Embracing the Unknown

I remember when I first started swimming at Van Nuys/Sherman Oaks pool.  Almost a year-and-a-half ago it seems.  Back when a half-mile swim felt challenging (and satisfying), and all I did was swim back-and-forth without any direction, instruction, or a clue as to how to improve. That's what I thought about today as I blasted through a taper workout of 2,700 yards featuring two 500s and a 1,000 yards broken out by sprint 50s.

I also thought about how today marked my final VNSO swim until Ironman.

The next time I jump into that heated pool and feel the cold concrete sting my toes, I will be an Ironman.  Everything that I've worked for since 2008 will have come to fruition.

What a long, strange, trip it's been.

That also got me thinking.  This journey has been a rite of passage.  I'll be going from a world I knew nothing about -- a Herculean fantasy -- to having full experience and knowledge of it very soon.  It's not unlike other rites of passage over the course of our lives.  Getting our driver's license.  SAT's.  The first day of high school and college.  Losing our virginity.  I don't know about you, but I rushed through all those rites.  All I could ever think about was reaching those milestones, not the journey along the way.  Nor could I appreciate the nervous energy, apprehension and shear terror (at least with the sex part) prior to those gargantuan moments until long after.  When I was safe, comfortable and secure enough to look back at them.

But strangely enough, when I recall those life milestones, I'm surprised to find that I miss the giddyness, stress and anxiety of the unknown prior to"The Big Moment" as much as the moments themselves. As a result, I find myself slowing down more these past few days.  I'm not in a hurry to get to Sunday the way I thought I would be.  I'm truly living in the "Now." I generally don't hang out in that space for very long.  It's the way I'm wired. But since this past weekend -- since my surprise send-off party -- I'm savoring the nerves, the excitement and the feelings of wonder.

I also know, based on all those other "firsts," that this "pre" period just might be the best part.  Maybe the unknown is better than the real.  Maybe the build-up is better than the actual moment.  Either way, I'll know on Sunday.   And then on Monday, it will all be over.  I'll be driving home.  And the countdown to Coeur d'Alene will begin.  How strange indeed.  The countdown clock will reset.  The journey will begin anew, but I'll know what to expect.  It may not be the same as the fabulous wonder of not knowing.

So why not enjoy every moment and sensation of these last few pre-Ironman days? I'll never be quite the same person after the race, and I know that.

Like this morning's swim, this is the end of my "first time" Ironman journey.

And for the first time in my life, I'm going to stop, smile, savor, and embrace the unknown.

Five days and counting.

Performance Enhancing

I was going to wait until just before the race to unveil my performance enhancing agent. I just couldn't wait.

The initials on the shoes above are for my grandfather, Jerry Schneider.  He would have LOVED seeing me at this race next week, along with grandmother, Sylvia.  My grandma is still alive, but my grandfather passed away more than five years ago from complications related to heart surgery.

Grandpa was as blue collar as they come.  The Cal Ripken of the automotive industry, showing up to work every day at our family-run repair business until the weekend before his surgery.  He was 83 at that time, and still savvy.

Grandpa's post-surgery illness lingered for almost a year.  Yet he fought every day to overcome it, and almost did.  There was no quit in him whatsoever.  There never was.

People keep telling me that no matter what I do during the final part of the Ironman, don't stop running those final miles.  Don't give up.  Don't quit.  My teammates tell me it will be easy to do so, as many other people will be walking and encouraging me to do the same.

I may be tempted, but all I have to do is look down at my shoes and I'll be fine.

Grandpa never quit.  Neither will I.

I've also got the initials of Brian Rever, one of my oldest childhood friends, on the back of my shoes.  Brian wasn't a quitter either, battling cancer for three separate bouts until finally succumbing in December 2001.  He was 27.  Brian had it rough.  Cancer is a nasty, nasty illness to watch let alone experience.  But with every round of battle, Brian gritted his teeth and did everything he could to get through it.  He may not have had the opportunity to live for very long, but he still taught me as much about the value of living and perseverance as anyone.

Same goes for my high school friend, Jason Moreno.  His initials are on the inside arches of my shoes.  Jason battled an exceedingly rare and aggressive form of cancer for around five years before passing away almost two years ago.  Jason was always the life of every party, with his wit and perverse sense of humor always looming large.  Along with his lanky frame.  If I somehow become despondent during the course of the race, or just need a pick-me-up, I know I can always think of what Jason would say to tease me or make light of the situation.  That easiness of spirit will come in handy next week.

