Crispy

I woke up at 5 to drive to Santa Barbara and train for the morning.  Fortius and LA Tri Club members rode at least 50 miles in preparation for the Santa Barbara Triathlon in a couple weeks. Some of us, including myself, ran five miles immediately after.  Others ran 10. The day, as usual, has been non-stop since.  And now, at 11:15 p.m., it is finally ending after sobbing my way through Toy Story 3 with Stephanie.

Pixar, you did it to me again.

I'm toast now.  Crispy.  Deep fried.  DONE.

Tomorrow, I'll write much more in-depth about the Santa Barbara Triathlon course, as well as what will likely be a grueling but fun workout with my Fortius teammate and friend, Christina.  We're going to climb darned near every hill in Malibu over the course of four hours.  I hope to keep up with the Queen of the Mountains!

Now it's time to refuel on rest.  More later.

105 days and counting.

The Perils of Not Stretching

A negative side effect from my busy week has been my lack of stretching.  Really, the past two weeks have been like this. It's beginning to take its toll.

Today is my usual off-day from training.  But it feels like I worked out twice.  My right calf is tight and sore.  Probably from my swim yesterday morning when it cramped up in the middle of a relay race where I squared off against Coach Gerardo.  I couldn't fold in the middle of the 50 even though my calf was begging me to.  Now my leg is paying the price.  My left IT band and right shoulder are also achy.

I remember when my massage therapist and Fortius teammate David told me soreness tends to spiral in the body since the muscle groups spiral around bone.  I'm walking...err...shuffling proof of this right now.

Not stretching is one of those "proceed at your own risk" things.  It doesn't immediately show its effects, but collectively, a week without foam rolling produces moments like the one I'm considering now -- I don't want to get out of my chair because I'll hear all the cracks and creaks in my body.

Don't remind me, Father Time!

Yes, I'm "only" 36, but days like today make me feel a little older.  And not quite as spry.  I miss the days of rapid recovery.  Like when I was in eighth grade and would play sports all summer long, day after day after day.  I'd say rinse, wash, repeat, but back then it really was just repeat, repeat, repeat!

Still, not working out for the day has been a welcome relief.  Especially knowing that tomorrow I'm waking up at 5 a.m. to drive to Santa Barbara for a SB Triathlon course preview ride and run.  My buddy Frank is joining the Fortius crew and me.  I'm not looking forward to the wake-up call, but the cool, crisp air and beautiful seaside and mountain views should more than make up for it.

Now, it's off to a family barbecue.  The activity stream continues!

106 days and counting.

Blogging is Hard

Triathlon is easy when your life responsibilities are few.  I have a career and a great fiancee, along with a fantastic family and close friends whom I'd like to see more. I don't have kids.  My job doesn't suck.  I'm healthy, Steph is healthy and our parents are healthy.

Life is pretty awesome.

However, that doesn't mean it's not busy -- even with the relatively few commitments Steph and I have.

I've been up since 5:30 a.m. (though I cheated with a nap after swimming at 6). I went to work, rushed to the track for an evening Fortius-coached running workout (two timed 400s, two timed 800s and a timed 1,200 along with drills), rushed home, showered in five minutes (literally, I timed it) and bolted with Steph to dinner in Studio City.  I just now am finding time to blog.

Last night, I didn't even have the energy to try.  And it was another one of those crazy busy days.  I admit I could wake up earlier than I have been late, but the Ironman training volume has been increasing and I need my rest when I can get it.  Maybe the stress of it all combined with some fatigue led me to lock my keys inside my condo yesterday morning.  Fortunately, since it was the Griffith Park brick workout, I had my bike with me and a change of clothes.  So I dashed from Sherman Oaks to Burbank (in 35 minutes, with traffic, thank you very much!).  Worked through lunch into the early evening, time trialed to Griffith Park to catch the end of the group bike ride and ran for an hour in the hills.  From there, Coach Gerardo was kind enough to drop me off at home after I bribed him with dinner at Sharkey's.  By the time I got home, unwound with Steph and got ready for bed, it was already 10:30 p.m.

I realize that doesn't seem late for many of my friends.  But at the frenetic pace I tend to keep (by my own preference), I wonder if my 10:30 p.m. feels like most people's 3 a.m.

Anyways, my point to all this is that blogging is hard right now.  I had this wonderful vision of blogging every single day leading into my first Ironman.  And, like the tail-end of a sprint where you simply start to run out of gas and willpower, I'm starting to feel the same way about blogging.  I love it, and I really mean that.  But, it's sometimes getting squeezed at the expense of the rest of my life.

