Nothing like good friends and a little beach vacation to start your Memorial Day Weekend. 
Photo: Robbie Bruce
I'm Gonna "Wing It" at Ironman
So, I think I’m taking this Ironman business too seriously. It’s not like I’m concocting to be the first man to tight rope between the former World Trade Center Towers like Philippe Petit, or stand on a pole 100 feet in the air for 35 hours like David Blaine. Some estimates say more than a quarter million people have finished Ironman, and I plan to be one of them.
So for starters, I think I’m gonna cancel my hotel, roll into town sometime on Friday afternoon and pitch a tent on the beach near the swim start. I know that Friday is a huge day for Ironman participants and I expect to be borrowing a lot of equipment I forgot to pack for the race. Water bottles, Gu, tire pumps, goggles. I’ll graciously invite all donors to my tent party the next evening.
I know the Badgers play Saturday, so I’ll probably meditate for a while, then swing by Camp Randall 
and see how the team is responding to new head coach, Gary Anderson. And, though it will be early in the season, I predict this will be the day Melvin Gordon officially eases the pain of losing Montee Ball.
After the game, I’ll likely head to Essen Haus for some brats and a beer before doing a little shopping on State Street. Then, after picking up some PBR (who we are trying to secure as a race sponsor, so if you know anyone . . . ) for the cooler, then it’s off to the tent to dry my socks by the fire. My buddy, Roger, will be back home from the Florida Keys and it will be nice to hear a little beach music as a nod off for my race.
My dreams will be filled with soft waves pounding the rocks along Lake Monona and my body clock will reset to nature. I will be in tune with the surroundings and feel sorry for athletes stuck in nice hotels with no connection to the land or sea. But those concerns will drift away as the light mist floats through the air and the Wisconsin State Bird perches like a guardian angel on the peak of my green canvas tent.
I will naturally wake with the universe and sip coffee from a metal cup that was warmed by the fading fire. The Ironman volunteers will politely wish me luck as I peak my head through the tent flaps to gaze at kayakers on the lake. I will inspect the buoys from ground level, then close my eyes to visualize every stroke of my swim while Mike Reilly does mic’ checks in the distance.
For the sake of old times, I’ll wear cut-off blue jeans and flip flops to my final transition inspection. I will marvel at all the spectacular bikes and race wheels, then sit on my towel for a final meditation before slipping into my wetsuit. There will be a nervous energy, but I will be calm, playfully asking other racers, “How far is the swim again?” They love that stuff!
I will be back home, surrounded by friends, family, and familiar terrain. The bike course will bring back hazy memories of college road trips and long nights of drinking beer. The hum of my tires on the road will serve as a music bed that flashes me back to childhood. Those rainy forty mile “bike-hikes” that twisted through Southern Wisconsin. I will soak it in like a Sunday drive. Then to the run.
I spent many nights in Madison and can barely remember any of them. We used to drive down from LaCrosse on Thursday, hit the Kollege Klub (which is conveniently less than two miles from the Ironman Swim Start) happy hour and stumble up State Street to my buddy’s place on top of Paul’s Club. On September 8th, I will be stumbling by for a different reason.
I hear that State Street portion of the run is unforgettable. People line the road and cheer you on, and hopefully with the same enthusiasm as I remember the Halloween night celebrations. 
And hopefully security won’t feel the need to pull any of these shenanigans like they did with innocent party-goers on occasion.
Regardless of what happens, this is going to be one of the most memorable days of my life and I want to soak it all in. Ironman in my home state? Forget the pressure, this is going to be a party.
Mom Understands Ironman, But What About Dad?
My mother is active, energized, and a searcher of truth. My father is laid back, a methodical saver of energy, and a man with exceptional hand-eye coordination. Mom is a passionate doer; dad a purveyor of logic. I, am all of the above.
Mom is very excited about my quest for Ironman, but I’m pretty sure dad thinks I’m nuts. He gave me the gift of learning through analogy and, in his mind, the only comparison close to his son doing Ironman is his buddy Bill who used to run marathons.
