The Natural

Among sports purists, there's often heated debate about the greatest sports movies of all time.  Some of my favorites include Field of Dreams, Remember the Titans, Rocky (all except Rocky V), and Hoosiers. None surpass Rudy though.

I realize I'm not listing many on the list.  Including the Robert Redford classic, The Natural.

What's this got to do with triathlons?

It's simple, really.  This past Sunday, my college friend and fraternity brother, Rusty,  completed his first triathlon.  It happened to be a Half-Ironman, in New Orleans.

His time? Six hours, two minutes.

The Natural. Enough said.

I saw what the man ate before the race.  Po Boys.  Fried alligator.  French fries.  If it looked unhealthy, Rusty took a photo and posted it on Facebook before devouring it.

And then he chewed up his first tri and spit it back out.  (While keeping the fried food down, miraculously.)

I'm about to participate in my 10th triathlon and I wonder if I can come close to breaking six hours at my first Half-Ironman this July, Vineman.  That is, if I make it into the race -- I'm currently on the wait list.

Aside from seemingly breaking every culinary pre-race rule, Rusty trained really hard right up until the final week of the race.  Taper?  Nah, not really. And Rusty did most of his training on his own.  No coach.  No team.  No tri club. Just him, basically.

I'm incredibly happy for my friend.  He has been on a similar journey as me, even blogging about his training experience.  And he designed a sweet race kit to match his blog brand, Season One Racing.  Yet, while Rusty is The Natural, I'm closer to Rudy.  As the movie quote goes, I'm "five-foot nothin'.  A hundred and nothin.  And not a spec of athletic ability."  I need the coach.  I need the team.  I need the help just to keep up with faster, stronger, bigger, badder athletes.  Always have.  And Lord knows what would happen to me if I ate a bunch of fried food in my first triathlon, let alone a Half-Ironman.

I'm in awe of Rusty's accomplishment.  Wondering if I can approximate his success.

I can tell you one thing, it serves as motivation.  Just like Rudy trained even harder in moments of doubt or failure, I will be using Rusty's performance as my own fuel.  If he can do it, I can do it.  It started this morning in the pool.  I missed a workout yesterday to attend the Dodgers game.  I could have skipped it since my training allows for one skipped workout per week.  But, that 6:02 is burned in my head.  And I know if I let up one bit on myself, the clock will continue to tick away. Mentally, I'll see myself getting slower right then and there. Can't do it.  Can't have it.  Won't accept it.

So tomorrow, at 6 a.m., you'll find me in Sherman Oaks at the local pool. Then, I'll be on the trainer for an hour-plus cycling session.

I may not be the fastest.  Or the strongest.  Or the biggest.  But I will work the hardest.

Rusty, I couldn't be more proud of you.  You have done something I can't wait to experience for myself and you absolutely crushed the time.

Not bad for your first time out!

I can't thank you enough for the added motivation, either.

219 days and counting.

All That Jazz

Uuh.Uuuuuuuhhhhh.

That's what I sounded like this morning when trying to wake up early after a late evening out.  Seven hours earlier, I had consumed a half-glass of wine, most of a Belgian beer and part of another, yet my hangover indicated I might as well have downed a bottle of Prohibition era hooch.  Or the Ropa Vieja from Cha Cha Chicken might have done me in. Far spicier than I was used to, especially for a late dinner.  It all added up to vaporize my ambitious plans for a 7:30 a.m. trail run followed by a 9 a.m. swim.

This put me in a foul state.

I nixed the swim and decided to move it until tomorrow since I "only" have a 45-minute core workout.  That still left a 1.5 hour trail run with a headache and a chip on my shoulder.

Fortunately, an unintentional music experiment saved the workout, and my entire day.

I put my iPod on Shuffle mode as I started up the Nike trail atop Hayvenhurst Street.  A Coltrane tune was among the first to pop up.  I was about to change it when the riff caught hold of me.  Or maybe it was the cadence matching my strides.  Slow.  Pained.  Purposeful.  Like my mood.  I was hooked.

I selected all my Coltrane songs and played the entire Ken Burns Jazz documentary album.  The music channeled my feelings into notes.  As if Coltrane himself was writing just for me in that moment, like some street-corner musician that read into my mood just by taking one look at my body language.  Some songs were leisurely and languid, like my zone 1 and 2 warm-up strides, or the rolling green hills leading towards the Pacific Ocean.  Other tunes were fast-paced, almost frantic, like my my hummingbird heart-rate climbing the hills back from Westridge at the mouth of Mandeville Canyon.  Some songs stretched on for what seemed like an eternity, just like those steep grades I was determined to scale.