This is not my farewell to blogging.  Far from it.  Blogging has actually helped me understand and appreciate my Ironman experience far more than had I not done it.  The days would have blurred together. The insights would have been missed, along with the special milestones.  If not for my blog, this journey would have felt like a slog, not the adventurous roller coaster filled with blind corners and unforeseen drops and loops.

I guess all I'm saying is be patient with me, if you've been supporting this site over the past several months.  I will not let you down.  I will not let myself down.  But there may be a day or two here or there where I just might not be able to fit the blog in.  Sometimes life does move so fast that if you do slow down, you just might miss it.

Every once in a while, I just need to live and not chronicle living.  Last night was one of those nights.  Tonight almost was too.

Let's see what tomorrow brings.

107 days and counting.

Just Another Day

Some days, just describing the activity is enough. This is one of those days.

6 a.m.: Swim with Fortius.  Timed 100 dropped to 1:27 on a dare from Coach Gerardo.  Nice breakthrough!  But it also came at the mid-point of the workout instead of at the end.  Still, I'll take it!

8 a.m.: Weight training (legs and core)

9 a.m.: Podiatrist to pick up orthotic inserts.  I've been running on my flat feet for the past week and a half.  My feet and and IT bands have paid the price.  It's a welcome relief to have arches again.

10 a.m.- 6:30 p.m.: Work, which was explosive today.  I can say that almost literally since I work for a videogames developer.

7 p.m.: After driving from Burbank back to Sherman Oaks, Steph and I met up and headed to the Hollywood Bowl to see Gustavo Dudamel conduct the LA Philharmonic performing Gershwin and Bernstein classics.  The pianist stole the show, though I could watch for hours Dudamel mesmerize the orchestra and the audience.  Total command and control with grace, charm and confidence.

11:10 p.m. Returned home after fighting Bowl traffic.  Writing blog. Eyes drooping. Body sagging.  Bed calling.

11:11 p.m.  Good night.  Let's do it again tomorrow.

109 days and counting.

And Now What?

Watching an Ironman in person felt almost as grueling as participating in one.  Or at least a Half-Ironman! You're outside, on your feet, in the sun, for upwards of 15 hours.  Scoping the perfect spot to cheer for your friend or loved one.  Hoping you'll be in the right place at the right moment.  Hoping he or she will acknowledge you.  Just for a few seconds as they run, bike, limp or jog past.  Those moments are the only thing you have to break up a whole lot of waiting.  Then, after hours upon hours, from dawn to dusk, you watch your buddy triumphantly run those last 100 yards to the finish.  Arms raised.  Broad smile.  Sweat pouring.

And then it's over.

I'm not sure who is more bummed that Vineman Full is finished; my friends who completed it, or me.  I was merely a spectator, but I felt -- I feel -- so invested in their success that for hours after my friend Rusty crossed the finish just shy of 13 hours, I found myself wondering one thing:

"And now what?"

"And now what?"

Seriously, after the race it could have been December 26, or January 2.  Massive buildup, a triumphant, sudden conclusion, and then wham!  The clock stops, your Ironman ends, you go to dinner to celebrate, and the day is over.  The next day comes, you celebrate some more, and then it's back to reality.

The rapid finality of my friends' Ironman experiences shocked me.  It drained me.  It taught me.  It's almost unfair because to those who don't know, it's "just" a mind-boggling athletic accomplishment.

There's so much more though!

Nobody can understand all the solitary hours of training unless they do it for themselves. The inconveniences.  The sacrifices.  The physical anguish and mental fatigue.  That's what makes an Ironman special.  That's why I got teary-eyed (again) watching men and women cross the finish line.  Total strangers. The race is the crowning achievement of a challenge few people choose to endure.  The race is the finale.  The culmination.  The validation.  I think it's that knowledge of their struggle that connected me to all the athletes on the course this weekend. I knew what each of them was thinking because I've been there myself. "Just a little bit more." "Damn it I hurt."  "I'm thirsty."  "I want to quit."

But they don't.  They won't.  They can't.  They shuffle forward.  Alone.  With runners and supporters all around them.  Each engulfed in their own narrative.