Dad and I both thought marathoners had a screw loose. Unless there was a basket, base, or end zone waiting, running was not something Tarrollys embraced. Even then, it was questionable. We never seemed to be in a hurry, and the thought of running 26.2 miles, let alone 90 feet, seemed a little silly.
So now, I’m pretty sure dad thinks I’m doing a marathon and is confused when I talk about swim and bike. Hell, even I didn’t really understand it until last year.
He told me he’ll be at the race, but I’m not sure the time investment has sunk in. He’ll drive to Madison that morning at 5am, scramble to find parking, then stand around for 13 hours trying to catch a glimpse of his son doing something he thinks is an exercise for the paranormal.
But seeing is understanding. And he’s a competitor.
One of my earliest memories with dad is when I was 6 years old and he’d crouch with a pillow in front of him as a human blocking sled. I’d wear my Green Bay Packer’s helmet and smash into him like John Brockington while he encouraged me to run harder, faster, and with more power. We’d do it over and over until he wanted a PBR or I wanted a Mountain Dew.
I think like most dads, mine wanted to live re-live his athletic days through his son. On the little league, or Pop Warner fields, he was there. I’ll never forget the sound of his voice echoing through my helmet ear holes after I got a hit and ran my little heart out down the first baseline, “That a baby!”
He was always proud of my accomplishments and, like any young boy, I always wanted to impress my dad.
Now, his oldest son will tackle the biggest challenge yet: Ironman. In lieu of a field, this game will play out over 140.6 miles of water and pavement. It will be a test of will and endurance that has little in common with the split-second reaction needed to hit a baseball, or take a jump shot, but the competitor in dad will eventually get hooked. Timing chips, splits, and transitions will be a foreign language, but dad will translate Lake Monona and the streets of Madison as my grown-up-blocking-sled while he encourages me to run harder, faster, and with more power.
He will sit near the final mile and marvel at the fact that I actually finished. Not that he doesn’t think I can do it, but I’m sure on some level he truly believes Ironman seems impossible.
But for years he poured into my head that anything is possible. And on that day I will remind him that he helped me believe in myself by defining the world as a free market. Insisting it’s there for the taking. “You have the ability, intelligence and desire to follow your dreams. Just go do it.” And, whether or not this is what he had in mind, one of his son’s most compelling dreams will soon unfold, right before dad’s eyes.
Time Flies When You're Training for Ironman
I realize this is a little off, but the calendar has flipped and it makes me a tad anxious. True count is 116 days, which is more toward 4 months, but it’s coming quick! 
Open Water Swim Clinics
I’ve never been much of a morning guy, but NOW . . . I seem to roll out of bed at ridiculous hours. Today was 5 am so I could join other triathletes for open water swim. The worst part? I didn’t even get in the water.
My shoulder’s been a little wank lately, so I went out to shoot video for the Crushing Iron documentary. And, even though I didn’t swim, I got a huge charge out of watching others working to be great.
These clinics are first and foremost about feeling more comfortable in open water. The more you do it, the more the techniques Robbie gives us pay off. You work on real open water situations like mass starts, beach starts, sighting, and drafting. Open water is a serious hurdle for some people, but I’m sure they would be surprised how quickly they’d embrace lakes, rivers, and oceans if they did a few of these clinics.
Training for three disciplines puts you in a perpetual state of questioning. You decide your run is in a good spot, then focus on swimming for a couple weeks only to feel like your run falls off. It’s a major balancing act that never ends. That said, the more I think about Ironman, the more I feel like the swim is the key. People rarely think about it that way because it’s by far the shortest time spent, but a bad swim can make those next 138.2 miles miserable.
I’ve had two races this year. An early season sprint and an Olympic 10 days ago. The sprint swim was a mere 300 meters and left me a mess. I was completely anxious, out of breath, and my heart rate was through the roof. It killed my bike and likely dabbled in my run. The Olympic swim started rough, but I settled down, had a nice time, and came out of the water fresh to hammer the bike and have a decent run. I definitely think my Open Water Swim Clinic with Robbie Bruce helped, and I’d only been ONE day. Imagine what a whole summer in the lake would do for your big race?
