I'm atop the Westin San Francisco, staring out at AT&T Park and a setting sun on a Monday evening.
It's quiet in my room, as I'm alone in town for a marketing and PR conference tomorrow. It's rare moments like these where I can stop and assess my life. I'm always juggling multiple projects and multiple thoughts in my head. To be able to calm myself, after a glass of wine and a rich meal, is a treat.
So what am I thinking about? My mind races, trying to process the last year and a half. Training for and completing two Ironman races. Maintaining my career. My writing. And above all, counting down ever so slowly to a wedding that's now just a couple weeks away.
Where did the time go?
I feel proud that I've accomplished what feels like a lot in the past 18 months. But I wonder what lies around the next corner. As I sipped on some wine at my favorite Indian food restaurant (Amber...drool), I realized that lengthy solitary moments for quiet contemplation -- minus being in a pool or on abike/run, are going to be even further and farther apart. Right now, life feels like a series of daily transitions, where I'm constantly on the clock from one activity to the next. The finish line really does occur around 17-18 hours later when it's time for bed to do it all over again.
Every day feels like an Activity Ironman.
I'm not complaining. Not by a longshot. But I am trying to make some sense of it all in my own context. I'm looking back at my 15-19 hours of Ironman training a week wondering how in the hell did I do that? Now that I'm "only" working out 7-8 hours a week, triathlon training seems like an impossibly large time sink. I have no idea how I made it work now that my life has become consumed with other activities.
I suppose it comes down to what's important to you. Those are the things you make time for, whether it's friends, family, work, hobbies or something else. For 18 months I made time for triathlon and squeezed everything else in as best I could. Right now, as my schedule has balanced itself out, I'm still adjusting. I'm learning to live with "good enough" with my training, if you can even call it that. I've struggled at times, but I'm also relishing a greater sense of balance between all other aspects of my life. I'm catching up with myself while I beat myself up at the same time. I think that's the strange dichotomy of post-Ironman race depression talking.
But in two weeks, I'm about to become a married man. And that's strange too. I've been single for 37 years and in two weeks, there's someone called Mrs. Schneider and it's not my mom. I'm super excited and to be honest, I'm a little scared. I'm scared of the unknown, just like I was scared of competing in my first Ironman. I'm not scared of whether Steph and I will work, I know we're rock solid on that front. I'm just scared that I'm getting older and entering a new phase of my life. But if you're not a little scared at a juncture in your life, maybe you're not pushing hard enough?
In that respect, triathlon has helped me take more risks in my life whether it's this blog, approaching Lava Magazine cold and brazenly asking for a column, pursuing Ironman triathlons and ultimately, finding the fortitude to make my relationship right with Steph once and for all last year.
So while I may have been busy as all hell and not sure what the hell I was doing at times, this past year and a half probably produced the biggest emotional and spiritual growth period in my life. And, yeah, the physical fitness growth wasn't too shabby either.
In the end, the view from the 22nd floor of the Westin San Francisco is pretty astounding. Taking a few moments to stop and look around is a humbling experience. I've been so busy for so long that I forgot about stopping and simply doing nothing for a bit. In those moments, life comes into focus.
I've had SO much going on lately! Thanks for being patient with me, not that you're waiting with bated breath for the next blog post.
The big countdown right now isn't a triathlon but my wedding. We're inside four weeks now. The RSVPs are pouring in, last-minute decisions are being made almost every minute and the anticipation continues to build. I'm really starting to get excited now. Before, my wedding was just a date on the far horizon. Almost like how Ironman Arizona was in 2010. But it's finally here in the foreground. The other night I was explaining to Steph that the feeling is very similar to an impending Ironman in that no matter what last-second mishap may occur, we're still "ready" for the wedding and it will be a great event no matter what. We've put in all the hard work and planning and that doesn't go away just because a new challenge may arise. I was afraid to use an Ironman metaphor for the wedding but I actually think it helped us keep everything in perspective.
On the training front, I've installed my CompuTrainer. Or rather, I had it installed for me by my buddy Pete, with support from Coach Gerardo. I have to be honest and say that the set-up process is not the most intuitive. The documentation feels outdated in an era where a set-up video would be practically expected. Instead, you're looking at manuals that don't provide the best overall direction. One example came in the form of installing the bike into the CompuTrainer mount. The directions don't indicate that you need to use the load generator knob to help adjust where it sits on the back wheel. This was frustrating because it seemed that the bike wasn't fitting in the mount. All that said, now that I know how to use the machine and the software, I can tell how powerful a tool CompuTrainer can be.
