Eat Well, Train Well

Day 4 of my week off of Ironman training went well.  I slept long, ate large -- including a lunch feast at Cecconi's in West LA -- and generally relaxed. I suppose it was the perfect time for a seminar on nutrition.

Tonight's discussion at Runnergy off Ventura Boulevard in Sherman Oaks was sponsored by Fortius and served as the perfect wake-up call that my respite was drawing to a close.  And that I probably should watch what I'm eating a little more this week.

Though I don't regret for one second the BBQ ribs, McDonald's cheeseburger, chili-cheese hot dog, ice cream, cookies and wild boar pappardelle ragout pasta consumed at various points during the week.

Damn, all of it tasted great!  Makes my mouth water a little just thinking about it.

At least now I can better appreciate just how bad that stuff is for me.  The nutritionist offered several pithy reminders of how diet and proper race nutrition can dictate your performance.  Some examples:

-- Have you "eaten a rainbow" today?  Simply put, picture a rainbow as symbolizing all the colors of the fruits and vegetables you should consume every single day.  Me? Today I got as far as green (lettuce), red (tomatoes), orange (carrots),and  yellow (banana).  Overall, we're supposed to have nine servings of fruits and veggies per day.

-- What color is your pee?  (Hope I'm not getting too personal.) If you're drinking enough water, it should always be clear or near-clear.  If your pee looks like beer then you're dehydrated.  If it's neon green then you've wasted your money on expensive multi-vitamins, which usually only absorb in your body at approximately 30% capacity.

-- How much water should you drink every day?  Believe it or not, divide your body weight in two and take that number in ounces.  For me, that's roughly 66 ounces of water every day, or approximately eight glasses of water (assuming roughly 80z per glass).

-- When it comes to carbohydrates, brown is your friend, white is not.  That sucks, because all the "good" tasting stuff is generally white (rice, pasta, white bread, flour, etc.).  But, the sugar goes straight in and out of your body.  "Brown" carbs (wheats, grains) stay in your system longer.

So what did I do once I heard all this information tonight?

I went home and ate Trader Joe's mint-n-chip ice cream.

Don't. Say. Anything.

That said, I'm getting more and more excited to get back on the training regimen.  I bounded up the stairs at work today, which is a sign that my energy level is returning to normal. I even jogged to a couple meetings today and to my car after work.  I love the feeling of feeling better.  I'm not all the way there yet, but am honestly about 90% now.  Can't wait for the final 10% to kick in!

Who knows, maybe I'll be eager to work out a little in the morning.

Nah.

243 days and counting.

Getting Back to Good

It's been 10 days since I last felt "normal." (Note: Some reading this blog would debate my definition of "normal.")

But I'm getting there.  Today was the first day I started to walk with moderate to little pain whether from illness or the LA marathon.  My legs are still sore, don't get me wrong.  But it's not accompanied by stiff shoulders and an achey neck.  My throat is noticeably tender but not raw.  My feet don't feel swollen or broken, though I owe our company massage therapist, Abby, for that.  Just 30 minutes with her this afternoon made me feel exponentially better.

And I'm getting caught up at work too.  My inbox is close to empty and workflow is back on track.  The past few days I've felt discombobulated in the office.  Like I was operating in a fog while trying to get better from the cold, prepare for the marathon, and catch up from the video games conference.  Finally, I can see some daylight.

And it looks good!

Meanwhile, I'm enjoying my time off from training this week.  I'm eating whatever I want (today that meant BBQ ribs for lunch), catching up on sleep (9-10 hours a night), spending quality time with Stephanie (even though she's sicker than I am right now) and generally starting to unwind a bit.

In other words, I'm getting back to good.

I'm hopeful this will help and not hurt my training in the long-term.

Time will tell.  I'm getting excited for Monday, but am glad it's still a few days away.

244 days and counting.

So That's What Happened

I went to the doctor's today. You know, about eight days too late. Turns out that while I indeed had a cold that definitely contributed to my demise at the LA Marathon, allergies played a big role too.

Allergies?  I haven't had allergy problems for years.

Think again.  My recent trail runs and bike rides to Hidden Valley came at the peak of spring, when all sorts of pollens were in full bloom.  As a result, my throat tightened, my glands hardened, my lungs overworked, and my breathing suffered.  This led, according to the doctor, to fatigue, which ultimately contributed to my body saying "enough is enough!" on Sunday.

