This isn’t actually about me for once, but I wanted to share this interview. It’s with Rich Roll and his story is both fairly common and amazing at once. Common because his life was (is) an addict and his life was burning out of control. Amazing because he has morphed into what many say is “the fittest man in the world.”
More from Johathan Fields, here.
Rich’s website
This was my first Half Ironman and my strategy played out almost perfectly. Coach has a mantra, swim to your ability, bike smart, and run like hell. That . . . is almost exactly what happened.
I spent quite a bit of time looking up information on Muncie. By all accounts the swim was fairly technical, the bike was fast, and the run was going to be hot. That too proved to be true.
Racer K and I pulled into town on Friday, registered at the convention center (why couldn’t this be at the race site?) then went out to the Prairie Creek Reservoir for a short swim, bike, run.
The water was right on the edge of being wetsuit legal, and felt a tad cold at first, but 200 yards into a warm up, it felt perfect. I definitely didn’t think we’d need a wetsuit, but would likely wear one for the advantage if legal.
Racer K and I had ridiculous challenges with directions all weekend and showed up late to the team meeting where about 12 athletes and coach were discussing strategy for the next day. Start as far left as you can on the swim and take a straight line to the red buoy. Same strategy on the return. It was counter-intuitive, but if we followed the buoy line, we would be swimming a longer distance.
We also talked about hopping other riders on the bike. Starting your 15 second pass by going right into their draft, then kicking out to pass them. This turned out to be a major part of my strategy, especially since my age group was one of the last to start the race (nearly one hour after the pros).
After that, we hit a pre-race meal at Olive Garden, which seemed a little questionable at the time, but turned out to be the perfect call for missing lunch and a state of famish. I ate three bowls of salad, salmon, broccoli, and maybe a half dozen bread sticks. I went back to the room and added a Powerbar for good measure. I fell asleep at 8 pm and woke up promptly at 10. It would be a predictably long night of tossing and turning, but all in all I felt rested when the alarm went off at 4:30.
Pre-Race
Nothing like walking around a hotel parking lot at 5 am that is full of triathletes strapping their bikes on cars. A year ago I thought this was crazy, now it’s kinda normal.
We had been holding our breath for a week as we looked at the extended forecast for Muncie. It was bordering on cool with lows in the 60’s and showers for much of the week before clearing and highs around 80. It seemed too good to be true. Even the water temperature was below normal, bordering on the possibility of making the race wetsuit legal.
I rode up with Racer K and we both hoped it would NOT be wetsuit legal, mainly because we didn’t want to make the decision. Obviously it would be an advantage, but we’ve been feeling good about our swim and thought it would level the field. We got a chance to swim the day before and it was perfectly fine without a wetsuit which also made us a little leery of overheating.
We pulled into the parking spot and the volunteers were all shouting, “The race is wetsuit legal.” It was still dark and a little cool, so I knew I would be joining nearly everyone else with a wetsuit that day.
The Swim –
It was an age group wave start and the pros launched at 7 am, but I would have plenty of time to relax before shoving off at 7:57. I actually heard the canon while I was sitting in a port-o-john.
I walked down to the swim exit and watched as the pros filed out of the water in around 30 minutes. Then I gazed at the throng of age groupers coming into shore at a ridiculous angle and promised myself I would take a different route by sighting off a tree about twenty yards LEFT of the swim exit.
The swim course at Muncie is basically an inverted triangle. 
I’ve added the red “x’s”, which are supposed to represent the location of the actual swim start and exits, along with red lines to show the proper angle to the first buoy and the swim exit. I’m estimating, but the distance from the red x to the first yellow buoy on the diagram is probably 50 yards, so logically you’d want to start at the red x and stay as straight as you can to the far red turn buoy. Well, this was my plan. About halfway to the turn I was rubbing shoulders with the yellow buoy line. I have no idea how it happened, but it did, and I’m sure it cost me at least 100 yards.
I had one major objective on this swim. Stay calm, and don’t over exert. By the time I reached the first turn (which seemed like an eternity) I was right on my game plan. I felt fresh and strong.