Gulf Coast Triathlon Guest Blog – Robbie Bruce
Last Saturday, Jim, Allie, and coach Robbiewent to Panama City to crush Gulf Coast. The following is a race recap from Robbie who continually inspires me with his words and actions.
He takes us through his preparation, his game plan, and how it all played out in the race. It’s a great read that’s loaded with helpful triathlon strategy.
GCT Recap- Freedom to find my Edge – Robbie Bruce
There is a certain freedom that comes with going into a race without real knowledge or data of your current fitness level. The last 4-6 weeks have been both frustrating and enlightening. Battling and nursing a nagging Achilles injury leading up to Country Music Marathon was frustrating. But my result, and what I learned about myself and my fitness at CMM, was enlightening. It will most likely go down as one of the defining moments of my triathlete career.
I spent the majority of the 2 weeks before Gulf Coast Triathlon just trying to recover and get healthy enough to give myself a shot. Not just to “complete” it, but race it. My race week usually goes from ready-confident-relaxed to nervous-anxious. The week before GCT it went in the exact opposite order. Many of my friends asked “how do you feel?” And my response was,” I’m actually pretty confident and I have no reason to be.” It as a weird feeling. One that I have not been accustomed to but will welcome back with open arms if it presents itself again.
I drove to Panama City Beach solo on Thursday. It was actually nice to make the trek alone. It have me plenty of time to think, plan, re-think, and plan again. I was brainstorming a variety of game plans on how to attack GCT. All were quite different but with the same objective. Find out where I am and where I need to be for Kansas 70.3. I shared my options with many close friends and athletes. Having so many people in my life that are involved in the sport, that I coach, or just close friends is so invaluable when it comes to races. They always give great insight and are totally objective and usually in areas that I fail to be. I got into PCB around 3-4. I checked in, grabbed my packet and tried to settle. I was staying by myself and I must say, I enjoyed every minute of it. I got to create my own bubble of focus. Finished the night off having dinner with a few of my athletes and turned in early.
Fri- The Day Before
I woke up with a feeling of freedom. I was loose. I was ready. I had a SBR workout with all of the X3 athletes that morning and told myself I would listen to my gut and decide on a game plan when I got done. It was so great to have my athletes around. They are all so fun, positive and just flat out great people. It’s an easy bunch to stay loose with. I have found over the last 2 yrs that the more athletes I have at a race the better I do. I think it helps relax me as well as view the race much differently. The workouts went off without a hitch and I retreated back to my condo for decision time. It was pretty clear to me as many of my friends had also pointed out the day before. The Final Game Plan I have myself was:
I’m going to play to my current strengths. I will crush the swim. On the bike I’m going to play it conservative. I know I have the short term power but no idea where my bike fitness is so ill play it safe until mile 40ish and listen to my gut. The home stretch will be the hardest and windiest. I’ll count the guys in my age group that pass me on the bike. Then, I’ll get off the bike and run like hell for as long as I can and as fast as I can. Steady in the first 5-6 then negative split the back half. That’s it.
Swim- My ability.
Bike- smart.
Run- like hell
I was confident with that plan. Now it was time to prepare for it. Spent the rest of the morning getting everything ready for Sat. Grabbed a quick lunch with Allie and Jim and then back to the condo for more rest and preparation. Bike was checked in at 4 and then Jim and Allie and I hit up a steakhouse like true snowbirds at freakin’ 5pm. I got back to the condo around 6:30. Again. More relax and prep time. I was getting impatient. I was just ready to race. When I get to that point I just get bored. Bored. Bored. Nothing to do but sit and think. Think. Think.