And all us fans see is that five-second glimpse of our loved ones.  We try to assess their performance in that moment.  How do they look?  What's the pace?  When will they finish?  Did they even see me?  Meanwhile, on the inside, the triathlete is enveloped in self-analysis.  One lap down.  Two laps down.  Need more fluids.  No cramps yet.  Will that blister pop already?

How strange it was this weekend to have lived in both worlds of the Ironman, spectator and participant.  Yet I didn't quite feel immersed in either.  I ran one lap of the marathon course as part of my weekend training and biked part of the course as well.  I avoided the competitors as much as possible to ensure the race officials didn't think I was pacing anyone.  I didn't accept anything from any aid station, despite several volunteers offering.  This wasn't my Ironman.  No thanks.  That's bad karma, as far as I'm concerned.  And, as a spectator, I was gone for hours at a time training on the bike or chatting with other friends.  I didn't sit or stand in one spot in the summer heat, like so many other dedicated fans.  I could take a break.

I was in triathlon purgatory.  I loved it.  I hated it.

At the same time, I learned so much.  First and foremost, I didn't realize how glib I was when I referred to my fiancee and me as Team Schneider because of how dedicated she has been in supporting my journey.  After experiencing what she goes through on race day, I haven't come close to describing how important it is to have that kind of partner.  And how hard it is to be a supporter in this sport.  I'm atoning for that here.  I've also realized that it's not the Ironman that makes Ironmen special.  It's the work that goes into becoming an Ironman.  The work nobody sees. If you don't savor those quiet, exhausting moments, if you don't appreciate the journey itself and every single lonely workout, then the day after an Ironman could become the hollowest of days.

Because "And now what?" is an unanswerable question.  Rather, it's an insatiable appetite.

Maybe that explains why I'm always so damned hungry.

110 days and counting.

Cheering on Others

My track workout was indicative of how my overall day ended.  Panting.  Relieved.  Spent.  Relaxed. A renewed bout with asthma and allergies, along with not having my orthotic inserts for a week due to resizing is taking its toll on my body.  Though I pushed on through both Ray's Fortius-coached track workout and Megan's Fortius swim session.  I've been using the asthma inhaler more than usual lately, but somehow I'm finding the energy to still perform well (by my standards) and feel like I'm still growing.  Though I'm in sort of a plateau state with my running and swimming.  My 400 and 800 run splits are almost always falling at 1:27 and between 3:19-3:22.  Granted, I've only participated in three track sessions now, but I can't yet see the time decreases just yet.  That's OK though, I'm confident it will happen.

The same goes for the swim.  No matter how much I'm in the pool, my timed 100 stays consistently between 1:30-1:32.

Have I hit my progress threshold?  What will it take to make another breakthrough?  Can my body handle more?

I'm hopeful and somewhat confident the answer is no, I don't know and yes.

But starting tomorrow, we're going to put those questions on hold.  I'm driving back up to Santa Rosa, back to Vineman.  This time I'm supporting some friends and not actually racing.  I'm going to cheer on Rusty, who graciously made the drive from San Jose 10 days ago to support me.  I'm going to cheer on Caleb, an age-group pro who works in my building in Burbank.  He's really made me feel good about myself and my training.  When someone with that kind of skill and kindness tells you he reads this blog first thing every morning, it truly fuels me throughout the entire day.  I'm eager to help return the karma.  I'm going to support Bob (@RCMcoach on Twitter), who is a fellow Fortius teammate and one heck of an inspiration.  He always encourages me in my training and supports the blog as well.

I truly can't wait to be on the other side of the chute yelling as loud -- or trying to yell as loud -- as Stephanie during my events.  It will be a strange and welcome break to not have the stress of racing on my shoulders while still experiencing the drama of it all.

I'll blog intermittently when I can the next few days reporting on my experiences.

Until then, keep training and encouraging others, my friends.

114 days and counting.

The Last Date

Stephanie and I had our last date tonight. As weird as it may seems, it's true to a degree.  After this evening's date at the Hollywood Bowl, never again will I pick Steph up from a home other than our own.  I met her at her now former apartment near Park LaBrea early this evening. It didn't really hit me until on our way dodging traffic to the jazz concert, when Steph started to reminisce about all the dates we had had over the years that started just like this. And how that sense of excitement when she opens the door to greet me after primping to get ready will never be quite the same.  Of course, now we're roommates for life.  Which we're totally excited about!  But it's interesting to briefly pause and reflect on one period of our lives formally ending -- the "single dating period" years -- while another starts.

