My BuzzFeed Race Report: 10 Things Learned From Completing an Ironman on 6 Weeks Training (#6 Will Shock you!)

My BuzzFeed Race Report: 10 Things Learned From Completing an Ironman on 6 Weeks Training  (#6 Will Shock you!)

This is my eighth Ironman race report. The past recaps all have a similar feel, something like:

“I trained really, really hard over many months for this one-day event. It took on significant meaning in my life, and there are now profound lessons learned through a long day of swimming, biking and running that I can apply to my career and interpersonal relationships. The weather challenged me, the competition was fierce, and I discovered something new about myself. I placed relatively well, but not good enough to quality for the World Championships in Kona. That’s OK, I’ll get there one day.”

What if none of that was true?

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There's More to Life Than Swim, Bike, Run?

“There is no such thing as a recovery day in fatherhood.” 

I remember thinking that during the initial weeks of my firstborn child’s life. The exact moment is foggy, shrouded amidst fits of daylight and darkness. Somewhere in the kitchen, a milk bottle warmer probably clicked and ticked, a maddening reminder that while my biological clock felt like years had suddenly past, the buzzer signaled precisely six minutes. No matter what time of day, it’s a certainty at that point I was wearing the same spit-up stained bathrobe.

Cycling kits remained on hangers. Running shoes gathered dust in the closet. Swim gear sulked in a corner. Bikes lingered on their garage racks. For months.

No, being a multiple Ironman finisher did not prepare me for parenthood. Only parenthood did that. It’s been exactly one year since my daughter was born. The experience has been exhausting, rewarding, incredibly frustrating, and completely surreal. BC, “before child,” I thought I would conveniently call upon my triathlon training – the discipline, mental toughness and ability to push through fatigue -- to guide me through some of the more challenging parenting moments. It’s been the other way around. Being a father has reformatted my views of triathlon.

Six years ago, I fell in love with this sport. I poured my soul into discovering whether I could achieve what then seemed impossible. I even chronicled every step here in this blog, as a future gift to my then-unborn child. A lesson in how to reach beyond what she might think possible. But then, the monster within grew. Gradually, a new question emerged, “Can I get faster?” Followed by, “Can I win?” As that transformation occurred, triathlon shifted from hobby to obsession. My self-identity shifted uncomfortably closer to “I am a triathlete,” not “I’m a man who happens to enjoy triathlon.”  Sometimes everything else took a back seat.

Bringing a new person into the world has gradually helped me regain perspective in my own. The process was a painful one though, filled with symptoms that felt dangerously close to addiction withdrawal. It took weeks if not months of fighting, depression, anger and acceptance, but I finally have re-centered. Ultimately, it took having a baby to remind myself that there’s more to life than swim, bike, run. A first-world lesson indeed, but I believe it’s one that many of us often forget in our constant pursuit of faster, faster, faster.

Before Audra was born, I’d occasionally cry while riding on my trainer watching re-run after re-run of the Ironman World Championships broadcast. Because I knew how bad I wanted that to be me one day. That single-minded pursuit had me always looking ahead to the next workout, or the next race. Now, I cry at movie scenes like when Ant-Man flies into his daughter’s bedroom to kiss her before saving the world. Because I’m happy with everything I have right in front of me, and I can relate to that sentiment even more than the growling desire to race with the best in the world. Those Kona broadcasts haven’t been watched since.

I used to wonder why “average” middle-aged triathletes with kids showed up on race day when they knew they were probably going to finish towards the middle or back of the pack. Why put in all the effort? If you can’t fully commit to being the best, why waste so much time? I missed the point completely. Before kids, I cared about crossing the finish line because how cool that would look and feel. Now, I see that the true victory is getting out the door to exercise at all, let alone having the opportunity to toe the line happy and healthy surrounded by family. Those “average” age groupers I couldn’t relate to have it so much harder than I imagined. They’re my new heroes, and they’re anything but average.

Parenthood is so much more challenging than anyone could have ever made it seem. There are times – more often than not, I admit -- where I feel like I’m failing miserably as a father and husband. And nobody could have possibly prepared me for the crushing rejection when my daughter wants nothing to do with me and only prefers her momma.  Friends are quick to say, “It’ll get better, trust me.” But that doesn’t really help in the moment. I yearned to be a parent for 41 years and when the Hallmark-quality script in my mind didn’t match reality…I struggled.

Still, I wouldn’t rewind time back to “BC” even if I could. I feel like a richer, better, wiser person with Audra in my life. The all-too-fleeting moments where I catch a loving look with eyes that match my own, an eerily familiar wrinkled brow expression, or a giggle when she looks at me after a fart make my constant state of bewilderment and confusion worthwhile.

IMAZ 2015 Race Report: All the Ways to Skin a Cat


"There's a few ways we can skin that cat."

My coach, Brian Stover, said, texted or wrote this to me more often than he probably realized during the last five months. Usually because we needed to figure out how I was going to swim, bike and run at the appropriate volume while on a tight work and family schedule.

I'm not a fan of cats. They're too fussy and fickle. Plus, I'm highly allergic to them. But I became a fan of how Brian and I "skinned cats" to maintain the most delicate of balances between triathlon, career and home. All while being able to preserve enough energy to juggle everything without going crazy...mostly (right Seb?!).

In terms of training in 2015, there was B.A., Before Audra, and A.A., after. I made some pretty big changes to how I approached my training and racing once I became an IronDadMan, mostly out of necessity. Instead of a traditional race report from Ironman Arizona 2015, I think it may be more insightful for others if I share what I learned about those adjustments. 

Besides, my race report would sound like a lot of other people's I've read the last few days. Something like:

Swim: "The rolling swim start felt weird, the buoys moved farther right from past years, why do my calves keep cramping (???) and I came out of the water pretty much when I expected I would, within seconds of the long end of my predicted time."

Yes, 63-degrees warrants a neoprene cap for me to stay warm. I apologize for nothing.

Yes, 63-degrees warrants a neoprene cap for me to stay warm. I apologize for nothing.

 Bike: "'F-ing IMAZ.' That's what I kept saying to myself with a laugh while cycling. The weather reports predicted fine weather all day for weeks and it was too good to be true. I was cold and wet, but had no nutritional issues to report. I peed a ton and couldn't figure out why. Much to the chagrin of people behind me while peeing on the bike, the wind kept shifting throughout the course... Overall, I biked pretty much how I expected I would, within a minute of my predicted overall window. Took some risks in terms of increasing my watts over my target goal and it seemed to work fine at the time."

"It's raining. F*ck it!"

"It's raining. F*ck it!"

Run: "After an embarrassingly slow T2 due to being unable to feel my fingers, I started running and shocked myself with a much faster pace than expected. I decided to go with it because the pace seemed manageable and I was able to keep nutrition down. The rain didn't bother me...until it did (along with the mud) later in the race around mile 16. Managed a massive PR for an Ironman half marathon (1:39 by my watch) but couldn't hold the pace for the next 12 miles. Ran pretty much what I expected I would overall though, within a minute of my coach-predicted time. Glad I took the initial risk on the pacing instead of slowing down. Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

Anatomy of my marathon, part 1 (miles 1-9): "I feel AMAZING! Sub 7:30s?! Hell yes!"

Anatomy of my marathon, part 1 (miles 1-9): "I feel AMAZING! Sub 7:30s?! Hell yes!"

Anatomy of my marathon part 2 (miles 10-15): "I feel less amazing, but functional!"

Anatomy of my marathon part 2 (miles 10-15): "I feel less amazing, but functional!"

