A Real Weekend

I'm headed into the busiest, most taxing part of my Ironman training.  Yet what I'll remember most from this weekend is the time I got to spend with Stephanie and my family. At first I was bummed that Yom Kippur fell on a Saturday.  I need that time to complete my long bike or run.  Trying to do so during the week wipes me out and for a 5-6 hour bike ride, it's logistically impossible.  But being able to enjoy a Saturday by not running around all over the place and then trying to cram in some relaxation -- even if it meant not eating much of anything -- was a true joy.  Yes, I attended services, as I mentioned yesterday.  But I also stopped long enough in my life to plop on the couch and watch some college football. I hung out with my family without looking at my watch.

Sometimes, doing less can be more for your mind and body in triathlon training.

The trend continued today, as I logged five hours in the pool (3,000 yard swim) and on the bike (4 hours, 4,300 feet, Tour de Conejo via Calabasas and Simi Valley).  You'd think that wouldn't qualify as lounging, but the eight hours from when I returned home and spent the day with Steph certainly did.  Though I was on a tight timeline with my training today since we had a 3 p.m. appointment with our wedding ceremony rabbi, it actually ended working in my favor.  I got to really feel like I had a leisurely Sunday without the guilt of either missing all my training or not spending quality time with my lady.  While I had to cut my workouts short -- by 500 yards in the water and around 1.5 hours on the bike -- it still meant more time after our appointment just to hang out with no particular plan. Like a long date.  We filled our afternoon running an errand (I needed new swim shorts and goggles), eating an early dinner at Fritto Misto in Santa Monica, and watching Peyton destroy Eli at home on the couch.

It was so nice to have a weekend back in the heat of my Ironman training.  I'm bummed I didn't complete my original 17.5 hours of scheduled training.  But, I still checked off most of my workouts, trained hard, and at the end, I feel quite refreshed.  Mentally, I'm ready for next week's dose of Ironman fun, which will call for another 17.5 hours.  Physically, I worked hard but have much more left in the tank.

Which is more important: Completing all your training and feeling mentally and physically drained, or completing most of it, finding balance at home and looking forward to the next week?

Is there any doubt what the correct answer is?

61 days and counting.

A Big Workout Sandwich

Training 3.5 hours on a weekend day is one thing. Doing it in the middle of the week is another.  I awoke at 6:30 to cram in my long run for the week as Yom Kippur will take up my Saturday.  So instead of going fast, I'll be fasting.  Or trying to. Probably unsuccessfully given my mega-appetite lately.

I ran for two hours at Griffith Park starting at 7:26 a.m., the first hour being flat and the second covering the hilly horse trails.  Ahh, the smell.  Oh how I'll miss that in the offseason.

I was pleased with my run performance overall.  Maintained a very steady pace on the hill portion (9-9:30) while my heart rate typically fell in the low-mid zone 3 range (low 150s).  I got into the low 160s on the big hills but quickly recovered.

Racing to work was probably the most hectic part of my workout.  I got in my car at 9:27 a.m., made it across town to the Burbank studio, showered, changed, ordered breakfast and made my 10 a.m. meeting with my boss.  I'm actually more proud of that transition time than most of my races!

After a work day that can only be described as "eventful", I bolted back to Griffith Park for the evening LA Tri Club brick workout.  Minus the run portion, of course.  I had a 1:30:00 bike ride planned, with half of it a straight shot in zone 3 bpm (146-151).  For some reason, I could never quite reach the lower end of zone 3.  It didn't seem to be fatigue related, as I hovered consistently in the high 130s, low 140s during the speed portion of the workout.  And my mph totals were in line with expectations (20-25 mph depending on wind direction).

Finally at 7:08 p.m., as the sun set, my long day of workouts drew to a close.  What a workout sandwich!  Two hours in the morning before work, a full day at work, and 1.5 hours after work.

I am cooked!  Now I'm just waiting for Steph to get home so we can enjoy some quality time together.  I'm tired of working out, or talking about working out, or thinking about working out.

And yet, in less than 12 hours, I'm back at it again.  In the pool, for a 6 a.m. swim since I have a work dinner tomorrow night.

