Tag: louisville

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Spectating Ironman Louisville? Do this . . .

By Mike Tarrolly for Crushing Iron

Last year, the day after I raced Ironman Louisville, I limped into a convenience store and the cashier gave me a dirty look before saying, “YOU, you, you!” I said, “What??” “That damn Ironman had me stuck in traffic for over an hour yesterday!” I smiled and said something about “it’s a great way to work on patience” with a laugh. She actually kind of chuckled, we talked for a few minutes, then ended up exchanging numbers. We text all the time now about fluctuating pastry and coffee prices. Well, not really, but it was great to connect with a Louisville resident and make them feel just a tad bit better about hosting Ironman in their city.

If you’ve been following my “Road to Ironman Louisville” video series, you probably know that I have a big place in my heart for that race, and the city. It was the first Ironman I ever spectated and this will be my third time on the course. Yet it seems like every year, but there are rumblings of this possibly being the last year for Ironman Louisville.

One of the things I hear a lot is that the city of Louisville (and maybe more accurately, surrounding cities) isn’t completely sold on giving up their town for such a long race. Reports estimate the race brings around 8 million in revenue to Louisville each year, but the question becomes, is this enough for a major city to shut down major roads for a majority of the day?

Locals Hate The Traffic Problems

Eight million sounds like a lot of money, but I’m sure the right convention or whatever would to the same without road closures, which I think are the main reason people don’t like races like these. I’m pretty sure my cashier friend isn’t alone.

I sense that events like this are a big deal to a community at first, but after a while it starts wearing on their nerves because it “seems” like all these outsiders traipse into town and no one gives a shit about the people who live there. That’s why I’m suggesting everyone who races or spectates do their best to change the impression.

1. Find A Way To Say Thanks

We are guests in Louisville, and I think people want to be acknowledged. I live in one of the most visited places there is, Nashville, and know the feeling. There isn’t a day that goes by when I’m cut off or have to wait for tourists blindly crossing the street with no idea where they’re going. It can really start getting on your nerves. It’s a little like someone walking into your house and going straight to the fridge to help themselves.

I mean this in the truest sense of the word. Find a way to thank the people of Louisville for letting us into their home to live our crazy dreams. Realize that people are doing things they normally do and we are interrupting that daily process. Talk to them, be nice and thank them. It’s easy for a triathlete to think they are coming in town to deliver the Super Bowl, but in reality nobody cares much about what we are doing. Acting like we are some kind of super-athlete is ridiculous. They are giving us their ROADS for a safe place to do this little race.

2. Be Genuine

One thing that grates me about living in Nashville is the number of people that yell “I LOVE Nashville.” I don’t know why, but I think it’s partially because (and this is old curmudgeon stuff here) I always think they love the tourist part of Nashville and that is exactly that part that can wear you thin.

What I do like is when people seem to be interested in me as a person living here in Nashville. The ones that treat locals like people, not zoo animals from a different world. Strike up conversation, and yes, thank them, too.

Here’s how that might look:

You: I know this race is probably a hassle for you, I just want to thank you for letting us do this in your town.
Them: Oh, no, not really (this means it kind of bugs them). I mean, it’s cool. It’s not so bad.
You: Yeah, but I know how it is, we have the Doppleganger Festival every year in Chetaquinan, and people seem to walk all over us.
Them: What is Chetaquinan?
You: It’s a little place up north near the Upper Pennensuila in Michigan.
Them: Oh, we go fishing up off Mackinaw Island every year.
You: Really? We do, too. Big family trip.
Them: What’s your name?
You: I’m Bob Stetensonhoffer.
Them: Are you any relation to Phil Stetensonhoffer?
You: YES! That’s my brother!
Them: Dad???

3. Be Gracious

There’s nothing worse than the person who says something like, “We give them a lot of money, they need to deal with it.”

This always reminds me of the days when I used to work at a pizza place in LaCrosse, Wisconsin during college. Every year the big Octoberfest would roll into town and make my life hell. Drunks everywhere screaming for more pizza and beer, all leaving bad tips. I hated it, but the weekend made a ton of money for the owner.

