Wisconsin – Page 2

May 15, 2014

Running Is Freedom

The only thing better than running six miles on a beautiful day is . . . knowing that you can.

I was just back in my hometown for a few days and woke up to mid-70’s with a partly sunny sky. I sat on the back patio with dad for a while before contemplating what I would do next. That’s when I remembered, “Hey, I could run.”

It sounds simple, but as recent as two years ago, the words that would have likely popped into my head were, “Hey, I could take a nap!” Instead, I went into route-planning-mode and my body was a race horse anxious to get out of the gate.

I could go anywhere I wanted. A buddy’s house across town, Big Hill Park, my old grade school. So many options and each of those seemingly benign treks became electrifying because I had never explored Beloit, Wisconsin by run.

The thought was new. It was fresh. And I couldn’t wait to see all of the simplest little things I’d experienced a thousand times before, but from the window of a car.I cruised by the Boy’s Club on the bike path next to our vividly green neighborhood golf course. I fearlessly dove into “the hood” and discovered progress in the form of yet another new bike path. I crossed the bridge to the east side and ran along the immaculate riverfront into downtown. I was amazed by the run and bike luxuries that never existed when I was a kid.

I chugged past my childhood church, the sight of my first Little League practice, and the middle school that is no longer there. The memories flourished as I passed Tommy Johnson’s childhood home then lumbered up Lincoln Heights to my parent’s driveway.

Before I knew it, I was back on my patio, sitting in peaceful meditation as sweat dried from the backyard breeze. It was one of the simplest, yet most gratifying hometown tours I’d taken in my life.

Running is freedom. Just grab your shoes and go. It’s an expression that reminds me of how I felt tearing through local fields on my dirt bike as a child. Nothing is off limits, and more than ever, I understand how running is an art of being one with the soul of a city.Subscribe to this blog by email or follow me on Twitter @miketarrolly

April 16, 2014August 28, 2018

Ironman New Orleans 70.3 Crushed Me

I went into this race with guarded optimism. Training was going well, and I was especially excited to get to the run. I honestly thought I could lay down a 1:45 for the half marathon, but New Orleans was about to beat me like a rusty timpani drum.

My biggest fear was the effect a ton of driving would have on me (well, that and the wind and the sun and the humidity and the street swindlers). The Badgers making the Final Four in Dallas was a welcome surprise the weekend before, and I have zero regrets about going, but the travel shanked my mojo.

CHECK IN –

As usual I forgot my USAT card, so I had to pull it up on my phone, which pissed off about 10 people in line behind me. Then, after some wickedly lame small-talk with volunteers, I bought my third “name t-shirt” — which officially put me over one million dollars spent on the Ironman brand.

I ran into an nice old man (older than me) wearing a Wisconsin logo, so we talked Badgers for a while before he dragged me onto the veranda and pointed with joy at paddle boat he was spending the next week aboard. “There’s no gambling, or kids, which is nice,” he said.

I also spent a lot of time in here.

Then it was time for the Athlete’s Meeting where I sat next to Wells, who was doing his first half. He was all of 24-years-old and excited to get my expert advice — which he promptly used to kick my ass in the race. I was happy for him and it made me wonder how often that kind of thing happens. Some guy in a gangster TYR hat, who’s been around the block a couple times, starts talking about how great he is then gets dusted dusted by the student.

My immediate concern after the meeting was to figure out how I could get a practice swim. Luckily I ran into a woman who heard about an open-water-deal hosted by a local tri club. I got directions and drove about 20 minutes to jump in the cold and murky water of Lake Ponchartrain.

I was “wetsuit rusty” but felt great until I climbed the concrete stairs and had a bout with dizziness. I sat on the ledge collecting my bearings and this incident quickly turned into my number one fear for the next morning.

As I stripped my wetsuit I noticed a gash in my big toe and it quickly proved my blood was red, just like yours. The guy supervising, Coach Kevin, said it was probably from “those damn barnacles,” and the funny part of this story happened the next morning in the swim line with Rick, from Nashville, who I just met. We talked for a while, then he looked at my toe and said, “Did you cut your toe at that open water swim yesterday?” I was like, “Yeah, how the hell did you know?” He said, “Me too.” I took an awkward gaze at his bare big toe and it was sliced in exactly the same spot.

