Do the Work.

How I'm ending the day is pretty much how I started it.  Tired.  Lethargic.  Ready for bed. At least I can fulfill that desire instead of trudging out for an early morning brick.  Stephanie pretty much had to kick me out of bed this morning, literally.  She did so successfully, with the promises of making me oatmeal.  It helped.  My cycling felt about as slow as oatmeal transfers out from the ceramic bowl to the plastic one.  Please. Just. Go. A. Little. Faster.

For whatever reason, I just didn't sleep well last night.  I was ready to train at 4:30 in the morning, and since Trudy and Bam Bam have been making more regular early morning cameos lately, I figured what's the use of going back to sleep.  So I got caught in that "no doze zone" -- somewhere between being awake and drifting off to sleep.  It took me about a half-hour of cycling to wash the malaise off my body and generate some pedal power.

The run turned out much better.  The breakthrough from last Wednesday's Griffith Park brick with Coach Gerardo and Richard is really paying dividends now.  Despite my general tired state, running at tempo pace (heart-rate zone 3) felt surprisingly easy and relaxing.  My heart-rate never rose past 157 bpm but I was averaging what felt like an 8:30-mile pace -- and it was fairly effortless.  In the past, I would labor a lot more running at tempo.  Granted, I only ran a shade under 4.5 miles in just about 40 minutes.  But I felt like I could run another 4.5 or more at the same pace if not slightly better. Given my groggy frame of mind, I'll more than take it.

I suppose the real victory today was simply getting out of bed and doing the work. That's all you can do sometimes, as I've said before.  It's the difference between coming close to your race day goals and either meeting or exceeding your expectations.  You've got to put in the work, the time, the sweat and the effort -- whether you feel like it or not.

That's really all that today was about.  And at this point countless other training sessions I've written about. It's probably the theme of my Ironman training: Do the work. Period.

Speaking of, it's back to work tomorrow morning. At 6. In the pool.  Track session in the evening too.

Let's do this.

141 days and counting.

They Can't Take That Away From Me...

What a blur. That's what today's Breath of Life Olympic distance triathlon felt like.

I remember the race in flashes.  The chaos of entering the water and literally grappling with several people through the first buoy.  Elbows over other competitors' shoulders.  Elbows in my head.  My foot buried in a competitor's torso who grabbed my leg for momentum at a buoy.  Bedlam in the water.  The only way I can describe it more visually is that swimming in this break felt like watching the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan when the soldiers are scrambling underwater to get their bearings while their heart-rate is going through the roof from the panic.

Of course, there were no machine gun nests and pissed off Nazis at this event.

On second thought, bad comparison.

Back to the swim.  The water in Ventura Harbor is putrid.  The kind where you truly regret gulping in your mouth.  I thought so much about how awful the water was that a few times I had to re-focus my concentration on my swim stroke.  The color was just as bad.  Brown, murky, muddy...only punctuated by moments of jolting warm or coldness determined by whether you swam through someone's pee stream.  The ocean water was so thick the pee seemed to pool together, almost like an oil spill.

It was that kind of swim.  But the worst part was the course map itself.  Nobody -- not even the lifeguards stationed on paddle boards in the marina -- had any idea where they were during the swim.  You just sort of followed the people around you and hoped you weren't going too far off course. I got lucky.  My Garmin watch data map revealed only a few spots where I needed to recalibrate direction.

The uncertainty of my bearings and my displeasure with the water actually worked in favor of a personal best time.  I just wanted to get the hell out of the water, and because I wasn't sure when the turnaround was coming back to shore, I maintained a stronger pace than usual.  Therefore, I was literally astonished to find the shore on my right and catching glimpses of a cheering crowd when I thought I was just getting to the turnaround buoy.  At first I thought it was a different crowd watching from a separate viewing area.  Then, my foggy goggles spied arched balloons.

"I'm here already!" I exclaimed internally.

I made it out of the water in 24:55, by my Garmin watch.  Nearly five minutes faster than my Wildflower swim.

