A Coffee Table Book Changed My Life

It's not often I get to raise the "we're number one!" finger.

It's not often I get to raise the "we're number one!" finger.

First, a disclaimer: The Kick Off the New Year 5k/10k/15k/Half Marathon seems to be a small race geared towards encouraging newer athletes to complete a new challenge to start the year. It's a mom-and-pop-run race, similar to the Uncle Tren's TT at Lake Piru. There were probably around 100 runners total. Further, this particular race fell the morning after the Rock n' Roll Half Marathon in downtown LA, and the same morning as the Camarillo Half Marathon. In other words, I'm very aware that the top-flight competition was likely elsewhere...or sleeping in to avoid a 47-degree start.

But I showed up. Barely, as the alarm clock was clicked shut before 5 and the bed almost won the argument for doing a solo 10k at Griffith Park when it warmed up outside later in the morning.

I've offered all this context up front because I don't want what follows to feel like an "Oh my G-d I'm so awesome for winning this race let me tell you why I'm so awesome!" race report. Rather, this is a report about what it felt like to be in synch with my mind, body and emotions...and more important, why and how that occurred. It seemed like a mental breakthrough for me, so I wanted to share in case it's helpful for others.

Disclaimers complete. On to the real stuff.

Since Ironman Arizona this past November, I've been rethinking how I train and race. Physically, I didn't leave much on the course that day. But I didn't set a belief pattern in motion prior to the race to be brilliant. I vowed to be smart, which is very important. But it's not everything. My friend Sebastian proved that by smashing 30 minutes off his 2014 IMAZ time from the year before despite the much more windy conditions. How? He endeavored to race great. No matter what dark fortunes the weather report foretold.

That concept has captivated me. And finally, after years of reading books and blogs that helped me incrementally improve, I read something that gave me the mental "Aha!" moment I've been long seeking. 

And it's from a coffee table book.

The art in the art of competition is inspiring enough. the words take it to an entirely new level.

The art in the art of competition is inspiring enough. the words take it to an entirely new level.

Granted, it's a coffee table book by legendary triathlete Mark Allen, with a forward from equally legendary business author Jim Collins (Good to Great). The book is called the Art of Competition, and I'm still making my way through it. But even reading and internalizing the first 50 pages last Saturday opened me to a new way of framing my race on Sunday.

The Art of Competition, so far, is about harnessing the connection between nature, your mind, and body. The link between them, when truly felt, can overrule any negative voices in your head, reducing everything else to "background noise", as Allen put it. Allen's words enabled me to meditate the night prior to the race on what I wanted to get out of my race experience.  Since the race was on the Santa Monica Pier beach path, this seemed as good a time as any to apply Allen's wisdom.  My original goal was to set a pace benchmark and see if my speed work on the track is having the desired effect heading into the Surf City Half Marathon next month.

After reading the Art of Competition, my goal felt small. Inconsequential. Instead, I made three new goals:

1) Be open to possibility. That could mean the possibility of a transcendent performance, the possibility of embracing a new tactic, channeling nature as an energy source, or many other options. 

2) Become the ocean, whether in the form of pounding waves or tranquil waters. However the ocean acted that morning, I would personify that emotion.

3) Approach "Fallure," a concept Collins popularized that I interpret to mean perform beyond your estimated best so as to disprove your preconceived limits. 

The race unfolded in such a way that I was naturally able to reach for each of these goals. And I'm convinced had I not meditated the night before I would have lost the top spot. As soon as the race began, I wound up in unfamiliar territory -- lead runner. I've been in that position once before, when I thought I was running a 10k and had started early with the 5k race. There's nothing like having a police escort for a race you're not really leading! Instead of being elated at leading this particular run, I was deeply concerned about missing a turn on the course and leading everyone else astray. I was worried about leading in general. Then, I simply accepted the possibility of winning and keeping the lead. That calmed me down, along with actively consuming the beautiful morning and pristinely calm, waveless Pacific Ocean. I was also able to call upon being a lane leader at Gerry Rodrigues' Tower 26 swims, which can be a stressful event as all the other swimmers in your lane are depending on you for pace, proper rest intervals and lap counting. Drawing on that experience of focusing under pressure was critical.

My plans for leading the race evaporated after the first turnaround near the two-mile mark. A lanky fellow had been gaining ground on me steadily after the first mile and swiftly made the pass.  I had felt him stalking me for half a mile at least, and congratulated him as he ran past (confirming he was a 10k participant first). This is where Fallure came in handy. I decided to cede the lead for now but keep this guy in my sights. Instead of getting frustrated or upset, I calculated where my kick would need to begin in the final part of the race to win.

We rounded the first lap turnaround almost shoulder-to-shoulder. His breathing was loud and distracting. Instead of focusing on the negative, I gazed forward to the ocean. It gave me all the inspiration I needed. My coach, Gerardo Barrios, has taught me to close my eyes while running for brief moments to focus on the pure beauty of the motion. The wind on my face. The slight chill tingling my cheeks and nose. The rhythmic footsteps. Breathing. I had never tried that tactic in a race until that instance. Everything inside of me eased up and soon I was smiling. 

I got ya where I want ya... (And yes, i can see the heel strike and that i'm bending at the waist a bit too much here.)

I got ya where I want ya... (And yes, i can see the heel strike and that i'm bending at the waist a bit too much here.)

The rest of the race seemed to take care of itself. I gained ground on my competitor, passing him before the final out-and-back around mile 4.5. Then my competitive fire kicked in. As the second-place runner approached the turnaround I had just passed, I pretended like he wasn't even there, gazing straight to the ocean while ensuring my form looked impeccable. I wanted him to know I could do this shit all day long. (Later, as he and I jogged in a warm down together, he admitted that was the moment he cracked mentally.) His footsteps quickly grew much fainter, and the race was mine to win.

The day wasn't over for me. Not yet. Being open to possibility meant the possibility of Fallure. How hard and fast could I finish? I surged forward, and I'm proud to say my last mile was only two seconds slower than my first, with the final stretch of the race being the fastest portion. 

This small 10k proved to be extremely valuable in my training, racing, and life in general. Being open to possibility is a universally applicable concept. When it comes to triathlon, honors like rankings or podiums seem almost trivial. What matters more is the relentless pursuit of excellence. My new goal for the rest of the season is simply to be open to the possibility of greatness. Every workout. Every race. Every day.

This photo was taken towards the finish. i feel that it perfectly depicts the sense of calm and focus i was experiencing in the moment.

This photo was taken towards the finish. i feel that it perfectly depicts the sense of calm and focus i was experiencing in the moment.

My nemesis turned out to be a really nice guy from sweden who greatly prefers ultra-marathons. We jogged together post-race and chatted.

