Big Brick

I embedded the details of my Sunday brick in the post above.  I can't figure out how to embed in the post properly yet.  But I think the duration of the workout (hopefully) speaks for itself. Of course, it was yesterday's workout -- not today's.  I was so busy powering through a five-hour brick and rushing to a neighborhood potluck dinner and then rushing to my buddy TJ's house to catch the finale of The Pacific (best one of the series) that by the time I got home...I had zero energy to blog last night.

I apologize to both of you who read this blog daily.

I'm back now, with a vengeance.  Actually, it's just a quiet night at home and an off-day for training.  I didn't get one last week so today's is most welcome.  Though my legs feel like lead after climbing 5,663 feet on the bike in Malibu, swimming a mile in 57-degree ocean water and lightly jogging a couple miles after the bike. I hope I don't sink to the bottom of the pool tomorrow morning with our Fortius team swim!

I learned a few things during yesterday's epic day of climbing Encinal and Piuma canyon roads.  They were probably more powerful observations as they were occurring in the heat of the moment, but at least 24 hours of rumination  can distill things down to their core.  So here goes:

-- Hill climbs are getting easier.  As you can see by the speeds involved, Mike, Karen, Frank, Richard and I weren't going too fast up any of the hill climbs. But, outside of the latter part of Piuma, my heart rate remained low and steady.  I never felt winded, except at the top of Piuma as massive blankets of fog rolled over the mountain peaks directly overhead, sending headwind blasts directly in our path.  I think the best way to build stamina on the bike is long, slow, and steady hill climbing.  Rinse, wash, repeat.

-- Cycling is a dangerous sport.  Two friends of mine, one of them being Anat, went down in accidents this weekend.  Neither accident was their fault nor could have been prevented.  Anat crashed on Pacific Coast Highway, which further gives me the jitters because of the number of people who crashed their last year.  I used to think that road was among the safest and most scenic.  Now I realize it's probably safer up steep hillsides than down by the ocean. Please, ride with caution on PCH.  Don't follow too close.  Watch the car doors.

-- Ocean swimming gets more and more enjoyable with more and more practice.  Many of my friends don't understand how I can enjoy ocean swimming.  There are the creepy crawly critters, for instance.  The polluted water.  The tides.  The seaweed.  The sand.  You know what?  Once you get past the surf, it's calm.  Once you channel out the cold, it's comfortable.  Once you accept your peaceful insignificance in the giant ocean, swimming is a total joy.  It's rhythmic.  Hypnotic.  And something I never thought I'd say a couple years ago.  Further, if you're training for an Ironman with a large open-water swim, I suggest swimming in some really cold water at some point before your race just to be mentally prepared.

-- My friend Karen is really improving on the bike!  After Frank bowed out of the climb due to mechanical problems with his shifting cables and Richard went home due to a bum knee, Karen braved riding alone behind Mike and me.  And she not only did so admirably, but Karen outright powered up Piuma -- only .25 miles behind Mike and me at the summit.  On the steep descents, something she's admittedly uncomfortable with, Karen kept up.  I was super proud of her and impressed.  It's really nice to see improvement happening right before your eyes.  Karen's one of my favorite triathletes because she embodies the spirit of the sport.  She's tenacious and flat-out battles through anything.  I can relate to that mentality and have that much more respect for it as a result.

There's much more I could write but I'm shutting it down for the night.  I've got another busy week ahead and a 6 a.m. date at the pool.  Good night everyone!

192 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.

Freaky Friday

My morning workout went haywire today.  It went so far off the rails that even Amtrak would be like, "Damn!" It started innocently enough when my Garmin watch ran out of juice on the first lap of what was supposed to be my first track workout.  No problem. I'll work out later, I thought.  I went to go pick up the water bottle I stashed on the bleacher's at VNSO park...it was gone!  After one lap around the track!  Less than five minutes into my run.  Seriously?  Who steals a water bottle?  I looked around incredulously when I saw a parks and recreation golf cart riding away with the driver mimicking my "what in the world?!" gesture with my arms.  Wow. Whatever.

Then, on the way home, I turned right on Van Nuys near Ventura onto a street with a "no right turn on red" sign.  The light had turned green.  I got pulled over anyways...by a friggin' bike cop!  Seriously?  Is this really happening? I couldn't hide my contempt, shouting "You've got to be kidding me!" when the cop told me to pull to the right.  I gave this guy a ton of crap, until he pointed out that the sign was actually no right turns at all from 7 to 9 a.m.

