A Big Workout Sandwich

Training 3.5 hours on a weekend day is one thing. Doing it in the middle of the week is another.  I awoke at 6:30 to cram in my long run for the week as Yom Kippur will take up my Saturday.  So instead of going fast, I'll be fasting.  Or trying to. Probably unsuccessfully given my mega-appetite lately.

I ran for two hours at Griffith Park starting at 7:26 a.m., the first hour being flat and the second covering the hilly horse trails.  Ahh, the smell.  Oh how I'll miss that in the offseason.

I was pleased with my run performance overall.  Maintained a very steady pace on the hill portion (9-9:30) while my heart rate typically fell in the low-mid zone 3 range (low 150s).  I got into the low 160s on the big hills but quickly recovered.

Racing to work was probably the most hectic part of my workout.  I got in my car at 9:27 a.m., made it across town to the Burbank studio, showered, changed, ordered breakfast and made my 10 a.m. meeting with my boss.  I'm actually more proud of that transition time than most of my races!

After a work day that can only be described as "eventful", I bolted back to Griffith Park for the evening LA Tri Club brick workout.  Minus the run portion, of course.  I had a 1:30:00 bike ride planned, with half of it a straight shot in zone 3 bpm (146-151).  For some reason, I could never quite reach the lower end of zone 3.  It didn't seem to be fatigue related, as I hovered consistently in the high 130s, low 140s during the speed portion of the workout.  And my mph totals were in line with expectations (20-25 mph depending on wind direction).

Finally at 7:08 p.m., as the sun set, my long day of workouts drew to a close.  What a workout sandwich!  Two hours in the morning before work, a full day at work, and 1.5 hours after work.

I am cooked!  Now I'm just waiting for Steph to get home so we can enjoy some quality time together.  I'm tired of working out, or talking about working out, or thinking about working out.

And yet, in less than 12 hours, I'm back at it again.  In the pool, for a 6 a.m. swim since I have a work dinner tomorrow night.

Sometimes, the Ironman training workouts seem more intense than my actual work day.  And today's work day was anything but leisure-filled.

65 days and counting.

"I Didn't Think He Had It In Him"

Chris made my night tonight after our Fortius-coached swim workout (2,300 yards) with one simple comment he relayed to me from a mutual friend. Both Chris and our buddy Murray raced at Malibu this past Saturday.  Chris braved a sprained ankle that still hadn't healed to complete the swim and bike portion, forgoing the run for obvious reasons.  I'm proud of Chris for sticking with the race as best he could.  It would have been rational and easy to not enter the race at all.

After they both finished, Chris and Murray checked my race times on site, which prompted Murray to say, "That little guy got fast!  I didn't think he had it in him!"

There aren't a lot of things one can say that instantly take me from zero to Mach 5 on the Feisty Meter.  Telling me what you don't think I have "it" in me is probably at the top of the list.

The "it" is what I'm made of.  I'll never be genetically blessed as an athlete.  I'm not big.  I'm not really that strong.  I have to work harder than the others to be relatively as fast.  But I am a fighter. And the entire reason I can finish within the top 10-15% of my age group is because I want it more than the next guy. No matter how big or bad he thinks he is.

Murray's comment is especially meaningful because he's been there with me in my triathlon training since the beginning.  He's seen my flailing, frustrating swims at Zuma every Sunday of the 2009 triathlon season.  He's dropped me on the bike in Malibu when I couldn't keep up with him and Chris.  Based on m prior performances early in my training, Murray had every reason to wonder if I had "it" in me.

But current performance isn't always indicative of inner hunger and drive.

I'm not sure how much faster I can get.  I'm feeling pretty good at the moment.

But I do know that I WANT to get faster and become better.

Oh yes.  I do have "it" in me. I always have.

Never, ever doubt that for a second about me.

66 days and counting.

Monday Blahs

The battle for control over my body is in full swing.  So far, it's a draw between the Germs and Immune System. Of course, I did use a performance-enhancing drug last night to aid in the fight: NyQuil.  That stuff is brutal!  At first, I was chattier than Joan Rivers on the red carpet.  Then, BOOM!  I felt like my legs and arms were anchored to the covers while my brain floated away like an inflated balloon.  Unfortunately, the sharp pain in my throat woke me up enough to remind me of my whereabouts.