Remember that when you walk into a restaurants in Louisville with 10 other triathletes order 11 waters with 3 refills. Imagine those waters are beer and will add 10-15 bucks to your bill. Leave a good tip and treat the staff with respect. They are the ones who leave at night and go out and start negative strains about how cheap Ironman athletes are.

4. Be Visible  

Many people make cardboard signs to support their athlete during the race. What if this year, for every sign that was made, we take a few more minutes to make another one that says, “Thank You Louisville.”

It would be awesome to see them all over the course. Hundreds of them that make it seem like a campaign!

I know local media well enough to know they will NOT be able to resist getting video of this stuff. They will probably interview some of you and ask what it is about Louisville. People at home that are pissed off and watching news will see the story and think, “Oh, maybe them their Ironmen ain’t all that bad afterall.”

We Play Triathlon

We are not professionals. We are just people wanting to be in better shape that use carrots like Ironman events to be rewarded once in a while for the hard work.

While it does bring a lot of money to cities, I think it’s important we realize that most of these places don’t NEED us. They are making a compromise on many levels. We take a some money and give you are town for a day.

I think Ironman has a great thing going with Louisville because it is a bigger city and the race is right downtown. I remember the first time I watched Louisville in 2012. The downtown was kind of sleepy and it seemed like nobody was even around. Now, (and possibly because of Ironman on some level) the city has grown. More restaurants, condos, and action. On some level I think people there might feel like they don’t need Ironman anymore, and it’s probably true.

So, this year, make the people WANT Ironman. Make it a good experience for THEM. Be nice, buy stuff, and say thanks. Hopefully with thousands of signs so they know you mean it.

Thanks for supporting C26 Triathlon and Louisville, Kentucky.

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The Decision Behind “The Decision 2018”

By Mike Tarrolly for Crushing Iron

As many of you saw on Facebook Live Friday June 5th at Noon CST, I have decided to once again tackle Ironman Louisville this year. It’s the second year in a row I will be running past Churchill Downs and the third time overall.

(If you can’t see the Facebook link, please join our closed group by searching “Crushing Iron Group”)

This race has had my number.

The first time was back in the August days and Coach Robbie and I experienced the wrath of running an Ironman marathon in 98 degree heat with no shade. It nearly broke my soul, but I finished in what is my slowest Ironman time to date.

Last year it was in October and nearly a polar opposite experience. From the opening cannon the wind was fierce and I remember looking at the river on the last few miles of that bike and seeing white caps. It was also “cold” but that wasn’t the problem. It was the run.

Something about that flat run gets me good. Louisville owns both of my worst run times and that’s more than a little puzzling because it’s supposed to be the “easiest” run course of the three.

Sadly, I don’t think I even wrote about it, which is another thing that is starting to change with me. Writing is absolutely my best weapon for this sport. It clears the air and most importantly helps me remember the little things.

But . . . back to the Decision 2018.

One of the main reasons I decided (honestly 20 minutes before the announcement) to do a Full again is because I didn’t have a good reason NOT to do one. Training for Ironman changed my life back when I was 49 and I don’t want to lose the momentum of what’s been built.

I’m doing it because I CAN.

Another reason is simply wrapped up in the concept of doing something hard. We can easily get caught up in the idea that relaxing means be lazy and lounge around. I do it all the time. But relaxing in its best definition means clearing the mind and doing things that you love. That make you feel better.

Admittedly, some of the training makes me feel like shit, but most of the time I love heading out on a run or a ride. For the days that suck, see “do something hard, so the other things in life are easy.”

I’m doing it because It’s HARD.

Finally, it’s just a big part of who I am now. It’s easy to think the best thing for me is to back off and gather my bearings. But sometimes I just think that’s feeling sorry. Sorry that I actually have to LIVE. That’s a sticky piece of real estate for the mind to live in.

I think back to a blog I wrote about my mom while training for my first Ironman. It is honestly one of the most important lessons I’ve ever learned in life and I try to remember it every time I fade back into taking the easy way out by doing nothing.

I’m doing it because it makes me feel ALIVE.

After I made the decision on Facebook Live, Coach Robbie made a simple comment: “Good decision. Now go for a run.”

That’s exactly what I did, and while out there in the sweltering heat I remembered a very important part of training that gave me relief as I turn my mind back into the full Ironman mode. I truly think it will help me to enjoy training more, and ultimately help me race better.

