Where I've Been

Saturday: Baptism (not mine), Wall Street movie with Stephanie's family (family great, avoid the movie), dinner with the Van Schaik clan after in Costa Mesa. Sunday: Biked 97 miles with Frank and Caleb, from Malibu to Moorpark and back. Swam almost two miles after that.  Rushed home, changed clothes, took Steph out for a surprise dinner at Cicada Club in downtown LA followed by another surprise, Muse floor seats!

Just got home from this whirlwind of a day.  So much more I could say about the entire day.  Too drained physically and emotionally to even try. Highlights are easy though.  Caleb made me feel like I'm halfway decent at triathlon by complimenting my cycling.  Steph looked at me tonight like I'm king of the world. Well, at least her world. Muse simply rocked my entire core.  To the point I stood for two hours after my day of training and didn't mind that much.  Truly one of the best live performances I've ever seen.  Dare I say even better than a U2 concert?

Days like today just don't get much better.  Honestly, one of the better days of my life.

54 days and counting.

Atonement Day

Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement, began last evening and continues through tonight.  It is the traditional point in the Jewish year where Jews pause their life to reflect on how they're living it.  As we look inward, we try to be honest with ourselves on how we've treated others.  Have we done enough for others?  Have we lived to our true potential as a person?  Where can we improve and how might we do it? It can be difficult for some to look inside and take time to make those assessments.  For me, I tend to do it all the time.  There's a lot of time to think when you're training for an Ironman.  Or when you're taking a recovery day to attend synagogue, as Stephanie and I are doing.

And what have I observed?

I've observed that Ironman training takes up a big chunk of my free time. Which has been a convenient excuse for me to limit my philanthropic efforts.  I can definitely improve there.

I've observed that Ironman training is an incredibly selfish pursuit. I'm often racked with guilt that I don't spend as much time as I'd like with Stephanie or my family and friends.  Or my co-workers, who must be frustrated at least occasionally with my flexible schedule.

I've observed that I'm a competitor.  I've always known this, to be fair.  But I've been in touch with it even more over the past year, especially since joining the Fortius Racing Team.  I fear being the slowest of my group.  And I detest losing. I hate losing in practice.  I hate losing in a race.  It doesn't matter if it's my own teammates.  I hate losing.  I want to win.  Period.  While that kind of obsessive drive helps me push myself harder both on the course or in the office, perhaps it can rub people the wrong way.  People who enjoy the more social aspects of the sport or maybe don't have the same competitive streak.

I've also observed that even when I try hard to avoid it, my pride may take over.  There's a fine line between pride and vanity.  I've crossed that line a few times this year, at least in my own mind.  I'm embarrassed when that happens.  There's no way to take it back.

What's nice about Yom Kippur is that it's a day of forgiveness.  A day where old promises and decrees are declared null and void.  So long as there's an honest intention for fixing our foibles in the future.

During the course of my passionate pursuit of this Ironman goal, I'm sure I've hurt others -- at least unintentionally.  I've never tried to harm anyone on purpose, that's for sure.  And when I have bothered someone in particular, I've done my best to apologize immediately.

So to those who have been frustrated my actions -- on the race course, at practice, at work, at home -- I'm truly sorry. I will try to do better this coming year.  I will try to keep my competitive streak in check, especially my temper.  I will continue doing my best to juggle family time and training time.  I will try not to let my ego get the better of me when I'm feeling good about myself.

And I will fail.

But I will always give my best effort to be my best.

That is one promise I know I can keep.

62 days and counting.

New Year, New Spirit

Perhaps it's a Rosh Hashanah gift.  It's the only logical explanation for me not having any workouts today. Not that I'm complaining.  Last week I had 17.5 hours scheduled and logged roughly 16 total.  This week, including the upcoming Nautica Malibu Triathlon, I've got 11.5 hours scheduled.  Big difference.  A welcome one too, considering Coach Gerardo told me the other day that next week's training was going to be "a rough one."

