Race Report: Devil's Challenge Triathlon

When I got out of the car on Saturday morning, just after 6am and with the world an inky blue as the sun considered its rise, it was 34 degrees. Thirty. Four. Degrees. Only crazy people play this game.

Some guys were tossing cardboard and whatever else they coud find that would burn into one of the campfire pits dotting the area, and as athletes huddled around it while others registered or quickly shed clothing to be body-marked, ice fishing came to mind. I had my winter coat on, stocking hat, winter gloves. So did almost everybody else, and as the quiet mumble of early-morning transition opening turned into the gradual murmur of more and more of us showing up, the sun showed up to glaze brilliant this Devil's Lake and its rugged shores.

I could see my breath as I quietly got to setting up transition, listening to my headphones and finding my own zone. My buddy Mike walked around snapping pictures of the lake. It was awesome - smoke rose off of it like a Thriller video, thick and mysterious, and I commented that if it was this foggy out there I might not be able to see the buoys. Transition was getting full now and very busy, and as the sun's rays found the spaces between the forests the morning warmed a little. There was no wind whatsoever, the lake was glass, and all-in-all, cold nor no, I thought it was a good morning to be a crazy person.

I was in Wave 5, and as I was there so early - as usual - I parked 'Blue at the very end of the rack. The bike would be nearly immediately in front of me when I came in off the swim, but I'd have a long run through transition to get to the bike out. Coming in from the bike would be a breeze, but I'd again have a long run out to get into the run. About an hour before gametime I shed my winter clothing for a quick warm-up jog. And, sun or no sun, it was cold.

The day would be spent (with apologies to Erin, in head-to-toe Ironman regalia. I didn't mean for that - I had planned to wear my favorite Headsweats hat, which is Ironman logo'd. But when such a cold day presented itself, I decided to wear my best cold-weather running jacket, which happens to be my Ironman Finisher's jacket. Add to it this conversation the night before, when my phone rang around 9pm or so:

Cuz'n Erin: So. We wearing our shirts tomorrow?
Meaning the Team shirts from Ironman '06. With her, my aunt & uncle, Amy and Mike all coming to support me at the race, and all having been at Ironman, all were wardrobe ready.
Me: Yeah...I don't think so. Just wear, y'know, whatever. Dress warm, it'll be cold.
CznE: ...(Incredulous) You mean we're NOT wearing our shirts?
Me: Hey! Whatever! Sure! Whatever you guys wanna do!
CznE: Well, I mean, we HAVE them, we might as well WEAR them, don't you think?
Me: Sure...ah...I have an extra one here for Mike (Who was visiting and probably didn't think to pack his Team Ironman '06 t-shirt...) and...um...Amy can wear the extra one I had for me last year, since she's, y'know, great with child.
CznE: Awesome. See you tomorrow.

And so, sufficiently M-Dotted, I trounced around Devil's Lake State Park, trying to assess just how cold the day would have it for me on the bike and run. I felt good, though. Legs felt strong, and I felt race ready.

Finally it was time to get into my wetsuit and head down to the water. Determined to stay as warm as I could for as long as I could, I rocked the wetsuit with my winter coat over it, stocking hat, shoes and socks. Required dress code for crazy people.

The sun was bright on the shore of Devil's Lake, though, and the warmth had made the morning much more inviting. I watched as the first two waves went, then, as the third wave prepared, decided it was time to get in and warm up a bit. I handed Mike my impressive winter attire and headed to the water. I expected it to be warm - or at least to feel warm - since the air was so cold. And while it wasn't freezing...it wasn't all that comfortable, either. The cold of it took my breath for a moment when I first submerged, and I worked to alleviate the shock, get my body acclimated and ready for exercise in these less-than-ideal conditions.

As I walked up to join my wave as it finally prepared to start the race, I passed by CznE, who'd just arrived, and gave her a cold wetsuit hug. "You're wet," she pointed out helpfully. Amy was right behind her - truly gigantic now with 8 weeks to go - and then my aunt & uncle. I gave them all a quick hello before crossing the timing mat and getting ready to race.

No luxury of the first wave this time, and I could tell by the look and stance of the guys around me that these were players - I'd be able to test my mettle a bit. My strategies were carried over from the week previous - swim hard and fearless, surge when I could to draft off of stronger swimmers, and go as hard as I could for as long as I could. The course was one-way - we'd swim out to a turn buoy, turn left into the sun for most of the length of the swim, then left again into shore.