Running Slow To Get Fast

My Running Woes

First off, let me acknowledge that I can be misguided at times, oh, like how I convinced myself before IM 70.3 Chattanooga that I was going to bike like a madman and take my chances on the run. Well, it didn’t work.

Going into IM Louisville, it has to be largely about the run for me. I’ve rarely performed well after T2 and I really want that to happen. I think actually my best run ever was IM Chattanooga. It was by far the hardest and I ran my customary 4:20ish.

While it’s not overly fast, as I think back, that was probably the best run shape I’ve been in before an Ironman. For sure I’d put out some of my longest runs. I also remember enjoying it more after I got in shape for it . . . So . . . . . . . . .

The Beauty in Running Slow

After today’s Decision, the first thing I did was go out for a run. It was one o’clock in the afternoon, 93 degrees, and sunny. I said to myself . . . oh, what a wonderful world. Actually, I didn’t say that at all, I said, just go take a nice little hour long run and try to finish feeling like you could keep going. Take it slow, Mike!

So, what did I do? I went out slow. And about a mile in, I looked at my pace. 9:00/min miles.

I’m convinced that nine minute miles are my natural cadence. So, for the first 3 or 4 miles, 9 minutes seems right in the wheel house. Nine is normal, even easy. I will find myself creeping into the 8:30 without thinking much, like today, but that’s when running starts to get hard. Especially when it’s hot.

We did a podcast called “Running Slow To Get Fast” and while I think our podcasts are gold, sometimes things don’t click with me. But today, that’s when I think I figured it out.

The 10/17 Run

My problem is impatience. Even today when I thought I was running for time, an hour was the target, I got to the halfway point at 38 minutes. Since it was a turnaround, I was basically screwed.

I did what I always do, turned up the speed to get done faster, but I was really struggling. I stopped once to cool down and hydrate in the shade. Then I thought, what if I slowed way down to a 10 minute pace and if I ever got lower, I had to walk until I’m at a 17 minute pace?

The Power of Patience

That means the dilemma is, if you go too fast, you have to slow down even more, elongating an already long run. It happened twice over the last 25 minutes and, frankly, it was awesome.

It dawned on me that a 9 minute pace is natural without effort, but if I’m not strong enough to hold that pace it doesn’t really matter how “fast” I am. Slow running is harder and builds the durability muscles. Strengthens the frame. That’s what I need.

For the next month or so I’m really going to try and slow it down. Build the chassis as coach calls it. Then see if I can move the speed. But even then, I have my doubts because how fast will I really go during a full Ironman? It’s better to be durable and strong.

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Rock/Creek River Gorge Trail Race Awaits

I joined Nashville Running Company’s trail running group in January and ran with them twice.  Now I am officially unprepared and a day away from tangling with the beast.

The Rock/Creek River Gorge Trail Race in Chattanooga is “only” 10.2 miles, but the terrain is a little dicy as shown in this video.

I’m not scared, but this 10.2 miles is supposed to be as much effort as a 1/2 marathon and I haven’t run more than 8 miles since Ironman Louisville (if you want to call that running). Adding insult to insecurity is the fact that I ran “The Nasty” (6 miles) two days ago as “a test” of my running fitness, and am still  little sore.

As I sit in my coffee-shop-office a day before the race, 90% of the bones in my body are telling me not to do it.

“It will hurt.”

“You might get injured.”

“Why kill yourself when you could relax all day and wait for your Badgers to roll Arizona in the Elite 8?”

All of these excuses flood my vulnerable brain and I know that is exactly the time I shouldn’t listen.  Steven Pressfield calls it “resistance” and it can take over your life if you let it.

I like to use the triathlon “transition analogy” to battle these moments of non-commitment.  It’s hard to be in a bike-state-of-mind and “want” to go running, but 90% of that fight is just taking the steps.  Eventually you adjust and forget about the bike.

In this case, the transition will be from a warm and cozy bed to a cold and lonely mountain. Talk about blasting through your comfort zone.  And when you boil it down, I think that’s what growth and life are all about.

