Sometimes I get tired of formulating specific points about specific topics.  The internet is loaded with awful advice and that is probably the reason I have about 200 posts sitting in draft mode.  There’s nothing worse than a know-it-all, and I certainly don’t know shit.

The thing with me (and I’m sure it is with most aspiring triathletes) is that I love to think about this sport.  It’s so complex because of the mixed disciplines and nutrition and finding time/energy, etc. that it becomes a twisted metaphor for life that nobody can quite figure out. So, if you’re like me, you are on a continual search for simplicity.

How can all of this be simpler?  I’m not sure, but it is definitely a clutter-filled existence and one of the reasons I started painting the interior walls of my home white.  I’ve also given valiant effort at throwing out clothes I don’t wear, but the other day I found a huge box of old clothes in the garage and it became my new wardrobe.  The clutter that won’t go away!

For some reason racing triathlon is important to us . . . especially our first Ironman.  It’s something we think about daily, and sometimes hourly leading up to our race.  A pressure cooker that never leaves us alone.

And now, after two Ironman and three halves, I have that feeling again.  I am buzzing about Muncie.  Probably too much, but at least it’s something.

I feel like triathlon really does mimic life.  The possibilities are exciting, but when you realize how damn hard it can be, there are two choices:

1.  Tackle it head on and honestly do your best through preparation
2.  downplay the whole thing and treat it like it really doesn’t matter.

I think both serve a purpose.

The key element here is, “you realize how damn hard it can be.”  I mean, if I knew now what I did before I started all this stuff, I’m not sure I would would do it again.  I’m not sure the payoff has been worth it, but it’s tough to appreciate incremental growth.

One thing I’ve learned for sure is:  the harder you work at difficult things, the easier they become.  It doesn’t happen that day or the next, but eventually you just start doing it with a new sense of ease.

Running or cycling hills is a good example.  If you suck on hills, do them more.  Suck your ass off for days on end with genuine focus on using better form, relaxing, and believing you will be good on hills.

If you’re a bad swimmer (and want to be better) get into the water a lot.  Struggle, get winded, think about and use proper form even when it feels wrong.  Sooner or later, you will become a better swimmer.

But the truth is . . . this shit is not only hard, it’s addictive and lures you into deeper water.  One IRONMAN isn’t enough.  Your time is never fast enough.  The work doesn’t go away.

Muncie is all I can think about right now and I’ve been calculating my splits in endless formations.  If I do “this” in the swim I should be able to bike “this” but then my run might suffer.  On and on.

In the simplest terms, I think all of the obsession and determination is a good thing.  It makes life more interesting.  The problem comes after the race.  If we’re not racing for ourselves, it can be a big letdown.  We may think we failed, or worse, accomplished our goal, and lose sight of all the good things that have come from training.

It’s the training, not the race.  But in America, it always seems to come back to the prize.  How much shiny stuff or attention can we get.  I’m here to tell you, that is a fucked up way to live.

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The other night I watched a documentary about Mike Tyson.  He was an animal in the gym.

Even Evander Hollyfield said he never saw anyone train so hard.  Tyson was in relentless pursuit of being the best and knew that happened long before he got into the ring.

Tyson destroyed everyone in his path (usually in the first round) on his way to becoming the Heavyweight Champion.  At some point he got distracted by the fame and discarded his relentless training habits before fighting a relative unknown and 42-1 underdog named James “Buster” Douglas.  Douglas shocked the world by sending Tyson to the canvas.

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How do we keep the fire burning?

I started running and triathlon with a simple goal:  To pull me from a downward spiral and feel alive again.  Three years later, I’m in an entirely different place and using the podium at Ironman Muncie 70.3 as motivation.

So, the struggle now becomes, am I going too far the other way?  Racing for the wrong reasons?

I have talked so much about “racing against yourself,” and I still believe that, but “racing to win” is a motivation used by nearly everyone in sport.  I can also add an entirely different toll on your brain and body.  For one thing, I will have to cut at least 20 minutes off a pretty good time (5:16) from my first trip to Muncie.

But that added pressure has me the most excited I’ve been for a race since my first Ironman at Wisconsin.  I’ve been focused (for me) and even opted out of 3 shorter races to stay focused on my training plan.

