Break on Through to the Other Side...

Find. your. Why.

Find. your. Why.

It took 13 Ironman finishes, but I think I’m starting to figure out this whole 140.6-mile racing thing.

Physical fitness matters. Especially at the pointy end of the leaderboard.

But guts, guile and gameplan matter even more.

I’ve received several texts, phone calls and emails about what transpired towards the end of my Ironman Santa Rosa race this past weekend. Not because I was particularly fast overall — it was a middle-of-the-road performance for me. But rather because people asked me to explain how I was able to resurrect myself after a steady but steep demise from miles 9-18 during the marathon.

Here’s my best attempt at an answer.

For context, below is a visual layout of my mile splits during the marathon. I could have made four circles here, labeled based on the theme of my internal monologue at each point:

  • Miles 1-8: “Hey, this is smooth and steady; you’re killing this!”

  • Miles 9-14: “You are not killing this; work the problem!”

  • Miles 15-17: “Damn it! Bonked again! This sucks! C’mon! Don’t give up!”

  • Miles 18-26: “What do we tell the God of Death: NOT TODAY!!”


Miles 1-8 Mindset…

Miles 1-8 Mindset…

(Miles 15-17) my inner conversations with kaa manifesting themselves into physical form…

(Miles 15-17) my inner conversations with kaa manifesting themselves into physical form…

(Miles 18-Finish) Mamba-Faced zone trance

(Miles 18-Finish) Mamba-Faced zone trance

Before proceeding further, I should add another layer of context. Many of the people whom I suspect will read this recap know it’s been a challenging year so far. My dad, Mitch, has a rare form of bone marrow cancer (primary myelofibrosis) that accelerated and required a rushed stem cell transplant a few weeks ago. Prior to that in January, I suffered some complications recovering from sinus cavity surgery that wiped out roughly two months of training altogether through mid-March. Between my full-time career at Insomniac Games, growing my own Good Wolf Coaching practice, and remaining a dedicated husband and father, I would not be bringing much physical fitness to this race.

Six weeks ago, I actually discussed with my wife, Stephanie, ditching my Ironman World Championship Legacy quest. I didn’t think I’d be strong enough to even cross the finish line for my Kona slot validation race in Santa Rosa. Until the week of April 1, my longest week of training came 7 days after my January 22 surgery (8.5 hours) with most weeks hovering between nothing and up to five hours. Flu, bronchitis and pneumonia relentlessly took over through late March, though I managed three quality-driven, 10-hour training weeks from April 1st right up to race week.

So it would be easy to find excuses why it was OK to shut things down at any point in the race, in other words.

If I was going to earn my Kona validation, I’d have to race smart, and with heart. Steph urged me to go for it. I’m glad I did.

Besides, we both knew this race wasn’t just for me anymore. Not by a longshot.

See, whenever I visited my dad at the hospital, he’d mark his daily laps walking the transplant wing with his tethered IV stand by practically growling, “We’re going to Kona.” Followed promptly by a two-hour nap as he’d exhaust himself trying to impress me with his Festivus-like Feats (feet?) of Strength.

If my dad could endure that kind of pain and discomfort, and still put on a show for me, I had better be able to return the favor and honor his determination and focus.

You’re gonna quit on a guy who trains like this to beat cancer? I don’t think so!

You’re gonna quit on a guy who trains like this to beat cancer? I don’t think so!

I believe this was the answer I needed for the inevitable inner demon question we all face during a long race like Ironman. Anyone who has raced understands the dance between our inner good and bad wolves. That tempting voice that tells us it’s OK to shut things down, to conserve energy, to just jog to the finish…because who cares?

In my case, it sounded like this: “You know you’re not fit enough for this anyways. You’re only “racing” this on six weeks training. Why over-extend yourself? All you have to do is cross the damn finish line in 17 hours to earn your World Championships Legacy slot. Reeeelax.”

I had listened to that voice and fallen prey to its mesmerizing spell in more Ironman races than I care to admit. That voice is seductive, like the ssssssnake Kaa in Jungle Book. “Loooook into my eyessssssssss….”


I started bargaining with that sssssmooth voice around mile 8 of the marathon when it became apparent I was sssssslowing down and getting more tired. The voice ssssslithered around my throat for the next ssssseven miles, and sssstarted choking me out ever ssssso gently. Nuzzling me to ssssleep, gentle sssssweet sssssleep.