Within about a 15 minute span I got 3 messages all from 3 different people that really put my focus for the race into overdrive. One was the photo you see below about “The Edge,” and then a text and Facebook message both centered around my epic debacle at Ironman Louisville. Both, in a light -hearted banter of seriousness, the theme was . . . “Don’t let that happen again.” It wasn’t “don’t fail.” It was more, “Just do it.” I had my plan and now it was to execute that plan all the way to the edge. Stay on the edge for as long as I can and when it’s time to go over, just make sure you’re falling forward and not backwards. Test yourself. It was time. I was ready to race. Hit the sack around 9 and slept like a baby.
Race Morning–
I often wake up on race morning in a massive hurry. Hurry to get ready. Hurry to war. Hurry to get to transition. This morning I was calm, focused and relaxed. Got my stuff together. Checked in with my athletes and walked out of my condo for the short walk to transition. Headphones in. Music flowing. An easy stroll. Totally relaxed. No expectations. No “I should be able to do this today.” Instead it was, “Today I will give my absolute best effort and empty whatever “fitness” tank Ive created.” I can control that. Everything else is out of my control. Meandered my way into transition to prep my area. A friend from Nashville spotted me walking into transition and said “Man, you’re cutting it close huh. There gonna close it in a minute.” I didn’t seem to care. I was just relaxed.
I prepped my area and as I was about to walk to the swim 2 guys on my rack stopped me and asked if I had ever done this race before. I responded with “Yes, this is actually my 5th straight year.” They predictably countered with “Do you have any tips for first timers.” I said “Yea. Just have fun man. That’s it. Just enjoy it and have fun. Too many people take themselves to seriously. Especially on race day.”
As I heard myself uttering those words I also came to the realization that I’ve come along way since my first race at GCT. I have so much more fun now. The sport is meant to be fun. I made my way to the swim start (had to switch swim caps) and chilled with my athletes before the start. It’s such a cool experience being able to go through a race like this with them. Sometimes it’s difficult to find the right coaching, friend, I’m also racing balance when I’m participating too. But I do the best I can. Everyone seemed loose, which made me relax even more. Grabbed my wetsuit as everyone else made their way to the swim start. Jim and I didn’t start till late so we got to kill sometime hanging out. We shared some laughs. Both of us fairly relaxed.
As my wave crept up I made my way to the starting corral. As all the guys flowed in to the corral, looking around, sizing up the competition, nervously chatting I made my way to the front corner. Quiet. It was game time. The calmness, relaxed, laid back feeling vanishes when I put my goggles on. It’s a different view. It’s what racing looks like. The feeling presumably comes from all my years swimming. Goggles on. Step on the block. GO! I went over my game plan in my head. Pressed my goggles against my face. Shook the hands of both the gentlemen on my right and left, wished them good luck and set my line to the first buoy. 5-4-3-2-1 BAM!
The Swim-
As the gun goes off my first thought is, lets see if someone jumps out hard in front. I’ll hop on their feet and let them pull me. Some guy started like a bat out of hell. I made my way across the water to try and get his feet. Held it for a minute. Damn. This guy is in a WHOLE other league than me. I could prob hang but I’d be toast. I fell off his feet and began to cruise with another guy. We stayed side by side. Both waiting for the other to make a move. I was probably about :2-3 faster per 100 than he was so it was decision time. Work with him, or drop him and go solo. I felt great in the water and decided go on my own.
There wasn’t much current so sighting was easy. As I hit the first turn buoy the NASCAR game started. I began to catch the waves in front of me and the ocean became a congested highway of slower swimmers, people floating in their damn back, breast stroking . . . Come on people. Move!
I spent the cross section weaving in and out, hit the final turn buoy, and headed home. I picked up pace and sighted off the hotel. Weave. Move. Go around. Sight. A lot of the same. I sighted the finishing chute and picked up my kicking. As I streamlined it towards the chute I had no idea what my time was or if others in my age group were ahead of me. Got out of the water. Looked at my watch. 28 mins? Man. Nice swim, Robbie.
I was pumped. As I ran up to T1 a guy yelled “2nd blue cap out of the water. Two minutes down.” I thought “Man, that dude was flying.” He ended up with the fastest swim of the day and it was obvious my choice not to go with him was a smart one.