So, as if I was 9 and getting allergy shots, I'm on medication again.  Flo-Nase and Allegra.

The good news is that I'm feeling better already.  My throat is starting to loosen and isn't quite as sore.  My eyes, while dry and droopy, feel a little lighter for getting so much sleep the past few days.

I'm going to take the rest of the week off from training, no matter how I feel. I think it's time for a little break.  Time to heal the muscles and just relax for a few days.  I'll get back to the training grind this Monday.

After all, I've got another triathlon coming up.  The next goal: Newport Beach triathlon on April 11.  Mark it down.  I will be ready. More than ready!  I'm getting fired up just typing about it.

But for now, I'm more fired up for a good night's sleep.  A full night's sleep with no training jolting me out of bed at the crack of dawn.  Yup, a mini-training vacation.

G'night.

245 days and counting.

A Race About Friendship

The LA Marathon won't be remembered for my performance.

I finished in 5:11, nearly a full 1.5 hours slower than I had hoped.  Sickness and fatigue shut me down at mile 9, somewhere between the end of Los Angeles and beginning of West Hollywood.    I don't quite remember where, but I remember when.  I was running with my buddy Chris and we both were steadily maintaining a 9:00-mile pace after a quick opening sequence of 8:35-minute miles.  However, as I monitored my heart-rate during the first hour of the run, I realized I was high in zone 5, around 166 bpm.  Something was very wrong, considering I was running slower than anticipated and in a full two heart-rate zones higher.  At that point, we came to the 10-mile water stop and I told Chris to continue ahead without me.  I needed a break.  He said he'd wait, but I knew better.  The race was over for me.

Chris disappeared quickly into the sea of runners.

Even though I was surrounded by people, I felt totally alone.  Dejected.  Defeated.

Angry.

I had trained so damn hard for this moment, nearly five months.  And it was gone in an hour.  Gone.

I tried to jog the next couple miles and watched as my pace slowly deterioriated.  Even with more effort, my times were slowing.  Ten-minute miles became 11.  Eleven minutes became 12.  With each step, I became angrier and more frustrated.

This wasn't fair!  I didn't deserve this!

Then, I remembered those poor kids from the Starlight Foundation.

THAT wasn't fair.

I started to pull it together around mile 13.  But then, I was rounding the corner onto La Cienega from Sunset when I ran into my Fortius teammate, Christina.  She was off to the side, walking.  I knew something terrible was wrong for her too.  Sadly I was right.  She pulled a quad muscle and was done for the day.  She couldn't bend her leg. Tears in her eyes, we hugged.  The day hadn't turned out the way either of has had imagined, and she's got an Ironman in six weeks!  I did my best to console her, and then she was gone.  Crossing the barricades to meet her husband for what must have been a sad ride home.

Again, I was alone.  Strangely, I had come to peace with the race by then.  I calmly resigned myself to two choices: Quit, or finish.

If I quit, nobody would blame me.  I was sick.  I was tired.  I hurt.  But, if I quit during the marathon, maybe I'd quit during the Ironman?

It's like cheating in a relationship.  If you do it once, you are capable of doing it multiple times.  That's not my style.

And there was more to it than that. Now that Stephanie and I are finally together, once and for all, I wanted to show her what I was made of.  What I really was made of.  That no matter how much the pain hurt.  Now matter how tired I was. No matter how I felt, I wouldn't EVER quit on her.   I would never quit on us.

From that moment on, at Santa Monica Boulevard and La Cienega, there was only one thing on my mind: Finish the damn marathon.

The next four miles were rough, but entertaining in a bizarre way.  West Hollywood was festive to say the least.  The crowds were boisterous and the street performances were lively.  The cross-dressing cheerleaders were definitely the highlight.

Then it was onto Beverly Hills.  Here I received a big boost from my friend and co-worker, Jason, and his wife, Jen.  They waited extra long for me to hit Wilshire and Rodeo Drive even though their friends had long past that checkpoint.  They walked a few blocks with me until I turned onto Santa Monica Boulevard again towards Westwood.  Their support and positive encouragement really made me feel good.  Despite my best efforts, I was still pretty dejected about my day.  But they helped put it in perspective that I was still going to finish something special.

Unfortunately, as much of a mental boost as that was, it quickly dissipated.  My body started to lock up and break down around mile 16.  I was walking almost full miles at this point.  I had no ability to run more than a few hundred yards before my heart rate would blow up again.