After a fairly quick transition, it was time to get my bike on.  I was encouraged to see my friend Chris just leaving the transition area, for that meant my swim time was even more competitive as that's his specialty. (Later, Stephanie would tell me that I was among the last two-thirds out of the water, causing her worry.)  My Fortius teammate, David, was nowhere to be found though.  He was long gone, perhaps with him my only shot at qualifying for the age-group national championships I coveted.

I vowed to catch him and Chris, though in my head I figured they were as good as gone.  They're both strong cyclists and runners, and with a couple-minute lead I wasn't sure if I could close the gap. It took all three laps of the course, but I found them on my final lap, on Victoria Avenue just past Gonzales.  We exchanged some friendly banter and then it was back to the races.

I felt strong on the bike today. I was rarely passed and while my back ached, little else did.  The difference of racing on a tri bike compared to a roadie cannot be understated.  Proper equipment -- including an aero helmet and race wheels, definitely makes a difference.  And I was able to catch my breath more easily after a hard swim.

Whatever gains I made with my sturdy Cervelo were returned thanks to the USAT, the governing body of the sport that officially sanctioned this race as an age group national qualifier.  Apparently I did something wrong during the race that warranted a two-minute penalty.  I have no idea about the infraction (I'll find out Tuesday according to the website), but I do know when it occurred. I believe it was on my second or third lap off Fifth Street.  A motorcycle pace vehicle with two riders pulled up alongside another rider and me.  The motorbike hovered at our pace, with the person riding in the second seat scribbling furiously into a notebook and then speeding away.  I had a sinking feeling that "something bad" just happened, but I seriously don't know what.  The experience felt akin to getting a moving speeding ticket.  The only thing missing was the pink receipt telling me when to appear in court.  At least I'd know what I did though!  I do know I had someone on my right who was slower than me, which pushed me wider in the left lane.  I remained within the legal cones and I ultimately passed that cyclist.  Moreover, despite yesterday's blog post, I strictly avoided drafting because I knew there would be serious penalties for doing so.  I truly, in my eyes, was following the rules of the road today.

When I learned of this penalty after checking the results this afternoon, I filed an immediate protest.  The penalty would cost me my well-deserved spot as a qualifier.  By one minute.  Two people with slower times will go to Alabama and I most likely won't. Rubbish!  I hope they know their spots are tarnished.  They were not faster than me.

But I didn't know any of this as I jammed my bike into the rack and bolted out for my 10k run.  And bolt I did.  This was by far my best run in any race of any kind.  I felt light, strong and fast -- even letting out a primal yell in the T2 area about how goooood I felt!  This was compounded by my fantastic fiance greeting me halfway through the first mile.  She staked out a spot on the course where she could run beside me and offer support in an unobtrusive way.   I was running well before, but I picked up speed and confidence at this point.  It was good medicine.

The rest of the run comes back to me in flashes as well.  Rounding a corner on the pier after seeing my Fortius teammate Mike and giving him a forceful high-five. Entering the residential neighborhood for the first of my two laps.  Sipping a fraction of the water I grabbed from the first station realizing I wasn't thirsty -- that the three-fourths of the Perpetuem bottle consumed on the bike would be enough. Finally!  I've nailed race-day nutrition. Oatmeal two hours before.  Half a banana 30 minutes before.  A gel 15 minutes before.  Half a Clif bar on the bike.  And eating half of a Hammer gel at mile three realizing I wasn't hungry enough to need the rest and that screwing up my breathing pattern was a bigger risk. Seeing friends going out on the run as I was chugging hard at the fifth mile to find extra speed.  Confirming during that fifth mile with a hopeful glance at my watch that I was going to break 2:30:00 -- if I just held it together.  If I just continued to focus on my breathing and STAY IN THE MOMENT, like Coach Gerardo and Richard showed me this past Wednesday.  Oh, how important that workout had become!  Scorning a poor defenseless female runner who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, blocking my ability to pass on a sharp right turn at a narrow choke point. (Whomever you are, I'm sorry for yelling "c'mon c'mon!" to get you to clear space for me.  I know I startled you.)