Anything can happen, and caution is always on my mind, but as much as an aging-amateur-triathlete can, I am going for it.  And what’s wrong with that?

In many ways “wanting to win” is the ultimate test of racing against yourself.  For months you build challenging moments into the training.  Moments that will test your will make you familiar with the pain when it comes.  So, when I say I’m racing for the podium, what I really mean is that race is happening now.

It’s far from training for the Heavyweight Championship of the World, but motivation is relative.  There’s another level of fuel burning and it’s pretty cool.

I totally get the concept of training to feel better, but in all honestly, if I simply wanted to “feel great” (especially in a Zen sort of way) I wouldn’t be training for an Ironman.  It’s physically, emotionally, and spiritually draining.  Probably overkill in the grand scheme of wellness.

So, the competitor comes alive.

I have looked at who is racing Muncie and checked the last few years to see if the top finishers are coming back.  It doesn’t really matter because every race is different, and who knows who will show up, but it’s kinda fun, and frankly, that’s what I need right now.

I’ve sliced this scenario in every way possible and it will take the perfect race.  Finishing a 70.3 is definitely a major accomplishment, but I’m treating Muncie like my rematch with “Buster” Douglas.

Motivation has to come from somewhere.  I suppose it could be saving the world, but I’ve kinda turned that one over to a power higher than me.

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Other Posts Related to Muncie

Muncie Race Report 2013

Creepy Training Video for Muncie

Thoughts One Week Out From My First 70.3

The paradox of being a triathlete is that we are hell-bent on doing the best things for our body, but our methods are definitely debateable.  We want to feel good, look good, and reach a higher plane, but in the process we tend to destroy ourselves.

A great example of this was on Sunday when I felt the rumblings of a summer cold or sore throat brewing.  It actually started Saturday night and my thought process was sort of like, “What better way to reverse a cold than submerge yourself in an oven?

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to the 2-hour-run on my schedule.  It would be my longest of the year and was prefaced coaching instructions to “leave the ego at home.”  An easy two hour stroll through Shelby Bottoms in 90 degree sunshine was my idea of a picnic.

I never think about being sick as “being sick.”  It’s more a sign or symptom of what’s going on in my diet or lifestyle.  In this case I reflected on the full pizza and junk-food-explorations I slipped down my throat a few days earlier.  Comfort food that simply makes it harder for your body to work right.

When this happens it usually re-kindles the “health-researcher” in me and he uncovered a really interesting nugget about toxins and hydration.  If you’re body is clean, you don’t need as many fluids as you do when you’re loaded with toxins because the body needs more water to flush that crap out of your system.  Wow . . . so simple, but incredibly relevant to triathlon training.

I felt pretty strong for the first hour and a half of that run, but the last 30 minutes took their toll.  My muscles and will were shredded, but I felt that elusive state of calm. The workout did its job.

As soon as I got home, I turned on the juicer and haven’t looked back.  The reason I believe in juicing (mainly greens) is because it’s based on nutrients more than calories.  If our cells don’t get what they need to function, they revolt and something is bound to go haywire.

Monday was a little foggy but it was a great reminder that I was do for a reset.  Much like the “base-run” I had just completed, it doesn’t necessarily feel good at the time, but it’s an investment in the future.

 

 

Just over three years ago, living become difficult for me.  I wasn’t thinking clearly, I was laying around all the time, and I felt like I was leaving life on the table.

Regret is probably my biggest motivator.  It scares the shit out of me to think about looking up from a hospital bed and wondering . . . “what if?”

For some reason I decided running (and walking) would be the catalyst.  But real change is hard and frankly takes a lot longer than you want.

I had never been able to run for more than a short distance or a couple days in a row.  But with the help of a Couch to 5k program I got hooked and running eventually propelled me to triathlon.

Couch to 5k eases you into running by combining it with walking.  Slowly building your joints, muscles and tendons to the point where they can sustain a 3 mile run.

This Couch to 5k mentality has always been an important theory in my training, but it’s easy to forget.

