Why Coached Swim Workouts Rule

Been a busy few days!  No blog yesterday due to a Fortius post-swim beer and pizza night at Blue Dog Grill in Sherman Oaks.  It was well-deserved too, with a new PR in the 100 (1:26) and being totally gassed after anchoring a 4 x 50 sprint relay at the end of the workout.  I wanted to write, but just didn't have the energy after all the food, booze and trash-talking dished out among my Fortius team buddies.  So I saved last night's entry for tonight. I'm still caked in dried sweat and salt following the LA Tri Club Griffith Park Wednesday brick workout.  But I know if I don't blog now and wait until after a hot shower, it just may not happen at all.

There's certainly lots I could write about from the past two days.  Whether Tempe Town Lake will be filled in time for the Arizona Ironman, for example. Or, how I'm recovering from my bicycle bonk on Sunday.  Or, the secret guilt I've been harboring lately about balancing work, home and training.

Instead, I'm going to address a question Coach Gerardo had for me last night at the bar.  He asked how I thought coached swim workouts make me better.

I hadn't really considered it before.  Perhaps it's because I've taken it for granted, since I've swam with an instructor's supervision for more than a year now.  The more I think about it though, the more I realize how much of a difference a coached workout can make.

For me, it comes down to four key benefits:

-- Breaks up the monotony. Before I started attending SCAC and Fortius Coaching swim workouts, I'd trudge to the pool on my own, count laps, trudge out of the water, and think I had put in a good workout.  I dreaded every pool training session, and I saw little improvement.  By having a coached workout, there's always the excitement of wondering what the coach has in store for you. It changes with every workout, and by breaking up the hour with drills, time-trials and sprints, every workout feels unique enough to stay fresh.

-- Pushes you out of a comfort zone. When training on my own in the water, it's easy to rationalize just about anything.  Distance. Duration.  Decreasing sets.  Decreased effort. Especially effort.  If I didn't feel like going hard -- for whatever reason -- I could make up an excuse.  In a coached workout, dogging a workout wastes your financial investment and your precious time.  More important, if you respond well to direction like I do, then it's easier to "let" someone else push you through a hard workout.  Sure, it's fun to whine and light-heartedly complain about it (like I do), but the satisfaction that comes with responding to and rising above someone else's challenge makes a coached workout a more special experience than a solo effort.

-- Competition as motivator. If you're anything like me -- and if you're reading this I'm guessing you are -- sharing lanes with people at or above your skill level makes a difference in a workout.  When you swim alone, you can isolate yourself in the water and ignore the surroundings.  When you're part of a group, and there's five lanes that represent a swim speed hierarchy, it's a lot harder to avoid the reality that a coached workout may be your only ticket to improvement.  For me, I crave and dread that competition.  On one hand, I love to know how I stack up to my friends.  On the other hand, I hate when I'm keeping them from a faster lap time because they're behind me and can't quite pass in the lane at that moment.  Maybe it's better to say competition as catalyst, fear as motivator.

-- Peer pressure. 6 a.m. is early by anybody's standards.  It's flat-out awful in the winter when you're practically naked jumping into a semi-heated pool.  But when there are 10 other people doing the same thing, sharing the same experience and making the best of it, well, it's not so bad.  The coached swim workout is a bonding ritual. It's those quiet mornings in the pool when everyone in attendance could be asleep that bring individuals closer together.  It's also one of the reasons I get misty eyed at the finish chute during triathlon races.  Those are the moments I recall.  The quiet, gentle water being ripped by hungry athletes trying improve themselves.  The eerie light in the pool shining brightly reminding you that the sun hasn't risen yet -- but you and your teammates have been up for almost an hour already.  The steam that drifts to the sky if the temperature difference is big enough -- punctuated by the silhouettes of latex-hooded, goggle-wearing tri-maniacs trying not to shiver.

Those are my fondest moments of a coached workout.

Though being high-fived after hitting the coach's goals for a new time-trial PR aren't bad either.

Now I need to sign off pronto.

I've got a coached swim workout to attend at 6 tomorrow morning.

101 days and counting.

