Ironman World Championships Recap: Worth the Wait

A smile is worth 1,000 words, or in this case…1,200?

Nearly one month after the Ironman World Championships in Kona, Hawaii, I still didn’t want to complete my race recap.

As I type the last word and close this Macbook, I know my journey as a 140.6-mile distance Ironman will close too.

And yet it’s time. For so many reasons.

I gave myself every excuse I could to postpone writing about my Kona experience. The race photos and videos expressed more than I could capture. I’ve had people tell me they’ve never seen me smile like I did in the finisher’s chute photos.

So which is more vivid, knowing that it’s true, or weaving words like relief, euphoria, and rapture together to describe an elusive sensation?

I probably wouldn’t type another word about Kona If I didn’t have two young children who might one day benefit from the lessons I’ve learned finishing what I started in 2010.

It could be as simple as, “Race day (and night) was everything I hoped it would be. The end.”

 Except that it’s not that simple. It never is.

 Besides, I have a secret.

 The race itself didn’t even produce my favorite moment from the overall experience.

No, that happened three days before the chest-shaking beat of the Hawaiian drums and the billowing smoke cannon that signaled the race start.

 And it happened at packet pickup of all places.

Retrieving your race packet typically is a mundane but necessary pre-race ritual that can occasionally lead to heightened nerves. It’s often the first opportunity to see other competitors en masse. And you can’t help but notice their tricked-out bikes, along with an astonishing array of Michaelangelo-carved physiques.

At Kona, it’s different. Not just the bodies and bikes … that’s an under-statement. These are the fastest distance triathletes in the world we’re talking about!

But in that space, packet pickup almost felt like an intimate, revered moment. An initiation, perhaps? It rose to the occasion, and I wasn’t expecting that.

I walked into the official race hotel lobby, where a sign indicated an athletes-only path to packet pickup. To get there, you walk 100 steps or so underneath a canopy of banners 20-feet high featuring past Ironman World Championship winners. All the winners are captured in black and white photos. Allen. Scott. Welch. Macca. Crowie. Chrissie. Rinny. Ryf. The list goes on, and my jaw must’ve dropped a little.

Getting off the airplane and feeling the heat and humidity hit me for the first time, that was the first taste of being on the Big Island.

But walking beneath Ironman legends, that was the first taste of being at the Big Dance.

Once I got to the red-velvet rope-lined packet pickup entrance, someone asked for my ID and upon presenting it, gave me an Ironman challenge coin. Cool! Nice touch.

Then, they really got me good with the finale.

In what felt like a steady procession of 1:1 volunteer to athlete handoffs, a volunteer told me to visit someone else who had something special for me, my race backpack. At this point, I had a silly smile on my face because the whole thing  -- all 12 years of it – was coming into focus. I was here, and this was real. I’m dreaming, and I’m wide awake.

I walked towards a Black woman wearing her yellow Ironman volunteer T-shirt. She smiled at me with her eyes, beautiful and craggly crow’s feet lining up like cheering spectators on each side of her face. Her lips were pursed at first, hiding a smile. The woman then cocked her head and with a coy grin said, “I’ve been waiting for you.” She produced my Ironman World Championship backpack, complete with a customized name tag and bib number, and offered it with two outstretched hands. It was a priceless gift, and this lady knew it. She presented it as such.

I welled up with tears in my eyes. It was the perfect thing for her to say, and there was only one reasonable response to offer.

“Not as long as I’ve been waiting for you.”

I wiped my eyes, and I accepted the most hard-earned backpack of my life with pride and humility.

It was the only time I really cried the entire week.

And then, like any good theme park layout…I exited into the merchandise tent and gave my credit card a good workout.

The rest of my week and the race itself were dessert to that main-course memory. I savored it all, every detail, down to the iconic, green-hosed showers exiting the swim in T1. I will always remember how refreshing that cool water felt on my skin while practically shouting In my head, “These are the actual hoses! From the race and on TV! I’m here! This is awesome!”

