which is pretty impressive.  Can’t fault a guy for running to the wire.

Ironman isn’t yet the King’s sport, and I’m not sure we need to be so uptight about etiquette (with the exception of mass swim starts).  That said, it’s ultimately kind of a weak move stealing Hauschildt’s thunder and I fear it could spark a rash of inappropriate Ironman finishes.  At this rate we’ll soon have grown men doing summersaults across the finish line at Kona.  Oh wait . . .

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On the other hand, what if heroine was legal?  In a way it is, in the form of the wildly accepted prescription drug, OxyContin. Your neighbor may be a closet heroine addict and not even know it!  From that page:

What is OxyContin?

Over the last few months, I’ve turned into a podcast freak:  Joe Rogan, Tim Ferriss, Fat Burning Man, Bulletproof Radio, The Frog Bros., and on and on . . .  I often wonder if it’s tied into my Ironman training and an incessant quest to “get better” at everything.

But lately I’ve been more interested in “letting go” by overriding information with music.  Music is far more spiritual and healing than the justice-warriors taking over social media.*

The other day I was listening to Nashville’s Lightning 100 while daydreaming on a long, traffic-ridden drive back from nowhere.  Music filled my air-conditioned cabin, but I didn’t hear the lyrics until a line from the chorus of Leon Bridges‘ – “Better Man” caught my ear:

“To get back to your heart, I’d swim the Mississippi River if you’d give me another start, girl.”

Suddenly, my Ironman-justice-warrior was in overdrive and I’m not kidding when I say my first thought was, “There’s no way this dude could swim the Mississippi River.”

That is proof of many things, but mainly it is a frightening reminder of what Ironman training can do to your brain.  It just so happened I was driving over a Cumberland River bridge at the time and looked down at the daunting water and thought, “No fucking way can he do that.”

Then, I was like, “well, maybe he’s just talking about swimming across it at a really narrow point.”  But then I questioned my own rationale, “I don’t know though, I’ve spent a lot of time on the Mississippi and even a side-to-side is no joke!”

When the next chorus came around, I started feeling the soul in Leon’s voice and thought, “Maybe he could swim the Mississippi River.”  I mean, people say they’d climb mountains for a girl, and if he’s in good shape, which I’m assuming he is because he sings and breathes deeply, maybe, just maybe, with a strong current in his favor, he could at least swim far enough to get her attention and prove that he’s for real about this shit.  It’d wear him out though, and any designs of getting action that night would be a long shot . . . but in reality, he’s really only looking for a another start.

Regardless of whether or not Leon could swim the Mississippi River, he got my attention and I did a little digging.  I dove around his website and dude may or may not be a swimmer, but he is a legitimate package of raw soul.

He has a short film by rock photographer Danny Clinch called, “This is Home,” where Leon talks about carrying the torch of soul music and honoring those before him. The film, which takes him back to his hometown of Fort Worth, Texas also states “In one year, Leon went from open mics to the global stage.” The beautifully shot piece even features how his impeccable style has been driven by Thrift store discoveries. But while there are several visuals and songs that reference rivers, nowhere is there a mention of swimming.

I really don’t know how any of this relates to Ironman training, but let’s just hope it reminds us that big dreams can happen – whether it’s climbing a mountain from the innocent beginnings of sprint triathlons and open mics, or the seemingly insurmountable quest to swim the Mississippi River.

* This is not a reference to the podcasts.

Follow Crushing Iron on Facebook and enjoy the sweet sounds of my new favorite swimmer and singer, Leon Bridges.  

Many people are baffled by my willingness to share training secrets like the controversial run/nap/run or swim/mow lawn brick, but it’s simply in the spirit of leveling the playing field in my age group.   And clearly my strategy is working after getting 21st place in Chattanooga Waterfront triathlon.

The competition is listening and obviously better at my own strategies than me.  Or . . . they are really smart and ignore everything I say.

But even the most skeptical readers will want to pay attention to this new discovery.  It’s a bonafide winner that I’ve tested at least once . . . with excellent results.

FORCING A POSITIVE SPLIT

Most will say that the best race strategy (though very difficult in Ironman) is to negative split your run.  This means the second half of your marathon will be faster than the first . . . well, good luck.

Actually, I do agree with that principle and am always looking for ways to achieve it.  But, since nothing has worked, I decided to try something totally different.