I'm actually looking forward to the challenging week ahead, though I'm thoroughly enjoying this week's race taper -- the last real one before my Ironman cooldown in early-mid November.  During this rest period, I've noticed that I'm sleeping many more hours than usual.  Typically, I'm sleeping between 7-8 hours a night.  Twice this week though, I've logged 10 hours sleep.  And I even managed a nap this afternoon following synagogue and before the traditional family dinner.

Is this a sign of over-training, fatigue or just capitalizing on a great opportunity to catch up on rest? I'm honestly not sure, but am confident it will benefit my race time this Saturday.

Tomorrow, the only workout planned is a 30-minute easy run with four, 60-second pick-ups at race pace.  Steph said she'd come with me if her back is feeling up to the challenge.  Then, it's packet pick up in the early evening, more rest, and blast-off Saturday morning.  My reward for a hard fought race?  That'll be 75 miles on the bike Sunday. Not sure who's coming with me yet as most of my Fortius teammates are racing somewhere else.

One final note.  As I sat in services today, one of the many things that crossed my mind was that I really needed a joyous event like the Jewish New Year to pick up my training spirits. In case you haven't sensed it, I think I'm a little burnt out lately.  The constant training routine has been getting to me, almost numbing me to the joy of the sport.  The six-days-a-week slog fest of training and racing has felt almost as much like a second job as the adventurous hobby that triathlon should be. So, with a religious event that symbolizes renewal and celebration as my catalyst, I'm jolting myself out of this recent lethargy and recalling how lucky I am to be able to pursue this sport and the goal of an Ironman with such flexibility and support.

It's a new year, symbolized by the sounding of the ram's horn shofar.  With that blast, comes a re-energized spirit.  A promise within myself to try and do better. To be better.  Not just better, but to be my best.  Towards others and within myself.

We're in the final stages of Ironman preparation.  Now is the time to dig deep, remind myself that past results don't indicate future success, and that there's still much more adventure to be had.

The best is yet to come.

71 days and counting.

Farewell Summer

Summer 2010, I hardly knew ye.  In fact, I think the span of our relationship lasted all of one week, this past one. You were like the friends I had in 6th Grade, the Bortz twins.  In my neighborhood for what seemed like a week, then gone.  Just like that.  No explanation.  Where did they go?

Judging by tonight's "early" sunset just shy of 7:30 p.m. and the slight chill that accompanied it, summer is definitely over. (Yes, I sound like a spoiled Southern Californian. Deal with it!) Did we even get a summer this year?  Not since college had I spent this much time outdoors in the sun.  And I simply don't recall very many days where the heat was stifling.  It felt like we've had one season all year, spring.

As I rode with my new LA Tri Club buddy Jon during our Griffith Park brick workout, I was thinking about this summer.  I was watching it end before my eyes, with dark gray skies creating an ominous atmosphere and perhaps nurturing a more reflective workout mood.

What would I remember about this summer?

Hours after that first thought occupied my mind, I'm still having trouble with that question.   And maybe this has nothing to do with the weather.  Maybe this is just about being tired and ready for bed.  After all, I did swim 2,600 yards this morning (300 easy, 5 x 200 drills with fins 5 x 200 split between catchup and swim without fins and a final 3 x 100 split between kicks and swimming), bike 20 and run four at tempo or race-pace this evening.  And I worked a full day in between, forgoing lunch to get more done.

OK, those last two sentences were fluff, allowing me to procrastinate more.

But seriously, check out what my car looked like at the end of the day from all this cross-training.  You can't even see the passenger seat!

What will I remember about this summer?

Honestly, it's all a blur.  Every weekend seems to have been spent training or racing. Vineman, both my race and Rusty's, will certainly rank as a major summer highlight.  The Breath of Life triathlon triumph and agony of losing my spot at Nationals will stay with me for a long time as well. Beyond that, things get muddier.  I spent a lot of time in the saddle, alone or with friends.  I'm a much better triathlete in September as I was in June.  There's no doubt about that.