That night, I slept like a man expecting an earthquake, and netted about four hours sleep. I woke at 4:30, grabbed my gear and walked 8 blocks to the shuttle bus. The streets of New Orleans are quite the sight at 5 am. Drunks stagger by and look at you funny as you walk past them carrying a wetsuit. A very small part of me wished I was staggering back to bed, too, but I convinced myself to pursue the torture.

I do love the morning of an Ironman race. The energy is awesome. This race had a real international flavor and I salsa’d my way to transition-bike-rack number 1266 (the one near the milk jug, which wasn’t put on by me, but was easy to spot).

For the second day in a row I debated wheeling my bike to the tech so he could check the brakes. I had a small issue with my wider race wheels but convinced myself it would be cool. That said, I should note that I am likely the worst bike mechanic on the planet, so neither you, or me, should trust my opinion on bike health.

THE SWIM –

In the spirit of our “going out of the way to do a race” theme, the Swim Entrance was about a ½ mile away from my bike. Thankfully they had a gear-bag-shuttle to the finish line, so I wore sweats, and shoes over to the swim, then dropped them in the bag and put on the wetsuit.

The swim was an age group time-trial start. Fifteen age groups went off in order (6 at a time) starting with the Pros at 7am. I guessed I might jump in at 7:45, but it was more like 8:10. I was literally one of the last men to get into the water.

My plan was to take a leisurely glide. Start slow, stay slow, then speed up at the end. I swam it to perfection. But, as I neared the exit, I started thinking about my dizzy spell from the day before. Surely I would feel it again, so I came up with a strategy to stop about 10 yards from the staircase and tread water for 30 seconds so my body had a vertical head start. I think it helped.

Swim Time: 39:17 (1:52/100yds)

THE BIKE –

All of my bike workouts for this race had been inside on a trainer. I had a few opportunities to ride outside, but this is the time of year when my allergies can be brutal and nothing ignites an itchy nasal cavity like a free-wheeling jaunt through the pollen farm called Nashville, TN.

More than anything I was concerned about the wind in New Orleans and riding 56 miles in fresh air for the first time. As it turned out, my fears were well founded.

If you enjoy being in aero and riding directly into gusting winds, New Orleans is your race. I must have heard 20 people say, “Take it easy on the bike, or you’ll be screwed on the run.” And, for once, I listened . . . sorta.

The first ten miles weren’t too bad, but the combination of not riding outside along with lake got my attention. So did a guy trying to tame a horse.

I’m riding up on this scene in disbelief. The horse looked like a wild black stallion and this guy is holding onto it with a rope. The horse is bucking and shaking its mane and I’m literally riding right at it. I honestly thought I might get kicked in the face, but swerved just out of his range. It was probably the coolest part of the bike.

My plan was to stay in the small ring for the first hour and just spin. It was going pretty well and I was hovering around 18 miles an hour. Not ideal, but I was waiting for some wind assistance and thought I could jack that average closer to 20 mph. But, those moments were few and far between.

It felt like two-thirds of the race was either directly into the wind or hampered by a strong crosswind. I was a little frustrated, but feeling pretty good up until mile 30.

I made a mental note of the look on some of the pro’s faces as they passed by me going the other way. I’m pretty sure Andy Potts was puking and Ben Hoffman was falling asleep in aero, or . . . I may have been projecting.

My goal-pace was a greasy watermelon and a pinching brake pad was not helping my mood. Ever so slightly the right brake rubber would slide in against the wheel. I stopped a few times, but as I mentioned, I am a joke when it comes to bike maintenance. At one point I was in a panic because I tightened it so both sides were locked on my wheel. If I a had a wire cutter I would have sliced the cable. It was pretty ridiculous and I bet I spent 15-20% of the ride with my brake pad rubbing. This probably wasn’t good for my speed . . . or legs.

Around mile 35 there was a nice tail wind and I was solid at 26 mph for 3-4 miles. Then . . . there was a turnaround. For those same 3-4 miles on the way back I hovered around 13 mph. It was brutal and this was a common theme . . .

People always tell me they could never do an Ironman, but could do the bike, and to those people, I say, “You have no clue.” Racing a bike 56 or 112 miles is no joke. The strategy is immense and one bad section, or over zealousness, can screw up your race.