Sometimes, the Ironman training workouts seem more intense than my actual work day.  And today's work day was anything but leisure-filled.

65 days and counting.

Racing for Others

I've raced a lot this year.  Nine events, to be exact.  One half-marathon, one marathon, one Half-Ironman, and the rest triathlons of various distances.  And I'm not done yet! As the season has worn on, I've found it occasionally more difficult to get fired up to race.  Especially when the events are on a Saturday, like today's Nautica Malibu Triathlon (International Distance).  When I'm at work on a Friday, I'm focused on work (yes, as if it wasn't obvious in the above photo, I do work at Insomniac Games!). Not the race.  So when the time comes to dash to the pre-event packet pick-up, I find myself struggling to get in the right frame of mind to torture myself so early the next morning.

That was the case today around 5 a.m. on the way to the race.  Earlier in the season, my car would be bumpin' the sounds of rock and gangsta rap. I was jacked!  My biggest problem was calming down, not firing up.  This morning, silence in the car, punctuated by periodic conversation with Stephanie, who braved an oncoming sinus cold to join me for yet another day of fan support.

I couldn't quite get "there," that mystical place where body and mind shake hands and agree to work together to deliver a personal-best performance. Body showed up, mind was still wandering.

Until the National Anthem just before the sound of the first-wave cannon fire.

I have a little pre-race ritual that locked me in tight.  During every National Anthem, I close my eyes and for some reason, I always picture the same thing.  My grandfather, who passed away in 2005, is ambling towards me or hovering in my mind.  I know he would have loved watching me perform in this sport, and the truth is, I miss him every day.  So amidst all the hectic activities and moments in my life, the National Anthem before a triathlon is the place and time where I can quietly pay homage to a great man whom will always be my lovable hero.

And then I remember that it's now time to kick-ass. No excuses, just like grandpa. No fanfare, just like grandpa. It's. Time. To. Kick. Ass.  End of story. No talking.  Action.

Even though I always get a little choked up in those moments, I couldn't be more dialed into race.  Everything else melts away.  Nothing but racing occupies my mind.  Literally 100% focus.  To those who don't know me, it's probably my "stay the fuck away from me" face!  Today that feeling was compounded by having my parents join me for the first time this season to watch me race.  When I saw them, after my pre-race warm-up swim, I immediately returned to being that 12-year-old kid who craved their approval on the soccer field.  I couldn't help but smile.

Happy, but not distracted though.

As if I wasn't rearing to go, being with my parents took that energy to another level.  In fact, I broke my dad's eyeglasses giving him a head-butt before entering the corral for my 35-39 men's age group wave. I don't think the feeling of wanting to please those important to you ever goes away, no matter how old you are.  If I got report cards at work, I'd still give them to my mom to hang on the refrigerator.

Now, add those emotions to the mental imagery I try to conjure up moments before the starting gun blasts: A steaming, smoldering, powerful 1970s-era rocket ship about to take off from Cape Canaveral.  Complete in crackling, saturated 1970s-era filmstock.  Film projector-sounding audio providing the sound enhancement.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5...I literally picture the gates coming apart from the rocket as the engines ignite.

4, 3, 2, 1...BANG!

I wish I could describe the sensation that occurs in my body when that gun goes off.  Honestly, I get dizzy for a moment and my vision is temporarily blurred while a massive energy surge pounds through me.  There is no sound in that moment .  I can't hear my own footsteps.  Not even the roar of the ocean.  It's me and the race.  Me against time.  There is nothing else.  Nothing else that comes close to mattering in that moment.

Granted, with a 28:40 swim that's a lot of imagery and motivation for what many would consider an average aquatic performance!

Nonetheless, that's what I think about in the final minutes before every race.  And today, that's the added motivation I had to race faster than I have before, on a tougher course than this past summer's Breath of Life Olympic-distance event (the site of my previous best performance).

Some days, I race for me.  Today, I raced for others.

That turned out to be more than enough rocket fuel to keep me going.