When I wasn't learning how to use my CompuTrainer, I've been focusing on overhauling my swim technique. You can see what I'm learning in this video:
As if that weren't enough, I'm dabbling in self-coaching for the next few months. Just enough to keep me in shape. I'm making my own training schedule via Training Peaks, reading about training with a power meter and signed up for a triathlon in Palm Springs this December to see how I do in training myself. I can tell you that it's a lot harder to self-coach than I ever imagined. All the reading, formulas, theories and time needed to craft a scientifically smart (and fun) schedule is quite the challenge. But it makes me appreciate what Gerardo does day in, day out, week in, week out for our entire team. The next time you get a schedule from your coach, make sure to thank him or her for their hard work on getting it just right. I do really like the empowerment that comes with creating my own schedule. I feel like I'm doing something important for myself and that if I perform well or don't perform well, it's nobody's fault but mine. In other words, I like the accountability.
On the writing front, I'm working on turning my first year's worth of posts into a self-published book. I think the lessons learned in there on what to expect mentally from training for your first Ironman may be valuable to others. It's taking a lot longer than I expected reading through each month's worth of entries and taking notes about what to focus on for each chapter. I'm thinking at this point I'll write an introduction summarizing that particular month of training and insights while including each individual entry after it. Hopefully the power of the daily entries is what people find interesting. We'll see. I'm open to suggestions though if anyone has any.
Finally, I can't finish this post without mentioning the T-shirts I'm creaing to benefit Season 1 Racing and Cancer Hope Network. I've gotten a pretty good response from folks who liked my "I may not be a runner...but I'm a runner today" mantra from Ironman Coeur d'Alene. So, here's a T-shirt design I'm considering at the moment. The shirt color will be a darker gray and the Season 1 Racing logo will be moved to the shirt sleeve. But otherwise, what do you think??? I'll be taking orders soon and then buy the shirts after I assess demand.
So that's what's been keeping me busy lately, not to mention changing times at work. And now, I embark on an even scarier mission...my bachelor party weekend! Lord, help me.
Midway through my Sunday morning bike ride with my fellow Ironman Coeur d'Alene finisher Richard, I realized something pretty important: Two hours of road cycling is plenty!
In my first outdoor ride since IMCDA, the biggest thing I noticed was how happy I was to enjoy the rest of my day AFTER my ride. No bricks. No pre-ride swims. Just a nice bike ride, no Garmins attached. Done by 1 p.m., not 5.
What does that mean? Am I burnt out? Do I need more rest? Was it a bad idea to buy that Computrainer after all?
The answers: Maybe a little, I don't know, and I hope not!
The way I felt after my ride has started affecting my desire level to train more actively. I'm starting to feel the onset of a rather satisfying laziness. I've accomplished what I set out to do. I hit my goals. In the process, I've deprived myself of my favorite foods, favorite drinks, sleep, time with friends and family.
I want a break! I want more balance. And I've been taking it, eating literally whatever I want, drinking some beers and generally becoming rather sloth-like while hanging out more with my crew.
At the same time, I hate how I feel! I'm feeling my fitness melt away daily. That sense of guilt is making it very hard to relax during what's supposed to be a recovery period. It's almost like being on a treadmill at an uncomfortably high pace, yet unable to hit the "Stop" button to get off.
There's a fine line between a lifestyle and an obsession. Sometimes I can't tell which is which. One person who does know the difference is pro triathlete Marino Vanhoenacker -- who recently broke the 14-year-old world record for fastest Ironman result with a 7:45:52 before Andreas Raelert beat that mark one week later by an astonishing four minutes. While I won't go into details since I'm saving them for my upcoming Lava Magazine column, I will note that he believes age groupers have lost sight of how to enjoy the sport of triathlon -- instead focusing too much on attaining PRs.
I can't really argue with that.
In fact, for the rest of this week, I'm going to focus on WHY I'm continuing with triathlon. What am I enjoying about this sport? Why do I want to consider Ironman Canada next August? Why am I going to keep pushing myself to my physical and mental limit?
This is a worthy challenge. One I'm up for though. Have you done the same lately?
I will write soon to let you know what I find out.
It's been a busy off-season already for me. Though the phrase itself is a bit of an anomaly to me. It seems like all my friends are training for some kind of event, and I hate feeling left out of the fun. So back in the pool I go, back on the bike I ride. I've even tentatively planned my 2012 training schedule.
Part of that plan included buying a Computrainer. I can't wait to start using it! My goal is to ride on it twice a week in the coming months, though I'll be reviewing a software upgrade package for Lava Magazine online in the coming weeks. I bought the Computrainer -- along with the Ironman Canada video course -- to save time during my training and to increase my power on the bike. My goal is to crush 12 hours at my next Ironman, which may be Ironman Canada next August.