I was hell bent on taking it easy, but my average speed was dropping like Black Friday. I started pushing, and from mile 40-50 I was out of my comfort zone and bonked the last 6. It was just a brutal day . . . and far from over.

Bike Time – 3:12:39 (17.4 mph)

THE RUN –

The minute I got off the bike, I knew I was in trouble. I always have a little trouble walking, but this time my back was fried. I couldn’t run my bike into transition and my mental state plummeted.

I kept the faith and trusted that it was just a “feeling,” then followed the advice I gave Wells the day before, “Just start running and your legs will figure it out.” Eventually they may have, but my head wasn’t on board.

The course started flat, then climbed a substantial bridge at mile one. Everyone was walking, but if you’ve read my blog, you know I refuse to walk.

I slugged up the hill and was absolutely cooked. I kept the feet moving down the backside and at the aid station realized my initial mile was just under a 10 minute pace. That’s no way to run a 1:45.

Shortly after, we ran up our second hill which happened to be a draw bridge. By the time I got to the top I was really hoping it would just open and drop me into the river. I was in a bad place and soon thereafter . . . I was . . . walking.

I promised myself it was a re-charge and would pick it back up, but my feet were already burning and my body was crumbling. I started concocting walk/run strategies but my race was slipping away. The day before in the athlete’s meeting, the guy asked the room if anyone was trying to qualify for Ironman 70.3 World in Canada. I was “this close” to raising my hand. Now I was happy I didn’t. I felt like a fool, a sham, a fake.

The run continued along the shore of Lake Ponchartrain for . . . ever. When I hit mile five, I did my best to put the hammer down and may have lasted 2 minutes before I was walking again. I kept looking at the water thinking it would be a far better place to be and almost . . . quit.

I have really come to love running, but this day made me hate it. Hot black top, no shade, no scenery, no spectators, and serious doubt.

I knew my run was shot, but the clock would not stop ticking. At mile 9, after a haphazard slew of run/walk attempts, I spotted a guy dumping multiple cups of ice into his shorts. We seemed to be in the same boat. I looked at him and said, “What ya think man, you ready to run this home?” He said, “Let’s do it.”

His name is David and turns out he did IMWI the year before me. He also lives in Wisconsin, so I suppose we were destined to meet.

Somehow, someway, we trudged next to each other for four miles and ran it home without stopping (aside from the occasional ice dump). I’m typically not the guy who runs with anyone, but this opened my mind . . . and maybe even my heart. We enter these races with our optimal goal in mind, but truthfully, doing Ironman or Half Ironman’s are incredibly difficult feats and things often go wrong.

But I still believe this stuff is mostly mental. And that’s exactly what I was thinking about during those difficult moments. I was beaten. I didn’t see the need to push once my race goal had left reality. I couldn’t find the reason. It didn’t matter. I had “failed” and I could either wallow in it or accept it and bring it back another day.

So often endurance is about managing pain. Can you create a reason more powerful than the ache to push on? Can you justify the spears in your hip and daggers in your feet? Today, David and I both felt unified in our agony and leaned on each other to complete what we started. Neither of us were overly happy with our times, but I’m pretty sure we will reflect with pride as we understand what it took to cross under that white arch.

I guess that’s what they mean by Finisher.

Run time: 2:23:40
TRT: 6:21:58

April 1, 2014

A Major Distraction for New Orleans 70.3

When I was a kid I would shovel a foot of snow off the driveway just so I could shoot hoops. I’d be out there in 25 degree weather, a parka and snowmobile gloves, bouncing a frozen basketball on ice. More times than not it would happen after listening to the Wisconsin Badgers game on the radio.

I would act like I was on the team and countdown the clock to take the last shot. I’d do it over and over, calling out the radio broadcast with current Badgers passing the ball to me.

Clyde Gaines, over to Larry Petty, he dishes to Claude Gregory, to the top of the key, Tarrolly takes the shot! Clank.

Eventually I’d make one and the driveway arena would erupt in cheers.

This was the 70’s and 80’s and the Badgers were terrible back then. In fact, so bad, I lost track of them in the 90’s until they sorta “showed up” in the Final 4 in 2000.

