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.

Tri-Asshole Redux

Guess my Tri-Asshole blog post touched a nerve.  It was so nice to see y'all respond to the post, but to be honest, I'm fine about the whole episode.  At first, I'll admit my feelings were pretty hurt.  But I quickly realized that his comments reflected more on him than the race itself.  To be fair, I also know that Ironman Arizona is among the "easier" Ironman races. I picked it for a reason in that I wanted to enjoy my first Ironman and get my sea legs, so to speak.  And that's just what I'll do.  There's no shame in completing any Ironman of any kind.  Anyone who's ever embraced the spirit of the sport knows that. Back to spirit.  While Tri-Asshole and I interacted for only a few seconds on an elevator ride, that conversation has already yielded tangible gains in my training.  Tonight, I swam a 1:16/100, my new PR by a whopping SIX SECONDS.  I didn't know I had that in me at this stage of training. Coach Gerardo did, but I doubted him.  (When am I going to learn?) And that was after cycling 35 miles this morning that included a 75-minute zone-3 time trial.  AND, that swim PR came at the end of a 2,250-yard swim session with the Fortius gang tonight.

How did it happen?

It would certainly be more dramatic if I indicated that I had visions of smashing Tri-Asshole's face in while swimming to new heights (or is that lows, in this case).  But it's just not true. What Tri-Asshole did was simply motivate me to work harder the next few weeks.  To make sure I sweat just a bit more.  To not ease off on the gas pedal.  To not coast until after I cross the finish line.

I got a swift mental kick in the ass.  And I feel outstanding.

So, what I am saying is that I've turned a potentially mentally damaging situation into a healthy positive.  I'm not sure I would have reacted in quite that manner a year ago -- whether in the workplace or in the gym.  I do think endurance sports training has enabled me to find some mental and emotional padding that allows me to bounce back from stinging comments or even physical pain.  It is an invaluable asset in a chaotic world.

It just took a real jerk to remind me of that.

Before I finally go to sleep tonight, I'll be sure to think fondly of him.  I owe him one.

38 days and counting.

Tri-Asshole

I despise hotel internet service charges. In fact, I refuse to pay them.  So when I saw that my Portland hotel room required $9.95 to use the web per day, I knew I wouldn't be posting any blogs for the weekend.  I will post a few images though.

But I must share one story in particular from the wedding weekend.  The Portland marathon wound through the magnificent city yesterday, which required every ounce of restraint on my part not to participate.  Of course, the fact that it was sold out in July helped matters.  There were a few runners staying at the Hotel DeLuxe, including one man who strode in Saturday afternoon wearing an Ironman Coure d'Alene jacket.  Naturally, I wanted to introduce myself and chat.

Well, he didn't want to chat.  Especially awkward since we were sharing an elevator ride.

I told the man I was racing Ironman Arizona in a few weeks, to which he coldly replied, "You could have picked a harder one."

Talk about a Charlie Brown moment!  This guy removed the football before I could kick it and tripped me along the way!

I awkwardly stammered about how IMAZ was my first, which only dug me deeper into this guy's dark hole.

"I did Silverman for my first."

Well, uh, I did Wildflower this year.

No response.

Then, mercifully, it was time for my exit.

"Have fun," he said.

Gee, thanks.

It took me a few minutes, alone in my room, to get over such a hit to my psyche.

Ironman Arizona...easy?

Finally, I regained my sense of perspective.  I had merely met my first tri-asshole, which is rather amazing since I've been in the sport for two-plus seasons now.

And in the end analysis, Tri-asshole fueled my fire for the remaining two weeks of peak training.  So much so that I snarled and begged Coach Gerardo to increase my training workload this week and next so that I finish my peak training in the strongest condition possible.  Gerardo had taken off 15% of my workload since this past week was so light, reasoning (correctly I'm sure) that it's potentially detrimental to boost hours significantly from one week to the next.  But I'm more than ready.  Having the last few days to relax and not think as much about training helped re-energize me.  And it's not like I didn't train either.  Earlier that Saturday, before I met Tri-asshole, I ran three hours...on a freakin' treadmill.  Granted, it wasn't the fastest pace (roughly 17.5 miles), but I still did it.