I took a perfect angle into the first turn and hit stride with no contact. In fact, I made very little contact the entire swim. The waves were spread about 3 minutes apart and the water was basically wide open. Especially on the outside where I pledged to stay.
The sun was in full force and sighting was a major challenge. When I circled the second red buoy for home I stopped briefly to pick out the tree I would be sighting on the way to shore, but there was a line of trees as far as the eye could see and they all looked the same height. The bright sun pierced my eyes like an interrogation lamp, and left me with only one option, stay as far away from the line of yellow buoys as possible until a kayaker swatted me back on course with their paddle.
This was the best strategy, but for some reason it was very hard to stay left. I kept drifting closer to the yellow line and would take hard left turns to correct my line. About halfway to shore I started to pick up the pace. I still didn’t have a clean line on my exit and it’s funny how your mind plays tricks on you. I KNEW the exit was 40 yards left of the line of buoys, but I saw nearly everyone hugging that line and thought, “Maybe they know something I don’t?”
I stayed strong on my line and about 300 yards from short picked up “my tree” and started hammering. I sighted every 3 or 4 strokes and finally even saw the archway for the exit. I was dead on it now! Tons of other people swam to my right and were doing much more work. I was pumped and put my head right on the target!
Three strokes, sight, three strokes, sight, three strokes, BAM! I swam right into a kayak! I looked up at that woman and said, “What the hell?” I was dead on the exit and she was right in my way. Maybe kayak interference is why coach said this was a technical course.
I tipped over her kayak (not really) and thrashed toward the shore. After what seemed like an entire day of swimming, I finally felt my hand scrape sand. I cautiously stood and jogged through the arch and up the hill where I was greeted by a group of three kids ready to strip my wetsuit. I laid back and they ripped it off in one big motion. I stood up to a little disorientation and staggered toward the bike. I was a bit delusional and seeing my coach Robbie leaning on the fence only made it worse.
“Good job, Mike, be smart on the bike!”
Robbie started about 40 minutes ahead of me and in the state of confusion my first thought was, “Is he already done?” I ran by him with a nod of the head, but it stayed on my brain as I got ready for the bike. Did I really just see him or was it a doppleganger?
Obviously it was something to do with an injury and for a couple minutes I was bummed. He had put in some serious work for this race and had a legit chance to qualify for Las Vegas. Later I’d learn that he came out of the water in 30 minutes and blew out his ankle on the run to his bike. That quickly, his day was over, but mine was not.
Swim time: 37:05
The Bike –
This would be my first real ride with a new bike fit, race wheels, and fancy new tires. Somewhere in my head all of that loomed large as I headed out of transition for a 56 mile ride around Prairie Creek neighborhood.
I didn’t wear a Garmin and had no speedometer on my bike. I was determined to go by feel and take my chances with a chrono watch.
I started a new lap when I got on the bike with a plan to ride each 5 mile segment of the first half at 20 mph (or 5 miles every 15 minutes). My first 5 mile split was something like 15:10 and felt like a breeze. That was a good sign.
I stayed within myself and constantly downshifted if I felt my legs pushing too hard. I wanted to spin more than push, especially on the way out. My ten mile split was around 30:10 and felt very natural. Till this point, the road was very tempting, but I held back with one goal. Stay consistent and save my legs for the run.
At mile 15 I was right on pace for 20 mph, then we hit a mile-long no-passing-zone, which slowed me way back. My first reaction was a tinge of anger, but I quickly decided everyone had to do it, so I might as well use it to recover. I loaded up on fluid and ate another chunk of my PowerBar.
The buzzword on the bike is nutrition. I kept hearing about all these crazy plans that take mad scientists to formulate, but I chose to keep mine very simple for this race. I had two PowerBars and I would take a bite every 5 miles. I did plan make a 50/50 water/Gatorade bottle, but forgot and stayed with water.
I “thought” two large bottles would be enough, but was very thirsty out of the swim and went through bottle number one before the 15 mile aid station. I made the decision to chuck one of my favorite water bottles and take a new one. I drank 3 bottles of water on the 56 mile ride, mainly out of paranoia and I think it was just a bit too much.