I know I'm supposed to be taking time off but I'm excited to stay in shape and plan for the future.
I'm also excited to share that I applied for a trademark today on what appears to be a popular phrase from one of my recent blog posts: "I may not be a runner, but I'm a runner today." The actually quote was "I may not be cut out to be a runner, but I'm a runner today." But I think the former will fit better on a T-shirt. I'm going to work with an artist to design something cool and then I'll share it here on the blog site. I'll sell it for a small fee and will donate 50% of the proceeds to my friend Rusty's triathlon team dedicated to fighting cancer, Season 1 Racing. I'm very excited to help motivate like-minded people and support a truly worthy cause. More to come soon!
"Enjoy your swim."
That's what I was greeted with tonight at VNSO pool as a new pool locker room attendant took my GYST bag. I'm not sure why, but it really hit me. The ONLY reason I was at the pool was for exactly that reason, to enjoy the swim. It was so simple! Gone was the pressure of an Ironman. Or a race of any kind. I'm still in "recovery mode" so I wasn't planning to even push it hard tonight. I just wanted to stay in my fitness routine and enjoy the swim.
Which I thoroughly did, and for crying out loud I did my fastest 100 of the entire year! 1:18. Where the hell did that come from?
I honestly think it had something to do with simply enjoying the swim and having no agenda or pressure. That, and for the first time since I've been a part of Fortius Racing, I paid Gerardo in cash for a single workout. I'm no longer on a monthly workout plan as I explained in yesterday's post. I'm just paying as I go for swim sessions. The simple act of taking cash from my wallet and handing it Gerardo meant something different to me tonight. It was as if I was making a personal choice and investment of "real" time and money to be in the pool for the next hour. When the money isn't physically leaving your wallet, instead coming out of a Paypal account, credit card or check, I think perhaps it's easier to mail in a workout here and there. But when you actually see that money exchanging hands, it's a little more real. I don't want to waste that $10. So I better bring it. I'm paying for it right here and now, making a choice to be here in this moment.
Just some random observations after a hard swim workout. Harder than I expected, that's for sure. Gerardo gave me drills to do involving swim gloves (web-like paddles), a pull buoy and an ankle wrap that I'll becoming very familiar with over the next several months. It certainly helped me go faster tonight for some reason. I'm still mystified about that.
Since November 2009, a big part of my life has been ruled by an email appearing in my Gmail inbox: My Training Peaks scheduled workout. My coach, Gerardo Barrios, dutifully updated my schedule each week and sometimes two or three weeks in advance. I planned my work day, outings with Stephanie and our friends and family, and my own "free" time around whatever my Training Peaks update left room for.
But since the conclusion of Ironman Coeur d'Alene, my update has read the same: "Ryan Schneider: You have no upcoming workouts."
It's taken all of one week since IMCDA to become sick of seeing that statement. Sure, I've swam a bit and spun on my trainer. But it's just not the same. Strangely, now I feel guilty with all my free time -- though I'm savoring every minute. I've gotten so much done around the house, spent a LOT of quality time with Steph the past few days, caught up with friends, finished my next Lava Magazine column and am finally present with all my outstanding work-related emails.
Ahhh, productivity!
Still, deep inside, I can feel my fitness slipping away. All the work I did to become a bonafide Ironman triathlete is dissipating. And that's frustrating. I didn't work this hard to become a slouch.
What am I going to do about it?
This is my plan, for the moment. Plans can change, as I've learned all too well from this sport.
For the next two months I'm focusing heavily on all things wedding. The Big Day is less than two months away and there's still much to do. Steph has been phenomenal shouldering such a heavy load, and I'm going to ease that burden significantly. The countdown for the wedding is becoming just as exciting as any athletic event, and I think it will surpass anything I've felt before come Wedding Day.
While Steph and I are focused on The Best Wedding Ever, I plan to swim a couple times a week, either with Fortius or on my own. I also plan to learn what I can to significantly improve my swim technique. I don't know if that means Total Immersion swimming or improving upon my existing mechanics. I'm undecided here, so any advice would be super appreciated! I won't participate in a triathlon until at least October (though I did flirt with showing up last-minute to Strawberry Fields Triathlon in Oxnard on July 16), so I have plenty of time to see how I can break major new ground in the water.
Next, I'm planning to purchase either a Computrainer indoor computer trainer system OR a power meter to measure power output on the bike. If I want to make big leaps on the bike without spending more time training then either one of these tools are going to become quite important. I'm still trying to decide which tool represents the better investment. Please let me know if you have an opinion. In the meantime, I'm going to spin on my trainer a couple times a week while watching the Tour de France, possibly going on a few-hour ride one day during the weekend. If anyone reading this wants to go riding for a few hours, let me know! (Brennan, I'm looking at you!)