T1-
Same stuff as usual. Helmet, shoes, blah blah. I hate talking about transitions. So I’m not.
Bike-
Heading out on to S. Thomas Dr and settled in. I was preparing for 56 miles of NO IDEA what I’m capable of. I knew I would get passed but also knew I could catch some on the run. I kept telling myself to relax. Be patient. It’s all about the run. The forecast called for storms and wind rolling in and if it was anything like last year the last 16 miles would be hell.
I went by feel. Left my heart rate monitor at home in purpose. Just thought to myself “I can hold this for X duration.” Vroom. Vroom. Vroom. One after another. Passed. Passed. Passed. Dropping . . . 3, 4, 5 in my age group.
As disheartening as it was. It is what is. I could’ve gone with and then walked the run. Just stick it to the game plan. Be patient.
The next 30 miles was more of the same. It was nice to see my athletes on the course. Give an encouraging word and get one in return. Don’t know why. But it makes the ride always seem shorter.
The rain and wind began to come it about mile 50ish. As I hit the coastline I was averaging 22mph. I wasn’t going under that. Nope. I had plenty in the tank and was realizing I may have held back too much. But who knows. Vroom. Vroom. Vroom. Vroom. 6-7-8-9. I got passed by 4 guys in my AG in the last 15 minutes of the ride. Every ounce of my competitive valor screamed GOOOOOOOO! Go with them. My mind. My confidence. “Robbie. Chill. They can’t run with you. You’ll pick them off one by one. Just wait. ” I had absolutely no idea if they could or could not run with me. But I told myself they couldn’t. Cruised the rest of the way into T2. Time 2:32. 22MPH.
T2- strip down. Load up. That’s it. Now we race.
Run-
Simple. Negative split. Run like hell. Pick them off.
I came FLYING out of T2 like I was shot out of a cannon. I was a little too amped. About a 1/2 mile in I had already caught one guy. Mile 1 — 5:48.
Ummmmmmmm. Robbie. Cool it. You’re not Crowie. Relax unless you wanna do a 10k recovery walk back to the finish. I still had 12 miles to go and plenty of time to catch people.
Pace slowed to a 6:40 for mile 2. Another one bit the dust. I passed 1 guy in my age group every mile for the first 5 miles. I was feeling solid. Smooth. Like a runner. The rain began to fall and helped cool me off. Every time I would come up behind someone I’d make an effort to pick it up and blow past them. Bye. Break them. Leave them with no inclination they could stay with me. The pass was permanent. The one on your bike was not. As I rounded out of the park I was done seeing people in front of me. I couldn’t see anyone to catch. I was also creeping towards my “edge.”
The first 2 miles were a mistake. I went to fast. Legs were hardening. Pace was slowing . Body was heating up. I was on the edge. I hit about mile 7 and it became “you can hold this “feeling” for 6 more miles.” Had no idea of my pace, but figured I could teeter on the edge for that long.
In a focused haze I mustered a few hand signaled “Hey, thanks,” to friends as they passed. Remembering some. Not others. I was red lining. Came around a corner and saw Allie, and remember her saying “finish.” That’s what I was going to do. She also informed me later that it looked like I had fallen on my face when she saw me because of how red my face was.
Miles 10-13 were a blur. A lot of the same. I wanted to walk so bad. I looked at my watch and new getting in under 4:40 was a shot. I’ve done this GCT so many times so I knew the run course was long. So I couldn’t go by pace, time, calculations. I just had to go. I was hurting bad. I turned the corner down S. Thomas for the home stretch. I could see the finish line. I was still a ways away. 500-600 meters maybe. Looked at my watch. 4:47…. Not going to lie. For a moment I thought “it’s long. So of you just cruise it in no shame in not going under 4:40. ” No. Not today. The old me would’ve taken that route. But I’ve changed. It was go for broke. Empty the tank. All of it. Head down and give it hell. Fall over the edge. I sprinted with all I had. I crossed the line. 4:39:52………. My hands on my knees. Legs wobbling. Chills from overheating. Red faced. Tank emptied. I couldn’t quite muster a physical smile but was smiling inside.