Now I realize that to some this might trivialize the existence of three human beings.  Maybe it might seem I'm reducing their lives to mere initials on my shoes.  Those people are missing the point.  This is just one way for me to honor the memories and legacies of three men who affected my life.  Three men who can't physically be with me on one of the biggest days of my life.  Three men who valued what I value as well: Toughness.  Tenacity.  Willpower.

I hope to respond with an effort that will make them proud.  And I hope to run with the force of three hearts.

The strength of three.  That will be my performance enhancer.

8 days and counting.

Grouchy!

I was a big grump today.  And tonight. Why?

My swim sucked this morning.  I was lethargic in the water, almost a full 15 seconds slower in the same exact distance intervals I did on Tuesday.  The slower I got, the more frustrated I became.  The more frustrated I became, the worse my form became.  It was a downward spiral from there.  I just flat out didn't want to be in the water.  I was angry because swimming the equivalent of 80 football fields this week didn't exactly feel like a taper.  Then, fighting traffic to get to Griffith Park with enough time to cram in my hour bike made matters worse.  I honked my horn. Cursed slow drivers.  I was not pleasant.

Of course, my bike ride felt sluggish as well.  And, as you can imagine, I grew even more frustrated.  At least I fueled that negative energy into pedal power, hitting 25 mph a few times on the flats out of pure spite.

I think I greatly over-estimated what tapering for an Ironman would be like.

However, at the end of a long day and evening that continued to be stressful, I can hear my inner Coach Gerardo asking me one very important question: "How did you feel after the bike and swim this morning?"

Hmm.

Pretty good, actually.  Like I definitely could have kept going without any problem.  And the only way I would have experienced that feeling is by not quitting on myself today, which I avoided doing despite every ounce of me wanting to crawl out of the pool and go back to sleep.

Anyways, my point is this.  Even when a workout or two seems to fall apart. Even when training schedules throw you a curveball, you must keep going.  No matter how hard it is.  Now matter how much you want to quit.  Something good will come of it. Somehow. You won't know how, or when you'll even realize it. But it will come.

So even though today pretty much sucked all the way around, it was still a good day. I got through it.  I swam 8,000 yards in three hours over two days.  Not a lot of folks can say they did that.

Now leave me alone so I can go get some sleep.

17 days and counting.

300 Posts

OK, this is my 301st blog post, for those of you keeping score. That's 300 times over the past year where I gathered my thoughts, positive or negative, and shared them in this space.  If roughly each post is around 250 words (probably more, but we'll play it conservative), that's around 75,000 words combined.

That's also a lot of time to spend dwelling on one goal.

So, what have I learned so far?

-- I've learned that Ironman is much more about mental toughness rather than physical toughness.

-- I've learned I really don't like getting meals from bars and gels.  But if ya gotta do it, Clif Bars and chocolate Hammer gel work just fine.

-- I've learned that the hardest workouts, not the best workouts, are the most gratifying.  Sometimes just getting by is all the accomplishment one needs.

-- I've learned that the body is a delicate machine that requires constant care and feeding (literally) to perform at optimum levels.

-- I've also learned that ice baths are worth the shocking pain a man can get in the worst of places while taking them.

-- I've learned that just when you think you've spent enough on all the triathlon gear you'll need, there's something new to buy.

-- I've learned that without a supportive partner, friends and family, triathlon is the loneliest of pursuits.  And without that same support on race day, completing a triathlon is among the emptiest of accomplishments.

-- I've learned that how far I can push myself is a moving target based on my conditioning and my mental state.  In other words, it is up to me.

-- I've learned that while you have to do the actual work, a coach will make that work count for more.  I can't say enough good things about Coach Gerardo.

-- I've also learned that having a group of training partners to help push you forward is unspeakably valuable.  I can't imagine having trained for nearly a year at this point without them.

-- I've learned that honesty and vulnerability regarding my feelings make me stronger, not weaker.

-- I've learned that blogging helps me gain perspective on my training that in turn combats burnout since I can learn to take a small nugget from practically every workout.

-- I've learned how to take care of myself for the rest of my life by leading a healthy lifestyle.

-- I've learned that consistent physical training can help me make better, more creative decisions in the workplace.

-- I've learned to appreciate my training off days.

-- I've learned to tolerate my upstairs neighbor.  That little bitch.

-- I've learned that chlorine is powerful stuff.  It corrodes swimsuits, hardens skin and lightens hair. Yikes!