Today, I've gone through waves of feeling healthy and waves of being hot, sore and sick.  There's pressure behind my eyes as I write this.  The good news is that I'm spitting out all sorts of mucus, and none of it is of the gross, brown/yellow variety.  That has to be a good sign.

I participated in a yoga class earlier and was able to maintain my nasal breathing for the most part, which is also encouraging.  I'm planning to continue my normal volume of training this week until my body indicates otherwise.

Not much to report today.  So I'll cut it short for now.  The quiet joy of an off-day tempered by not feeling 100%.

That about sums it up.  Definitely a case of the Mondays.

67 days and counting.

Too Good to Be True?

When I read Mark Cavendish's "Boy Racer" autobiography, he described that euphoric feeling of peaking in his training.  He wrote he felt invincible, that his legs were almost floating on the bike and he had tons of wattage to burn through without any fear of depleted power stores. Then, he wrote about getting sick.  Very sick.

Unfortunately, I may be about to experience the same thing.

Frank and I rode a leisurely 65 miles today, meandering through the Conejo Valley once again and racking up around 4,600 feet of climbing along the way.  Not once did I feel remotely fatigued.  My heart-rate idled consistently between zones 1 and 2, as prescribed in my training.  While it wasn't my fastest workout, it was among my best.  It seemed I could have ridden for hours more.  I didn't need to eat much on the bike, I drank plenty, and consistently found enough power to get through any climb or false flat.

I also think I found my Ironman pace, if need-be.  It appears I can maintain a consistent 18.4 mph pace without tiring.  It doesn't challenge my heart-rate, and my legs felt great off the bike.  Even though I didn't run today, I could have.  Maybe I should expect a 6:20 Ironman bike?  I'm not sure how to pace myself for the Big Event.  Do I pick up the pace to that magical 20 mph plateau and maintain there with some occasional trouble?  Or do I play it safe?

All these questions were swirling around in my head as I sauntered into my restorative yoga class at 5 p.m.

They went away half way through the class when I started sneezing and my throat tingled.  Right now, it's a full-on sore.  I've been taking echinacea and Emergen-C supplements, along with Stephanie, who is suffering from the same malady.

I've been sick once this year already.  That's usually my marker, though I pick up at least one cold annually as well.  I'd rather get it out of the way right now than face it in November.  But I suppose the real lesson is that if my bike rides the day after a triathlon race seem a little too good to be true, that just might be the case.

Here's to a quick recovery.  I'm shutting down early for the night.

68 days and counting.

Racing for Others

I've raced a lot this year.  Nine events, to be exact.  One half-marathon, one marathon, one Half-Ironman, and the rest triathlons of various distances.  And I'm not done yet! As the season has worn on, I've found it occasionally more difficult to get fired up to race.  Especially when the events are on a Saturday, like today's Nautica Malibu Triathlon (International Distance).  When I'm at work on a Friday, I'm focused on work (yes, as if it wasn't obvious in the above photo, I do work at Insomniac Games!). Not the race.  So when the time comes to dash to the pre-event packet pick-up, I find myself struggling to get in the right frame of mind to torture myself so early the next morning.

That was the case today around 5 a.m. on the way to the race.  Earlier in the season, my car would be bumpin' the sounds of rock and gangsta rap. I was jacked!  My biggest problem was calming down, not firing up.  This morning, silence in the car, punctuated by periodic conversation with Stephanie, who braved an oncoming sinus cold to join me for yet another day of fan support.

I couldn't quite get "there," that mystical place where body and mind shake hands and agree to work together to deliver a personal-best performance. Body showed up, mind was still wandering.

Until the National Anthem just before the sound of the first-wave cannon fire.

I have a little pre-race ritual that locked me in tight.  During every National Anthem, I close my eyes and for some reason, I always picture the same thing.  My grandfather, who passed away in 2005, is ambling towards me or hovering in my mind.  I know he would have loved watching me perform in this sport, and the truth is, I miss him every day.  So amidst all the hectic activities and moments in my life, the National Anthem before a triathlon is the place and time where I can quietly pay homage to a great man whom will always be my lovable hero.