My nemesis turned out to be a really nice guy from sweden who greatly prefers ultra-marathons. We jogged together post-race and chatted.

The Pros and Cons of Race Management

The Ironman finisher's chute...one of the best places in sports.

The Ironman finisher's chute...one of the best places in sports.

Looking back on each Ironman I've completed, there's always one standout lesson to take with me for future races.

My best statistical Ironman race finish (26/502 AG, 151/3202 OA) yielded the most boring of lessons so far. Who wants to "manage" anything?  We save that for office paperwork, right? No, when we're racing, we want to "crush," "annihilate," and "punish." Racing is where we unleash our inner warrior spirit. On Sunday in Tempe, my warrior spirit manifested itself in the form of a clinician instead.  Once I checked the morning race weather report online and saw 16-22 mph winds, I switched off my inner Animal and transformed into Greg Maddux. Steady. Crafty. Calm. Unsexy.  Was that the right choice? Should I have infused a bit more "Anything is Possible" into my race-day planning? That is what this race report will explore.

Pre-Race

The days I spent in Tempe leading to the race were just about perfect. As always, I could've used more time to get settled and relax. A Wednesday arrival would be ideal instead of Thursday afternoon. I don't recommend arriving beyond 3 p.m. on Thursday as it becomes a sprint to packet pick up and if  you have to retrieve your bike from a transport service. In addition, I may rent a car next year. (Yes, if you're paying attention closely I just wrote "next year." I signed up.) Flying saves a lot of downtime, but I'm a bit of a control freak pre-race and not being able to just go to the grocery store whenever I wanted or be confined to restaurants within walking distance didn't sit well for me. Thank goodness my pal Christophe put up with me for an afternoon. He'll tell you how high maintenance I can be.

TJ Nuccio, my friend and Fortius Coaching teammate, sent me a care package of Runyon Canyon apparel to enjoy for the weekend. I was pleased to be able to wear a comfy tank top in the middle of November!

TJ Nuccio, my friend and Fortius Coaching teammate, sent me a care package of Runyon Canyon apparel to enjoy for the weekend. I was pleased to be able to wear a comfy tank top in the middle of November!

 

I woke up a little too late the morning of the race, after a surprisingly easy night of rest. By the time I reached T1, after listening to the Imperial March on repeat for my walk to the park (BECAUSE THAT IS HOW I FELT), it was close to 6 a.m. with bottles to drop, tires to pump, wetsuit to put on, bags to stow for the special needs crew, and give my morning clothes to my folks. This caused unnecessary stress as I was among the last to leave the transition area because I couldn't find my family. I even started to put on my wetsuit backwards from rushing too much and not thinking! That's not how you want to start your day.

Fortunately, I found fellow game devs Christophe, Ryan and Bryan in the swim entry line. That immediately relaxed me and it felt like a normal training day. Almost. We hugged and swam in the 68-degree water through the scrum to the start line, where we treaded, floated, clutched onto kayaks...and waited.

SWIM

Gear: BlueSeventy Helix wetsuit, BlueSeventy Neoprene cap, Aquasphere Kayenne smoke-tinted goggles

Absolutely love my custom BlueSeventy Helix wetsuit. It fits super snugly and doesn't restrain my shoulders.

Absolutely love my custom BlueSeventy Helix wetsuit. It fits super snugly and doesn't restrain my shoulders.

My plan was to start 10-15 yards to the right of the buoys, aiming for the fourth buoy almost 1,000 yards ahead.  The course curves slightly to the right, so I was trying to swim an efficient line. That became almost impossible with literally hundreds of bodies thrashing around me. It's survival of the fittest, almost literally, in those first 500 yards. You swim where there's a lane and where you get hit or kicked the least. I found myself drifting farther to the left and closer to the buoys than I would have preferred. Overall though, I couldn't complain. My Tower 26 swimming was paying off immediately as I pushed a strong pace without fatigue nor panic.

The return trip was notable for only two reasons. First, I've never peed so much during a swim portion of a race. I have no idea why except that I hydrated using at least three Herbalife 24' "Hydrate" packets the day prior. They're filled with electrolytes, along with the six Salt Stick tablets I popped the day before as well. Only in triathlon can one be so proud to pee while moving without losing speed. Second, I almost got a penalty for missing the "proper" way to swim around the final turn buoy back to shore. I was getting pushed left by a pack of swimmers and just went with the flow, so to speak. Until an official on a kayak started shouting at me to turn the proper way. I had a feeling he meant business so complied. That cost me around 20 seconds. More on that later.

I exited the water in 1:07:37, nearly a 1.5 minute personal best in all my Ironman races. I couldn't be happier, though I think with better sighting I should have been closer to 1:05:00. Tower 26 has been a huge help in improving my swimming, and I'll be back for more in the future. Also, for future IMAZ swims I'll look into polarized lenses as I'm sick of being blinded staring into the sun!

Rocketing out of T1, feeling great. Loving my new Wattie Ink camo kit. Zero chafing, perfect fit. Do recommend.

Rocketing out of T1, feeling great. Loving my new Wattie Ink camo kit. Zero chafing, perfect fit. Do recommend.

 

BIKE

Gear: Cervelo P5 Six Di2, 11/25 cassette, Reynolds 72 Aero front, Zipp Super 9 clincher rear, Speedfil rear and front hydration systems, SpeedPlay Zero pedals, Fizik shoes (Balaga wool socks), ISM Adamo Prologue seat, Kask Bambino helmet, orange-tint wind visor. Wattie Ink "Camp Contender" tri kit.

The wind looks so calm in a still photo...

The wind looks so calm in a still photo...

I felt phenomenal coming out of the water. My legs were springy and I bounded to T1. Last year, I took my time in T1. This year, I was very efficient and out in less than five minutes. If I wasn't fiddling with some food options it would have been closer to four. Nothing I'd really do different here though. I took my time while going fast, sitting down even at the changing tent to put on socks and shoes, taking a deep breath, and allowing the sunblock volunteers to slather me.

Once on the bike, I immediately knew it was going to be a challenging day. The winds picked up just leaving Rio Salado near SunDevil Stadium and didn't relent until the Beeline Highway turnaround 15-plus miles later. "Manage the race," I literally said out loud to myself multiple times. 

That morning, I predicted I'd hit around 1:50:00 per loop and when I came in at 1:46:00 with a pee break on the bike I was pleased. But things were not as they seemed. Like in 2010, I wasn't able to eat solid foods without feeling bloated. I tried a gel instead and actually had some light vomit issues while pedaling. That's never happened to me before. I powered right through, because, well, I had no choice.

Saying hi to the Fortius crew and heading back out into the wind. Hiding my GI discomfort.