I remembered my dad. In the hospital wing. I thought of my buddies who told me (with love) they’d be heckling me via text message thread all race. It would have been perfectly fine to fold in that moment. This was, as Thanos said…inevitable.



No, it was not inevitable. Not by a longshot.

Try to run

Try to hide

Break on through to the other side

Break on through to the other side

This was the moment. Nowhere to hide from my own inevitable truth. Run, or hide.

I chose to honor my dad. I chose to will my friends to start texting each other something new, “Hey, Schneider’s flipping the script!” I chose to honor the prophecy of my own coach, Jim Lubinski at Tower 26, who implored me to find a breakthrough performance on the run in his pre-race plan.

Prior to that moment, I thought I understood what a breakthrough meant. In my head, it was simply hitting a “grind” switch. And hoping the body flickered to life.

Now, I think breakthrough performances are more than that. For me, four things happened, and they all have equal value. It’s not a moment. It’s a process.

  1. I never gave up mentally. Not once. I slowed down. But never quit.

  2. I assessed the problem, fatigue and stiffness in this case, and addressed both for several miles through more conscious eating and drinking, along with popping two Advil gel-caps from my run special needs bag.

  3. I committed to a singular focus of honoring my dad by pushing as hard and as fast as I could.

  4. My mind and body went blank for the next eight-plus miles. I truly felt absolutely zero pain, only the sensation of (relative) speed, clarity of purpose, and focus. Nothing else existed in my world. Well, maybe intense motivation masked as my Kobe-inspired, Black Mamba-faced anger. (No seriously, ask Gary Michelson…he saw it haha.)

I think I found the mythical Zone.

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I closed faster in this Ironman marathon than in any other. I literally (and metaphorically?) jumped over a snake crossing the river run path around mile 20 (NOT kidding!). And I strongly believe I could have run another 5k past the finish chute and still gained speed. I’m pretty proud of that. Especially when literally nothing but pride was on the line.

And yet. Pride sometimes is everything.

So is dignity.

So is honor.

I didn’t want to slink to the finish. Nor for my dad. Not for my Good Wolf athletes. Not for my friends. Not for me. No more. Not today.

So I chose not to.

Sometimes it’s as simple as that.

the finish times don’t really matter when it comes to winning our own personal battles. this was an encapsulation of that moment for me. this was an inner soul growl i can still feel in my gut and will never forget.

the finish times don’t really matter when it comes to winning our own personal battles. this was an encapsulation of that moment for me. this was an inner soul growl i can still feel in my gut and will never forget.

Except when it’s not. Still with me?

There are two other physical activities in triathlon, and when those are executed well, you put yourself into a position to succeed on the run. I was able to do that on my swim and bike ride, despite not swimming or riding much at all going into the race.

The first is my swim. Not my fastest swim, not my slowest swim either. Faster than last year on the same course, too. And consistent — to the tune of swimming one yard more year-to-year. My sighting allowed me to swim efficiently, and as you can see, my heart rate is never really elevated. Calm and steady.

I did have to contend with what had to be the WORST kicking swimmer in the history of open-water swimming. This ANNOYING guy clung to me for at least 2/3 of the race. I’d try to draft off him but his vertical scissor-kicking was causing some big jetwash turbulence. I’d try to swim around him, and his rotating sideways scissor kicks hit me in the ribs several times. I’d try to pass, he’d catch up. It was a futile battle and one not worth fighting so early in the race. I swam wider than I like on the second loop, found open water, and cruised.

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THis is my Baywatch Shot. There are many like it. But this one is mine. Ladies, Eat Your HEarts Out.

THis is my Baywatch Shot. There are many like it. But this one is mine. Ladies, Eat Your HEarts Out.

Now for the bike. My longest ride all year was 70 miles about two weeks before the race (a casual jaunt up Mt Baldy LOL). I kept my effort measured, evidenced by an identical 1.03 VI (a good marker for consistency) from last year’s IMSR race. The first two hours of the bike ride felt bleak though. I couldn’t find any power in my legs and was 10 watts below my intended average. My climbing legs were fine on some of the steeper pitches, but I couldn’t generate power on the flats and rollers. By remaining patient, nutrition-focused and positive, I eventually got into a solid groove and my watts improved throughout the day until around mile 100. Then, it was a bit of a mental struggle to fight some low-grade but steady headwinds back to downtown Santa Rosa. Had I over-committed to biking hard to make up watts and time, it would have been harder to rally on the run.

