A Special Birthday

It's 6 a.m. on your birthday.  Do you:

A) Smack the clock and go back to sleep

B) Jump in the pool with your training teammates

C) Lock the front door after getting in from a long night of drinking

I went with B) this morning.  And it set the tone for a fantastic birthday.  One of my all-time favorites, in fact.  Though that had little to do with training.  The past couple years, circumstances have prevented Stephanie and I from spending my birthday together.  Today that would change, as it will for hopefully every remaining birthday.  After a Black Dog yoga session that included some inverted wall poses, Steph and I spent the afternoon together, hanging out at Paradise Cove in Malibu and now she's cooking a gourmet feast -- boeuf bourguignon.  I'm a lucky guy!  Make that a VERY lucky guy.

Usually, this is about the time that I devote a few hours to reflect on the past year and think about what I hope to accomplish in the year ahead.  Honestly, I never could have predicted a year ago where my life would be today.  I was reeling from not being with Stephanie and still really just getting my proverbial feet wet in the sport of triathlon.  Now, I'm engaged to the woman I've always loved since before we were dating and I'm training like mad for my first Ironman.  I look and feel like a different person.

What will 36 bring?  Oh, you know, besides a wedding and an Ironman!  Well, in thinking about things, I've grown a lot over the past year.  I think I'm a little more relaxed, a little more confident, a little more competitive.  A lot more grateful.  Perhaps a little wiser.  Maybe even a bit softer around the edges (I hope).  I feel like my own man, though it may have taken a little longer than expected.

Thirty-five was a year of growth and maturation.  I hope 36 brings more of the same, with a killer Ironman Arizona (maybe one more too?) time and a warm, unforgettable wedding.

Is that so much to ask?

Actually, in my renewed state of being, I'll start with a fantastic tomorrow that's unforgettable and productive.  I'll start by encouraging others to be their best, while doing my best too.  One day at a time.  If anything, my Ironman training has taught me that.

162 days and counting.

I WILL Finish

If you are a triathlete, are thinking of doing your first triathlon, know a triathlete and wonder why the hell we do what we do, or have a penchant for the dramatic, then you must watch the 2009 Ironman World Championships DVD. I thought the DVD was a consolation prize for not being selected in the 2010 Kona Ironman lottery.  How wrong I was.

A few weeks ago I started watching the DVD during a bike trainer session.  This morning, I finished the video.

Maybe it's better put that the DVD finished me.  I was emotionally drained as they showed the final few finishers cross the line -- staggering, delirious, pained.  Some joyous for barely making the cut-off time.  Others absolutely crushed for missing their goal after spending 17 hours trying their best.  The Ironman can be quite cruel. Trying your best simply isn't good enough -- if you don't hit that 17-hour deadline, it's as if you didn't even show up.

Watching competitors' dreams either exalted or annihilated tore me apart.  I sat on the couch eating breakfast, feeling a wall of emotion flood my eyes.  The tears started pouring down my face as footage was shown of a man with one leg completely breaking down on the final few miles of the marathon, even with his entire family trying to encourage him with every step.  Another woman, 76, called her friend to pick her up during the bike ride because she was having trouble maintaining her balance.

All these tales led me to do things in front of a TV I don't normally do.  I clapped with people finished.  I shouted encouragement as if I was in the stands.

And I found myself repeating one phrase over and over until I was practically sobbing: "I WILL finish."

"I WILL finish."

"I WILL FINISH!"

"I WILL finish."

I can't tell if I was trying to convince myself I'd finish my Ironman no matter what, or that I was above the physical and mental breakdowns and those images of demise and dejection won't touch me that day.  I think it's a little bit of both.

It doesn't really matter though.  What struck me as the DVD ended was just how vested I am in this journey.  It is a statement about who I am.  A competitor.  And I want this so damn bad.  I really hope nothing will stand in my way on November 21.  But if it does, I will most certainly remember this morning on the couch.  I will remember the tears.  The visions.  My solitary oath.

I WILL FINISH.

191 days and counting.

The Best Training is Sometimes the Slowest

I woke up early this morning for an event.  It even had a starting gun and a finish.

Yet I wasn't racing.  I wasn't even running.

And it was just as much fun.