Saying hi to the Fortius crew and heading back out into the wind. Hiding my GI discomfort.

I can't stress enough the power of positive self-talk. Instead of getting down about the winds, feeling my bike PR slip away or worry about my nutrition, I focused on the things that were going well. Even the smallest of things like grabbing a water bottle on the go at an aid station. I'd say something to myself aloud like, "That was really efficient. Nicely done!" I did this throughout the bike portion when I was losing focus or even if things were going well. It helped me remain present, and I stayed on track for most of the duration even as my watts dipped below my desired .70 intensity factor.

I even remember thinking to myself how much I enjoyed the challenges the race was presenting as it kept me thinking over and over, "Work the problem." It felt like solving a mystery instead of absently looking at a watch to maintain a constant wattage. Working the problem led me to ingest some Pepto Bismal pills to calm my stomach, and that helped almost immediately. While my overall mental strategy was effective, maybe I needed to snap out of my happy place more often and return to my normal racing Beast Mode?

Looking back, I'm torn about my IMAZ bike riding. My second and third bike loop splits were unimpressive and don't reflect my true cycling capabilities. I turned in a smooth, controlled effort (1.03 VI) but I could and should have pushed harder up the highway in the wind knowing I'd be able to rest and recharge with the free speed back into town. But.. I managed the race well considering all I could eat for 5.5 hours was 1.5 Bonk Breakers, banana, gel, a quarter of a bagel with almond butter, and one packet of Gu Chomps along with drinking six bottles of Fluid Performance with honey. In other words, I made strategic decisions based on the signals my body was sending back to me. Not sexy, but effective.

RUN

Gear: Newton BoCo AT shoes w/ Yankz lacing system, Fortius Racing hat, Oakley Jackets, Balaga wool socks

Like most people finishing a 112-mile bike ride, I was relieved to rid myself of my bike, especially flat-tire free. There were many scattered along the side of the road changing tires, and I truly felt bad for them.

My T2 was under two minutes, and that was with sitting down to put on shoes, calmly reach for some gels and have sunscreen applied. Slow can be fast when it comes to transitions. Once on my feet, the first two miles of any triathlon run, to me, are the most stressful. You have no idea how your legs are going to respond and can only hope for the best. I was especially nervous after Ironman Silverman 70.3, where I experienced leg cramps even while putting on shoes in T2. Mentally, that's like running on egg shells. All I can do is focus on breathing, posture, cadence, and feel what's happening to me physically. Control the controllables, as they say. Fortunately, my pace quickened easily as did my heart rate. I was easily able to drift into the desired sub-8 minute miles while keeping my heart rate in a low aerobic state, and remained there for almost the first half-marathon. I couldn't believe how smooth everything felt. I was truly having fun in an Ironman, especially when Wattie Ink's own fabled Eurostar smacked me HARD on the ass along the riverfront. The concept of not having fun sounds foolish as this whole thing is supposed to be a hobby. But when your gut is bothering you, your feet hurt, you're suffering from a mild, dull headache and think that you won't be done for another 24 miles...fun is hard to come by.

Coming out of T2, hoping for the best. Only 26 miles to go!

Coming out of T2, hoping for the best. Only 26 miles to go!

However, while my run was just starting to unfold nicely, I had already made the second-biggest mental mistake of the day. Coming out of T2, I looked at my watch and noticed, for the first time all day, that my overall time was 6:47:10. Doing the math quickly in my head, I knew I couldn't break 10 hours as hoped. Even if I had put it out of my head before the sun rose (mistake Number One), the spark of my dream was still lit. Until that moment, of course. Not once did I think, "Well, if I run a 3:30:00 marathon I can still come in eight minutes ahead of my PR from 2013. I didn't set an aggressive goal for myself, instead I just resigned to missing my top mark and hoped I had good run legs underneath me. By making that choice, or lack thereof, I failed to challenge myself to greatness. I "settled" and merely hoped for a solid marathon, and to pass as many people along the way as I could. The reason I did this was simple: I didn't want to fail. I knew I needed to cross the finish line to validate my ongoing quest for a future Legacy slot if I can't qualify for Kona on my own. It is no longer acceptable to think that way. Period. 

The worry over being "safe" limited my vision to be great. I took no chances throughout the entire day. I managed my race and finished with my best Ironman placement ever. But for what? Why? Is finishing an Ironman the mark of greatness, or is the mark of greatness picking a seemingly impossible goal and pushing to the limits of our physical and mental abilities to achieve it? Even if you fail, you've tried for something gallant, something bold and daring. The reward is worth the risk. Ask Mirinda Carfrae.

Back to the race. From the first mile, I was bloated from the bike ride. No food sounded good, so I focused entirely on water and Coke at each aid station. Within four miles, my stomach tightness was gone, but my appetite hadn't arrived. Around mile 12, I began to fade. Aid station pauses turned to full-on walking. My pace slowed by almost a minute per hour. Still, I honestly never panicked. "Work the problem. Work the problem," I thought. I was running with gels in each hand, along with electrolyte tablets just in case. I popped some pills, tried a gel, slammed a banana and a quarter of an orange. It took five miles to pick my pace back up, and that was mostly thanks to seeing Christophe trot by looking strong and fresh. I knew he was coming for me and I needed to pick up the speed. This actually led to my favorite part of the marathon, miles 20-26. Honestly, who thinks the last six miles are the best?! Certainly it was my first time thinking that. Yet, I had the energy to run through aid stations entirely, and without cramps. I was 100% focused on passing as many people as possible, as was my strategy throughout the day. Since I knew my PR wasn't going to be hit (so I thought), all I cared about was eating people up on the course. And I did, to the tune of 18 age-group competitors in the marathon alone.

Is finishing an Ironman the mark of greatness, or is the mark of greatness picking a seemingly impossible goal and pushing to the limits of our physical and mental abilities to achieve it?

I rounded the right turn on Ash Avenue prior to making the left onto Rio Salado. It felt so much easier than last year, when all I kept humming to myself was "Carry me home tonight" from that F.U.N. song.  An uncontrollable grin began to emerge. Still, I had no idea what my overall time was for the day. I hadn't looked once since switching my Garmin watch mode to pace, lap time and heart rate. While I began my fist-pumping elation, letting loose all the pent-up emotion from the day and last several months of training, I saw the clock: 10:25:40. My PR was 10:25:36. My marathon PR had been 3:53 the year prior. On this day it was 3:39:46. 

I didn't even care. To hit nearly the same time as last year under markedly different conditions was enough in that moment. Final time: 10:26:01. Except this year, I finished nine places higher in my age group than last year, and nearly 100 places higher overall.

A salty, exhausted, happy mess.

A salty, exhausted, happy mess.