Patience pays off.

But you need the courage to reinvest it later.

Then, if you’re lucky, you might just break on through to the other side.



Before signing off, I’d like to thank my family for yet again supporting this crazy, occasionally stupid, highly intrinsically rewarding pursuit. I can never thank Stephanie enough. And I hope one day Audra (and possibly future lil Schneiders) will appreciate the values that are so viscerally demonstrated during an Ironman race.

My parents and sister know how I feel about them. But thank you for always encouraging me, no matter what. if you want a KICK ASS blog in your life, check out my dad’s daily YouTube musings about his battle with cancer.

Good Wolf athletes…I wanted to set an example you could be proud of and shoot to top for yourself. Can’t wait to go on that journey with each of you. Heartfelt congratulations to first-time Ironman finisher Diana Olveira, who overcame some nausea issues during the bike and still came within 10 minutes of her desired finish time. She also PR’d her overall marathon time. F*ck Cancer Triathlon Team leader Jayson Williams completed Ironman 10 with a near 40-minute Santa Rosa course PR and a marathon PR while overcoming nearly being pulled from the water due to an asthma attack. That’s some Good Wolf mind-over-matter stuff right there.

My friends and teammates…you motivate and inspire me. Christophe, Doc Jon and Weilert in particular…your good-natured ongoing text message banter was more important than you know. Russ, Gary, T26 lanemates…the list goes on and on. Thank you.

Coach Jim and Coach Gerry Rodrigues at Tower 26 triathlon and swim coaching, thank you for being so understanding this winter and spring. Thanks for the encouraging texts and emails and phone calls when I was feeling low. Thanks for pushing me in a balanced and thoughtful way. I gave you my best effort as re-payment. And Efren Jimenez got my body prepped as best he could with a couple amazing massages. Thank you, buddy. Hands of G-d.

To my friends who have been touched by cancer in any way. I feel you. I’m with you. I’m one of you. We’re in this together even if we’re not the patients ourselves. Fuck Cancer!

Next stop: Escape from Alcatraz in three weeks!!!

My BuzzFeed Race Report: 10 Things Learned From Completing an Ironman on 6 Weeks Training (#6 Will Shock you!)

My BuzzFeed Race Report: 10 Things Learned From Completing an Ironman on 6 Weeks Training  (#6 Will Shock you!)

This is my eighth Ironman race report. The past recaps all have a similar feel, something like:

“I trained really, really hard over many months for this one-day event. It took on significant meaning in my life, and there are now profound lessons learned through a long day of swimming, biking and running that I can apply to my career and interpersonal relationships. The weather challenged me, the competition was fierce, and I discovered something new about myself. I placed relatively well, but not good enough to quality for the World Championships in Kona. That’s OK, I’ll get there one day.”

What if none of that was true?

Read More

IMAZ 2015 Race Report: All the Ways to Skin a Cat


"There's a few ways we can skin that cat."

My coach, Brian Stover, said, texted or wrote this to me more often than he probably realized during the last five months. Usually because we needed to figure out how I was going to swim, bike and run at the appropriate volume while on a tight work and family schedule.

I'm not a fan of cats. They're too fussy and fickle. Plus, I'm highly allergic to them. But I became a fan of how Brian and I "skinned cats" to maintain the most delicate of balances between triathlon, career and home. All while being able to preserve enough energy to juggle everything without going crazy...mostly (right Seb?!).

In terms of training in 2015, there was B.A., Before Audra, and A.A., after. I made some pretty big changes to how I approached my training and racing once I became an IronDadMan, mostly out of necessity. Instead of a traditional race report from Ironman Arizona 2015, I think it may be more insightful for others if I share what I learned about those adjustments. 

Besides, my race report would sound like a lot of other people's I've read the last few days. Something like:

Swim: "The rolling swim start felt weird, the buoys moved farther right from past years, why do my calves keep cramping (???) and I came out of the water pretty much when I expected I would, within seconds of the long end of my predicted time."

Yes, 63-degrees warrants a neoprene cap for me to stay warm. I apologize for nothing.

Yes, 63-degrees warrants a neoprene cap for me to stay warm. I apologize for nothing.

