Mellow Monday

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

Sweet!

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

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

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

212 days and counting.

Just Another Manic Sunday

So how was my Sunday? Swimming and running and yoga, oh my!

Followed by a special dinner in Newport Beach with Stephanie's family celebrating Mr. Van Schaik's 63rd birthday.

Just got home. Absolutely exhausted! Non-stop action from 7 a.m. to 10 p.m. will do that.

But it really was a great day. It started off with my longest ocean swim ever, a 1.5-plus mile jaunt in Marina del Rey with my Fortius Teammates and the LA Tri Club.  I was surprised at how easy the duration of the swim was, though I wasn't pushing hard.  Richard and I stopped a few times to chat, spot our pier marker and look or other swimmers around us.  Coach Gerardo even made a cameo swimming with us, still basking in his rightfully deserved glow of a 3:15 Boston Marathon time last Monday.

After the swim, it was time to run for an hour.  Most of the group was going to eat breakfast but I needed to fit my workout in since we had plans this evening.  My Fortius teammate, Paul, joined me for the run or I would have been on my own.  Paul is competing in his first full Ironman, St. George, this coming Saturday, along with our teammates Lisa and Christina.  We talked a lot about his thoughts going into St. George.  His preparation.  His mental state.  His goals.  What's next.

It's funny, but even though I'm not competing this coming weekend in St. George, a piece of me will be there.  Only I and and a few others really know the hard work that Paul, Lisa and Christina have invested in this massive achievement.  And while each of them fully deserve the accolades that come with competing an Ironman, a small part of me feels like I'm attached to the experience too.  Like a bench player on a basketball team that never sees actual game time but knows his contributions in practice make the starters -- those who do actually play -- better.

I capped off the training portion of my day with a 1.5 hour restorative yoga session at Black Dog.  The deep stretches, especially in my shoulders and hips, hurt and softened me in the best possible way.  I'm returning again tomorrow night for a 7 p.m. session, along with Steph.  The rest of my training week is quite light in preparation for Wildflower.  Ah, Wildflower...I had forgotten about you for a few days.  Let's hope this taper goes better than my LA Marathon training.

G'night all.

213 days and counting.

The Crash: 1 Year Later

One year ago today, I turned my road bike into a mountain bike, hurtling over the edge off Santa Susana Pass and tumbling down about 30 feet. And walked away from it.

The mental toll was much worse.  It took me about nine months before I started cornering more aggressively on my Colnago.  Even though I consider myself mentally "rehabilitated," there are still moments on downhills where I recreate the events leading up to my crash.  Sweeping right turn.  Over-correct to stay on the right side of the road.  Notice the rapid left approaching quicker than I'd like.  Brake too hard.  Get loose on gravel.  Lock eyesight on cliff, and the tree just beyond it.  Panic.

I knew today would be a milestone for me as I'd have to overcame those mental images throughout our Fortius team ride in the Malibu/Agoura hills. I think about that crash on almost every ride, but I knew it would be top-of-mind today.   Especially when it was announced we would be descending down the notoriously technical Decker Canyon Road off Mulholland Drive.  When Stephanie and I got back together, I promised her that I'd avoid this canyon as much as possible because of how fast cars and motorcycles rocket down it.  But today, on this one-year anniversary of an event that should have either killed or severely injured me,  I had to prove something to myself.  It wasn't a day to turn back.

The descent was fairly easy, I'm pleased to say.  In fact, I surprised myself by taking some of the more difficult lines almost perfectly.  The feeling of nailing a line is so ecstatic.  I can only describe it as feeling bound to your bike and the road as if all were melded together on rails like a roller coaster.  Gravity, physics and inertia all work together simultaneously, and in that brief moment, cycling becomes gliding.

I did have one flashback moment though.  There's a tight left hairpin turn with a berm at the apex.  If you don't know it's coming, it can take you by surprise.  I remember seeing it for the first time months ago on my initial Decker descent, grateful for my ginger approach down the mountain.  Had I not crashed at Santa Susana Pass, I very well might have missed that corner amidst my inexperience and arrogance.