Post-Race Thoughts

It may seem like I'm disappointed in my performance. I am not. I'm grateful to participate in a sport where I can learn such insightful lessons by testing myself physically and mentally. This race was necessary to experience before I could possibly challenge myself to push beyond conventional wisdom for a transcendent result. The kind of result that exceeds my own expectations because I dared myself to dig deeper and go faster when I think there's no capability to do so. If I want to qualify for Kona, I can't look at a weather report on race day morning and decide a top 10 or better placement is not possible. Managing the race is a nice thing to do when you're simply trying to have a good race, a nice race. But GREAT races require greater commitment, no matter the conditions or circumstances. I am now prepared, more than any other point in my training, to become great, and prepared for the sacrifices that greatness will require.

I will learn. I will evolve. And I will improve.

My Fortius teammate Ryan has a megawatt smile that just makes you want to smile too. Ryan was one of the folks who planned to race Ironman Lake Tahoe and moved to IMAZ after that race got cancelled. Glad I got to be there at the finish with him…

My Fortius teammate Ryan has a megawatt smile that just makes you want to smile too. Ryan was one of the folks who planned to race Ironman Lake Tahoe and moved to IMAZ after that race got cancelled. Glad I got to be there at the finish with him after I bundled up due to some shivering post-race.

Special Thanks

My parents and father in law attended IMAZ this year, along with my biggest cheerleader and best friend, Stephanie. She happens to be my wife too, which is rad. To have that kind of support crew on hand, as well as a very special friend in Russ...that was awesome. Thank you for helping me create an unforgettable memory.

My Fortius Coaching family was outstanding in their support too. Coach Gerardo helped deliver me to the finish line healthy and ready to race well despite a very busy summer filled with travel and illness. This has been my most successful race season, results-wise. Thank you, G.

Fortius annual pre-race dinner at Oregano's in Tempe.

Fortius annual pre-race dinner at Oregano's in Tempe.

Representing Wattie Ink on the course was a special honor. The team had recently trimmed its roster by 1/3 and more than 500 applicants applied to the 2015 squad. To be selected for a second year meant so much to me. Almost to the point of a separate blog post on its own. Wattie Ink sponsors Herbalife, ISM saddles, Speedfil, Reynolds wheels, PowerBar, TriBike Transport, and BlueSeventy all played major roles in my race.

Gerry Rodrigues and the school of amazing fish at Tower 26 kindled a passion for swimming I never knew existed. I truly look forward to 5 a.m. wakeups now to swim with some of the most dedicated athletes in SoCal. I can't wait to see what kind of progress I make in the water next season.

Corey Enman at Fitamorphosis Fit Body Boot Camp whipped my body and mind into shape the last several weeks with some terrific tri-specific strength training sessions. I valued our laughing together as much as the workouts themselves. Ben Kleinbrodt, my longtime chiropractor, helped manage some misalignment issues in my back the last few weeks and I was pain-free on race day. Efren Jimenez kept my my muscles feeling smooth and that's why he's the top-rated massage therapist in Burbank.

There are three additional people I'd like to thank behind the scenes. Jason McFaul (who qualified for Kona in my age group at IMAZ '14), Caleb Sponholtz, and Gary Michelson have become good friends and mentors, but more importantly, people I just generally look up to. They send me motivational text messages, challenge me to think differently about my training and racing, and inspire me with their performances. Each helped me break through some big barriers this season. I'll be training more with Jason and Caleb this winter and can't wait. Gary, I'm ready to run with you too!

Finally, I'd like to acknowledge someone who won't be reading this post, but who lives on with me in spirit. Ethan Weiss passed away about a week before IMAZ. I wanted to honor him with a strong race and I kept him in mind all week, almost losing my composure on the walk to the race that morning. I think the wind had something to do with him messing with me, which is something Ethan would have done. Then, he would have shaken my hand at the finish line and said, "Way to go, Kid." I'll greatly miss him.

Honored virtual big brother Ethan on my race shoes. 

Honored virtual big brother Ethan on my race shoes. 

The offseason is here...for a week. Then, we begin training for 2015. The hunt for Kona continues.


Just a Little Patience

Music has played a fairly profound role in my training and racing since I began my triathlon journey several years ago. This blog was started because of a U2 song, "Walk On."  For my first Ironman, I couldn't get the song "Map of the Problematique" by Muse out of my head. I was drawn to the drama and the sense of struggle in the song. 

Like many, I draw strength or inspiration from powerful lyrics and crescendos. But it also takes having an open mind to that kind of input for it to be a positive force in your training. Which leads me to a rather odd sequence of events last week. Over the span of two days, I heard Guns N' Roses' "Patience" four times. Twice in immediate back to back plays on two different stations on the dial. What's that all about?

At first, I thought this was a strange coincidence.  Then, I couldn't help but wonder if the universe wasn't sending me a message for my upcoming Ironman this Sunday. "Just a little patience. ..." Hmmm. 

Patience for what though? Patience for anticipating the race in just over a week? Patience for waiting to see if I made the 2015 Wattie Ink roster, which will be announced shortly? Patience for letting the race unfold as it's meant to and not dictating my own terms?

Hell, maybe it was just Axel Rose's birthday weekend?!

I spent way more time than I ought to admit mulling this likely inconsequential tidbit. Ultimately, I settled on the kind of patience I need to call upon. Patience on the run. My coach and I think I have a 3:30-3:35 marathon in me, a 20-plus minute improvement from IMAZ last year. However, to achieve that goal I need to start slow and work my way into that 8-minute pace and eventually build to a 7:30 pace. If I start too fast and force the pace, I'll likely pay the price.

I know I would have learned this lesson on my own in training, but it's those quiet moments like when you're driving to or from a workout that matter just as much to get your head prepared for race day. My coach has been touting meditation lately and I think just being quiet with your mind -- even if there's music playing in the background -- does indeed play a role in improving performance. 

Now let's see if all this Patience talk can turn Tempe into Paradise City.

Triathlon Memento

Memento

Yesterday, I had a terrific 110-mile ride and kinda solid 2.8 mile run afterwards. Only problem is, I can't prove it. My Garmin 910XT crapped out on me again. And I didn't use Strava mobile as a backup, like an idiot.

I can share that I averaged almost 19.5 mph (first 30 minutes were sub-15 mph warmup) without hardly straying into my tempo heartrate zone three even with an hour-long head-crosswind from miles 75-95. I think. Or at least that's how I felt. Since I took a blood lactate threshold test a couple weeks ago, I changed my power training zones, dutifully staying within them on this long ride and felt great. I'm pretty sure I was reaching a bit with my previous estimated FTP and my new settings felt natural, doable and most important, comfortable for an Ironman pace.