After that Final 4 in 2000, I was interested again and over the next few years it’s safe to say I became a little obsessed. The Badgers were good??? This was unbelievable to me.

I have watched Badger games like a religion. The Big 10 network is a fixture on my TV and I literally don’t miss a game. Every year I’d think, THIS is the team, only to have the rug pulled out in painful March Madness fashion.

Saturday night, I sat on my couch in relative silence as the clock ran out and they held off Arizona to go back to the Final 4. It was like a dream, and in many ways, a relief. I WOULD see it in my lifetime.

Bo Ryan had led Wisconsin to 13 straight tournament appearances, and never been to the Final 4, until now. And I will be right there with him in Dallas watching live as 80,000 fans roar and millions watch on CBS.

But there’s a catch, my half Ironman is the next weekend in New Orleans. Thankfully it’s a taper week, but I’ll be driving all over the South and sitting in a car wanks my body more than running 10 miles.

I’m actually feeling good about the race, but so much of my strategy is mental preparation. It will be hard to focus with such a major distraction. Maybe I’ll run laps around the Jerry Dome at halftime or something just to keep my head straight.

March 19, 2014

Triathlon and March Madness

My March Madness started last Friday morning in Indianapolis at the Big 10 Tournament. I left Nashville at 4:30 am and drove north 5 hours to meet my college buddy, Petey, who drives 5 hours south. It’s quite the reunion.

We checked into the Wisconsin Badgers home hotel and quickly sold our afternoon session tickets before noon. I was on a taper for the St. Patty’s Day 4 Miler on Saturday, so after lunch I took a nap. Around 5:00 we saw Bo Ryan’s Badgers off from the Lobby and walked to the arena Minnesota beat down. We stayed for part of Michigan State/Northwestern, but the Iowa fans sitting next to us were a little salty, so we left at halftime.

After the big win we went back to the hotel and rubbed shoulders with all the Wisconsin big shots, including Henry the trainer, several of the player’s parents, legendary Wisconsin band director, Mike Leckrone, and the Emperor, Barry Alvarez. The mood was optimistic, but I couldn’t get the next morning’s 4 Miler out of my head.

The race was at 10 am, and Petey and I dragged our old man legs to Monument Circle around 9:15. I grabbed my bib, then photo bombed a few of my own pictures. (That’s me in the lower left hand corner).

Quite simply, I wasn’t feeling it. Driving so far, staying up late, and losing my juicing rhythm all took away my legs. I still managed a 30:10 four mile run and finished in (what appears to be) the top 3 of my age group and 108th out of 1448 total runners.

After lunch we went to Wisconsin game and they got punked by MSU. It was a bit deflating but as I watched that game I thought Michigan State looked like the best team in the country, and apparently am not alone.

Things weren’t quite as festive back at the hotel, and the team flew back to Madison at 9 o’clock. We cheered them off to the plane, then settled down with big time season ticket holder, G-Dogg.

The Big Ten 5K was looming for me in the morning and I once again missed my bedtime. It was a 10 am race (pretty late starts for both days and likely why I signed up) and the weather had gone from perfect on Saturday to 25 degrees for Sunday’s race.

I checked in, warmed up a little, then took off through the streets of Indianapolis just like I did two years earlier in my first ever 5k. I was hoping for sub 22 minutes, but by mile 2, I knew that was a pipe dream.

The first mile was 7:30, the second 7:10, but then we hit a gale force wind. The kind of wind that makes your eyes water and forces you to lean forward or you won’t move. I could barely keep mile 3 under an 8 minute pace and wound up crossing the tape at 23:21 for 4th in my age group and 83rd out of 592 runners. My pace for the 4 miler and the 5K were almost identical at about 7:30.

I don’t want to say I’m disappointed, but it makes me wonder if an 8 minute pace goal for the run at New Orleans 70.3 is realistic. But, if Wisconsin gets to the Final Four, I’ll guarantee sub 1:45 for the 1/2 marathon.

January 6, 2014

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.

November 20, 2013

My Clandestine Affair With Ironman

“The two most powerful warriors are patience and time.” — Leo Tolstoy

I grew up in little Midwestern town called Beloit, Wisconsin with a tenacious group of friends. We played until the sun went down, and often thrived under the moon. Endurance junkies that didn’t know shit about hydration or nutrition — we just played until we dropped.