It was at this point that I saw the best familiar face possible: My longest-tenured friend, Kevin.  I've known Kevin since damn near pre-school. We've played soccer together.  We went to elementary school together.  We went to high school together.  We backpacked Europe together.  We've run half-marathons together.

And now, we've run the LA Marathon together.

Out of 25,000 runners, I literally had run into my best friend!

Kevin was having problems too with his marathon.  His knee was locking up.  And it was at this point I realized what the true point of my first marathon would be: It was a race about friendship.  Whether it was supporting my buddy Chris at the beginning, Christina in the middle, or Kevin in the end, this wasn't about performance.  It was about perspective.  About support.  About friendship.

The rest of the marathon was painful.  My feet felt broken.  My calves were incredibly tight despite wearing compression socks.  My IT band swelled.  But it was OK.  Friends such as Jennifer and Ryan showed their support near the Mormon Temple in Westwood.  Jason and Jen drove down to Brentwood to cheer me on and offer some refreshing coconut water at mile 22.  Stephanie kept me sane and motivated throughout the morning with text messages.  Corey and Maggie texted me telling me they were waiting at the finish line.

How lucky am I?

The final few miles couldn't have progressed more slowly.  My body was totally breaking down.  I'd shuffle a few yards, stop, wait for Kevin, or vice versa, and we'd continue walking. Cursing, but walking.  Questioning, but not quitting.  Never quitting.

FINALLY, the finish line was in sight.  Kevin and I tried to pick up the pace heroically, but all I was doing was searching for Stephanie, or listening for her.  That's all I wanted.  I just wanted to tell her that this race was for her.  That there was no quit in this body.  Not for the race, not for anything.

Kevin saw her first.  He pointed her out and I stopped everything to run across the packed street to give her a huge hug behind the barricade, just 10 yards from the finish.  Apparently my family and friends were right behind her, but honestly I only saw her.  It was a special moment.  All the pain and frustration was worth it.

I finished the LA Marathon, arm around Kevin.  We did it.

I will run better marathons.  I will set more personal bests.  But I don't know if I'll ever have an experience as special as my first marathon.  And I owe it to my friends.  To my family, including my parents who woke up so early after flying across the country the evening before.  To my sister and her boyfriend, who showed up just in time for the finish after having friends in town to entertain.

And, surprisingly, to the residents of Los Angeles, who lined the streets for nearly the entire route supporting us crazy marathoners.  I may not have acknowledged all of them, but I sure did hear them and appreciate their presence.  This city sure is beautiful when it wants to be.

Like the Randy Newman song, I love LA.

And today, I paid the price during recovery.  I left work early due to exhaustion even though I slept nearly 10 hours last night.  I'm still coughing up all sorts of stuff, and my legs are stiff and achey.

But it's a good kind of pain.

The kind associated with finishing something I started.

246 days and counting.

Calmness Pervades

I've spent so much time counting down to the Ironman that the LA Marathon snuck up on me.  Even with counting down every single day starting the beginning of the November. How'd that happen?

No matter, I'm glad it did.  As a result both of looking ahead to November 2010 and my current sickness, I find myself incredibly calm hours before the marathon.  I just returned from dinner with my friends from as far back as elementary school.  It was a pre-race carb-loading meal at Bucca di Beppo. (A small note on that: Do not go there when you want a quiet evening of conversation and reflection.  Bedlam!  Not good for a sore throat.)  Even my friends were surprised at how mellow I was at the meal.  I blame the meds.  I've been taking Sudafed nasal decongestant throughout the day, and was lucky enough to catch two naps in between meals.  More like I needed two naps due to the fatigue.  Even now, I feel a little spacey.

I'm tired.  If there wasn't a marathon to be run tomorrow, I'd probably take the day off from training.  No matter, especially after seeing those amazing children and teens last night at the Starlight Charity event.

I know I can finish the marathon tomorrow.  I've put in the training.  I've done the hill climbs.  I've ran in the rain and the mud.  I've run 14 miles before the start of a 10k race .

No matter how I feel when I wake up tomorrow, I am ready.

Ready for the pain.  The fatigue.  The crowds.  The elation.  The beauty of the city and support of its inhabitants.

I'm ready for all of it.

I'm ready to check off a lifelong goal -- to complete a marathon -- off my proverbial "Bucket List."  I never thought I'd see this day because of my asthma, IT band tightness, flat feet and bad back.  But here I am, ready to compete.  Ready to run. Ready to do my best.