-- I've learned I'm a much different person today than I was when I started Ironman training.  Perhaps I've seen more physical, spiritual and emotional growth over the past year than during any other point in my life.

-- I've learned that no matter what happens on November 21, I've done the work to be called an Ironman.

Thank you for sharing that journey with me.

20 days and counting.

Active Meditation

When you're training for an endurance race, spending endless hours on your own in repetitive motion, there's plenty of time to let your mind wander. As I do the same loop on the Griffith Park bike path every Tuesday morning (MIND. NUMBING.), I've had plenty of time to think lately about how mental down time is used.  Sometimes, it's basic to-do list planning.  Other times it's used in the always popular "woulda shoulda coulda" mode.  You know, "I could've done this, should've done that, would've if only if. ..."    This often results in a downward spiral that doesn't result in anything but frustration and an inability to look beyond the past.  Which is too bad on mornings like this one where the sun finally decided to make a reappearance.

A third (more productive) option is to monitor the "Now."  "How am I feeling on this ride?"  "How is my technique?"  "Is my heart-rate in check?  If not, what can I do to fix that?"  I've found this kind of thought is especially effective in longer-duration training where looking ahead at the long day can cause dejection or a heart-rate spike.

Of course, focusing on the "Now" is difficult.  It is easy to get distracted and to get back to idle wandering.   When that happens to me -- usually after a long duration of consistent output and no real change in my energy levels -- I try to focus on what's next: planning.  Or visualization.  I ask myself how I might respond in a race under similar circumstances as I'm experiencing in that moment.  Or thinking about something my coach told me that requires some deeper analysis.  Often, this is the second-most productive kind of mental output I can create.  There's a tangible "product" in terms of a solution to a problem, and the value associated with knowing I may not have attained that solution had I not invested the time to think about it in a substantial manner.

Now hopefully you read the paragraph above and wondered how something as beneficial as planning or visualization can only be the second-best kind of thought during training.

In my opinion, here's the best kind of thought.

Ready for it?

....

....

....

NOTHING.

Emptiness.

It's that place where the "zone" exists.  You know you've been in the zone when you snap out of it, wondering how you got from Point A to Point B because you honestly don't remember any conscious thought during that span.  It often happens to us while driving, but while training?  It's rare.  There can be too many variables at play between physical sensations, weather, terrain, navigational thoughts and so forth.

When it does happen, I'd call it "active meditation."  Empty mind through repetitive motion.

But how is no thought valuable?  For me, I find it extremely valuable because the trick is there's really no such thing as "no thought."  Our minds are always racing.  Doing something.  Even when we don't know it.  That "doing something" may just be so far in the back-burner of our brain that we don't actively perceive it.

But here's what really happens.

Five hours after that "zone" experience, you're sitting in a brainstorm meeting at work.  You walk into the meeting wondering what in the hell you're going to say because you don't have a damn thing prepared.  It's not like you didn't think about it though.  You did!  It just seemed that nothing quite stuck.

Then, in the middle of the meeting, you start spewing ideas like Old Faithful.  Heads nod.  People write stuff down. You feel good, but can't help but wonder yourself...

"Where did that come from!?"  It seemed like those thoughts came out of nowhere.

In fact, they did.

This happened to me today, in fact.

For me, this is the clear connection between the benefits of training and work performance.  I can't always quantify it, and lately my work hours have been somewhat sacrificed to cram in additional training.  But I feel like when I need to come up with an answer on the spot, or make a decision under pressure, I'm able to do so more easily and with less stress.  It's the epitome of "less is more."

Maybe I have nothing to thank for that.

23 days and counting.

Free Mind, Free Body

"Free your mind, and your body will follow." "Free your mind, and your body will follow."

That is how my massage with LA Body Mechanics' David ended tonight, with his words imploring me to relax and focus going into my final month of Ironman training.

It's funny, because I've been hearing that statement echoed in some form from various sources over the past several days.  Whether it's from fellow triathletes who have completed an Ironman, massage therapists, or yoga instructors, it's the same message.  Relax, don't over think things, and let your body do what it's capable of without complicating matters.

I feel like I have been doing that for weeks, if not months now.  I've learned over the past year that your body will do what your brain tells it to, as long as there's enough fuel in the tank to do it.  It's as simple as that.

Yet I think that those who know me well realize that I tend to heavily analyze things that matter most to me and perhaps they're concerned I'll somehow psyche myself out prior to the big event.