Listening to jazz on a sunny Sunday morning also reminded me of sitting in the back of my grandfather's Cadlillac El Dorado enjoying the golden oldies tunes on Sunday drives with him as a child.  These images, and Coltrane's musical journey turned another otherwise drab solo run into something quite memorable.  It reminded me of the pure joy of exercise on a Sunday morning.  When I could be at home doing any number of things -- including sleeping -- but was making a choice to better myself.  To take care of myself.  To simply do something for myself.

Training doesn't always have to feel that way.  If you're lucky, it can become transcendent.

Today, I had just that sort of experience, when I was least expecting it, from the unlikeliest of sources.

220 days and counting.

Station 9 Climb

Yep, that's Frank. On the ground.  Exhausted.

We had just climbed 3,500 feet to the summit of what's known as the Station Climb, near the LA County Fire Department's "fire suppression camp" atop the mountains overlooking the San Fernando Valley.

And it was awesome!

This was the view we were rewarded with after climbing for roughly an hour.  Off in the distance in the upper left is the Burbank Airport.  At one point, I saw an American Airlines jet overhead near the mountain's peak and felt like I could wave to the passengers -- and see them waving back!

A year ago, I'm not sure I could have survived that climb and the rest of the 50-plus mile ride -- along with the 20-minute run after.  Let alone know that I had more in the fuel tank at the end of the run while never crossing into heart-rate zone 5 (not even close!).  That is such a great feeling.  Even better, my achey right knee wasn't flaring up badly following the run.  I'm icing it as I type this blog as a precautionary measure, along with applying the Jack Black Grooming Products "Dragon Ice" recovery balm.

Today's ride was a perfect training course for Wildflower.  Long climbs resembling "Nasty Grade."  Running uphill following a quick bike transition.  Miles of flat road in between to recover.  Yet again, a solid confidence boost going into my next big race.

I even got a confidence boost by fixing a flat tire on the return trip from the Station Climb.  My back wheel popped and fizzed heading through an underpass near McBean Parkway in Santa Clarita.  The tube came apart at the valve, which I haven't seen before.  While serving as a good tutor, Frank let me fix the tire myself, guiding me when I was screwing up and demonstrating the patience of a saint while it took me 15 minutes to finish the job.  But, I did it!  At least I know if worse comes to worse, I can change a front or back tire.  The worst part, for me, is pushing the last quarter section of the tire onto the wheel. I need to work on that.

Speaking of confidence boosts, my buddy Dustin is competing in his first triathlon tomorrow.  I called to wish him luck and it sounded as if he didn't need it at all.  Maybe it's the stress of his job as a technical director for Prime Ticket cable television that has him so nonplussed.  Maybe it's the hours of training he's been putting in since making the commitment several months ago.  He's got a pregnant wife along with a 3-year-old boy, so finding the time and finishing what he started is no small feat.  I'm excited for him.

Now, after a slight break in the action, I'm going out with Stephanie for an evening of fun at a birthday party.  Time to rally!

Next up tomorrow: Trail run and swimming.  I hope it'll be as much fun as I had today with Frank.

221 days and counting.

Food Coma

I'm so tired.  I've eaten some massive big meals over the past 24 hours.  My breakfast at Jinky's this morning carried me through much of the work day.  But my dinner at Buddha's Belly in Los Angeles has sent me over the edge into Food Coma Land.  Population: 1.  Mayor = me. Training off day = glorious. Got a full night's sleep.  My achey knee has calmed down, and my body feels rested.

Except for my overworked stomach. I've been shoveling food in my mouth the way John Henry shoveled rocks out of those tunnels.  Funny thing is that I'm maintaining the same wait while doing it.  (Don't hate me for that!) I can't believe the volume of food/calories I can consume and still stay the same weight.  But I'm not complaining.

This blog post sucks.  I don't feel like writing tonight, I'll be honest.

I promise a better post tomorrow.  Tonight, I just need some sleep.  Hello weekend, here I come!

222 days and counting.

Bit By Bit

When I was a kid, I was forced to endure my mother's obsession with all things Barbara Streisand. That meant seeing Yentl.  In theaters.

It meant listening to the soundtrack.  Over. And. Over.

And over again.

It meant listening to every Babs song ever made on road trips, and heaven forbid a quiet Sunday afternoon at home, because that meant watching KTLA-TV's movie of the week if Streisand was starring.

Oh, how that woman tortured me with her nasally charm.