***

Race Notes:

Swim: Nice pace.  Good current helped.  Stayed out of trouble by avoiding other, slower swimmers from the previous wave who seemed like sea mines because of their unpredictable, sometimes-chaotic behavior.  One guy literally swim into me at a perpendicular angle!

Bike: I maintained a 20.5 mph pace despite dropping my chain on the second climb heading out to Deer Creek Road from Zuma Beach.  Very proud of myself for not panicking, quickly fixing the chain and getting back into the race.  Didn't lose my cool, and caught up with my pace-mates fairly quick.  Speaking of, I played a helpful and fun game of "cat and mouse" with three cyclists.  One tall, lanky 38-year-old, another 38-year-old and a 36-year-old Kansas native who was out on vacation and shared a bike rack space with me.  He rented a Giant bike for the race and was an amazing climber.  I beat him by around a minute but he was faster than me on the swim and run.  I beat him overall by 16 seconds due to faster transitions.  He served as healthy and friendly competition.  We kept passing each other throughout the race, occasionally chatting, occasionally drafting (just a little, shhhh...).

Run: Wow!  That's all I can say about my 43:43 10k. Coach Gerardo (pictured here with LA Tri Clubber and Tweet Tycoon @fittorrent) really got to me at the Santa Barbara Triathlon when he told me to "just run" and not worry about heart-rate.  I never once looked at my heart-rate today and instead ran by feel, with the general mantra of "go as fast as you can" stuck in my head.  Unlike Santa Barbara, I never stopped for water breaks.  Unlike Santa Barbara, I didn't start off slow and build to a fast pace.  I started fast and steadily grew faster.  If I recall my Garmin watch data, my mile splits were 7:25, 7:29, 7:25, 7:18, 7:09 and I didn't see the final lap but think I broke 7.  What's odd though is that my average pace is listed at 7:03.  Hooray!  For a change, I wasn't passed a lot on the run -- I did more passing instead.

69 days and counting.

Race Time Awaits

Bike is cleaned.  Bags are packed.  Race packet is picked.  Stickers and bibs affixed. Carbs eaten.

Race time awaits.

What else is there to say, really?

I am ready.  I want to crush the course tomorrow.  My parents are coming.  Steph will be there too.  I want to end the race portion of my long season with a real bang.  I want to hit 2:25 at the finish.

I am going to do everything I can to meet that goal.  (Without accruing penalties!)  I am going to race hard tomorrow.  Very hard.

I am going to look the way I did at the end of the Santa Barbara Triathlon, pictured below.

Spent. Exhausted. Relieved.

I am going to make my third Nautica Malibu Triathlon my best.

What else is there to say, really?

70 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.

Ray to the Rescue

I haven't done a lot of cycling where the temperature matches and exceeds my cadence...when I'm pedaling flat or downhill. But that's what happened when LA Tri Clubber Cheryl pointed out that her computer watch indicated 104 degrees around 11:30 a.m. this morning on our approximately 60-mile ride from Agoura to Newbury Park and back.

Picture having a blow-driver blast you with hot air for 3.5 hours.  That's how our ride felt.  Shade was definitely our friend today during every rest stop -- which there were more of than usual.

Fortunately, we had none other than our dog-bark impersonating, recently USAT-certified coach, Ray, saving the day.  He drove a badly needed sag vehicle all over the Conejo Valley, keeping us hydrated with drinks paid for from his own pocket and entertained, as always.  Of course, Ray being the nice guy that he is, wouldn't even accept the contributions cup we offered him in return for going so far out of his way. On top of all that, Ray even found time to shoot some video of us in our various forms of agony or glory, depending on the time of day and the level of fluid in our water bottles. (You'll have to be Ray's buddy on Facebook to see them though!)

I fared well on the ride, especially since I had my road bike to everyone else's tri bikes.  I started to cramp around the last mile of the ride, using my elbows to power my legs up a final climb so I wouldn't over-exert with my hamstrings and quads.  I made it back to basecamp off Agoura Road and Las Virgenes without incident.

Perhaps the best part about today's ride is that I can finally put to bed my bonk-fest with Christina last month riding the Colnago.  Clearly that was a fluke.  We rode longer today, in much hotter conditions, and still managed some decent climbing.

