Flipping Through Memories

Perhaps you've noticed, but my friend and web developer Ward has been adding features to the blog site.  Popular posts,  recommended stories, "Like" on Facebook, and more is on the way. Soon, you'll see my 2010 race results and a 2011 race calendar (it's a small calendar this year!).  Before I could send everything off to Ward at Drawbackwards, I had to search for all my race results last year, along with  my race reports from each race.  I was reminded how great it is to have a blog, where I can just reach back into the vault and relive memories from races that seem to come and go so quickly.  The race ends, but the words live on.  And the emotions come rushing back.

I know some of you have mentioned that you're either just starting to blog now or are about to begin.  I think the archive of blog posts about your training and racing becomes the real trophies, the truest symbols of accomplishment.  The hardware gets put away in a closet, or maybe hung on a wall.  But lots of people get hardware.  Your story is your own.  What better gift to give yourself?

If you haven't done so lately, go back and check out an old race report.  See where you're at today versus then.  How have you evolved as a triathlete?

158 days and counting.

Ironmadman Season 2: Help Wanted

OK, maybe I'm a little hooked on blogging daily.  Or at least almost daily. But I want to get better at it.  I want to offer more compelling content.  Better visuals.  A greater sense of community.

Above all else though, I want to get to know the people who read this blog.  I'm delighted to receive comments from all over the world from folks who seem to connect with what I'm thinking or feeling.  It means everything and it's a big reason I started this blog in the first place.

However, I wonder if there's value in connecting all of you together?  Why are we commenting back-and-forth on a one-to-one basis?  When we're all training together, in a sense?  We're all feeling the same things. Sharing the same disappointments.  Rejoicing in the same triumphs.  Wouldn't it be great to help each other with what we're learning along the way?  Or share an inspirational moment?  Maybe even find a training partner in a nearby city?

Because training alone sucks, let's face it.

Nothing would make me happier than if this blog helps a triathlete either discover the sport or realize that he or she isn't the only crazy one out there in the world.

So, for the first time in more than a year, I'm going to ask that you help me with something.

Please, if you have a minute or two, would you mind telling me what you like or dislike about this blog?  What can I do better?  What's missing?  Would you like to connect with other triathletes who read these posts?

Like the sport of triathlon itself, all I want to do is improve.  And I feel like there's a LOT of room for growth at ironmadman.com.  As I head into the holidays and gear up for my second Ironman countdown (Coeur d'Alene 2011), improving this blog is among my top priorities.

If you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them.

Not Feelin' It

Practically every time I pack my bag the night before for a 6 a.m. morning swim -- goggles, cap, towel, sweats, Zoomers -- I wind up not attending the workout. What's up with that?

The rationale with packing early is to save time so I can sleep longer in the morning.  It's my way of committing to the swim hours before I enter the water.  Sort of a pre-bedtime psych job. Yet, on the days where I can drag myself out of bed for the workout, it's usually because I need to scramble and scrape together my workout gear.  I wonder if being more prepared is somehow actually enabling me to sleep more deeply, thus making it harder to wake up.

Today though, I honestly just didn't feel like going.  I wasn't feeling it, flat-out.  I didn't even feel like training at all, for that matter.  Maybe my post last night about changing pace stuck with me longer than expected.  Maybe it was the barbecue cheeseburger, fries and a salad at 8 p.m. after my run with Stephanie.  Maybe it was the tinge of embarrassment I still have for getting testy with someone in the pool during my most recent swim on Tuesday night.  Or, the fatigue associated with a frantic end to the workday, a frenzied bike ride home, a brick workout and writing another freelance article for Lava Magazine.

It's probably all of the above.

So at 3:19 a.m., I  searched in the dark for my cell phone, clicked off the alarm, and went fetal.  I decided to skip training today altogether and switch it to tomorrow, normally my off-day.  The extra two hours sleep was time well-invested.  I had a big meeting today that required my full energy, and a late evening planned at the Hollywood Bowl.  No afternoon bonk fight to resist.  No stiff legs either.

Of course, that means tomorrow I'm waking up at 6:30 after probably getting home around 11:30 p.m. to swim (alone, gah!) and then run at lunch.  To continue my streak of including a Yogi Berra quote in my posts, "It's like deja vu all over again."

At least my swim bag is already packed.

78 days and counting.

Who Knew?

