Back in the Saddle

You know it's been a while since your last bike ride when you have to think hard about what to pack in your gear bag beforehand. And you get out of the car at the meeting spot with your teammates realizing you forgot your helmet.

That's how my morning started with a few folks from the Fortius team (Mike, Tom, and Yolanda) in Northridge.  Fortunately, Tom lived nearby and was kind enough to retrieve a back-up helmet.  The only thing is, Tom is about 6"5 and weighs nearly twice as much (which I mean in the most respectful way, Tom!).  So, his helmet size is a wee bit larger.  I had to borrow a hat from Mike and tighten the helmet straps all the way to keep it remotely close to snug on my head.  My shadow image made my head look like a mushroom.

I needed the helmet to be as tight as possible because the winds heading out to Santa Clarita Valley were nearly as punishing as Ironman Arizona.  What a way to return to outdoor cycling for the first time since the race. I certainly had a few flashbacks as I got tossed from one side of the bike lane to the other from the nasty crosswinds. At one point, my makeshift helmet blew backwards, causing my hat brim to blow upward and almost right off my head!  It was a sorry sight to see.

Mike and I rode with Tom for the first hour of his scheduled four-hour journey. Yolanda headed back a little early.  Since Mike ran the CIM marathon last week, our pace was leisurely at best. We meandered through 26 miles in around two hours, though that included lots of elevation and a few breaks.  I didn't wear my Garmin watch since I just wanted to enjoy the ride. I'm trying to find that happy place where the training is "fun" again, and one way I'm planning to do that is through taking a bit easier on analyzing all the data for the time being.  I know what I need to do to recover, and a big chunk of that process will involve simply smiling and joking more during workouts instead of staring at my watch as often.

That said, I had a thought during an especially long, windy, uphill climb this morning.  I should have trained in poorer weather conditions more often this past season.  Granted, that can be easier said than done in pristine Southern California.  However, I think my psyche was HOPING for great weather in Tempe rather training as hard as I could have to account for less-than-ideal conditions.

How do you walk the line between enjoying your training and finding nasty weather to improve?

I made a pledge to myself this morning that I will hunt down wind, rain, cold and heat more often this coming year.  It's sort of a training resolution.  Though I have great respect for Mother Nature, I'm not going to be afraid of her.  I think that mentality, along with a worry about my ability to fix flats on my own, kept me from reaching my full potential this past year.

No more.

Training smarter, in this instance, may mean training harder.

And while the results on a per-workout basis may not be pleasant to view, it may pay off in Idaho this summer.  I'm not sure what the race conditions will be there, but whatever they are, I want to be ready for them.

After Mike and I returned from our ride, I drove to Simi Valley visit my parents and to meet my dad for an impromptu lunch at my favorite barbecue joint not located in Austin, Texas.  As you can see here, my appetite continues to grow.  I've now gained about seven pounds post Ironman, with no end in sight.  Both my parents commented that I look much healthier and less gaunt.  Too bad most of these pounds are probably garbage weight from one too many helpings of cookies, steaks, shakes and cupcakes.

Shhh, it'll be our little secret.

Tomorrow, I have my first week of officially scheduled IM CdA training workouts.  The real work begins again.  No more "do whatever you want" workouts. My three-week training holiday is drawing to a close.  I'm sad about that on one hand.  I've gotten a glimpse back into the good life of spending lots of free time with Stephanie, sleeping in late and generally being lazy.  On the other hand, I can feel my body changing for the worse.  My legs are tighter.  I've been a little moodier the past few days as well.

So, back in the saddle, again.  With a renewed sense of purpose (become a better, smarter triathlete), a new goal in mind (beat my IMAZ time), a new plan in my head (have more fun this season, but push myself a little harder), and a lot more confidence (I know what it takes to be an Ironman).

I hope you'll continue to go on the journey with me.

191 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.

I Heard

Tonight, I heard a rumor from more than one source that Cal-Tech employees were sent home to prepare for a massive earthquake in Southern California.  The proverbial Big One. If you want to get anyone's attention who has ever spent a reasonable amount of time in the greater Los Angeles area, tell them you know something about The Big One and where and when it might occur.  If LA were a person, the Big One is our Achilles heel.  We are brought to our collective knees worrying about it and obsessing over it.