Overdoing It

I wrote my blog last night in a strong but tired state of mind.  Then, I signed off my laptop to fall asleep. And waited.  And waited.  And waited some more.

Actually, I waited a loooong time before even coming close to sleeping.  Despite the chilly 67 degrees setting on my air conditioning, I was flushed.   I kept changing pillows to find anything resembling the normal coolness that soothes me to sleep.  No relief.  My skin felt like it was truly hot to the touch. Feverish, almost.  My head throbbed. Eventually, I trudged into the living room and tried to crash there -- with an ice wrap on the back of my neck and the cool leather of the couch providing some unlikely help.  That barely helped.  Whether it was waking up to readjust on the couch, use the restroom or drink water, my exhausted body just couldn't turn itself off.

I've really never had that happen before.  Even my heart rate felt elevated.

I'm not quite sure what heat stroke feels like, but if I had to guess, this was it.

And I had nobody to blame but myself.  In hindsight, yesterday I shattered the line between breaking new ground and breaking myself in the process.

After about four hours of fairly awful sleep, 8:30 a.m. sounded off on my alarm with all the charm of a drill instructor banging pots.  There was no way I was going to be productive today at work, so I used a sick day and just stayed home and rested.  I caught up on some extra sleep only to be rudely awakened by Trudy and Bam-Bam using their condo as a jungle gym once again.

I swear I'll have my revenge on them one day. (In a perfectly legal way, for any lawyers reading.)

Overall, I feel better now.  I tried to do too much over the past week and my body decided to send a formal letter of protest.

Message received.

I should be more even-paced over the next few days, which will help.  And I've once again learned a valuable training lesson: Intensity is not always the best substitute for duration.

There will be many more challenges during the next three-plus months march toward the Ironman.  Hopefully, I'll approach those challenges with my usual smarts and ease back on the bravado.

Easier said than done!

103 days and counting.

Mulholland, Piuma & Rock Store OH MY!

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

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

First let's rewind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I don't fucking quit.

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

The ride sucked.  The ride taught.

I cracked.  And repatched.

I wilted. And am regenerating.

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

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

Thanks, Christina.

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

104 days and counting.

Blogging is Hard

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

Life is pretty awesome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let's see what tomorrow brings.

107 days and counting.

And Now What?

Watching an Ironman in person felt almost as grueling as participating in one.  Or at least a Half-Ironman! You're outside, on your feet, in the sun, for upwards of 15 hours.  Scoping the perfect spot to cheer for your friend or loved one.  Hoping you'll be in the right place at the right moment.  Hoping he or she will acknowledge you.  Just for a few seconds as they run, bike, limp or jog past.  Those moments are the only thing you have to break up a whole lot of waiting.  Then, after hours upon hours, from dawn to dusk, you watch your buddy triumphantly run those last 100 yards to the finish.  Arms raised.  Broad smile.  Sweat pouring.

And then it's over.

I'm not sure who is more bummed that Vineman Full is finished; my friends who completed it, or me.  I was merely a spectator, but I felt -- I feel -- so invested in their success that for hours after my friend Rusty crossed the finish just shy of 13 hours, I found myself wondering one thing:

"And now what?"

"And now what?"

Seriously, after the race it could have been December 26, or January 2.  Massive buildup, a triumphant, sudden conclusion, and then wham!  The clock stops, your Ironman ends, you go to dinner to celebrate, and the day is over.  The next day comes, you celebrate some more, and then it's back to reality.

The rapid finality of my friends' Ironman experiences shocked me.  It drained me.  It taught me.  It's almost unfair because to those who don't know, it's "just" a mind-boggling athletic accomplishment.

There's so much more though!

Nobody can understand all the solitary hours of training unless they do it for themselves. The inconveniences.  The sacrifices.  The physical anguish and mental fatigue.  That's what makes an Ironman special.  That's why I got teary-eyed (again) watching men and women cross the finish line.  Total strangers. The race is the crowning achievement of a challenge few people choose to endure.  The race is the finale.  The culmination.  The validation.  I think it's that knowledge of their struggle that connected me to all the athletes on the course this weekend. I knew what each of them was thinking because I've been there myself. "Just a little bit more." "Damn it I hurt."  "I'm thirsty."  "I want to quit."

