Rally Time!

It's 6:45 p.m.  I'm still at work.  I've got a swim at 7:30 p.m. and then I need to drive to Simi Valley to switch cars once again for a smog check.  I won't be home until 10-10:30 p.m. tonight. I'm tired!

I've slept plenty the past few nights, but I'm a little wiped out right now to be honest.  Last night, I could have fallen asleep at 9:30.  And the past two nights, my alarm woke me up out of a deep sleep, which never used to happen.

Welcome to Ironman peak training.

Fortunately, I'm getting great notes of encouragement from fellow triathletes and friends such as Derek, Liana, Anton and Caleb.  I'll take every bit of energy and support I can get right now as the training hours continue to mount, along with my fatigue. Luckily, through these notes I'm reinforcing that everything I'm going through is normal.  It's OK to feel tired.  It's OK not to want to work out.

But I must continue.  Like I did this morning, when it was cloudy and chilly at Griffith Park.  There, alone, I found myself lapping back and forth on the bike path once again for another 45-minute time zone 3 mash fest.  Though I was on my road bike this time as I discovered my tri bike has a front flat. Ruh-roh.

Guess what I'll be doing tomorrow morning before work.  I'm so slow at changing tires it will probably take me around a half hour!

I was pleased with my riding this morning.  There was a fairly brisk head wind and still my pedaling remained strong and consistent.

But the real highlight came at 8:30 tonight.  All that bitching in the above few paragraphs came to a halt in the water.  For whatever reason, all that fatigue drained right out of me once I jumped in.  Once Coach Gerardo reminded me to relax and hold my stroke longer, everything clicked into place.  My timed sets were smooth and relaxed.

And my timed 100 at the end of the night gave me a new PR - 1:22.

I teased Gerardo that he told me not to expect to get any faster.  That's all he needed to tell me apparently!

I'm not sure where my energy surge came from.  The cookies I ate today?  Or the birthday cake?  It didn't come from a desire to get back in the water, that's for sure.

But I did know it was time to rally.  That one thing my Ironman training has taught me is that all this is in my head.  If I write that I am tired, then I will act tired. If I ignore the fatigue and power through, then that's what will happen.

That's going to be my mantra the next several weeks.

Rally time.

59 days and counting.

The Building Wave

Two months from right now, I'll be eating my Last Supper before Ironman.  Wondering about the Big Day that will come in those next 12 hours. I've been thinking about and waiting for this since my first workout more than 10 months ago.  It's now only 60 days away.

That still seems like a long time, but when I break it up with five weeks of peak training and three weeks of tapering, it's really almost here.  It still hasn't really hit me though.  Emotionally, I feel like I'm in an ocean with my feet still barely touching the sand.  I can see the incoming swell in the distance but it hasn't yet lifted me off my feet.  The power of the wave hasn't formulated.  But the energy, the anticipation, it's definitely there.

Today was more or less about recovery.  I ran for an hour this morning on what appeared to be the first day of school in my neighborhood's elementary school.  Cars jammed the streets on Dickens, causing me to be just that much more aware of my surroundings.  It's not like I was running fast though, as my legs were a little sluggish and my heart rate was beating as slow as I can remember in a run.  It took me almost through the first 40 minutes to creep into zone 3.

I just finished a yoga workout before returning into the office.  The calves are tight and my lower back is as well.  But there's no time to rest further.  Ironman training beckons.  Tomorrow is another two-hour-plus training day, filled with 80 minutes on the bike and 60 minutes in the pool in the evening.  All en route to a 19.5-hour training week.

The wave is picking up steam.  The water is rising above my chest.  I'm a little nervous, but not panicking.

Even though I haven't, I feel like I've been in this exact spot in the ocean before.  More than 2,000 miles logged on the Garmin and 185 hours confirm that sentiment.

I'm ready for the wave.

60 days and counting.

A Real Weekend

I'm headed into the busiest, most taxing part of my Ironman training.  Yet what I'll remember most from this weekend is the time I got to spend with Stephanie and my family. At first I was bummed that Yom Kippur fell on a Saturday.  I need that time to complete my long bike or run.  Trying to do so during the week wipes me out and for a 5-6 hour bike ride, it's logistically impossible.  But being able to enjoy a Saturday by not running around all over the place and then trying to cram in some relaxation -- even if it meant not eating much of anything -- was a true joy.  Yes, I attended services, as I mentioned yesterday.  But I also stopped long enough in my life to plop on the couch and watch some college football. I hung out with my family without looking at my watch.

Sometimes, doing less can be more for your mind and body in triathlon training.

The trend continued today, as I logged five hours in the pool (3,000 yard swim) and on the bike (4 hours, 4,300 feet, Tour de Conejo via Calabasas and Simi Valley).  You'd think that wouldn't qualify as lounging, but the eight hours from when I returned home and spent the day with Steph certainly did.  Though I was on a tight timeline with my training today since we had a 3 p.m. appointment with our wedding ceremony rabbi, it actually ended working in my favor.  I got to really feel like I had a leisurely Sunday without the guilt of either missing all my training or not spending quality time with my lady.  While I had to cut my workouts short -- by 500 yards in the water and around 1.5 hours on the bike -- it still meant more time after our appointment just to hang out with no particular plan. Like a long date.  We filled our afternoon running an errand (I needed new swim shorts and goggles), eating an early dinner at Fritto Misto in Santa Monica, and watching Peyton destroy Eli at home on the couch.