Anatomy of my marathon part 3 (miles 16-24): "I do not feel amazing.I would like to stop running now."

Anatomy of my marathon part 3 (miles 16-24): "I do not feel amazing.I would like to stop running now."

Anatomy of my marathon, part 4 (miles 24-26): "Dear Lord where is that finish line?!!?!"

Anatomy of my marathon, part 4 (miles 24-26): "Dear Lord where is that finish line?!!?!"

As for the race result itself, I have very mixed feelings, which I'll share at the end. 

So what worked and what didn't? First, here's what changed. After six years, I made a decision to switch coaches. I did so not because I was dissatisfied (I still heartily refer athletes to Fortius Coaching), but more because I felt like I needed a new voice and fresh perspective to shake up my training. That's exactly what I got. In short, my new coach (Stover) and I developed a plan that would involve more overall training volume, but spread more evenly throughout each week. That's triathlete-speak for essentially no rest days unless I was traveling on business or had a family obligation. Additionally, we dramatically increased my run frequency and volume to six or even seven days a week at 35-40-plus miles. I would estimate 95 percent of my workouts were entirely aerobic in intensity, meaning completed at a conversational pace and thus easier to recover from. This was a big change for me and took some time getting used to. We also went more than four months without a brick workout, and only scheduled two total. No track workouts either in the traditional oval sense.  Taper changed too for me, shrinking from weeks to days. Five, in this case. Finally, we opted out of strength training workouts due to lack of time, replacing them occasionally with jump rope work after runs.

Also as part of my new lifestyle change (A.A.), I stopped trying to complete both daily workouts prior to leaving for work in the morning. There was no way that could work again. Instead, my wife and I would talk every day and more in-depth once every two weeks (before Brian sent my schedule over) about when I could fit in each workout without infringing upon family time. Cat skinning would ensue. I also reluctantly chose to suspend my early morning swims with Tower 26, much as I enjoyed and relied on the group along with the superb Gerry Rodrigues to improve my stroke. The added sleep was going to be critical to balancing all the moving aspects of my life. Fortunately, I found a terrific master's group, Golden Road Aquatics, 10 minutes from my office. GRA offered energetic lunchtime swims and that became critical to maintaining a higher overall training volume.

What Worked

Everything Brian implemented seemed to pay off. The near daily running at an aerobic pace made me a much more efficient runner. In fact, almost my entire IMAZ 2015 marathon (99% literally) was done in HR Zone 2 (moderate) effort even with a record 13.1 mile split that was near my Ironman 70.3 pace. What?! Again, that was without really doing any brick workouts, which saved me a ton of time on the homefront. The aerobic work also translated to the bike, where the vast majority of my effort was in that moderate zone too. 

I also wised up as a triathlete, finally following every workout as it was prescribed. (This was largely my fault in the past as I often found myself caught up in other people's workouts instead of completing my own as written.) And since the vast majority of workouts were at a moderate level, it was much easier to complete them. I only missed two workouts in five months, and both came on the final day of my build prior to taper due to a horrendous night of sleep and an early morning doctor's appointment for Audra.

Spacing my daily workouts out by a few hours was also beneficial. Each workout became more of a quality session, though my swimming suffered since it almost always became the second workout of the day. It's much harder to swim on heavy legs following a run. Still, I think giving my body more time between workouts enabled me to complete more workouts at the specified level and duration.

Finally, printing my bi-weekly schedule and posting it on the kitchen wall was one thing that subtly helped me remain engaged in my training. Steph and I could see what was on the schedule and discuss any potential conflicts. Plus, I could cross off each completed workout, which served as positive reinforcement and motivation to keep my consecutive workouts finished streak intact.

Printing my training calendar helped my wife and I communicate daily on training regimen, along with how to manage family time and daddy duty.

Printing my training calendar helped my wife and I communicate daily on training regimen, along with how to manage family time and daddy duty.

What Didn't Work

My swimming took a big hit the last few months, and it's primarily because swim volume was cut by between a third and a half compared to last year. Swimming is by far my weakest discipline, and something I need to work extra hard on to improve. But Brian recommended we focus more on improving my run as being fitter across the board would help me overcome some of my swimming deficiencies. Brian already told me we'll be swimming a lot more this winter. Joy. I'd like to strangle that cat and then skin it with a dull blade.

Since I was running so much, I found it even harder to keep my weight up to what I'd consider a healthy level. It constantly felt like I was pushing a giant food rock up a hill each day only to watch it tumble back down. I'd lose up to four pounds and try to gain five, day in and day out. That lack of weight likely affected my bike power output, which is something I think needs more attention in the future. I think the chilly weather at IMAZ affected me a little more than other folks perhaps due to my inability to use stored fat to keep my core temperature warm.

Despite getting more sleep than people told me would be possible with a newborn, it still probably wasn't enough quality rest to help me fully recover each night. Waking up three to four times each night can't be considered a helpful workout recovery tool, but I don't think it affected me as much as I expected. I feel obligated to put "lack of sleep" in the "What Didn't Work" section but could have been much worse (thanks to my awesome wife) and I don't think it affected me on race day when it mattered most.


Three years, differing conditions, same result. Almost exactly. I trained more than I ever have before for an Ironman, improved my run, slightly improved my bike split and ultimately I came in at the same time I did when I was training with less volume but higher intensity. What does that mean? I made all these changes to take the next step in my evolution as an athlete. But did that happen? Percentage-wise, I fared better this year in my age group and overall than in 2013 (when conditions were more favorable). But I was worse compared to last year's results, when conditions were much windier on the bike and more favorable on the run.

Have I peaked as a triathlete? It's only going to get harder to find time to train now that Audra is growing rapidly, so finding more time to improve is probably out of the question. I honestly thought I could flirt with breaking 10 hours this year at IMAZ if the conditions were perfect and once again I was nowhere close. Is that goal a Quixotic dream? And Kona, which I thought could be a stretch goal I was closing in on, feels more distant than ever. A Legacy slot seems my best hope. Only five more years of Ironman races to go then! Hooray!

I'm not calling the Wahmbulance over this great injustice. I have no regrets about my training or the race itself. There were some big changes in my life that delivered a profound level of joy that is simply irreplaceable. That made those big training changes far easier to make. It's also important to note that April, May and June were largely a wash for me from a training standpoint due to illness, burnout, moving to a new home and of course, Audra's birth. So, Brian had to essentially build me up from scratch to where we wound up on race day. And to his credit, I arrived at Tempe Town Lake statistically in the best shape of my life. I'm reminding myself to stay positive and think what he and I can do together if we use this new fitness base to improve upon for Ironman Vineman next July.

During the race,  I took calculated chances, and grew as a person and triathlete in the process. I dictated my race for a change, instead of simply managing the day based on what the weather gave me. That took confidence.  I hope to take more chances in future races like Wildflower and Vineman, in fact. I liked the rush of not knowing whether they would pay off instead of simply going with the flow. 

I won't resume formal training for a few more weeks. Body, mind, and soul need a triathlon break, and I simply want to snuggle up with my wife and baby in bed every morning without rushing out the door to train.  My first race won't likely be until  next May. That will give me plenty of time to think about the athlete I am, the athlete I want to be, and what the best path is to arrive at my ultimate desired destination without sacrificing what matters most: family. 

I'm sure there will be several ways we can skin that cat.

"I am sooooooo happy that is over with. Let Week of Decadence begin!!!"

"I am sooooooo happy that is over with. Let Week of Decadence begin!!!"

Turn the Page...