 Bike: "'F-ing IMAZ.' That's what I kept saying to myself with a laugh while cycling. The weather reports predicted fine weather all day for weeks and it was too good to be true. I was cold and wet, but had no nutritional issues to report. I peed a ton and couldn't figure out why. Much to the chagrin of people behind me while peeing on the bike, the wind kept shifting throughout the course... Overall, I biked pretty much how I expected I would, within a minute of my predicted overall window. Took some risks in terms of increasing my watts over my target goal and it seemed to work fine at the time."

"It's raining. F*ck it!"

"It's raining. F*ck it!"

Run: "After an embarrassingly slow T2 due to being unable to feel my fingers, I started running and shocked myself with a much faster pace than expected. I decided to go with it because the pace seemed manageable and I was able to keep nutrition down. The rain didn't bother me...until it did (along with the mud) later in the race around mile 16. Managed a massive PR for an Ironman half marathon (1:39 by my watch) but couldn't hold the pace for the next 12 miles. Ran pretty much what I expected I would overall though, within a minute of my coach-predicted time. Glad I took the initial risk on the pacing instead of slowing down. Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

Anatomy of my marathon, part 1 (miles 1-9): "I feel AMAZING! Sub 7:30s?! Hell yes!"

Anatomy of my marathon, part 1 (miles 1-9): "I feel AMAZING! Sub 7:30s?! Hell yes!"

Anatomy of my marathon part 2 (miles 10-15): "I feel less amazing, but functional!"

Anatomy of my marathon part 2 (miles 10-15): "I feel less amazing, but functional!"

Anatomy of my marathon part 3 (miles 16-24): "I do not feel amazing.I would like to stop running now."

Anatomy of my marathon part 3 (miles 16-24): "I do not feel amazing.I would like to stop running now."

Anatomy of my marathon, part 4 (miles 24-26): "Dear Lord where is that finish line?!!?!"

Anatomy of my marathon, part 4 (miles 24-26): "Dear Lord where is that finish line?!!?!"

As for the race result itself, I have very mixed feelings, which I'll share at the end. 

So what worked and what didn't? First, here's what changed. After six years, I made a decision to switch coaches. I did so not because I was dissatisfied (I still heartily refer athletes to Fortius Coaching), but more because I felt like I needed a new voice and fresh perspective to shake up my training. That's exactly what I got. In short, my new coach (Stover) and I developed a plan that would involve more overall training volume, but spread more evenly throughout each week. That's triathlete-speak for essentially no rest days unless I was traveling on business or had a family obligation. Additionally, we dramatically increased my run frequency and volume to six or even seven days a week at 35-40-plus miles. I would estimate 95 percent of my workouts were entirely aerobic in intensity, meaning completed at a conversational pace and thus easier to recover from. This was a big change for me and took some time getting used to. We also went more than four months without a brick workout, and only scheduled two total. No track workouts either in the traditional oval sense.  Taper changed too for me, shrinking from weeks to days. Five, in this case. Finally, we opted out of strength training workouts due to lack of time, replacing them occasionally with jump rope work after runs.

Also as part of my new lifestyle change (A.A.), I stopped trying to complete both daily workouts prior to leaving for work in the morning. There was no way that could work again. Instead, my wife and I would talk every day and more in-depth once every two weeks (before Brian sent my schedule over) about when I could fit in each workout without infringing upon family time. Cat skinning would ensue. I also reluctantly chose to suspend my early morning swims with Tower 26, much as I enjoyed and relied on the group along with the superb Gerry Rodrigues to improve my stroke. The added sleep was going to be critical to balancing all the moving aspects of my life. Fortunately, I found a terrific master's group, Golden Road Aquatics, 10 minutes from my office. GRA offered energetic lunchtime swims and that became critical to maintaining a higher overall training volume.

What Worked

Everything Brian implemented seemed to pay off. The near daily running at an aerobic pace made me a much more efficient runner. In fact, almost my entire IMAZ 2015 marathon (99% literally) was done in HR Zone 2 (moderate) effort even with a record 13.1 mile split that was near my Ironman 70.3 pace. What?! Again, that was without really doing any brick workouts, which saved me a ton of time on the homefront. The aerobic work also translated to the bike, where the vast majority of my effort was in that moderate zone too. 

I also wised up as a triathlete, finally following every workout as it was prescribed. (This was largely my fault in the past as I often found myself caught up in other people's workouts instead of completing my own as written.) And since the vast majority of workouts were at a moderate level, it was much easier to complete them. I only missed two workouts in five months, and both came on the final day of my build prior to taper due to a horrendous night of sleep and an early morning doctor's appointment for Audra.

