Ironman Arizona Race Report: Part II

BIKE: AKA The Windy Ride From Hell

All that time I gained towards my best-case scenario goal of 11:30:00 quickly evaporated during a 10:22 T1.  For context, I was hoping for between a 5:00-7:30 T1 total, and that's slow.  Practically everything that could go wrong in a transition did.  I never should have zipped up my cycling jersey the night prior with all my gear in it, as that left little room to unzip the shirt and drape it around me in the rush of the moment.  Instead, I accidentally dumped all the contents out.  Whoops!

However, I did make one very wise choice: wearing my Fortius racing windbreaker.  Despite the gusty, rainy conditions the entire day, I was never truly cold or uncomfortable.  What I may have lost in drag, I more than made up for in relaxed comfort, right until I crossed the finisher's line several hours later.  That said, I'd like to find a windbreaker with cycling gear pockets.  I struggled throughout the bike ride to access some extra gels because they were tucked inside my jersey pocket.

Onto the ride itself. No sooner had I finished basking in the glow of my swim than I realized I had a problem on my hands.  I had to pee still. Badly.  I waited until around mile 13 of the bike, which happened to be the second aid station.  Here, I lost around two or three minutes, which I knew I could make up. But what I didn't anticipate was that I'd start having an upset stomach.  On the scale of 1-10, with 10 being excruciating, unbearable pain, my stomach issues were around a 3.  Something I noticed, in other words.  To this day, I'm not sure what caused the issue. My coach thinks it may have had something to do with taking Emergen-C packets daily going into the final week to avoid illness.  He's had other teammates complain of reflux-related issues at past races when taking Emergen-C.  I hadn't had stomach problems on a bike ride the entire year.  The result was a peculiar one though.  After eating a Clif Bar almost immediately into the first two miles of the bike, I couldn't fathom eating another one.  I love Clif Bars!  What was going on???

I put the discomfort out of my head the best I could.  Due to a decent tail crosswind I was making what I'd call "acceptable" time, clocking in 19-22 mph miles according to my Garmin watch.

Then, the half-way point turnaround on the first loop.

I will NEVER forget being smacked in the face with the headwind that followed.  It was the boxing equivalent of getting my bell rung.  Right then and there, I knew it was going to be a long day on the bike, and I could probably kiss 11:30 goodbye.  Maybe I could still break 12 though.

My Garmin watch data for the next 7 miles of the bike ride indicated I never could cross 19.6 mph.  And then my stomach issues kicked in again.  This time though, my race bib started to flap wildly at my back, causing several competitors to pause to tell me I should fix it before it blows away and I incur a potential penalty.  So there I was, around mile 31 -- stomach aching, minor equipment issue, and yet again I have to get off the bike to use the restroom.

My dream day was quickly vanishing before me.

After a roughly five-minute pee, bib-adjustment break, I was back on the road.  And for a while, my results picked up.  I crossed the 56 mile mark (half way) a few minutes shy of three hours, meaning if I could hold that pace I would still be in position to break 12 hours with some room to spare.  I was very pleased at this point despite the mounting winds, for I knew that if I could just stay on the bike, stay focused and pound when the wind was at my back I could make some time back off the clock.

That emotion was marked by how I greeted my Fortius teammates heading into the third loop of the bike, exuberantly shouting, "One more lap!" while pointing my finger to the sky.  I was fired up and back to my old self.

Ultimately, it just wasn't meant to be though.

Though I came close to finishing the rest of the ride without breaks, I would need to briefly get off the bike at the 100th mile, where I accessed my special needs bag in what became the biggest calculated risk of the day.  The day before the race, I convinced myself that I would ingest a 5 Hour Energy drink in an emergency situation.  I had never taken such a thing before in my entire life.  I've maybe had 1-2 Red Bull drinks without alcohol either.  So, what kind of emergency would require  me breaking the cardinal sin of triathlon (though shalt NOT try new things on race day!) would be open to interpretation.  At mile 100, it meant I still had a delusional sense I could break 12 hours if I ran a solid marathon and could beat back the incessant howling winds on that final loop back to Tempe. (At this point though I was also riding anywhere from 13-17 mph miles due to what seemed to be the peak of the wind/rain/hail gusts.)  But the real emergency was that I was starting to bonk physically and mentally. I remember around mile 94 being pounded into submission by the weather.  The headwinds just became too much.  I was being passed all over the place.  The ride stopped being fun.  My watch data was indicating three, four and even five-minute miles in the face of the headwinds.  Wind has always been my weak point and it was being exposed in the biggest racing day of my life.  That, combined with a continued inability to eat anything other than bananas, deflated my psyche.  What was wrong with me?  Why today?  How could I possibly run a marathon next after the beating I was taking on the bike?