That run ultimately doesn't matter right now.  Only tomorrow matters.

In case you can't tell, I've got my game face back on.

Tri-asshole has no idea what he's started.

39 days and counting.

Shot in the Arm

This morning, I may have hit my low point in Ironman training.  I couldn't get out of bed in time for my Tuesday morning ride.  It was supposed to rain, which provided the perfect excuse to sleep in a little longer. Plus, last night's massage had left me in a rather tranquil mental state as well. Still, I needed to cram in a nearly two-hour ride before work.  This required me to ride on the trainer. I can't decide which is worse: Swimming endless laps in a pool, running on a hilly trail on a hot day by yourself without enough hydration, or riding for more than an hour on a bike trainer.

When you do all three in the span of a few days, it can cause you to go a little batty.  The sweat was literally forming little pools on my floor.  Shredded tire peeled away by the trainer floating in the salty water.  Finally, I had to pry the drenched technical shirt off my back just to feel like a normal human being again.  It was just one of those "What the hell am I doing to myself?!" kind of moments.  Which, as you've seen lately, I've had more and more of lately.

And instead of basking in the accomplishment of completing the workout, all I could think about was tonight's swim and how much I didn't want to attend.  I was so over it!  And yet I have a month and a half to go still.

Fortunately, I remembered my Muse mantra in the car on the way home from work, an hour before the swim.

They will not force us!

They will not control us!

We will be victorious!

The song, Uprising, totally picked me up.  I remembered that this is all a choice. Sometimes, a tough choice.  But a choice nonetheless.

I arrived to the pool reinvigorated.  Ready to swim.  Despite the crisp evening chill and scant raindrops.  The swim was a fairly intense one, with three sets of alternating 500s, 400s and 500s and a timed 100 to conclude the workout.  If my mental state had been worse, there's no way I would have matched my 100 PR time of 1:22.  Even Coach Gerardo commented that I had a breakthrough in my stroke, lifting my  left arm higher out of the water and gliding through the stroke longer.  He's confident I can lower my 100 time further if I continue to hone my technique.

And to think this workout almost didn't happen.

Every day I have to find a new way to motivate myself right now.  Today it was music.  Who knows what it will be tomorrow.

45 days and counting.

Well-Deserved Recovery

No big workouts to report today, not after this past weekend's mash-fest.  Instead I took care of myself with an early evening yoga class that left me dripping with sweat (still can't get that hand-stand!) followed by a long massage with David from LA Body Mechanics.  While the yoga class at Black Dog was a little more than I bargained for, the massage helped me drain the rest of the pain from my body.  Not without a fight though. My glutes, quads, adductors, calves and lower back were quite sore, though David said overall my body right now is in great shape.  That's reassuring given the intensity of the past few weeks and my lack of stretching. Turning away from my body for a moment, my real focus the next few days is going to be on the weather.  When we get a big shift like the one we've had in Southern California -- 90 degrees one day and rain the next -- my immune system goes straight down the toilet and I usually get pretty sick.  I'm hoping that all the training hasn't left me winded and incapable of fighting off another cold.  This leaves me torn as tomorrow morning I should have a long bike ride before work.  If it's rainy, damp and cold, I'll probably stay indoors and ride on the trainer for nearly two hours.  That could wreak havoc on my butt though, as I'm starting to get saddle sores.  I know, not the sexiest subject, but if you're sticking with me from the beginning of my training you should know the truth.

Ironman hurts.

Bad.

At this point in the training, expect to wake up in the middle of the night to eat.  Expect sores in uncomfortable places.  Expect to need food in the middle of work meetings or risk getting a headache.  And expect to need food soon after eating a hearty meal.  Expect to be sore in one place or another all the time.  Expect to pay for massage work every two to three weeks with two months to go until the race.  (I'm on a schedule with David now.)