Typical I’ll get lazy for a while, then tear off into the sunset to prove that I “still have it,” but I usually don’t.  That’s when patience is tested.

Someone once told me the purpose of exercise is to “get” energy, not lose it.  I really like that concept and often refer to it as an “excuse” when I cut workouts short.

Injury, fatigue, and general disinterest will kill your race far faster than under-training. There were many nights during that initial 5k training that I could have kept going after the workout, but quitting while you’re ahead does something really important: it keeps the fire burning.

Swimming is a great example for me.  I am not kidding when I say the furthest I swam last year before Ironman Louisville was 2500 meters (the race is over 4,000).  Why?  Because long pool swims absolutely destroy my body and mind.

That said, I swam almost daily for 3 weeks leading up to the race.  1,200 here, 1,500 there, etc . . . I fell in love with swimming.  By the time Louisville hit, I couldn’t wait to get in the water.

That frequency turned me into a fish.  I hit the river with zero fear on my way to a relaxing 1:06 Ironman swim that left me full of energy for the bike.

Thinking you have to be wiped out after every workout is a bad theory.  Ironman training puts us in a chronic-fatigue-state as it is and trying to add to that pain is masochistic.

For me, training hard means being frequent and strategic about what I’m doing.

I am always looking for ways to get faster and stronger, but with the purpose of making everything easier.  Improving my stroke in the water, run stride, etc… The minute my form falls apart or I feel like the workout I’m doing will ruin the next few days, I’m done.

Consistency is how the body and mind learn.  Sure, we can stay up all night cramming for our “test,” but building and retaining small doses along the way is more effective, and frankly, a lot more enjoyable.

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I’m not sure anyone really cares, but a couple months back I made a big declaration that I was going to give it my all to qualify for Ironman World Championships at KONA.  It was a bold decision and rooted in the fact that I needed motivation.

About two weeks after that announcement, I fell off the rails.  My training was sporadic, I slinked over to Knoxville for an average (for me) performance in the Challenge Olympic . . . then I got depressed.

Even though I didn’t crush Challenge Knoxville, the effort wore me out.  I slept a lot the following week and I still hadn’t signed up for Muncie 70.3 even though I “planned” to do it.

I was “this” close to throwing in the KONA-towel and casually slipped it into a conversation with Rebekah.  I thought the words may slide by her.

She has always been supportive, but on this day, she got in my grill.

She agreed that it was my option to give up, but reminded me that I have been crafting my life and lifestyle for this moment.  I left my job, built a sustainable business model on my terms, and created flexible training situation.

She got a little firmer.

“You have the time, desire, and most importantly, you have the ability.  There are a lot of variables, but not everyone has the opportunity to get to that level.  You have the talent to be in that conversation.  Do you really want to look back and regret that you never gave it your best shot?”

Clang!

One of my lifelong quests has been to use the power of fear, but far too often it uses me.  The only reason death scares me is because I don’t want to be lying there regretting that I didn’t go after my dreams and goals.  Not always obtaining goals, but honestly going after them.

The other night I was talking with my brother about our competitive softball days (I know that sounds like an oxymoron, but it’s true).  We always seemed to do our best in the biggest, most pressure-packed tournaments.  As we talked it through we came to the realization that we excelled because once the games started we couldn’t hide.  We were forced to use fear’s energy or crumble under it’s negative power.

I have tossed and turned with anxiety before every one of my races, but somehow I’ve woken up in a state of peace every time.  It’s like I let go, drilled deep into the moment, and accepted the consequences.  I imagine it’s similar to the feeling you get before jumping from an airplane or lying on your death bed.

And I think it’s that feeling we always want our lives.  Calm, content, confident.  An understanding that everything will be okay and there is no reason to be afraid.

Stephen Pressfield calls it “resistance.”  Resistance is simple distractions that are far easier than doing the work it takes to reach your goals.

Since that conversation with Rebekah, I have turned those negative thoughts into motivation with a focus on Muncie 70.3.  My coach has me back on a plan that challenges me to be better and I have given the workouts priority.  It’s amazing how much things can change with a few weeks of focus.

 

EDIT: I wrote this about a week ago, but forgot to post it.

