Embracing the Unknown

I remember when I first started swimming at Van Nuys/Sherman Oaks pool.  Almost a year-and-a-half ago it seems.  Back when a half-mile swim felt challenging (and satisfying), and all I did was swim back-and-forth without any direction, instruction, or a clue as to how to improve. That's what I thought about today as I blasted through a taper workout of 2,700 yards featuring two 500s and a 1,000 yards broken out by sprint 50s.

I also thought about how today marked my final VNSO swim until Ironman.

The next time I jump into that heated pool and feel the cold concrete sting my toes, I will be an Ironman.  Everything that I've worked for since 2008 will have come to fruition.

What a long, strange, trip it's been.

That also got me thinking.  This journey has been a rite of passage.  I'll be going from a world I knew nothing about -- a Herculean fantasy -- to having full experience and knowledge of it very soon.  It's not unlike other rites of passage over the course of our lives.  Getting our driver's license.  SAT's.  The first day of high school and college.  Losing our virginity.  I don't know about you, but I rushed through all those rites.  All I could ever think about was reaching those milestones, not the journey along the way.  Nor could I appreciate the nervous energy, apprehension and shear terror (at least with the sex part) prior to those gargantuan moments until long after.  When I was safe, comfortable and secure enough to look back at them.

But strangely enough, when I recall those life milestones, I'm surprised to find that I miss the giddyness, stress and anxiety of the unknown prior to"The Big Moment" as much as the moments themselves. As a result, I find myself slowing down more these past few days.  I'm not in a hurry to get to Sunday the way I thought I would be.  I'm truly living in the "Now." I generally don't hang out in that space for very long.  It's the way I'm wired. But since this past weekend -- since my surprise send-off party -- I'm savoring the nerves, the excitement and the feelings of wonder.

I also know, based on all those other "firsts," that this "pre" period just might be the best part.  Maybe the unknown is better than the real.  Maybe the build-up is better than the actual moment.  Either way, I'll know on Sunday.   And then on Monday, it will all be over.  I'll be driving home.  And the countdown to Coeur d'Alene will begin.  How strange indeed.  The countdown clock will reset.  The journey will begin anew, but I'll know what to expect.  It may not be the same as the fabulous wonder of not knowing.

So why not enjoy every moment and sensation of these last few pre-Ironman days? I'll never be quite the same person after the race, and I know that.

Like this morning's swim, this is the end of my "first time" Ironman journey.

And for the first time in my life, I'm going to stop, smile, savor, and embrace the unknown.

Five days and counting.

Jittery

OK, my energy levels are rising.  I feel tingly at times during the day, like my body is confused trying to figure out what to do with this new-found energy. And for the first time in weeks, I'm eager to get back to working out tomorrow.  I've literally trained one hour (not including yoga) since Saturday.  That's pretty nuts considering my previous schedule of routine 16-21 hour training weeks.

Wish I had more to write tonight but I just don't.  Got home late from work and a work-related dinner function. I'm tired, but not exhausted.  I just want to get a good night's sleep.  The New York Strip steak may have contributed to my food coma though.

Tomorrow is really my last real pseudo-workout until the race.  Sure, I'll do a light bike ride Wednesday and some running in Tempe on Thursday and even a quick brick on Friday.  But those will be even slower than my pace tomorrow.

Right now, clearly less is more.

Six days and counting.

What a Surprise!

Stephanie pulled one over on me last night. So did my family, my friends, and my Fortius teammates.

I thought I was going to dinner with a couple of Steph's friends.  This was technically true, though about 50 other people showed up for what certainly was a surprise Ironman Arizona send-off party.

To make it clear, months ago I specifically told Steph NOT to plan any kind of send-off party for me, though it's tradition on our team to have such events.  My belief was that I've been enough of a burden with this blog, constantly writing about my thoughts and feelings to the point of people probably rolling their eyes with each new post.  That's honestly how I've been thinking about the blog towards the end of this journey.  I didn't want to ask anyone to do anything for me since I believe my friends, family, teammates and co-workers has been more than accommodating with my schedule and my crazy neurosis.  It's one of the reasons why I stopped tweeting every post.  In the end, I simply felt that the people who want to follow this blog do, and those who don't, really don't want to hear about it anymore.

But last night showed me that my grouping of true friends and family don't see it that way.  Which is a relief to me.  A huge one at that.  I haven't made people sick of me or what I have to say after all.