Anyway, once we left the no-pass zone we hit a ten-mile-ish out and back that was super bumpy and very congested. It was almost impossible to keep non-drafting zones and much of that section was coagulated by one bike coming at me, one in the middle and one on the right. Passing was difficult and a little nerve wracking at times.
But for my money, this was the difference in my bike time. The road sucked and it was easy to see that most racers were not crazy about this part and it challenged your mental toughness. I made a concerted effort to trust the road and not let up.
We hit the turn around and my split was almost exactly 20 mph (19:91). Now it was time to go to work.
I took the same approach, but upped my aggressiveness and passed a lot of people on that bumpy road. The bike felt great and my legs were strong. I started moving the needle to the other side of my 15 minute 5 mile splits and by the end was safely in the 21 mph average range.
A better time was definitely possible, but I was concerned for the run and frankly the congestion made you hold back often. It was probably a good thing.
Bike time: 2:43:39 (20.53 mph)
The Run –
As I hobbled out of T2, coach was there to remind me to “Keep the first two miles EASY!” I was happy to oblige, but as many of you will know, slowing your legs after the bike is a challenge.
About a half mile out of transition I realized I had to go to the bathroom, badly. As luck would have it, there was a port-o-let just across the road, through a ditch, and up on a hill. I looked at it, looked away, looked again, then darted across the road. It was a decision that didn’t sit well with me, but may have saved my run.
I’d reset my chrono lap when I left transition and when I got to mile one, it said 9:03. That included my run up a hill and going to the bathroom. Without that pit stop, my first mile would have likely been way too fast.
As I made my way through the first aid station I kept hearing coach’s advice, “Grab a ton of water, dump it on your head, grab ice when they have it, hold it in your hands, take sponges, put them in your tri top, get fuel, stock up. By the time I hit the end of the aid station my arms were full of merchandise. I was literally using my forearms to hold cups against my chest. Cups, sponges, ice, Bonk Breakers, you name it. Something had to give.
I started dumping water on my head, eating ice, and stuffing sponges everywhere. I was a mess and in my confusion I veered toward the center of the road and knocked over a trash barrel, sending cups flying all over the road. The volunteer looked at me like I was a maniac and all I could do was muster, “I’m sorry.”
The temperature wasn’t bad, but it was nearly noon and the road felt hot. At the mile two aid station I made a vow to train more often in my tri top because it was really bugging me at that point. Wearing a shirt that was tight and hot was not a feeling I was used to on runs.
From the start of the run I had a mild, sort of “on the verge” stomach cramp. It wasn’t that bad, but it lingered. I deduced it was from too much water, so I passed on fluids at mile 3 and four. By mile 5, I took a little more water and sucked on ice as I ran toward the turn around.
I never looked at my watch until I hit the mile markers and my goal was to keep at around an 8 minute mile pace. By the time I hit mile 6 I was at 49 minutes and some change. Almost perfect. My halfway split was an 8:10/mile pace. Now, to complete my plan, I’d have to pick it up a hair.
Mile 7 and 8 inched stayed near an 8:10 pace, but mile 9 proved to be the beginning of the end. The slight cramp remained and I tried the “Coca Cola trick” along with some Perform, but neither seemed to help.
Let’s make no mistake, the run will always be painful, but my biggest pain was an equipment issue. I love my shoes, but they were not cutting it now. The black top was very coarse and every step started to feel like hot spikes shooting through the sole of my Pearl Izumi Streaks. The soft and relatively thin rubber had me dreading each step. I was losing pace and knew my negative split was gone. Now, to finish strong and at least hit the prediction goal from my coach of 5:16 for the race.
Just after mile nine I quit looking at my watch. In fact, I quit looking at almost everything except the horizon. I purposely tried to miss the mile markers and hope I would magically look up expecting mile eleven and it would be twelve. I pulled out every mental trick in the book and focused on a very quick pick up so my feet wouldn’t hurt.
The course was surprisingly hilly, but none of the hills were that tough. The course in general was spread out around the reservoir and aside from the excellent aid stations I saw only a handful of supporters, which was about the only true gripe I can muster about this race.