But how much time did I spend goofing around with friends?  How much time did I spend with Steph just enjoying the weekend at our own pace?  Was it enough?  I know we had a LOT of good times this summer and I can rattle off a bunch of those special moments spent at concerts, weddings, family outings, nice dinners, and sports events.  But many of those special moments were built around training schedules.

Maybe I just need a little more time to step back and assess the summer. All the great times, both singular and taken as a whole.  Maybe I'm just bummed that the summer is over so quick.  It caught me off guard.  I had summer firmly in my grasp, and yet somehow it feels like it slipped right through my fingers.  What happened?

Sad to see you go, Summer 2010.

72 days and counting.

Random Ramblings

My body finally said, "Enough is enough!" during my morning Tour de Valley bike ride. Though the statistics from my ride indicate otherwise, it felt like I was cycling in tar.  I actually rode faster this Tuesday compared to last week's session by a *whopping* .1 mph (sarcasm intended!), traveled nearly 2.5 miles farther (though I rode seven minutes longer) and climbed an astounding 20 more feet.  Despite the slightly improved week-to-week performance, it felt like I was working much harder today even though my average heart-rate was actually several percentage points lower this week as well. Why is that?

For me, a surefire sign of fatigue occurs when no matter how hard I try to gain speed, my heart-rate remains at a lower rate, almost a full zone lower.  It doesn't add up though.  I slept well the night before and enjoyed a rare off-day from training on Monday.  My nutrition wasn't terrible either.  Here's what I ate:

-- Eggs, bacon and pumpkin pancakes for breakfast

-- Cinnamon-raisin toast with peanut butter, apple and cheese for lunch

-- Clif Bar for snack

-- "Healthy" Chinese food for dinner (OK, it was about as healthy as Chinese food can be!)

-- Protein shake with frozen organic berries and two tablespoons of ice cream

Granted, I could have eaten more greens.  No doubt there.  But I did have Omega-3 Oil-infused Carrot Juice from Trader Joe's, so leave me alone!

Despite not being able to figure out exactly what's going on, I decided to skip my evening swim in favor of a massage from LA Body Mechanics and Fortius teammate, David.  It will help me going into my Malibu Triathlon race this Saturday, and I can make up the swim tomorrow morning anyway.

Ah, the Malibu Triathlon.

This used to be my Rose Bowl of triathlons.  The Grand-Daddy of Them All.  The Nautica Malibu Triathlon is special to me because it marks my first triathlon.  We always remember our first, right?  I can still recall how nervous I was.  How I bought a hotel room 20 minutes away to make sure I would have enough sleep the night before the event.

(Pause...I'm re-reading this and I just realized how much of a double-entendre this entire section is!  Wow!  Mom, I'm talking about triathlon I swear!!!)

How I looked like Charlie Sheen's character in "Platoon" when he went on his first jungle patrol -- loaded up with junk I'd never actually need but other people told me I would. Practically fainting from all the unnecessary weight in my transition bag. Towel to dry off.  Gloves for a 18-mile bike ride.  Tupperware to dip my feet in after the swim to clean my feet.  And the extra food on my transition towel.  Oy.

I actually paused to eat an entire banana in T1 before venturing out on the course. That was after toweling off completely from the swim.

And I remember how proud of myself I was for finishing my first race.  Such elation!  Nevermind the time was 1:44 and change for a half-mile swim, 18-mile bike and a 4-mile run.  I was officially a "TRIATHLETE" and that's all that mattered.  Except that I vowed to complete the Olympic triathlon course the following year (2009).

"Aw, you completed your very first triathlon!  That's nice, Ryan.  Now get on to the next big goal."

Yep, that's sort of how I roll in general.

Last year, I trained practically all year for Malibu Olympic.  Or "all year" by my own definition at the time, which meant no more than five days a week, tops.  No double workouts.  Certainly no bricks.

I saw real progress in my training, finishing the Olympic course in 2:44.