While I'm training simply to maintain a basic form of fitness, I'm planning to thoroughly read Joe Friel's "Your Best Triathlon" book. I need to find a way to train within the 10-15 hours a week range, with few exceptions. I figure more focused, more intense training spread out over more recovery might help. That's why I'm leaning towards purchasing the Computrainer, as it immediately cuts down on commute time, gives me all sorts of data to analyze and lets me ride simulation courses from most Ironman or 70.3-distance events. From what I'm reading, 70 miles on a trainer equals 100 miles on the road. I like that, if I can grind it out mentally.
That's everything on the training front. I still need to find better balance with my writing. I've got some plans to turn the Ironmadman blog into a book project and self-publish through Kindle. This is a long-term goal though I'm starting to work towards it now -- thinking of an outline is the first step and is officially under way as of today. Next, I'm considering an offer from the LA Tri Club to be its official blogger. I'd write one post per week on pretty much anything I want. However, time is going to be slim for this so I may have to opt out.
Where does this leave my blogging?
I don't know, to be honest.
I don't know if I can continue to blog every day, especially without any races coming up. There's simply not a lot of "interesting" triathlon related news that's going to come from me. I do owe people more info from my Chris McCormack interview, and I haven't forgotten about that. Otherwise, I think we're winding down on the Ironmadman daily blog for the time being. I'll continue to post, just not nearly as often.
Of course, last time I wrote that I went back to heavy frequency. Perhaps this whole writing thing is more a part of me than I realize!
I do plan to write a somewhat temporary/unofficial "farewell" post in the coming days. Something to wrap up what I consider to be two huge chapters in my triathlon journey -- completing my first Ironman and taking the lessons learned to complete a second within seven months. There are lots of people to thank and acknowledge, and I'd like to write a letter to my future children (NO, none are on the way any time soon mom!) so they can have some real context to what I hope this blog can teach them one day.
Just because I don't have any upcoming workouts on my schedule doesn't mean I'm going to stay idle.
Once I got off the bike, I had an eerie sense of deja-vu. I could feel the light heat of the afternoon, and I could feel my tight and slightly wobbly legs. Memories of Ironman Arizona crept into my head. Stomach cramps during the first mile of the run. IT bands locking up almost immediately. Med tent visits. Running alone. Darkness setting in. Goals slipping away with the moonrise.
I walked into T2 unsure what to expect of myself, taking my time in transition to make sure I had everything I would need for what might become a long, long walk.
After the kindest trio of volunteers slathered me with sunblock, I exited T2 and walked along the crowd-infested corridor out to Sherman Avenue. The noise and energy was incredible. Everyone seemed to be imploring me to stop walking and to get a move-on. I noticed that the Timex official event clock struck 8:00 almost on the dot as I passed under it.
Breaking 12 hours was not meant to be today. But breaking 12:30:00 was a real possibility -- if I started running. Still, that would be a 30-minute personal best time if I could pull it off.
Thirty freaking minutes.
Like a jockey kicking the sides of a horse, I slapped my right thigh to pick up the pace. "Let's see how this goes," I thought, scared that my legs would lock up just like in Tempe.
Nothing.
Shock.
I felt good?!
I FELT GOOD!
I exploded out onto Sherman Avenue to thunderous cheers for all the athletes. It didn't matter I was a middle-of-the-pack triathlete, the crowd didn't care. They just wanted me to believe in myself and smile. So I did, thanking people who called out my name because of my race bib and even high-fiving a few people along the way. This was glorious, what every weekend warrior dreams of. That one moment in time where you're not watching the Tour de France, you're riding in it. You're not watching the World Series, you're starting Game 1.
That is what Ironman is all about...one moment in time where it's your name on the back of the jersey, not MJ's, not LeBron's, not Jeter's, not Brady's.
I kept a strong pace through the first mile until I reached the Fortius team tent. Steph, Coach Gerardo and my teammates were all there to encourage me. I stopped to give Steph a brief kiss and told her I felt really good.
It was on.
Those first six miles, I assaulted the course. I ran motivated, fearless, and angry. See, my strength trainer told me weeks before the race that "my body simply isn't cut out for running" and that I should quit altogether after Ironman. Thanks to Steph's guidance, we came up with a mantra that funneled my resentment and hurt: "I may not be cut out to be a runner. But I'm a runner TODAY." I repeated that phrase out loud the first six miles, along with another choice statement: "I am fucking invincible today." I'm not sure where the latter one came from, but I know what sparked it. I knew my Fortius teammates and LA Tri Club buddies were behind me. I also knew they probably figured I'd do what I had done at Wildflower Long Course triathlon this past May -- bonk hard on the run after a hard bike.