There were several times during that run where my focus drifted and I thought I may crumble, but at mile 12 I finally believed I was going to hit my goal. One more 8 minute mile and I had it.
There was one point around mile 8 where you could hear the announcers voice teasing you from across the lake, but with a half mile left, I knew my name was soon to fill the air. What separates triathletes is often simply the will to fight through pain, and that the only thing on my mind as I turned off the road toward the finish. The minute I hit the Ironman carpet the pain drifted away. I glided toward the finish line with ease and finished my first 70.3 race in 5:16:49, exactly what my coach predicted.
Run time: 1:50:06 (53:39/56:27)
If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine. It’s lethal. – Paulo Coelho
My coach brings a lot to my life both in and out of triathlon. He’s youth with experience, and has a insatiable hunger for learning how to make himself and his athletes better. He’s pushed the right buttons with me from the start and has taught me control while inspiring me to push my limits. One of the truest measures of proof is the difference between my two open water Olympic swims. Before 
Robbie’s coaching I swam 42 minutes in NashVegas and after 4 months of swim instruction I was out of the water in 26 minutes at Rev3 in Knoxville. But, if I had to choose the most impressive thing about Robbie, it is clearly his ability and patience to type these comprehensive guest blogs on his phone.
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Looking for Someone To Turn To? Try Doing a 360
By Robbie Bruce, RxE
Taper days/weeks tend to lend themselves to personal questions, concerns, over analyzed aches and pains as well as questioning your overall SBR fitness. It just happens. Every time. Today’s run took all of that and multiplied it by 10.
There is nothing more frustrating than heading out to do anything you consider “going over and beyond or epic” all for it to smack you’re over confident ass back into reality.
If you are reading this in Nashville you are more than aware we have been bombarded with
Noah’s Ark type conditions. I woke up staring at a 4 hour trainer ride right in the face. I made some coffee and then got caught up in a very lack luster Wimbledon Women’s Final. I made the call that a 4 hour ride was just not looking that promising. So I said,”I will swap days and do my 1.5 hr run in this pouring rain. Who cares. Get it done even though the elements were sub par.”
I knew I would be one of the only people on the streets and probably wouldn’t even see many cars. I have been running extremely well as of late so the thought of running pretty fresh in cooler than normal temps had me pumped. I was expecting to cruise. No phone, no music, just me, my thoughts and the sound of feet hitting the ground.
It was supposed to be an easy run. Around the 25min mark things began to go south.
My usual easy/marathon pace is around a 7:40 as of late and that is in the 85-95 degree heat. Today I was almost suffering to hold a 7:50…. I should be getting fresh. Except my legs felt like lead. I felt hot (WTF it is 73!!) and then GI issues set in. I made it back to my truck exactly at 40:00. Spent. Toast. Frustrated. Mentally beaten and not feeling well. I walked for about 10mins pondering what to do. Questioning everything. 40:00 at a 7:50 pace in OPTIMAL conditions made me feel like absolute crap. Here is where the quandary sets in:
As a “coach” who do you turn to in your times of need. When you begin to question yourself in every way. I spend a majority of my time taking care of the emotional psyches of my athletes after bad workouts or bringing them to reality when they get to high. Where and who do I turn to. If I turn to an athlete of mine will I seem weak?
I vent to a few people and most are athletes only because I know they will relate and most likely
just regurgitate my previous wisdom to them right back in my face. I did that today and then as I sat in my truck, rain pouring, almost wheezing, I looked in the rear view mirror, saw the look on my face and came to a realization. I have looked like this before.
The results are always different but I had seen that look. Robbie, it is just one workout. We all have them. For every horrid workout we also have a great workout. The rest are filled with just the same old same old training day. I got my Garmin out and decided to take a trip down memory lane. Training version. I went back to almost 2 weeks ago when I had one of my best run workouts of the year on tired legs in 90 degree heat on a freaking track for God’s sake. It was a 10×1 mile repeat day. The goal. Negative split them all. So after a 20 min warm up it commenced. As much, as today hurt to hold 7:50s in cooler temps on fresher legs, my splits for that day were as follows:
6:49
6:45
6:41
6:34
6:31
6:24
6:16
6:12
6:05
5:38
Pretty close to a perfect negative split. Longer and much faster than today in worse conditions.