Stephanie helped organize a small team of her co-workers to attend a walk-a-thon in El Segundo for the Make-A-Wish Foundation.  Instead of my normal training routine, I decided to switch my long bike and run around so I could support her.  Joined by Stephanie's friends Erica and Adam, we had a great time -- even if it was only a two-mile walk.  Actually, it was really nice NOT to launch myself out of the starting area and sprint as fast as I could.  I got to enjoy the scenery a bit more, relax a bit more, chat a bit more.  And maybe even appreciate a bit more.  The whole point of the walk was to raise money for kids who are faced with terminal illness.  The least -- make that the very least -- I can do is flip my schedule around to support the cause.

I'm always grateful for being healthy and strong enough to pursue this crazy sport.  Sometimes I'm even grateful enough to realize how good it is to be merely alive and healthy.  This morning was one of those moments for the latter.

Sometimes the best form of training can come in the slowest of forms.

194 days and counting.

200 Days to Go: What I've Learned So Far

OK, it's 196 days and counting, but I've been thinking about this post for four days now.  That counts for something, right? I've written 159 blog posts, not including this one.  Which means I've trained for Ironman Arizona slightly longer than that.  I had some basic observations at the 50 post mark that are pretty quaint.

One-hundred posts later, what have I learned?

Here's my updated Top 10 Things I've Learned About Ironman Training.  For those of you reading, I'd sure love to see your top 10!

10) Better equipment can make a difference.  See yesterday's blog post.

9) Triathlon is an f-ing expensive sport!  See yesterday's blog post.

8 Compression apparel works.  My calves feel more refreshed when I wear them.

7) Writing a blog post every day is a lot like training for a triathlon.  You have to pace yourself, realize that some days are better than others, and that it's a largely solitary endeavor.

6) Triathlon is much more enjoyable when it's a team effort.  Not just a triathlon team or club, but when you have a partner actively supporting and encouraging you. Thanks, Steph.

5) You get much more out of triathlon than what you put in in terms of caring and sharing.  But the latter feels better.  Wildflower taught me that.

4) The mind is so much more powerful than any muscle in the body.  I've overcome hunger, pain, and illness to finish what I've started.  My willpower has grown during this journey as much as my stamina or strength.

3) Increased intake of fruits and vegetables can replace multivitamins -- thanks to stuff I didn't previously like that I now crave (oranges, avocado, tomatoes).  I stopped taking a daily multivitamin weeks ago after increasing my berries and orange intake.  I haven't felt an energy dip.

2) I am really damn competitive.  I kinda knew that already, but this sport has shown me that I'm almost obsessive about it.  Can't tell yet if it's a positive or negative.  I suppose it depends on what my willpower is telling me.

1) Triathlon training or races cannot be taken for granted.  Anything can happen.  Bad weather.  Unexpected equipment malfunctions (not of the Janet Jackson variety).  Illness.  Injury.  Every opportunity to train is a gift.  I now treat it accordingly.

196 days and counting.

Makeshift Yoga Studio

Stephanie and I opened our own yoga studio tonight, Dickens Downward Dog Yoga.

It's located right here in Sherman Oaks, in my bedroom, in fact.

(Yes Dad, you can keep reading.  This is a G-rated blog.)

Steph and I both had a long day and night, yet both of our schedules called for an hour yoga session.  The only way we could make it work was to use a DVD.  Of course, Steph made my room feel just like a yoga studio, complete with dim lighting, candles and music.  All that was missing was incense, which I can live without.

I find that yoga at the end of the day is hard.  Especially before bedtime and about an hour after dinner.  Concentration is low, although relaxation is at its highest.  The DVD, by Mark Blanchard, didn't help.  Both Steph and I were stymied at times by the complexity of the poses.  I had to retreat to Child's Pose a few times and by the end of the workout completely ignored the DVD to work at my own pace with more mellow poses.

Maybe that's the point of yoga.  There's no wrong way to do it.  There's no being overwhelmed.  It's how you respond to the poses being suggested that matters.  Instead of forcing the pose, as is often the case in life, sometimes it's best to simply choose a more comfortable pose altogether.  It's one thing to push outside of a comfort zone.  It's also just as valuable to know when to remain within the friendly confines of comfort.