Heck, I thought I was going to as well!
But I just couldn't let that happen. I couldn't stand the humiliation of proving once again that I'm all bike and no run. I needed to be more than that. I had set up my race all day for the run. I had stayed within myself on the bike, calculating my nutrition by feel and pace by instinct just so I would be in this position.
I was NOT letting go of my lead. Not today. Because today, I'm a runner. Plain and simple. Runners don't lose their lead.
I had no idea how fast I was running, but I knew I was following my walk-the-aid-station plan and running faster than I had during my training sessions. I felt amazing. Around mile 12, I found my buddy Chris, who kicked my ass on the bike by about six minutes. I gave up trying to catch him early in the bike race, hedging my bets for this moment.
When I ran alongside Chris, I told him to run-walk with me, that we could finish together if we did. I really meant it. Chris has been a good friend and training partner the past couple years. I didn't want to see him suffer, and he was clearly bonking. Chris gave it a valiant effort to keep the pace but fell back. I saw him once more as I started my second loop of the marathon at mile 13.5 and he was just starting his second loop. I didn't see him again.
This is where I got into trouble. I lost my head when I saw Team Fortius around mile 14. I was having the run of my life, or so it felt. I demanded that my teammates not tell me my pace or what time of the day it was. I didn't want to know! I was so locked into my own mental space that it didn't matter. I could feel my heart-rate rise though as I saw Steph, Gerardo and Christina. I started screaming, "I MAY NOT BE A RUNNER, BUT I AM TODAY!!!" Later, Christina would say her hand still hurt from my high-five as I rushed past.
That heart-rate and adrenaline surge would cost me a few miles later.
I started to bonk around mile 17, two miles more than my longest run of the past six months. There's a long half-mile uphill climb and it ate me alive. I had stopped repeating my mantra and was simply focused on reaching each aid station in the best condition possible. Stomach cramps started searing my midsection, though I had made a smart tactical gamble five miles prior when I picked up a Pepto Bismal tablet package that someone had dropped on the course. Just like at Ironman Arizona, I thought I might need it. I surely did.
Mile 18 came, and this is where it gets a little gross. I apologize in advance, but in the spirit of honesty and sharing what happens to the body during an Ironman, I pissed myself. I had to use the restroom, my brain was tired, I didn't want to stop moving and I didn't have the willpower to wait any longer. I walked through an aid station as urine poured down my leg. Nobody could tell as I took water sponges and drenched the back of my neck and head to make it look like water was soaking my whole body.
Sorry mom.
The next four miles were the hardest. The hills continued to whittle my legs out from under me, and the hamstring cramps kicked in. I remember running and looking at my shadow just as I pulled up lame with a shooting flame locking my right leg up. I limped for about 10 steps and continued to run while breathing straight to the pain. Cramp gone. This happened two or three times along the way. My strong pace had crumbled completely, going from what I later learned was a 9:36 pace to a 11:53/mile pace for those four miles. I had bonked HARD.
The drama and finality of finishing my second Ironman kicked in around the 24th mile. The crowds of neighbors peeking out from their homes in the residential neighborhood could tell who was on their second loop and which runners were starting their first. They seemed to pay special attention to those of us who looked the most wounded. That would be me. "Come on Ryan! Finish this! Don't stop!" One house had the Rocky Balboa theme song blasting from its driveway.
That's all I needed. I had worked this entire year for this moment. It was the 15th round. I had punched hard, been punched hard, knocked this race down and been knocked down by it. But now it was time to FINISH. No excuses. No pain.
Mile 25. One final round of cramps just for good measure on the final hill before reaching Coeur d'Alene City Hall. I ran through the parking lot, still oblivious to whatever my time and pace had been to this point. Then, I saw the City Hall clock before making the final turn onto Sherman Avenue and seeing the absolutely endless finisher's chute -- fortunately all downhill from there.
7:25 p.m.
I was going to break 4:30. I did it without a watch. I did it without a clue on timing.
I did it all on heart.
The final quarter-mile felt quite different from Ironman Arizona. I wasn't giddy this time. I was exhausted. I felt like the Memphis Belle from the 1980s movie with Matt Modine and Eric Stoltz. Landing gear gone. Wing shot up. No fuel in the tank. Gonna land on my belly, if I land at all.
Just. Get. Me. To. The. Finish.
Gerardo high-fived me. "You PR'd!" Too tired to acknowledge it. Just keep running, I thought.