And then I remember that it's now time to kick-ass. No excuses, just like grandpa. No fanfare, just like grandpa. It's. Time. To. Kick. Ass.  End of story. No talking.  Action.

Even though I always get a little choked up in those moments, I couldn't be more dialed into race.  Everything else melts away.  Nothing but racing occupies my mind.  Literally 100% focus.  To those who don't know me, it's probably my "stay the fuck away from me" face!  Today that feeling was compounded by having my parents join me for the first time this season to watch me race.  When I saw them, after my pre-race warm-up swim, I immediately returned to being that 12-year-old kid who craved their approval on the soccer field.  I couldn't help but smile.

Happy, but not distracted though.

As if I wasn't rearing to go, being with my parents took that energy to another level.  In fact, I broke my dad's eyeglasses giving him a head-butt before entering the corral for my 35-39 men's age group wave. I don't think the feeling of wanting to please those important to you ever goes away, no matter how old you are.  If I got report cards at work, I'd still give them to my mom to hang on the refrigerator.

Now, add those emotions to the mental imagery I try to conjure up moments before the starting gun blasts: A steaming, smoldering, powerful 1970s-era rocket ship about to take off from Cape Canaveral.  Complete in crackling, saturated 1970s-era filmstock.  Film projector-sounding audio providing the sound enhancement.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5...I literally picture the gates coming apart from the rocket as the engines ignite.

4, 3, 2, 1...BANG!

I wish I could describe the sensation that occurs in my body when that gun goes off.  Honestly, I get dizzy for a moment and my vision is temporarily blurred while a massive energy surge pounds through me.  There is no sound in that moment .  I can't hear my own footsteps.  Not even the roar of the ocean.  It's me and the race.  Me against time.  There is nothing else.  Nothing else that comes close to mattering in that moment.

Granted, with a 28:40 swim that's a lot of imagery and motivation for what many would consider an average aquatic performance!

Nonetheless, that's what I think about in the final minutes before every race.  And today, that's the added motivation I had to race faster than I have before, on a tougher course than this past summer's Breath of Life Olympic-distance event (the site of my previous best performance).

Some days, I race for me.  Today, I raced for others.

That turned out to be more than enough rocket fuel to keep me going.

***

Race Notes:

Swim: Nice pace.  Good current helped.  Stayed out of trouble by avoiding other, slower swimmers from the previous wave who seemed like sea mines because of their unpredictable, sometimes-chaotic behavior.  One guy literally swim into me at a perpendicular angle!

Bike: I maintained a 20.5 mph pace despite dropping my chain on the second climb heading out to Deer Creek Road from Zuma Beach.  Very proud of myself for not panicking, quickly fixing the chain and getting back into the race.  Didn't lose my cool, and caught up with my pace-mates fairly quick.  Speaking of, I played a helpful and fun game of "cat and mouse" with three cyclists.  One tall, lanky 38-year-old, another 38-year-old and a 36-year-old Kansas native who was out on vacation and shared a bike rack space with me.  He rented a Giant bike for the race and was an amazing climber.  I beat him by around a minute but he was faster than me on the swim and run.  I beat him overall by 16 seconds due to faster transitions.  He served as healthy and friendly competition.  We kept passing each other throughout the race, occasionally chatting, occasionally drafting (just a little, shhhh...).

Run: Wow!  That's all I can say about my 43:43 10k. Coach Gerardo (pictured here with LA Tri Clubber and Tweet Tycoon @fittorrent) really got to me at the Santa Barbara Triathlon when he told me to "just run" and not worry about heart-rate.  I never once looked at my heart-rate today and instead ran by feel, with the general mantra of "go as fast as you can" stuck in my head.  Unlike Santa Barbara, I never stopped for water breaks.  Unlike Santa Barbara, I didn't start off slow and build to a fast pace.  I started fast and steadily grew faster.  If I recall my Garmin watch data, my mile splits were 7:25, 7:29, 7:25, 7:18, 7:09 and I didn't see the final lap but think I broke 7.  What's odd though is that my average pace is listed at 7:03.  Hooray!  For a change, I wasn't passed a lot on the run -- I did more passing instead.

69 days and counting.

Race Time Awaits

Bike is cleaned.  Bags are packed.  Race packet is picked.  Stickers and bibs affixed. Carbs eaten.