I started writing this blog post about two weeks prematurely. Ironman 70.3 St. George next weekend was supposed to be my final "pre baby" triathlon. It's been on the calendar for a long time. Instead, I have been fighting a full-on bronchial virus, just about a week removed from another week-long bout with bronchitis. I missed the start line for a race this past weekend because I wasn't feeling well either -- which is entirely unlike me. With less than two weeks to tackle arguably the toughest half-Ironman in North America, I think my body and perhaps the cosmos are trying to tell me something. Or maybe it's just that I'm finally listening.

It's time to say goodbye to competitive triathlon for a while. I'm shutting down this abbreviated season early until well after our daughter is born.  I will spectate races and support my Wattie Ink and Fortius Racing teammates. I intend to road-trip to St. George to cheer on my friends. With true excitement in my heart to enjoy watching their efforts pour forth.

My friends and teammates will tease me and say, "Yeah, right. Didn't you say Ironman St. George in 2012 was going to be your last Ironman? That was three Ironmans ago!"

The only due dates at that point in time were when I was due for an FTP test. 

Yeah yeah, I'm probably being overly dramatic. I've been accused of that in the past. The truth is though, I don't know what to expect next. Gone is the notion of "free" time. No spare time will be considered truly free because it will come at the cost of spending time with my daughter or my wife. The sign that I'm actually somewhat relieved to write this blog might indicate a lot already though. I'm much more interested in the Be a Dad Not a Fad movement than another PR.

So why is this hiatus different than any past "threat" I've made?  I'm READY for a break. My schedule has demanded it for months though I've been too stubborn to acquiesce. Now my body is too (sick and) tired to protest. Plus, honestly I'm over the zone 5b track repeats, my heart and lungs begging my brain to slow down just a little. It's grown ever-harder to wake up before 5 a.m. to jump into a cold pool before sunrise. And I've fallen victim to my own competitive urges one too many times by ruining training sessions simply to prove a point on a hill climb. Stupid, but true. I placed so much pressure on myself to perform that at some point I forgot the meaning of "fun" in all this. I hope to regain that sensation again soon.

Even if I wasn't "ready" in the emotional sense of the word, my body is screaming at me to shut things down. I really can't recall in the last several years when I got sick within a week of recovering where travel didn't play an important role. And that's with hefty antibiotics following Oceanside 70.3. For once, I think it's time to listen to my healthier inner voice. Not the drill sergeant voice that demands I keep pushing no matter what. No, the gentler one that just recently gently touched my shoulder and whispered..."Enough."

So, for now...this is enough

Triathlon has provided me more than I can possibly write about here. I'm a better man, work professional and partner because of it. I'm more confident. I buried insecurities from the past, never to return. I met so many teammates and friends and coaches who will always inspire me and changed my life. I'm fortunate to know that I have changed some people's lives in the same manner too.

I know this reads like a farewell when it's just a hiatus. But since I've been training almost constantly since November 2009 (literally what feels like almost every day) now is a good time to pause and honor a few people who made a special impact.  I would like to thank Gerardo Barrios first and foremost, along with my Fortius Coaching family. I am hard to coach sometimes. Probably just as much of a pain in the ass to train with. I question, I improvise, I ignore and I get mad. My biggest enemy is me. Somehow, Gerardo absorbed a good portion of that, chiseled away at poor habits, helped me understand the value of persistent, consistent work, and how a leader builds an organization. He also reminded me recently in an email that I no longer have anything to prove to anyone. I almost cried when I read that. What a burden to release. That is where my triathlon journey started. A journey into the unknown of my soul. What was I capable of? Am I a quitter? Am I tough enough? And it ends here with a sense of self-ease I never mastered growing up.

I would also like to thank Gerry Rodrigues at Tower 26. There are very few people whom I'd consider asking to be my father figure if I didn't have a terrific one already. Gerry is one of them. The last few weeks, he's helped me understand in his own way (read: blunt with humor) that a truly strong man doesn't keep piling on more stress until he comes close to breaking. He takes care of himself as the top priority so he can then take care of everyone else to the best of his ability. I am able to step back with inner peace partially thanks to Gerry's wisdom. I cannot be the supportive husband in my wife's final weeks before childbirth if I'm sick, stressed and exhausted. It seems like common sense, but common sense isn't always easy to follow.

I would like to thank the leaders and my teammates on the Wattie Ink triathlon team. I had never really felt "elite" at anything in my life. I had been cut from more sports teams than I care to remember. I'll never forget sobbing in front of my friends as I missed the 8th grade basketball team by one spot. To be included in the company of some of the best triathletes in the country -- even if it was almost 30 years later -- filled an ultimately meaningless yet surprisingly deep personal void.  I'm forever grateful and plan to remain a loyal teammate. For those of you looking to continue your own triathlon journey, I cannot recommend the Wattie Ink apparel enough. It is by far the most comfortable kit I've ever worn and it is likely one of the only things that will keep me motivated to stay in shape the next few months!

Finally, to my family...THANK YOU. Thanks for questioning but not protesting. Thanks for rising above your own concerns to see how this sport changed my life for the better and supporting me through all the training and racing challenges. Thanks for celebrating with me. Thanks for being beyond flexible with my schedule. Now it's time to give back. I'm here.

I reserve the right to change my mind about racing in the future. Chances are I will. The sport is too much fun, too tactically challenging, too adrenaline-filled, for me to call it quits 100 percent. After all, I AM signed up for Malibu and Ironman Arizona this fall.  It's just time to turn the page from being the die-hard, consumed triathlete to a more mellow weekend warrior. Scones rides, here I come!

See you at the races. I'll be cheering for you.

Ironman 70.3 Oceanside Race Report

Kobe Face

Kobe Face

Going into Ironman 70.3 Oceanside, I decided that my inner mantra would be, "Expect Greatness." This was a step beyond my earlier approach in the season to being "open to the possibility of greatness." As I wind down the pre-baby phase of my endurance racing, there's no more time to be simply open to it. Now, greatness is an edict. It only took 3,000-plus hours of training and mistake-making to grasp that insight. There were no shortcuts, but there never have been for me.

Did I meet my expectations? No. Saturday's race was a solid all-in effort with a very similar result to last year. That equals good, not great. However, it would have been much slower had I not committed to a "great-worthy"performance. 

As my race years tick by, I learn that you perform as you will yourself to perform. Excuses clutter the truth. "But I had cramps!" "I lost my nutrition!" "It got so hot!" "I didn't taper in my normal way." These things happen to all of us. It's how we respond that determines the outcome. How bad do you want it? What are you willing to endure to get it? How much will you pay for the glory?

Going into Saturday, all I could think of were the myriad reasons why I was going to suck at the race. I was a mental and physical mess at packet pick-up, having rushed down from LA minutes before the cutoff time (thanks to Alex for putting up with me!). In true "The Californians" fashion, I took TEN freeways to make the nearly three hour trek! I felt equally scatterbrained race morning in the corral. I had to move bikes and gear to make room for my own and a kind-hearted new friend, Jayson, helped me pump my rear disc wheel with about 15 minutes to spare before we were kicked out of transition. 

The only thing that helped me focus was remembering my only plan. Be great. Yet, coming out of the water two minutes slower than I expected shook my self-belief. I felt strong in the swim, so the clock shocked me. Further, I put added pressure on myself pre-race to prevent my good friend Jason from beating me. It would be the last time we'd race each other pre-baby and in peak condition. I knew he was gunning for me. Jason's swim has improved significantly, and his run is next-level. The only way I'd be able to hold him off is with a strong swim and bike combo. Instead, Jason matched me stroke for stroke in the final few hundred yards and we left T1 together. It was going to be a dogfight between the two of us! The only thing I would have done different in the swim is not to sight so soon off the jetty after the first turnaround heading back into the sun. I'm sure I veered needlessly off-course, losing precious time.