And that final sixth mile.  Which seemed to go on forever.  One volunteer in a USC hat told me it was a quarter mile to go at what turned out to be a half-mile away.  Mike was at the restaurant perch again telling me another quarter mile to go.  That moment almost broke me as I had timed my finishing kick off the first man.  The toughest part was the final 150 yards, as the course made a sharp left turn that stripped momentum and my ability to figure out where the hell the finish line was. Of course, this prompted me to shout, "Where the fuck do I go!?" to the volunteers who pointed frantically at the right path.

Finally, mercifully, the finish line.  And it read 2:25:59 as I made my final desperate sprint down the chute.  Where I promptly grabbed a water bottle and doused myself with hit.  Elated.  Breathless.  Confident.

The closest I'd probably ever get to spraying champagne in a winners circle.  That's how that moment felt.  VICTORY!  Surprising victory...pushing through physical barriers and mental doubts.

I had qualified for nationals just now.  I competed among the best, and despite my lack of size or deep-dish wheels, I was equal to the task.

I did it!

Only to find out several hours later that no, apparently I had not.

But that is also rubbish.  I DID do it. I can hang with these bigger, stronger, tanned, buffed Adonis warriors.  And I will qualify at some point.  And there will be NOTHING the USAT will do about it.

And there is still plenty to celebrate.  Personal bests all over the place.  Friends completing their first Olympic distance triathlon.  Everyone competing together, supporting each other.

I love this sport.

Just not the suits who run it.

144 days and counting.

Sick? Again?

What timing. There must be a big race coming up because once again, I feel like I'm getting sick.

Oh, that's right, that Olympic triathlon qualifier for the national age group championships.  On June 27.

Yep, it's time to come down with something.

I mostly credit that annual germ-fest known as the E3 videogames tradeshow as the culprit for my demise.  There's 45,000 people pouring through the LA Convention Center doors, most of them hygenically challenged...all putting their hands on the same controllers at each kiosk.

Gross.

So, couple that with lots of hand-shaking, late nights, early mornings for training, questionable nutrition, and less sleep.

I suppose it's no surprise that I don't feel my best.  Coach Gerardo indicated that if I skipped today's run and tomorrow's four-hour bike ride that my fitness level wouldn't be affected at all.  That's enough to get me to probably call it a weekend and go toes-up on the couch for some much-needed rest.  I tried to rally today in the pool for a long swim and came pretty close.  The workout called for 3,500 yards over an hour and 10 minutes.  I didn't have that amount of time because Stephanie and I were attending her cousin Emily's birthday party in Huntington Beach.  Still I managed 2,300 yards consisting of drills and laps in about 55 minutes.  It wasn't ideal, but I could sense incremental progress in my stroke, especially the lat muscle pulling instead of my triceps.  That means I'm using bigger muscles to push me through the water instead of just my arm and hand.  Hopefully, that will make me go faster!

For now, I'm likely to hang it out for the weekend.  Take it easy. Chill out.  Shut it down. Maybe that will help me overcome whatever's ailing me and get me back on track for next weekend's big race.

151 days and counting.

An Informative Workout

Learning by doing is a lot more effective than learning by guessing.  That's how I'd sum up my nearly two-hour run workout this morning.  My assignment was to run the last five to eight miles at the goal pace I'd like to run a Vineman 70.3, with a goal heart-rate in mind as well.  I chose to target eight-minute miles at a 158-160 goal heart rate.

This may have been a tad aggressive.  I was working off less than six hours sleep, courtesy of a stellar engagement party last night for Stephanie and me.  About 50 of our closest friends and family gathered to help us celebrate something that was five-plus years in the making.  (Here's a photo of Steph and me with my future in-laws!) But I didn't let it stop me from getting up early to swim with the LA Tri Clubbers in Marina del Rey.  Even though I'm generally total crap with fewer than six hours sleep.

For the first 45 minutes of my solo run, my legs felt awful. I couldn't even elevate my heart rate to zone 2!  It was truly one of those days where quitting seemed the best option after my mile swim.  But, I knew this is probably how I'd feel during the Ironman, or perhaps even Vineman. Tired, defeated, sore, and alone.  I know that if I don't train to overcome these hurdles, I won't be mentally strong when it counts.