Race time awaits.

What else is there to say, really?

I am ready.  I want to crush the course tomorrow.  My parents are coming.  Steph will be there too.  I want to end the race portion of my long season with a real bang.  I want to hit 2:25 at the finish.

I am going to do everything I can to meet that goal.  (Without accruing penalties!)  I am going to race hard tomorrow.  Very hard.

I am going to look the way I did at the end of the Santa Barbara Triathlon, pictured below.

Spent. Exhausted. Relieved.

I am going to make my third Nautica Malibu Triathlon my best.

What else is there to say, really?

70 days and counting.

New Year, New Spirit

Perhaps it's a Rosh Hashanah gift.  It's the only logical explanation for me not having any workouts today. Not that I'm complaining.  Last week I had 17.5 hours scheduled and logged roughly 16 total.  This week, including the upcoming Nautica Malibu Triathlon, I've got 11.5 hours scheduled.  Big difference.  A welcome one too, considering Coach Gerardo told me the other day that next week's training was going to be "a rough one."

I'm actually looking forward to the challenging week ahead, though I'm thoroughly enjoying this week's race taper -- the last real one before my Ironman cooldown in early-mid November.  During this rest period, I've noticed that I'm sleeping many more hours than usual.  Typically, I'm sleeping between 7-8 hours a night.  Twice this week though, I've logged 10 hours sleep.  And I even managed a nap this afternoon following synagogue and before the traditional family dinner.

Is this a sign of over-training, fatigue or just capitalizing on a great opportunity to catch up on rest? I'm honestly not sure, but am confident it will benefit my race time this Saturday.

Tomorrow, the only workout planned is a 30-minute easy run with four, 60-second pick-ups at race pace.  Steph said she'd come with me if her back is feeling up to the challenge.  Then, it's packet pick up in the early evening, more rest, and blast-off Saturday morning.  My reward for a hard fought race?  That'll be 75 miles on the bike Sunday. Not sure who's coming with me yet as most of my Fortius teammates are racing somewhere else.

One final note.  As I sat in services today, one of the many things that crossed my mind was that I really needed a joyous event like the Jewish New Year to pick up my training spirits. In case you haven't sensed it, I think I'm a little burnt out lately.  The constant training routine has been getting to me, almost numbing me to the joy of the sport.  The six-days-a-week slog fest of training and racing has felt almost as much like a second job as the adventurous hobby that triathlon should be. So, with a religious event that symbolizes renewal and celebration as my catalyst, I'm jolting myself out of this recent lethargy and recalling how lucky I am to be able to pursue this sport and the goal of an Ironman with such flexibility and support.

It's a new year, symbolized by the sounding of the ram's horn shofar.  With that blast, comes a re-energized spirit.  A promise within myself to try and do better. To be better.  Not just better, but to be my best.  Towards others and within myself.

We're in the final stages of Ironman preparation.  Now is the time to dig deep, remind myself that past results don't indicate future success, and that there's still much more adventure to be had.

The best is yet to come.

71 days and counting.

Farewell Summer

Summer 2010, I hardly knew ye.  In fact, I think the span of our relationship lasted all of one week, this past one. You were like the friends I had in 6th Grade, the Bortz twins.  In my neighborhood for what seemed like a week, then gone.  Just like that.  No explanation.  Where did they go?

Judging by tonight's "early" sunset just shy of 7:30 p.m. and the slight chill that accompanied it, summer is definitely over. (Yes, I sound like a spoiled Southern Californian. Deal with it!) Did we even get a summer this year?  Not since college had I spent this much time outdoors in the sun.  And I simply don't recall very many days where the heat was stifling.  It felt like we've had one season all year, spring.

As I rode with my new LA Tri Club buddy Jon during our Griffith Park brick workout, I was thinking about this summer.  I was watching it end before my eyes, with dark gray skies creating an ominous atmosphere and perhaps nurturing a more reflective workout mood.

What would I remember about this summer?

Hours after that first thought occupied my mind, I'm still having trouble with that question.   And maybe this has nothing to do with the weather.  Maybe this is just about being tired and ready for bed.  After all, I did swim 2,600 yards this morning (300 easy, 5 x 200 drills with fins 5 x 200 split between catchup and swim without fins and a final 3 x 100 split between kicks and swimming), bike 20 and run four at tempo or race-pace this evening.  And I worked a full day in between, forgoing lunch to get more done.