And expect to be antsy to work out when you've had a couple light training days.  For all the bitching and whining about the training, it's addictive.

So while I'm recovering today, I'm already thinking about tomorrow.  And despite the volume of this past weekend, I feel pretty good.

Progress.  Every day a step closer to the final goal.  Every day a slight new victory. A new insight.  But it requires doing the extra work.

47 days and counting.

Shattered but Happy

I basically did an Ironman over the course of this weekend.  Hence the lack of blog posts for it as well.  I trained 12 hours in two days, with the following results: SATURDAY

-- 112 miles on the bike in almost exactly six hours.  Rode from Pepperdine University to Simi Valley and back, with detours in Camarillo.  Climbed about 3,500 feet total.

-- Ran five miles in 45 minutes immediately following the bike.  Legs felt pretty decent after the first mile.

-- Did both by myself, which helped lock me in mentally since I'll have to do the same come race day.  Yes, it was a little lonely out there, especially when it started raining unexpectedly in Moorpark.  But I got through it.  And G-d has a sense of humor, too.  When the rain drops came first came down, I shouted out to nothing in particular, "Bring it!"  And the rain immediately stopped.  I thought I had won that little battle with Mother Nature.  Nope!  Mile 111 found me facing a huge hill at the Malibu Creek Shopping Center to get back to Pepperdine, with a stiff head-wind, and only a minute to spare to hit my goal of 6:00:00.  The wind picked up, my pace dropped back, and I finished with 6:01:01.  Mother Nature 1, Ryan 0.

Before moving on to Sunday, I should note that for the first time I can remember, hunger woke me up in the middle of the night.  I literally had to make myself a peanut butter sandwich at 3:30 a.m. to get back to sleep.  That was after drinking a fully loaded protein shake at 11 p.m.  Fortunately, I only lost one pound last night despite the massive amount of calories I burned.

SUNDAY

-- Ran 13.1 miles in almost 2:30:00, covering just about 1,300 feet of elevation in 80+ degree heat.  I really started to feel it bad towards the end of the run. I fell short on liquids and had to dog the last two miles without any.  At that point it was around noon, the heat of the day.  Big mistake.  But once again, I got through it.  Clearly, my long distance pace right now on rough training weekends is around 9:30/mile.  That was my moving pace today and roughly the pace after yesterday's bike ride.

-- Swam 4,000 yards (500 short of three miles) in 1:25:00 (roughly).  This workout absolutely shattered me.  Of course, it was the cumulative effect of the weekend but it really took all I had to get through it at Calabasas Swim & Tennis Center.  I thought about quitting several times in the workout.  I was tired, irritable, lonely and my feet were cramping every 500 yards.  I knew I'd be even more upset if I didn't finish the full workout, so I pushed through.  The quality of the session wasn't very good but I truly did my best, pacing myself accordingly.

Total damage from the past week: 18 hours, 20 minutes.  Total scheduled was 19:20 but with missing 10 minutes here or there I fell just an hour short of the overall goal.  I feel fine about that since my Training Peaks workouts are mostly colored green, meaning I did the vast majority of the work.

And if anyone wants to tell me that swimming close to three miles, biking the full Ironman distance and running 18 miles total doesn't count as a strong weekend of training, then y'all can kiss my butt.

And with that, I bid you good night.  I got some resting to do.

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.

My Muse Mantra

They cannot force us. They must stop degrading us.

They will not control us.

We will be victorious!

These are lyrics from a Muse song called Uprising.  I listened to them for about an hour straight tonight while on the treadmill.  I played this song over and over...and over again on my new iPhone (which I LOVE, btw).

I know the words have nothing to do with triathlon. But they have everything to do with me right now as I am immersed in the peak phase of Ironman Arizona training.  "They" doesn't matter.  It's not like someone is out to stop me from training hard.  Or preventing me from doing my best.  And if there is, that person is only me.

No, I think in this instance, "they" refers to things beyond my control going into the big day.  Weather. Time.  Mechanical troubles.  Other racers.  That's at least what I pictured in my head while mindlessly cranking out the required 20 minutes in zone three sandwiched between two 20-minute light recovery jogs.