Let me assure you -- heck, let me assure myself -- that this won't happen.

Like I wrote the other night in my "fallure" blog post, I already am an Ironman in spirit.  I don't need this race to validate my training, my conditioning, or the fact that I put in the hard work.  It's all right here for everyone to see.  Yes, I want the finisher's medal.  I want it bad.  But I'm not going to torture myself thinking of every conceivable detail about how the race should be run to finish in a certain time.  I will have a strategy in mind, which Coach Gerardo is going to help me with this coming Sunday evening.  But I'm also going to let the race come to me.  After all, what if I do a bunch of planning for a race based on a clear, sunny day and it's raining?  Or what if I get a couple flat tires?  There's no point in getting riled up about all that.

So as I really head into the final stretch of training, where is my head at?  I'll tell you.  It's in the here and now.  Though I'm sneaking a peek to November 21 as well.  Nothing more, nothing less.

There's still a lot more work to do.

28 days and counting

A Happy Fall-Ure

My dad and late grandfather are the two men I look up to the most.  My work ethic comes from them.  So does my passionate nature.  My sense of honor and integrity.  And yes, my temper too. One of my favorite things about my father is that he always sends me articles to read.  Whether they're on business, life, or sport, it doesn't matter.  They all have one thing in common: Improvement.  My father lives that credo every day himself.  He's constantly reading and more impressive, applying those learned principles in his 30-year-old automotive repair business.

Once a week, I can count on there being an article in my inbox that he'd like me to read and comment on.  Today's article was so good I'm going to share it with you and offer both him and you my response.

The author is Jonathan Fields, who sounds like a really cool dude.  My kind of guy.  Into a lot of different kinds of things.  In today's blog post, Jonathan wrote about what legendary author Jim Collins said is the difference between failure and what he calls "fall-ure" For the non-click inclined, here's his definition (using rock climbing as a metaphor):

"Failure is when you get to the crux, start to feel your legs shaking, your forearms and fingers flaming out, your nerves rattling and focus flagging…then just choose to give up, peel off and hang on the rope.

Fall-ure is when you get to that same place. Heart pumping, sweat pouring from places you didn’t know you could sweat, ground a distant memory and, instead of choosing to let go, you commit fully to the next scary-as-hell move. You go for it with everything you have…and still fall.

Failure is about going most of the way, then bailing on your defining moment.

Fall-ure is about going all of the way, then falling in the utterly committed pursuit of a quest.

And, the difference, the willingness to go all-in and fail at the biggest moments, is very often the difference between epic journeys and a lifetime of excuses."

My father thought this aptly described my journey towards Ironman Arizona and wanted to know what I thought about that.

Well, Dad, here's what I think.

When I first read this post I was so moved that I lost my breath for a moment.  I believe that I have pursued fall-ure my entire life, weird as that may sound.  And now there's a made-up term to describe that feeling.  Words to define an instinct.  Whether my desire to pursue fall-ure was taught or self-learned, I'm not sure.  I think, Dad, that you and I are the same in this regard.  So I believe we both learned it from your father, my grandfather.  Whether it was trying out for teams I had no business making (how many times did it take before making Hillside's basketball team?), or winding up in places I never belonged (how many times was I told "no" before scoring a press pass to the Reagan Library opening?), I've never let that fear of rejection or the unknown stop me.  And one need not look further than my relationship with my fiance to confirm that in all areas of my life, I've risked everything (and sometimes failed in the process) to do what I think is either best for me or a goal I want to achieve.

So, as it pertains to this odyssey that is the Ironman, I could very well drop off the proverbial cliff come race day.  I might get sick.  Or crash.  Or just have a bad day.  But, one thing I won't do that day is fail.  I've trained 550 hours so far not to fail.  The actual race is 17 hours or less.

Were I not to finish at Ironman Arizona, I would not consider it a failure.  Unless I simply quit, which would never happen.  They will have to drag me off that course or I'm crossing that finish line.  This is my final build week before heading into a three-week taper.  I've done the work.  I've passed the tests, week after week, rain or shine (like today, where I biked two hours in the damp, rainy LA basin).  At every crux, I've climbed.  And when I've slipped, I've found a new crux to leverage.

I think that's the bottom line in triathlon.  If we continually push ourselves, we can't fail. If we bonk, it's a lesson, not a judgement.  If we crash, it's a DNF, not a Did Not Compete.  We show up.  We race.  We practice.  We learn.  We grow.  We do it again.