Who knew that when I started my Ironman journey last November, it would lead to: -- Great relationships with an entirely new group of friends

-- The physique I always wanted but could never achieve

-- A greater appreciation for nutrition and healthy living in general

-- Improved confidence and mental outlook

-- A deeper appreciation for discipline, sacrifice and tolerance of pain

-- A reunification with my passion for writing

-- And now...freelance writing opportunities!

Yep, after a long hiatus from freelance writing, I've decided to dive head-first back into that world.  I'm working on two stories for a fresh triathlon magazine website and couldn't be more excited.  I'm almost as excited as competing in an Ironman in three months.

Three months!

Without this blog, I'm not so sure I would have gotten quite so much from my training.  I never expected the Ironman to change my life the way it has.  And this is only my second full season in the sport.

Who knew?!

Certainly not me.

92 days and counting.

Stick It.

I read a triathlon blog today suggesting I consider why I'm competing in an Ironman. Why?  Because I'll need to recall that answer during the most difficult moments of the race.  When I hit The Wall, what will be my "one thing" that inspires me to fight through and continue? Ironically, I was thinking about that independently during my solo early morning brick workout at Griffith Park (images coming later tonight).  There's a lot to think about 12-18 hours a week without an iPod clouding the brain.

So why am I chasing this dream down?  Is chasing even the right word anymore?  It feels more like a hunt at this point.  A yearlong hunting expedition marked mostly by cagey patience, punctuated by moments of adrenaline-fueled energy bursts.

When I started my training, I really thought the Ironman was a bucket-list checkbox.  Or some project I could point to with pride when I have children.  "See, THIS is how you go after a big goal in life."

Those are nice reasons.  They're surface too.

As I've plunged down the rabbit hole of my psyche these past 10 months, the motivations I've discovered there may be a little darker than initially thought.  I've hinted at it before.  On some level, my Ironman will serve as a giant "Stick it!" to doubters throughout my life.  People whom I've never really forgiven for hurting me.  People who took something from me.  Physically or psychologically.

Garbage I haven't let go of after all these years.

Garbage I need to leave out on the course that day.

The club soccer coach who cut me from the all-star team without explanation or compassion.

"Stick it."

The freshman basketball coach who cut me for two years before sticking me at the end of the bench in ninth grade to stew as a sideshow.

"Stick it."

The neighborhood bully whom I let push me around as a skinny, self-conscious kid.

"Stick it."

The fraternity bros who didn't pick me for the A-list sports teams because I was too small or not fast enough in their eyes.  Or not cool enough.

"Stick it."

The childhood friends whom were always a little bigger (OK, a lot bigger), faster, and stronger.  And who always got the girls.

"Stick it."

The grade school girls who passed me over because I was too this, or not enough that.

"Stick it."

So, yeah.  You wanna know what my line will be at mile 18 in the heat?  When my legs decide to crap out on me?  When my head hurts and I still have another eight miles to run?

I'll think of Karen Takeda.  I'll think of Mr. Dicus.  I'll think of Chad Tosensen (or whatever the hell his name was).  I'll think of all of them.  And the pain.  Both visceral and recalled.  Present and past.

And I'll grit my teeth and keep moving.

Stick it.

That's my one thing.

Find yours.

94 days and counting.

Mulholland, Piuma & Rock Store OH MY!

The shininess of progress is sometimes obscured by what appears to be failure. But if you look a little deeper, the former often outweighs the latter.

Progress sure hurts sometimes too.  I ventured out to cycle with my Fortius teammate and friend Christina this morning.  It turned into the most challenging, most painful bike ride yet -- and hopefully with he biggest payoff down the line.

First let's rewind.

My schedule called for 2.5 hours at whatever pace "the group" chose -- hills or flats.  It was supposed to be a nice follow-up to yesterday's Santa Barbara Triathlon course preview ride and run.  That went out the window though once a LA Tri Club member whom I look up to showed up with his wife and served as the ride's pace leader.

I had to know if I could keep up.  I wanted to hold Jeff's wheel without wrecking myself.  I wanted to be with the "fast" group.  Maybe it's because I still remember all those rides where I'd get dropped with the San Fernando Valley Bicycle Club.  Maybe my competitive nature got the better of me once again.

Probably a little of Column A and a little of Column B.

The short version of the story is that for 50 miles, I did keep up.  Outside of popping briefly on the El Toro grade off Highway 150 and losing the other three fastest riders, I stayed right up front.  And damn it felt good!  Even better, the five-mile run felt just as a good. I snapped off a few 8:30s and sub-8:15s while helping pace a new friend on the Tri Club.