So I dug deep.

I realized that an eight-minute mile pace wasn't going to be feasible when my first mile clocked in at 8:05.  I felt like I was running much faster, but the clock indicated otherwise.  So, I changed my goal to reflect being as close as possible to 8:00.  That went out the window with an 8:10 at mile two, but I lowered back to an 8:09 for mile three.  The wheels started to come a little loose after that.  I went to 8:18 in mile four, 8:23 in mile five, and I essentially screeched to a halt with an 8:34 at mile six.  I stopped shortly after that because I was really trying to pace myself for a sub-50 minute 10k to emulate the Breath of Life Olympic triathlon coming up in a few weeks.  The good news is that I did break 50 minutes on less than optimal sleep and eating/drinking conditions.  The less-than-good news is that I can't hold an 8:00 pace.  I maintained my 160 bpm heart rate for the most part though, which was a success.  In fact, I dropped my heart-rate by a few percentage points compared to my last big tempo run of this type, which occurred about two weeks ago.  Progress.

Overall, I reinforced once again that I can tough out a good run when necessary.  I learned I'm not as fast as I'd like, but running faster than I used to be.  And my stamina is slowly improving.  I wouldn't have learned any of this had I not dragged myself out of bed, or chosen to push myself by ignoring my body's protests.

I'd say that's the makings of a great workout.

157 days and counting.

The Fortius Trio

Most Fortius workouts are filled with lots of teammates, all working together towards one common goal or race.  They feature lots of banter, and a fair amount of friendly competition too. Today, Richard, Ann and I were the lone Fortius representatives.  Just the three of us.  And it was really cool.  I trained differently than normal.  Usually, I push myself to the limits of every workout, or at least (generally) to the letter of what Coach Gerardo tells me.  Today, I followed Richard's lead.  Which meant a more consistent pace on the bike and a little more walking on the run.  At first, I felt guilty.  Like I was cheating on my training.  However, I ran faster than I have been lately despite taking more breaks, which I found interesting. Perhaps it was because I was fresher off the bike -- even with three aero bar re-adjustments due to loose screws. (Dad, you were right, it seems I do have a few screws loose after all.)  Or, maybe it was simply because I had company for a change.  I've been training alone lately, and in the heat of the day.  We started just before 8 this morning so we could catch some of the USA-England World Cup match.  Maybe a more relaxed pace is actually a good thing?  I'll have a hard time digesting that one, but am trying to accept that as a possibility.

Having Richard and Ann to chat, share and laugh with certainly helped my performance.  It also reminded me how lonely it can be training by myself with no music or companionship.  And by companionship, I mean someone pushing me, challenging me to go faster or dig deeper.  I thrive on that, and Richard's bike pacing (when we decided to speed up) and run pace gave me something to strive for.

***

Tonight is Stehpanie's and my engagement party.  One added benefit of a more evenly paced brick is that I have plenty of energy for the festivities.  Of course, I'm genuinely excited about them.  In a way, I can't believe we're actually having an engagement party tonight. It's surreal almost.  I know we're getting married, and Steph is essentially living with me now.  But events like this help make it "official."  The funny part though is that it feels so natural anyway that there's no real "official" needed.  I know that probably doesn't make sense, but really all I mean is that ceremonies and events don't make our commitment any stronger than it already is.  But it's nice to share a moment in time with our closest friends and family.  That will be awesome.

158 days and counting.

A Special Birthday

It's 6 a.m. on your birthday.  Do you:

A) Smack the clock and go back to sleep

B) Jump in the pool with your training teammates

C) Lock the front door after getting in from a long night of drinking

I went with B) this morning.  And it set the tone for a fantastic birthday.  One of my all-time favorites, in fact.  Though that had little to do with training.  The past couple years, circumstances have prevented Stephanie and I from spending my birthday together.  Today that would change, as it will for hopefully every remaining birthday.  After a Black Dog yoga session that included some inverted wall poses, Steph and I spent the afternoon together, hanging out at Paradise Cove in Malibu and now she's cooking a gourmet feast -- boeuf bourguignon.  I'm a lucky guy!  Make that a VERY lucky guy.