At 10 p.m. on a Monday night, comfort won out.

There's nothing wrong with that.

"There's nothing wrong with that."

Perhaps that will be the new mantra of our new studio.

I like that sound of that.

Dickens Downward Dog Yoga is closing for the night.

Namaste.

199 days and counting.

These Are the Days

My heart is racing as I sit on the couch this morning.  My hands are shaking. I just finished episode eight of The Pacific, the World War II miniseries on HBO.

I'm not going to write a review or anything like that.  But rather how I feel after watching it.

I'll start by admitting that lately, I'm much more easily moved to tears.  Though I may be an emotional guy, I've never been accused of being a crier -- unless Rudy is on the screen.  Now, inspirational, romantic or even sad news hits me harder...right in my chest and lungs.  And tears roll down my face.  They did at Wildflower.  They are this morning.

I know why.

It's because I realize, at 35 years old, finally, I am embedded in the prime of my life.  Right now.  In THIS moment.  I'm in peak physical condition.  My mental outlook is strong.  I'm marrying a truly stunning lady in every way.  My family is healthy and happy.  I have good friends.  A good job.  And I'm able to pursue my own dreams without guilt or worry.

Some of my friends and even family members haven't always been so lucky.  Some didn't make it to 30.  Some made it to 30 but not 35.  A few never saw 25.

They never got to experience what it's like to know that life doesn't get much better than this.  And I've spent years and years taking that for granted. Like a lucky little dandelion seed floating cluelessly, miraculously, from one unexpected adventure to the next...that's been my life.  A "Forrest Gump" existence, as my parents call it.

When you realize how precious that is, when you see how easily fate could have been crueler...a war, a draft, a battle, and a coffin for example...it hits.  Hard.  When you watch a man fall in love -- whether it's in real life or on the big screen -- and then die at the top of his game, it hits hard.  When you know what that love is or good fortune or good health, and you know that it can all be blown to bits at any moment, it hits hard.

I am lucky. Very lucky.  And I think about that a lot lately.  I take nothing for granted.  Not in training.  Not with my relationship. Not with my family.  Not with my friends.

It could all go away tomorrow.  I could be cut down in my prime.  But I am also wide awake, a passenger riding shotgun and taking notes in my own head.

I am more aware than I've ever been in my entire life -- living long and full and strong enough to know that these are indeed the best of days.

That's why I cried a little this morning.

202 days and counting.

Inspired Exhaustion

I'm going on 11 hours of sleep spanning two-and-a-half days. I partied with my LA Tri Club and Fortius friends until 10 tonight.

I'm done. Tired.  Spent.  A short but hard work and training week is over.  Tomorrow I have the day off work for a company outing, which I can't wait for: Ironman 2!

Yep, that's how my company rolls!

I capped the week off in style though, taking Stephanie's and my friend Erin to the LA Tri Club's First Thursday event in Sherman Oaks.  It was a record crowd, close to 85 attended.  Watching a newcomer experience the LA Tri Club was a special treat for me.  Erin was truly inspired by everyone's enthusiasm, positive outlook and high energy.  She said the club represents the kind of people she would like to surround herself with, and I couldn't agree more.

I remember a few years ago after my first 5k race seeing an LA Tri Club tent and thinking, "Those guys are crazy!  Who has the time for that kind of training?!"

Now I know I've discovered a lifestyle for a lifetime.  Something that keeps me feeling younger and stronger as when I was in high school.

I'm eager for Erin to experience that same joy.

My evening revelry served as the perfect bookend for an equally inspiring morning.  After a strong swim with the Fortius team (including a 3:11 timed 200), I went home to ride on the bike trainer for 40 minutes.  One DVD made an ordinary ride anything but: The Ford Ironman Kona 2009 World Championships recap.  If you don't own this, buy it.  If you've seen it on YouTube, buy the real thing.

Watching the pros battle in the heat and learning about some of the other truly tear-jerking stories from random competitors swelled my heart with adrenaline and optimism.  I got the DVD as a consolation prize for not being selected to the 2010 Ironman Kona lottery, but I didn't realize how valuable a prize this video would be.  It will serve as my visual Bible for the next several months -- teaching, inspiring, illuminating in deeper and deeper ways every day.  I can relate to each athlete's struggle to overcome their own personal adversity to achieve something most other people will never comprehend.