But for both Malibu triathlon experiences, it was about something more.  The challenge loomed large. The Unknown was even larger. Could I finish?  What if I cramped up?  What if I got a flat?  What if I was the slowest in my age group?

Questions, questions, questions.  All questions that led to a heightened sense of exhiliration when I finished the events.  Relief!  Joy!  Pride.

Which brings me to this year's Malibu Triathlon event.  It's a blip on my training radar.  In contrast to last year, I haven't been on the bike course for several months, probably since the Amgen Tour rambled through Malibu and Agoura this past spring.  I have a goal time of 2:25 for this event, but even if I don't hit it, it's no big deal.  Ironman is the real prize this year. But honestly, I'm a little sad about that. I miss the excitement and anticipation of the Malibu Triathlon.  I miss the wonder and speculation.  The naivete, so to speak.

Now, all that is put on hold for November 21, 2010.

Though I hope to call upon a little bit of the magic of my first time to make this event just a little more special.

Geez, I've become a triathlon slut!

73 days and counting.

Change of Pace Day 3

This week's theme clearly has been about shakin' up my trainin'. Today I "borrowed" Steph's iPod (mine's broken) and ran w/ music for the first time in months.  We won't get into the exact tunes on said iPod, or which tunes I chose to listen to while running.

Yes, in some instances, my Man Card would likely be pulled.

Yet I don't care.  What a boost to run with something other than my own thoughts!  Now I understand why iPods or any other music player are illegal in sanctioned races.  I felt a noticeable energy surge in this workout compared to other runs -- though my mere five miles in one hour would suggest otherwise.  Of course, I had five, three-minute hill repeats as the main segment of my workout.

I know.  Excuses, excuses.

In another training schedule shake up, I swam at Van Nuys Sherman Oaks pool this morning on my own with the Olympic-length lanes.  This made a big difference in my T-pace for some reason.  I was much slower than usual, yet I managed 2,650 yards in 55 minutes.  Here's the workout:

WU:

-- 300 easy

-- 3 x 150 (kick, pull, swim)

-- 6 x 50 (10 sec rest)

MS:

6 x 100 (10 sec rest)

500 TT

CD:

-- 200 easy swim, 100 easy kick

-- 200 pull

Admittedly, it was nice to have a lane essentially to myself and not deal with unnecessary delays between sets.  I could jump in the water, work at my own (rapid) pace, take quick breaks when I needed them, and plow through the entire workout.  As a result, I was able to swim more yardage than usual.  However, that yardage was slower, as I mentioned.  My six 100s were closer to a 2:05 pace and my 500 TT was a fairly abysmal 10:21, a 2:04 pace. That's what I used to swim at the beginning of the triathlon season when I first joined Fortius Coaching in November 2009.

I'm going to chalk this time up to a nuance of swimming long and hard for several sets.  I've swam TTs nearly a full two minutes faster than that, so no worries.

Tomorrow, my week of changing training pace may continue.  I'm without my four-door car for the week as Stephanie's decrepit Mustang is still at my Dad's auto repair shop, being coaxed to live just a while longer.  I don't have a ride to the Fortius workout and haven't heard from Coach Gerardo yet on whether he can pick me up.  If not, I'll be joining a new LA Tri Club group tomorrow at 7:15 a.m. in Encino for a 65-mile ride to Simi Valley and back.

It's definitely strange how much my training schedule has shifted this week.  And in the past, as a younger Ryan Schneider, this would have bothered me greatly.  I was an "order" guy.  I needed everything to happen the way it's supposed to happen!

Not so much now.

I think part of that is just getting older, hopefully a little wiser and a lot more flexible.  Perhaps some of it can be attributed to training too.  Flat tires happen.  People crash.  Roads are closed.  Water is too cold to swim in.  Water bottles fly out of cages.

Shit happens.

The clock still runs.

Gotta finish the race.

Until tomorrow...

77 days and counting.