Usually, this is about the time that I devote a few hours to reflect on the past year and think about what I hope to accomplish in the year ahead.  Honestly, I never could have predicted a year ago where my life would be today.  I was reeling from not being with Stephanie and still really just getting my proverbial feet wet in the sport of triathlon.  Now, I'm engaged to the woman I've always loved since before we were dating and I'm training like mad for my first Ironman.  I look and feel like a different person.

What will 36 bring?  Oh, you know, besides a wedding and an Ironman!  Well, in thinking about things, I've grown a lot over the past year.  I think I'm a little more relaxed, a little more confident, a little more competitive.  A lot more grateful.  Perhaps a little wiser.  Maybe even a bit softer around the edges (I hope).  I feel like my own man, though it may have taken a little longer than expected.

Thirty-five was a year of growth and maturation.  I hope 36 brings more of the same, with a killer Ironman Arizona (maybe one more too?) time and a warm, unforgettable wedding.

Is that so much to ask?

Actually, in my renewed state of being, I'll start with a fantastic tomorrow that's unforgettable and productive.  I'll start by encouraging others to be their best, while doing my best too.  One day at a time.  If anything, my Ironman training has taught me that.

162 days and counting.

Hot Hot Heat

The line between training hard and being stupid is a fine one.  I think I walked it a little today. It wasn't supposed to go that way.  After touring the sun-splashed and wind-swept Santa Ynez Valley yesterday, Stephanie and crashed out pretty hard last night around 9:45 p.m.  Nearly 11 hours later, we awoke.  I suppose my body was trying to tell me something.

I eventually rallied this morning and drove to the Starbucks at Las Virgenes and Agoura Road for my brick workout -- which was a solo affair.  No sooner had I arrived than I had to turn around.  I left my helmet at home!  Arrrgh!  I did have that moment where I considered riding without it.  But I knew that was not a fine line between training and being stupid.  Plus, if I survived, Steph would have killed me anyways!

Once I eventually got started on my brick, it was 10:30 a.m.  In the span of driving home and returning to Agoura, the temperature went up five degrees to 80.  I was going to complete my brick during the hottest part of the day, from 10:30 through 2:30 p.m.

Wise or stupid?

On one hand, I'm a big believer in training in multiple weather conditions, especially with Vineman 70.3 looming.  It gets hot in Napa Valley in the middle of summer!  And my initial outing in heat, a week ago in Arizona, didn't go so great during the run.  I wanted to keep working at it.

On the other hand...dude, it's 93 degrees!  At least!  Coach Gerardo didn't say to train in the heat of the day, so why put myself through that?  Why not just do the workouts prescribed at the typical early hour?

Where's the fun in that?!

So, I trudged onward today.  Alone.  In the heat.  Talk about a mental exercise.  No music.  No conversation...just me, my thoughts, and beautiful scenery.  The highlights weren't even on the bike or the run, but the car rally fundraiser for the LA Sheriffs Department.  There were 100 exotic cars all revving up on Agoura Road, just waiting to blast and whine through the canyon roads.  Nice!

My pace on the bike and the run wasn't special.  However, I did see some progress on the run compared to Arizona.  I didn't lose as many calories, my average heart-rate was lower and my pace was only .1 mph off.  Yet I climbed 200 more feet.  The credit goes to better hydration -- I scheduled water refill stops at Peter Strauss Ranch and at the Sherwood fire station.  On the bike, I climbed Rock Store in just under 20 minutes while remaining largely in heart-rate zones 2-3 and not over-exerting except on a few steep grade turns.  I never really hammered on the ride, but it was still a respectable workout.