As much fun as practicing can be, sometimes being thanked for a helping hand in training or a compliment on speed can really make all the difference between a good workout and a great one.

So with all those good vibes swirling around in my head, I didn't think twice when Christina invited me to join her for four hours of climbing in the Malibu hills.  After all, I needed to fit in the extra cycling hours I missed last week at the Vineman Full course, and we were supposed to hit 70 on the bike yesterday.

Clearly, I wasn't thinking straight.  I failed to take into account that Christina is the "Queen of the Mountains" after crushing her competition at the Amgen Breakaway Ride -- which features four climbs of the Rock Store grade.  Four!  Christina also scales these hills at least once or twice a week as part of her training for larger bike rides and at least an Ironman a year.

Christina is a badass.  And until this ride, I had no real conception of what that actually meant.

And I had no idea AT ALL what climbing Mulholland Drive, Piuma Road, Rock Store and several other hills over a 55-mile span would do to me.

On a road bike with a full carbon seat I haven't ridden in weeks.

Simply put, the ride almost broke me.  Physically, it actually did break me.  Mentally, it came as close as anything ever had in the past.  I'm talkin' LA Marathon kind of pain.

By mile 25, at the intersection of Cornell Road and Mulholland, I had enough.  I was spent.  My cadence went from a steady 80-100 on flats and 60-70 on hills to roughly 53 on hills (even down in the 40s!) and well in the 70s on the flats.  After the Mulholland Piuma climbs and on the way to Rock Store, Christina's bike became harder and harder to spot.  Like a speck amidst the waves of heat rising from the freshly paved asphalt.

Honestly, I felt pathetic.  Hot.  Dry.  Heavy.  Hurting.

I wanted to quit.  I was about to quit.  I told Christina I wanted to quit.  I was ready to go home. The ride had beaten me. Shocked me, like a surprise left hook.  Staggered me.  Showed me I still had a lot to learn as an endurance athlete.  Just because I brought the noise on a Saturday didn't mean squat.  Back-to-back was not meant to be.

Is this what being an Ironman is really like?  Had I missed the point the entire time?  It's not about one sprint race, or a good Olympic distance time or even one Half-Ironman result.  What can you bring back-to-back?  How fast can you recover?

If those are the yardsticks, I had failed.  I knew it.  And the worst part was not having the defiant energy to swing back at those self-doubts in the cloudless Sunday sun.

Christina gave me some tough love though, coated in understanding and softness.  She coaxed me to stay, saying Rock Store would "only be 25 minutes of pain" (normally it takes me around 17-18 minutes!) and I'd be home free after that, feeling great about my accomplishment.

I couldn't argue.  I didn't even have the energy to do that!  Moreover, I didn't want to derail Christina's ride.  Or let her down.  Or quit.  Again, if I could quit now, what would happen in November if I had two flat tires, a cramp in the swim and a knot in my stomach during the run?  Worse yet, what would happen if nobody was nearby to goad me into sticking it out!?

This blog was conceived with my thought of it serving as a "big goal guide" for the kids I don't have yet.  Kids who hopefully will read this one day and if nothing else, they'll know their old man was never a quitter.  I may not have been the fastest, or kept the wheel of the best guy in the club all the time. But I show up the next day.

And I don't fucking quit.

I ventured on, accepting the pain. Realizing that once again, all my platitudes about overcoming suffering really didn't mean anything until that point.  There's discomfort (my Half Ironman), and there's suffering ... today.  Suffering occurs when there seems to be no reason to continue.  The Half-Ironman at least had a finish line.  The comfort zone in your training passed by 15 miles ago and there's easily another 20 miles still to go before returning home.  With at least four hill climbs.  The water bottles are low.  The Clif bars taste the same -- they have since last November -- and gross you out.  The Hammer gels taste like cake frosting that makes you want to barf.  And the Gu Chomps...well, there's small writing on the back of the packaging indicating you shouldn't eat more than six in a two hour period for a reason.

The ride sucked.  The ride taught.

I cracked.  And repatched.

I wilted. And am regenerating.

While tomorrow now features a rest day where one didn't exist a few hours ago, I'm feeling better already.  I learned something about myself again today.  Discomfort is a speed bump.  Pain is a choice.  The brain can propel the body forward even when it really doesn't want to -- provided there's enough fuel in the system to do so.

And sometimes, your best friends, your best teammates, are the ones who push you past your perceived breaking point to show you what lies beyond.

Thanks, Christina.