Oh.

Still though, with the California budget crisis, the police department has clearly turned to chickenshit tickets as a way to pay the bills.  Fortunately, after a raging outburst that evoked the scene in Shawshank Redemption with Morgan Freeman and the parole board, the cop let me go without a ticket.

Who said fighting against The Man doesn't pay off every once in a while?

I finally did get my workout in tonight at 5:30 p.m.  The session called for six, 400m sprints with 200m recovery intervals.  I held steady between 1:32-1:38 and 170-177 bpm.  I don't know if this is considered "good" since it was my first time out.  What I do know is that if I were to hold that pace for a mile I'd be able to roughly run a 6-minute mile. That would rock!  We'll see what Coach Gerardo says.

That wasn't even the highlight of the workout though.  The final 10 minutes called for running barefoot slowly in the grass.  It's amazing what a sensation can do to spark a hidden sense of nostalgia.  Almost immediately upon feeling the grass on my feet and toes, I was taken back to childhood and running in my front yard, playing in the sprinklers with my mom watching.  I couldn't stop thinking about childhood the entire time I was running barefoot.  It was nice to go back to that place. I didn't realize how easy it was to get there.

All in all, it was a great day. It just started off on very shaky ground.

195 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.

My New Partner In Crime

Batman had Robin. Knight Rider had K.I.T.

Robert Redford had Wonderboy.

Speed Racer had...uh...Speed Racer?

I have Charlie, my new triathlon bike.

She's light (17.6 lbs without water bottles), pretty and packs a punch.  I took Charlie out for her maiden voyage earlier today at Griffith Park for a rare morning brick session.  While I covered roughly the same ground I usually do in an hour, I did so with far less effort.  I never felt taxed, my heart-rate rarely crossed into heart-rate zone 3 yet I routinely gained at least 2 mph from my normal average when I decided to step on the gas a bit.

More important, I felt really comfortable on the bike.  I can't emphasize how important a proper bike fitting is.  Though it took my fitter at Helen's Cycles, Paul, about a solid hour to get it right (my fault given my scoliosis, sloped shoulders, and unequal leg lengths) the investment was well worth it.  I could sense the additional power transfer from my legs to my feet to the pedals.  At the same time, I felt like I was resting comfortably on the aero bars.  Right now, my hamstrings are a bit tight from being in that new aero position, but otherwise I feel great -- especially considering I ran an hour afterwards and worked a full day in the office.  Usually by this time, I'm fairly tired and ready to go home for some rest.  I believe I have more energy now by being able to conserve more this morning.

Back to the run.  I ran faster than usual and covered more ground while keeping my heart-rate comfortably in heart-rate zones 2 and 3.  Even though I crept high into the latter, I never felt taxed or even at the start of heavy breathing.  Usually a brick of this nature would sap my strength and stamina.

But not with Charlie.

I feel like this new piece of equipment will make a noticeable difference in my overall performance come race time.

While I love Monica, my road bike, I think Charlie and I were meant to be.

Don't worry, Stephanie.  I know it's only a bike.

Just don't tell Charlie that.  And don't tell Monica either.

197 days and counting.

PS: I've been meaning to write about what I've learned over these past 100 days.  This is a self-reminder to hopefully do that tomorrow.

What Fuels My Fire

I'm sensing a potential problem with my training.

It's centered on fear.  Fear of finishing last in a pelaton. Or in the pool.  Or on the track and trail.  It stems from being dropped on numerous rides with the San Fernando Valley Bicycle Club early in my cycling career, or my past inability to keep up in swim workouts.  And an athletic inferiority complex in general that is best represented by my irrational love for underdogs like Rudy Ruettiger.  Fearing that I'm the slowest or the worst fuels my competitive fire, as much as when people tell me I can't or won't be able to do something. Anything.

This fear is manifesting itself in a pretty obsessive competitive streak lately.  My training partners and friends, Ann, Richard and Mike, have encountered that side of my personality recently.  Richard and Mike were playfully teasing me about notching up the intensity a bit too high during our weekly Griffith Park brick sessions on Wednesday nights.  I can't help it though, especially when a few of us cyclists tackle Mount Hollywood en route to Griffith Park and occasionally treat it like we're racing for the polka-dot climbing "king of the hill" jersey at Le Tour de France.