Now, I'm left trying to find additional clues WHY my ride went so well, without actually having any proof that it did. It's like trying to solve a murder mystery without a body, but instead of a body we're looking for heaps of candy -- which is a whole lot nicer.

Below is what I think led to my ride being a "success" -- at least in my own mind. So often we try to figure out what went wrong. How often do we look back to replicate what went right?

First, what's the statute of limitations when it comes to a contributing factor to a successful workout? A day before? Week? Longer? I'm going to stick with 24 hours in this case. 

Saturday:

  • After a Tower 26 swim, instead of going straight to my long run I listened to my body and ate a massive breakfast consisting of granola pancakes, eggs and sausage. Proper fueling.
  • During my long run, which commenced just before noon, I chose a course where I could replace a water bottle and grab a quick snack 2/3 of the way through the workout. Proper fueling. (I did experiment with chia seed-infused water, and that's something I may need to try again before deciding if it works. So far, the report is no-go for race day.)
  • During my long run, I stayed mostly within my prescribed heart rate zones, though I did over-exert myself the last 15 minutes. Mostly proper pacing.
  • After my long run, I immediately drank a recovery shake from Whole Foods, along with a sandwich. I'm not always the best at eating within 30 minutes of a workout. This day, I was. I also popped a Herbalife 24 "Restore" pill to reduce muscle inflammation. Proper recovery.
  • Despite literally losing four pounds from the run, I was able to put the weight back on with two dinners, and slept a little more than seven hours. Proper recovery.

Sunday:

  • My friend Christophe and I chose a bike route that simulated Ironman Arizona's course and allowed for a well-timed refueling stop.
  • I packed plenty of nutrition, including five bottles of sports drink (six would have been better), several Bonk Breakers, a coconut water, banana and bagel with peanut butter for my simulated "special needs" stop. Proper fueling. I literally ate almost everything I packed over the 3,300-calorie ride, including four Bonk Breakers, two Honey Stinger waffles, bagel, all five bottles and the coconut water. Total estimated calories consumed: 1,800.
  • Before the ride, I ate a bowl of oatmeal with almonds, raisins, peanut butter and cinnamon. My usual pre-ride breakfast. I've been adding Herbalife 24  "Prepare" powder to a glass of water before big workouts, and that definitely gives me a kick. Proper fueling, again.
  • I wore my Kask Bambino aero helmet, minus the wind visor. Unlike Ironman 70.3 Silverman, I didn't feel like I was overheating. Proper preparation.
  • I rode my own ride, staying within my watts goals for zone 2 and 3. No pressure to over-exert myself. Proper pacing.
  • Related, I replaced my power meter battery and used EKG gel on my heart rate strap to correct for wildly inaccurate heart rate readings lately. More accurate data led to proper pacing.

Today, I woke up having slept nine hours. While I can feel yesterday's ride and run, I'm not sore. Gerardo told me to skip the previously scheduled bike ride today to focus more on recovery, though I have a strength session with Corey at lunch. I'm actually looking forward to it.

So, Sherlock Holmes... I'm not. But I don't need to be either. Proper fueling + proper pacing + proper recovery = strong performance. It doesn't have to be complicated. Simplify, man!

Performance reflects preparation. 

 

 

 

Of Cornfields and Wolves

That's a gold-medal mustache right there.

That's a gold-medal mustache right there.

Mark Spitz had to swim 21 times in the 1972 Munich Olympics en route to winning his seven gold medals -- all world records. Nobody, not even Michael Phelps, has won seven golds on seven world records before.

Towards the end of Spitz' record-setting performance, going into his seventh gold medal final, he was exhausted mentally and physically. The problem though was his last performance needed to be his best, in his least-preferred event: the 100 freestyle. In fact, Spitz finished last in that very event in the 1968 Games. As Spitz arrived to the pool that day, he noticed a column of arched balloons, which reminded him of almost the exact same sight he had in Mexico City where he suffered in the 100 free. His mind was racing, and he considered pulling out.

Spitz' coach had other plans, telling him that if he didn't swim the 100, people would question his toughness and he would't be able to say he was the fastest swimmer in the world. Typically, the 100 freestyle is the marker for that honor. 

On the pool deck before the finals, Spitz had a flashback to how fast he swam the 100 free in Sacramento during the US Olympic Trials heading into the '72 Games.  At our Tower 26 beach swim earlier this week in Santa Monica, Spitz said the pool was basically surrounded by a cornfield. And that's just what he pictured in his head in the moments before the swim. He took himself someplace else mentally. The race was in Germany, but Spitz felt he was in California.

During the finals race, Spitz told us he felt terrible, "like a grand piano had been dropped on me." But he realized that if he felt that way, "everyone else probably feels like they have three pianos on them." So he surged forward and ahead towards the final wall.  Nobody caught him, or came close. He won gold. Again. And retired.

I never would have known that story had I not dragged myself out of bed early to hear Spitz speak at our sunrise swim. What a reward! What valuable information! I'm a big believer in training the brain for success. Every day. I'd say my biggest gains in triathlon are not physical in nature at all, in fact. But that comes from constant mental training. I try to keep my mind "open" for every workout, trying earnestly to only allow in positive thoughts, sounds or images that staple themselves to my subconsciousness. I don't always succeed, especially if you read my post heading into Ironman 70.3 Silverman. But I have at least learned how to block out the negative and focus on the positive. It just takes some time.

To that end, Tower 26 swim coach Gerry Rodrigues relayed a story he's telling his kids about two wolves that live within all of us. The Good Wolf, and the Bad Wolf. Obviously, the Good Wolf protects you while the Bad Wolf tears you up and down.  Gerry said his son asked him which wolf wins in a battle, to which he responded, "whichever wolf you feed."

Brilliant.

I have fed both wolves in the past, and I can confidently say that after five years of ups and downs racing...the good wolf is here to stay. One way to feed the Good Wolf is to employ what Gerry calls the "three-second rule." Don't let any negative thoughts stay with you for more than three seconds at a time. Sounds easier said than done, no? I've got an Ironman Arizona build weekend tomorrow and Sunday with a long swim, run and ride. I'll have plenty of time to feed the Good Wolf and fend off the other one who shall not be named.

What's your cornfield?

Faster Stronger Better

Corey's now part of the acclaimed FitBody family, and they're lucky to have him.

Corey's now part of the acclaimed FitBody family, and they're lucky to have him.

After a summertime hiatus, I've started up with strength training sessions again. I know, this seems a little ludicrous with a month left until Ironman Arizona. I've questioned it over and over in my head. However, I feel like it helped me recover from Ironman Lake Tahoe last year, forget the past, and focus on a new goal.