Jason is in the yellow swim cap rounding the corner. That's me at the far left of the pic just behind him. gearing up for a showdown!

Jason is in the yellow swim cap rounding the corner. That's me at the far left of the pic just behind him. gearing up for a showdown!

Out of the water, I didn't lose patience or focus though. I just got angry. "Be great" turned into, "Ride your ass off." I endeavored to ignore my watch data and just go for it. I committed to taking a risk. Being great translated to being bold. As you can see from my Strava data, I pushed harder on the first half of the course than either of the last two times I've raced Oceanside, or any training ride I've participated in on-base at Camp Pendleton. Surprisingly, it felt good. Really good. I was riding in my 50x11 gear and still pedaling 80 rpm. The few times I glanced down at my watch on flats, I was riding 10-20 watts over my intended goal. I didn't know where Jason was on the course, but I knew he'd need to ride hard to keep up.

Very sadly, I learned after the race that Jason got a flat tire early on, thwarting our duel. He's worked harder than at any point in his prior training to improve and I truly feel his frustration. We're both convinced it would have been a much closer finish between us. Of course, I didn't have that knowledge in the moment and mashed onward. My nutrition plan was spot on, allowing me to ride hard without any tinge of cramps. In fact, the ride couldn't have gone better...except for the three times I thought I was belching and instead barfed up some Bonk Breaker. I laughed and smiled to myself. I thought of my friend Gary, who's always begging me to embrace pain and welcome it. Well, Gary, I laughed at barfing thrice so I'm on the right path. I also had to briefly exit my bike to remove some electrical tape peeling away from my disc wheel valve port. The tape was flapping on my derailier.

The ultimate compliment for my bike performance came from a fellow competitor post-race, who limped over to shake my hand and tell me how much he respected my effort. We had yo-yo'd back and forth with each other for the last 30 miles of the ride. He was a prototypical "specimen" triathlete: 6"2, 160 pounds, chiseled. When guys like that tell me I earned their respect, I always think back to that line in the movie "Rudy," "If I could put your heart in the rest of this team's bodies..." I ultimately jumped more than 20 places in my age group from swim to bike, shaving off almost eight minutes from last year's ride.

The last time I rode harder than expected in a triathlon was Ironman 70.3 Boise two years ago. There I was recovering from my cyclist v car accident and wound up with the ever-popular "swim, overbike, walk" race. I thought about that a lot in the six miles of headwinds returning to T2. Would my risk-taking blow up in my face? I didn't care, because last year I paced the Oceanside race so well I felt like I could have run three more miles after the finish. That's not good enough anymore. When I crossed the finish line this year it was going to be after an all-out effort, or in a wheelbarrow because I fainted trying.

The first few miles of the run were twitchy. My right leg cramped up entirely when I exited the bike at T2 so I was working through the discomfort. Still I managed to run near my goal pace. Jason was two miles back and I figured with his potential he'd gain about 30 seconds on me per mile. All I could do was double-down on effort, channel out the new cramp in my left adductor and keep grinding. Miles 6-9 dropped off by about 10-20 seconds and then I was on the north side of 7:40 per mile the rest of the way. My heart heaved, and my legs dragged. I expected Jason to slap me on the ass and pass at any point. I was ready to concede, but I'm proud that I pushed through and never stopped. If he was going to pass, I wanted him to work extremely hard for it and to take it from me. I'd give nothing. The effort paid dividends -- I jumped again in the age-group standings from 41st to 29th, finishing top 7% in class. But I gave back five minutes from last year's run, 1:38 vs 1:33 in 2014. My new micro-goal: Train with harder runs off harder bike efforts.

That's some ugly run form right there!

That's some ugly run form right there!

The longest, most miserable part of a triathlon is the last mile of the run. You know the finish is near but you can't quite see it. Your body is absolutely crushed and yet your race means nothing until you have that finisher's medal hung around your neck. After all, a 70.2-mile race is still a DNF. The end couldn't come soon enough -- visions of Jason sprinting through the finish just ahead of me looking like Bevan Docherty were playing on repeat in my mind's theater. I had no energy to celebrate in the chute. No high-fiving or showboating like last year. It was hot, my feet were squishy from sweat and water and piss, my legs were on the brink of full lockdown and I was flat-out over this race. After shuffling through the finish, I slumped over the barrier to meet Stephanie and our friend Russ and just leaned there with my head down for minutes. Wondering...why I do this to myself. Wondering what I'd do better for Ironman 70.3 St. George in five weeks the next breath.

I wasn't great this weekend, but I committed to being great. No excuses. No mitigating factors. No woulda coulda shoulda. 

This is a way to live.

A Coffee Table Book Changed My Life

It's not often I get to raise the "we're number one!" finger.

It's not often I get to raise the "we're number one!" finger.

First, a disclaimer: The Kick Off the New Year 5k/10k/15k/Half Marathon seems to be a small race geared towards encouraging newer athletes to complete a new challenge to start the year. It's a mom-and-pop-run race, similar to the Uncle Tren's TT at Lake Piru. There were probably around 100 runners total. Further, this particular race fell the morning after the Rock n' Roll Half Marathon in downtown LA, and the same morning as the Camarillo Half Marathon. In other words, I'm very aware that the top-flight competition was likely elsewhere...or sleeping in to avoid a 47-degree start.

But I showed up. Barely, as the alarm clock was clicked shut before 5 and the bed almost won the argument for doing a solo 10k at Griffith Park when it warmed up outside later in the morning.

I've offered all this context up front because I don't want what follows to feel like an "Oh my G-d I'm so awesome for winning this race let me tell you why I'm so awesome!" race report. Rather, this is a report about what it felt like to be in synch with my mind, body and emotions...and more important, why and how that occurred. It seemed like a mental breakthrough for me, so I wanted to share in case it's helpful for others.

Disclaimers complete. On to the real stuff.

Since Ironman Arizona this past November, I've been rethinking how I train and race. Physically, I didn't leave much on the course that day. But I didn't set a belief pattern in motion prior to the race to be brilliant. I vowed to be smart, which is very important. But it's not everything. My friend Sebastian proved that by smashing 30 minutes off his 2014 IMAZ time from the year before despite the much more windy conditions. How? He endeavored to race great. No matter what dark fortunes the weather report foretold.

That concept has captivated me. And finally, after years of reading books and blogs that helped me incrementally improve, I read something that gave me the mental "Aha!" moment I've been long seeking. 

And it's from a coffee table book.

The art in the art of competition is inspiring enough. the words take it to an entirely new level.

The art in the art of competition is inspiring enough. the words take it to an entirely new level.

Granted, it's a coffee table book by legendary triathlete Mark Allen, with a forward from equally legendary business author Jim Collins (Good to Great). The book is called the Art of Competition, and I'm still making my way through it. But even reading and internalizing the first 50 pages last Saturday opened me to a new way of framing my race on Sunday.

The Art of Competition, so far, is about harnessing the connection between nature, your mind, and body. The link between them, when truly felt, can overrule any negative voices in your head, reducing everything else to "background noise", as Allen put it. Allen's words enabled me to meditate the night prior to the race on what I wanted to get out of my race experience.  Since the race was on the Santa Monica Pier beach path, this seemed as good a time as any to apply Allen's wisdom.  My original goal was to set a pace benchmark and see if my speed work on the track is having the desired effect heading into the Surf City Half Marathon next month.