I positioned myself on the inner left side, to give me the shortest distance to the buoy. The horn went off, and it was gametime.

I burst off the shore, ahead of my competition, running into the water until mid-thigh high. Then a quick dolphin dive before running a few more yards. Another dolphin dive. One more short jog and it was in the water for the rest of the swim. I had no sensation of if it was cold, or uncomfortable, or if it mattered. Soon I found myself on the giving end of the washing machine - swimming over swimmers in front of me, plowing through flailing legs and thighs and arms. I felt great. I zipped past a few swimmers before finding myself parallel with some kind of shark-dude as we stretched towards the first turn-buoy. He was a missle, and I drafted off of his right knee for as long as I could, until the turn came and separated us.

After the turn I found my stride again, and as the field spread out I sighted every second or third stroke, through the lingering mist and into the sun at the turn buoy in the distance. This is awesome. I had no sense of my placement or position in the world, I just knew I was working very hard, and swimming as fast as I could. I finally settled in, and tried to just keep a steady form and pace. When I felt a little more rested, I'd surge. Then, I'd swim. Then, I'd surge. But always moving as quickly forward as I could. At one point I passed a guy who had stopped up in the middle of it all to get his bearings, or catch his breath, or whatever. He was darting around swimmers, searching for some open water. I quickly and vividly remembered being that guy - scared witless from the madness of my first open water race, out of breath too soon, overcome with fear and intimidation.

Left at the last turn buoy, and straight ahead to shore as hard as I could. I didn't sight as often now, confident of my general direction. Through the clear, cool water I could see the ground rising slowly beneath me, and finally I moved vertical again to run out of the water. Almost immediately I tripped up, stubbing my left foot on a rock, shredding a toenail (the problems of which wouldn't become obvious until the run, and the pain of which not until later). Finally out of the water, and I ran past the cheering spectators, including my familiar, God blessed Team, into Transition.

According to the results, I swam .25 in 8:12. This would give me a meandering pace of 2:02. Not that I'm not fully capable of a meandering pace of 2:02...but I'm again questioning the distance of the swim. That just seems really slow for how fast I felt like I was swimming, and some quick spreadsheet work (you know already I'm a geek, stop looking at me like that) tells me that the 3rd-15th swimmers in my age group averaged about 8:05, which is a 2:00/100yard pace. That feels too slow an overall pace to me for .25 miles. I'm not sure if maybe the long run to transition counted as part of the swim (we crossed another mat going into transition), or if maybe the straight-away was .25 miles but the swim to and back from the turn buoys maybe weren't counted, or what. I realize that, for claiming to not be a numbers guy, using the word "spreadsheet" marks me a hypocrit, but really it's just about trying to quantify what all the training meant as far as measurable speed. And, it's frustrating when you feel you can't really be sure of the course. It's why I think the only wholesale comparisons you can make as far as swim performance is on the same course year to year - so, if I improve on this distance at this race next year, that'll mean something. Lifetime and Ironman I trust, because there's real money involved for the winners. For the small local race, though, I think sometimes it's just a crapshoot.

But, all that said, that'll be my only real criticism of the race, and it's out of my control anyway, so who cares. I felt great, I had a strong swim, and I held ground pretty well with the overall faster swim times in my age group. Can't complain about that.

I cruised into Transition, then, after a pretty long jog around the entire length of the transition area. My wetsuit was not glued to my ankles this time, and with no exceptional drama I had my shoes on, jacket zipped, and was escorting 'Blue back the entire length of transition to the Bike Out. Finally to the mat in 2:35 (most of it running around), I mounted up and headed out.

My shoes wouldn't clip in - the ground was soft, and my cleats were clogged with mud and grass. How irritating. Finally, though, I was able to stomp down and clip in. A right turn here, a left turn there, and we were leaving the crowds behind us and heading out on the course. I reached into my pockets and pulled out my full-fingered gloves, using my teeth to snag them onto my fingers.

As I settled in and willed my heart rate to fall, I considered my strategies for the bike course. Ride hard, push always. Maybe I'll average 20, 21, heck, 22 mph today. Maybe I'll -

Then I turned the corner and beheld the herd of spandex before me. Those familiar, imagine this: Take the first two Bitch Hills at Ironman, and lay them together as one length and one single climb. This was the gist of it - a pretty steady climb, between a 6 and 8 percent grade, that just went on and on and on. I sighed in resignation, threw away lofty time goals (best to be unshackled from them, anyway), and thanked God for my compact crankset. Away we went.