Because I hadn't ridden Decker in so long, this turn caught me a bit by surprise this morning.  But the difference was a year of maturity and respect for the sport.  Instead of slamming on the brakes, I gradually applied pressure and looked my way through the corner.  I didn't lock on the potential obstacle, but scanned ahead to the other side of the corner so I knew how to approach the turn after that.  Instead of freezing, I analyzed. Instead of panicking, I adapted.

This moment was probably indistinguishable to the rest of my teammates, but it's something I'll remember for a long time.  I've descended Decker before.  But today, it was a little more special. A rite of passage.  A rite that I feel blessed to have been afforded.

The rest of the ride was highly enjoyable due to the sunny, temperate weather and the fact that my buddies Frank and Dustin (both pictured) accompanied the Fortius team and me.  Each held their own today, which always impresses me since they both juggle busy work and family lives.  I joked with Dustin that he and Frank are actually quint-athletes since Dustin balances a marriage and a pregnant wife while Frank has a wife, two kids and a new dog.  Now that is dedication!

In addition to our Rock Store climb and Decker descent, I was also proud of the time trial we did in Hidden Valley.  I wasn't wearing a heart-rate monitor or a speedometer but I know I pushed it hard today, and felt strong. Improvement is both physical and mental.

I'm so grateful that I even had an opportunity to be in this position.  To realize the dream of becoming an Ironman.  To be able to learn from past mistakes and grow.  To learn more about myself and evolve into something a little better.

Aha. The real benefit of this Ironman journey.

214 days and counting.

Friends

No workouts to report. Just a fantastic dinner with good friends, John and Michelle.  I consider myself lucky that I have such close lifelong friends in my life.  We spent hours eating, drinking, talking and laughing.  I had such a good time that I felt like I was on vacation.

Hold onto those friends.  It can be so hard to do that though with all this triathlon training.  It feels like some friends -- close ones even -- get left by the wayside, like bystanders becoming a blur as you speed by on the TT bike.  It's not intentional.  It's life.  It's changing priorities.  Shifts in gears and focus.

Some people are worth slowing down for.  Some experiences are worth slowing down for.

It's not often I can say that I feel truly enriched after a meal.  When the conversation and company is every bit as scrumptious as the grilled swordfish and homemade pesto.

Tonight was one of those nights.  I am grateful.  I think I appreciate them even more because I know how rare and special such an experience is.

215 days and counting.

Runnin Runnin Runnin

Technically, my workout started today at 6 a.m. and continued through 8:40 a.m., when I wrapped up a treadmill run in our office complex gym. But it feels like I haven't gotten off that darned machine all day!

I'm currently at McCarron Airport in Las Vegas, waiting to return home.  I left five hours ago, or less than two hours after my workout.  My body isn't sweaty, but the brain is soaked.  Of course, I loved the challenge of it all -- could I stay motivated and engaged essentially for 12-hours straight even after burning 1,200-1,500 calories?  Forgetting all that for a moment, I'm more proud of having the discipline to finish both workouts before my trip than the successful meetings that occurred in Sin City.  It would have been so easy to sleep in this morning, rationalizing that I needed to be 100% focused on work.

Or, I could take the more challenging path and do everything -- without compromises.

My choice was rewarded in the pool.  At the end of our Fortius-coached session, we swam a 100 for time.

Last time we did this, I clocked in at 1:37, a personal best.  That was so last week.

Today, I shaved five seconds of that time.  And I know I can go faster!

Clearly, I've made a breakthrough here.  I can tell I'm gliding through the water more effortlessly.  My downstroke underwater is generating more power, while my arms are more relaxed on the upstroke.  My abs are more engaged when I rotate between strokes, and I'm using my lats more to pull more water back.  If I can continue working on my follow-through, I'll shave even more time.

I never thought I'd say this, but I'm excited by swimming now.  I've shown the most improvement in this area and is the most obvious indicator of how my Fortius team training is paying off.