After reading the Art of Competition, my goal felt small. Inconsequential. Instead, I made three new goals:

1) Be open to possibility. That could mean the possibility of a transcendent performance, the possibility of embracing a new tactic, channeling nature as an energy source, or many other options. 

2) Become the ocean, whether in the form of pounding waves or tranquil waters. However the ocean acted that morning, I would personify that emotion.

3) Approach "Fallure," a concept Collins popularized that I interpret to mean perform beyond your estimated best so as to disprove your preconceived limits. 

The race unfolded in such a way that I was naturally able to reach for each of these goals. And I'm convinced had I not meditated the night before I would have lost the top spot. As soon as the race began, I wound up in unfamiliar territory -- lead runner. I've been in that position once before, when I thought I was running a 10k and had started early with the 5k race. There's nothing like having a police escort for a race you're not really leading! Instead of being elated at leading this particular run, I was deeply concerned about missing a turn on the course and leading everyone else astray. I was worried about leading in general. Then, I simply accepted the possibility of winning and keeping the lead. That calmed me down, along with actively consuming the beautiful morning and pristinely calm, waveless Pacific Ocean. I was also able to call upon being a lane leader at Gerry Rodrigues' Tower 26 swims, which can be a stressful event as all the other swimmers in your lane are depending on you for pace, proper rest intervals and lap counting. Drawing on that experience of focusing under pressure was critical.

My plans for leading the race evaporated after the first turnaround near the two-mile mark. A lanky fellow had been gaining ground on me steadily after the first mile and swiftly made the pass.  I had felt him stalking me for half a mile at least, and congratulated him as he ran past (confirming he was a 10k participant first). This is where Fallure came in handy. I decided to cede the lead for now but keep this guy in my sights. Instead of getting frustrated or upset, I calculated where my kick would need to begin in the final part of the race to win.

We rounded the first lap turnaround almost shoulder-to-shoulder. His breathing was loud and distracting. Instead of focusing on the negative, I gazed forward to the ocean. It gave me all the inspiration I needed. My coach, Gerardo Barrios, has taught me to close my eyes while running for brief moments to focus on the pure beauty of the motion. The wind on my face. The slight chill tingling my cheeks and nose. The rhythmic footsteps. Breathing. I had never tried that tactic in a race until that instance. Everything inside of me eased up and soon I was smiling. 

I got ya where I want ya... (And yes, i can see the heel strike and that i'm bending at the waist a bit too much here.)

I got ya where I want ya... (And yes, i can see the heel strike and that i'm bending at the waist a bit too much here.)

The rest of the race seemed to take care of itself. I gained ground on my competitor, passing him before the final out-and-back around mile 4.5. Then my competitive fire kicked in. As the second-place runner approached the turnaround I had just passed, I pretended like he wasn't even there, gazing straight to the ocean while ensuring my form looked impeccable. I wanted him to know I could do this shit all day long. (Later, as he and I jogged in a warm down together, he admitted that was the moment he cracked mentally.) His footsteps quickly grew much fainter, and the race was mine to win.

The day wasn't over for me. Not yet. Being open to possibility meant the possibility of Fallure. How hard and fast could I finish? I surged forward, and I'm proud to say my last mile was only two seconds slower than my first, with the final stretch of the race being the fastest portion. 

This small 10k proved to be extremely valuable in my training, racing, and life in general. Being open to possibility is a universally applicable concept. When it comes to triathlon, honors like rankings or podiums seem almost trivial. What matters more is the relentless pursuit of excellence. My new goal for the rest of the season is simply to be open to the possibility of greatness. Every workout. Every race. Every day.

This photo was taken towards the finish. i feel that it perfectly depicts the sense of calm and focus i was experiencing in the moment.

This photo was taken towards the finish. i feel that it perfectly depicts the sense of calm and focus i was experiencing in the moment.

My nemesis turned out to be a really nice guy from sweden who greatly prefers ultra-marathons. We jogged together post-race and chatted.

My nemesis turned out to be a really nice guy from sweden who greatly prefers ultra-marathons. We jogged together post-race and chatted.

The Pros and Cons of Race Management

The Ironman finisher's of the best places in sports.

The Ironman finisher's of the best places in sports.

Looking back on each Ironman I've completed, there's always one standout lesson to take with me for future races.

My best statistical Ironman race finish (26/502 AG, 151/3202 OA) yielded the most boring of lessons so far. Who wants to "manage" anything?  We save that for office paperwork, right? No, when we're racing, we want to "crush," "annihilate," and "punish." Racing is where we unleash our inner warrior spirit. On Sunday in Tempe, my warrior spirit manifested itself in the form of a clinician instead.  Once I checked the morning race weather report online and saw 16-22 mph winds, I switched off my inner Animal and transformed into Greg Maddux. Steady. Crafty. Calm. Unsexy.  Was that the right choice? Should I have infused a bit more "Anything is Possible" into my race-day planning? That is what this race report will explore.


The days I spent in Tempe leading to the race were just about perfect. As always, I could've used more time to get settled and relax. A Wednesday arrival would be ideal instead of Thursday afternoon. I don't recommend arriving beyond 3 p.m. on Thursday as it becomes a sprint to packet pick up and if  you have to retrieve your bike from a transport service. In addition, I may rent a car next year. (Yes, if you're paying attention closely I just wrote "next year." I signed up.) Flying saves a lot of downtime, but I'm a bit of a control freak pre-race and not being able to just go to the grocery store whenever I wanted or be confined to restaurants within walking distance didn't sit well for me. Thank goodness my pal Christophe put up with me for an afternoon. He'll tell you how high maintenance I can be.

TJ Nuccio, my friend and Fortius Coaching teammate, sent me a care package of Runyon Canyon apparel to enjoy for the weekend. I was pleased to be able to wear a comfy tank top in the middle of November!

TJ Nuccio, my friend and Fortius Coaching teammate, sent me a care package of Runyon Canyon apparel to enjoy for the weekend. I was pleased to be able to wear a comfy tank top in the middle of November!


I woke up a little too late the morning of the race, after a surprisingly easy night of rest. By the time I reached T1, after listening to the Imperial March on repeat for my walk to the park (BECAUSE THAT IS HOW I FELT), it was close to 6 a.m. with bottles to drop, tires to pump, wetsuit to put on, bags to stow for the special needs crew, and give my morning clothes to my folks. This caused unnecessary stress as I was among the last to leave the transition area because I couldn't find my family. I even started to put on my wetsuit backwards from rushing too much and not thinking! That's not how you want to start your day.

Fortunately, I found fellow game devs Christophe, Ryan and Bryan in the swim entry line. That immediately relaxed me and it felt like a normal training day. Almost. We hugged and swam in the 68-degree water through the scrum to the start line, where we treaded, floated, clutched onto kayaks...and waited.


Gear: BlueSeventy Helix wetsuit, BlueSeventy Neoprene cap, Aquasphere Kayenne smoke-tinted goggles

Absolutely love my custom BlueSeventy Helix wetsuit. It fits super snugly and doesn't restrain my shoulders.

Absolutely love my custom BlueSeventy Helix wetsuit. It fits super snugly and doesn't restrain my shoulders.