I love people new to the game. They have a special place in my heart. I love that they're here, I love that some of them will do this again and again, that this will become part of their lives, that they're jumping aboard. Love it. I have tremendous respect for them, and I cheer them on and want good things for them. But with so many at these short distance races, I'm learning that there are some basics that I think they're not being told in course previews and race meetings. Like - stay on the right side of the road. Don't ride 4 or 5 or 8 across in the lane. And if you need to get off your bike and climb the rest of the uphill, feel free - but try and slide over to the right side before you do, and don't just up and stop in the middle of the lane. The entire intial climb was spent, in addition to the natural difficulty presented by a pretty long hill - avoiding all kinds of carnage. It was nearly comedic. People are hopping off mountain bikes in droves. Some guy behind me with a roaring disc wheel and aero-helmet circus hat came blaring ahead of me, shrieking, "People! Stay to your right! Please move to your right!" I saw some woman standing helplessly by the wide of the road, staring at her bike, eyes glazed. It was a tough first mile to the bike course, and a tough way to be introduced to the game for the first timers.

Finally cresting the hill, I checked to see that we had climbed 1.6 miles. I had enough time to catch my breath before beginning the descent, maybe 3/4 of the length of the original climb, and with potential for some impressive speeds. But, with still more riders strewn haplessly here and there, and me not entirely confident in their experience or abilities to stay the course, I was tapping my brakes the whole way down, sometimes slowing dramatically for other riders, passing precariously.

This went on twice more, in immediate succession - an incredibly long uphill climb, then a dramatic descent, then another climb. I never felt too bad on the climbs - my legs were never screaming, I was never tempted to get out of my saddle, never miserable or swearing under my breath. By the top of the 3rd climb a lot of the immediate crowds had dispersed a bit, and there was more breathing room to ride. At 15 minutes, I had a glance at my clock - at a 20mph pace, I'd be at 5 miles at the 15 minute mark. Alas, I had only ridden 3.6. It was going to be a tough morning on the bike.

Finally we reach a turnaround, and got to do the last of the 3 initial hills again, only in reverse. This is where I first encountered Five-O-Five. I was climbing the hill going the other way when I passed him, dressed in a yellow and black riding jacket. On the opposite descent, he passed by me in a blur. I saw a "4" tattooed to his left calf, and knew by the "5" I wore on my own that we weren't in the same age group, and he'd been in the swim wave ahead of me. As we finally turned off of this initial slow and long roller coaster, we stayed back and forth like this, even down a mile-long, very Garfoot-ish descent that finally allowed me open up and roll at 40mph. The day was crisp but not too cold (I was dressed right), the sun was bright, the air was nearly totally still, and me and 'Blue were riders once more. What a wonderful life.

Five-O-Five and I engaged the rest of the way, he passing me, then me passing him. Sometimes he'd ride by so fast and strong that I thought for sure that was his final pull away, only to somehow be right at my side again 3 minutes later. "I just can't lose you!" He'd say, and I'd acknowledge with a simple, "Yep!" The descents got more frequent as the ride went on, and we were gaining what ground and time we could from the difficult first 5 miles.

Finally we re-entered the cheerful crowds and spectators, and as we headed down the last hill I took my feet out of my shoes and prepared for T2 as I crossed the mats in 55:38. My spot was just off the T2 entrance this time, so I quickly tossed my bike gear and grabbed what I needed for the run. I saw Five-O-Five running ahead of me, on the other end of transition and onto the mats as I departed 'Blue and ran to the opposite end and onto the run, crossing the mats in 1:06.

The goal for the run: Sub 7:00/mile pace. I really, really wanted this. It was a numbers objective, yes, but in a Sprint race the numbers objectives are kind of fun, and besides this had nothing really to do with the race, so much as a personal mission I've been on through training. I thought I had it in me - or at least I hoped I did; in training, I'll never have occasion to ride as hard as I possibly can for 15 miles and then see if I can break 7:00/miles for a 3.1 mile run. So the training has to come down to race day. I didn't know if the brutal climbs had taxed my legs too far, or what to expect. But I wanted it, so I was determined to chase it.

I checked my watch right away and locked into a 7:00/mile pace, feeling it out and deciding it was comfortable. As I turned to head out of the crowds and onto the course, there was the Team, all together and chanting my last name, same as they did that cold and wet day on State Street. Same blue shirts, same excited grins, my aunt Pat with the same hopping, trotting, running-in-place thing she does, as though she's trying to run the race for me. I smiled huge and high-fived them all as I ran by. Pretty cool of them, to get up so early on such a cold morning. Geez, we've heard me say those words before, eh?