So what does all this mean? I am human. Just like we emotionally have good and bad days in our personal life as well as at work. Shit happens. What would and did I tell me after today? Move on. Especially leading up to a race it is “less is more” and “do no harm.”
There will not be any make up run tomorrow. It is what it is. Did my fitness all of the sudden leave me? Ha. No way. In fact I haven’t felt better about my overall SBR fitness the last few weeks. My bike fitness FINALLY feels like it is coming back after my injuries earlier this year.
Another confidence booster is having gone through races like CMM this year, totally under trained and off injury. Yet I believed I could do well. So I did.
It is the belief in ones self that silences your body. I think people forget that most often the only part of your body you are not working out (your head) is in charge and in control of all the parts you are putting through grueling and never ending pain. You control you.
I wont lie. Every person that has text me the last week has guessed I will go sub 4:30 at Muncie. My response “I believe I have a sub 4:30 in me.” Might sound cocky or over confident to some but I do believe that. I believed I could finish CMM on basically no run training for 4-5 weeks with a long run of 14.
I ran the back 13.1 as my fastest 13.1 split ever over any course. Why? Not because I am a great athlete or the best runner. I just believed I could. So after today am I discouraged about my run? Yep. You can always do better. But I am not deterred. I will bike tomorrow and let it come back to me. Then I get ready for race week. I wont worry about every workout because the only one that matters is the workout I will do on Saturday and that is the one I believe in. Today will just be a memory. See you in a week.
We are doing a ton of work within Ironman training and the more I think about it, the more I believe the weekly open water swims could be the most valuable. I think of the Ironman swim in two ways:
1. It may be the shortest “time section” of the race, but it can absolutely wreck you if you’re not comfortable and ready. I’m on a continuum between insatiable and utter fear.
2. The faster you get out of the water, the fewer people you’ll have ahead of you on the bike course. You’ll also be with faster people who will naturally raise your game.
So, our Coach, Robbie Bruce and his swim clinics, have been a major gift. He’s there four days a week (Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday) ready to show us everything he knows about swimming in open water. Sundays are at 4 pm, all other days 6 am. He teaches mass starts, sighting, drafting, and anything else that will take your pool training to a completely different level. I’ve been in open water 5 times this year and it has given me unbelievable confidence, along with transforming my comfort and abilities. If you live in Nashville, I can’t recommend it enough. Here’s a video I made as part of the Crushing Iron series that gives you more information.
I just looked in the mirror and can’t be sure I recognize the person staring back at me. Just over a year ago (and for all of my life, really) I would have gone out of my way to avoid getting up at 5:30 in the morning. Today, although I did hit snooze and almost overslept, I was actually excited to grab my wet suit and drive 20 minutes to a lake in the middle of nowhere. What happened next, changed a little bit more of my fiber.
I was about 10 minutes late for open water swim (can’t change everything overnight) but I slid into my wet suit and joined the rest of the crew for a few mass floating starts and drafting. Fortunately, for me, I missed the in and out of the lake transition practice, which was probably the toughest, but I swam a little extra at the end.
Today was my 3rd time in open water in the two weeks and the progress is just remarkable. I “almost” felt like a little kid again back at Turtle Lake in Delavan, Wisconsin. I’d spend hours in that seaweed infested water, hoping to end the day with a kiss from one of the Chicago girls in for the weekend. Never really happened, but I did love me some water.
The swim was over at 7, but I had to make up being late, so I swam another 4 or 5 hundred by myself. I got to the last buoy and started walking out of the water. It was so gorgeous and peaceful, I didn’t want to leave. I just wanted to float around and swim the morning away. But this job thing can kinda cramp your style.