And no matter what, it will be a personal best marathon time!  (Though, to be honest, I'm shooting for 3:45-3:55 as my goal timeframe.)

Ready.

And now, ready to sleep.

When I write tomorrow, I will have completed my first marathon.  That's pretty damn cool.

1 day and counting, part of the journey towards 248 days and counting.

Not What I Expected

I am still not feeling well.  My throat is improving but still sore -- though sipping bitter ginger tea the past 24 hours has definitely helped.  I'm fatigued and my neck is still tight despite Abby's magical hands.  I'm coughing junk up from my lungs. But, I was able to log a hassle-free-but-sweaty one-hour spin on my bike trainer this morning. No pain, no problems.

The LA Marathon is in three days.

At this point, I have no idea what to expect.

I thought I'd be better by now. I figured my health, nutrition, training, mental outlook and all the factors that go into effective race preparation would help me.  Instead, I'm exhausted.

Maybe I can get that magical good night's sleep tonight that will put me over the edge towards a final recovery.  After a yoga/stretching session that I'm about to begin shortly within the comfort of my bedroom, I will take a hot bath and immediately go to sleep.  With the help of some melatonin and possibly head cold medicine.  At least that's the plan.

I wish I had something more positive or upbeat to discuss. The truth is, I'm nervous.  Quiet.  Tired.  Pensive.  Shifty. This isn't how things are supposed to go days before my first marathon.

I'm still planning to run the race.  But now I'm also planning to bring my cell phone in case I can't continue on the route for some reason.  I hope to erase the need by Sunday.

Right now, I don't know what to expect.

I can only hope for the best.

250 days and counting.

PS: For those of you who are running the LA Marathon with me, I enjoyed this Los Angeles Times article about whether it's truly faster to drive the marathon route in rush-hour traffic or run it during the marathon.  It's funny and sad because it's true.  There are some good running tips embedded throughout the piece as well.  Enjoy!

T-Minus 4 Days and Nervous

My recovery from the GDC "nerd flu" is literally becoming a race against time. Coach Gerardo was hoping I'd be better by today.  He thought two days would be sufficient for a full recovery if I rested and hydrated enough.  We're headed into the fourth day and while my body is adjusting back to the beginnings of normalcy, I'm just not feeling great yet.  Despite my massage therapist Abby's best efforts, I'd put my condition as an 8 on a scale of 10.  My neck isn't as sore as last night and I've gained some mobility, but my throat is still scratchy and raw.  Worse yet, I've started coughing up phlegm.  Nasty stuff too, of the fluorescent and mocha-colored variety.

All of this is starting to get me worried.  I've got four more days to be 100% healthy and ready for my first marathon.  If what is now a head cold seeps into my chest, I'm all but finished for the marathon before it starts.

Not all of today's news was poor. In fact, I was being able to run without any side effects for 45 minutes.  My lone workout called for an hour staying within heart-rate zone 1, which was no problem -- even running up to 6 mph for five minutes without approaching 140 bpm.  (I had to cut short the workout due to a busy day at work.) That's definitely a good sign, so much so that by the end of the workout I didn't really need to shower before changing since I hadn't broken a major sweat.

Tomorrow, I'm spinning for an hour and 15 minutes and then doing an hour of yoga in the evening.  That's the plan. At this point though, I've learned that plans don't necessarily matter.  It's what you do and how you act when reality presents itself to you, ready or not.

251 days and counting.

Achey Breaky Body

From the neck down, I'm starting to feel better. I broke my fever in the wee hours of the morning -- no, I didn't feel the earthquake -- and my foot has been pain-free for two days now. From the neck up, I'm a mess.  My neck and shoulder muscles are tight to the point that I can't look past 90 degrees on either side.  My throat feels like it's embedded with glass shards that tear at anything approaching solid food.  I know because I couldn't take soup anymore today (after two pints from Canter's and one large serving from Dupar's) and ventured out for a Subway sandwich and later on, a burger.  Caloric intake temporarily overtook sensibility.

I spoke with Coach Gerardo late this evening to get a sense of my chances for the LA Marathon.  He still thinks this sort of thing is very normal and explained why.  Apparently when the taper phase occurs shortly before an important race, the body is tricked into thinking that it's OK to shut down and repair itself.  Therefore, your immune system is more susceptible to illness.  Further, pre-race illness is a symptom of the beginning phases of over-training.  Those factors, coupled with my trip to San Francisco and attending a convention contributed to my downfall.