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KONA Hangover

I watched the Ironman World Championships for 6 hours on Saturday and have been on the road doing video work (I’m available for hire) for the last three days, so I haven’t had much time or desire to think about triathlon.  BUT, I have been shooting video at a health club, and one of the employees qualified for KONA next year, so I’m starting to feel the fire burn again.

Last night, after we finished shooting, I had my first taste of water jogging, and it was pretty damn cool.  I put on this vest and ran about 8 laps.  Let me tell you, even though I felt and looked like a complete doorknob, it is a legit workout.

photo

Aqua-jogging was the big buzzword at Kona because the winner, Sebastian Kienle, spent the last month or so before the race training his run in the pool.  In fairness to me, I’ve been intrigued by this exercise for months now and started doing it in my above ground pool in hopes of being the “Kienle of Louisville,” but it didn’t quite work out as well.

—-

In other notes, Coach Robbie had some highs and lows with his Kona predictions.  It looked like calling Daniela Ryf the winner was a rock-solid pick until Mirinda Carfrae shot out of a cannon again around mile 22.

He picked Kienle second, which was a pretty good call considering his injury and poor performance at Worlds a couple months prior.

I made a huge mistake by not lobbying harder on Ben Hoffman.  I’ve been a big fan since he won Wisconsin the day before I signed up to do my first Ironman and promise to follow in his footsteps with a second place finish next year at the ADPi Sprint Triathlon in Murfreesboro.

 

 

 

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The "Voice of Ironman"

Someone once told me, “Everywhere you go, there you are.”  Lately it’s been, “Everywhere I go, there HE is.”

Over the last 5 weeks I’ve driven to Louisville, Wisconsin, and Chattanooga for Ironman.  Once to compete, twice to spectate, and within minutes of arriving to these wonderful cities, a powerful voice of inspiration floods my ears.

As of Ironman Chattanooga 2014, Mike Reilly has announced 138 IRONMAN races and if you haven’t seen one, you have no idea how impressive that is.  His voice rings in the air from 6 am until midnight and the pitch never waivers.

I didn’t make it to the Swim Start in Chattanooga, but Mike was there, pumping everyone up and calming nerves at the same time.  When you nervously await the start, as an athlete or a spectator, his voice is omnipresent and the words always seem to be right.

I had a brief meeting with Mike at Louisville pre-race as I was noodling around near the sound board.  I was about to walk into a furnace and Mike knew it.  He likely knows more about IRONMAN than most.  On this day I was trying to impart my strategy when Mike politely stopped me and simply said, “Take it easy out there and try to have fun.”

He was right, of course, but I didn’t listen.  I went after the run like a dog in heat and it ate me alive.

Yesterday, he stood high above the crowd in Chattanooga as the last swimmer battled to get out of the water.  He did everything in his power to help her get home.

It was one of those moments that stops you in your tracks.  She was alone in the water, battling demons while hundreds watched her labor to reach shore.

“Keep going, we’re all here waiting for you!”  “Doggy paddle if you have to, you can do it!,” said Reilly with a combination of compassion and the tenacity of a father.

His day started before sunrise and he was still going as I watched the live stream from my hotel room until 12:15 am.  His energy and passion for what he loves was just as enjoyable to watch as the finisher.  He danced, joked, shouted encouragement, and dished high fives as the last runners crossed the finish line.

At 12:16 the lights went out and Mike Reilly was gone from my sight, but his voice was ringing in my core.  “You are an Ironman!”

People always ask me why I write about Ironman and travel around to races and I think the simple answer is, I love it.  I love to surround myself with optimistic people who stop at nothing to push their limits, and Mike Reilly has certainly been a great representation of that lifestyle.

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Here is Mike Reilly from this morning after handing my new buddy, Dave Richter his award and Kona slot.

mikereilly

 

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Enjoy the Lifestyle of Triathlon #IML

If you want to wear those sweet-ass high-riding orange shorts at Hooters, you’d better be prepared to serve your share of rowdy patrons.  

In the middle of our daily triathlon-group-text today, Wasky slid in a very simple, yet powerful zinger, “Just enjoy the lifestyle.”

That wisdom materialized as we were discussing which (if any) Ironman Jim and I will be doing this year.  Maryland and Louisville are both on the table, and Jim is leaning toward taking the plunge with an attitude of not chasing times and simply . . . enjoying the lifestyle.