Following the ride and a much-needed refueling session with the Fortius gang, I drew a cold bath at home and soaked with Epsom salt after icing my legs with frozen vegetable bags.  Then, it was nap time for nearly 1.5 hours.

Now that's what I recall a nice recovery.  My legs feel fairly fresh and I have no dehydration-related headache to report.  Which is good, because tomorrow morning Ray will be leading us on a 12-14 mile run through the Bulldog trail at Malibu Creek State Park -- near where the TV show M.A.S.H. was filmed many years ago.

There are days when I'm torn between being thrilled at having the opportunity to train to peak physical condition, and wondering what the hell I'm doing to myself.  Do you ever feel the same way? Seriously, it's Labor Day Weekend.  I should be sleeping in, lounging around at the beach, and sipping cocktails watching the sunset.  Instead, I'm getting up at 6, on the road or trail by 7 and training into the heat of the day.

This Ironman stuff sure feels nuts sometimes.

76 days and counting.

2011 Goals

Over fatty muffins and sugary hot chocolate at Starbucks, Coach Gerardo and I plotted my goals for the 2011 triathlon season. To say they're ambitious would be accurate, and probably an understatement.  Especially since I haven't even completed my first Ironman yet!

In fact, my 2011 goals are so ambitious that Coach Gerardo indicated I shouldn't share them publicly as it may create undo pressure for myself.  I know this could be true since I've recently spoken two sport psychologists about blogging affecting triathlon performance.  So, I didn't argue.  As much as I'd like to share my goals with you, I'm not.  I will say this: I'm going to be training hard -- very hard -- for strong performances at the Cheseboro Half Marathon, Wildflower Long Course and Ironman Coeur d'Alene.  Between those events, you'll find me back at the Surf City Half Marathon and Desert Triathlon in Palm Desert.  I'm more excited about competing in my first cycling road race next year.  Stephanie and I are going to choose that race together, which will be fun.

Despite the excitement about looking ahead to next year, I'm feeling apprehensive about doing so.  It's like the feeling baseball players must have when a teammate is pitching a no-hitter.  I just want to focus on the batter at the plate -- in this instance the next day of training tomorrow -- and not the possibility of something so large and ominous.  Not when I can't even call myself a true Ironman yet.

So, for now, I'll continue training.  And dreaming just a little about next year too.

81 days and counting.

Santa Barbara Tri: A, B or C Race?

In Training Peaks, my triathlon workout schedule manager, race days are indicated by little trophies with an A, B, or C on them. The Santa Barbara Triathlon is listed as a priority C, meaning it's essentially another training day that happens to be timed.

I'd like to believe I'll be able to keep that in mind when the starting gun goes off at 7 a.m.  But I know myself all too well.  Maybe you're beginning to know me too.

That C level priority is what dragged me out of bed this morning for a 6 a.m. swim and what compelled me to attend tonight's final Fortius-coached track workout.  If Saturday's race is "just another training day" then there's no excuse for me to blow off these last workouts due to the fatigue I'm experiencing.  That was my thought process throughout the day.  I wanted nothing more than to go straight home when I left the office around 5:30 p.m.  In fact, I debated doing just that throughout the commute.  There's the triathlon magazine web story I could be writing.  Or the packing I could be doing for Santa Barbara.  Or simply relaxing at home for an extended period, which hardly ever seems to happen now.

But the honest motivator was this: I knew that somewhere out there, someone competing in my age group this Saturday was training.  He was overcoming the heat.  The fatigue.  The excuses.  And If I didn't haul ass on that track -- perhaps against my better judgement -- then he was going to beat me by a few seconds in the race.

C-level race or not, I can't let that happen.

So, I ticked off two 400s, two 800s and another two 400s at a 6:00-7:00 minute mile pace along with a handful of striders and light lap-running.  Perhaps against my better judgement.  Despite my concerns, my heart-rate dropped quickly between laps, I didn't overheat nor did I exhaust myself.  Much like this morning's swim, where I tied my 100 PR at 1:25, I pleasantly surprised myself in the run.