Well, almost.  One athlete featured is a double-leg amputee who is a nationally recognized triathlete.

No matter how much I hurt or think I hurt, that guy has had it worse.  I will try to complain far less and always keep him in mind when I'm sore, frustrated or just not feelin' it.

So after a long string of days, after being so tired right now my 1,000-yard-stare has a 1,000-yard stare, I wish I could bottle up all the optimism and excitement blasting through my veins.  I know I'll need it for other days down the line.

Or maybe I can just resolve to have more optimistic and exciting days?

203 days and counting.

Karmic Pizza

I have discovered the elusive missing link to achieving a great triathlon race result.

Pizza.

But not just any pizza.  This is a special kind.  And instead of eating it, you must give it away to someone in need before your race.  It doesn't really matter when in the day that happens.  In return, if you're lucky, the pizza recipient will wish you a good race and shower cosmic karma upon you.

I know this to be true, because that's exactly what happened to me the day before posting a 2:54:00 Wildflower Olympic time this past Sunday, 10 minutes faster than my predicted best-case scenario, good for a top 50 finish in my age group (top 23%) and top 26% among all men.  I even saw all my swim training pay off with a 29:36 mile swim, breaking the 30-minute mark for the first time and beating my old personal best open-water swim by four minutes.

I need to find more pizza to give away!

Here's what happened.  My buddy Dustin and I were waiting in the stands near the finish line for our friend Darrin to finish the long-course, which ran the day before the Olympic race.  Darrin had a long day but demonstrated what it meant to persevere over adversity.  He snapped his chain within the first mile of the bike portion, walked the bike a mile back to our RV camper, fixed the chain (pictured below), walked his bike back to the course and was on his way.  While we were waiting for Darrin, Dustin and I both felt mid-afternoon hunger pangs.  I went on a scouting mission for pizza and on my way back with two slices in hand, a girl who had just completed the long course walked up next to me and said, "I could attack you for a slice of that pizza right now!"

After a little banter back-and-forth, I realized she might not be joking.

I told the girl, whose name I never got, to follow me back to the stands.  Once I gave Dustin his slice, I tore half of my pizza and gave it to the girl. Even though she protested at first, she quickly relented.  After doing so, she looked up at me, smiled wide and said, "You are going to have the race of a lifetime tomorrow.  You just got a TON of race karma.  You are going to kick major ass."

Instead of making a joke back or some self-deprecating comment, I did something I normally don't do when someone says something nice to or about me...I simply said, "Thanks, I hope so."

So it was wished, so it occurred.

And I have pizza to thank.  So there you go, fellow triathletes...you can train as hard as you want, but maybe simply doing something nice for a fellow racer will put you in the best position to achieve your goals.

In the end, while the race itself was a special moment for me, it was overshadowed by the "one and only" experience that is Wildflower.  There were a reported 30,000 people on hand to witness the weekend's activities.  And many of them dotted the entire race course cheering on athletes of all abilities.  I can say that in least two spots on the bike and at least three on the run I received a much-needed adrenaline boost just from the encouragement.  (The bikini-clad college girls handing out water at the aid stations helped a little too.)  The crowd was at its finest in the stands near the finish line, where runners' gritty and sometimes-grinning facial expressions told lengthy tales of dedication, sacrifice and determination.  I welled up with tears on Saturday at least five times watching fathers pick up their children to run to the end with them, or small children high-fiving strangers as they passed by.  Or couples holding hands while running to the finish together.

The magic of the sport is not solely possessed by the elite. Far from it.  It's a form of karmic pizza all its own, where triumphant finishers give back energy to the crowd as much if not more than what they're gaining by completing a massive personal challenge.

We think we're taking, gaining, obtaining, and striving.  But really, we're giving, sharing, encouraging and caring.

If you haven't been to Wildflower, go.  Even if you don't race, go.  There's a reason it's called the "one and only."

And if you've been to Wildflower, let's sign up again for next year.

I'll even bring the pizza.

204 days and counting.

The Crash: 1 Year Later

One year ago today, I turned my road bike into a mountain bike, hurtling over the edge off Santa Susana Pass and tumbling down about 30 feet. And walked away from it.