The final chute. The cheering is actually a roar. Somehow, I spot Stephanie to my left. My arms raise, and I point to her emphatically.
This moment was for her as much as it was for me. WE did this. We did it!
I promised myself throughout my training that when I crossed the finish line of my second Ironman, I'd make the famous "V" sign with both hands to indicate two completed Ironmans. Oh it felt good to raise those arms!
"Ryan Schneider, from Sherman Oaks, California!"
"You're an Ironman!"
12:27:26.
I predicted 12:26:00 or better in my pre-game mental strategy race document.
***
My race ended with me standing alone in the chilly lake waters, coaxing the lactic acid out of my legs. The water was calm and lapped around me so gently. The sun was nowhere near setting. The temperature was perfect, and if someone told me that this is what heaven would be like, I'd be quite content.
I wasn't really thinking anything in that moment. Just totally present. Totally at peace. Once again, I was thrown some pretty major curveballs on one of the toughest physical days of my life. I didn't panic. Instead, my attitude reflected the calmness in that lake at that very moment.
I couldn't help but beam.
I may not be a runner. But I was a runner that day.
As you'll recall from Thursday's blog, at the end of my Ironman Coeur d'Alene swim I looked down at my wrist to check my split. No Garmin.
NO GARMIN!!!!
Believe it or not, the race photographer shooting all the swimmers exiting the water caught my expression the moment I realized I was going to have to bike 112 miles and run a marathon by instinct alone.
This is what my first boss out of college affectionately labeled "The Very Concerned Face."
I remember two things about that moment: 1) "OMG! My day is over!" and 2) "Calm down! Don't panic! You're going to do this by feel. Let's move on."
If IMCDA had been my first Ironman, I would have listened to my first thought and not my second. Instead, I calmly gathered my transition bag and settled into the changing tent to put on dry clothes for the bike ride. It took me a while to put on my tight sleeveless tri jersey and zip the cycling jersey I wore over it. I just didn't have warm enough fingers to do it quickly and precisely, losing precious minutes in T1. Then, as I was about to retrieve my bike, I had to pee again. Remember how strategic I thought I was by peeing in the lake before exiting the water? Well, that became more wasted time as I spent another two minutes waiting for the urinal trough inside the changing tent.
Finally, ELEVEN minutes later, I was on the bike course. I felt great physically except for a massive knot in my left calf from the previous swim cramps, but my mind was spiraling out of control. "How will I know when to hydrate and eat?" "When will I ingest my Endurolytes without knowing what time it is?" "How will I keep my heart rate in check?" "How will I make sure I don't ride too hard?"
It was at this point that I reminded myself of my recent conversation with Chris McCormack and trusting your instincts. We're not robots and we shouldn't race like them, focused purely on numbers and tracking data. I calmed down and decided that I'd play it conservative from a nutrition standpoint. I guessed that I'd average between 16-17 mph on the hilly course, so that meant counting every 16 miles and popping two or three Endurolytes at that point. I'd drink at what felt like every three miles, and eat when I hungry, or approximately at every 10 miles. This approach turned out to be a blessing in disguise as it kept my brain engaged in the moment and didn't allow me to wander mentally. I had to stay focused and totally in tune with how my body felt.
I also had to contend with wondering and reacting to how I did in the swim compared to my Fortius teammates. I knew that David, Richard, Kelly and Eddie were all faster than me in the water. Where were they on the bike? How much ground would I need to make up to catch them? I got my answers within the first 10 miles of the bike. I saw Eddie, David and Richard a few minutes behind me, which made me feel real good that I didn't have as poor a swim and T1 as I thought. If they were near me, then it was a tough swim hands-down. Then, I went on the lookout for Kelly, whom I met up with around mile 12. We were both climbing the first big hill, trading some stories for a few minutes and I continued on.
The first loop of the bike really breezed by. I never climbed out of my saddle on the many hills, concentrated on my breathing and nutrition, and took in the amazing scenery around me. I briefly pushed when I saw my buddy Chris approximately 10 minutes ahead at a turnaround point -- he must have had an amazing swim, I thought. Then, I remembered that PATIENCE had to be my mantra. I'd have to find him on the run.
As I rolled back into town, I checked a couple of outdoor clocks blinking from banks or shopping centers. To my surprise, I was right on schedule to reach the half-way point around six hours and eight minutes -- exactly where I would have wanted to be pacing based on watch data. I couldn't believe it. How did I time it just right?