OK, maybe that's just me that feels that way.  Maybe I'm the only one who hears British Tour de France TV commentator Phil Liggett in my head -- announcing my progress and stumbles to the world in real-time.  And that's part of my problem.

It happened again today, where what felt like an unusually large pelaton ratcheted up the intensity almost as soon as we turned out of the LA Zoo parking lot.  I was prepared for an easy spin and run considering our recent race weekend at Wildflower.  Nobody else in the group received that memo, apparently.  We took off fast, and hard.  I was almost dropped at first until I warmed up properly.

That got my attention.  And drew my ire.  Then, what was supposed to be a jaunt turned into a near-sprint, starting at around Forest Lawn Drive before heading right up a long hill en route to Mt. Hollywood.

Phil Liggett took over.  He called the action in my head with every pedal stroke.

"Ryan seems to be struggling today, his weary legs almost begging for mercy after a grueling Wildflower stage on Sunday.  He's towards the back of the pack at the moment, or is he calculating his big surge? It's hard to tell if our man on the Colnago is wearing the look of a confident, intense competitor or someone who's at the end of his line before the real racing begins.  What's Ryan made of today?  We will all soon know.

"Oh look at that!  Ryan is making his move now, passing to the outside left of a small group of riders who seem to be slowing down.  He's picking up steam! But can he catch the man up front, the blue-jersey, Trek wearing monster who is trying to lose the entire pack up the mountain?  Can Ryan pick it up to slay Goliath?  Or is David simply out of rocks?

"It appears we'll have our answer shortly.  Ryan is making his move!  He's separating from the pack and is solely focused on tracking down the Trek.  Now Ryan is riding Trek's wheel, forcing the leader to pick up the pace.  The man up front is becoming uncomfortable. I think Ryan's got him!  Yes, the Trek rider is now standing and pedaling up the hill.  Laboring!  Panting!  Cold and merciless, Ryan passes.  Seated.  A point has been made.  'This is MY hill.'  This will indeed be Ryan's day!  From worst to first, for one moment, Ryan is king of this hill. A huge victory for Team Colnago."

Yep, that's how my brain works. Even if it's 5:30 on a Wednesday evening on a seemingly routine ride. I know I'm a little crazy.  I know.

I hate losing. I hate being dropped.  I hate being perceived as too slow.  Not good enough.  Not fast enough.

Nothing ever comes easy for me, so I never take a workout for granted. Maybe that's a secret to success: Treat each workout like it must be your best.  Because somewhere out there, someone is training harder.  Getting better.  Becoming faster.

What are you doing?

203 days and counting.

This is My Tri Bike

This is my tri-bike.  There are many like it.

But this one is mine.

After several months drooling, researching, speculating, debating, deliberating and procrastinating, I now own a triathlon bike.  As you can see, I went with the Cervelo P2 Ultegra setup, along with a sweet pair of Bontrager/Hed Aeolus 5.0 clinchers.  Helen's Cycles in Santa Monica made me an offer too good to refuse on the wheelset.  I was planning to buy the Hed  Jet 6 and 9s, as I've recently written.  However, they weren't in stock and Helen's took advantage of my eagerness to sell me  on a "project one" pair of the Bontragers for $900 off the MSRP.  As I was doing my bike-fitting session, the cyclist next to me doing the same had ridden 10,000 miles on the same pair.  And was happy.  That was good enough for me.

Oh, Lance and the rest of Team Radio Shack ride on them too.

Yeah, that'll do.

The only other major purchase I needed to add to the bike were the adjustable carbon Profile Design Viper aero bars.  During my fitting, it became clear I was reaching a bit too far out towards the elbow pads and my back and rib cage  were going to be stretched.  Unfortunately, the stock aero bars were not adjustable.  Yes, a proper pre-purchase bike fit might have indicated that other tri bikes could have been a better natural fit as a result.  Yet all my research kept pointing back to the Cervelo P2 offering the best bang for the buck.  Judging by the transition area at Wildflower, hundreds of other Cervelo owners agreed.  And each time I spoke with a P2 owner whether at Wildflower or the other races I've competed in this year, they all indicated how much they loved their purchase.  Not one showed an ounce of regret.

And let's face it: I just wanted the damn bike.  There's lots of great choices out there. Felt. Wilier. Argon. Kuota. And many others.  But the Cervelo had me from the get-go.  It wasn't even a fair contest.  You can research all you want.  In the end, I bought what I wanted, but it happens to be a great value nonetheless.