Some of the visuals and sounds from race day. On one hand I wish I had gone faster, I know I left time on the course. On the other hand, mentally and emotionally I was never in a hurry to bring the dream to a close.

The only real challenge – beyond my diminished run endurance – also surfaced unexpectedly in the days leading to the race.

I quickly learned that an athlete’s favorite question to ask another athlete at the World Championships is, “Where did you qualify?”

At first, I was embarrassed to answer that I instead took the long route by way of the Legacy program – 12 consecutive Ironman finishes within 12 years, plus a 13th “validating race.” It didn’t help when an athlete’s typical response would be to pause and look at me differently, like suddenly I was a special charity case to be comforted rather than congratulated. That took the form of, “Oh…cool! Well, congrats!”

This question is a fair and natural one. The most common route to Kona is paved by athletes finishing within the top 1-5 places in their age group -- typically anywhere from 100-350-plus competitors. Kona is truly rare air -- an accomplishment fit for the top 1-2% of our sport.

At my Ironman best, I cracked the top 6% in my age group. Solid, but not quite enough to punch that Kona ticket myself.

I grappled with my feelings about this for a couple days. Did I really belong here? Should the Ironman World Championships be reserved only for the best of the best? That got me thinking about my Spotify training playlist – all 300 songs of it -- and two of my favorite tracks, “Last Breath” from the Creed soundtrack and Jakob Dylan’s version of “We Can Be Heroes.”

 “I just wanna be a champ for the misfits and the ones that would say I couldn’t do it.”

 “We can be heroes…just for one day.”

What a reset.

I wasn’t here to prove that I qualified. To me, or to anyone else.

Honestly, it was an honor that someone assumed enough to ask where I qualified rather than whether I had qualified!

That was enough for me.

And so it is with this journey.

I came to Kona to come full circle. I started my quest trying to prove that I could commit to something that felt impossible. My track record to that point in life was hit-or-miss and it didn’t sit right with me. And now, this journey has concluded, exceeding every expectation along the way.

That smile in the finisher’s chute?

I still can’t pinpoint exactly what I was feeling. But I do know that smile is the result of a lifetime of negative motivation leaving my body and soul all at once.

Athlete imposter syndrome? Gone. The kid who got bullied? That anger got flushed. The scrawny teen who went unnoticed by the girls? Nah, we good.

That’s already more than enough.

In fact, it’s everything.

Macbook…closed.

The next morning, I walked up Palani Road to get coffee as I listened to “You’re Where You Belong” from the Top Gun: Maverick soundtrack. I almost teared up, either because of how sore I was, or because I was so relieved that the journey was over. I didn’t grab a selfie there, but I took this one at my favorite meal spot right on the water just after that lovely latte. Tired, relieved, content.

Gift of the Mamba

I looked to Kobe Bryant for some much-needed inspiration in November 2013 at Ironman Arizona.

Well, a framed image of Kobe with a quote that resonated with me, tucked inside my special needs run bag.

(How many people put framed photos in their special needs bag, I wonder?)

When I was hurting and wanted to slow down during that race, six weeks after a miserable Ironman performance in Lake Tahoe…I turned to Kobe.

Kobe was there.

You can read about that race experience and see the image for yourself here.

For quick reference, here’s that Kobe’s quote: “We all have self doubt. You don’t deny it, but you also don’t capitulate to it. You rise above it.”

Pure Mamba.

Like almost everyone else in Los Angeles and far beyond, I’m very much struggling to cope with the death of such good people. I’m struggling as a father. As a lifelong Lakers fan. As a local resident who drove past the Las Virgenes freeway exit with my eldest daughter less than 20 minutes before the chopper crashed nearby. As a friend of the deceased pilot’s original flight instructor and mentor. As someone who has friends who knew the Altobellis or Christina Mauser. As someone who’s been hit by a car while cycling (actually just a few blocks from the helicopter crash site) and knows what it feels like when you think you only have seconds left to live.