Steph and I both understand that you never stop dating your partner.  For the moment that occurs, the relationship really falters.  But that sense of two lives lived separately in two places is now in the rear-view mirror once and for all.  Tonight really marked the official tipping point of two lives becoming one.  An engagement ring is a symbol.  Closing the door of an empty apartment and opening the door of a now overflowing one is real. And very special.

Our last date rocked.  I can't wait for the next one.

115 days and counting.

What's the Catch?

Shannan, a genius of a personal trainer whom I credit for first whipping me into shape a couple years ago, gave me a magic pill the other day. Not that magic pill.

The pill is called beta alanine.  Apparently, it's an amino acid that helps build muscle, reduce fat and provides prolonged energy.

What's the catch?

Shannan swears by it, and I didn't find anything "bad" about beta alanine online.  You have to careful how many pills you take because too many can cause tingling of the fingertips and thinned blood flow.  Yesterday prior to my run/lift workout, I took a beta alanine pill.  This morning, 12 hours later, I had a lot more energy than usual when I dove into the pool.  I sustained that energy throughout the workout, and after a brief 20 minute powernap I spun on the trainer for another hour.  It wasn't until around noon today that I started to come down from my energy high.  No major crash. No jitters.  No side effects other than being wide awake at 5 a.m. after 6.5 hours sleep, resulting in a half hour of checking work emails prior to swimming.  Usually I need to be kicked out of bed -- almost literally -- by Steph at around 5:45 a.m.

Placebo?

Normally I'd say yeah.  But who wants to get out of bed at 5?  And I didn't know that prolonged energy was a beta alanine side effect until I emailed Shannan this morning.

Growing up, I was taught to believe that if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

So what's the catch here?  I felt great, my heart rate didn't explode, I enjoyed sustained energy and better productivity and wasn't jittery in any way.  I'm asking around to see what other people know about beta alanine.  I'm afraid to keep using it as if it was a narcotic.  Something this seemingly helpful can't be good for you.  Can it?

I will probably pop another beta alanine tomorrow an hour before my Griffith Park brick.  I'll let you know how it goes. If anyone out there in blog land has experience with beta alanine, please let me know.

116 days and counting.

IM Training Begins Today

I just received a Facebook note from Coach Gerardo.  He informed me that Ironman training officially begins today. Really?

Um, what have I been doing since last November???  Because that definitely felt like Ironman training!

Seriously though, I get it.  I realize that my Fortius training prepared me for a marathon and a Half-Ironman until this point.  I've built a base that really feels like a mountaintop, and now we're going to erect a new peak from which I'll stand this November.  I can't see that peak right now.  It's obscured by clouds (dreams) and fog (fears).  I'm not even sure I'll see that peak until I'm halfway through the Ironman marathon.  And I don't know if the peak will be scalable at that point in my journey.  My legs didn't have another 13 miles in them at Vineman.

I've been pleasantly surprised by my progress to this point though, so it's safe to say I'm cautiously optimistic.

If we continue with the mountain climbing metaphor, today I left base camp.  This was my first workout since the Vineman Half Ironman.  The hardest part wasn't even the training.  It was the thought of training!  I had quickly grown comfortable sleeping in (as much as that little monster Bam-Bam will allow!) or arising with enough time to catch the final 20km of each Tour de France stage.  And not packing a workout bag every day.  Or cramming my bike in the car.  It's amazing how easy and alluring it is to give up working out or eating right.  The temptation is right in my face.  Not to mention the satisfaction that comes with having completed a Half-Ironman.  I could stop now. Quit while I'm ahead.

If it wasn't for the sense of accountability this blog brings,"retiring" sounds pretty appealing.

But by now, you know me better than that.  I'm no quitter.  And we ain't done yet.  Considering I signed up for my second Ironman before completing my first, we're really just starting.

So, I ran hill sprints tonight in the studio parking lot.  Then I lifted in the gym after.  Dumbell lunges, leg extensions, dumbell squats, dumbell calf-raisers, step-ups and a lot of core work.  Since it was my first day back from a weeklong break, I only used light weights tonight.

I know the heaviest lifting is yet to come.

117 days and counting.

From Tin to Steel Man Part III: Post-Race Vacation

Every romantic holiday should start by shotgunning beers. At least mine did!  Stephanie and I celebrated our Half-Ironman achievements with my Fortius teammates at a friend's home in Santa Rosa.  I knew it would be a raucous time when Mike sent me a text message, "We gonna shotgun beers!"