More important, sometimes strength training isn't about the physical. My longtime FitBody Boot Camp/Fitamporphosis trainer, Corey Enman, helps me as much with my mental game as any sports psychologist ever could. He keeps sessions fun even if they make me grimace in pain and beg for a break. And that's just the thing so far. Whether it was my Ironman 70.3 Silverman performance or just being mentally ready for strength training, Corey has seen a change in me from our first recent session together onwards.  I used to whine and fade out at the end of long, punishing sets. Not lately. I've been able to handle more stress, complete sets without stopping or coming closer than before, all while just keeping my mouth shut and doing the work. The only different mindset I can think of is that I know now that 45 seconds to a minute of intense work per round really isn't that tough. I've been through worse. I simply say to myself, "45 seconds is nothing," and do the work.

This looks about as bad as it felt.

This looks about as bad as it felt.

If someone told me they were starting strength training with an Ironman in a month, I'd probably tell them they're nuts. But for some reason, it just works for me. I look forward to my time with Corey. Part football coach, part drill sergeant, part psychologist, part cheerleader (yell leader?). 

Strength training isn't always about weights.

Sia, Syrio, and Graduating from Puss School

Finally allowed myself a moment to let loose. This is how every race finish should feel!

Finally allowed myself a moment to let loose. This is how every race finish should feel!

Inspiration comes from the strangest places.  For Ironman 70.3 Silverman, mine came during an Asian press tour last month, at the training low-point of my summer.  It just goes to show that there is generally something positive to take from any seemingly negative situation.

Several other game developers joined me on the press tour. One in particular stood out, the creators of Rock Band and Guitar Hero, the mega-hit music-based rhythm games from a few years back. This time, the studio representatives were showing off Dance Central to eager fans and media in three countries. Which meant I heard the same demo song multiple times a day for about a week. Which also means my sanity hinged on that song being catchy. Not only was it, but the lyrics became my unintentional training anthem -- echoing throughout a challenging day at Ironman 70.3 Silverman.

The song: Titanium, the David Guetta/Sia collaboration.

I don't particularly like admitting how much I like that song. I may play it on repeat a few times a week. Don't tell. But the lyrics appealed to me when I was going through a confidence and motivational crisis. 

"I'm bulletproof...nothing to lose. Fire away! Fire away!"

"Shoot me down...I won't fall! I am Titanium!"

I promised to myself well before this weekend that, no matter what happened on that course, no matter how painful it might get, no matter how unprepared I may have felt, I would be indestructible. Titanium. Bulletproof.

Yes, I'm cheesy. But...these messages on a bottle work. Thank you, Chrissie Wellington!

Yes, I'm cheesy. But...these messages on a bottle work. Thank you, Chrissie Wellington!

 

And I was. I've done a lot of racing since I became serious about triathlon in 2010. This is the race I'm proudest of. Physically, it wasn't my best performance. But mentally, I broke new ground. I dealt with a wicked whack-a-mole game of cramps in both legs for the entire half-marathon. Literally from the first mile onward. I seized up completely at least five times, twice in front of teammates as they ran by on the other side of the cones, prompting one of them to tell me how terrible I looked! I couldn't breathe fully on the run either, my asthma acted up for the first time in a triathlon and causing me to spew some nasty neon-colored phlegm.

"Keep Your Chin Up..."

"Keep Your Chin Up..."

Which brings me to another unlikely inspirational source. During my Asian odyssey, I watched a lot of Game of Thrones during flights. One particular character decided to pay a mental visit to me during the run. His name was Syrio, macho sword-fighting teacher to Arya Stark in the first season.  I loved when he'd tell her, "What do we tell the God of Death?

"Not today. Not today. ..."

I repeated that in my head as both adductors strained during the first mile of the run...and then I smiled. For the first time in five years of racing, I finally, truly, wholly and completely understood, smiling when faced with a situation that normally might have knocked me off my game. I always nodded politely when my triathlon mentors such as Gary Michelson and Jason McFaul would tell me that's the key to breakthrough performances -- literally looking forward to the pain. I always thought I knew what that meant and was ready to accept the challenge, but then when the moment arrived for real in a race, I'd wilt. Last year, at Ironman 70.3 Boise, I was 15th in my age group coming off the bike and started the run strong. A mile in, my legs twitched, I winced, my legs locked, I buckled...and quit. I walked 9 miles and walk-jogged four, drinking a beer at one point. The pain won. I went to the edge in Boise, but turned back at the critical moment. At Ironman Lake Tahoe last year, my sense of fight vanished completely during the marathon and I actually had a conversation with an aid station captain at mile 15 about DNF protocol before rallying to finish.

Not. Today.

And that is why I had a good race at Silverman, even though I was 11 minutes slower on nearly the same course as when I raced the world championships there last year. 

<Pause> Now, a brief word about the Ironman 70.3 Silverman course. There is a lot of talk going 'round about how hard a day it was. To be clear, Silverman is a tough course -- or as my Wattie Ink teammate Dusty likes to say, a slow course. But everyone who signs up for the race should know it's a tough course (except my dear friend Kevin, who signed up, didn't train at all and still almost finished within the final cut-off). If you were mentally prepared to suffer, to welcome the pain and smile at the true crossroads between a good race and a bad one, then chances are you were proud of your performance. For the record, here's what I think contributed to at least my slower year-to-year finish time (not speaking for everyone else here):

1) Lack of heat acclimation and training (my fault, and controllable)

2) Wind kicking up dust and triggering an asthma attack (out of my control)

3) Long, steady headwind from the bike turnaround back out of Lake Mead (out of my control)

My goofball friend, Kevin. He shows up with ZERO training (again), makes the swim and bike cutoffs and almost finishes the 13.1 miles in time. Race officials gave him a finisher's medal and hat when he crossed the line, which was nice.

My goofball friend, Kevin. He shows up with ZERO training (again), makes the swim and bike cutoffs and almost finishes the 13.1 miles in time. Race officials gave him a finisher's medal and hat when he crossed the line, which was nice.

 

That's not the full race day picture though. What enabled me to smile at Pain in the first place, I think, was recognizing early in the race that I needed to adjust my expectations (a controllable outcome). My first indication that my race plan needed to change was when I drank an entire 16oz bottle of honey water within the first 40 minutes on the bike. I usually only drink a 16oz bottle over 1.5 hours. Yet I still wasn't sweating.  Instead of panicking, I readjusted my intake strategy, making sure to hit each aid station for extra bottles of water and Perform, and a banana or gel. I'd toss my old bottles first after emptying any extra water onto my body to stay cool. Even with all that, I still wasn't sweating normally, but I knew I was hydrated because I was able to pee on the bike twice. (Yes, while moving, I know...gross!) In hindsight, the only thing I'd change about my ride is switching to a road aero helmet from my Kask Bambino and removing the wind visor. I may have overcooked my noggin a bit in the heat and wind. I actually had to remove the wind visor a few times to let the breeze cool my face.