Of course, being the gullible person that I am, I tended to believe said rumor. Partially because two of the most credible people I know -- my father and my buddy John -- had been told the same thing by people they trusted.

Hours later, the Los Angeles Times and rumor debunking website Snopes.com rebuffed the rampant rumor, which spread on Twitter faster than a brush fire ignites on a windy, hot LA day.

As I sit down on my couch before bedtime to type, I realized this earthquake rumor and my Ironman training -- my other Big One -- are similar in one regard.  During the past several months, I've heard all sorts of stories about people bonking at Ironman, crashing days before the big event, or experiencing some grave misfortune after nearly a year of hard work and sacrifice.  Like an earthquake, these episodes are unpredictable, happen quickly, and the results can be shockingly painful. Numbing.

And like rumors, I've yet to meet someone who experienced an Ironman "Big One" on race day.  While the going certainly gets tough, the folks I've spoken with all finished.  Some have finished multiple Ironman events without experiencing a personal tremor.

I hope I can be so lucky.  Then again, maybe it's not luck at all, but preparation.  Like what I did this evening before learning that this rumor was a false one.  I used my triathlon transition bag to pack extra water, Clif Bars and Hammer gels.  Not to mention clothes, because navigating the streets of a chaotic and disoriented Los Angeles naked would really be a bad call.  I also checked over my emergency prep kit to actually see what's inside.

If I continue to prepare for Ironman in the same manner I prepared tonight for a massive earthquake that may never come, then hopefully the only Big One I experience will be the overwhelming feeling of accomplishment and pride when I achieve my goal time in Arizona of between 11:30 and 13 hours.

Then, the only quake you'd see is the "Ryan Shake."  And for the few people who actually get that inside joke, you know exactly what I'm talkin' 'bout.

Now, I'm going to get some rest.  Hopefully without any interruption.

226 days and counting.

Like Father, Like Son

I can barely find the strength to keep my hands on the keyboard right now.

I survived nearly five hours of cycling, followed by a brief break for a gigantic burrito, followed by 2,200 yards of swimming highlighted by four, 300-yard T-pace sets with 50 yards of kicking...as a recovery drill.

My body temperature is literally elevated right now -- I almost feel like I have a fever -- from burning through 3,000-plus calories.

The good news is that I can clearly see improvement, especially on the bike. Today the Fortius (formerly Valley Coach) group rode through Santa Susana Pass (pictured) near my hometown of Simi Valley. I've ridden that pass several times, usually huffing and puffing up both sides (when I'm not sailing off the road down a 30-foot embankment!). Today was different. I casually strolled up each climb, not feeling heavy in the legs or the lungs. My pace hadn't increased from past climbs, but my cadence rose while my heart-rate dropped.

Ahh, progress. When you're putting in this much time and effort, it's vital to savor the moment when you notice it occurring.

The other highlight of my day was swimming with my dad. The past sentence is one I never anticipated typing. But, you just don't know whose life you'll touch when you're trying to inspire and motivate those around you to "try for a tri."

My dad needs a lot of work in the pool, but he actually looked better than I anticipated. From a fitness standpoint, he's clearly trying too hard to do too much, too fast.

Now I know where I get it from! Chip, meet Block.

I suggested he just spend a lot of time early on getting used to the water. Working on breathing. Relaxing. The fitness will come, and eventually, so will technique.

Let's see if he listens. If he's anything like me, and I think he may be, he'll skip Chapter One and head straight to the back of the book for the toughest problems.

Regardless, I truly enjoyed serving as "coach" for my dad. He would say that I've taught him a lot over the years, but I've never really tried to teach in that direct way. So, this is really the first time I can remember teaching him something new. I'm definitely enjoying it, and the longer drive to get my swim workout in was time well spent.

I started typing that my reward for our swim session was a very nice Italian dinner.

Scratch that.

The memory of the experience will far surpass it.

312 days and counting.