Following the full brick, after sitting in a heat-induced stupor at Sharkey's (top photo), I high-tailed it to Helen's Cycles in Santa Monica to pick up my new cleats and to quickly adjust the seat on my Colnago. Once again, Pete took great care of me.  With some very minor adjustments, like actually making my seat flat, I felt an immediate difference in comfort on the trainer.  I'm eager to see how Monica will feel back on the road for my next ride.  And seriously, people, if you need a new bike or a great place to get quality service, I can't recommend Helen's (and Pete) enough.  I've tried my luck at several bike shops and while I've had good results at others, Helen's is the best I've been to.  Hands down.  Simply a cut above the rest.  Like the advertisements say, ask for Pete, and tell him I sent ya!

Before signing off, I wanted to briefly reflect on the significance of today's date, June 6.  I believe it was 66 years ago when Allied Forces stormed the beaches of Normandy on D-Day, Zero Hour.  This was the most pivotal moment of the 20th Century for America.  Had this battle been turned back, I fear the course of World, US and Jewish history would have taken a far worse turn.  I visited Normandy nine years ago today, and I can tell you that what those men fought through to get ashore is astounding and miraculous. And the rows upon rows of grave markers is something that sticks in my head and heart.  During my visit, I went out into the water at what would have approximately been Dog Sector and looked to the beach at the views and bluffs the Americans, Canadians and British had to scale.  I'm in awe of what those men accomplished that day, and when I compare my completely inane blog and its musings with the miraculous actions of that day...I am speechless and beyond humbled.

We are lucky to be free and alive, in good health no less.  We owe that at least partially to the veterans who fought on our behalf for generations, wherever duty called.  No matter how hot or cold it got.  Or wet.  Or worse.

164 days and counting.

Rest Day, Vacation Day

My training off-day felt almost like a vacation day. First it started with breakfast in bed at home. Stephanie surprised me with scrambled eggs, chicken sausage and wheat pancakes with strawberries.  That's pretty much the best wake-up one can have.  For the next several hours, Steph and I toured wedding venue locations in Los Olivos, Santa Ynez and Santa Barbara.  We even think we found a possible winner: Firestone Vineyards.  The destination is far enough away to feel like a weekend getaway, but close enough that it's actually not.  And the town of Los Olivos (population 1,000) itself is seriously charming and cozy.  Should we ultimately choose Firestone, the whole experience would feel a bit like a small town country wedding.  Relaxing and intimate.

We topped off our sunny day of exploring with a fantastic dinner at Tuscany in Westlake Village.  The food is outstanding; it's one of those "special occasion" places you go to a couple times a year yet wish you could visit more often.  I dined on the mustard and herb-crusted rack of lamb while Steph enjoyed the jumbo prawns and crab claws.  We split an apple tart for dessert.  Perfect portions, fantastic service, well worth the price.

Now, once again, the end of an evening finds me blogging on the couch.  The windows are open, the lights are low, and life is good.

Tomorrow brings another week of training.  But for now, I'm just going to savor my final few hours of rest before logging more hours on the bike, pool and road.

165 days and counting.

Answering a Question I Don't Want to Ask

I've slept for close to 10 hours each of the past three nights. During that span, I've biked nearly 95 miles, ran about 15, hiked another three and swam (only laps).

It was hot and windy for a good portion of those miles.

Total training time: 10 hours, not including the 2.5 hour hike.  That's between 3 1/3 and 4+ hours a day since Saturday.

Am I over-training?

Judging by my sleeping patterns and how my body feels, yeah, a little.

Can I stop?  Hell no!  I'm an addict.  I'm routinely training 15 hours a week right now -- sometimes more, sometimes less.  I know I should take a moment and reassess but with the Breath of Life national qualifier Olympic triathlon coming up on June 27 and Vineman 70.3 a few weeks later, I feel like I'm training for the high season.  I figure there will be time to rest in late July after Vineman.

That leads me to today's workouts.  I was supposed to run with Stephanie early this morning, at 6:15.  That time came and went quickly, with a fly-swat to my alarm and another two hours of sleep. I managed to fit my recovery run in on the treadmill at lunch.  I literally only ran just over four miles in 45 minutes.  To say I was dragging would be an understatement.  A friend of mine who trains at the gym religiously pointed out that sometimes you just have to log the time.  That's what got me through the workout.  Some days are just bad days.  In her words, "as long as you have one good day of training a week," that's about all you can ask for.