Spacing my daily workouts out by a few hours was also beneficial. Each workout became more of a quality session, though my swimming suffered since it almost always became the second workout of the day. It's much harder to swim on heavy legs following a run. Still, I think giving my body more time between workouts enabled me to complete more workouts at the specified level and duration.

Finally, printing my bi-weekly schedule and posting it on the kitchen wall was one thing that subtly helped me remain engaged in my training. Steph and I could see what was on the schedule and discuss any potential conflicts. Plus, I could cross off each completed workout, which served as positive reinforcement and motivation to keep my consecutive workouts finished streak intact.

Printing my training calendar helped my wife and I communicate daily on training regimen, along with how to manage family time and daddy duty.

Printing my training calendar helped my wife and I communicate daily on training regimen, along with how to manage family time and daddy duty.

What Didn't Work

My swimming took a big hit the last few months, and it's primarily because swim volume was cut by between a third and a half compared to last year. Swimming is by far my weakest discipline, and something I need to work extra hard on to improve. But Brian recommended we focus more on improving my run as being fitter across the board would help me overcome some of my swimming deficiencies. Brian already told me we'll be swimming a lot more this winter. Joy. I'd like to strangle that cat and then skin it with a dull blade.

Since I was running so much, I found it even harder to keep my weight up to what I'd consider a healthy level. It constantly felt like I was pushing a giant food rock up a hill each day only to watch it tumble back down. I'd lose up to four pounds and try to gain five, day in and day out. That lack of weight likely affected my bike power output, which is something I think needs more attention in the future. I think the chilly weather at IMAZ affected me a little more than other folks perhaps due to my inability to use stored fat to keep my core temperature warm.

Despite getting more sleep than people told me would be possible with a newborn, it still probably wasn't enough quality rest to help me fully recover each night. Waking up three to four times each night can't be considered a helpful workout recovery tool, but I don't think it affected me as much as I expected. I feel obligated to put "lack of sleep" in the "What Didn't Work" section but could have been much worse (thanks to my awesome wife) and I don't think it affected me on race day when it mattered most.


Three years, differing conditions, same result. Almost exactly. I trained more than I ever have before for an Ironman, improved my run, slightly improved my bike split and ultimately I came in at the same time I did when I was training with less volume but higher intensity. What does that mean? I made all these changes to take the next step in my evolution as an athlete. But did that happen? Percentage-wise, I fared better this year in my age group and overall than in 2013 (when conditions were more favorable). But I was worse compared to last year's results, when conditions were much windier on the bike and more favorable on the run.

Have I peaked as a triathlete? It's only going to get harder to find time to train now that Audra is growing rapidly, so finding more time to improve is probably out of the question. I honestly thought I could flirt with breaking 10 hours this year at IMAZ if the conditions were perfect and once again I was nowhere close. Is that goal a Quixotic dream? And Kona, which I thought could be a stretch goal I was closing in on, feels more distant than ever. A Legacy slot seems my best hope. Only five more years of Ironman races to go then! Hooray!

I'm not calling the Wahmbulance over this great injustice. I have no regrets about my training or the race itself. There were some big changes in my life that delivered a profound level of joy that is simply irreplaceable. That made those big training changes far easier to make. It's also important to note that April, May and June were largely a wash for me from a training standpoint due to illness, burnout, moving to a new home and of course, Audra's birth. So, Brian had to essentially build me up from scratch to where we wound up on race day. And to his credit, I arrived at Tempe Town Lake statistically in the best shape of my life. I'm reminding myself to stay positive and think what he and I can do together if we use this new fitness base to improve upon for Ironman Vineman next July.

During the race,  I took calculated chances, and grew as a person and triathlete in the process. I dictated my race for a change, instead of simply managing the day based on what the weather gave me. That took confidence.  I hope to take more chances in future races like Wildflower and Vineman, in fact. I liked the rush of not knowing whether they would pay off instead of simply going with the flow. 

I won't resume formal training for a few more weeks. Body, mind, and soul need a triathlon break, and I simply want to snuggle up with my wife and baby in bed every morning without rushing out the door to train.  My first race won't likely be until  next May. That will give me plenty of time to think about the athlete I am, the athlete I want to be, and what the best path is to arrive at my ultimate desired destination without sacrificing what matters most: family. 