But they don't.  They won't.  They can't.  They shuffle forward.  Alone.  With runners and supporters all around them.  Each engulfed in their own narrative.

And all us fans see is that five-second glimpse of our loved ones.  We try to assess their performance in that moment.  How do they look?  What's the pace?  When will they finish?  Did they even see me?  Meanwhile, on the inside, the triathlete is enveloped in self-analysis.  One lap down.  Two laps down.  Need more fluids.  No cramps yet.  Will that blister pop already?

How strange it was this weekend to have lived in both worlds of the Ironman, spectator and participant.  Yet I didn't quite feel immersed in either.  I ran one lap of the marathon course as part of my weekend training and biked part of the course as well.  I avoided the competitors as much as possible to ensure the race officials didn't think I was pacing anyone.  I didn't accept anything from any aid station, despite several volunteers offering.  This wasn't my Ironman.  No thanks.  That's bad karma, as far as I'm concerned.  And, as a spectator, I was gone for hours at a time training on the bike or chatting with other friends.  I didn't sit or stand in one spot in the summer heat, like so many other dedicated fans.  I could take a break.

I was in triathlon purgatory.  I loved it.  I hated it.

At the same time, I learned so much.  First and foremost, I didn't realize how glib I was when I referred to my fiancee and me as Team Schneider because of how dedicated she has been in supporting my journey.  After experiencing what she goes through on race day, I haven't come close to describing how important it is to have that kind of partner.  And how hard it is to be a supporter in this sport.  I'm atoning for that here.  I've also realized that it's not the Ironman that makes Ironmen special.  It's the work that goes into becoming an Ironman.  The work nobody sees. If you don't savor those quiet, exhausting moments, if you don't appreciate the journey itself and every single lonely workout, then the day after an Ironman could become the hollowest of days.

Because "And now what?" is an unanswerable question.  Rather, it's an insatiable appetite.

Maybe that explains why I'm always so damned hungry.

110 days and counting.

From Tin to Steel Man Part III: Post-Race Vacation

Every romantic holiday should start by shotgunning beers. At least mine did!  Stephanie and I celebrated our Half-Ironman achievements with my Fortius teammates at a friend's home in Santa Rosa.  I knew it would be a raucous time when Mike sent me a text message, "We gonna shotgun beers!"

Uh, OK.  Actually, I think I texted back, "Fuck."

I hadn't shotgunned a beer since college, back when I was known as "Twiggy" and "Two Beer."

After 70.3 total miles in nearly 90-degree heat, I knew I'd be "One Beer."

We all laughed, drank (fairly heavily), traded race-day stories and ate a ton of carbs -- all with the Tour de France playing in the background.  It was this triathlon dork's dream party.

So began what has turned out to be a decadent week off from training, which I've enjoyed as thoroughly as the race itself.  So far in this racing odyssey, I've really yet to take adequate time to savor a race experience to the fullest.  I'm usually analyzing (and re-analyzing) every detail, immediately writing the blog, planning the next race and comparing notes with my fellow competitors.

For once this season, I decided to fully unplug and do what's most important: celebrate with my fiancee.  No Facebook (well, a little).  No Twitter.  No blog.  Just Steph and me.  Roadtrip companions.  Riding down PCH, no hotel reservations, no destination in particular, no plans.

No problem!

I've probably written about this before, but triathlon is a selfish pursuit.  It requires a lot of dedication and discipline, often coming at the expense of friendly social outings with mates and family.  That can pose problems in a relationship, especially if the other person isn't a triathlete.  That's why I've tried to ensure that Steph knows  that even though I'm doing the actual racing, she's my real race companion.  The person who makes my motor run.  The inspiration that makes me go just a little faster.

When I compete, I refer to us as Team Schneider.  And I really mean it.  But if that's the case, then WE need to celebrate better.  And that's what we did Sunday, Monday and Tuesday.

On Monday, we drove the Vineman 70.3 bike course so I could show Steph the route's beauty. Of course, that meant showing her several charming wineries that nearly led to impromptu wedding venue visits.