Enter 5 Hour Energy!

Yes, the berry flavor tasted foul, like acidic Robitussin.  But within 20 minutes, my pace picked up by more than a full mile-per-hour, and even crept up close to a 2 mph bump.  At one point I blasted through a group of bigger, stronger riders that included Bob amidst a massive 35-mph wind gust.  This stuff really works, I thought!  I was practically reborn, and though I took it easy on the final mile back to the bike transition, I was ready to attack the run.

When I finally entered the chute to T2, I have rarely been more relieved to get off a bike.  Without question, that 112 mile Ironman bike was the toughest ride I've ever encountered.  I'm comforted to know that several others, including pros, have commented about how tough the course was on Sunday.  I wasn't the only one who had a rough day out there.

But, I got through it, crossing the finish marker in 6:16:11.  Despite three stops, I still was only 16 minutes off my training goal and well within my third-place goal of breaking 6:20:00.  Moreover, I could still break 12 hours if I hustled.

However, there was another factor at play.  One that I thought I could ignore on the bike but was proven wrong.  More on that next.

Ironman Arizona Race Report Part I

"So, how was your Ironman?"

That was the question I was greeted with from our well-intentioned office administrator as I opened the door to the lobby this past Tuesday on my first day back from completing Ironman Arizona.

You'd think that 12.5 hours plus the ride home would have given me more than enough time to practice and rehearse my canned response to such a simple question.  Yet, upon being presented it, I could only muster an amused stare as my jaw dropped.

How could I possibly sum up an Ironman in quaint morning conversation?

Almost a week later, I'm still struggling to find the words, but I will try below.  From the comfort of my office den at home. In sweats.  Workout clothes and race kits neatly folded for the time being.  Wetsuit flopped over my rocking chair, apparently done for the winter.  Browned, dirt-stained running shoes placed in the closet. Tri bike still at Coach Gerardo's house, waiting patiently for me to retrieve it (this weekend I swear!).

So far, the quiet is the strangest part.  No workouts to log.  No bottles to rinse or prepare.  No early morning or late evening workouts to schedule around. Nothing.  Swim, bike, run has been replaced -- somewhat reluctantly -- with eat, sleep, rest.

And plenty of time to reflect on a yearlong journey that ultimately was blessed with good luck, good health and plenty of good results. Culminating in my first Ironman, but certainly not my last.  Despite the commitment, the pain and the sacrifices, I can't wait for my next M-dot race, Coeur d'Alene. The countdown is about to begin anew but before it does, here are my thoughts on Ironman #1.

I hope this helps a first-time Ironman competitor somewhere out there.  Also see this post for more basic tips and lessons learned

SWIM

As I wrote in the days preceding the race, I was surprised at how calm and relaxed I felt. The best way to describe my emotional state is that I simply felt like I belonged at Ironman Arizona.  All the hours spent alone training, and with my AMAZING Fortius Racing team, had melded and forged my mind and body into something hard.  Not one part of me felt ill-prepared for the day and as a result, I could enjoy every moment going into race morning.

Around 6:40 a.m., after some photos with fellow IMAZ competitors, LA Tri Clubbers and teammates, I plopped into the chilly, murky lake water. The temperature was never a factor, as several ocean swims in Santa Monica, Marina del Rey and Malibu were actually colder than the announced 64 degrees.  Bob and I found a spot together towards the middle-left of the pack.  Upon seeing the massive volume of people in the water, we both realized the likelihood of swimming together was slim. We wished each other a great race, hugged, and treaded water silently for a few minutes absorbing the moment.

Then, Black Sabbath's "Ironman" started blaring through the loudspeakers.

SHOWTIME!

I whooped and hollered, dropping my rock horns in beat with the music.  This was it!  The moment was here, and it was perfect.  The bridge lights above us twinkled overhead, the moon was still out.  And then, the cannon blast signaling the race start.

All hell broke loose.

The lake simply erupted into mass chaos.  Arms churned and legs kicked.  Elbows struck, hands grabbed.  Those first 500-1,000 yards are a total blur.  I just kept my focus and surged forward as best I could without panicking.  Which is hard to do as competitors claw at you to find better position in the water.  I zig-zagged all over the place to find any opening I could for a few strokes without drinking water or being pelted by body parts.  Others weren't so fortunate.  I remember seeing out the side of my right goggle lens a man floating on his back, appearing to hyperventilate.  I'm somewhat ashamed to admit I kept swimming forward.