The other day I went out for my “long” run of the week (10 miles) and held a pretty consistent 8:30 mile pace.  It felt pretty good and knew I could probably hold it for the last 5 miles, but decided to do something harder . . . back that pace down to 10 minute miles.

One reason was that my heart rate at an 8:30 pace was about 15 beats too high.  I’m honestly targeting an 8:30 pace at Ironman Wisconsin (I know, long shot) and want to teach my body how to use stored fat better keeping the heart beats to a minimum.

For most of that last 5 miles (with the exception of a couple pick ups) I held 10 or a little slower.  It was extremely hard to hold back, namely because I want all workouts over as fast as possible. And frankly, it hurt my hips and knees a little more to go slower.  I’m fascinated by pain and noticed that when I picked up the pace up to 8:30, the pain shifted into my feet. I assumed it was because I was “exploding” more than landing.  It was an interesting experiment and confirmed my suspicion that sometimes easier to run faster.

Though it hurt a little more, there was no doubt in my mind that a 10-minute-pace for the marathon is very doable.  But, it also told me (based on heart rate) my 8:30 goal may be a little optimistic. It’s probably more like 9-10 at this point, but I’m gonna keep playing with this little theory.  Conditions should be much cooler in Wisconsin, so we’ll see.

A couple years ago a trail running partner used to scold me for always running fast.  I’d take off and do whatever I could to always go faster and faster.  She’d always say, “You know, there’s room in your life for a 10 minute pace.” I always laughed, but maybe she’s right.

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Without question, my dad is the biggest influence on my athletic life.  Somewhere, there is a picture of me in a football helmet with dad holding up a pillow as a blocking sled.  I think I was 5 years old, but remember his encouragement as if it were yesterday.

I also remember him at Little League games.  He’d lean over the fence by the dugout and all I wanted to do was make him proud.  I can still hear his voice ringing through the air as I rounded first base on my way to second for a double, “That a baby!!”

I’d slide into second, then look back at him with a big thumbs up. The smile on his face warmed my entire body.  Sports has always been our purest connection.

This continued through high school and college.  He came to most of my games and it’s amazing how something so innocent can fuel a kid. It didn’t matter if there were ten, or a thousand, fans at the park, if he was there, the stadium was full.

Eventually I got “too old” for competitive sports and our athletic-union was relegated to discussing the Brewers or Wisconsin Badgers basketball.  That was something, but the genuine father/son sporting connection took a little hit.

After many years of inactivity, I decided to change my lifestyle and landed in Ironman training.  I hadn’t felt that athletic rush in 20 years and was excited to share it with dad.

I called him with the news that I’d just signed up for Ironman, and the best part was, the race is just up the road in Madison!  I’ll never forget his response, “Oh yeah?”

It was a little disheartening.

I tried to explain it, but what I didn’t realize was . . . he understood baseball, football, and basketball, not triathlon. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I remembered conversations we used to have about endurance sports.  We both thought marathons and the like were nuts. And not in a good way.

Running, by itself, was never really considered a sport in our home.  Sure, the 100 meter dash was a big deal, the 400, but these skinny guys in the marathons were a little weird.  It always seemed like the sport for people who couldn’t play sports.

So, I understood dad’s confusion, but was so pumped about my new endeavor, that I pressed on in hopes of rekindling the father/son athletic spark.  Eventually he promised to be there on race day, but it felt like more of an inconvenience than a desire.

He started reading Crushing Iron occasionally and I think it began to sink in (though he still thought I was crazy).  I not sure he really wanted to (or could) process the enormity of what I was doing.

I’m guessing he told a few people about his son’s latest quest and most thought it was idiotic. He was torn, but I think a few key people reacted positively and said Ironman was an amazing challenge.

It started sinking in.

A couple months before the race he started asking questions.  “How far are the runs again?” Well, there’s one run and it’s a marathon at the end.  “What?!?”

I also believe that he didn’t think I was serious for a while, but as September approached, he was cautiously intrigued.

My mom started in the same way, but she came on board much earlier.  She was absolutely miffed by how I could attempt such a thing, yet started planning the weekend in a big way. She even went to Madison and plotted viewing points, rest areas, and anything else she could pre-produce.