Annnnnnd we're moving right along. ... I sped up a little more at those intersections!

We had a good time talking about the key moments in the bike race and where exactly they occurred. I think it helped Steph visualize more of the experience since she could only see me during brief transitory moments.  We then took River Road past Guerneville all the way to Bodega Bay, stopping whenever the thought struck us for photo opps, an oyster shucking lesson and eventually a gigantic burger in Point Reyes further down on PCH.  Did you know Sir Francis Drake visited North America in 1579?  Yeah, neither did I.  Apparently he stopped in the Point Reyes area, maybe because the burger was just that damn good.

We eventually snaked our way on Highway 1 past Mount Tamalpais, through Saulsalito, past the Golden Gate bridge (hiding behind the clouds) and through the western most part of San Francisco.  By then it was close to 7 p.m. and we realized our plan of reaching Big Sur by sunset was going to fail.  But this turned into a big win since we had been trying unsuccessfully to visit with Steph's best friend Annie the entire weekend.  We shifted course to Annie and David's apartment in Los Gatos and enjoyed a late-night feast.

Tuesday was largely uneventful as we leisurely drove home from Annie's.  The key words are leisurely and uneventful.  Both my life and Steph's are so heavily scheduled that the notion of "free" time for either of us is almost unheard of.  This vacation was special not because of what we did, but what we didn't do.  We didn't rush from activity to activity, or plan around my training.  Of course, we did touch down at home around 4 p.m. only to leave a few hours later to enjoy another feast -- this time in Santa Monica -- with our good friends Erika and Adam.  (If you haven't eaten at Rustic Canyon, I'd recommend it. Though I'd avoid the pork chop unless you like it on the drier side.  The corn soup, crispy polenta, lamb meatballs and assortment of desserts more than compensate.)

We got home around 10:30 p.m. Team Schneider's whirlwind five-day Half-Ironman had crossed the finish line.  Much like how I looked at the end of the race, that's how I felt by the time the long weekend was over.  Gloriously spent.  We left nothing in the proverbial fuel tank.

To all my friends racing Vineman Full: I hope you will celebrate as hard as you trained.  I hope you hug or kiss the people in your life whom also sacrificed to help you reach your goals.  I hope you let them know how much it means to them when you see them screaming for you at every transition -- knowing they're really waiting several hours at a time just to catch a glimpse of you.

We couldn't do any of this without our race partners.  I can't do it without mine.

And I'm happy -- almost happy beyond words -- that I don't have to.

I may be signing off for a couple days.  If something comes up worth writing about during my time off, I will blog. If not, I'd like to spend more time with my friends and family before I dive back into the deep end of Ironman training.  I know what's in store for the next four months.

121 days and counting.

From Tin to Steel Man Part I: Pre-Race

Pain has never felt better. My quads are tight.  My IT bands are bolt rigid so when I walk it seems that I have no knees or am walking with stilts. It takes me longer than some geriatrics to get out of my car.  Their knees are probably better at the moment.

It's the best pain I've ever encountered.  The pain that comes with accomplishment.  With exceeding expectations.  With reaping the benefits of hard work.

That little M-dot symbol on my finisher's medal makes it all worthwhile.  I don't have to covet my friends and teammates' Ironman merchandise anymore.  I have my own to sport.  I earned it.

My Vineman 70.3 Half-Ironman weekend is now over. I've promoted myself from a Tin Man to Steel Man.  Iron is still a way's off in the distance. Four months away as of tomorrow.  And I have a LOT of training left to do -- I can't currently imagine doubling the Pain Meter.

But not just yet.  I've got a week off to savor and enjoy this achievement.  My blog the next few days will be all about my race experience from start to finish.  I'll add some tips for those those of my friends about to embark upon the Vineman 140.6 course in a couple weeks.  It's both a recap and a look ahead.  I'm dividing it up between Pre-Race, Race and Post-Race Vacation.

I hope you enjoy reading it, and if you raced with me this weekend, please feel free to share your own suggestions for the Vineman Full competitors.