And that's the gift I received for putting in the time today.  I had enough energy to perform at a high level for myself despite the fatigue and self-doubts.  Moreover, A, B, or C, level race, I know that by pushing myself just a bit further than I wanted to this week, I inched forward towards my ultimate A-1 goal: Ironman.

Let's see how I feel tomorrow morning!

86 days and counting.

Forging Ahead

Somewhere in the middle of my 9.5-mile Nike/Westridge trail run this morning -- between the 20-degree temperature climb, running past a mountain biker with a parrot on his shoulder, narrowly escaping multiple bee stings from a small hive clustered at a rest stop drinking fountain, and inadvertently insulting two Ironman women triathletes -- I had a vision. I was tired, hot, sore and running low on water.  I already thought I had hallucinated considering a magnificent red parrot squawked at me on a descent. (I'm pretty sure he said, "Too slow!")  So, having a vision as heat waves undulated from the dusty gravel seemed totally normal.

There, at my weakest point, at the end of what would become a 16.5-hour training week, I physically felt myself becoming stronger.  I felt like a piece of iron being forged into something powerful. Pounded.  Blasted.  Shaped.  Hot.  I pictured one of those movie scenes where the angry hero descends into his weapons lair and creates his signature weapon.

Only in this vision, I was the weapon.

I realize I sound more like Leonard from Full Metal Jacket than William Wallace from Braveheart.  And I don't really care.

After this weekend, I'm harder.  Stronger.  Tougher.  Better.

I'm rounding into Ironman form.  I can feel it.

I had ridden 101 miles on Saturday at an 18 mph pace, with 4,000 feet of total climbing.  It was only my second century ride I've ever done.  I felt superhuman throughout the day.  Nothing could slow me down and I never really tired out.  The highlight was a pace line with three other cyclists on the final five miles where I averaged around 23-24 mph.  The guys complimented me after, thanking me for pulling them and telling me I made their wives happy because they'd return home to their families ahead of schedule.

I've never been complimented on my cycling before, especially by strangers who were no slouches themselves.  I'm always struggling to keep up with other LA Tri Club or Fortius members whom I deem better.  To be acknowledged for my own skill was refreshing.  Special.  That alone probably fueled my three-mile "recovery" run off the bike. I've never done that before either.

And just one year ago, there's absolutely no way I would have been able to run 9.5 miles the day after a century.  In fact, last year I bonked on the last 25 miles and Frank had to essentially tow me into port.

What a difference a year makes.

Sure, this morning's run was slow and stiff.  But I did it.  I survived what turned out to be 93-degree heat and kept my heart-rate in zone 3 at the highest.  That was a huge moral victory for me. I proved to myself I could bounce back the next day after a tough workout.  In the heat -- without overheating.

I didn't technically race this weekend, but mentally, it feels like I did.  Something changed in me.

During my ill-fated Ironman conversation with the two women this morning -- ill-fated because I made a joking comment about people with "140.6" stickers on their car, which they both have! -- one of them remarked that their Ironman training was harder than the race itself.  If that's the case, this weekend helped prove her point.

Yet I have three full months of training as of yesterday.

I want more training!

90 days and counting.

Who Knew?

Who knew that when I started my Ironman journey last November, it would lead to: -- Great relationships with an entirely new group of friends

-- The physique I always wanted but could never achieve

-- A greater appreciation for nutrition and healthy living in general

-- Improved confidence and mental outlook

-- A deeper appreciation for discipline, sacrifice and tolerance of pain

-- A reunification with my passion for writing

-- And now...freelance writing opportunities!

Yep, after a long hiatus from freelance writing, I've decided to dive head-first back into that world.  I'm working on two stories for a fresh triathlon magazine website and couldn't be more excited.  I'm almost as excited as competing in an Ironman in three months.

Three months!

Without this blog, I'm not so sure I would have gotten quite so much from my training.  I never expected the Ironman to change my life the way it has.  And this is only my second full season in the sport.

Who knew?!

Certainly not me.

92 days and counting.