Now, I must make sure my Monica (my Colnago) doesn't get too jealous of Charlie, the Cervelo.  So far, they're co-existing in the same room peacefully.

By the way, I name my bikes.  Maybe I talk to them too every once in a while.  It's totally not weird.  It's normal.  I keep telling myself that.

It's normal, right?

Good night, Monica.  Good night, Charlie.  Good night, Shalom (my Scott Speedster).

These are my bikes.  There are many like them.  But these bikes are MINE.

Hooah!

Still 204 days and counting, but not by much.

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.

Tough Tuesday

I figured after a Mellow Monday that I'd have all kinds of energy to train today. False.

Maybe it was the sushi, tempura and teriyaki chicken I downed at 9 p.m. last night following yoga practice.  Causing me to pee at least three times that I can remember during the course of the evening (in the toilet, mind you). Maybe it was the delayed effects of my Sunday workouts.  Probably a combination of both.

Whatever it was, when I entered the pool this morning for our twice-weekly Fortius coached workout, I quickly realized I wasn't in top form.  I suppose the first indication of what was to come should have been the gauntlet of sprinklers that teammate Nico and I dodged to avoid being drenched in our sweats.  It was like a timing puzzle in a video game.

Inside the pool, I dragged almost from the get-go.  My lane's warm-up 400 was cut short -- probably because I was too slow!  From there, my teammates and I proceeded to slog through two sets of 400-yard sprints (100 build, 200 fast, 100 race).  This proved to be an especially frustrating experience.  Last week, I felt I had a breakthrough in technique that allowed me to swim faster.  In other words, I could keep up with the faster swimmers.

This morning, I was brought back to reality.  Both Ann and Jenna asked if they could pass me in between sets.  They might as well have said, "Dude, get back to the slow lane where you belong!"  I was holding them back. Not a good feeling, but I knew it was true.  And there wasn't much I could do about it at that point.  I was tired.

The rest of the hour-long session didn't go much better.  In fact, things degenerated to pure comedy at one point.  Megan, our swim coach and teammate, was trying to teach how to scissor kick.  Ann, Lisa and Jenna all knew how and were quite effortless.  I looked like I was being electrocuted, spasming wildly while trying to avoid swallowing loads of water.  Turns out that's especially difficult when everyone is laughing at you!

It became such a comical distraction that Megan sent me to my own lane.  Talk about a demotion!  I was sent to my "special place" for the rest of class, for private instruction on how to stay afloat while scissor kicking and gliding on my back.

I'm not sure what the point of all that kicking and bobbing was, but I do know it tired me out much more than expected.  When I came home after the workout, I crawled back into bed.  I was done with workouts for the day.  Cancel that 45-minute spin session.

I'm trying hard not to put much stock into today's debacle of a workout.  I'll chalk it up to fatigue and just needing a bit more rest.  After all, I did train two hours extra last week compared to what was scheduled.  And everyone has a bad performance every once in a while, right?  I  mean, as a Lakers fan, I just point to Kobe and what's going on in our playoffs right now. (BTW, I predicted the Lakers would win in six.  Now, I think they'll win in seven.)

Of course, nobody will compare me to Kobe, or in this instance, Michael Phelps.

I'm going to shake off today's practice and focus on tomorrow's brick workout.  I'll have had more than 24 hours rest and should be good-to-go.

211 days and counting.

Mellow Monday

There are workout days like yesterday, where I swam, ran and practiced yoga practically back-to-back-to-back. Then there are workout days like today, where I enjoyed an easy yoga session at the end of a long day.

Sweet!

Even sweeter was Stephanie joining me at Black Dog Yoga tonight for class and sushi after.  Since we've been engaged, our schedules have been so packed that we rarely spend quality "date" time together during the week.  Tonight was a welcome exception.  Except it makes it harder when you're trying to suppress a yoga fart in class!  (Fortunately, I concealed my gas.)

And so begins my taper to Wildflower.  Counting this evening's mellow pseudo-workout, I've got six days until the big race.  Including the race itself I've got six hours of training this week.  Six!  That's at least half my normal training load.  Since I'm healthy this time (unlikely the LA Marathon), I'm not sure what to do with myself.  I'm almost giddy with the extra free time.

Tomorrow I've got the Fortius swim at 6 a.m., followed by a 45-minute spin on the trainer. I can handle that!  Let's see if this taper thing works when I'm healthy.

212 days and counting.