I think her Ironman Fever got inside dad a bit and when we arrived in my hometown 4 days prior to the race, Dad was engaged.  He asked a lot more questions and I detected a fatherly concern about the enormity of the undertaking, especially from a son that he knew as one that would sleep in and genuinely be lazy.

There are four things I remember most about Ironman weekend as they relate to my dad.

1.  The day before the race, it was 90 degrees and I walked him over to the shore of Lake Monona.  We stood there with my brother and I took the opportunity to have a little fun.

I said, “This is where we swim, dad.”
He said, “Oh yeah?”
Then, after a long pause he said, “How do you know where to go.”
We were standing about 1500 yards from the first turn buoy and I said, “You see that little bridge down there at the end of the lake?”
He said, “Not really.”
“Well, we start right over there, swim down to that bridge, turn left for a couple hundred yards, swim back down 17oo yards to that red buoy out in front of us, then curl back 500 yards back to where we started.”
Mind blown.
I’d been in his shoes before I started training for Ironman.  For a non-swimmer, physically looking at a 2.4 mile swim course is unthinkable.
I sensed the look of an uneasy father in his demeanor as he simply responded, “That’s a long ways, baby.”

2.  The morning of the race, I got my transition stuff ready and came down to meet everyone around 6:30.  The family was in place. Mom, dad, my brother, and sister (who’d flown in from Dallas) all stood on the rope as we waited to enter the water.  I kept an eye on dad who seemed to be more than a little nervous.  The energy is off the charts at 6:30 am with music pumping everyone up and 2,700 racers bouncing around in wetsuits.  Dad smoked non-stop and barely uttered a word.  He was more subdued than pumped, but I assured him it would be fine. He said, “Be careful, buddy,” and I gave him a hug before filing into the water.

I didn’t know it that day, but later when I was watching video my brother shot of me coming out of the water, I heard a new level of excitement/relief from behind the camera in my dad’s voice. As I ran by on video cowbells rang, music blared, and over the top of it all I heard my dad’s voice screaming, “There he is!!  There he is!! That a baby!”

3.  This is another thing I didn’t realize until later, but as we all know, Ironman spectating is a long, long day.  About the time of the run, my dad hit his wall and decided to park a lawn chair near the State Capitol building while others chased me on the course.  At the Wisconsin run, you come up State Street, run around the Capitol, down into the shoot, then back out around the same way for lap two.  Dad waited patiently in his lawn chair and later told me he was absolutely moved and enthralled by the day’s events.  He sat there patiently waiting for my turn-around-lap, but never saw me.  Two chances to connect and we missed.  We marveled at how it could have happened because he was sitting right there next to the course.  A few days later, he walked into the kitchen and said, “Damn it, I bet you ran by when I went to the bathroom.”

4.   Despite missing dad on the run course, he was right on time for my finish.  I came down the finisher’s chute and saw my family on the left, veering off to hug and high-five.  They were all pumped, including dad, and I’ll never forget the genuine pride and joy I felt hugging them all over the fence at the end.

Dad has always been a big golfer and for my race (despite triathlon etiquette) I wore a Titleist visor in his honor.  As coincidence would have it, he also wore a Titleist hat that day . . . and proudly sported a Crushing Iron shirt to boot.

It was a connection I hadn’t felt in years.  For that one day, all the distractions and missed opportunities of life didn’t matter, I was an athlete again, and dad was leaning over the fence just like he’d always done.

Happy Father’s Day, buddy!

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Since I started Ironman training four years ago, I have “skipped” a lot of workouts–and felt guilty much of the time. But now I look at these rest choices as a calculated-energy savings. One “over-workout” can throw off an entire week and I’d rather cut one short than get sick or battle exhaustion.

Yesterday, my three hour trainer ride started with optimism and quickly turned into a shit show. I felt weak and had a hard time getting the blood going, so I settled for an easy-gear spin and worked on staying in aero.  I hoped to eventually loosen up and slowly wind into a tight coil that would explode on the bike trainer universe!  But 45 minutes in, I felt worse.  I decided to hang till the one-hour mark, then make a decision . . . which was to get off the bike.

So, my three hour trainer ride was a fail.  I tried to put it out of my mind, but the nagging gets louder when you’re less than 3 months from your race.