I’m sure it adds to my odd-ball-status, but I genuinely love watching triathlons. So much pain, so much exhilaration, so much, uh, down-time.

On this day, I got up early to watch my coach race the Dickson Endurance Challenge, and judging from the roads driving into the swim, “challenge” was an understatement.  I mean, gauging a road in your car can be misleading, but whenever you have to floor it to climb a hill, you know it’s legit.

The Dickson Endurance Challenge is legit . . . and it starts with the swim exit.

I am not even kidding when I say I was sucking gas walking up that hill after taking a few pictures at the swim.  I’m guessing 500 feet of 4% grade?

While driving in, I noticed multiple aid stations along the course and they were all stocked with staff and supplies long before the anyone needed them.  They were also gracious in giving me directions.  I’m glad I went this year because I never would have made it on time for the start if I were racing.

Before I go any further, I would like to say this race is really well done . . . with one exception . . . the music.  And I know you’re asking, why would you even bring up the music?!?  Okay, I’ll tell you.

When I first got into triathlon it took me at least 9 months to explain it to my dad.  He didn’t understand, nor really care and I totally get that.  But, the first time he saw me race was at Ironman Wisconsin and the one thing he always talks about is the music.  For months after the race he would literally start singing “Let’s get it started” out of the blue, followed by, “I loved that music at Ironman.”  Why is that so important?  Because I honestly think it gave him a multi-month shot of adrenaline and made him a fan.  See, he was a spectator, just like I was today.

Anyway . . . so, yes, the race was really cool, but playing the entire side of Billy Joel’s “The Stranger” was a bit much.  They almost saved the day, with Britney Spears’s “Work, Bitch,” but for some reason they played the G-rated version that doesn’t say Bitch.  I don’t know.

Ah yes, back to the race.  My coach won, and here are the pics I took, many with hard-hitting captions:

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The evening before Challenge Knoxville, I ran into David, who I met at last years race when we had a guarded pre-race conversation in transition.  We played a bit of cat and mouse intimidation but eventually figured out we were in different age groups.   We became good friends over the year that followed.

Now, a year later he was in my age group, and I knew he was the one I had to beat if I intended on winning. We chatted casually while listening to the mandatory athlete meeting and I wanted to see if I could get into his head.

“How are you recovering from the Boston Marathon?,” I asked.

“Oh, I’m feeling good,” he replied with his standard confidence.

“Well, those marathons have a way of creating deep fatigue.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I mean, DEEP fatigue you may not even be aware of.”

He just laughed.

Later, on my way back to the hotel, I saw him walking the other way and asked where he was headed.

He said, “Grabbing some dinner.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little late to be eating?”

The seeds were planted.

SWIM

After another crappy pre-race sleep I sauntered to the start line around 7:30 with my wetsuit.  As usual, it was raining as I stood along the Tennessee River warming up before the horn.  The water temperature was 73 degrees and I had serious doubts about wearing my wetsuit, but it was a little chilly and decided I would rather risk using it.

I ran into David and, not expecting an answer, asked his swim strategy.  Without missing a beat he said, “I’m going to start in the front, get to the turn buoy as fast as I can and be the first one out of the water.”

Our strategies were quite different.

I planned to ease into my swim as usual then hope for a mid-swim-burst to finish strong. I too started in the front, which was a mistake.

I always forget how hard people swim at the start of a race.  I was getting the shit beat out of me by overzealous age-groupers.  Slamming my left, my right, even swimming over the top.  The best is when they swim past you, take 3 strokes, then stop to sight right in your path.  I was bred to embrace contact, but it makes finding a groove difficult.

I expected to be out of the water in 25 minutes or less.  But for some reason I couldn’t find a pocket.  I’m sure it had something to do with not being used to my wetsuit but that’s just an excuse.  I didn’t have it that day, but it could have been worse.  Actual time was 28 minutes (1:57/100), which burns my asshole, but whatever.

Later, I found out David swam a 22 minute leg, so I didn’t know it, but I was already 6 minutes behind.

—-BIKE—–

I didn’t feel “bad” leaving transition, but definitely sluggish.  I had the same strategy on the bike.  Start under control, be nice and warm by the first hill at mile 7, crush the climb, then kick it into gear.