1:33:56 for 13.41 miles to finish. I was helped out of the finishing chute where I was asked if I needed to go to the medical tent. “No mam. I always look this bad when I empty the tank. ” I was happy with my time but more so bc I wasnt so afraid to fail that I didn’t give myself the opportunity to win. I don’t mean “win” an award or getting 1st place. Giving 100% of your effort now matter the time is a win. I gave it all I had. I left every ounce of the athlete I brought to GCT on that course. Now. Recover. Reload. Do it again at Kansas 70.3 in June.
GCT STATS
26 overall
Swim- 10 OV
Only out swam by 2 people in front of me and I ran faster than both
Run- 13 OV
Of the 13 that beat me. I out swam them all by more than 2:00
Rev 3 Olympic Triathon Knoxville – My Bike Summary
Every day I feel like triathlon is helping me build a closer connection with myself. It’s a subtle, slow, and genuine burn that inches its way deeper into my soul with every stroke, spin, and stride. It began by setting a nearly unfathomable goal, but has now transformed into a lifestyle. Not a triathlon lifestyle, but a more confident, clear, and defined picture of who I am. And the most exciting part is, I barely feel like I’ve scratched the surface.
If you’ve never raced a triathlon, or more specifically swam a mile in 58 degree water, it’s really hard to understand the feeling of running barefoot on cold concrete for nearly half a mile. Your feet are numb and you’d better get used to it because the rain isn’t stopping and you’re about to pedal your bike for 25 miles with no socks.
Everything was warm, except my feet and hands, both of which would be extremely important in the upcoming moments. I relished the brief respite from the rain in the covered transition area as I gathered my bearings and decided what to wear or omit for my bike ride. The arm warmers were a lock (thanks, coach) but the knee warmers stayed in the bag. The helmet went on, I grabbed my bike, then ran it toward the bike exit. About halfway there I realized I was holding and not wearing my gloves. This was a problem. I stopped and tried to pull gloves onto my freezing hands and it was a total OJ moment. “The gloves didn’t fit.” I stood there for what seemed like several minutes as tons of racers blew by and my bike slid around my body like an oblong hula hoop.
All told, the run from the swim, the bike prep, and the glove fiasco took roughly six and a half minutes. The whole time, I was afraid to look at my feet.
But it’s moments like this when I try to think of something inspiring, and any time I feel sorry for myself for being cold I think of one man: Ernest Shackleton.
I’ve said it before, but if you’re into adventure, you have to read a book called, Endurance: Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage. Not only is it a great adventure book, it may be the most engaging grouping of words I’ve ever laid eyes on. “Simply Brilliant” says Crushing Iron blogger, Mike Tarrolly.
Here are a few Shackleton quotes to chew on:
“Difficulties are just things to overcome, after all.”
“I seemed to vow to myself that some day I would go to the region of ice and snow and go on and on till I came to one of the poles of the earth, the end of the axis upon which this great round ball turns.”
“After months of want and hunger, we suddenly found ourselves able to have meals fit for the gods, and with appetites the gods might have envied.”
“We had seen God in His splendors, heard the text that Nature renders. We had reached the naked soul of man.”
I mean, come on! This dude did not fuck around with exploring. “Endurance” is about an expedition to the South Pole with like twenty five guys who signed up simply for the adventure. Shackleton posted this ad in the paper to find his crew:
MEN WANTED for hazardous journey, small wages, bitter cold, constant danger, safe return doubtful, honor and recognition in case of success.
And you know what? He turned men away!
That book has helped me many times. Having cold feet is a metaphor when you try to envision what Shackleton and his men endured.
So, I finally looked and my feet were a similar hue to how I imagine them looking in my casket one day. I closed my eyes and thought of Shackleton (in the middle of winter, bobbing his way in an undersized wooden boat through the most deadly sea in the world wearing little more than a sweat shirt) and jumped on my Trek triathlon bike to ride in a misting rain along nicely paved streets in Knoxville, Tennessee.