Change of Pace

Today went according to plan, right until it didn't. Sounds like a Yogi Berra-ism, right?  Well, it is.  I cycled to work from Sherman Oaks to Burbank using Chandler Blvd., which traverses a good chunk of the San Fernando Valley.  It was such a relief NOT to play vehicular dodgeball or Frogger for a change.  I could enjoy myself on the bike.  No heart-rate monitor.  No rush.  No worries!

I was on track to attend the 5:30 p.m. weekly Griffith Park brick workout, but a work emergency quashed any possibility of that happening.  Thank goodness!  I had a fantastic evening and still got my brick workout in.  I left the office around 6 and essentially time-trialed home in 34 minutes via Chandler and courtesy of a small paceline of speedy cycle-commuters.  Seriously, I think I'm going to invent a sport called Commuter-Cross!  But that's a different post for a different day.

I got home around 6:45 p.m., ditched my bike and called Steph to see where she was.  Unfortunately, the answer was about what I expected...stuck in traffic.  But, Steph wanted to join me for running!  This hasn't happened in months so I was thrilled. I circled the block a few times warming up until Steph was ready to join. I got my heart-rate zone 3 out of the way in the first half-hour so I could spend time running at Steph's pace.  We jogged for another 30 minutes together; of course, Steph wanted to push it on the last block.

Instead of showering and eating in, Steph and I walked immediately to the Blue Dog Tavern for burgers and beer.  A spontaneous date!  We laughed, caught up and just had a great time hanging out.

It's moments like that where I realize how regimented triathlon training is.  And how welcome a change of pace can be.  Both literally, as in changing the pace of the bike and run based on how I'm feeling and the situation in the moment.  And figuratively, as in rolling with the punches and actually having an even better evening than I would have expected.

I'll try to remember that throughout my training in the coming weeks and months.  Things may not always break my way.  Plans will change.  Especially next year when there's more going on at work than ever before.  But if I can realize that sometimes the unexpected just may be an enhancement, then I think I'll be in great shape.

79 days and counting.

The Only Choice

I grew up going to two schools, public and Torah. At the latter, we'd discuss Judaic teachings, of course, but we'd also cover more general moral lessons too.  One always stood out to me.  This is the scenario: You're at the beach. You spot a random stranger drowning in the surf.  Nearby, your favorite pet dog is swept up in the tide and current as well.  You can't save both.  Pick one.  There is a right answer.

As a child, this was a true dilemma.  Your pet is a family member, right?  But really, it's obvious now which one you should save, I hope.

Now what the hell does this have to do with triathlon?

I found out today during the bike portion of the Santa Barbara Triathlon long course, metaphorically speaking.  After an intense, choppy and frigid swim, I found myself struggling up the first several miles worth of climbing on the bike.  Until mercifully, I reached the top to begin a fairly steep, technical descent filled with switchback turns.  It's the kind of descent that sneaks up on you in a race because the first few miles on the bike are usually spent recovering from the swim, and then the focus turns to keeping the heart-rate in check on the climbing.  It's easy to fall into a hypnotic mental and physical rhythm because doing so dampens the pain in your quads, neck, shoulders and lower back.  The challenge becomes balancing relaxing on the downhills while remembering how dangerous they are.

Unfortunately, I saw just how dangerous they were firsthand.  As I began to rocket downward, I realized I was carrying too much speed around the right corner heading into El Toro Canyon.  I squeezed the brakes...hard.  Flashbacks of my Santa Susana Pass crash in 2009 raced through my head.  They helped me avoid panicking though as I looked through the turn, composed myself and corrected while staying on the right side of the road.  But someone was riding behind me closer than they should have as I crushed the brakes.  The cyclist consequently veered around my left-side, forcing him farther out beyond the double-yellow lines on the turn.

Things went real bad from there.  His back wheel wobbled and skidded on loose dirt and leaves. He tried to correct the skid, lost control, and slammed down on his left side, hurtling down the street on his shoulder, legs and back.

I keep playing in my mind the grimace on his face as he slid down the street.  I can see the whites of his teeth and wince in his closed eyes.