It took around 30 minutes, by my estimation, before I found enough room in the water to swim at what felt like my race pace.  That would have been roughly 10 minutes before the 1.2 mile turnaround buoy.  I remember feeling incredibly relaxed at this point and somewhat surprised at how fast the morning was going.  After all the waiting, I was in the middle of an Ironman!

The rest of the swim was fairly uneventful.  I did veer off course, straying inward to where an official in a kayak had to gently corral a few of us stragglers back to the main route.  I probably lost 45 seconds correcting myself but wasn't too rattled.  I'd prefer to veer inward anyway as I can track an inside line towards the final turn to the finish.  The only real dilemma at this point was whether I could coax my body to pee while I was swimming. I had to go for a second time even though I pee'ed prior to the race.  I was in such a swimming zone that I didn't want to disrupt my cadence to stop.  This would turn out to be a mistake.

After essentially sprinting the final 500 yards of the swim to reach the stairs exit, I'll never forget looking at the event timing clock while running to T1: 1:12:53. "ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!???" That's all I could think to myself, I had shattered my best-case scenario swim goal by two full minutes.  I had swam at a 1:43 pace, a full :04-:08 faster than usual.

This was going to be a great day, I thought.

Part 2 tomorrow: The Windy Bike Ride From Hell

I'm Fine!

Hey all, Back to blogging shortly.  Been playing catch up at work and will be posting a race report hopefully by the weekend.  And then, I'm going to keep blogging periodically.  Weekly for sure, possibly daily.

For the two-second blog, here we go:

-- I feel fine, though I'm sore.

-- I'm still on a total high about the race experience.

-- I can't wait to start training for IM Coeur d'Alene.

-- Life is rad!

Back soon.  Watch this space :)

OHMYGODI'MANIRONMAN!!!

I'm also ridiculously caffeinated. I don't and haven't drank cola or much caffeine for at least three years.  I had a 5 Hour Energy for the first time (yes, that's generally a no-no) and had several colas throughout the run.  You'll see why below.

Anyways, my caffeine rush prompted three pages of notes so I'm sharing them verbatim.  I will write a race report incorporating these lessons into something a bit more prosaic, but figured this is a good start.  I don't want to forget any of this stuff.

Thank you all for your support the past year.  I feel like this blog has somehow made a difference for a few folks and that means so much.  And I made a new friend tonight with a fellow competitor and FINISHER, Robyn.  She ROCKS. 

So, I need to eat dinner and then TRY to go to bed.  I'm exhuasted but WIRED.  Let's see how this goes haha.

More to come in the next couple days, but I hope this captures the spirit of the lessons learned while it doesn't come close to describing the emotions of the day.  That's next.

12:39!

I AM AN IRONMAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Pre-race day:

Remember all your bags.  Pack with gear/special needs in mind so  all you have to do is transfer bags. Literally put stuff in separate bags beforehand. Will save tons of time.  Wish I had done that.

Get to event early.  You’ll be surprised how hard it is to relax.

I found staying off-site better.  The energy near the race site is too hectic and could be a distraction or could psyche you out.

Swim:

Scrum!

Don’t panic

Find a lane during the event, and keep switching if need-be.  Be flexible.  Keep sighting!  Practice sighting in open water drills.

Practice exiting the water.  It’s giant stairs.  There’s a right way and a wrong way to do this. Stay compact, use your knees and elbows to crawl up the steps, don’t swing your leg to the side as someone could bump you or you could get a cramp.  This did not happen to me, thanks to listening to Bob’s advice.

Bike

Don’t panic if the weather doesn’t go your way.  Adjust accordingly.  I tried to keep my goal time intact instead of going with the flow a little more – though I don ‘t believe I overexerted too much.  My coach might disagree, and I wouldn’t argue too strongly about that.

If you have a Speedfill, do NOT do what I did.  Don’t put powder in and then mix with water. It will clog your filter.  Bad idea.  Use water bottles the way you normally would and then squirt the mixture in the speedfill.

If you have to leave your bike out overnight, which you probably do, leave a little pressure out of the tires until the next morning.  This will help you avoid a temperature pressure-driven flat.