I was invigorated. The day was not only salvageable, but I was feeling great -- no sign of cramps, no nutritional issues and a wave of confidence. I decided to play it conservative for the next 10 miles with a well-timed potty break (one rest stop before special needs pickup knowing traffic would jam there) and subsequent special needs bag pickup of my own for a sandwich and mini-can of Coke. I ate half of my peanut-butter English Muffin on the bike, felt full and pounded away. Here I also got lucky as I threw off my cycling jacket to the Fortius team at their hangout tent just before race officials rounded a corner, I later learned. Had they seen me, I would have received a four-minute penalty for ditching equipment illegally -- but I honestly didn't know this would be a big deal which is why I was so brazen about doing it. This small unintentional gamble saved me from overheating on the much warmer second loop of the bike.
Around mile 75, my ride started to go south. I experienced my first bout with adductor cramps, my leg literally froze mid-pedal stroke on a hilly climb. It was bent almost at a 90-degree angle and wouldn't budge. There was no choice here of getting off my bike as I couldn't move my leg or unclip my foot from the pedal -- that's how badly I cramped. I would have tumbled over and been in even more pain. Normally, I would have panicked, but I just didn't have that option in the heat of the moment. Instead, I told myself to JUST BREATHE THROUGH IT. I tried a yoga trick that had never worked for me in my practice -- focusing all my energy on the pain point and breathing straight to it.
It worked! My leg unlocked as I continued to pedal slowly up the hill. I was ecstatic. Never before in all my training or racing had I simply breathed through a cramp and kept going without losing time. I couldn't believe it. It truly was going to be my day.
Then, my right leg locked up on the next hilly climb. Clearly something was wrong -- I was bonking. Even though I hadn't felt dehydrated, clearly I hadn't taken on enough liquids or electrolytes. I went into full borne self-protection mode. At each mile that I counted off in my head for the next five, I popped three Endurolyte pills. I even accepted aid from a man running alongside me in a helmet adorned with moose antlers! He offered Ibuprofen pills and an ice slushy that looked like a Freeze Pop. I hadn't had one of those since I was a kid! Sure, why not, I needed the simple sugar rush.
BAM. Over the next 10 miles or so, no cramps, an energy surge and I'm back on my game. Now we're at mile 90. I can do this, I thought, only 22 more miles to pedal. I figured it would take me 1.5 hours based on my slower pace and more conservative approach. I settled in and rode on.
At this point, my arm warmers are long gone and my cycling jersey unzipped, revealing my sleeveless tri jersey underneath. It's a battle between me, the heat of the day (which wasn't that hot), nutrition, my cramps, my goals, and no real knowledge of how I'm tracking against them. Each time my hamstrings or adductors would scream in the form of a cramp, I'd slow down just a bit, breathe through the pain, wait for the muscle to unseize itself, and continue on. I knew I had broken through a new personal pain plateau and that was deeply satisfying. Chris McCormack, in his "I'm Here to Win" book, wrote extensively about making friends with pain. I did that on my Ironman Coeur d'Alene bike ride.
I saw my first clock heading back to Coeur d'Alene, right around the 100-mile mark. It was 10 minutes to six hours on the bike. OK, I can do this. I can be back by around the 6:20 mark -- exactly as Gerardo had predicted all along. The cheers from the throngs of townspeople lining the road brought me back to the race site. I felt like a pro with all the cowbells clanging and everyone shouting at me to continue on -- total strangers! It fueled me and I arrived back to the bike-to-run transition at the 6:24 mark -- a little slower than I would have liked but a conservative ride that left my legs mostly intact. My butt hurt, my legs ached, my left calf was still tight from the morning swim cramp, and my adductors were clearly going to be a problem the rest of the day.
I still had to run 26.2 miles before calling myself a two-time Ironman.
I knew I had room in the tank to complete a marathon. But I had no idea how much of it I'd run or walk.
It's Thursday, four days since Ironman Coeur d'Alene. I've been sleeping at least eight hours a night and it hasn't been nearly enough. I'm typing the beginnings of my race report here still in a mental fog. My brain feels heavy, and sluggish. My body has recovered to where the swelling in my legs and feet has subsided -- revealing the true aches and creaks in my right hip and left Achilles. Neither hurt during the actual race, which is either attributed to other parts hurting, willpower to overcome pain, or a combination of the two.
I'm going to focus more on the physical side of my race here, saving some of the more mental in-depth stuff for the upcoming Lava Magazine column. I will share that incorporating several of the lessons from the past six months -- intentionally and unintentionally -- saved my day. You'll see why below.
PRE-RACE
I woke up quiet and focused around 4:15 a.m., feeling more tense than I recall for Ironman Arizona. What's worse, the pain you don't know or the pain you know is coming? Steph lightened the mood in the hotel room by turning on iTunes and playing the Rocky soundtrack, specifically the "Going the Distance" song I love listening to over and over to fire myself up.