When I got back to my car, Ironman Louisville aspirant, Wasky, was dressed for a run and asked if I wanted to join. After some careful deliberation, I said, yes. We knocked out about 7 miles and I stood near my car smelling like a sweaty-lake-skank trying to decide if and where I could get a shower. It was about 8:30 and work was calling, so I put on some fresh shorts and hit the highway.
When I parked at work, the wind shifted and I got a big whiff of my own aroma and realized I smelled like a fish. This was confirmed when a pack of stray cats followed me to the front door.
The good news is, nobody is coming in my office.
We opened the triathlon season with a frozen jaunt through the rain at the ADPiathlon in Murfreesboro. Last weekend I ran the Country Music Half in a steady downpour and celebrated by shivering in the rain for two more hours. This weekend I’m heading to Knoxville for the Rev 3 Olympic and the forecast is for a 60% chance of scattered showers.
First of all, what the hell does 60% chance for scattered showers mean? Does that mean there’s a 40% chance of solid showers or a 40% chance that it will be dry? I have sent an email to Knoxville meteorologists for clarification and will give you an update as soon as I hear.
Either way, I’m mentally preparing for rain, which, in theory, isn’t that big of a deal while you’re racing, except on the bike. You swim in water and it can actually feel good while running . . . but rain dampens the excitement of the event for anyone watching and frankly, I use their energy.
So, Sunday, when I’m treading water and it’s also dropping on my swim cap, I will turn inside to channel all of the training and experiences of past races as I drop my face into the river and pull myself upstream toward the first orange buoy. Then I will turn downstream, glance at the three spectators, and settle into a nice backstroke toward the swim exit.
As I find land, I’ll rip myself from the wet suit, and plod the point 3 miles to my bike where I’ll stuff garbage bags under my top and hit the lonely roads of Knoxville. Biking in the rain is dicey, but I figure the more I ride in the rain, the easier riding in nice weather will be. Sooo . . . bring it on!
In the last 3 weeks I have run exactly 3 times. A 10K race, a 3 mile jaunt with the East Nasties on a Wednesday, and a half marathon. Sunday I will hop off my bike and run for the fourth time, another 10K. Since this is my second Olympic, I’m feeling more confident about sticking the run, so we’ll see what happens.
Years ago I listened to a cassette tape from motivational speaker, Zig Zigler, and the very first thing he said with regard to staying positive was, “Never judge a day by the weather,” and while it’s not always easy, that line has stuck in my head. Truthfully, the rain will “bother me” most in the swim because I would prefer to enjoy the sunshine while I’m in the river, but once you dig in, water is water, and my body will be alive and full of light, even though the sun is behind the clouds.
90% of the time my thoughts are steeped in training, but occasionally I’ll remember why I am a lover of human behavior and truly crave bizarrity. The following is a simple, yet highly representative example of why I find life so damn amazing.
My dog plowed through her last bit of food this morning, so I drove to PetSmart on my way to lunch. As I scoured the rows for a parking spot, a woman walked by in knee high black boots, a tight black dress and a body any red-blooded male would notice.
After parking I walked inside and, low and behold, there she was . . . looking at bird cages. It wasn’t a blatant red flag, but certainly pink. I went about my business and picked up a fresh bag of fish/rice delight for Mattie, and slung it over my shoulder like a cowboy on my way to the counter.
While suffering through an extended credit card mishap with the person in front of me, I noticed “Ms. Black Boots” standing in line behind me. She had a distant and mysterious look, along with several cans of cat food in her basket. She stared right past me, but was clearly in heavy thought.
She had a bit of a frown, almost a scowl, but then, in an instant, her face contorted into the biggest smile I’d seen all day. It was a startling transformation that came with a tinge of crazy only the creepiest of clown clown could manufacture.
Her arm shot like a laser at the magazines and ripped an issue of “Cat Lover” from the wire rack. Without missing a beat, this enigmatic woman started laughing hysterically and spoke in tongue while I leaned back on my heels looking for hidden cameras.
Then, in a move that may be unprecedented in the arena of public behavior, she starts “meowing” in very quick bursts while looking at the cover.
“Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow.”
I inched closer to the door and debated leaving Mattie’s food on the counter, but it was too late. The situation had officially arrived in “Whacksville.”