Luckily I remembered the whole two-a-day thing (how can I forget these things?) and how one of my favorite things to do is split up long runs with two shorter ones 6-8 hours apart.  Why not do it with the bike??

As hard as I try (I’m currently reading The Morning Miracle) I’m just not at my best in the mornings.  Even though that trainer ride started at 10 am, I just didn’t have it, but at 5 o’clock, I felt like a different person.  I filled my water bottles, re-greased my chamois, and climbed aboard to see what happened.

I didn’t really have a plan, but after a ten minute warm up, I slipped into a gear that would be about 80% effort (85 rpm or so) and laid in aero for 20 minutes.  This woke me up a bit and I thought I might have two hours in me.  I took a 5 minute easy spin, then went back to pushing in aero.

It should be noted, that I do nearly everything in my training by feel and try very hard to keep good form with swim, bike, and run.  If I’m starting to lose my way, I’ll back off and/or stop.

I have two main goals for the bike right now:  build power in aero, and push big gears for the hills at Wisconsin.

My split-bike-workout yesterday looked like this:

1 Hour easy (mostly in aero) with full intention on moving my legs in a smooth rotation.

2 Hours that night broken out like this:

10 min warm up easy
20 min in aero at just above perceived race pace on flats around 85 rpm
5 min EASY gear recovery
20 min in aero at just above perceived race pace on flats around 85 rpm
5 min EASY gear recovery
5 min hardest gear sitting down at 55rpm
5 min easy gear recovery at a good clip 95rpm
5 min hardest gear sitting down at 55rpm
5 min easy gear recovery at a good clip 95rpm
5 min hardest gear standing at 55rpm
5 min EASY gear recovery
20 min in aero at just above perceived race pace on flats around 85 rpm
10 min EASY gear cool down

I have no idea if this is an effective strategy, but it felt good to me.  I’m really concentrating on a smooth pedal stroke with everything I do. I also like to think of simulating the course on a trainer to create different challenges with a wide range of rpm, then finding a sweet spot where I’ll have the most efficient speed.  This was a pretty tough workout, but when I keep my mind focused on form vs. mashing the pedals, you find a better rhythm and cycling doesn’t seem quite as hard.

I suppose some of your are asking why I would ride the trainer for 3 hours on a beautiful Saturday morning, especially after hearing the best triathlon cyclist, Andrew Starykowicz say he rarely rides the trainer?  Well, two reasons, actually.

Last year, for the 6 weeks leading up to Ironman Chattanooga, I was working under the guidance of pro-triathlete, Jim Lubiniski.  I told him flat-out that I wasn’t in the mood for any 4-6 hour rides and asked if there was a work-around.  I’m not saying he endorsed my “no-long-ride” strategy, but he developed a killer (tough) trainer schedule that I hammered 3 days a week for 5 weeks.

Before Chattanooga, my longest ride was 68 miles but I still averaged my fastest IM time of 20 mph for the 116 miles.  There could be a number of reasons, but the one thing I remember about that ride is that I seemed to have another level of tenacity for getting back in aero and pushing through.  I attribute a lot of that to the consistent, non-stop-grind of the trainer.

Secondly, I’m not much for riding on roads or greenways.  Roads because people driving cars seem to get very angry at the simple thought of someone on a bicycle, and greenways because I can’t stand when I see cyclists cooking by me in aero with kids and dogs and groups of kids on skateboards.  Neither place lets me focus like a trainer.  Here in Nashville, Natchez Trace is the exception, but it’s 45 minutes from my house and with set up, etc, it’s a 2 hour round trip.

I guess thing I like about the trainer is the mental toughness.  It’s become almost a meditation for me.  Clear the brain and work on form. And last night I was blessed with a pouring rain while I rode in my garage.

Though I biked well at Chattanooga, I still feel like my run suffered from not being in better cycling shape.  I was in the best run shape of my life last year, but it didn’t matter because my legs were fried off the bike.  I still ran decently, but if my bike form would have been tighter and my legs a little stronger, that run could have gone much better.

Biking (along with swimming) have been my main focuses this year.  I’m backing off on the run to add time in the water and saddle.

I guess the whole point of this is . . . if we’re doing a lot of two-a-days training for Ironman, don’t underestimate the thought of splitting long swims, bikes, or runs into two.  There’s definitely something to be said for getting used to and plowing through a tough patch, but it’s a fine line. Sometimes we just don’t have it, and risking the loss of a few training days to exhaustion isn’t worth it to me.