That last thought, I really can’t get past. I can’t imagine seeing the scared look in my daughter’s eyes and knowing I can’t do a damn thing for her when it matters most. I continue to replay this scene over and over in my head. It’s among my greatest fears as a father. I’m tossing and turning in the middle of the night between sleep cycles, feeling that moment in my soul.

During the day, I’m feeling equal parts viscerally present (with my family) and cavernously distant (consumed by grief).

Then, I think about Mamba Mentality. What it means to me. What it’s meant to me. How it bubbles to the surface of my personality… sometimes on command, other times when I least expect it.

Most people think I’m all about Rudy Ruettiger, the famed runty Notre Dame walk-on football player.

That’s 80% true.

That other 20%…Mamba. Anyone who has cycled with me on a group ride when someone tries to sprint past knows what I’m talking about. Anyone who has run with me in a track session has seen it too. You might be better than me, but I’m gonna make you take it from me. Every time.

Mamba Mentality transcends Kobe. It’s his gift to all of us. It renders banners and rings useless and trivial.

Mamba Mentality is a priceless gift. A legacy. A dare for those willing to take it.

Mamba Mentality is a look. Jaw protruding. Eyes on fire. Muscles flexed. “I OWN THIS MOMENT!”

Mamba Mentality is a way of life. Relentless. No excuses. Brutally honest. Pure. Raw. Gladiatorial. Unapologetic.

LeBron is making a promise to serve as the caretaker for Kobe’s legacy.

With humble permission, ‘Bron, I’d like to share some responsibility in my own small way.

For me, Mamba Mentality is making every day count. Every moment. With pride and fire. No slacking.

Mamba Mentality is completing my training every morning even if I’m exhausted from Ayla bottle feedings. No excuses.

Mamba Mentality is putting the damn phone down when I get home and spending better quality time with Audra. Nothing is more important.

Mamba Mentality is ensuring that Steph always feels like she’s my Queen. (Without the $4 million ring though…sorry bae!)

This is my Mamba Mentality promise.

It’s my promise to myself, in honor of someone I never met.

I didn’t have to meet Kobe though. He has been a part of me for a long time.

And he will always be a part of me.

The Benefits of Asking WHY

We’ve got a great athlete who just joined Good Wolf. He’s young, inquisitive, smart…and flippin’ fast.

We touch base frequently on most if not all of his workouts.

This past weekend, he eye-balled this week’s upcoming schedule and asked why I created the structure that way and what I was thinking overall for planning the weeks ahead.

There was a split-second, “Oh shit, can I explain this??” moment followed immediately by, “Yes! I’m glad you asked!”

it’s natural to feel a sense of fright over being challenged. It’s what we do next that defines our maturity and in this case (I hope) proves our expertise.

I have grown to appreciate the opportunity to be able to explain my rationale whether it’s in coaching, my Insomniac workplace, or home. I tell my Good Wolf athletes that if I can’t explain or defend something I’m asking them to do, I should be fired. I mean it! My philosophy is that athletes who thrive at Good Wolf do so because they believe they invest a piece of their soul in every workout they complete. If I can’t articulate the importance of and strategy behind what they’re doing, then I’m squandering the piece of their soul they gave to the sport, and by extension, to me.

Plus, as my dad recently wrote in one of his own blog posts, being able to confidently explain the WHY behind the what does two things:

1) It improves a coach’s ability to communicate

2) It improves a coach’s ability to understand himself and reinforce key concepts. Sometimes, we inherently “know” something but we’re not sure how to explain it…unless we’re asked on the spot to do so.

I’ll add a third reason this is beneficial. It improves the coach-athlete relationship dynamic. When an athlete buys in to a plan, they’ll see better results. You’ll see better results too. And then, on race day, both coach and athlete are more likely to see the desired result where it counts the most… at the finish line.

Bank That Workout

You really just never know when your next amazing workout will occur.

I certainly didn’t expect mine to come off five hours sleep with heavy fatigue.