That seems like such a strange concept to me.  I want every workout to be my best.  That's what I expect and demand from myself.

Maybe I should ask my body nicely more often?

Despite my legs feeling like anchors, I'm heading to the pool in an hour for an evening edition of the Fortius-coached swim.  Steph is joining me, which is exciting and a little frightening all at once.  I want to show her how much I've improved in the water but I hope I have enough fuel in the tank to do it.  On top of that, I need to conserve enough energy to make tomorrow morning's 6:30 a.m. ocean speed circuit with the LA Tri Club in Santa Monica.  Followed by a brick at 5:30 p.m. at Griffith Park.

I think if it sounds like over-training, it probably is.

In that case, I've answered my own question that started this blog post.

I know I should do something about that.

I just can't promise that I will.

169 days and counting.

Lucky and Humbled

This Memorial Day will be remembered as Memory Day.  From the moment I woke up until the moment I'm about to fall asleep, today has been about action, adventure, romance, relaxation and family. It started by cycling nearly two loops of the Amgen Tour of California eighth stage with my buddy Frank.  This photo was taken atop the Rock Store climb the second time around.  Smile, Frank, smile.

As you can surmise, it was hot.  And as Frank observed after our ride, which featured nearly 5,000 feet of climbing in just over three hours, I'm going to need to learn to drink more fluids even if I'm not thirsty.  Duly noted.

Following the ride, Stephanie met us for lunch.  I got to enjoy a brick of a different kind today -- a bike and hike.  Steph and I went to a place called Escondido Falls in Malibu, just off PCH and Winding Way.  The hike is about a 2.5 hour out-and-back to two sets of waterfalls. The photo here is at the upper Escondido Falls, about 150-200 feet straight up from the lower falls.

While the lower trails are a moderate walking hike, if you're feeling adventurous like we were, you'll want to go to the extra level for the better view.  Of course, it'll cost you clean clothes, or anything clean, and it may cost you your body as it almost did with Steph.

While the rock climbing and scramping around was filled with laughter going up, things got a little tense on the way to the base as Steph lost her footing and slid down some loose dirt (that I triggered, doh!) into the creek bed.  Fortunately, she landed just right, on some twigs, that prevented her from hitting any rocks or bouncing into the lake.  In fact, she ended up laughing hysterically about the whole thing immediately after it happened.  That was a huge relief!  Especially since I was still atop several boulders, wondering what the heck just happened.

These are the kind of boulders you can expect to encounter in that intense little climb, just stacked on top of each other.  There's even one part where you need a rope to propel yourself forward to the next stretch of terrain.

After our brush with adventure, Steph and I met my parents for dinner after visiting my grandmother.  I'm having a really great time watching my folks and Steph bond. This is exactly the kind of family dynamic I had always hoped for and it's slowly but surely unfolding before my eyes.  I marvel at it and bask in it all at the same time.

Now as I wrap up this blog post I just am lucky enough to have a quiet moment once again to realize how lucky I am. I'm lucky to have my health to enjoy a gorgeous bike ride with a good friend. I'm lucky to have the time to be able to plan a leisurely day of fun that suits my personality and my lifestyle.  I'm lucky to be with a fantastic lady when there were so many hurdles placed in our path (some by me!). I'm lucky she wasn't hurt today (and so is she!).  I'm lucky to have such a fantastic, warm and wise family that makes me a better person.

And I feel lucky to have my freedom and to never have seen war.  I thought about that today seeing the contingent of war planes and bombers flying in formation overhead.  I thought about that when my hands and body were covered in dirt and grime.  I got to go home and shower and clean myself off.  There are many men and women out there all over the world tonight who are toughing it out on our behalf.  I am in awe of them and humbled at the same time.

Despite my incredibly good fortune, I will be thinking about them when I drift off to sleep tonight.

170 days and counting.