OK, those last two sentences were fluff, allowing me to procrastinate more.

But seriously, check out what my car looked like at the end of the day from all this cross-training.  You can't even see the passenger seat!

What will I remember about this summer?

Honestly, it's all a blur.  Every weekend seems to have been spent training or racing. Vineman, both my race and Rusty's, will certainly rank as a major summer highlight.  The Breath of Life triathlon triumph and agony of losing my spot at Nationals will stay with me for a long time as well. Beyond that, things get muddier.  I spent a lot of time in the saddle, alone or with friends.  I'm a much better triathlete in September as I was in June.  There's no doubt about that.

But how much time did I spend goofing around with friends?  How much time did I spend with Steph just enjoying the weekend at our own pace?  Was it enough?  I know we had a LOT of good times this summer and I can rattle off a bunch of those special moments spent at concerts, weddings, family outings, nice dinners, and sports events.  But many of those special moments were built around training schedules.

Maybe I just need a little more time to step back and assess the summer. All the great times, both singular and taken as a whole.  Maybe I'm just bummed that the summer is over so quick.  It caught me off guard.  I had summer firmly in my grasp, and yet somehow it feels like it slipped right through my fingers.  What happened?

Sad to see you go, Summer 2010.

72 days and counting.

Random Ramblings

My body finally said, "Enough is enough!" during my morning Tour de Valley bike ride. Though the statistics from my ride indicate otherwise, it felt like I was cycling in tar.  I actually rode faster this Tuesday compared to last week's session by a *whopping* .1 mph (sarcasm intended!), traveled nearly 2.5 miles farther (though I rode seven minutes longer) and climbed an astounding 20 more feet.  Despite the slightly improved week-to-week performance, it felt like I was working much harder today even though my average heart-rate was actually several percentage points lower this week as well. Why is that?

For me, a surefire sign of fatigue occurs when no matter how hard I try to gain speed, my heart-rate remains at a lower rate, almost a full zone lower.  It doesn't add up though.  I slept well the night before and enjoyed a rare off-day from training on Monday.  My nutrition wasn't terrible either.  Here's what I ate:

-- Eggs, bacon and pumpkin pancakes for breakfast

-- Cinnamon-raisin toast with peanut butter, apple and cheese for lunch

-- Clif Bar for snack

-- "Healthy" Chinese food for dinner (OK, it was about as healthy as Chinese food can be!)

-- Protein shake with frozen organic berries and two tablespoons of ice cream

Granted, I could have eaten more greens.  No doubt there.  But I did have Omega-3 Oil-infused Carrot Juice from Trader Joe's, so leave me alone!

Despite not being able to figure out exactly what's going on, I decided to skip my evening swim in favor of a massage from LA Body Mechanics and Fortius teammate, David.  It will help me going into my Malibu Triathlon race this Saturday, and I can make up the swim tomorrow morning anyway.

Ah, the Malibu Triathlon.

This used to be my Rose Bowl of triathlons.  The Grand-Daddy of Them All.  The Nautica Malibu Triathlon is special to me because it marks my first triathlon.  We always remember our first, right?  I can still recall how nervous I was.  How I bought a hotel room 20 minutes away to make sure I would have enough sleep the night before the event.

(Pause...I'm re-reading this and I just realized how much of a double-entendre this entire section is!  Wow!  Mom, I'm talking about triathlon I swear!!!)

How I looked like Charlie Sheen's character in "Platoon" when he went on his first jungle patrol -- loaded up with junk I'd never actually need but other people told me I would. Practically fainting from all the unnecessary weight in my transition bag. Towel to dry off.  Gloves for a 18-mile bike ride.  Tupperware to dip my feet in after the swim to clean my feet.  And the extra food on my transition towel.  Oy.

I actually paused to eat an entire banana in T1 before venturing out on the course. That was after toweling off completely from the swim.