My plan was to start 10-15 yards to the right of the buoys, aiming for the fourth buoy almost 1,000 yards ahead.  The course curves slightly to the right, so I was trying to swim an efficient line. That became almost impossible with literally hundreds of bodies thrashing around me. It's survival of the fittest, almost literally, in those first 500 yards. You swim where there's a lane and where you get hit or kicked the least. I found myself drifting farther to the left and closer to the buoys than I would have preferred. Overall though, I couldn't complain. My Tower 26 swimming was paying off immediately as I pushed a strong pace without fatigue nor panic.

The return trip was notable for only two reasons. First, I've never peed so much during a swim portion of a race. I have no idea why except that I hydrated using at least three Herbalife 24' "Hydrate" packets the day prior. They're filled with electrolytes, along with the six Salt Stick tablets I popped the day before as well. Only in triathlon can one be so proud to pee while moving without losing speed. Second, I almost got a penalty for missing the "proper" way to swim around the final turn buoy back to shore. I was getting pushed left by a pack of swimmers and just went with the flow, so to speak. Until an official on a kayak started shouting at me to turn the proper way. I had a feeling he meant business so complied. That cost me around 20 seconds. More on that later.

I exited the water in 1:07:37, nearly a 1.5 minute personal best in all my Ironman races. I couldn't be happier, though I think with better sighting I should have been closer to 1:05:00. Tower 26 has been a huge help in improving my swimming, and I'll be back for more in the future. Also, for future IMAZ swims I'll look into polarized lenses as I'm sick of being blinded staring into the sun!

Rocketing out of T1, feeling great. Loving my new Wattie Ink camo kit. Zero chafing, perfect fit. Do recommend.

Rocketing out of T1, feeling great. Loving my new Wattie Ink camo kit. Zero chafing, perfect fit. Do recommend.



Gear: Cervelo P5 Six Di2, 11/25 cassette, Reynolds 72 Aero front, Zipp Super 9 clincher rear, Speedfil rear and front hydration systems, SpeedPlay Zero pedals, Fizik shoes (Balaga wool socks), ISM Adamo Prologue seat, Kask Bambino helmet, orange-tint wind visor. Wattie Ink "Camp Contender" tri kit.

The wind looks so calm in a still photo...

The wind looks so calm in a still photo...

I felt phenomenal coming out of the water. My legs were springy and I bounded to T1. Last year, I took my time in T1. This year, I was very efficient and out in less than five minutes. If I wasn't fiddling with some food options it would have been closer to four. Nothing I'd really do different here though. I took my time while going fast, sitting down even at the changing tent to put on socks and shoes, taking a deep breath, and allowing the sunblock volunteers to slather me.

Once on the bike, I immediately knew it was going to be a challenging day. The winds picked up just leaving Rio Salado near SunDevil Stadium and didn't relent until the Beeline Highway turnaround 15-plus miles later. "Manage the race," I literally said out loud to myself multiple times. 

That morning, I predicted I'd hit around 1:50:00 per loop and when I came in at 1:46:00 with a pee break on the bike I was pleased. But things were not as they seemed. Like in 2010, I wasn't able to eat solid foods without feeling bloated. I tried a gel instead and actually had some light vomit issues while pedaling. That's never happened to me before. I powered right through, because, well, I had no choice.

Saying hi to the Fortius crew and heading back out into the wind. Hiding my GI discomfort.

Saying hi to the Fortius crew and heading back out into the wind. Hiding my GI discomfort.

I can't stress enough the power of positive self-talk. Instead of getting down about the winds, feeling my bike PR slip away or worry about my nutrition, I focused on the things that were going well. Even the smallest of things like grabbing a water bottle on the go at an aid station. I'd say something to myself aloud like, "That was really efficient. Nicely done!" I did this throughout the bike portion when I was losing focus or even if things were going well. It helped me remain present, and I stayed on track for most of the duration even as my watts dipped below my desired .70 intensity factor.

I even remember thinking to myself how much I enjoyed the challenges the race was presenting as it kept me thinking over and over, "Work the problem." It felt like solving a mystery instead of absently looking at a watch to maintain a constant wattage. Working the problem led me to ingest some Pepto Bismal pills to calm my stomach, and that helped almost immediately. While my overall mental strategy was effective, maybe I needed to snap out of my happy place more often and return to my normal racing Beast Mode?

Looking back, I'm torn about my IMAZ bike riding. My second and third bike loop splits were unimpressive and don't reflect my true cycling capabilities. I turned in a smooth, controlled effort (1.03 VI) but I could and should have pushed harder up the highway in the wind knowing I'd be able to rest and recharge with the free speed back into town. But.. I managed the race well considering all I could eat for 5.5 hours was 1.5 Bonk Breakers, banana, gel, a quarter of a bagel with almond butter, and one packet of Gu Chomps along with drinking six bottles of Fluid Performance with honey. In other words, I made strategic decisions based on the signals my body was sending back to me. Not sexy, but effective.


Gear: Newton BoCo AT shoes w/ Yankz lacing system, Fortius Racing hat, Oakley Jackets, Balaga wool socks

Like most people finishing a 112-mile bike ride, I was relieved to rid myself of my bike, especially flat-tire free. There were many scattered along the side of the road changing tires, and I truly felt bad for them.

My T2 was under two minutes, and that was with sitting down to put on shoes, calmly reach for some gels and have sunscreen applied. Slow can be fast when it comes to transitions. Once on my feet, the first two miles of any triathlon run, to me, are the most stressful. You have no idea how your legs are going to respond and can only hope for the best. I was especially nervous after Ironman Silverman 70.3, where I experienced leg cramps even while putting on shoes in T2. Mentally, that's like running on egg shells. All I can do is focus on breathing, posture, cadence, and feel what's happening to me physically. Control the controllables, as they say. Fortunately, my pace quickened easily as did my heart rate. I was easily able to drift into the desired sub-8 minute miles while keeping my heart rate in a low aerobic state, and remained there for almost the first half-marathon. I couldn't believe how smooth everything felt. I was truly having fun in an Ironman, especially when Wattie Ink's own fabled Eurostar smacked me HARD on the ass along the riverfront. The concept of not having fun sounds foolish as this whole thing is supposed to be a hobby. But when your gut is bothering you, your feet hurt, you're suffering from a mild, dull headache and think that you won't be done for another 24 is hard to come by.

Coming out of T2, hoping for the best. Only 26 miles to go!

Coming out of T2, hoping for the best. Only 26 miles to go!

However, while my run was just starting to unfold nicely, I had already made the second-biggest mental mistake of the day. Coming out of T2, I looked at my watch and noticed, for the first time all day, that my overall time was 6:47:10. Doing the math quickly in my head, I knew I couldn't break 10 hours as hoped. Even if I had put it out of my head before the sun rose (mistake Number One), the spark of my dream was still lit. Until that moment, of course. Not once did I think, "Well, if I run a 3:30:00 marathon I can still come in eight minutes ahead of my PR from 2013. I didn't set an aggressive goal for myself, instead I just resigned to missing my top mark and hoped I had good run legs underneath me. By making that choice, or lack thereof, I failed to challenge myself to greatness. I "settled" and merely hoped for a solid marathon, and to pass as many people along the way as I could. The reason I did this was simple: I didn't want to fail. I knew I needed to cross the finish line to validate my ongoing quest for a future Legacy slot if I can't qualify for Kona on my own. It is no longer acceptable to think that way. Period. 

The worry over being "safe" limited my vision to be great. I took no chances throughout the entire day. I managed my race and finished with my best Ironman placement ever. But for what? Why? Is finishing an Ironman the mark of greatness, or is the mark of greatness picking a seemingly impossible goal and pushing to the limits of our physical and mental abilities to achieve it? Even if you fail, you've tried for something gallant, something bold and daring. The reward is worth the risk. Ask Mirinda Carfrae.