It makes so much sense, but that doesn't make this any less frustrating. I've worked too hard to come this far and be denied a kick-ass marathon.  Won't.  Happen. Period.

One positive indication of my recovery came via an hour of yoga from home using a DVD that Stephanie loaned.  Yesterday, I didn't have an ounce of energy to even move around the house.  Today was different.  Better.  Progress.  Once again, solitary yoga turned out to be so much more productive than a group session.  I was able to focus on purely nasal breathing the entire time, along with focusing exclusively on form and not what others in the class were doing and how they looked by comparison.  Despite my kvetching about my neck, all other body parts seem to be getting back to normal.  That is encouraging.  And with my massage tomorrow with Abby, I'm hopeful she can push me over the top.

We'll see how tomorrow goes.  For now, it's time to get some more rest.  Apparently 12 hours and an hour nap today weren't enough.

252 days and counting.

A Tale of Two Selves

In the sport of triathlon, mental outlook is almost everything. Thanks to a long-time friend and colleague, I was reminded of that this morning -- on Twitter, of all places.

My friend Patrick, responding to my "woe is me!" tweet about being sick before the marathon, replied, "@ryanps74, the @theiornmadman makes this a positive."

Sometimes the most powerful of motivations comes in the simplest of messages.  Not even a full 140 characters!  Though I find it amusing that both people mentioned in the tweet are one person.  How can that be?  It's such an image to me: my normal "ryanps74" self laying on the couch, ill and down for the count, while my alter-ego, "theironmadman" is being summoned to overcome and persevere.  A tug-of-war between two selves.  One dogged and downtrodden, the other energetic and excited.  One defeated, the other indefatigable.

Four months ago, there was only one "me."  Now, apparently there are two.  And perhaps, like a superhero, I can try to summon "theironmadman" not just when competing in a triathlon, but in other aspects of my life.  It honestly had never occurred to me prior to Patrick's tweet.

When I started my Ironman journey, I knew I'd become a better athlete, but I never considered I'd morph into a different person.  It's interesting that others can see the makings of a transformation on the outside while I failed to recognize it occurring from within.

Thank you, Patrick.

Now, I'll shut down for the night.

I've got a fever to beat back.

253 days and counting.

7 Days til the Marathon and I'm Sick!

I've heard of this phenomenon and was hoping it wouldn't happen to me.  Coach Gerardo told me recently that coming down with an illness in the days leading to a big race typically happens about two weeks in advance.  And it's perfectly normal. Surprise!  I'm sick.  And a giant blitzkrieg at that.

But instead of a fortnight, I've got seven days to rest, hydrate and make sure I don't lose my physical or mental edge before the LA Marathon.

Crap.

The achey body, sore throat, watery, itchy eyes and hot-to-the-touch skin all struck at once -- about five hours after an otherwise uneventful trail run at Chesebero Park around 9 this morning.  In fact, I did very well on the 30-minute tempo portion, clocking sub-8:00 miles and never exceeding an 8:15 pace.  That said, my plantar fasciitis is acting up on the arch of my left foot, to the point where I could barely walk the rest of the day.

I'm definitely getting worried.  I feel like I'm starting to fall apart.  I suppose it was bound to happen after pushing myself so hard the past few months. Or after a few days of shaking hands with all types of folks at the video games conference. (I even used Purell an ungodly amount of times, what gives!?) But one week before the race? Really?

(Fortunately, all this happened before our afternoon of engagement ring shopping, which went really well!  More details another time when I know she's not reading over my shoulder.)

As Stephanie can tell you though (or my parents), I'm a bit dramatic when I don't feel well.  In fact, can you feel Steph's eye-roll?  Perhaps it's because I'm so used to being in good health that it accentuates my pathetic-ness when those rare moments occur.  Maybe it's because I watched too much Ferris Bueller's Day Off and identified more with Cameron growing up.  Either way, thank goodness for Steph tonight.  She's taking good care of me with Canter's matzah ball soup, lots of herbal tea and cold medicine.  I'm a lucky dude.

To be safe tomorrow, I'm taking the day off work.  I need to rest and sleep as much as possible to beat this with enough time to resume my training pre-race.  It literally is a race against time, and I hope my body is up for the task.

Come on, Ry.  Don't fail me now.

And Ferris, wherever you are, don't even think of calling me.  I so will NOT pick up.

"When Ryan was in Egypt's land...LET MY RYAN GO!!!"

254 days and counting.