If you can, I highly recommend practicing in inclement weather.  The worse the weather, the better the idea to practice.  Fillmore saved my ass in training due to the winds but it still didn’t prepare me totally adequately for today.  And rain is a whole different story.  Gotta just get through it, though I recommend lighter-tinted glasses since if you  have water on the lens it’s harder to see.  This didn’t bother me too much but I noticed it enough to mention.

Pace yourself.  I knew I would feed off the crowd at the end of each loop so I pushed it a bit to “put on a show” and feed off the crowd.  I think that’s fine, but chill out for a bit after you’re away from the main crowd so you can regain your energy and focus.

If you need to pee, pee.  I pee’ed twice on the first loop.  So glad I did.  I was bummed to lose time, but I was a lot more comfortable.

Experiment with compression shorts a lot before wearing them in an IM.  It helped me for sure, but I wonder if the pressure on my gut caused some of my GI issues today.  Nutrition was a big problem for  me on the bike.  I couldn’t stand ingesting my normal foods (Clif Bars and gels) for some reason.  This was highly unexpected but again DON’T PANIC.  Listen to your body.  I ate a lot of bananas today and it was a good substitute.

5 Hour Energy.  Holy Shit. Blew my mind.  Never used it before, which is a bad idea in general for any race as a rule of thumb.  However, it saved my ass on the brutal bike ride.  And I powered through some 35 mph gusts (by Bob’s estimation) while others struggled b/c  the B12 kicked in at the right moment.  This stuff rocked, but it may also have contributed to a nasty sidestitch on the first mile of the run.  Yikes.

Speaking of run….

Run:

Don’t panic.  I got a cramp the first mile.  Thank goodness I found out there was a cramp/massage station in the first check point.  I used it and it helped immensely.  My cramp went away.  And then, at mile 8, my IT bands locked up big time.  Again, don’t panic.  I used the med tent to get THE MOST PAINFUL MASSAGE in my life but it was worth it.  Don’t worry about losing time in the short term.  I could not have completed the marathon in the time I did without these necessary breaks in the race.  Which leads me to:

Sometimes you need to go slow to go fast.  I needed those breaks to continue the race.  And while I lost 15 minutes at least on those massages, I think I raced faster throughout the day as a result.  This is a hard concept to accept, I think, because you have to sacrifice your goal time potentially to get what your body needs.   But your body will pay you back big-time.  Which leads me to:

Don’t panic!  Stuff WILL go wrong throughout the day.  My nutrition, my Speedfill needed ER attention at the last second.  I couldn’t eat the stuff I trained all year to eat.  My body locked up.  The weather turned into a storm.  Keep your head down and FOCUS.  Focus one mile at a time.  That is all you can do.  Don’t worry about your best-laid plans.  They very well may fall through. What is your back-up?  And what’s the back-up to that if the shit really hits the fan?  You need to know, and accept these conditions BEFORE the race.

Carry Endurolytes.  It saved me from really cramping.  Keep spare pills in your special needs bag.  I lost all my pills from the first container b/c I accidentally tipped them over while while drinking water.

On the run, eat what you want to eat.  Don’t worry about it.  Follow your body.  Do what it tells you.  Walk when you really need to walk.  Try to run as much as you can.  Shuffling is OK AND EFFECTIVE.  Accept that you can move pretty fast with an alternate gait if you must.  I did, and I’m happy with my time.

Enjoy that chute finish!  You deserve it!  Celebrate!  Let loose!  Shout, or do whatever comes naturally.  You can plan all you want for how you think you’ll react, but you  have no idea until you’re there.  But don’t rush it.  Embrace the moment.  It only happens once.

Highlights:

n  Swim!  PR

n  Bike: Seeing the pros whiz by and being on the same course as them at the same time even for a few seconds, right next to them.  Wow!

n  Bike:  5 Hour Energy!  Holy shit!

n  Run: Not panicking.  Being smart in how I raced.  Hugging Steph for a boost at mile 17.  Running the last big hill without stopping.  The finish!!!!

n  Being recognized for my blog from a wonderful human being and now friend, Robyn.  Such a touching moment at the finish where we hugged.

Lowlights:

n  Nutrition going haywire

n  Swim like a water polo match meets rugby match.  Brutal out there!

n  Weather absolutely destroying my body on the bike and wind challenging me several times on the run, along with brief drizzles too.

n  Cramps and lockup on the run.  Most painful massage in my life.

n  Lodging an Endurolyte in my throat at mile 22.  Dry heaves ensue.