Back to the race. From the first mile, I was bloated from the bike ride. No food sounded good, so I focused entirely on water and Coke at each aid station. Within four miles, my stomach tightness was gone, but my appetite hadn't arrived. Around mile 12, I began to fade. Aid station pauses turned to full-on walking. My pace slowed by almost a minute per hour. Still, I honestly never panicked. "Work the problem. Work the problem," I thought. I was running with gels in each hand, along with electrolyte tablets just in case. I popped some pills, tried a gel, slammed a banana and a quarter of an orange. It took five miles to pick my pace back up, and that was mostly thanks to seeing Christophe trot by looking strong and fresh. I knew he was coming for me and I needed to pick up the speed. This actually led to my favorite part of the marathon, miles 20-26. Honestly, who thinks the last six miles are the best?! Certainly it was my first time thinking that. Yet, I had the energy to run through aid stations entirely, and without cramps. I was 100% focused on passing as many people as possible, as was my strategy throughout the day. Since I knew my PR wasn't going to be hit (so I thought), all I cared about was eating people up on the course. And I did, to the tune of 18 age-group competitors in the marathon alone.

Is finishing an Ironman the mark of greatness, or is the mark of greatness picking a seemingly impossible goal and pushing to the limits of our physical and mental abilities to achieve it?

I rounded the right turn on Ash Avenue prior to making the left onto Rio Salado. It felt so much easier than last year, when all I kept humming to myself was "Carry me home tonight" from that F.U.N. song.  An uncontrollable grin began to emerge. Still, I had no idea what my overall time was for the day. I hadn't looked once since switching my Garmin watch mode to pace, lap time and heart rate. While I began my fist-pumping elation, letting loose all the pent-up emotion from the day and last several months of training, I saw the clock: 10:25:40. My PR was 10:25:36. My marathon PR had been 3:53 the year prior. On this day it was 3:39:46. 

I didn't even care. To hit nearly the same time as last year under markedly different conditions was enough in that moment. Final time: 10:26:01. Except this year, I finished nine places higher in my age group than last year, and nearly 100 places higher overall.

A salty, exhausted, happy mess.

A salty, exhausted, happy mess.

Post-Race Thoughts

It may seem like I'm disappointed in my performance. I am not. I'm grateful to participate in a sport where I can learn such insightful lessons by testing myself physically and mentally. This race was necessary to experience before I could possibly challenge myself to push beyond conventional wisdom for a transcendent result. The kind of result that exceeds my own expectations because I dared myself to dig deeper and go faster when I think there's no capability to do so. If I want to qualify for Kona, I can't look at a weather report on race day morning and decide a top 10 or better placement is not possible. Managing the race is a nice thing to do when you're simply trying to have a good race, a nice race. But GREAT races require greater commitment, no matter the conditions or circumstances. I am now prepared, more than any other point in my training, to become great, and prepared for the sacrifices that greatness will require.

I will learn. I will evolve. And I will improve.

My Fortius teammate Ryan has a megawatt smile that just makes you want to smile too. Ryan was one of the folks who planned to race Ironman Lake Tahoe and moved to IMAZ after that race got cancelled. Glad I got to be there at the finish with him after I bundled up due to some shivering post-race.

My Fortius teammate Ryan has a megawatt smile that just makes you want to smile too. Ryan was one of the folks who planned to race Ironman Lake Tahoe and moved to IMAZ after that race got cancelled. Glad I got to be there at the finish with him after I bundled up due to some shivering post-race.

Special Thanks

My parents and father in law attended IMAZ this year, along with my biggest cheerleader and best friend, Stephanie. She happens to be my wife too, which is rad. To have that kind of support crew on hand, as well as a very special friend in Russ...that was awesome. Thank you for helping me create an unforgettable memory.

My Fortius Coaching family was outstanding in their support too. Coach Gerardo helped deliver me to the finish line healthy and ready to race well despite a very busy summer filled with travel and illness. This has been my most successful race season, results-wise. Thank you, G.

Fortius annual pre-race dinner at Oregano's in Tempe.

Fortius annual pre-race dinner at Oregano's in Tempe.

Representing Wattie Ink on the course was a special honor. The team had recently trimmed its roster by 1/3 and more than 500 applicants applied to the 2015 squad. To be selected for a second year meant so much to me. Almost to the point of a separate blog post on its own. Wattie Ink sponsors Herbalife, ISM saddles, Speedfil, Reynolds wheels, PowerBar, TriBike Transport, and BlueSeventy all played major roles in my race.

Gerry Rodrigues and the school of amazing fish at Tower 26 kindled a passion for swimming I never knew existed. I truly look forward to 5 a.m. wakeups now to swim with some of the most dedicated athletes in SoCal. I can't wait to see what kind of progress I make in the water next season.

Corey Enman at Fitamorphosis Fit Body Boot Camp whipped my body and mind into shape the last several weeks with some terrific tri-specific strength training sessions. I valued our laughing together as much as the workouts themselves. Ben Kleinbrodt, my longtime chiropractor, helped manage some misalignment issues in my back the last few weeks and I was pain-free on race day. Efren Jimenez kept my my muscles feeling smooth and that's why he's the top-rated massage therapist in Burbank.

There are three additional people I'd like to thank behind the scenes. Jason McFaul (who qualified for Kona in my age group at IMAZ '14), Caleb Sponholtz, and Gary Michelson have become good friends and mentors, but more importantly, people I just generally look up to. They send me motivational text messages, challenge me to think differently about my training and racing, and inspire me with their performances. Each helped me break through some big barriers this season. I'll be training more with Jason and Caleb this winter and can't wait. Gary, I'm ready to run with you too!

Finally, I'd like to acknowledge someone who won't be reading this post, but who lives on with me in spirit. Ethan Weiss passed away about a week before IMAZ. I wanted to honor him with a strong race and I kept him in mind all week, almost losing my composure on the walk to the race that morning. I think the wind had something to do with him messing with me, which is something Ethan would have done. Then, he would have shaken my hand at the finish line and said, "Way to go, Kid." I'll greatly miss him.

Honored virtual big brother Ethan on my race shoes. 

Honored virtual big brother Ethan on my race shoes. 

The offseason is here...for a week. Then, we begin training for 2015. The hunt for Kona continues.

Just a Little Patience

Music has played a fairly profound role in my training and racing since I began my triathlon journey several years ago. This blog was started because of a U2 song, "Walk On."  For my first Ironman, I couldn't get the song "Map of the Problematique" by Muse out of my head. I was drawn to the drama and the sense of struggle in the song. 

Like many, I draw strength or inspiration from powerful lyrics and crescendos. But it also takes having an open mind to that kind of input for it to be a positive force in your training. Which leads me to a rather odd sequence of events last week. Over the span of two days, I heard Guns N' Roses' "Patience" four times. Twice in immediate back to back plays on two different stations on the dial. What's that all about?

At first, I thought this was a strange coincidence.  Then, I couldn't help but wonder if the universe wasn't sending me a message for my upcoming Ironman this Sunday. "Just a little patience. ..." Hmmm. 

Patience for what though? Patience for anticipating the race in just over a week? Patience for waiting to see if I made the 2015 Wattie Ink roster, which will be announced shortly? Patience for letting the race unfold as it's meant to and not dictating my own terms?

Hell, maybe it was just Axel Rose's birthday weekend?!