I was truly touched to see so many people show up to wish me well.  I was especially touched by my teammates' turnout, since the vast majority of them raced this morning in Malibu or Calabasas and opted to celebrate with me instead of going to bed early for their pre-race rituals. And many of my friends showed up whom I haven't been able to see in months due to my crazy training schedule.  That's the ultimate form of love and friendship.  Even when I know I haven't been quite there for them, they were most certainly there for me.

Even though I essentially didn't train this weekend (one hour cycling and one hour of yoga...taper rocks!), I still feel like I got a performance boost.  First, I psyched myself up by writing the initials on my shoes of some important people in my life and then I had the ultimate benefit of being stunned and humbled by the outpouring of support I'll have going to Arizona in just a few short days.

My energy level is up. My spirits are up.  My body feels good.  The culmination of more than 600 hours of training is at hand.  Race week is here, and thanks to many important people in my life, I am ready.

ONE WEEK TO GO.

Performance Enhancing

I was going to wait until just before the race to unveil my performance enhancing agent. I just couldn't wait.

The initials on the shoes above are for my grandfather, Jerry Schneider.  He would have LOVED seeing me at this race next week, along with grandmother, Sylvia.  My grandma is still alive, but my grandfather passed away more than five years ago from complications related to heart surgery.

Grandpa was as blue collar as they come.  The Cal Ripken of the automotive industry, showing up to work every day at our family-run repair business until the weekend before his surgery.  He was 83 at that time, and still savvy.

Grandpa's post-surgery illness lingered for almost a year.  Yet he fought every day to overcome it, and almost did.  There was no quit in him whatsoever.  There never was.

People keep telling me that no matter what I do during the final part of the Ironman, don't stop running those final miles.  Don't give up.  Don't quit.  My teammates tell me it will be easy to do so, as many other people will be walking and encouraging me to do the same.

I may be tempted, but all I have to do is look down at my shoes and I'll be fine.

Grandpa never quit.  Neither will I.

I've also got the initials of Brian Rever, one of my oldest childhood friends, on the back of my shoes.  Brian wasn't a quitter either, battling cancer for three separate bouts until finally succumbing in December 2001.  He was 27.  Brian had it rough.  Cancer is a nasty, nasty illness to watch let alone experience.  But with every round of battle, Brian gritted his teeth and did everything he could to get through it.  He may not have had the opportunity to live for very long, but he still taught me as much about the value of living and perseverance as anyone.

Same goes for my high school friend, Jason Moreno.  His initials are on the inside arches of my shoes.  Jason battled an exceedingly rare and aggressive form of cancer for around five years before passing away almost two years ago.  Jason was always the life of every party, with his wit and perverse sense of humor always looming large.  Along with his lanky frame.  If I somehow become despondent during the course of the race, or just need a pick-me-up, I know I can always think of what Jason would say to tease me or make light of the situation.  That easiness of spirit will come in handy next week.

Now I realize that to some this might trivialize the existence of three human beings.  Maybe it might seem I'm reducing their lives to mere initials on my shoes.  Those people are missing the point.  This is just one way for me to honor the memories and legacies of three men who affected my life.  Three men who can't physically be with me on one of the biggest days of my life.  Three men who valued what I value as well: Toughness.  Tenacity.  Willpower.

I hope to respond with an effort that will make them proud.  And I hope to run with the force of three hearts.

The strength of three.  That will be my performance enhancer.

8 days and counting.

Nothin' More to Say

Stephanie asked me on the way home from synagogue tonight what I was planning to blog about. After thinking about it for a moment, I realized the answer was simple:

"There's nothing more to say, really."

I think that's where I'm at with all this.  What else can I possibly say to describe going on this journey?  What new insight am I going to have at this point?  What else is there to learn that I haven't already uncovered?

Then again, maybe it's the reinforcement of the key lessons that matters most.  Take this morning, for example.  Once again, I jumped into the pool early.  Against my wishes.  It was so cold, my feet were numb on the pool deck.  I slogged through 3,150 yards going the long way (50 meters, not 25 yards).  My timed 500s were slower than usual.  I didn't want to be in the water.  At all. Especially for that distance.  I wanted to be in bed, enjoying some extra sleep.  I basically want to do as little as possible right now.

But I didn't quit. I gutted out the workout, despite not wanting any part of the experience.  Despite not having a very good swim.  I got through it.