So there you have it. Ironman 70.3 Silverman wasn't really about my finish time, or my placement. (Though I'm pleased with the 5:26 and 22nd in my age group out of 251.) It's my third-best overall half-Ironman placement, percentage-wise. No, this race signified that I turned the tassel on something much more important and valuable. I finally graduated from Puss School. Annual enrollment: one.  Graduation rate: 100 percent.  My thesis was about proving that Pain is a suggestion, but not a mandate. It can be overcome through willpower, a smile...and knocking the God of Death on his bony ass.

I would like to thank my Coach, Gerardo Barrios, my Fortius Coaching teammates, my Wattie Ink teammates, and the unsung heroic supporters of both teams all over the course. Staying positive was a LOT easier with all that energy and encouragement. I almost forgot to mention Gerry Rodrigues and Tower26, which has recently played a big role in my swimming lately. Gerry has made getting up at 5 a.m. FUN. That's hard to do. I'd also like to thank the Wattie Ink team sponsors that helped fuel my day: ISM saddles, Herbalife 24, Powerbar, and Reynolds Wheels. I'd also like to thank Sarah at CycleHouse in LA. I never thought spin classes might benefit my training, but I'm confident they played a role.  Above all else, I'd like to thank my wife Stephanie, for understanding how I'm a better ME because of all the lessons I've learned from this crazy sport. And how one day, I promise I'll be passing those lessons on to our children. 

A few days of celebration and reflection have passed. Now, we train for Ironman Arizona. Less than 40 days away.

Cramping. Right. There. In the finish chute. That's also how my face looked for most of the run when I wasn't encouraging other people.

Cramping. Right. There. In the finish chute. That's also how my face looked for most of the run when I wasn't encouraging other people.


My coached team, Fortius, won the Division 4 team championship. Huzzah!

My coached team, Fortius, won the Division 4 team championship. Huzzah!

My buddy Patrick is rockin' a Captain Qwark shirt from Ratchet &amp; Clank, our best-known PlayStation title. Patrick came into the sport a few years ago and is now an All World Athlete. Super proud of him. He's a great dude.

My buddy Patrick is rockin' a Captain Qwark shirt from Ratchet & Clank, our best-known PlayStation title. Patrick came into the sport a few years ago and is now an All World Athlete. Super proud of him. He's a great dude.

Shutting Out the Noise

I took this today just after sunrise near Santa Monica Pier on an easy recovery ride. My brain will look like this on Sunday.&nbsp;

I took this today just after sunrise near Santa Monica Pier on an easy recovery ride. My brain will look like this on Sunday. 

First off, an apology. I said I'd write more often and now it's been almost three weeks since my last post. The only thing I can say is I've never been busier with work, writing, training and a little trick up my sleeve that may one day see the light of day. But we're here now, in the final few days before Ironman 70.3 Silverman. And these are my thoughts going into my first race since June 1.

It's noisy in my head. 

The clanging of data is loudest.  I have new power numbers on the bike thanks to a blood lactate threshold test I took on Tuesday. And a rough cycling race plan based on a math and physics-based app called BestBikeSplit.com (not to mention my coach's good advice).  Then there's the banging of guilt I feel about racing the weekend of Yom Kippur -- the holiest time of the Jewish year. Though I suppose it's a good sign I picked the one race that sounds like it's named after a Jewish congregant -- Silverman -- to do it. And of course, there's always the shouting of expectations. They're all of my own making, of course. It's not like anybody else is watching this stuff with a laptop and a stopwatch. Or are they? Paranoia is one of my strongsuits too. Finally, the demon voices whisper: "You took too much time off this summer. You're not ready for this race. You need more time.  It's going to be hot out there. Your friends are catching up to you. You're going to be the slowest Wattie Ink athlete on the course, and you're no longer the fastest Fortius athlete. And you're so sore right now. That massage last night was too hard. That LT test was too demanding. Why did you do that during a taper??? You're not recovered enough.  You will fail."

I'm waving all those emotions on, in one giant "bring it on" gesture with my hands. Feed me the fear. Heap on the doubt. Dish it to me.

I drive to the desert tomorrow, alone. I'm going to pick Steph up at the airport in Vegas later in the day. I have a lot to think about. Many voices to quiet in my head, as you can see. But I will. I've been here before. I've made friends with these voices. I know they can be turned on and off, like a switch. I know what it takes to perform well. I know you can't fake belief or excitement or optimism. Either you're ready to blow your guts out in a race, or you're not. I may not be in the shape I usually am in this time of year, but that just means I'll make it hurt more to finish where I usually do. The one thing I can share about my blood lactate test -- I'll be writing a full column on it for Lava Magazine Online -- is that it's clear in my results that my data is nothing special. I race well because, as Coach Gareth Thomas said, "I'm willing to suffer."

So tomorrow, I quiet my mind on a quiet drive to Sin City. I will prepare mentally for what's most important, Yom Kippur. The Day of Atonement, which a clever rabbi once figured out could be spelled as At-One-Ment. The coming together of the self.

I am fractured right now. The voices have free reign, and it's chaos in there. I'm physically sore, I'm a tad stressed out and I haven't even started packing for the trip. But that's OK. The Day of At-One-Ment is coming. And I will become whole. And I will be ready for Sunday. And I'm going to kick a lot of ass.

No matter what the data is telling me. Oh, and those voices? They'll be long gone by then.

Mali-Boo Hoo

Where I won't be this Saturday...

Where I won't be this Saturday...

I met with my coach, Gerardo, after work tonight to talk about the next eight weeks of training heading into Ironman Arizona.  After what was supposed to be an "easy" three hour ride became a struggle to finish yesterday on sore, jet-lagged legs, I knew I needed to slow down, take a step back, and reassess my "real" fitness and race readiness. My mind was telling me "Hell yes!" But my body was telling me... "Quit dreamin', kid." Together, Gerardo and I decided that racing at Malibu this Saturday was not a wise choice if I was seeking a top five podium finish.

Our thinking was that my immune system is weakened due to all the air travel, and my wife is sick with a fever and sinus infection, staying home the past few days. I was her man servant caretaker yesterday, in fact.  At Malibu, I'd go all-out at the race and be incapable of holding back, which would further tax me.  I've got Ironman 70.3 Silverman in Las Vegas in a couple weeks, which is more important to me, and is a better lead-in to Ironman Arizona in November. I could make better use of this weekend with a long base-building ride.  The logic is too great to ignore, much as I love racing.