I spent way more time than I ought to admit mulling this likely inconsequential tidbit. Ultimately, I settled on the kind of patience I need to call upon. Patience on the run. My coach and I think I have a 3:30-3:35 marathon in me, a 20-plus minute improvement from IMAZ last year. However, to achieve that goal I need to start slow and work my way into that 8-minute pace and eventually build to a 7:30 pace. If I start too fast and force the pace, I'll likely pay the price.

I know I would have learned this lesson on my own in training, but it's those quiet moments like when you're driving to or from a workout that matter just as much to get your head prepared for race day. My coach has been touting meditation lately and I think just being quiet with your mind -- even if there's music playing in the background -- does indeed play a role in improving performance. 

Now let's see if all this Patience talk can turn Tempe into Paradise City.

Triathlon Memento


Yesterday, I had a terrific 110-mile ride and kinda solid 2.8 mile run afterwards. Only problem is, I can't prove it. My Garmin 910XT crapped out on me again. And I didn't use Strava mobile as a backup, like an idiot.

I can share that I averaged almost 19.5 mph (first 30 minutes were sub-15 mph warmup) without hardly straying into my tempo heartrate zone three even with an hour-long head-crosswind from miles 75-95. I think. Or at least that's how I felt. Since I took a blood lactate threshold test a couple weeks ago, I changed my power training zones, dutifully staying within them on this long ride and felt great. I'm pretty sure I was reaching a bit with my previous estimated FTP and my new settings felt natural, doable and most important, comfortable for an Ironman pace.

Now, I'm left trying to find additional clues WHY my ride went so well, without actually having any proof that it did. It's like trying to solve a murder mystery without a body, but instead of a body we're looking for heaps of candy -- which is a whole lot nicer.

Below is what I think led to my ride being a "success" -- at least in my own mind. So often we try to figure out what went wrong. How often do we look back to replicate what went right?

First, what's the statute of limitations when it comes to a contributing factor to a successful workout? A day before? Week? Longer? I'm going to stick with 24 hours in this case. 


  • After a Tower 26 swim, instead of going straight to my long run I listened to my body and ate a massive breakfast consisting of granola pancakes, eggs and sausage. Proper fueling.
  • During my long run, which commenced just before noon, I chose a course where I could replace a water bottle and grab a quick snack 2/3 of the way through the workout. Proper fueling. (I did experiment with chia seed-infused water, and that's something I may need to try again before deciding if it works. So far, the report is no-go for race day.)
  • During my long run, I stayed mostly within my prescribed heart rate zones, though I did over-exert myself the last 15 minutes. Mostly proper pacing.
  • After my long run, I immediately drank a recovery shake from Whole Foods, along with a sandwich. I'm not always the best at eating within 30 minutes of a workout. This day, I was. I also popped a Herbalife 24 "Restore" pill to reduce muscle inflammation. Proper recovery.
  • Despite literally losing four pounds from the run, I was able to put the weight back on with two dinners, and slept a little more than seven hours. Proper recovery.


  • My friend Christophe and I chose a bike route that simulated Ironman Arizona's course and allowed for a well-timed refueling stop.
  • I packed plenty of nutrition, including five bottles of sports drink (six would have been better), several Bonk Breakers, a coconut water, banana and bagel with peanut butter for my simulated "special needs" stop. Proper fueling. I literally ate almost everything I packed over the 3,300-calorie ride, including four Bonk Breakers, two Honey Stinger waffles, bagel, all five bottles and the coconut water. Total estimated calories consumed: 1,800.
  • Before the ride, I ate a bowl of oatmeal with almonds, raisins, peanut butter and cinnamon. My usual pre-ride breakfast. I've been adding Herbalife 24  "Prepare" powder to a glass of water before big workouts, and that definitely gives me a kick. Proper fueling, again.
  • I wore my Kask Bambino aero helmet, minus the wind visor. Unlike Ironman 70.3 Silverman, I didn't feel like I was overheating. Proper preparation.
  • I rode my own ride, staying within my watts goals for zone 2 and 3. No pressure to over-exert myself. Proper pacing.
  • Related, I replaced my power meter battery and used EKG gel on my heart rate strap to correct for wildly inaccurate heart rate readings lately. More accurate data led to proper pacing.

Today, I woke up having slept nine hours. While I can feel yesterday's ride and run, I'm not sore. Gerardo told me to skip the previously scheduled bike ride today to focus more on recovery, though I have a strength session with Corey at lunch. I'm actually looking forward to it.

So, Sherlock Holmes... I'm not. But I don't need to be either. Proper fueling + proper pacing + proper recovery = strong performance. It doesn't have to be complicated. Simplify, man!

Performance reflects preparation. 




Of Cornfields and Wolves

That's a gold-medal mustache right there.

That's a gold-medal mustache right there.

Mark Spitz had to swim 21 times in the 1972 Munich Olympics en route to winning his seven gold medals -- all world records. Nobody, not even Michael Phelps, has won seven golds on seven world records before.

Towards the end of Spitz' record-setting performance, going into his seventh gold medal final, he was exhausted mentally and physically. The problem though was his last performance needed to be his best, in his least-preferred event: the 100 freestyle. In fact, Spitz finished last in that very event in the 1968 Games. As Spitz arrived to the pool that day, he noticed a column of arched balloons, which reminded him of almost the exact same sight he had in Mexico City where he suffered in the 100 free. His mind was racing, and he considered pulling out.

Spitz' coach had other plans, telling him that if he didn't swim the 100, people would question his toughness and he would't be able to say he was the fastest swimmer in the world. Typically, the 100 freestyle is the marker for that honor. 

On the pool deck before the finals, Spitz had a flashback to how fast he swam the 100 free in Sacramento during the US Olympic Trials heading into the '72 Games.  At our Tower 26 beach swim earlier this week in Santa Monica, Spitz said the pool was basically surrounded by a cornfield. And that's just what he pictured in his head in the moments before the swim. He took himself someplace else mentally. The race was in Germany, but Spitz felt he was in California.

During the finals race, Spitz told us he felt terrible, "like a grand piano had been dropped on me." But he realized that if he felt that way, "everyone else probably feels like they have three pianos on them." So he surged forward and ahead towards the final wall.  Nobody caught him, or came close. He won gold. Again. And retired.

I never would have known that story had I not dragged myself out of bed early to hear Spitz speak at our sunrise swim. What a reward! What valuable information! I'm a big believer in training the brain for success. Every day. I'd say my biggest gains in triathlon are not physical in nature at all, in fact. But that comes from constant mental training. I try to keep my mind "open" for every workout, trying earnestly to only allow in positive thoughts, sounds or images that staple themselves to my subconsciousness. I don't always succeed, especially if you read my post heading into Ironman 70.3 Silverman. But I have at least learned how to block out the negative and focus on the positive. It just takes some time.

To that end, Tower 26 swim coach Gerry Rodrigues relayed a story he's telling his kids about two wolves that live within all of us. The Good Wolf, and the Bad Wolf. Obviously, the Good Wolf protects you while the Bad Wolf tears you up and down.  Gerry said his son asked him which wolf wins in a battle, to which he responded, "whichever wolf you feed."


I have fed both wolves in the past, and I can confidently say that after five years of ups and downs racing...the good wolf is here to stay. One way to feed the Good Wolf is to employ what Gerry calls the "three-second rule." Don't let any negative thoughts stay with you for more than three seconds at a time. Sounds easier said than done, no? I've got an Ironman Arizona build weekend tomorrow and Sunday with a long swim, run and ride. I'll have plenty of time to feed the Good Wolf and fend off the other one who shall not be named.

What's your cornfield?