My knees throbbed, my ankles ached, and my hands . . . wrinkled like prunes. I was too young to understand, but somewhere deep inside all of this toil, was a hidden love for Ironman.

When I went to college, it was more of the same, but I quickly added drinking to my list of endurance routines. An Irish Boy with a training base built over hundreds of years and I did my best to uphold tradition.

Competitive softball replaced college and took me all over the Midwest on a fancy tour bus. Sometimes we played 6 or 7 games a day, all for the right to carry home a trophy nobody else cared about.

After softball, I went back to endurance drinking because it was easy. The first step is always “take action” and for some reason pouring a drink is infinitely easier than tying a pair of running shoes or filling two water bottles.

Alcohol is patient and it prevailed for the next 15 years, but the “easy way” certainly wasn’t making life easy. I wish I would have realized all of this waste, but time was the only thing that could heal my wounds.

Somehow I found the strength to change priorities. My decline was imperceptible to the naked eye, but I was falling apart. Not much was making sense and the deeper I went, the more confusing it became. It all started to change when I discovered and accepted running.

And run I did.

For the next eight months, I found a new muse. “One more beer” started morphing into “one more lap” and that simple substitution may have saved my life.

Eventually it rekindled my fascination with the Ironman I first saw as a child. Who were those crazy bastards doing insane amounts of endurance from sunrise till sunset? Their behavior was so unusual that it never occurred to me I could be one. But I didn’t have a choice.

I signed up for Wisconsin on a whim. It was my home state, and in some ways I looked at it as another chance to go back and showcase for the locals. I’d left a mark in baseball, now I would leave one in triathlon.

The day after I signed up, I started writing about the quest. Years of endurance drinking buried emotions and now they flowed like an all night keg stand.

Ironman branded my brain and I searched my soul for its meaning. The frightening swim, the daunting bike, and the run I never really believed I could do, ever . . . let alone at the end.

The blog became a daily dose of convincing myself I could be an Ironman. I served my thoughts on a platter for the world to chew and spit out. I praised the race for setting a new bar, a new standard for a new person.

I shredded my body in a masochistic experiment just to prove I belonged. Long, torturous swims, rides and runs that left me exhausted, yet inspired to grab that elusive feeling I couldn’t quite explain.

I’d raced Ironman Wisconsin countless times before I jumped into Lake Monona. I’d finished the race in my mind, I just needed to deliver the proof.

The 11:58:58 next to my name in the Ironman annals proves we are officially “an item,” but the honeymoon is over. Now, I must seduce her again.

The first thing I noticed after the race was a feeling of extreme relief. But that is what Steven Pressfield (The War of Art) would call “Resistance” tricking me into believing the job is finished. A persistent voice in my head telling me, “You have nothing to prove, now go back to your comfortable ways of drinking late into the night, sleeping in, and making excuses.”

That is a battle I will likely fight to my grave. That temptation to take the easy route. The temptation to put it off to tomorrow. The temptation to squash the pain with a drink, a nap, or an eating binge.

Life is never easy, but I have other plans. I have seen how discipline, focus, and hard work can take me to a new place. Now it’s about finding the time and patience to court Ironman again in 2014. I look forward to the challenge, I just wish she wasn’t such a bitch.

November 7, 2013

Mass Swim Start vs. Rolling Start

Recently, ESPN “Outside the Lines” spearheaded this piece on the dangers of open water swim in triathlon. It is a gloomy account that’s steeped in murky water — and I’ll likely be reminded about it for years to come by friends who prefer the safety of a couch.

Of course I feel bad for anyone who has lost a loved one to inopportune death. Two close friends of mine have died (outside of triathlon) when I least expected it, but no amount of advice or controls would have changed those endings. People go their own way, and people pursue Ironman because they have a desire to push themselves to the limit. They understand what they’re signed up for — and making them wear seat belts doesn’t mean they won’t be texting and driving. I could be the poster child for anxiety in the water, but the “danger” of open water swims is half (or more) of the reason I am so drawn to them. I have done every kind of swim start and have turned into a basket case in multiple races. I’ve clutched kayaks, buoys, and pool edges trying catch my breath, calm down and get a grip on reality. I understand how it feels to be in a major state of panic which can trigger something we are now referring to as “worrisome” situations.