It was so nice to have a weekend back in the heat of my Ironman training.  I'm bummed I didn't complete my original 17.5 hours of scheduled training.  But, I still checked off most of my workouts, trained hard, and at the end, I feel quite refreshed.  Mentally, I'm ready for next week's dose of Ironman fun, which will call for another 17.5 hours.  Physically, I worked hard but have much more left in the tank.

Which is more important: Completing all your training and feeling mentally and physically drained, or completing most of it, finding balance at home and looking forward to the next week?

Is there any doubt what the correct answer is?

61 days and counting.

Atonement Day

Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement, began last evening and continues through tonight.  It is the traditional point in the Jewish year where Jews pause their life to reflect on how they're living it.  As we look inward, we try to be honest with ourselves on how we've treated others.  Have we done enough for others?  Have we lived to our true potential as a person?  Where can we improve and how might we do it? It can be difficult for some to look inside and take time to make those assessments.  For me, I tend to do it all the time.  There's a lot of time to think when you're training for an Ironman.  Or when you're taking a recovery day to attend synagogue, as Stephanie and I are doing.

And what have I observed?

I've observed that Ironman training takes up a big chunk of my free time. Which has been a convenient excuse for me to limit my philanthropic efforts.  I can definitely improve there.

I've observed that Ironman training is an incredibly selfish pursuit. I'm often racked with guilt that I don't spend as much time as I'd like with Stephanie or my family and friends.  Or my co-workers, who must be frustrated at least occasionally with my flexible schedule.

I've observed that I'm a competitor.  I've always known this, to be fair.  But I've been in touch with it even more over the past year, especially since joining the Fortius Racing Team.  I fear being the slowest of my group.  And I detest losing. I hate losing in practice.  I hate losing in a race.  It doesn't matter if it's my own teammates.  I hate losing.  I want to win.  Period.  While that kind of obsessive drive helps me push myself harder both on the course or in the office, perhaps it can rub people the wrong way.  People who enjoy the more social aspects of the sport or maybe don't have the same competitive streak.

I've also observed that even when I try hard to avoid it, my pride may take over.  There's a fine line between pride and vanity.  I've crossed that line a few times this year, at least in my own mind.  I'm embarrassed when that happens.  There's no way to take it back.

What's nice about Yom Kippur is that it's a day of forgiveness.  A day where old promises and decrees are declared null and void.  So long as there's an honest intention for fixing our foibles in the future.

During the course of my passionate pursuit of this Ironman goal, I'm sure I've hurt others -- at least unintentionally.  I've never tried to harm anyone on purpose, that's for sure.  And when I have bothered someone in particular, I've done my best to apologize immediately.

So to those who have been frustrated my actions -- on the race course, at practice, at work, at home -- I'm truly sorry. I will try to do better this coming year.  I will try to keep my competitive streak in check, especially my temper.  I will continue doing my best to juggle family time and training time.  I will try not to let my ego get the better of me when I'm feeling good about myself.

And I will fail.

But I will always give my best effort to be my best.

That is one promise I know I can keep.

62 days and counting.

Enter the Grind

Somewhere this afternoon while at work, I wondered why my legs were so damned sore. Then, it occurred to me.  Yesterday I rode about 30 miles (roughly 20 of them being at a time-trial pace) and ran nearly 12 on trails before that.  Throw in a swim and that's about what I completed at the Santa Barbara Triathlon last month.

Oh yeah, and then there was this morning's 3,000-yard swim at 6, which featured the following awesomness:

-- 400 yards in 7:15 with 4 x 25 all-out as a reward (completed successfully at 1:42/100 pace)

-- 300 yards in 5:15 with 4 x 25 all-out as a reward (completed successfully at 1:45/100 pace)

-- 200 yards in 3:15 with 4 x 25 all-out as a reward (unsuccessfully completed at 1:40/100 pace)

-- 100 yards for time (1:30)

These times mesh with my Nautica Malibu Triathlon swim pace of 1:44/100 (28:40 on 1,500 meters).

The pace also meshes with an impromptu "pep talk" Coach Gerardo gave me unexpectedly this morning.  As I climbed out of the pool after expressing uncertainty over how I should feel about a 1:30 time-trial after a hard workout, Gerardo said, "You're not going to get any faster from here until Ironman."  He added that it's now time to sustain a solid T-pace for longer, as that's where we're at in Ironman training.

Gerardo also told me I needed to change my perspective about training for the next few months.  The distances are about to be doubled, Gerardo said, and that the victories won't come from gains in speed but rather simply doing the distance and time allotted.

In other words, the next couple months are going to be a grind.  Embrace it.

I'm ready for it.  No complaints.  No excuses.

7:15 a.m. run tomorrow.  Lookin' forward to it.

64 days and counting.

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.