I honestly don’t remember much of the bike leg (maybe that’s why I’m harping on the Shackleton thing . . . although, I seriously cannot recommend that book enough) but I do know it was an amazing course. It started along the river, swung up through a business district, dipped onto a major highway, then headed into the beautiful Knoxville hills. On a sunny day, the scenery would have been spectacular.
I think only two things could have gone better for me on the bike (aside from having race wheels). One was a situation where I was coming down the longest hill and could have really been cooking, but a car got in the way. There were also bikes in front of him, so he rode his breaks down the entire hill. We were probably going 20 mph and that could have easily been 28, but there was nothing I could do. I waited about a half mile until he finally turned off, clearing my way for another climb.
The other thing I did wrong was not listen to my coach and hammer the climbs. His logic was clear, “It’s wet, the course is pretty technical and you’ll be breaking a lot on the downhills.” I probably could have climbed harder and recovered on the descents. Lesson learned.
The last half mile was the same flat road along the river and I cruised in around 24 mph. I felt great, but my legs had joined my feet in the world of numb appendages. How do your legs and feet function when you can’t feel them? I can hear Shackleton laughing in my face.
I forgot to start my watch again and haven’t figured out my speedometer, so I had no idea how long the bike took, but I knew it was pretty solid. I started the bike in 141st place out of 355 total racers and ended in 100th. Average speed was 20 mph and the total time was 1:15 for 25 miles.
I dismounted my bike with one shoe still clipped on the pedal and one on my left foot, which made for a clumsy stroll through transition, especially on frozen feet, but the good news was . . . I’d get to run a 10k next!
Ironman Wisconsin
Country Music Marathon
The early forecast is 60% chance of thunderstorms, but I have faith Saturday will turn out in the runner’s favor. I’ve worked in the news business long enough to know that extended predictions are iffy. Much like my prediction for this race from two weeks ago.
This will likely be my ultimate test of trusting my taper. I was going strong until Saturday, but temporary illness squashed my training plans for Sunday and Monday. Tonight, I’ll put in a little jog and maybe run again Thursday, but I haven’t had a run over 5 miles in almost three weeks. The workouts have been loaded with swim and bike, though and I have to trust the cross train.
Initially I thought I would go after a PR in this race, which would be something less than 1:42, but I think I will likely just use it as a training day and finish around 1:50 or something. It’s a tough course and I have the Rev 3 Olympic the following Sunday. (You can track me at Rev on Twitter @miketarrolly).
Anyway, this would certainly be a lull on the training confidence meter, but I know the energy of the crowd and the rally for Boston will be a huge driver once I cross that timing mat. It was my first half last year and even though I said what I just said, I really plan on getting a burst of adrenaline that helps me crush the streets of my own city.
Swimming and Lightning
Headed down to the YMCA for my swim workout over lunch.
200 Swim
200 Pull Buoy
200 Kick
200 Pull Buoy
Then a bunch of 100 sprints.
Well, just as I was about to start my sprinting, the lifeguard blew my ears out with her whistle.
“Gotta get out of the pool. There’s lightning!”
Part of me wanted to get in her face and tell her I didn’t care about lightning. The other part saw it as an excellent excuse to not have to do a bunch of 100 meter sprints. The third part of me remembered that “Every missed workout is a missed opportunity,” and that rang the loudest.
I can’t help but think that most lifeguards actually hate swimmers. I know it’s not social hour, but most give the impression that swimmers are wasting their time. I didn’t tell you to be a lifeguard and sit there bored for 8 hours! But, I kinda get it too. The thought of being a lifeguard probably seems a lot cooler than it actually is, especially if you’re trapped in a sterile pool instead of a Baywatch beach. But that’s no reason to seem happy when lightning cancels my workout. Well, maybe it is.
Anyway, I guess I’ll have to settle for a tempo run in the rain after work. Someone explain why I’m doing this again?