Yet there I was this morning at the Tower 26 swim in Pacific Palisades. I usually start in a mid-level lane, which is typically (lately) the fifth of eight lanes. Today, Coach Gerry asked for two volunteers to join Lane 4. Nobody moved in Lane 5.

This is the part of the story where I admit that I half-feel like Gerry already knows I’m going to volunteer even before I know I’m going to volunteer.

Since nobody was moving and I know Gerry doesn’t like to wait around, I just ducked under the lane line and took my spot amidst some fast swimmers whom I normally have a hard time matching.

I expected a beatdown, and I knew I wasn’t ready for it. I was tired already.

Then, for the next hour, not only did I hold my own, I was holding back so as not to draft off my lane-mates too much.

I was as shocked as they probably were!

I’ve been working on my swim stroke using the Vasa trainer, usually three, 10-minute sessions a week. And it’s apparently really paying off. I felt powerful, smooth and efficient in the water. FINALLY, after 10 years of swimming, I’m starting to perceive what it’s supposed to feel like when Coach Gerry says to “grip it and rip it” in the water.

As I drove home, the morning was unusually well lit and clear. I could see the full length of Catalina Island, and the hilly treetops in Palos Verdes. It was spectacular.

It became the kind of workout and the kind of morning you want and need to bank mentally. That way, when the disappointments come — and they will — you can resort back to that time you didn’t expect to be great and were nonetheless.

Training, good, bad and ugly, is tricky. You can be prepared and stink it up (been there), and you can brace yourself for a crap day and surprise yourself (been there too).

The key is being consistent enough to experience the good, bad and ugly!

And the next level after that is to learn from the bad and ugly, while banking the good for when the bad wolf wants you to remember only the bad times.

This is how you feed the good wolf.

The Journey of Mastery

A long time ago, my dad recommended a book to me called Mastery. I remember the cover had a very classic metaphysical look to it.

Long before Malcom Gladwell, Mastery featured what it took to become an expert in one’s field, as well as how to master one’s self.

My dad has taught me many things. Among the best lessons he passed down was not just a love for reading, but a need — no CRAVING — for constant improvement. I know he got that from his mom, my grandmother. I’m eternally grateful.

I’ve started to notice lately some changes in my coaching approach that can be traced to both Gladwell’s 10,000 hours theory and the general idea behind Mastery.

When I first started coaching, I stuck to an amalgamated philosophy based on the dogma of other coaches. Either tenets I strongly believed in based on experience, or “truisms” that they believed strongly enough in that I figured they must be right.

Now, after a few seasons of coaching experience, I notice that I’m drifting from the dogma of others to formulate my own true approach. For example, I’ve had coaches dismiss the value and importance of cycling cadence, yet experience working with athletes is changing my point of view on the subject. Similarly, I’m backing away from the conventional wisdom that previously led me to avoid prescribing runs longer than 2.5 hours. I’m since learning that some athletes do indeed need those longer runs, whether it’s for physical or mental reasons. I’ve tried to slice and dice high volume running different ways to avoid those taxing longer runs, but sometimes it’s actually the best workout to suggest.

Learning has to come from doing and experiencing, not necessarily hearing and trusting alone. Ya gotta do it yourself.

This is part of a journey towards mastery. Now I’m not indicating that I am a master. Far from it. But I am eagerly on the path to discover what coaching mastery might look and feel like.

I’m excited for what 2020 will bring for Good Wolf and our family of athletes. And I’m just as excited to grow along with the team — ever grateful for them allowing me to continue evolving and walking together on our own paths to mastery.

Break's Over

After a nice three-week holiday, I return to my normal work schedule at Insomniac starting tomorrow.

What a different break this was compared to all the other ones over the last 15 years there. This time, my time definitely was not my own. It was family time, 24/7 (mostly). I tried to describe that to some friends who don’t have kids and the only thing I could come up with was a “joyful grind.” Keeping an infant and 4-year-old happy, rested, and comfortable when both are sick is hard work! Thank goodness for my wife, who is an absolute star in every way.