That happens to all of us every day.  We just have to get through it. If you quit once, you can quit twice.  And then what?  Quitting can become the same habit as displaying grit and tenacity.

So, while I may not have more to say, I do have more to learn. More to remember.  More to internalize. More to project to the world.

I may not have more to say.  But there's still much to do.

9 days and counting.

Wow. SINGLE DIGITS!

Energized But Cautious

I enjoyed my fourth or fifth massage in as many weeks tonight, courtesy of Fortius teammate David via LA Body Mechanics. The effects are starting to pay off.  I feel more limber.  Less acidic.  My body aches less.

Combined with the reduced training over the past few days, I think I can start to feel my body replenishing its stores.  Which is what I'm supposed to feel at this point, by golly!

Now I'm just trying to stay focused on remaining healthy the next several days.  If I could live inside a bubble I would.  My boss is sick.  One of our creative directors is sick.

I got a message for y'all...stay AWAY from me!

And I mean that in the nicest of ways :)

To combat any potential problems, I'm taking an Emergen-C packet each day, along with my Echinacea  pills.  And my allergy medicine.  And let's not forget the beta alanine and asthma inhaler.

Yep, I'm going a little overboard.  But I don't want to leave any room to chance.  I can handle an injury at this point if that's what's meant to happen.  But an illness, or something as silly as a cold?  Man, that would just suck.  But, if it can happen to Chrissie Wellington, it can happen to anyone.

So, for now, I'll take each day as a gift of health and energy.  And hope I wake up the same way the next day.

That's all I can do at this point, right?

10 days and counting.

Colossus

When I was a kid, I was afraid of roller coasters.  The dizzying heights.  The sudden drops.  Going upside down! In thinking about it further now, perhaps I was afraid because I couldn't control the experience.  I was locked in, hurtled about every which direction, and blasted back to the platform dazed, startled and nauseous.

The coaster I recall being the most afraid of was Colossus, at Six Flags Magic Mountain in Valencia.  It towered over the freeway at the time, intimidating all who dared approach the massive structure.  There were also reports, as I recall, that coaster carts had fallen off in the past, killing people.  That didn't help my paranoid nature.

But the thing I remember most about Colossus was the first time I rode on it.  Sitting in the cart, scared and trying not to act like it.  Until the restraining bar was closed tightly on my waist.  Then, I started to panic.  There was no turning back!  I had to ride out this coaster no matter what happened. If I plunged off the tracks to my death there was nothing that could be done about it!  I was at the mercy of Colossus.

That's sort of how I feel today about Ironman Arizona.  I saw my bib number in the Athlete's Guide online at the IMAZ website.  For whatever reason, seeing that number, alongside the other 2,300 athletes, made me realize that I was committed to a 140.6-mile journey in 11 days no matter what.

It's amazing how "unreal" this event can feel because it's been so far off in the distance for so long. But now, like the roller coaster approaching off the freeway, it's here.  Staring me in the face.  Challenging me to step up and overcome my nerves.  To face the unknown.

The bib is my bar.

And ya know what?  I rode Colossus.  And eventually loved it. The rickety wooden coaster actually became my favorite at the park.  I just had to feel the ride -- the experience of it -- to know what to expect.

The IMAZ Colossus will be no different.  It's just that I don't know what I don't know about completing an Ironman.  But I will soon.

We're now about to hit the 10 day mark.  The cart is inching up the steep embankment towards the massive first drop.

Clink Clink Clink Clank Clank Clank ...

11 days and counting.

But Would I Do It Again?

People have been asking me a lot of questions lately about Ironman Arizona.  That's understandable. "How are you feeling?"

"Are you ready?"

"Are you nervous?"

I've had pat answers for all these: Fine, but getting more excited with each day.  Yes, I'm ready.  More than ready.  And yeah, I'm a little nervous too, though feeling much better now that I can change flat tires with relative confidence.

The one topic that has thrown me for a loop has come courtesy of separate conversations with two Fortius teammates: "Do you recommend training a full year for an Ironman?"

Honestly, that is such a tough question to answer right now.  As I mentioned to Joe tonight at one of my last Fortius-coached swims of the year, now is not the best time to ask me that.

I'll admit that I'm tired mentally after a long year of training.  I have to find new ways to motivate myself every day to train, even in these final stages.  Though tonight was a good night for confidence and morale building as I confirmed via a 2,000 yard time trial that I can indeed hit my desired swim goal in Arizona.  After watching the results from IM Florida and Silverman, knowing my Fortius teammates racing there are much faster than me, I wasn't so sure Coach Gerardo's goal time was reasonable.  I know it is now.  That's huge, just as my bike ride with Bob on Sunday restored my confidence on the bike.