The sad part is I kept pedaling for a moment, choosing between competition and compassion.

It's not really a choice.  Compassion quickly won out -- but not without a brief internal struggle.  I work hard to arrive at race day ready to do my best, and once the starting gun goes off, that's my reward for all the hours spent training and preparing.  It's my time to shine and see how I stack up with the best!  Still, what kind of man would I be had I kept pedaling, even finishing with a personal best?  That's something I would have regretted quite possibly for the rest of my life.

Thankfully, I won't have to put myself through that kind of self-torture.  After the accident, I slowed, pulled over safely several feet downhill, turned around and rode back up the incline to check on the rider.  He was standing, hands clutched on knees, waving me off.  "I'm alright, get back to your race.  I'm OK," he said.

I shouldn't have listened.  The impact sounded horrendous and looked even worse.  But, the man told me he was fine.  I asked him if he was absolutely sure and if he was going to try and continue. He said yes to both.

I solemnly turned downhill and resumed my race.

I later found out the cyclist needed an ambulance and was placed on a flatboard.

On one hand, I know I did the right thing by stopping.  On the other hand, I didn't do enough by neglecting to stay with him until medical attention arrived.  I knew better.

However, I would have done exactly the same thing as the downed rider.  I wouldn't want someone else's race ruined because of my crash.

I keep telling myself that.

Maybe I need to go back to Torah school.

84 days and counting.

Why the Negativity?

Is it a full moon or something? Usually, the Griffith Park LA Tri Club brick is filled with positive energy and nothing but encouragement.  Maybe it was the 90-degree-plus heat at 5 p.m. Or the huge swells that hit Santa Monica this morning.  But something was different tonight.  Three different Tri Clubbers offered nothing but discouragement in three separate conversations.  Two of them didn't mean anything by it, both commenting either on their fatigue or a poor race performance at the Santa Barbara Triathlon.  The third (and his friend) flat out warned me about marriage and begged me to get a pre-nuptial agreement because he had just lost hundreds of thousands of dollars in a settlement.  Both friends chided me about being closer to the "unhappy 50%" who get divorced.

Gee, thanks guys.

The places where I go to train are equivalent to a spiritual and physical dojo. I expect negativity, like shoes at a martial arts studio, to be left at the door.

Today, the dojo was muddied.  Footprints stained the white canvas.  It's ugly.  And unappreciated. Ironically, this comes on the same day I interviewed a leading sports psychologist for a freelance magazine website story I'm writing.  We discussed the benefits to blogging or journal-keeping, along with the risks.  Without tipping my hand or my source's viewpoint, one of the risks associated with blogging or journal-keeping is reflecting on the negative so that it becomes self-destructive.  I'm going to take that feedback to heart tonight.  I'll clean up my mental dojo, sweep up the dirt and grime, and look forward to another day of training tomorrow.

Tonight reminded me of how powerful words can be.  Just a few poorly chosen ones can negatively color someone else's mood or general outlook.  I'm vowing right here to strengthen my resolve to encourage others, and if I have something to discuss that could be construed as negative, I'll think twice and ask myself if it's helpful, valuable and necessary information to share.

If it isn't, I'll keep my mouth shut.

Some nights, blogging is really hard.  I write words down almost just for the sake of keeping my ritual intact.  Tonight, it's as if I'm pouring back garbage into a wastebasket and rapidly jogging down the hall to throw it down the chute.  The process is short, messy, stinky and I want to get it over with quickly so the room the wastebasket sat in can return to its normal aroma.

And now the cleansing part:

-- Just because other people's relationships fall apart doesn't mean mine will.  I'm 100% confident of that.

-- What happened to other people at the Santa Barbara Triathlon in years past is their experience.  I'm about to define my own.

-- Yes, an Ironman will take a huge toll on my body and mind.  I should expect at least a month to fully recover, and that's totally OK.  I have no problem with that.

Good.  Got that over with.

And now, I return to my normal, happy outlook on life and training.

Good night, all.

87 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.