Shockingly, I'm totally OK with this decision. Deep down, I knew it was the right one even before I set foot into G's house.  Plus, I've already achieved my main goal for the season -- Age-Group All-American status -- and this race won't affect that one way or the other.  My secondary goal was to attain Ironman All-World Athlete "gold" status this season. I need three Ironman-branded races to do it, and I've got one in the books (Oceanside, in March).  So Silverman and IMAZ are therefore higher on the priority list.

So, I flushed a couple hundred bucks down the drain for Malibu -- a race I always look forward to.  The scenery, the chaos, the pancakes at Coogies in Malibu Creek afterwards.  But I think it was a smarter choice for the long haul. Disagree with me? I'd love to hear why. I'm always open for a debate.

Tour of Asia Recap

After 20,000 miles of flying in nine days, three countries visited in five days, six stage presentations, dozens of press demos and even signing a few autographs...I'm home.

To celebrate, I woke up early for a morning spin at Cycle House LA and an hour easy run after. Steph is sick, so I went to the Farmer's Market next door to pick up some berries and a smoothie to help her recover. Of course, in true Stephanie fashion, she wants to rally today but I'm hoping she'll rest up. And I'm not-so-secretly trying to stay home anyways. As you can imagine, I've had enough of moving about from place to place, literally living out of my suitcase.

View from the stage in Taiwan, where we held a press conference and fan demo for 600 eager Xbox aficionados.

View from the stage in Taiwan, where we held a press conference and fan demo for 600 eager Xbox aficionados.

The trip itself was a huge success.  Many people in each market we visited hadn't heard much about Sunset Overdrive.  That changed in our favor, as several fans at each tour stop told me they were pre-ordering the game. And the press were unexpectedly animated and complimentary about the game.

"The Ferrari 430 Spider. If you have the means...I highly suggest picking one up."

"The Ferrari 430 Spider. If you have the means...I highly suggest picking one up."

Of course, the highlight of the press trip had nothing to do with media meetings.  Instead, it had everything to do with driving a Ferrari 430 Spider on the Singapore F1 Grand Prix circuit. Even if I drove...conservatively.  After all, it was my first time driving on the "wrong" side of the street, and with the steering wheel on the Western "passenger side" of the car. Still, I gunned it a few times, enough to feel the Ferarri's power and acceleration speed. We also went indoor skydiving at the world's second largest indoor skydiving venue.

Training-wise, I probably maintained or slightly lost some fitness.  In between all the travel, I squeezed in just over six hours of workouts. The heat and humidity in Singapore provided a real physical and mental challenge to overcome, but I'm glad I had the opportunity to run on the SAFRA Singapore Half Marathon course after the sold-out race ended.  The Army was still cleaning up the course and all the aid stations still contained buckets of ice, which I liberally used to try and stay cool.  The soldiers were cool and even cheered me on a bit as I ran alone in what amounted to 97-degree heat.  The week's fitness highlight though was running up to the Seoul Tower in Korea with Beeoh Kim, a Fortius Racing teammate and well-known Korean pro triathlete.  We caught up a lot about living in Korea, which sounds pressure-packed at times -- especially for women.  It's a culture driven by an obsession with perfection or success, punctuated by women feeling a need or desire to keep up through plastic surgery.  

Me and my buddy Beeoh. The taxi ride after he and I dined was priceless. The cab driver didn't speak English, but tried admirably by making lists of things Korea is known for. One example, "Chevrolet 1! Toyota 2! Hyundai 3! Kia 4!"

Me and my buddy Beeoh. The taxi ride after he and I dined was priceless. The cab driver didn't speak English, but tried admirably by making lists of things Korea is known for. One example, "Chevrolet 1! Toyota 2! Hyundai 3! Kia 4!"

In thinking about the trip, I came away with a number of impressions about life in Asia...and a few training insights too.

  • Outside of needing cash to get from the airport in Singapore to the hotel at 3 a.m., I could use credit cards wherever I traveled. We indeed live in a paperless cash world -- though if you have Visa in Singapore you're out of luck for a taxi. MasterCard and AMEX only.
  • Singapore, and to lesser extents Seoul and Taipei, are remarkably Western.  You can even get a Baja Fresh burrito in Singapore, while we can eat the best dumplings around Singapore, Din Tai Fung, in Los Angeles. Though it's harder to travel in Seoul with no Korean language skills, you can get by with English-only. Especially in Itaewon, the more modern, hip district in Seoul near the US military base. (BTW, Vatos Tacos is NOT to be missed if you visit there.)
  • If you ever have the opportunity to fly Singapore Airlines business class, I can't say enough good things about the experience. Despite six different flights in nine days, I always looked forward to getting on another Singapore Airlines plane. And Thai Airways' economy class was a pleasant surprise -- far better than any domestic carrier.
  • Singapore features the most modern architecture I've seen outside of Melbourne.  I felt like I was on the set of Star Wars.  
  • Seoul seems like it's in the middle of a struggle between modern and traditional.  Beautiful skyscrapers pierce the sky amidst an jigsaw puzzle of concrete apartment buildings. And it has the worst traffic I've ever encountered -- worse than New York City, Mexico City and Los Angeles.
  • I talked with a couple Taiwanese folks who said the biggest misconception Americans have of their citizens is that "we all eat dogs." In truth, I saw pet dogs everywhere in the city. They are treated with love and respect just like we do here. What a sad thing for people to have to clarify.
  • When I travel for international business in the future, I'll do a better job of checking in advance for local races. I missed an opportunity to run a half-marathon that would have been awesome.
  • If you travel to Seoul, the Grand Hyatt is amazing...with a solid gym and an indoor 25 meter pool.
  • In Taipei, the W Hotel is a must.  Outstanding across the board, and a 25 meter outdoor pool to squeeze those swim sessions in.
  • Taipei is the home to Giant bicycles. Apparently, it's quite easy to rent a road bike in the city and there's plenty of places to ride. 
Outside of Hyundai and Kia, PSY is Korea's biggest export. There's a giant "Gangnam Style" sign at the Gangnam train station where tourists like me could take photos.

Outside of Hyundai and Kia, PSY is Korea's biggest export. There's a giant "Gangnam Style" sign at the Gangnam train station where tourists like me could take photos.

That's my hotel, the Marina Bay Sands, in the background in...Coruscant...err Singapore.

That's my hotel, the Marina Bay Sands, in the background in...Coruscant...err Singapore.

This week, I'll be refocusing my training and hope to race the Malibu Triathlon this Saturday -- if I don't get sick for a third time after international travel. I have no business racing given my physical conditioning at the moment. But I have a belief that I can still perform at a high level.  We'll see how far belief and attitude can carry me.