PRE-RACE

Stephanie and I left Friday morning around 7:45 a.m.  If you are thinking of driving to Vineman on a Friday, I'd advise against it.  Consider Thursday, when weekend traffic to wine country should be a little less dense.  There's freeway construction on the 580-101 Freeway interchange just after crossing the bridge where you see San Quentin Prison on your left.  We went 20 miles in 1.5 hours.  Also, make sure you check the race schedule at Infeon Motor Speedway in Sonoma.  If there's a race, plan for traffic delays.  We hit both.

Earlier in the day, we stopped for lunch at Rudy's Can't Fail Cafe in Emeryville, across the street from the Hallowed Ground of Pixar Studios.  I had to show Steph where the magic happened!  By the time we set foot on Johnson's Beach in Guerneville, it was 5 p.m.  I immediately donned my wetsuit while keeping my calf compression sleeves on and swam for around 30 minutes to get acclimated to the river.  I highly recommend a pre-race swim as the Russian River is probably unlike anything you've experienced in a triathlon. There are multiple points where it makes as much sense to walk as it does swim.  Being a shorter guy, I could get away with swimming longer than most, but as I past the first two concrete bridges overhead about a quarter mile in I started scratching the mucky bottom with my fingertips.  Knowing where the walking might begin helped me prepare for the actual race as I knew I could go a little harder off the start and use a 15-second walk break to catch my breath if needed and recalibrate.  I also decided to abandon calf compression socks on the swim as the water temperature was warm and they started to bunch up anyway.

If you do a practice swim in the late afternoon, make sure someone watches your stuff.  For the second time during my training, someone made off with something so benign it's almost comical.  First it was a water bottle months ago.  This time, my flip sandals were snatched by an overzealous beach cleaner, who likely threw them out.  Steph saw a child's set of flips get tossed in the can by a beach cleaner as well, but the parents realized what was happening and dug them out. (Gross!  Know when to buy a new pair of flips!)

Once I wrapped up my swim and we checked into our hotel it was close to 7 p.m.  We went to sleep around 10:30 after a really nice meal in Santa Rosa at Ca Bianca (highly recommend!).  I wondered silently in the dark if I had too busy of a day to save any energy.

Saturday was packet pickup at Windsor High School.  I won't go into all the details, but future competitors, arrive early.  Coach Gerardo warned me how busy the day would be, and he wasn't joking.  I met my longtime friend and fraternity brother Rusty Carter at 9:15 a.m. for a brief brick workout. (Rusty is doing Vineman Full.) At 5:30 p.m., I'd be leaving Rusty to change for our pre-race dinner.  All that happened in between was event registration, a course talk that scared the crap out of me because of a strictly enforced WTC yellow/red car penalty system, buying various M-dot merchandise, driving the bike course (MUST HAVE) and a team lunch with my Fortius buddies.  Saturday's pre-race activities vanished as quickly as the race itself, though it took three hours longer.

Later that evening (probably too late), Steph, Rusty and I enjoyed our pre-race dinner at Jackson's in downtown Santa Rosa.  The homemade wood-fired pizzas are outstanding.  Take a chance like Rusty did with the Chef's Recommendation pizza where each creation is made on a chef's individual whim.  No two pizzas that night are quite the same.  Rusty's trust was rewarded with a blue cheese pizza with prosciuto and arugula drizzled in a balsamic glaze.  I went with a homemade bowtie pasta with grilled chicken and summer vegetables seasoned with a light olive oil sauce accented with lemon.  Steph got a hearty sausage pizza, which I sampled as well!

By the time Steph and I got home and into bed, it was 9:30 p.m.  We had a 4 a.m. wake up call.  My mind went racing in the dark long before the starting gun.  All my pre-race insecurities poured out.  All the potential equipment malfunctions.  The potential penalties.  The heat.  The uncertainty of it all.  Am I ready for the pain?  I lay in the dark with my eyes wide open, fighting with myself for just a few hours of sleep.  I'd wrestle one thought away while a new fear crept in to take its place.  Finally, mercifully, I nodded off and managed 6.5 hours of fairly restful sleep.