I thought I had put those memories out of my head, but then along came this morning's Fortius team swim.

Once again, Coach Gerardo flooded me with information about all the things I'm doing wrong in my stroke.  (Side note: That's his job. I love the feedback!)  It was one thing after another following each set of intervals.  Cross-swimming. Not rotating the arms. Not gliding enough off the turn-kick. Reaching wider on each stroke. Stop clenching my hands entering the water.  Relax on the recovery stroke.

I'd fix one aspect and break another.  Then, I started to look like a mechanical bot on each stroke, trying to fix everything at once but instead looking like C3-PO trying to run (not a pretty sight).

As I started to get the hang of all these tweaks towards the end of the workout, Gerardo had me swim one more 100-yard set, this time all-out.  I was getting frustrated prior to that point because my 100's were consistently at 1:50 even though I was supposed to be increasing speed from 2:00 down to 1:45 over a set of four 100s.

I think Gerardo was getting frustrated too.

Then, I took off.  Everything clicked!  I glided along the water.  Almost effortlessly.  Almost.  I built speed and power with each 25, though my effort/output level remained largely the same.

And out of nowhere, a friggin' Barbara Streisand song popped into my head!  Seriously! I don't know the actual name of the song, but it's the one that has these lyrics: "Bit by bit, putting it together..."

Honestly, that's all I know.

Sorry mom.  But I'm serious.

I was building confidence with each lap while that annoying song was embedded in my noggin'. On the final lap, the music in my head grew louder as did the power of my stroke.

I hit the wall hard and leaped up to see the giant electronic clock confirm what I felt...a new personal record!

100 yards in 1:37.  I think I hit 1:40 once but I've certainly never broken through the 1:30s.  This also explains my Newport Beach Triathlon pace of 1:40 (wetsuit-aided, of course).

Gerardo looked at the time, and looked at me.

"Why did you make me work so hard for that?"

I couldn't help but laugh.  My teammates cheered me in the next lane, including Megan, our team's swim coach.

It was a nice moment.  Probably a little more special than the others I've enjoyed so far.  Hopefully it signals a breakthrough.

Putting it together.  Bit by bit.  I knew all those years putting up with Babs would pay off somehow.

***

Speaking of pay-offs, I had another nice one today courtesy of Jack Black Men's Grooming Products.  Thanks to Stephanie, I use this stuff every day.  Especially the All-Over soap, Beard Lube for shaving and Face Moisturizer after coming out of the pool.  Jack Black (not related to the actor, thank goodness) makes premium skin care products for men that truly are a cut above the competition.  The soaps, creams and ointments are good for your skin and work really well.

Jack Black was a sponsor of the Newport Beach Triathlon and had a booth at packet pick-up.  I visited with them and proclaimed my love for their lineup and how it's a perfect fit for triathletes.  (What a coincidence, since that's why Jack Black is sponsoring triathlon events.) The company recently released a new line of performance-based products geared towards athletes, including muscle rubs.  I bought the muscle rub product and applied for a raffle to win the full lineup.

Today, I got a call from Jack Black HQ telling me I won.  So, on top of a great morning in the pool, I had good fortune at my back.  This really offset the news that I wasn't selected in the Kona Ironman lottery for 2010.  I knew I didn't have much of  a chance, but a guy can dream, right?

My Jack Black prize pack should arrive in the mail early next week.  I'll let y'all know how I like everything.  Based on past experience, I'm sure it will be soothing, smell great and feel even better.

Man, this might be the most metro-sexual post I ever write.  Barbara Streisand?  Skin care products?

Surely there's a place for us crazy triathletes.

Sorry, couldn't resist.

223 days and counting.

Night Shift

I remember reading these LA Tri Club dispatch emails last year where people would discuss meeting up in the afternoon to do their brick workouts.  I'd think to myself, "Um, yeah.  Helllooo?!  Some of us work.  That's crazy to just leave work early just for training.  I'd never do that -- it's just excessive."

Today, for the second time in three weeks, I left work early to train in the middle of the afternoon.  Because my workout schedule said I needed to do a brick lasting 2.5 hours.

Never say never.

Of course, I'm arriving into work early to make up the hours, which is nice on a Wednesday following a Tuesday morning workout. It likely will suck tomorrow around 5:30 a.m., when I wake up to visit the pool with the rest of my Fortius teammates.  But at least tonight's workout was fun and rewarding.  I felt fresh on the bike, scampering up Mt. Hollywood at Griffith Park towards Griffith Observatory without my heart-rate taking much of a beating. I felt vastly improved from just a couple weeks ago when I did the same ride more slowly.  I was rewarded at the top with this magnificent view of the Los Angeles basin.