The mental toll was much worse.  It took me about nine months before I started cornering more aggressively on my Colnago.  Even though I consider myself mentally "rehabilitated," there are still moments on downhills where I recreate the events leading up to my crash.  Sweeping right turn.  Over-correct to stay on the right side of the road.  Notice the rapid left approaching quicker than I'd like.  Brake too hard.  Get loose on gravel.  Lock eyesight on cliff, and the tree just beyond it.  Panic.

I knew today would be a milestone for me as I'd have to overcame those mental images throughout our Fortius team ride in the Malibu/Agoura hills. I think about that crash on almost every ride, but I knew it would be top-of-mind today.   Especially when it was announced we would be descending down the notoriously technical Decker Canyon Road off Mulholland Drive.  When Stephanie and I got back together, I promised her that I'd avoid this canyon as much as possible because of how fast cars and motorcycles rocket down it.  But today, on this one-year anniversary of an event that should have either killed or severely injured me,  I had to prove something to myself.  It wasn't a day to turn back.

The descent was fairly easy, I'm pleased to say.  In fact, I surprised myself by taking some of the more difficult lines almost perfectly.  The feeling of nailing a line is so ecstatic.  I can only describe it as feeling bound to your bike and the road as if all were melded together on rails like a roller coaster.  Gravity, physics and inertia all work together simultaneously, and in that brief moment, cycling becomes gliding.

I did have one flashback moment though.  There's a tight left hairpin turn with a berm at the apex.  If you don't know it's coming, it can take you by surprise.  I remember seeing it for the first time months ago on my initial Decker descent, grateful for my ginger approach down the mountain.  Had I not crashed at Santa Susana Pass, I very well might have missed that corner amidst my inexperience and arrogance.

Because I hadn't ridden Decker in so long, this turn caught me a bit by surprise this morning.  But the difference was a year of maturity and respect for the sport.  Instead of slamming on the brakes, I gradually applied pressure and looked my way through the corner.  I didn't lock on the potential obstacle, but scanned ahead to the other side of the corner so I knew how to approach the turn after that.  Instead of freezing, I analyzed. Instead of panicking, I adapted.

This moment was probably indistinguishable to the rest of my teammates, but it's something I'll remember for a long time.  I've descended Decker before.  But today, it was a little more special. A rite of passage.  A rite that I feel blessed to have been afforded.

The rest of the ride was highly enjoyable due to the sunny, temperate weather and the fact that my buddies Frank and Dustin (both pictured) accompanied the Fortius team and me.  Each held their own today, which always impresses me since they both juggle busy work and family lives.  I joked with Dustin that he and Frank are actually quint-athletes since Dustin balances a marriage and a pregnant wife while Frank has a wife, two kids and a new dog.  Now that is dedication!

In addition to our Rock Store climb and Decker descent, I was also proud of the time trial we did in Hidden Valley.  I wasn't wearing a heart-rate monitor or a speedometer but I know I pushed it hard today, and felt strong. Improvement is both physical and mental.

I'm so grateful that I even had an opportunity to be in this position.  To realize the dream of becoming an Ironman.  To be able to learn from past mistakes and grow.  To learn more about myself and evolve into something a little better.

Aha. The real benefit of this Ironman journey.

214 days and counting.

Friends

No workouts to report. Just a fantastic dinner with good friends, John and Michelle.  I consider myself lucky that I have such close lifelong friends in my life.  We spent hours eating, drinking, talking and laughing.  I had such a good time that I felt like I was on vacation.

Hold onto those friends.  It can be so hard to do that though with all this triathlon training.  It feels like some friends -- close ones even -- get left by the wayside, like bystanders becoming a blur as you speed by on the TT bike.  It's not intentional.  It's life.  It's changing priorities.  Shifts in gears and focus.

Some people are worth slowing down for.  Some experiences are worth slowing down for.

It's not often I can say that I feel truly enriched after a meal.  When the conversation and company is every bit as scrumptious as the grilled swordfish and homemade pesto.

Tonight was one of those nights.  I am grateful.  I think I appreciate them even more because I know how rare and special such an experience is.

215 days and counting.