So enjoy the lifestyle, huh?  Getting up at 5:30 to ride five hours on hilly terrain?  Hmm . . . that’s at tough one, but there is so much about triathlon that is awesome.

Like wearing race shirts and other cool gear, for example.  I was sporting my Ironman New Orleans 70.3 shirt while raking cups at a water stop on Saturday and received some genuine props from several runners.  “Ironman, so cool.  I ‘respect’ that, man.”  They respect that, and I feel the love, but on some level that makes me feel weird.

Speaking of respect, it sorta reminded me of an awkward incident as I was flying back into Nashville on 4th of July last year.  I was jostling in my seat as the flight attendant said something I couldn’t quite hear over the speaker.  As we made our descent, I reached up to turn on my overhead light and suddenly everyone around me was clamoring to shake my hand and saying “Thank you” with heart felt looks of respect.  I uncomfortably responded with “You’re welcomes,” but had no idea why.  Later I found out she said, “Will anyone who has served this great country please turn on your overhead light so we can thank you on this day of independence.”

Man, did I feel like a jack-ass.

Anyway, yeah, triathlon does bring joy to my life.  Cool people, with passion and drive. I’m a dreamer, so it’s nice to be around freaks who push the limits.

And there’s no denying that training forces you to be a better steward of your body.  You just can’t abuse yourself, or workouts and races become nightmares.

But, do I enjoy the lifestyle enough to suffer the pain of 140.6 miles under a hot Louisville sun?

That is the question . . . and the answer lies somewhere in my desire to train, and whether the lifestyle means wearing cool clothes or actually hitting the pavement.  Do I love it enough to reduce the pain of the race by training harder?

We’ll see.  Ironman New Orleans was not fun, but I wasn’t ready.  The next few weeks will go a long ways in determining my answer on Louisville.  My decision to enjoy the lifestyle is approaching a deadline.

 

 

 

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My Top Ten Memories for 2013 #triathlon

2013 will always be remembered as the year of training for my first IRONMAN, which would be the obvious choice for the biggest moment of my year, but it’s not that simple.  After a lot of reflection I have truly come to understand that training for an IRONMAN is much more than the race.  It’s about the challenges, the breakthroughs, and the people.  I didn’t recognize many of these memories at the time, but now I see them for what they were, a list of inspiring moments that have helped re-shape me as an athlete, and a person.

1.  Early season group spin at the East Nashville YMCA.  This was a miracle on many levels.  For one, I got to the YMCA before it opened.  I sat in the parking lot on that cold February day wondering what the hell had gotten into me.  I was meeting the Fab 5 +1 for a four hour spin, followed by a 30 minute run.  I’d never done either of those either, but by the time we finished our little jog through some of Nashville’s shadiest neighborhoods, I started to believe I could actually pull this Ironman thing off.  Great moment, but the most memorable part of the morning was having breakfast with everyone at the Pied Piper.

2.  First open water swim.  The first time I walked down the hill to Percy Priest lake, I was nervous and confused.  I grew up in lakes, but I was more of a “screw-around-chase-the-girls-kind-of-a-swimmer” back then, so the idea of actually “swimming” in deep water freaked me out a little.  It was also the first time I wore a wetsuit (other than the day it came in the mail and I put it on immediately and walked around the house like I was some cool triathlete, then realized it made me look like a lard ass).  It was cold that morning, too, but getting that day out of the way was major, and the perfect transition for my first “real” race of the year.

3.  Rev 3 Olympic.  If I had to site the most important training day of my summer, it would be this race.  It was in the mid 50’s and rained all day.  The water, too, was cold.  56 degrees at race time.  I didn’t have feeling in my feet until mile 4 of the run, but the confidence I gained at this race carried me a long ways.

4.  First long ride outside.  Jim and I volunteered at Cedars of Lebanon Sprint triathlon, then decided to act like bad ass Ironman-training-guys by doing a four loops around the old 15 mile sprint course.  I remember it being pretty hot that day, but the part that sticks out is how hard it was.  The roads were unbelievably bumpy and I shit you not, the tip of my left pinky finger stayed numb for the next 6 months.  My back was killing me, and allergies tore apart my eyes.  But the WORST part was the rash I developed somewhere on lap three.  It started taking over my upper body and kept getting worse.  We cut the ride to 3 laps, then ran a couple miles.  I surmised heat rash and with all the variables (and virtually no breakfast) it was one of the hardest workouts I did, but it definitely made me even tougher.