My stomach was acting up in the swim, to the point where I thought I might get sick in the water and that feeling continued for a while on the bike.  It’s always something in these races and I knew I couldn’t think about it too much or it would ruin my race.

I walked a fine line with hydration and sour stomach.  Sipping as much as I could versus big gulps.  Somewhere around the halfway mark of the ride, I started to feel better, but my legs were far from explosive.  I climbed under control and used the big ring to build speed off the top before coasting the second halves of downhills.  My run was a BIG question mark.

Around mile eighteen I saw another guy I met in transition last year named Cliff.  He was on the side of the road messing with his bike.  I passed him climbing the hill, then he passed me two minutes later only to pull over again.  I saw him after the race and he was a bloody mess.  Just after that climb, we hit a long and fast descent.  I passed a cyclist laid out on the ground, who I later realized was Pro Triathlete Eric Limkemann.  It was in that very spot that Cliff took his spill.  I’m sure they both were well over 30 mph.

The last leg of the bike was fairly routine.  I drank as much as much as could stomach and following my coaches orders to push my cadence for the last two miles so my legs were ready for the run.

(1:13/20.3 mph)

—–RUN—–

I always chuckle at the feeling I have off the bike while tap dancing in bike shoes back to the rack.  I had no idea what to expect and hadn’t ran well in 3 weeks or so.

In a spur of the moment decision I opted for no socks on the run and threw on my Pearl Izumi Streaks for the second time this year.  I’ve kinda decided that they are not the best training shoes, but I love to race them.  They are light, responsive, and make me feel faster.

Short, ginger steps were the name of the game for the first mile until I realized I felt pretty good.  My legs were moving fast and my breath was under control.  That’s when it happened.

I couldn’t believe my eyes, but David was walking toward me on the right hand side.  He was obviously out of the race and I yelled, “What the fuck are you doing?”

He said, “I’m done.  Injured.”

Damn.

As I passed him he yelled, “You look great, go get it.  Only two guys in front of you!”

For a brief moment I felt guilty about the Boston fatigue comment, but quickly forgot when I saw my first age-group-victim 20 yards in front of me.  I lurked for about a 1/2 mile before making the decision to pass.  I fixed my hair, zipped my top, then gave him a big smile as I blew by with immaculate form in hopes of sucking the wind from his aspirations.

For the next mile I stayed strong, but kept waiting to bonk.  I kept repeating, “Just run your race and breathe” to myself.  I wasn’t wearing a Garmin, but my chrono watch estimate was that I was sub 8 minute pace through 2.5 miles.  And that’s when I saw the other guy I was chasing.  He was at least a mile ahead of me, so I knew first place was out of contention.

Second place sounded good to me, but the guy I passed was hanging on.

I stayed within myself and told myself that if he passed me at this pace, more power to him.  By mile five I felt like I held him off.  I looked back a couple times and knew he was too far away if I could just stay true to my plan.

The run course ends with a long hill to the finish line and I got a tad delirious as I pushed the incline.  I was breathing harder than I had all day and thought for sure he was going to make me sprint to the finish line.  But he never did.  I would cruise down the finisher’s chute for an easy second place.

The crew dropped a medal around my neck then graced me with a soaking wet Gatorade towel.  I limped through a few handshakes, then walked over to print my results.  It was all an illusion.  I was not 2nd, nor 3rd, nor even 4th!  I had perfectly executed my 2nd place plan into a 5th place finish.

Karma is a bitch.

(47 min/7:43 pace)

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Follow me @miketarrolly on Twitter and sign up for Crushing Iron by email to get many more reports from Challenge Knox including hotel and restaurant reviews, new friend stories and a disastrous tale from a first time triathlete.

 

 

 

 

 

I came up early to Challenge Knoxville for some reason, possibly because I don’t have a job. The first person I saw was Cameron Dye in the Holiday Inn lobby and I tweeted my appreciation, but I haven’t heard back from him . . . yet.

Next was off to check in.  It was likely the earliest check in of my career for anything.  I’m number 817 if you want to track me in the Olympic.

Here are some beautiful photos from my day.