9256_10101494399777790_778338974_n World Triathlon Corporation has responded to increasing criticism with “rolling swim starts” as part of their Swim Smart initiative.* Swim Smart is a solid and progressive idea, but rolling starts are are not a panacea.

The ESPN article says, “There are no simple answers,” yet, I think this line, buried deep in the piece, is the key to everything:

“There is a growing consensus that a warm-up or pre-race water acclimation area can help relieve athlete anxiety, but races are not required to provide one.”

Most outsiders would probably look at rolling starts and say, “Oh, yes, that is much safer because of fewer people and less body contact,” but as a relative beginner and someone who has been there, I don’t believe those are the main issues.

I consider myself a “decent” swimmer and felt comfortable enough to start in the front row of a 2.4 mile swim with 2,800 people, but just six weeks later I nearly freaked out 500 yards into a wave start with 60 swimmers at the Goosepond 1/2 triathlon. Why?

Top tier athletes are experienced and in good enough shape to “get by” without a good warm up, or acclimation to the water, but marginal swimmers or older age groupers (like me) are not as equipped physically or mentally. And I’ve learned, that it’s not the anxiety of body contact as much as the rush of the race that throws me off. When the cannon fires, people lose their minds and for some reason think they can sprint an entire Ironman. At the very least, most forget their plan and go out way faster than they should.

It’s not like rolling starts prevent contact. You’re still talking several hundred people starting at once and there will be flogging. Two athletes I trained with this summer just did the rolling start at Ironman Florida and one got a fat lip . . . the other a black eye.

If you want to talk about tough ways to start a race, look at Ironman Louisville (which I will be doing next year). 3,000 racers stand around in the dark, then shuffle down a pier and jump into the water with tight feet. As far as I know they don’t even let you warm up in the water (unless you’re a pro) at Louisville — and I think going in cold is by far the biggest concern.

Getting into the water 20 minutes early at Ironman Wisconsin saved my swim. I was in tune with my surroundings, acclimated to the water, and treading that long was a good warm up. It was an mass start and by far my longest open water swim, but I had no abnormal anxiety.

If we want safer races, which we do, triathlons and coaches should put more energy into educating people about the importance of a warm up, or be clear that they start comfortably at their own pace. Rolling starts may spread out the humanity, but they do nothing to slow a person down, in fact, they may speed them up in the worst way possible.

Ultimately, this comes back to the athlete. Nobody knows your body better than you and ignorance of the law is no excuse. I have “failed” in multiple swims, but I cannot blame that on the race or race director. It was me that didn’t warm up. It was me that didn’t put enough time in the pool or open water. It was me that didn’t listen to the coach or doctor. It was me who didn’t meditate, hydrate, or get enough rest.

I got into that mass swim start at Wisconsin fully aware of the risk, and that’s what I loved about it. I am here to live, not sit around and hope life shows up in a child proof package. But it seems we are on an impossible mission to take all risk out life, and our obsessions usually tend to make things more dangerous.

Deaths in triathlon are a sad, but inevitable fact that has more to do with individual preparation and precaution than simply changing the rules of the race. I realize the short term focus is aimed at pleasing lawyers, but triathletes I know prefer to deal with the real problems rather than mask the symptoms.

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* IRONMAN defines a rolling swim start as: Athletes will enter the water in a continuous stream through a controlled access point, similar to how running road races are started. An athlete’s times will start when they cross timing mats under the swim arch.

September 18, 2013

This is the Stuff That Keeps Me Writing #IMWI

I am blown away by the positive feedback on this blog and especially for my Ironman Wisconsin Race Report. Along with movement, writing is probably my biggest passion, and I express how far your input goes in keeping this blog alive. And it will stay alive. I am bursting with energy and ideas that I want to explore.

Here are a few of the comments people have left about the Race Report and I can honestly say, words like these will push me and Crushing Iron to a higher place.