Following the hourlong bike journey, about 15 LA Tri Clubbers and Fortius teammates embarked on an hourlong sunset run through Griffith Park.  We did a lot of climbing, but I handled it well since I was allowed to cross into heart-rate zone 4.  This gave me plenty of room to explore my pacing and threshold.  While I couldn't quite keep up with speedsters Mike and Richard, I felt faster than just a few months ago when I needed to walk a lot more of the course than I did tonight.  Granted, I was limited to heart-rate zone 3 at that stage, but progress is progress.

I gotta be honest.  Throughout the run, it felt like I was playing hooky from school (not that I ever did that, mom).  I'm enjoying this beautiful LA weather with some good friends and pursuing my passion.  I put in a full workday, but what better way to cap it off than to train in the afternoon when it's still light out (for the most part) and the rest of the world slaves away at their desks?  A little guilty?  Yeah, maybe.  Do I care? Nah, not really!

Now, sometimes when I visit the kitchen in our Burbank offices, I gaze towards the Griffith Park hills off in the distance.  I wonder if anyone is running on the trails at that moment.  And instead of thinking they're crazy, I will smile.  I know what it feels like to have that freedom and flexibility.

One day, I'm sure I'll miss not having it.  For now, I'll soak in the moment and enjoy the opportunity.

224 days and counting.

Cheering For a Giant Killer

I swam at 6 this morning.  This meant that The Big One didn't materialize as forecast.  But it was cold out -- just shy of 50 degrees.  I used to hate that kind of condition, but the steam rising from the 80-degree water creates such a mysterious, epic feel that I now look forward to plunging in the pool at that ungodly hour. It's the getting out part that is not so nice.

In fact, I chose not to do my customary second workout immediately after the swim because going from the warm pool to the cold outside makes it hard for me to feel my fingers for the first 10-15 minutes. I simply didn't feel like running -- instead choosing to surprise Stephanie, who was still sleeping at home.  She wasn't expecting me, as evident by her staring at me blankly for a few seconds wondering if she was dreaming or not.  Funny.

After a busy day in the office, I began workout #2 at 6:30 p.m., 12-plus hours later.  Pretty simple stuff, one hour of treadmill running with 20 minutes in heart-rate zone 3. Spacing the workouts apart so much was beneficial as I didn't crash in the middle of the work day from fatigue.  That happened around 5 p.m. instead, which was easier to overcome with a snack of homemade pizza that Steph and her girlfriends cooked together during their weekly "girls night."

The highlight of my training today didn't come from actually working out.  My buddy Rusty is about to compete in his first triathlon.  Rather than start with a sprint and work his way up, Rusty is tackling Ironman New Orleans 70.3 this Sunday.  Talk about just going for it!

I called Rusty to wish him well on his journey.  I think he'll be physically ready and mentally tough.  He's a pretty fast swimmer, and will absolutely annihilate the bike portion.  I encouraged him to wear a heart-rate monitor for the entire race so he can pace himself, especially since he hasn't done an actual triathlon race before.  Rusty has the right overall approach in that he doesn't really have a set time in mind, but rather rough projections of what he should be able to hit in each discipline if all goes well.

I can't imagine jumping straight into the deep end of this sport without prior triathlon experience. Some people thrive that way, like my swim coach and training partner, Megan.  She was telling me this morning on the way into swim practice that she's never done a sprint triathlon and started with a full Ironman.

Is experience overrated in this sport?  Is it better to just go for it and simply do your best to finish a 70.3 or full Ironman without the burden of knowing how tough the challenge really is? It's like the young basketball team that enters the NCAA Tournament not knowing it doesn't belong, only to peel off a string of upsets and advance farther than expected.

My thoughts are with Rusty for the next few days as he acclimates to 'Nawlins.  May he be a giant killer and slay his first 70.3 Ironman without too much pain and suffering.

Meanwhile, I'll resume my training tomorrow with an afternoon brick session at Griffith Park with LA Tri Club and my Fortius friends.  Off to sleep shortly to recover from today.

225 days and counting.

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.

Newport Beach Tri Race Report

Last night, I wrote about no longer needing sprint triathlons as part of my Ironman training.

Tonight, I write about why this morning's Newport Beach Triathlon was among the most important races I've completed.