I managed to get back into training more regularly, which helped me keep my sanity. I fee like I’m rapidly re-gaining lost fitness, and that’s all while I try to get this viral cold/cough/sinus congestion out of my system. It’s been lingering since just after the holiday break started for me.

I’ll never forget this special time off and am eternally grateful to Insomniac for the opportunity. I bonded even more with both girls and Steph — if that’s even possible.

It’s like I had an offseason in the workplace, and now a new but very familiar grind begins.

I’m excited for 2020 and what lies ahead! Time to get back on the bike again, so to speak!

Pride and Responsibility

Three members of the Good Wolf tribe rode together along with me on a New Year’s slog up Mandeville Canyon.

We wore the blue, white and black colors of the Good Wolf kit for the first time.

At first, it felt surreal to see people wearing something that represented a dream of mine.

Then, I allowed some pride to swell as Steve, Chris, Scott and I rode in a paceline. In that moment, I had visceral proof that I was building something special. Something that more and more people are buying into, one athlete at a time.

The pride became replaced by moments of fear — what the hell am I doing?? What business do I have even being a triathlon coach? Funny how quick that pendulum can swing!

Fortunately, I knew that was the famed Lizard Brain talking. That’s the part of our brain designed to (allegedly) protect us from threats.

Usually, those threats are imagined or greatly exaggerated.

My fleeting fear gave way to a deep sense of responsibility. Here were talented people who believed in my approach and bought in — literally — by wearing our new team kit on a large group ride with multiple riders spanning several clubs. This was OUR club.

But…stop it, Ryan.

Pride kills. Complacency is even worse. We’re only as good as our last day.

That’s the challenge.

That’s the opportunity.

As a business owner, or a parent, or partner, that’s the responsibility.

Top 4 Favorite Tri Memories of the Decade

This has been such a fun exercise. I’m always looking ahead, so it’s nice to look back once more.

Before I share my final favorite memories, now is a great time to thank the people most responsible for empowering and encouraging me to pursue this crazy sport 10 years later.

Everything starts and stops with my wife, Stephanie. She could have been done with me a long time ago, considering it’s true what people say about spouses and triathlon “widows.” Instead, Steph still leaves Post-It notes on the bathroom mirror, encouraging me by saying how impressed she is that I’m up at 5 a.m. to start my training. Steph is the one who really pushed me over the top to start Good Wolf Coaching. I’m an extremely lucky man to have such a special wife.

Obviously, my mom, dad and children have been a huge inspiration too. I hope I’ve set a good example for them, win or lose.

I’d like to thank my coaches. I learned a lot from them over the years, and their imprint can be found in various ways as I form my own philosophies and approaches.

Next, I’d like to shout-out my teammates past and present. You’ve always motivated me and been the best team-oriented support network in any sport I’ve played.

Of course, I must mention my Good Wolf Coaching family. You saw something in me even when I wasn’t so sure at the onset, and now we’re on a roll. Thank you for believing in me!

Finally, I’d like to thank the people who read this blog. I’m surprised whenever anyone tells me they have or still do read. I write for myself, but it’s so nice knowing I’m not alone.

4) “Daddy, we can look at the ducks?” Going into Ironman Arizona 2018, I brimmed with confidence. Training was on point, and for the first time in the last three years, I was sleeping and training regularly. I expected that to translate to a possible sub-10 hour Ironman performance. It did not. I found myself chasing the clock following a slower-than-expected swim and a bike ride that felt harder than it should have.

By the time I got more than halfway through the run, I knew I’d not even be able to match my previous best race times at Ironman Arizona. I was dejected. So dejected that my mind became preoccupied with quitting rather than setting a good example for Audra, who was old enough to attend her first Ironman race and appreciate what was happening.

I trudged past Steph, my friends Jason and Russ, and Audra at mile 17. I slowed to a walk and flatly told everyone I was done. I wanted to quit. I sucked, raced two Ironmans already in 2018 and just didn’t want to be there anymore.