5.  First ride on Natchez Trace.  I used to ride my motorcycle on this very road and remembered it as beautiful, but I did not fully understand the terrain or general vastness of this glorious bastard called Natchez Trace.  I think we only went about 30 miles or so that day, but it was a rude awakening.  Thirty miles and I was ravished with hunger and reeling with pain.  It was a sign of things to come and initiated my hatred for the bike.  It was a long, painful summer on the Trace, but eventually I would overcome my disdain.

6.  Muncie Half Ironman. This was my first Ironman brand race and it definitely had a different energy. It was also my first half and that thought shot fear into my skull.  But it wasn’t panic.  I knew I was training hard and thought I could do a sub 5:30.  My attitude changed a little when I saw the desolate course, however.  I would have to race without the energy of a crowd and that scared me a little.  I’d been swimming a lot, but it still made me nervous.  The year before they shortened the race because of the heat, this year the swim was wetsuit legal.  It was a godsend for my confidence and the first long swim where I didn’t have a brush with panic.  It was a smooth, deliberate, and strong swim for me.  I knew the bike would be fine, but the last 6 miles proved to be quite a challenge.  The run was tough, but mainly because my feet were on fire the last half.  Every step felt like walking on coals.  Somehow I toughed it out and it paid off in a 5:16.  This was a breakthrough and probably the first time I knew I was going to be ready for Wisconsin.

7.  Watching Louisville.  If you’ve never watched an Ironman, get your ass out of bed!  I went in 2012 as well, but this year, it was different.  I had my first IM looming in less than a month.  I watched with a different eye.  It was both inspiring and intimidating now.  I saw the pain in their faces a lot clearer this time.  I saw one of my friends DNF and another battle through cramps for 26 miles.  An awakening to the realness that is Ironman.  But I also saw my training buddy, Corey, navigate the terrain with a calm and cool that gave me hope.  While sprints, olympics’, and even half’s turn you into rabbits, the full is definitely more suited for the turtle.  Especially your first time.  You need control and pace.  Corey showed me the way that day.

8.  Pre-race at Ironman Wisconsin.  I get chills just thinking about this moment.  The half hour before my first Ironman.  My friends and family gathered and we talked, laughed, and high-fived over the fence.  It sounds strange, but I truly enjoyed seeing the concern in their eyes.  I interpreted it as love.  It was a happy, yet stressful moment.  In under 15 minutes, I would be swallowed by a mass of nearly 3,000 others in a massive lake.  I would swim off into the mystery and they would be forced to wait.  It is an anxious hour for friends and family, but the rush you get when you see their body emerge from the water is undeniable.  I’d seen it before, now they would be waiting for me.

9.  The time I almost quit.   I documented this moment with a full post, but in a nutshell I was shooting for sub 12 at Ironman Wisconsin and my timing device was basically a stop watch.  I was resetting it with every mile marker on the marathon, but missed mile 25.  Time was closing in and I thought I was cooked. Over a mile to go and my watch said I had 8 minutes.  I could not pull that off.  I stopped to walk.  It was a painful ending to a glorious day.  But, somehow, someway, I convinced myself into believing I had missed the marker and had less than a mile.  I took off in a sprint and the rest is history.  This moment stays with me like glue.  Never quit.

10.  The Finish Line.  You train a year for this moment and yes, it is far more than finishing, but I cannot deny the feeling I had the moment I saw the white IRONMAN arch.  It was like a thousand pound weight was dropped from my back.  I hit the carpet in the finisher’s chute and all the blood, sweat and tears felt justified.  I was about to officially be an Ironman.  Nobody can take it away now.  I have done something that less than 1% of the population will ever attempt.  I am very aware that this doesn’t mean much in its own right, but it was proof, to myself, that I am capable of doing what I set my mind to.  You don’t just “do” an Ironman, you commit to it for a long time.  Endless weeks of two-a-day workouts and 10 hour weekends on the bike.  It’s not for the weary, but anything worthwhile rarely is.