All it took was one playthrough to be locked in for the day.
We arrived at the race site around 5:15 a.m. You'd think this is enough time but I barely made it to the crowded swim start by 6:55 a.m. Special needs bags need to be dropped off. Tires needed to be pumped and water bottles needed to be filled for the bike ride. I had last-minute changes for my T1 and T2 gear bags, and by the time I did that the port-o-potty line was at around 30 minutes. Add it all up and I'm frantically applying Body Glide before putting on my wetsuit around 6:50, while the announcer is forcing everyone out of the transition area because it is now closed.
I prefer to be in my "happy place" by this point. On the shore, splashing in the water, focused and ready. Instead, I'm wedged between at least 1,000 of my new friends, funneling our way to one pinch-point of a beach entrance. Shuffling. Elbowing just a little. Smiling just a little too. Mostly quiet.
I made it onto the sand with minutes to spare. Being a little guy, I wormed my way to the front of the pack and put my feet in the water, splashed it on my face and kept my hands in it until they started to get numb. Better to acclimate then than in the mass race start, a tip I learned from my buddy Rusty just the day before.
Then I realized that water was probably filled with urine from everyone peeing themselves in their wetsuits.
Thanks Rusty!
No time to chuckle then. The race was about to start.
SWIM
This is what the race start looked like from afar:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G5Jx06Qpfm4
It almost looks orderly and peaceful, right? Rows of obedient swimmers plunging into the depths, like an Esther Williams movie. Oh, how I wish it was that simple.
This swim start, running into the lake and swimming for dear life, was harder than a mass start from a floating position. With the latter, you can ask around to see what pace people are aiming for and float forward or backward depending on what you learn. Not here. Not in the chaos. Especially not at the front of the pack.
My thinking at the time was that if I could hang with the fast pack for the first 300 yards, I could pause, catch my breath while swimming more slowly and regain my normal T-pace.
Poor theory, poor execution.
I rocketed out into the water, though I instinctually kept my head out of the water for fear of being kicked and punched. This was totally involuntary but as I saw the rupturing explosiveness all around me -- a white churning hurricane of arms and feet, I realized I didn't want to put my precious head into that blender.
Three hundred yards out (I'm guessing), I was panting for breath. Breast-stroking. Being passed by the second wave of fast swimmers, swimming over, around and through me.
It honestly felt like my day was over before it even started. I've got to become faster and more aggressive in the water.
I managed to rally myself forward, still mostly breathless. I knew if I could just remain calm and not panic, I'd be OK. Eventually this proved to be the case. Despite being kicked in the groin, ribs and head, I found a pace, some free water space, and a nice rhythm. Before too long, I could hear the announcer's voice welcoming back the swimmers from their first of two loops, and then I could see the archway for exiting the water. I did it. I survived the first swim loop of Ironman Coeur d'Alene.
My watch read 38:47 when I climbed out of the water blender known as Lake Coeur d'Alene. I figured my first loop would be between 35 and 40 minutes, so I was right on line.
Loop two got wicked though.
Swimming in 54 degree water can harm the body, no matter how warm you think you are. Honestly, the cold never bothered me in the water. However, the grabbing, punching and kicking from other swimmers took its toll. A third of the way into the second loop, I got grabbed on my calf, and as I wriggled free my legs locked up. Cramps. Both of them. I went from being horizontal to completely vertical in the water, bobbing helplessly like a cork top. Waves of swimmers in my pack lurched ahead. Was my day over now? I had hardly ever experienced a cramp in the water before in an open-water swim.
Cramps became a problem throughout the remainder of the swim. I overcame them by not panicking and employing various mental exercises that helped me visualize a successful swim from a different vantage point. I'll get into that in my Lava column. My goggles were also knocked loose, which proved difficult to fix because my hands were not too dexterous due to the cold and because my goggle straps were tucked in underneath my latex neon green swim cap. I lost two minutes adjusting my straps there, and another two minutes late in the swim peeing. See, at Ironman Arizona, I refused to pee in the water during the swim, thinking my urge would go away once I got on the bike. And I was so focused on having a great swim I didn't want to bother stopping. Not this time. I knew better, bobbing in the water and peeing roughly a quarter-mile from shore knowing I'd save time in T1 while everyone else peed before cycling.
According to the Timex clock above the archway, I exited the water in 1:19:43, just 17 seconds faster than my predicted 1:15-1:20 duration. I looked down to see what my Garmin watch indicated.
It was gone. Victim to the thrashing, scraping, kicking and punching in the water.
Disbelief.
How am I going to pace myself the rest of the day without a watch?
More on that tomorrow. Part II: Racing on Instinct.