And I remember how proud of myself I was for finishing my first race.  Such elation!  Nevermind the time was 1:44 and change for a half-mile swim, 18-mile bike and a 4-mile run.  I was officially a "TRIATHLETE" and that's all that mattered.  Except that I vowed to complete the Olympic triathlon course the following year (2009).

"Aw, you completed your very first triathlon!  That's nice, Ryan.  Now get on to the next big goal."

Yep, that's sort of how I roll in general.

Last year, I trained practically all year for Malibu Olympic.  Or "all year" by my own definition at the time, which meant no more than five days a week, tops.  No double workouts.  Certainly no bricks.

I saw real progress in my training, finishing the Olympic course in 2:44.

But for both Malibu triathlon experiences, it was about something more.  The challenge loomed large. The Unknown was even larger. Could I finish?  What if I cramped up?  What if I got a flat?  What if I was the slowest in my age group?

Questions, questions, questions.  All questions that led to a heightened sense of exhiliration when I finished the events.  Relief!  Joy!  Pride.

Which brings me to this year's Malibu Triathlon event.  It's a blip on my training radar.  In contrast to last year, I haven't been on the bike course for several months, probably since the Amgen Tour rambled through Malibu and Agoura this past spring.  I have a goal time of 2:25 for this event, but even if I don't hit it, it's no big deal.  Ironman is the real prize this year. But honestly, I'm a little sad about that. I miss the excitement and anticipation of the Malibu Triathlon.  I miss the wonder and speculation.  The naivete, so to speak.

Now, all that is put on hold for November 21, 2010.

Though I hope to call upon a little bit of the magic of my first time to make this event just a little more special.

Geez, I've become a triathlon slut!

73 days and counting.

Weekend Wrap

Labor Day came and went without a single workout.

A true holiday weekend!  However, I more than made up for it yesterday.

Coach Gerardo, Ray, Richard, David,Christina and I awoke literally at dawn's first light to beat the heat for our scheduled 2:15 trail run.  But not just any trail run. Bulldog Trail, Malibu Creek State Park.  Gerardo, Richard and I "only" did the first 1.5 miles of the actual trail, but it was enough for nearly 1,000 feet of climbing, including a few grades as steep as 13%.  Ray, David and Christina chose a less steep path, perhaps slightly because of the late evening we enjoyed wishing Ray a temporary farewell as he moves to San Diego.

I saw some real progress on this trail run.  The last time I ran Malibu Creek State Park, it served as a rude awakening.  Though that was less than two months ago -- July 4 weekend in fact -- I vividly remember worrying about the heat and my ability to handle it heading into Vineman 70.3  Fast forward to the next holiday weekend and I completed nearly double the distance while stopping to walk about half as much.  Even better was my pace -- in two months I knocked off nearly a full minute off my mile pace on the final two miles of the run.  I think that's the result of the Fortius track workouts, which improved my ability sustain a faster pace for longer, and knowing my body better and how far I can push it without risk.  I used to train a little more cautiously in terms of letting my heart-rate determine my output.  On Sunday, Gerardo told us not to bring our watches and to just run.  It was more important to get through the run than to do it "right", apparently.

The trick worked. I ran harder as a result, and Richard out-paced me by a good few minutes -- giving me someone to chase.  That's the perfect combination for me.  Just turn me loose and let me go all out!

After the run, we all celebrated the long weekend as a team at Zuma Beach.  I felt like I was a teenager again. We immediately unpacked our gear and basically played sports non-stop for hours.  Beach soccer.  Beach volleyball. Swimming.

Except I'm no longer a teenager, as I learned today.  My body is trained for endurance, not necessarily fast-twitch sports right now.  My quads are like lead from all the jumping and squatting.  My Achilles tendons hurt from running in the sand.  My right foot throbs from all the soccer passes -- and Janna's shin!

Thank goodness I train as hard as I do, for I can't imagine what today would have felt like had I exerted the same youthful effort without the strength or stamina to back it up.

Thank goodness I had a day off to get back to normal.  The 10 hours of sleep and pancake breakfast at Jinky's definitely helped.

Tomorrow, "back to normal" means a 1:45 hour bike ride featuring 10 three-minute time trials along with an evening 2,800-yard swim.

Thank goodness, I'm ready and eager...and grateful that I'm healthy and have the time to keep pursuing this mega-goal.

74 days and counting.