Final lessons learned:

n  The race hurts real bad. That pain is temporary and harsh.  But the life lessons last forever.  Among those, sometimes you need to put yourself through extreme pain to get the most benefit from what you need -- even if it's not what you want.   For me that’s don’t panic, dealing with real physical pain, dealing with disappointment and rallying, understanding slower can be faster, and having three plans for truly important goals.  So valuable (thanks Gerardo!)

Pre-Game Speech

What else can I possibly say or write about at this point?  I've been thinking about that off and on all day.  The only thing I can come up with is still in the spirit of yesterday's blog about the Ironman Bowl game.

So, here it is, if I were a football coach, this would be my pre-game speech going into the biggest game of my life:

"You've done the work.  Now it is time to go out there and CLAIM what is YOURS.

You woke up before the sun.  You worked in the rain.  In the fog.  In the wind.  The cold, and the heat.  For hundreds of hours and thousands of miles.

You worked, and drenched yourself with sweat, and sacrificed, and so did others around you, for THIS MOMENT.  This is your time.  This is their time too, all your supporters.  Feel them.  Hold onto their energy and love.  There will never be another moment quite like this one, your first Ironman experience.  Enjoy it.  Revel in it.  Respect it.  OWN IT.

OWN IT for better, or worse, for as long as you are on that course.  No matter how hard it gets, and it WILL be hard tomorrow, you WILL keep going.  You WILL NOT QUIT.  EVER.  That word, from this moment forward DOES NOT EXIST.  And might I remind you it really hasn't existed in a year.  So why stop now?!  Do what you must to persevere, but DO. NOT. STOP. FIGHTING.  Everyone else on that course is hurting just like you are.  It is how you handle the pain that defines you.  It is what defined your grandfather.  It is what defined your fallen friends.  And your biggest heroes.  NOTHING worth claiming as glorious is easy nor does it come without suffering and sacrifice.  Pain will ultimately produce pride.

Finish strong tomorrow.  Claim what is yours.  Own the moment.

Ryan Schneider, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN."

What else is there to say?

12 hours and counting.

The Ironman Bowl

I'm staying in a hotel about five miles away from the Ironman Arizona start and expo area. Thank goodness.

The intensity at the expo is tangible and electric.  Every athlete seems to be sizing up the person next to him or her, all while smiling and wishing each other the best of luck for a strong race, and oh-by-the-way subtly asking what time they expect to finish.  The competitive adrenaline flow is kicking in, and by staying just far enough away to detox from it all, I can keep my head and nerves in check.

The excitement and pressure almost feels like mercury rising on a thermometer.  This morning, I was still fresh from the happy-go-lucky mentality I enjoyed over the past few days.  I was almost "below normal" on the thermometer for how mellow I felt.  Steph was even spooked by my chillness.  But by afternoon and into tonight's "mandatory" race course talk (aka "waste of time!"), I can tell I'm starting to head into the "race" mode I'm normally used to before big events.  Because right now, the weight of the moment is starting to feel just a little bigger.

To try and stay loose, I'm just going to bed early tonight.  One more night of relaxation before tomorrow, when the final 24 hours of preparation begin.  I have plenty to do still: practice swim in the morning, pack all my special needs bags, affix stickers to the bike, and deliver it to the transition area.  It can wait just a bit longer though. 

Bob and I are also planning to drive the course once more to confirm race day strategy.  Of course, there's a new wrinkle to that strategy: WEATHER.  It's now supposed to rain (40%) chance, along with the potential for up to 20 mph winds. 

Hey "Tri Asshole," this race ain't lookin' so easy now, is it?

Actually, I hope it rains.  Bring it, I say!  I'm like Lieutenant Dan in Forrest Gump, howling at the heavens to toss whatever nastiness she can muster to see if it will stop me.  NO WAY.  And ya know what?  What more drama could be added to an already dramatic event than throwing in Mother Nature's temper to spice things up?  Besides, I have a plan for how to handle whatever comes my way.  If it rains, I just need to watch the painted portions of the road to avoid slippage and not take corners too hard.  If it's super windy, I'll increase my cadence, lower my time expectations, and try to keep my heart-rate in check for the run.  If it's both, well, I'll have quite a story to tell for years to come, though I think that part is already pretty much in hand.

No matter how I (over)analyze it, it's all about not panicking and realizing that in some way or another, I've been here before.

Even though I haven't quite.  The spectacle of an  Ironman is all its own in the world of triathlon.  The only way I can describe it so far is what I'd imagine it must feel like to be a college football player in a major bowl game.  Ironman itself, like the Rose Bowl, is much bigger than me or one participant.  It is pageantry and a celebration wrapped around a sporting event.  But I am a part of it.  I'm playing in the big game this time.  I'm not watching from the sidelines or at home on the couch.