None of those potential negatives will bother me on race day.  This is my new mantra for the next few weeks.

"They" will not force me to succumb to the elements.

Others' actions (or inactions) will not control me.

I will be victorious.

53 days and counting.

iTrain

First things first. Yes, I fixed a flat last night. Mostly.

I struggled and klutzed around for around 24 minutes.  My technique was poor and clumsy, but ultimately I did take out one tube and insert another while putting on the tire without using tire irons.  I am proud of myself for that.  Unfortunately, I couldn't inflate the tire though.  My air pump is in the car that currently sits at my dad's auto repair shop.  I used a CO2 cartridge but that didn't take b/c I think the valve stem isn't protruding through the wheel enough.  I may have to insert another tube with a deeper stem.  Either way, I'm eager to see on Sunday morning if I correctly fixed the flat.  Even if I'm slow, I know I can continue to improve over the next several weeks with practice.

I know I can't get much worse!  Or can I?

Now, onto this morning's workout.  Sort of.

Yeah, sure, I ran almost 15 miles this morning on the smelly, hilly trails of Griffith Park.  But really, who cares about that.

My iPhone 4 is here, ready and operational!

I've spent the greater part of the summer and now fall with a pay-as-you-go T-mobile phone.  Is there such a thing as a functional piece of junk?  I've now officially joined the 21st century!  I can be like the cool kids once and for all!  I look forward to walking around as nothing but a silhouette with neon colors all around me as I bop and rock to my favorite hipster tunes.  Star Wars lightsaber app, here I come!  Fart noise app?  Yep, sign me up!  Training Peaks and any other number of triathlon-related apps, OMG I can't wait!

I haven't been this excited about racing as I have been about getting my iPhone.  I'm practically jumping for joy.  Except my legs wont' allow it after all that climbing this morning.

Back to this morning for a moment.  Running with my buddy Joe truly turned what could have been another mental slog into a joyful, fun experience.  We chatted for the first 1.5 hours of my 2.25-hour run.  We covered off on nutrition, race strategy, training schedules, lessons learned and all the other things that can occupy a triathletes mind.  Joe is going through some of the same things I did earlier in the year, so I hope I can be a good resource for him as he continues to grow as a triathlete.  After puttering along with me, Joe then took off for an hour of tempo work .  I still had another 45 minutes of solo hills work.  I didn't mind at all though, as just having someone to keep me company for a little while completely transformed my mental outlook.  Plus, I changed my normal route to include some trails I hadn't run since this past spring.  Felt good to shake things up a bit.  And that's coming from a creature of habit.

This Sunday, I'll have even more great company on my bike ride.  Frank will be joining me, as usual.  He's been a huge help this entire year whether he knows it or not.  Not sure where I'd be without him.  But Caleb is also going to join me.  Just to lend his support as well.  Caleb's Ironman is done this year, so he's literally coming out to help push me along.  He's been consistently reading the blog and commenting for the better part of the last six months.  If there's been any one new friend I've made through this sport that's helped me the most with perspective and inspiration, it's been Caleb.  Yes, athletes such as Coach Gerardo have helped me immeasurably to become a better triathlete.  And my Fortius friends have pushed me to be my best while enjoying the journey.  But Caleb, as a pro triathlete and all-around great guy, has helped me comprehend and accept that what I'm going through is totally normal -- even the best of the pros go through the cycle of fatigue, burnout, exhaustion, etc.  Without that knowledge and support -- knowing that I'm not some wussy whiner who can't hack it all the time -- maybe I would have succumbed to the fatigue instead of powering through it.  That's simply priceless.

I thought getting to my first Ironman would mostly be a solo journey. It would be me against the elements and my own body.

How wrong I was.

Without the support of others -- coaches, athletes, friends and family -- I wouldn't come close to Ironman Arizona.

And now, one very special little phone device with a million little apps that are waiting to be downloaded.

56 days and counting.