“Mike, best report I have ever read. Loved Alt. Mike’s take on the race and the battle you waged with him. Congrats. Huge.” – Frank

“This report is amazing! I had chills and tears! I am doing IMWI 2014 and it will be my first, this article has me so pumped already!!!!!” – Jason

“I’ve been reading a lot of race reports and I have to say that you are a good writer.” – Wendy

“Great report! I am so enjoying it. Agree with Wendy!” – Roman

“Only thing better than your race report was your results. Well done on all accounts.” – Tim

“Great job out there and great write up! Your blog has been entertaining all year and this is a great cap to it. Are you in for 2014 too?” – Mark

“Awesome report! A lot of first time experiences going on for you that day! Well done!” – Chris

“Loved the report! Well done!” – Deb

August 27, 2013

Neighborly Advice 14, 13, and 12 Days Out from Ironman

This entire list is here, but since I haven’t posted since Saturday I thought I would re-share some of my neighbor’s wisdom for less than two weeks out from Ironman.

Day 14 – You gonna think I’m full of corn, but when you two weeks away from ya dance, you gotta forget all the moves. Sit back with your friends and just talk about shit u don’t care about. Hell, my boy Mincie talked out both sides his mouth bout that damn Flipper show and I just shook my head and ate biscuits. Sound crazy, but he kept it real and real is what it is.

Day 13 – Okay, now I’m gonna tell u somethin, but it ain’t what you hope. You gonna start worryin’ bout everything. Like nightmare and dream shit that straight out a Stephen King movie. Like u tryin to spot that swim buoy but ain’t got no eyes or u runnin’ on hot burnin’ coals or u forgot ya swim cap. But that just ya mind fuckin wit u. I had a dream once and I was dancin’ on my damn hands. Ain’t that some Jackabilly?

Day 12 – Not gonna lie. Day 12 ain’t for nothin’ but lettin’ your nerves calm down from that Stephen King shit. Nothin else u can do, really.

**Ironman Louisville Spectator Recap coming in an hour or so.

August 13, 2013

A Painful Cramp

More than ever, my body has been looking me deep in the eyes and asking, “WTF?”

Here I am approaching 50, putting on mileage I’ve never dreamed possible, and clearly that doesn’t come without complications. Last night’s 3,000 meter swim was a great example.The workout included a warm up, followed by 40 x 50 meter combined set and a cool down. I felt fairly strong as I cooled down for 400 meters, but when I got to the end and jumped out of the pool, I was nearly brought to tears by a piercing cramp in my left calf.

As I was leaning against the wall screaming bloody murder in front of the lifeguard and festive aqua-bikers, the guy in my lane asked if I was ok. I said, “Yeah, I’m just cramping.” He calmly replied, “I used to get them all the time when I swam with the pull buoy.”

Aha!

Yes, I remember Robbie telling me that when I was dealing with MUCH smaller cramps in the pool. The logic is that when you immobilize your legs with the buoy, the blood circulation to your lower body slows and quick movements can launch a cramp attack. I did know and understand this, but how quickly we forget.

I’m not gonna lie, my night was filled with a bit of panic. I was having a hard time walking and the calf was very sore. I tried to imagine running and it did not go well. Could all of this training be derailed by a freak incident?

I vowed to get back in the water as quickly to start the mental healing process, and though I was 45 minutes late, I showed up at Open Water Swim to knock out 30 minutes in the lake. I took the usual ridicule about being late, then swam up and down the orange boom for 32 minutes without stopping. No pull buoy, no cramps, but tired arms.

Robbie and I talked for a bit after the swim (as we watched the next Pele run line drills in the sand) and he suggested the other reason for cramps in the pool can be from pushing off the wall. This makes a ton of sense, especially when blood flow to your legs is low, and you’re exploding off the balls of your feet which targets the calf muscles.

Aside from the pull buoy, I suspected there was another major reason for the cramping: dehydration.

I am just shocked by how much I am sweating these days, and I’m assured that’s a good thing, but I have certainly not been compensating like I should with hydration. I used to drink a lot of Coke (thankfully that habit has gone away) and my rule was always one glass of water immediately following a soda. Now I drink coffee, and on some days too much. It is painstakingly clear that, as mileage rises, I have to be careful and add more liquids.

I guess a third culprit could be sodium loss and last night, along with drinking a ton of water, I pulled out my homemade Gatorade recipe of 1/2 water, 1/2 orange juice, and a little bit of sea salt. It tasted like ass, but I’m doing what I can.

So, I sit here less than a month away with a very sore calf and hope I can get this under control. Any suggestions would be appreciated.