Uh, OK.  Actually, I think I texted back, "Fuck."

I hadn't shotgunned a beer since college, back when I was known as "Twiggy" and "Two Beer."

After 70.3 total miles in nearly 90-degree heat, I knew I'd be "One Beer."

We all laughed, drank (fairly heavily), traded race-day stories and ate a ton of carbs -- all with the Tour de France playing in the background.  It was this triathlon dork's dream party.

So began what has turned out to be a decadent week off from training, which I've enjoyed as thoroughly as the race itself.  So far in this racing odyssey, I've really yet to take adequate time to savor a race experience to the fullest.  I'm usually analyzing (and re-analyzing) every detail, immediately writing the blog, planning the next race and comparing notes with my fellow competitors.

For once this season, I decided to fully unplug and do what's most important: celebrate with my fiancee.  No Facebook (well, a little).  No Twitter.  No blog.  Just Steph and me.  Roadtrip companions.  Riding down PCH, no hotel reservations, no destination in particular, no plans.

No problem!

I've probably written about this before, but triathlon is a selfish pursuit.  It requires a lot of dedication and discipline, often coming at the expense of friendly social outings with mates and family.  That can pose problems in a relationship, especially if the other person isn't a triathlete.  That's why I've tried to ensure that Steph knows  that even though I'm doing the actual racing, she's my real race companion.  The person who makes my motor run.  The inspiration that makes me go just a little faster.

When I compete, I refer to us as Team Schneider.  And I really mean it.  But if that's the case, then WE need to celebrate better.  And that's what we did Sunday, Monday and Tuesday.

On Monday, we drove the Vineman 70.3 bike course so I could show Steph the route's beauty. Of course, that meant showing her several charming wineries that nearly led to impromptu wedding venue visits.

Annnnnnd we're moving right along. ... I sped up a little more at those intersections!

We had a good time talking about the key moments in the bike race and where exactly they occurred. I think it helped Steph visualize more of the experience since she could only see me during brief transitory moments.  We then took River Road past Guerneville all the way to Bodega Bay, stopping whenever the thought struck us for photo opps, an oyster shucking lesson and eventually a gigantic burger in Point Reyes further down on PCH.  Did you know Sir Francis Drake visited North America in 1579?  Yeah, neither did I.  Apparently he stopped in the Point Reyes area, maybe because the burger was just that damn good.

We eventually snaked our way on Highway 1 past Mount Tamalpais, through Saulsalito, past the Golden Gate bridge (hiding behind the clouds) and through the western most part of San Francisco.  By then it was close to 7 p.m. and we realized our plan of reaching Big Sur by sunset was going to fail.  But this turned into a big win since we had been trying unsuccessfully to visit with Steph's best friend Annie the entire weekend.  We shifted course to Annie and David's apartment in Los Gatos and enjoyed a late-night feast.

Tuesday was largely uneventful as we leisurely drove home from Annie's.  The key words are leisurely and uneventful.  Both my life and Steph's are so heavily scheduled that the notion of "free" time for either of us is almost unheard of.  This vacation was special not because of what we did, but what we didn't do.  We didn't rush from activity to activity, or plan around my training.  Of course, we did touch down at home around 4 p.m. only to leave a few hours later to enjoy another feast -- this time in Santa Monica -- with our good friends Erika and Adam.  (If you haven't eaten at Rustic Canyon, I'd recommend it. Though I'd avoid the pork chop unless you like it on the drier side.  The corn soup, crispy polenta, lamb meatballs and assortment of desserts more than compensate.)

We got home around 10:30 p.m. Team Schneider's whirlwind five-day Half-Ironman had crossed the finish line.  Much like how I looked at the end of the race, that's how I felt by the time the long weekend was over.  Gloriously spent.  We left nothing in the proverbial fuel tank.

To all my friends racing Vineman Full: I hope you will celebrate as hard as you trained.  I hope you hug or kiss the people in your life whom also sacrificed to help you reach your goals.  I hope you let them know how much it means to them when you see them screaming for you at every transition -- knowing they're really waiting several hours at a time just to catch a glimpse of you.

We couldn't do any of this without our race partners.  I can't do it without mine.

And I'm happy -- almost happy beyond words -- that I don't have to.

I may be signing off for a couple days.  If something comes up worth writing about during my time off, I will blog. If not, I'd like to spend more time with my friends and family before I dive back into the deep end of Ironman training.  I know what's in store for the next four months.

121 days and counting.