I'll be back on that course.  And I'll do better next time.

104 days and counting.

Blogging is Hard

Triathlon is easy when your life responsibilities are few.  I have a career and a great fiancee, along with a fantastic family and close friends whom I'd like to see more. I don't have kids.  My job doesn't suck.  I'm healthy, Steph is healthy and our parents are healthy.

Life is pretty awesome.

However, that doesn't mean it's not busy -- even with the relatively few commitments Steph and I have.

I've been up since 5:30 a.m. (though I cheated with a nap after swimming at 6). I went to work, rushed to the track for an evening Fortius-coached running workout (two timed 400s, two timed 800s and a timed 1,200 along with drills), rushed home, showered in five minutes (literally, I timed it) and bolted with Steph to dinner in Studio City.  I just now am finding time to blog.

Last night, I didn't even have the energy to try.  And it was another one of those crazy busy days.  I admit I could wake up earlier than I have been late, but the Ironman training volume has been increasing and I need my rest when I can get it.  Maybe the stress of it all combined with some fatigue led me to lock my keys inside my condo yesterday morning.  Fortunately, since it was the Griffith Park brick workout, I had my bike with me and a change of clothes.  So I dashed from Sherman Oaks to Burbank (in 35 minutes, with traffic, thank you very much!).  Worked through lunch into the early evening, time trialed to Griffith Park to catch the end of the group bike ride and ran for an hour in the hills.  From there, Coach Gerardo was kind enough to drop me off at home after I bribed him with dinner at Sharkey's.  By the time I got home, unwound with Steph and got ready for bed, it was already 10:30 p.m.

I realize that doesn't seem late for many of my friends.  But at the frenetic pace I tend to keep (by my own preference), I wonder if my 10:30 p.m. feels like most people's 3 a.m.

Anyways, my point to all this is that blogging is hard right now.  I had this wonderful vision of blogging every single day leading into my first Ironman.  And, like the tail-end of a sprint where you simply start to run out of gas and willpower, I'm starting to feel the same way about blogging.  I love it, and I really mean that.  But, it's sometimes getting squeezed at the expense of the rest of my life.

This is not my farewell to blogging.  Far from it.  Blogging has actually helped me understand and appreciate my Ironman experience far more than had I not done it.  The days would have blurred together. The insights would have been missed, along with the special milestones.  If not for my blog, this journey would have felt like a slog, not the adventurous roller coaster filled with blind corners and unforeseen drops and loops.

I guess all I'm saying is be patient with me, if you've been supporting this site over the past several months.  I will not let you down.  I will not let myself down.  But there may be a day or two here or there where I just might not be able to fit the blog in.  Sometimes life does move so fast that if you do slow down, you just might miss it.

Every once in a while, I just need to live and not chronicle living.  Last night was one of those nights.  Tonight almost was too.

Let's see what tomorrow brings.

107 days and counting.

Resting And Loving It

No workout yesterday.  One hour of yoga today. This taper business is really starting to appeal to me!

I'm sleeping in -- well, as much as the little monster upstairs allows me to -- reading, watching sports live when they're actually happening...this is awesome!

One of the weekend's highlights included attending Fortius teammate Mike's Ironman Lake Placid send-off party.  As always, it's great to see everyone when we're not wearing spandex or swim goggles or fuel belts or smell like chlorine.  We shared training stories, watched the Ironman St. George DVD that featured a cameo from Fortius teammate Paul, and put Mike on the spot to talk about the sum of his training and thoughts going into his big race.

Amidst all the jokes I realized that my send-off isn't too far away.  Just over four months now.  Where did all the time go?  If it wasn't for this blog, the whole thing would be a blurry dream that almost doesn't seem real.  And yet I sit here, on my couch in the morning, exalting in my days off from training.  In a few years, I'll likely have kids and long for the moments when I can just train for 2.5 hours because I can.  I try to keep that in mind often, but at this very moment, taking a break just feels really good.  So I'm going with it.

Over the next few days, with a lighter training schedule, I may not have as much to write either.  Instead of forcing it, I may take a break from the blog too.  We'll see.

Besides work, the rest of the day consists of taking my bike in for a pre-race safety check and buying new gloves since I lost one on my brick on Saturday.  I'll squeeze in yoga either during a 5 p.m. session at our work gym or at 7 p.m. at Black Dog (more likely).

That's all I got for now.  Fairly uninspired stuff today, I know.  But, I'm just kind of mellow at the moment.  Resting.