We are now inside of 36 hours to race day.  Game day.

My next blog post is my last before the race.

I'm starting to lock in.  It is time.  Time to start thinking about putting on the pads, grabbing the helmet, and taking the field.  Under the big spotlight, amidst what's going to be a massive crowd in the thousands.

I can't friggin' wait.  It's my time.  My moment.

1 day and counting. ONE DAY.

Not What I Expected

(Quick Note: Of all the things to forget, I left my trusty MacBook at home!  That means I can't rapidly upload photos from the experience.  But I will update posts post-race to include images.  Bummer!) Even if someone took my picture as I entered the Tempe Town Beach complex for the Ford Ironman expo today, it wouldn't have been able to contain my smile.

I felt giddy, like I was a part of something truly spectacular.  Something much bigger than me.

That feeling, I expected.

What I didn't expect was how relaxed and natural it felt to pick up my race packet, buy my IMAZ cycling kit and get my body marked for Sunday's race.

I haven't been here before, but in some ways I have.  Obviously, this isn't my first triathlon.  In fact, I think this will be my 20th endurance race overall.  And while it is my first full-distance Ironman, my training -- physical and mental -- is paying off more than I expected. 

Perhaps the only way I can explain it is this: I belong here.  I earned this.  I worked for this.  And as Stephanie reminds me daily -- sometimes even hourly -- I've done everything I can do to be ready for this moment.  There's no reason to be freaked or stressed out.  I've been well prepared.

So all that's left to do is enjoy it.  Believe me, I am.  The energy level here is infectious and it's only Thursday.  Steph and I met a few athletes and all were chipper and grinning broadly.  It's like we're celebrating the victory of being here no matter what happens.  I even met someone in the Ironman Store, Chuck from Idaho, who recognized me from the blog.  (I'm not gonna lie, that pretty much made my year!)

I wasn't sure what to expect out of myself when I planned for this trip many months ago.  Based on my keyed-up approaches to the Breath of Life triathlon and Vineman 70.3, I anticipated similar feelings of anxiety, tension and pent-up competitive fire.

None of those feelings exist within me right now.  Trust me, nobody is more shocked than me. 

(Well, OK, I am still feeling slightly competitive!)

It's moments like these where I wonder whether the Ironman strengthened me greater physically or mentally.  While I may look different physically than a year ago -- leaner, a little more cut -- I'm a very different person on the inside.  More confident.  Calmer.  More self-assured.

Once again, the journey of the Ironman has surprised me.  It is clearly not what I expected.  And I couldn't be happier as a result.

Three days and counting.

IMAZ Training By the Numbers

Today marked my last "official" day of California-based Ironman Arizona training.  It also marked my packing day.  Check out this image...that's a LOT of stuff!

Before I go forward into the desert, I think it's fair to take a look back at all the stats from the past several months.

Wanna know what it takes to train for an Ironman?  Here's a very rough approximation.

(Quick notes: My training range is roughly Thanksgiving 2009 to November 17, 2010.  Approximately 350 days.  I began using my Garmin watch in early April, so the most accurate data actually spans seven months. And I may have deleted data inadvertently from April-June while trying to clean out my watch database. I logged workouts on Training Peaks beginning in early December 2009.)

Garmin miles logged (since April): 2,855.27

Distance from San Francisco, Calif. to Lubec, Maine: 3,452

Average combined speed (swim, bike, run): 11.9 mph

Garmin elevation logged: 124,794 feet

Mt. Everest in feet: 29,035 feet

Distance in feet from ocean level to leaving the Earth's atmosphere: 327, 360 feet

Calories burned: 90,646

Based on a 2,000 calories/day diet, equivalent days of calories burned: 45.3 days

Training Peaks Hours Logged: 608/660 (still have 14 hours of training to complete this week, including race)

Percentage completed: 92% (not including upcoming hours this week)

If I trained non-stop, the equivalent in days would be: 25.3 days

Bike: 164.3 hours (27%)

Run: 152.7 hours (25%)

Swim: 109.2 hours (18%)

Classified as "brick" hours: 79.1 hours (13%)

Race hours: 34.0 hours (6%)

"Custom" (usually yoga/strength): 42 hours (7%)

No matter how I slice it, that's a LOT of time spent training for one event.

Time to go see how that training pays off.

My next post will be in Arizona.

Four days and counting.

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.