* * *

If or when I do Vineman again, I'd arrive on a Thursday and ride part of the bike course while driving the rest as a refresher.  Then, on Friday I'd swim and relax at the hotel.  Saturday should be reserved for the earliest course talk and packet pickup...and that's it.  Lesson learned.  Hope it helps you out!

Next up: Vineman 70.3.  Race day.

123 days and counting.

Packed and Primed

There's a shopping cart from the underground parking garage occupying my condo's living room.  It's got one bag filled with oatmeal, powders (Perpetuem is my preferred race day fuel), bananas, anti-cramp pills (Sport Legs), gels, Gu chomps and water.  Another bag contains my running shoes, hat, anti-blister powder, sun block, extra socks, emergency gels, fuel belt and bottles.  That gets checked in at Windsor High School the day before the race and I won't see it until T2.  A third bag contains my wetsuit, and the fourth bag has my tri backpack with all the race day goodies. Yep, I think I'm good to go.

But that's not all!  We still have roller suitcases for both Stephanie and me.  I'm honestly not sure if everything will fit in the car.  We'll have to do some creative packing tomorrow when we head out at 7 a.m. (Cue 6:15 a.m. wakeup call!) Fortunately, Stephanie is very good at that.  The packing, not the wake-up call.  (What a trooper though for taking a day off from work to get up at 6!  Yes, I owe her one, if not many.)

My race countdown clock is officially on.  I can feel the excitement building, and the tapering seems to be doing its job.  I feel mentally like I'm building towards a huge crescendo.  My body is peaking.  My mind is peaking.  My energy is peaking. And I'm just along for the ride.

Speaking of along for the ride, one of my college fraternity buddies, Rusty, is joining me to cheer me on this weekend.  He's also checking out the Vineman course for his full Ironman coming up on July 31.  I haven't seen Rusty since Lord knows when, but his kindness in driving three hours to get a hotel room for the night and help me celebrate this milestone means a lot.  It's hard to remember the "sacred bonds" of fraternity life from 15 years ago.  What seemed so important and "epic" back then is more or less trivial now in the scheme of things.  Or so I had grown accustomed to feeling.  Rusty, without saying a word, has reminded me that brothers remain that way in heart and action throughout life.  I'm almost as excited to reunite with him as I am fired up to compete in this event.

It is now almost 11 p.m.  The clock is ticking.  I'm winding down for the night.  Some stretching, then sleep.  Then, the long drive to Napa Valley.  And a weekend of memories that will hopefully last a lifetime.

There will be more Half Ironman events.  And hopefully more Ironman events.  But there will only be one FIRST Half-Ironman.  And I am ready for it.

128 days and counting.

Spinning Head

Usually, my body is sore and I'm physically spent after a Saturday brick workout. Despite the heat and a nearly three-hour time time trial, it's my brain that hurts the most right now.

Don't worry, mom, I didn't crash!

Following our weekly Fortius group training session, Coach Gerardo led a Vineman 70.3 pre-race preparation discussion with Richard, Ann, Mike, Karen and me.  He's a great resource considering he has completed the Vineman course four times, and Mike has done it before too.

I think my head is spinning even more than my legs did pedaling up Mulholland Drive this morning!

I came home and am blogging almost immediately to capture as much information as possible.  In fact, before the "pretty" form you see here and below, I literally brain-dumped out as much as I could remember.

I'm labeling it as Pre-Race, Transitions and Race for those of you also preparing for other Half-Ironman events -- at Vineman or elsewhere.

Pre-Race

• Bring a second pair of socks
• On Friday, get to the beach by 4 p.m. before it closes.
• Running bag needs to be delivered on Saturday and should contain salt tablets, fuel belt, extra gels and bars, hat, extra sunblock and extra pair of socks.
• Bring bike to packet pick up to bike the run course.

Transitions

• Put baby powder in my shoes and on my feet, along with generous helpings of tri-glide to avoid blistering
• There's apparently a 30% grade coming out of the T1 chute.  Gerardo is suggesting clipping the shoes on the bike to ensure a safer run up the hill and putting on the shoes either while moving on the bike or at the mount point. I'm not sure what I'm going to do about this since I haven't practiced those kinds of transitions.  That's something I need to do in the future.
• Don't fill water in my fuel belt water bottles until the first aid station, where the water will be cold and help me avoid cramping.