Like my 20-mile Firecracker run in February, I proved something to myself this morning.  Perhaps more appropriate, I earned the validation I was seeking that my Fortius Coaching training is paying dividends.  After my LA Marathon debacle, I needed a proof point.  Moreover, was my Garmin speaking the truth lately?  Was I indeed getting slower?  These questions needed answers in the worst possible way, so the timing couldn't have been better to experience something tangible to compare year-to-year.

Fortunately, I did just that today, shaving off more than eight minutes from las year's 1:32:54 performance.

Eight minutes! I was hoping for improvement in the three-to-five minute range.  This year, I finished in 1:24:05, good for 11th place in my age group (top 20%) and top 20% among all men.

I cut 2:30 off last year's swim, nearly three minutes off last year's bike time and nearly :30 off my run.  The transitions were much faster too.  Moreover, my swim pace per 100 yards was by far my personal best -- 1:40.  My T-pace when I started training with Coach Gerardo was around 2:05.  I cannot believe the progress I've made.  Perhaps that is what I'm most proud of, given all the troubles I've been writing about lately regarding my swim technique.  And my 14:45 swim included a more brutal than usual opening 200 yards, with several people grabbing at my ankles and shoulders.  Not to mention slightly swimming off course after the first buoy.  In other words, I could've swam faster.  That's a great feeling.

Cycling the bike course several times yesterday paid off today too, though it was more than likely the lack of a cross-wind that put me over the top.  Yesterday, my Garmin indicated I averaged around 16.4 mph on my ride.  Today, I was .01 under a 20 mph average.  Of course, I was taking care yesterday to largely remain in heart-rate zone 2.  Today, while I could've dug a little harder, I was definitely in zone 3 for most of the ride.  Once again the only bikes beating me were guys on TT bikes.

I will be fixing that issue shortly.  I've got my eyes and heart set on a Cervelo P2 with upgraded wheels.

The run was about what I expected.  Were it not for the 7-8% grade hill at the 1.5 mile mark, I likely would have broken 21 minutes.  Instead, I paced myself to have a strong finishing kick.  I'm sure I negative split the latter 1.5, with a sprint on the last 150 yards.

There was also an intangible factor that helped fuel me this morning.  Stephanie, despite being sick, along with her dad came to support me.  This was the first triathlon that Steph's dad had ever seen, and I wanted to put on a show.  I wanted to let "Mr. V" know -- loud and clear -- what I was made of, and that the same kind of resolve and grit I demonstrate during a race is the same kind of attitude I will bring in taking care of his daughter.  As a result though, I was more nervous than I should have been.  Case in point: I put on my wetsuit backwards!

Fortunately, I overcame my nerves, along with a brief panic attack when I couldn't get my normal pre-race breakfast of oatmeal and banana until 40 minutes before the race.  Unlike the LA Marathon, the race itself was the highlight, instead of the pre- and post-event activities.

As I reflect on today's triumph, I no longer need to benchmark my training last year.  Fortius Coaching works.  My training is paying off.  I'm a better triathlete.  A more knowledgeable triathlete.

And tonight, a happier triathlete.

Next up: Wildflower!  But for just a little bit longer, I'll relish today's milestone. What was supposed to be a small event was a rather large confidence boost.

227 days and counting.

Race Night

Short post tonight.  Gotta get up at 4:45 a.m., standard wake-up call time for triathletes everywhere.

As I've mentioned this week, tomorrow morning is the Newport Beach triathlon.  It's a sprint, which means today I rode 35 miles on the bike as if it's any other training day.  But the scenery changed (pictured), which was welcome.  I rode tomorrow's Back Bay race course, which is primarily flat and very pretty. Mostly marshland, and outside of the afternoon cross-wind, numbingly consistent.  There's one brief climb that takes me from heart-rate zone 2 to 4 quickly if I'm not careful.  It's roughly an 11% grade for about 50 yards, and then drops off to 7% for another few hundred yards after that.  I rode the course loop at least five times today, so I actually feel more prepared for this race than most.

Overall, I learned today that sprint triathlons are probably not valuable for my Ironman training considering I'm working towards endurance and not necessarily bursts of speed.  I chose to compete in this event since I did it last year, when I was less strategic with my race selection.

As I told Coach Gerardo tonight via text, I think this is my last sprint tri for quite a while.

He agreed.

As for goals, last year I completed the course in 1:32:54.  The swim was just over 17 minutes, the bike was slightly longer than 48 minutes and the run was around 22.  My T1 was nearly three minutes and T2 was just over two minutes.  I'm hoping to shave off around three to five minutes total.

Wish me luck.

228 days and counting.