But confidence-building like that doesn't come from just a few weeks or months cramming.  At least not in my case.  It's been a long, LONG road to get here, almost a never-ending road.  I've trained almost 600 hours since late last November.  I'm at the end of my line mentally and emotionally in terms of holding on to the passion for completing this massive challenge.  I need race day to come SOON.

Fortunately, it's rushing towards me like a 100-mph fastball.

That said, putting in all this time has allowed me to achieve milestones I never thought possible. I've made significant progress in each tri-discipline, progress I wouldn't have made had I not pushed myself as hard as I did.  Or taken a chance on Fortius.  From a purely physical standpoint, I don't regret the training regimen one bit.  I'm in the best shape of my life by leaps and bounds.  My 36-year-old self could kick my 16-year-old self's ass, and I was in solid shape as a kid!

As far as advice I'd give to anyone considering the same Ironman training schedule, I'd suggest asking and answering the following questions first:

-- What's your available free time?

-- Are you single?  What's your relationship like if you're in one?  How supportive is your partner?

-- What's your work situation like?  Hours?  Stress level?

-- What kind of prior training/athletic/triathlon background do you have?

-- Any significant milestones during the year besides your Ironman?  How will it affect your training?

How you answer these questions and others will determine how you can train for your Ironman.

So, would I do it all again?

Can I tell you in a couple months?

12 days and counting.

Free Time

It's Monday night.  I'm watching football on the couch.  I'm not packing a training bag for tomorrow.  No water bottles to prep.  No quick load of laundry to toss in the wash. Just relaxing.

Yep, we're fully immersed in the taper period.  And I'm quite enjoying it.

I wish I had more to report today, but I didn't train.  And I didn't miss it one bit.  Not while seeing reports from Bob that he was fighting 15 mph winds in Santa Clarita on a "recovery" bike ride. No thanks.

I suppose today really was just one those quiet days that you simply cross off on the calendar, inching one step closer to November 21.  We're inside of two weeks now.  It seems that every day the excitement grows just a bit more.  More people at work ask me how I'm feeling.  More friends check in to see how the training is going.

The time has come.

13 days and counting.

2 Weeks!

Two weeks from tonight, I'll be collapsed in my hotel room, hopefully elated with the performance I worked for and (I believe) earned. Yet it still doesn't feel totally real. For instance, despite a year of training, I felt a pang of anxiety when I realized tonight that the next Ironman on the official schedule is...mine.  There's nothing else to look forward to.  No other friends to cheer on.  No other teammates to send off.

It's just me and a date that approaches more quickly every day.

If today's workout is any indication, I'm definitely close to being ready.  Bob, my fellow Fortius and IMAZ teammate, joined me this morning for a full tri-workout.  We swam at Zuma in clear, crisp 62-degree water for 45 minutes.  I experimented with compression shorts in the water instead of a swimsuit, as well as compression calf sleeves. I liked it overall.  The calf sleeves rolled up on my leg a bit but I think that was after I took off the wetsuit, not while wearing it.  I think I'll go with that strategy at Ironman.  Any edge I think I can get.  Following a fairly leisurely transition (what a gorgeous day out!), I did my very best to hold onto Bob's wheel as we hammered out to Big Rock and back.  I succeeded for the first half of the ride as we belted out several 21-plus mph miles, but the second half of the ride, Bob stopped toying with me and simply took off.  He very well may break five hours for his bike split at IMAZ if he wanted to.  Finally, we embarked on a 90-minute run while trying to stay in heart-rate zones 2-3.  We were successful, completing just around 9.6 miles in that span on a flat course.  I needed that run following last Sunday's blow-up in Calabasas.  I know I can hold my heart-rate steady for several miles but I'll need the weather and wind to cooperate, as well as my own ability to stick to my race plan.  Today, the wind was moderate and the temperature was around 70 when Bob and I started running at noon.

Now, it's getting late (for an old guy like me).  I'm typing, reflecting about the past week.  With the exception of a couple monster swims, this past week truly felt like what I expected a taper should be.  Relaxed.  Moderate.  Fun.

With the occasional balls-out bike sprint thrown in for good measure.

14 days and counting.