She unleashed a bellowing laugh, pulled the magazine close to her face and started planting real life kisses on the “Cover Cat.”
“Mmmm…. smack smack smack smack…. giggle…. mmm… kiss… kiss….. ohhh….. such a cutie… I love you!”
I’m looking at the cashier and he is completely oblivious to her behavior while waiting for me to pay. I quickly swiped my card and did my best to focus on the transaction, but all I could hear was, “Yummy….sooo cute… mmm… kiss… kiss… kiss…” I couldn’t stomach a look but would not have bet against tongue. She was insatiable.
Much like Bill Murray sauntering away from the destruction in Caddyshack, I abandoned the crime scene and marveled at the blessing I had just witnessed.
Anyway, there must be a lesson here and I am all ears.
You just stroke, then breathe and it never leaves a bad taste like masturbation.
Swimming is the perfect escape and reconnection. A body made of water flowing through itself. I have yet to find an exercise more invigorating.
Tonight I knocked out a mile in 35 minutes or so and that is not gonna cut it. I suppose it would help if I actually knew how to swim, but I can’t seem to figure it out on my own.
Making matters worse was the woman in the next lane teaching her little girl how to swim. The woman didn’t really look like a swimmer, but she was throwing around a lot of “thumbs first” and “keep hands away from face” kinda stuff, and my end-of-lane-breaks were couched with that “acting like I wasn’t listening look” but I was definitely listening.
I’ve watched a bunch of videos and read books, newsletters, encyclopedias, Twitter posts, and DVR’d the Olympics, but I can’t quite tell which of my growing array of styles is faster. It doesn’t help that I can’t see the second hand on the clock because I’m getting old and blind (maybe I need to cut back on the masturbation).
Anyway, if anyone has swimming advice, I’m all ears.
Today’s Diet
Breakfast: Protein Shake, Two cups of coffee
Snack: Fiber bar
Lunch: Two pieces of fried cod, french fries, unsweet tea
Snack: Chips, green tea
Pre-swim: Orange juice, blueberry, strawberry, banana smoothie (blender)
Dinner: Kale, broccoli, carrot, apple, ginger (in juicer)
* I’m sure I’ll ad something else solid to this day. Likely a can of tuna and a few pickles.
Summary: This is not the most impressive diet-day, but I’m not avoiding my cravings and they are naturally fading away. It’s pretty sweet to see the change and not have to depend on willpower.
I just recorded my first video blog for this site and will put it up as soon as I make a cool open and close that energizes, inspires, and/or makes me look like a total egomaniac. In the meantime, here’s a little history on my couch to Ironman journey.
So, what’s my story? I am a forty something young gentleman who, with the help of a certified Ironman, started running on January 23, 2012. I’m sure we made some kind of bet, but the true reason was how I looked in a video last November (which I hope to find and post). I looked like a fucking whale as I sat next to my buddy Roger and sang the University of Wisconsin anthem, “Varsity.” We were absolutely rocked off our ass and waving our arms back and forth (feeling pretty cool I might add) acting like we were in college celebrating another Badger victory. But when I saw the iPhone video I could not get over the fact that I had a beer gut and my face was swollen like I’d been sitting in a bar for the last 5 years, which I was. I tried to downplay it, like it was the angle of the shot, but I made a serious mental note that day that I would not take my slobby ass lightly.
The start of my running was a “Couch to 5K” program that started with 60 second runs surrounded by 90 second walks. I shit you not, those 60 seconds were like climbing Mount Helena to me. I was winded like a bitch, but tried to play it cool because there were a bunch of women around me and, I’m not going to lie, that is motivation.
This went on and on and we slowly built to a 5K on St. Patrick’s Day which I ran in just under my goal of 28 minutes because my Ironman coach who ran with me lied the whole way. “We’re way behind, gotta pick it up.”
This was me and the coach
So, I lumbered onward completing a 5 mile, 10k, 1/2 Marathon, a Sprint triathlon, numerous other 5ks, then an Olympic triathlon, which was nearly the end of my quest for iron.