Ahhhhhhhhh.

132 and 131 days and counting.

Hold On For 1 More Day

My celebration/commemoration of the Breath of Life Triathlon lasted all of 24 hours. Until I received an email from Coach Gerardo indicating that today marks the beginning of my taper towards Vineman 70.3.  And the stern reminder that "everything we have done the past few months is for this race."

As if that wasn't enough to force me to refocus on the race ahead instead of the race I just finished, I received in the mail today another omen: My Vineman 70.3 visor.

Breath of Life is soooooo June 27.

Out with one incredible life experience, on with another.  But something is nagging at me.  Tugging like a kid pulls on his dad's belt buckle for attention.

Where is the journey in all this?  The soul?  Where's the pause for reflection?  Jubilation?  Course correction?  Does it occur in the eight hours while I'm sleeping?  My 10 minutes in the shower each morning?

Being a "nester", I need at least a little bit of time to assess and put everything in its rightful place before moving on to the next project.  In this case, my first Half Ironman distance event.  I'm still busy remembering moments from yesterday's race before I put them in my mental scrapbook. Or in this more technical example, my blog.

Closing my eyes and really feeling the National Anthem, for example. Swaying gently side to side thinking of my grandfather and how proud he'd be if he were there physically in that moment.  Smiling to myself.  My pre-race ritual complete.

These are the moments I want to hold onto.  The moments that make a race an event, not just a training exercise.  The moments that threaten to escape me if I let them.  If I move too quickly from one memory to the next, like a bee anxiously finding the next flower while working herself into exhaustion along the way.  Never enjoying for a moment that hard-earned pollen.

We all train many long hours to achieve our goals.  And then we wake up at 4:30 in the morning, stumble out of bed into the darkness, don our wetsuits as the sun rises, and sprint earnestly into the salty water.

Then, we wish for the pain to end. For the finish line to show itself. Eventually, it complies.

And then the race is over.  The chapter is written.

Meanwhile, while the body recovers, the brain is still trying to figure out what the hell just happened.  At least mine is.  What did I learn?  What will be burned into my memory like a cattle brand?  What excess experience can I quickly snatch from impending forgetfulness?

I suppose what I'm getting at is that retention is part of recovery.  And recovery needs to occur before a new chapter begins.

That's where my head is at right now.  Even if my body is eager to take the next step on this Ironman odyssey.

Even as this Vineman 70.3 visor stares at me on my office desk.

There will be time to wear you soon, M-dot.

But not yet.  Not today.

143 days and counting.

Treadmills and Hamster Wheels

My Wednesday brick was cancelled today due to rain.  Fortunately, I work for a great company on a fantastic office complex featuring a state-of-the-art gym that now includes spin bikes. Shannon, half of my vaunted Shan Clan training team, led the workout.  One hour and 600 hundred calories later, I was drenched in sweat, so much so that Shannon joked she could see my nipples poking through my mesh tank.  Hey, it was hot in there, OK?  My bike workout called for 1:15 so I spent the next 25 minutes on a recumbent stationary bike.  This was only made worse by dwelling on how much better it is to be outside riding with my friends and teammates.

But that's not all!  Since it was a brick, I needed to run for one hour.  Complicating matters was me leaving my running shoes in the car and being too lazy to schlep to the parking lot to retrieve them.  So I chose instead to use the elliptical machine because I was rockin' my low-top Chuck Taylor's, which offer absolutely no support for my flat and sensitive feet.

Let me assure you, two-plus hours indoors on spin bikes and treadmills feels like an eternity.  Might as well have been a four-hour workout. It's almost like the duration of indoor workouts feel the way dogs age -- in this instance on the opposite end of that exponential scale.

By the time my interminable workout ended, after stretching, showering, driving from Burbank for food and finishing it at home, it was 9:30 p.m.  My workout started at 5.

Some days, the world of training for an Ironman makes total sense.  The journey is pure, the cause is just, the scenery is beautiful and the company is even better.

Other days, I sit on my couch while blogging before bedtime wondering what the hell I'm doing.  It's 10 p.m. and I have to be up at 5:40 to be in the pool at 6 so I can run at 7.  All because I have a flight for a business trip at 11 a.m. -- one that I'll be home from by 8 p.m.

I suppose the irony of all this is that sometimes my life feels like it's on its own treadmill...with the speed ever-increasing while the resistance continues to elevate.  Along with my heart-rate.

Maybe it's more of a hamster wheel?

217 days and counting.