Audra could tell I was really hurting, physically and mentally. She lovingly looked up at me and pointed to Tempe Town Lake, “Daddy, we can go watch the ducks?”

That sounded like the best idea ever. And it was. Audra and I sat to look at the lake water and talk about ducks. In the middle of a race. It was a moment of daddy-daughter joy in the middle of a total sufferfest disaster.

Meanwhile, Steph, Russ and Jason all were trying to convince me to get up and keep going. Finally, Steph used reverse psychology. “Fine, let’s go home. Audra is hungry, I’m hungry and you’re right, there’s no need to finish what you started in front of us.”

Um, OK. Done and done. Off I went, and finished what I started that day.

Sometimes, stopping to “watch the ducks” is what we need to put our challenge in perspective, along with a good nudge to wake us from our complacency.

3) “I can go faster!” Fast forward several months to Ironman Santa Rosa this past May. Many of you know that my dad has been battling blood cancer. Mitch had undergone a stem cell transplant, writing a novel in the process as he recovered. I saw what he endured and dedicated my race to him before the starting gun had gone off.

Once again, life had caught up with me and I had barely trained going into the race. Nothing more than about six weeks.

Inevitably, that also caught up with me around mile 12 or 13 of the marathon. My pace slowed, cramps started to set in, and I could picture my friends tracking me turning off their cell phones in disappointment. Then I remembered my dad. Deep down I got really pissed off and vowed that this race was going to be different. It was time to fight and push past this garbage.

I took some Advil from my special needs bag, walked with purpose and tried to jog. What started as, “Not today,” became, “I’m feeling better,” which became, “I think I can go faster,” which steamrolled into, “I’m going faster,” and then finally the flywheel took hold, “I can go faster!”

I ran the fastest back-end of an Ironman marathon, finishing running just over 8-minute miles with a vengeance.

After nearly 10 years of Ironman races, I had found my mental and physical breakthrough moment.

Sometimes, when the pain feels too great to continue, you just have to refuse to accept it. You might just find the breakthrough you’ve been looking for.

2) I’m Going to Worlds! In summer 2013, I raced Ironman 70.3 Boulder in the best shape of my life. I’d never been physically stronger. That resulted in the best single 70.3 race from a pure finish time perspective, nearly cracking 4:49. My then-coach, Gerardo, thought I might have a shot at an Ironman World Championships roll down slot if I was patient at the awards ceremony. I didn’t think it was going to happen, but then Mother Nature intervened.

It rained leading up to and during the awards ceremony, which was outdoors and not tented. People started streaming out for shelter. Not me, I knew this was my best chance to earn a slot. Sure enough, my name got called and I raised my arms triumphantly. I couldn’t believe I’d be able to claim a spot at the World Championships, which were held in Las Vegas that year. I remember calling Steph and my family so thrilled, and the dinner that evening with my then-teammates was so joyful.

Showing up to Las Vegas, I remember seeing the World Championships finisher’s chute being constructed. The pit in my stomach grew as I knew I was about to race with the best triathletes in the world. My pride swelled too though. Even if the water was brown with mud and rain, and the air swirled with dust from a windstorm. Yuck.

Sometimes, you have to be patient to earn what’s yours. And when the moment comes, you have to grab onto it!

1) First Ironman Finish Chute: Everyone remembers their first time.

By today’s standards and the way Ironman races are now managed, I probably wouldn’t have finished my first Ironman. I needed medical attention on the course during the marathon when my IT bands locked up and I literally couldn’t walk. Today, you won’t find on-course medical support where you can just pull over for a quick massage. I started dry-heaving late in the race too. If the medics had seen me, I probably would have been pulled. I was clearly dehydrated and out of gas.

Yet, reaching mile 25 on the marathon, I vividly remember thinking about my grandfather, who had passed five years earlier. I knew how proud he’d have been and how happy that made me feel. I felt like I was lifted off the ground in that last mile, and by the time I came into the finish chute, you would have thought I was dead Palpatine brought to life the way I was screaming and my fingertips were spread in the air —practically shooting electricity bolts to the heavens.