Race

• Knock off a little of the pace on the bike to preserve for the run
• Avoid people hosing you down during the run as much as possible.  Keep feet dry.
• If warm out, wear arm coolers under wetsuit during swim.  If not, save for T1.
• Eat breakfast at least 2 hours before your wave time.  Make sure you consume at least 600 calories.  Considering I burned 1,500 calories in just shy of three hours today in 80-something degree heat, I'm surprised it's not even higher.  Then again, we should be eating and drinking throughout the bike ride.
• Red-tinted or clear-tinted sunglasses will be most effective dealing with the sun reflections on the bike at the race.  I have neither. Hmm.  Dark glasses will be the worst.  Those, I have.
• Pace your own race.  Don't get caught up in competing with others.  This is going to be the most difficult thing for me to avoid.  I need to find a way to control my competitive urges.  I'll have to focus on looking at my watch, not others.
• Watch the hills on the bike and don't be over-aggressive on climbing them.  Save your energy for the run.

Overall, the three most important tips are:

• Knock a little off the bike race pace to conserve energy on the run.  Same goes for the swim.  It's better to lose a few minutes in the water and on the bike rather than up to an hour on the run due to dehydration.
• Race nutrition is everything.  I should basically be drinking a full water bottle per hour on the bike, and possibly an added bottle if it's hot.
• Run your own race.  Stay within yourself.  Pacing!  This is not a sprint or Olympic triathlon.  According to Gerardo, a Half-Ironman is the most difficult race to get right when it comes to pacing and proper nutrition.  It's a very fine balance between pushing too much and too little, and the consequences are severe when doing the latter.  Since this is my first Half-Ironman, I'm especially nervous about learning about this point the hard way.

I'm sure I forgot more than I remembered.  But this should help keep me on track during the race.  Not mentioned today but rather during my swim this past Thursday is to focus on flow and not mechanics in the water.  If I can keep my breathing in check, that should help a lot.  I found a real good breathing cadence during my 1,000 yard time trial, which netted me a personal-best 18:27.  My pace per 100 yards is now 1:52, down from 2:05 in the pool when I first started.  This also came less from worrying about my stroke and concentrating more on my breath.  My new swim PR time led Gerardo to predict it should take me roughly 37 minutes to swim 1.2 miles at Vineman.  We'll see how close he is.  So far, every time he's predicted a pace result for me, he's been pretty much right on the nose.

I hope he predicts a 5:30 Half-Ironman!  Though I suspect I'll be in the 6:00-6:30 range depending on the heat.

OK, I'm heading into the final week of Half-Ironman training.  I'm physically ready.  I'm mentally prepared.  The waiting game officially begins tomorrow, during my first weekend non- pre race off-day I can recall since joining Fortius.  I'll spend it with family, watching Le Tour and Spain vs. Netherlands (Espana wins 2-1, btw).  Along with sending Mike off in style for his first Ironman, Lake Placid.

Now, it's time to enjoy the rest of my day and night, which consists of today's Tour stage, burgers and beer with my buddy TJ and Predators.  My kind of night.

And a welcome distraction to take my mind off all these mental checklist items for next week!

133 days and counting.

We Are All Witnesses...To What?

How perfectly convenient that today is my off-day from Ironman training. Normally, I'd write about enjoying some rest and relaxation.  But the truth is, I'm a little worked up.

I got sucked into watching the LeBron James ESPN special last night, which fueled me to post on Facebook some initial reaction to the news that King James was "taking his talents to South Beach."  In this 140-character limit society, I succinctly outlined that I think James cheapened his legacy in pursuit of a more immediate path to winning an NBA Championship.

This led to -- no joke -- 23 comments on my page.  Granted, at least five of them were replies from me  defending my statement.

I'm getting pretty sick of whittling every thought or sentence down to two separate statements.  So, in response, here's my thoughts on the counterarguments lobbed against me, and why I disagree.