No matter what the results say, there is no failure in that.

But if we're not trying to outdo ourselves each time, there cannot be fall-ure either.

So, Dad, I hope you can live with your son being a total fall-ure.

And for what it's worth, I think you're a fall-ure too.

30 days and counting.

PS: In case you missed it, my latest article for Lava Magazine is now live on their website. It's about balancing relationships and training.  I think we could all use some help in this area!  Here's the link.

Double Post Tomorrow

Here's the 10 second version: Woke up a little late this morning (not at around noon) but still got my threshold run test in.  No time to upload the watch data yet so I can't compare past performance.  Tomorrow.

Went straight from work to a so-so yoga class at Black Dog, which was surprising since each session there is typically stellar.  From there, rushed to grab some dinner (Poquito Mas for second straight night, yes I'm a creature of habit).  Quick catch-up with Steph, some Modern Family catch-up, pack training bags for a swim-cycle brick tomorrow, and now it's somehow 10:40 p.m. and time for bed.

Es mi vida ahora.

Tomorrow is going to be a tough training morning.  I'll write all about it tomorrow night when I play catch-up with the rest of my life.  The exciting stuff, laundry, dishes, workout uploads, bike cleaning.

Ah, the good life.

37 days and counting.

Rest Required

I participated in the eating of a full, three-week old pig at a Culver City restaurant last night. Though I'm not sure what was more disturbing: Eating the different parts of the intact beast or how tired I was by 10 p.m. after a beer and a glass of wine.

This sport saps the life out of me sometimes.  There are certain moments where my body just seems to shut down and go into the equivalent of "hibernation" mode on a computer.  Like right in the middle of a dinner.  This sucks, because it's not like I go out all often with my training schedule.  When I do, expect to be able to stay awake and rally.

By the time I got home at midnight, the last thing I could think about doing was blogging. Though I did consider it, staring at my laptop, which peered back at me with its single battery light blinking back at me.

I felt guilty for not writing.  I felt guilty for not being able to quite keep up with my friends at the dinner.

Triathlon makes me physically healthier, but sometimes with a sacrifice that's too great to make.  And yet with another month of peak training, this is what I must get used to: Rise, train, race to work, work, race to train, train, quality time with Stephanie, blog, sleep.

Where's the room for friends?  Where's the room for socializing?

The kicker is that today's an off-day from training.  And instead of going out tonight, all I can think about is a quiet night at home.  Just me and the DVR.

I ask my body to do a lot.  Right now, my body is asking for return favors.  Rest.

Deal.

51 days and counting.

Underdog!

I tried to write last night but internet access was down in my condo. A rather ironic scenario played out at home that I have to share.  It started with my recent post about my Muse mantra, "John" commented and asked if I had a "short man's complex."  I thought about that for a while before responding.  There was a time where the answer would have certainly been "yes."  I used to practice martial arts for a period of years in my mid-20s, primarily because I think deep-down I wanted to prove to other people that I was tough enough.  That I wasn't just a little shit, I could defend myself.

Somewhere closer to my 30th birthday, I realized that I didn't need to prove anything to anybody.  And triathlon has taught me all that matters is proving something to yourself.

That said, I would admit I have a lion-sized underdog complex.  David vs Goliath.  Rudy walking on to play football for Notre Dame.  Cinderella Man.  The kind of complex where my fuel grows with other people's doubts whether it's about my ability or the severity of a particular challenge.

So what's the difference between an underdog complex and short man's complex? Semantics?  Not to me.  I think it has everything to do with confidence.  The former is about challenges.  The latter is about insecurities.  I've pushed myself to my physical and mental limits (with more to go) in this sport, and I know what I'm capable of.  Confidence allows me to shrug off jokes or jibes about height, skill or appearance.

All that said, I wound up last night with what can only be described as a moment of karmic, comic irony.  Both fire smoke detectors in my condo started chirping late in the evening, reminding me that it was time to replace the batteries.  Problem is that they're obviously on the ceiling.  And I had no new batteries in the house.

Oh, and even if I did have batteries, there's no ladder in the house either.

There I was, perched atop the leather reclining chair in my office, a step-stool stacked on top of the seat.  Stephanie guarding my legs so the chair didn't spin around and knock me off.  Standing on my toes, reaching for the detector units.

Short man's complex indeed!

And yes, I did fix the problem. I ripped both detectors from the ceiling.   Now, only dangling wires remain.

Short man's complex...sheesh!

52 days and counting.