I don’t remember running through the finish chute but I do remember feeling afterwards like I was Rocky Balboa at the end of a 15-round fight. I remember my training partner Bob picking me off the ground like I won a prizefight. I remember how excited my family and friends were. Probably relieved more than anything else.

Sometimes, we just have to realize that how we finish doesn’t always matter as much as finishing what we started. Just get to the damn finish line. And if there’s no finish line in sight…keep going. Just keep going! You never know what insight or breakthrough is right around the corner.

Favorite Tri Memories of the Decade, 5-7

I’ve really enjoyed thinking back over the last 10 years to moments that stood out for me. I’m trying to isolate individual moments and not combine elements of memories to create an uber moment. That feels a bit cheap and forced.

Without further delay…

7) Hug it Out With Gerry: Going into the summer of 2014, I switched to swim with Tower 26 and the legendary triathlon swim coach, Gerry Rodrigues. From around that July through my preparation for Ironman Arizona in November, I swam the most I ever had. I woke up at 5 a.m. for almost all those swims, including beach swims during the summer and fall. It wasn’t easy to rally every morning, that’s for sure.

When race day came, I remember reaching the turnaround buoy in Tempe Town Lake and feeling like I never had before, fresh and invigorated. Ready to crush the second half of the course. I even caught then-teammate Joel, a very good swimmer, at the final buoy. I earned a nearly two-minute swim PR that day.

There was a Tower 26 meet up the week after IMAZ, and when I saw Gerry there, he gave me a big hug and congratulated me. He was truly proud of me, and I was proud of myself. I remember that moment fondly.

The hardest work often yields the best results.

6) “You Ready to Stop Whining?”: Frigid Ironman Lake Tahoe, in September 2013, broke me mentally and physically. It was the hardest race I’ve ever competed in, as a child or adult (more on that below).

My 13:04 finish is still the worst among my 13 Ironman performances. Yet like a dummy, I had signed up for Ironman Arizona just shy of eight weeks later. After a week off to recover — or lick my proverbial wounds — I visited my then personal strength trainer, Corey Enman.

At that time, Corey set up his strength training sessions wherever he could find space. That day we were at a small park in Burbank. As I walked to the basketball court where Corey arranged the yoga mat and weights, he called out to me. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but it likely involved an expletive and I know the spirit of it was, “You ready to stop fucking whining?”

That was pure Corey. It still is, I’m sure. Love him. Corey immediately set the tone for the next several weeks of training, and IMAZ 2013 marked the first time I broke 11 hours in an Ironman, beating my near-12:30 PR by more than two hours.

Sometimes, the hardest-hitting truths, revealed without a hint of sugar, yield the optimal result.

5) Mom Saves the Day: Back to Ironman Lake Tahoe. We rode buses in the dark pre-dawn morning wondering if the race would be cancelled. Snow had fallen the night before, there was ice on all our bikes in transition, and the temperature dipped to 28 degrees.

As I wrote in my post-race report at the time, I wanted the race to be cancelled. The conditions psyched me out. I didn’t want to be there.

I’d get get no reprieve.

The entire race was miserable. I came very close to quitting late during the marathon. But the med tent was so overrun with shivering athletes that I’d have to get to the tent myself. It made no sense to quit at that point, just had to gut it out.

My mom and dad saw me around mile 20 and I was shelled. The mylar blanket stuffed inside my race kit wasn’t keeping me warm. The med tent was tantalizingly close.

Enter SuperMom!

Lesley is many things, an athlete is not one of them. Moreover, she’s like any mom — not wanting to see her son suffer. Lesley would have been just as likely to beg me to quit for my own safety. Instead, she did the exact opposite, shocking me, and my dad. Suddenly, with her purse clutched to her chest with both hands, mom started jogging alongside me. Encouraging me to keep moving. Shouting, in fact! Granted, I was so slow it was more like I was keeping up with mom!