-- You'd do the same thing!!  One person, apparently an uber-James supporter, tried to put the Nike on my foot by asking if I had a dream job would I not take it due to loyalty.  The truth is, I've been offered more money and other perks to leave my current job for organizations with bigger and arguably better resources. While remaining in the entertainment business that I love.  I turned them down.  I work for an organization that deserves but never demands loyalty.  I've been treated extremely well, and want to return the favor.  I want to help build something special here -- even when times aren't always the best.  So yes, I walk the talk on this topic.  In other words, I would have stayed in Cleveland.  Especially after spouting how important the city, region and state are to me my entire life.  I would be tied to Cleveland, and the city would be tied to me.  Even if it meant never playing in a championship.  If that were to be my destiny, so be it.

-- Kobe would have left if he were in Cleveland. Maybe.  But he didn't leave LA even though he complained loudly about doing so (just like LeBron).  And, by the way, Kobe chose to stay with no guarantee that the Lakers would land Pau Gasol. To me, what helps define greatness in sports is building a legacy.  For one team.  Through all the ups and downs. Kobe. Jordan. Bird. Magic. Reggie Miller. Stockton. Duncan. Robinson. Paul Pierce (ugh, I hate including him on this list!). The list goes on and spans several sports.  Call me old school, but loyalty to one organization throughout a Hall of Fame career means just a little bit more than bouncing from team to team in search of glory and rings (are you listening, Shaq?).

If Kobe had left the Lakers to pursue titles elsewhere, I'd be saying the same thing about him.

-- Cleveland brought this on itself. How? They tried to do everything LeBron asked.  He wanted a center?  They brought in Shaq.  He wanted a complementary third piece?  They brought in Antawn Jamison and Mo Williams.  They brought in a top-notch coach, Byron Scott, who commanded the respect of one of James' closest friends, Chris Paul.  All the while, King James kept the franchise hanging at his beck and call.  Granted, this is as much Dan Gilbert's fault as anyone else's.  And we won't even get started on that letter he wrote.

OK, we will.

Seriously, what a poor choice of words.  I agree with Gilbert's sentiment and passion, but keep LeBron specifically out of it and focus on the future.  (Maybe a few cleverly worded jabs of the kind Phi Jackson has made a career of sharing.) That would have been a huge step in the right direction.  If I were a fan of the Cavaliers, that kind of message -- sans the overt James vitriol --would have fired me up to stay upbeat about my team in the wake of such devastating news.  Now, Cleveland looks even sadder and more pathetic a destination than before.  Which sucks considering the Cavs need a new plan for how to stay relevant in the League now more than ever.  Way to unintentionally shoot yourself in the foot, Dan.

-- Miami will go undefeated! Sure, just like the Dream Team Lakers with Karl Malone, Gary Payton, Kobe, Shaq and Fisher.  Or the Jail Blazers virtual All-Star teams of the early 2000's.  People, it takes a village, as the saying goes.  And a heck of a coach to mold all those personalities and egos.  I agree that this trio has the potential to be among the greatest the League has ever seen.  But it's about the supporting cast. As good as Magic, Kareem and Worthy were, the great Showtime Lakers teams had Cooper, Byron, Rambis, McAdoo, AC Green, etc.  Jordan's bulls had Pippen, Kucoc, Grant...uh...who else did they have?

Oh that's right, Jordan elevated average players' games enough to win multiple titles.  With rosters only slightly better than the recent Cavs teams.

Chosen One?

Savior?

Really?

So in the end, exactly what are we all witnesses to?  From where I sit, a self-absorbed, confused, massively talented young man taking the easy way out to a Championship ring.  Someone who truly did listen to his mother and did what was best for him -- and only what was best for him.  LeBron didn't even have the class to tell Cleveland properly before the actual announcement, instead giving way to higher ratings and greater drama.  Did LeBron's momma weigh in on that too? And using children as a backdrop?  It felt phony. Produced.  Too slick for its own good.

Sort of like LeBron's professed love for Ohio and his entire King James/savior persona.

Come to think of it, the fake glitz and glamour of South Beach is the perfect fit for LeBron.

Cleveland, with its collective hard-hat mentality and blue-collar work ethic, deserves better.  It always did.

134 days and counting.