I'm sure there will be several ways we can skin that cat.

"I am sooooooo happy that is over with. Let Week of Decadence begin!!!"

"I am sooooooo happy that is over with. Let Week of Decadence begin!!!"

The Pros and Cons of Race Management

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

The Ironman finisher's 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.


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.


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.



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.


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 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 after I bundled up due to some shivering post-race.

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.

Triathlon 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. 


  • 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.


  • 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. 




AsiaFest Travel, Day 1

The view from breakfast in Singapore this morning, or is it body clock has no idea at the moment...

The view from breakfast in Singapore this morning, or is it body clock has no idea at the moment...

One of the reasons I've been able to improve rather substantially the past few seasons of triathlon racing is because of a consistent training schedule.  I could almost always count on a steady two hours Monday through Friday, with a training day either on Saturday or Sunday. All the workouts added up, I got faster, times improved, and I found myself competing for age group podiums on occasion.

This year, specifically this summer, has been very different. June and July brought a vacation to Bali, a convention in San Diego, and bronchitis along with it. August brought a huge gaming convention called Gamescom, in Germany, and my reward for that trip was a second bout with bronchitis.  I've missed close to a full week of training to illness and almost two weeks to business travel.

Now, it's Saturday at 10 Singapore. Here I begin a whirlwind tour taking me eventually to Seoul and Taipei to promote Sunset Overdrive, our game studio's Xbox One exclusive coming out this October.  If I'm lucky, I'll fit in roughly five training sessions over the nine days I'm gone. The optimist in me wants to focus on the quality Ironman Arizona prep workouts I'll manage despite a challenging schedule that includes 20,000 air miles.  The pessimist fights back hard, reminding me that's four lost opportunities, four lost chances to reach my goal of breaking 10 hours at IMAZ in November, let alone a sub-5 hour finish at Ironman 70.3 Silverman in a few weeks.

I suppose all I can do is my best, which will be begin immediately after this post. One workout at a time. I've only been off the plane six hours after my 18 hour odyssey. But don't feel bad for me.  I flew Singapore Airlines business class.

Sure, I'll try the duck foie gras starter, but I can't quite choose between the Italian chianti or the French Bordeaux, so let's go with both.

Sure, I'll try the duck foie gras starter, but I can't quite choose between the Italian chianti or the French Bordeaux, so let's go with both.

I finally understand how folks like the President of the United States can look like they haven't missed a beat after a grueling travel day.  

Singapore Airlines is the best I've ever flown.  Huge seats. Amazing food. Courteous and helpful flight attendants.  And the flights across the ocean were largely empty on the expansive A-380, which featured an all-business class upper deck. 

Since arriving, I've tried to find a 10k or half-marathon to race. I came close, but the half marathon that begins tomorrow is reserved primarily for members of the Singapore Armed Forces, and the 10k that begins this afternoon (huh?) is about 25 minutes away and there are no age-group prizes. Meh. I'm going to run near the site of the Singapore Grand Prix on a beautiful garden path. Will share more with my next update.

I should get some nice swim yardage in here, I think. Plus, good sighting chances to not go over the edge haha!

I should get some nice swim yardage in here, I think. Plus, good sighting chances to not go over the edge haha!

Ironman training isn't glamorous. It's not always fun. But it certainly can be exotic.

Ship It, Dammit!

It's been almost five years...time for a new website design!

It's been almost five years...time for a new website design!

Publishing a new blog site, in some ways, is like preparing for a major race.  You map out your goals. You may hire someone to help you realize your vision.  You encounter numerous obstacles, some more serious than others. As your launch date approaches, the changes you make get smaller and smaller. Until finally, there's just one thing left to do...hit the LAUNCH button and hope for the best.

One big difference though is that when it's your own personal project and there's no countdown clock involved, intentions evaporate into wishes and vague promises that sound like, "Yeah, I should get to that." You ignore enough of those in triathlon training and when race day does show up...well, you know what happens.

I've procrastinated reformatting my blog site for way too long. As in the better part of 2014.  And I stopped blogging daily a long time ago. Too much work, too much training, too many new opportunities with Lava and All excuses. Good and valid ones, in fact. But excuses nonetheless.

If you want something bad enough, you don't need a deadline to motivate you. 

Welcome to the revamped A place where I hope to include new content on a daily basis, even if it's me asking for YOUR submissions to make this site even better.

More to come!