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As long as I can remember, I’ve had a sneaking suspicion that sleep was the key to a healthy life (and weight).  Lately I’ve been reading and hearing a lot of stuff that seems to proving my instincts right.

The problem with my sleep worship was that it mostly revolved around sleeping in.  When I had my corporate job, I’d purposely go in late because I knew I didn’t get enough sleep.  I’d stroll in around 10 am without much guilt and openly decree I was late because I overslept. People would look at me in amazement and wonder how I could get away with being so “belligerent.”

It wasn’t about “giving it to the man,” (though that was my mindset at the time and now realize it was more about my ego than the man, but that’s a topic for another day), it wasn’t about late-night clubbing – it was about screwing around, usually in my bed with podcasts, web surfing or movies.

The first year of my Ironman training was laced with sleepless nights and 5 am wake up calls for swim or bike training.  Much of the time I was a zombie scrambling for the nearest cave. Hell, I only slept 3 sketchy hours before Ironman Wisconsin that year.  In the last couple weeks I’ve finally gotten serious about getting into my bed to sleep.

I knew what to do, but the turning point and motivation came from Daniel Vitalis on the James Swanwick podcast.  Daniel’s philosophy is based on pursuing the purest forms of the basic elements of life:  food, water, air, and light.

It was the “air and light” parts that changed the way I thought about sleep.  So, I decided to take these 5 steps to become a better sleeper.

Get Rid of Dust –  My dog is the sweetest person I know, but I was sort of oblivious to her shedding.  Step one of air cleaning was to get rid of the dust and dander that was recycling through my room and lungs.  I was astonished by the amount of pet hair under my bed.  I deep cleaned the floors, walls, and beat out the mattress.  I took out a skanky rug and for now have left just the hardwood floor.

Breathe Cleaner Air – I went to Home Depot and picked up a $65 air purifier.  Not only does it suck random particles from the air, it sounds a little like an old-school window air conditioner, which is nice.  I’ve been keeping the door shut during the day and it’s amazing how fresh and clean the room feels when I go in there at night to SLEEP.

De-Screen  –  Watching TV in bed is like an American right, but I needed drastic measures. Not only is TV a ridiculous temptation, it is a stimulant and there’s a lot of research about WiFi being bad news.  So, TV, Apple TV, and cable box, all gone.

I also got rid of my alarm clock (which might not be so easy for someone who has an actual job) with the goal of eventually going to sleep at an hour that allows me to wake up early enough for anything.

I’ve also made a new rule that goes something like this:  My cell phone is banned from my bedroom at all times.  Even during the day, when it would be easy to kick back on the bed with my phone, limp around Facebook and fall into a nap with WiFi polluting my brain.

This was the hard part, but there are literally two electronic devices left in my room:  a lamp and the air purifier.

Black Out –  It starts with dark curtains, but includes tiny “on buttons” of electronics, LED alarm clocks, cell phones, etc.  It’s amazing how much light those little devices put out when your room is truly dark, and they can definitely affect your sleep.  I haven’t gone to those sleeping masks yet, but I’m definitely considering.

Oxygenate – The last thing I did was add a big plant in the corner of the room.  I don’t know the science, but here’s a link to a NASA graph of the best air quality plants.  I’m not sure my plant is on but I’m learning and pretty sure my room will soon be a jungle.

Aside from those things, I’ve also de-cluttered entirely.  The only thing left on my floor (other than the plant and air purifier) is a yoga matt and meditation pillow.  It’s amazing how easy it is to drop into a pose and sit in meditation at night when there isn’t dirty laundry or gym bags or bike tires and TVs around.

Like Ironman training, this is a work in progress, but I can definitely say I’ve had some really nice uninterrupted sleeps in the last week or so.  I’ve been falling asleep around midnight and naturally waking up around 8-9 o’clock.  I honestly think my lifestyle has saddled me with a deep-seeded exhaustion of sorts and am excited about restoring my joints, muscles, and brain.

I’ve also been exploring general hydration and feel like I’m making some nice discoveries there as well.  I’ll get into that, along with an update on the book I’m writing about my journey from the couch to sub-12 Ironman, in my next post.

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