The only downside right now in my training is my sore right knee.  I can still run fast and strong, but I've never had knee problems before.  The tendinitis is starting to worry me.  I have a massage next week with David (@labodymechanics), a member of our Fortius team.  This will be more of a pre-race tune-up but maybe we'll be able to poke around the knee region to see what's going on.  I hope it's minor.

Flight is leaving soon, so it's time to run again.

Been nice to hit the pause button though!  However brief it has been.

216 days and counting.

Treadmills and Hamster Wheels

My Wednesday brick was cancelled today due to rain.  Fortunately, I work for a great company on a fantastic office complex featuring a state-of-the-art gym that now includes spin bikes. Shannon, half of my vaunted Shan Clan training team, led the workout.  One hour and 600 hundred calories later, I was drenched in sweat, so much so that Shannon joked she could see my nipples poking through my mesh tank.  Hey, it was hot in there, OK?  My bike workout called for 1:15 so I spent the next 25 minutes on a recumbent stationary bike.  This was only made worse by dwelling on how much better it is to be outside riding with my friends and teammates.

But that's not all!  Since it was a brick, I needed to run for one hour.  Complicating matters was me leaving my running shoes in the car and being too lazy to schlep to the parking lot to retrieve them.  So I chose instead to use the elliptical machine because I was rockin' my low-top Chuck Taylor's, which offer absolutely no support for my flat and sensitive feet.

Let me assure you, two-plus hours indoors on spin bikes and treadmills feels like an eternity.  Might as well have been a four-hour workout. It's almost like the duration of indoor workouts feel the way dogs age -- in this instance on the opposite end of that exponential scale.

By the time my interminable workout ended, after stretching, showering, driving from Burbank for food and finishing it at home, it was 9:30 p.m.  My workout started at 5.

Some days, the world of training for an Ironman makes total sense.  The journey is pure, the cause is just, the scenery is beautiful and the company is even better.

Other days, I sit on my couch while blogging before bedtime wondering what the hell I'm doing.  It's 10 p.m. and I have to be up at 5:40 to be in the pool at 6 so I can run at 7.  All because I have a flight for a business trip at 11 a.m. -- one that I'll be home from by 8 p.m.

I suppose the irony of all this is that sometimes my life feels like it's on its own treadmill...with the speed ever-increasing while the resistance continues to elevate.  Along with my heart-rate.

Maybe it's more of a hamster wheel?

217 days and counting.

A Swimming Promotion

Sometimes, the little things are what make the biggest difference in my Ironman training. I dragged myself into this morning's 6 a.m. swim when I really could have used the extra sleep.  The morning was gray, the sheets were cool, the temperature at home was just right.  Didn't want to leave, plain and simple.  Especially knowing that after the swim, I had an hour-plus bike ride to look forward to on my trainer.  Two hours-plus of training before what would become a 12-hour workday.

But when I got to the pool, ready to jump in my usual lane away from the fastest swimmers, I was in for a pleasant surprise.

Megan let me swim with both Ann and Mike.  I was so surprised I asked Megan if she was sure.  Both Mike and Ann are usually in the top of their age group in every race they enter.  Ann just won her age group at a race this past weekend, in fact.  I was almost as worried about slowing them down as I was excited to share their lane.  Maybe I'd get faster by osmosis!

As dorky as it sounds, today felt like I was getting a swim promotion.  And dammit, I earned it!  My entire outlook instantly changed.  Hours and hours in the pool.  Frustration after frustration.  Setback after setback. Ounce by ounce of progress.  Even if I get "demoted" for Thursday's swim, it's almost like I was called up to the Major Leagues today for my cup of coffee at The Show. I can live with that!  Because for one day, my coach saw enough improvement in my technique that I was good enough to join the heralded "others" for an entire workout.

Suh-weet!

And I held my own.  I didn't fall behind Ann or Mike.  I kept up fine, even if I'm really sore from 10x100s split between 100s with our head remaining above water followed by T-pace 100s.  Of course, we swam many more laps than that.  While my body aches, it's the good kind of pain.

The pain of progress.

218 days and counting.

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.