But I knew I had to finish that race because of her. For her. So I did.

The will to finish comes and goes in a race like an Ironman. Sometimes, you need and hope for help from the most unlikely of sources to get you through.

Tomorrow, as we wrap up the decade, my four favorite memories training and racing in the last decade!

Favorite Tri Memories of the Decade

With a fair amount of social media experience in my Insomniac Games work life, I know that when in doubt…make a list.

Especially at the end of a decade.

Or, when Ryan Lastimosa tags you in a social media post challenge :)

I started writing this blog in late 2009, early 2010. Here we are, 10 years later! I’m honestly very surprised by that. I figured triathlon, or at least an Ironman, would be a one-and-done kind of thing.

Since I fell in love with the sport, I’ve enjoyed too many memories to remember. I’ve probably forgotten far more than I’ve retained. In an effort to jar my memory for the sake of posterity, and as a gift to my children one day, here are my top 10 training or racing memories of the last 10 years.

I’ll list three today, three tomorrow, and four on the 31st.

10) We Come Full Circle: Earlier this year, one of my original Ironmadman blog readers, Jenny, inquired about me coaching her. That felt surreal to me. That we had gone on one journey together so long ago, and now we’d go on a totally new journey together…I still shake my head in happy amazement. Jenny and I had a lovely chat on the phone before she signed on, and even if she hadn’t joined Good Wolf, just reconnecting and sharing how our lives had changed the last 10 years was so special. Thank you, Jenny.

9) Couch to Ironman Course Finish: In 2013, my very close friend Kevin decided he wanted to complete an Ironman. There was just one small problem. He didn’t want to train for one. Like, at all.

(OK, he swam a couple times, ran a bit more, and I think did a couple 25-mile rides. That’s literally it.)

The idea was crazy, but I thought Kevin could actually cross the finish line. He was an experienced marathoner, and he would be the first to tell you he didn’t train for most of those either.

Kevin became my first unofficial client. Long before I ever considered coaching. We developed a simple plan. Kevin would swim as relaxed as possible, and when he needed a break he’d breast stroke or grab a kayak and float for a moment. On the bike, our plan was even simpler. Stop every aid station and every 25 miles no matter what. Get off the bike, stretch, drink, eat, pee. As for the run, we got even simpler. Just. Get. Through. It. Keep moving forward. One step at a time — whatever it took.

Even with nearly 30 minutes of transition time, Kevin crossed the finish line gleefully, if not very sore. He also had an hour to spare as well. Not bad for never having completed a triathlon, never riding more than 50 miles at once, let alone running at all after a bike ride.

Kevin is a knucklehead sometimes. But he’s MY knucklehead buddy. I couldn’t let him down.

The next time you think you can’t do something because you lack experience, think of Kevin. It may not be pretty…but it’s not impossible.

Unless it involves operating heavy machinery. In that case…back away from the machinery.

8) First Time to the Ski Lifts: I don’t recall the exact year, but I do remember a tri-team ride early in my training when a group of us met near Glendora Mountain Road to climb to the top of Mt Baldy. That’s nearly a three hour climb, especially to get to the ski lifts at the very top. I remember stopping for french fries at the ski lodge first. I then remember thinking halfway up the climb to the ski lifts, suffering on the switch backs, that I couldn’t make it. The hills were just too steep and seemingly never-ending.

I thought about quitting or pulling to the side of the road. Then, I firmly remember thinking about my grandparents. My grandfather had passed long before, but my grandmother was either in ill health or had recently passed. I just remember thinking vividly about them as if they were standing or even floating apparitions at the side of the road, and knowing how repugnant the idea of quitting would be to them.

So, I found what would have been a third or fourth wind, and gutted it out to the top.

Making it to the ski lifts was an early taste of being able to complete something I didn’t think possible. When you build enough of those in your arsenal, nothing ever feels impossible. Just difficult.

But difficult is (almost) always worth the extra effort.

More memories to come tomorrow…