The first mile - in fact, the entire run - had no serious hills, but there were a lot of short interruptions that forced me to work hard and slowed me down. I was entirely dedicated to this sub 7 goal of mine, and was discouraged when about 3/4 of a mile in I could feel a pebble underneath my middle toe on my left foot - the sticky ground must have glued it to my sock in transition or something. I ran for a bit, determining if I could make it the whole race with it in there, but it was really aggravating. Shiiiit. I checked my watch and saw that I'd slowed to a dismal 8:19/mile pace. Dammit! I quickly pulled over to the side of the trail and, hopping on one foot, tried to empty my shoe. I kept my eye on the guy I'd just been following to I could catch back up to him, and some guy ran by me and said, "There's nothing in your shoe, you just can't feel your feet!", and we all laughed. The pebble had been pressing my (heretofore unknown to me) shredded toe (from stubbing my toe coming in from the swim) up into my shoe, and there was the stop-and-fix-it discomfort I was feeling. The pebble gone and my shoe replaced, I sprinted to catch up to my original position. As the first mile ticked by I checked my time - 7:31. Sonuva. I'd dug myself into an early hole and had little time to get out.

I knew enough not to go chasing it all at once, so I steadily increased my pace to the 6:40's and hung there. Soon, though, we were on a long, slow, bending incline that would take us most of the half-mile left to the turnaround point. The run course had us going through a circular campground, and campers eyed us suspiciously, huddled under blankets and sipping steaming coffee. We were, after all, crazy people.

My pace was right around 7:00 for the entire incline, and as I passed Five-O-Five for the final time that day, I wasn't racing anybody but me. I held hope that, since the turnaround was head, I'd get to make up for this incline by running downhill half a mile and maybe making up some time. Coming back the other way, then, I was clocking the 6:40's again, careful not to blow up, wanting to save what I could for the last mile. Still, I knew I needed more than this - that I wouldn't cut it if I didn't find some speed. Just before the 2 mile mark, I let it go, and was cruising for awhile in the 6:30's. I checked my watch for some quick math - I might just make it. If I don't run into any more hills that'll slow me down, I could just do this!

No sooner did I think it, though, than a short but steep incline presented itself, and I cursed as I threw myself up it as fast as I could. Still, even 30 seconds at a late 7-something, early 8-something pace was more than I had time for. On the other end of the hill, with about .6 miles to go, I threw down.

The last .4 miles or so seemed to take forever, and I kept waiting for the turn-off back into the crowds and transition area, when I knew I'd just burn whatever I had left. Finally it came, and I checked my watch one last time. I didn't think I had enough time. It would be close, but from here on out I wouldn't check it - I'd just run. I heard the Team cheering for me and tried to give them a fist, but hoped they'd forgive me for trying instead to chase this elusive Seven. Amy yelled, "Get him, baby, get him!" as the guy in front of me threw on his afterburners and I torched my own. Down the finish chute now, and I was concentrating on turning over my legs, go, go, GO GO, the runner in front of me as good a rabbit as any to chase, but the finish line drawing too close for me to catch him. Give me twenty more yards, I thought...

I threw myself across the Finish mats, stumbling to the volunteer who dispatched the timing chip from my ankle, my lungs burning, my quads screaming, pretty sure I was about to throw up. I've never chased the finish line like that before, and it felt pretty good. I felt good about my training for that, too - it's something I've been working on, conditioning my body to go hard at the end, even when it hurts. My heart rate finally came down, and I stood up to walk around with my hands resting atop my head, trying to suck in breath. As I watched the Team approach me from their station near the finish chute, I checked my watch.

Goal: 21:45.
Actual: 21:55.
Pace: 7:04/mile

Ack.

My reaction then, as now: Oh well.

Don't think I won't catch you, Seven. Someday, I'll catch you.

Final stats, for you scoring at home:

Total Time: 1:29:24. 15/71 AG, 82/440 Men, 88/736 overall.

The Team arrived and we hugged and high-fived, and found a spot in the sun for me to catch my breath and happily recap some of the highlights. I thanked them for coming out, they, like always, thought it was lots of fun, and it felt good to be with them again, a 3rd of the Ironman Force, and to know we were en route once more. Becoming Ironman again. Laying chase, this time I think - I realize a bit after this race, after this strange summer, and as the offseason has begun. Not all the time, and not necessarily chasing numbers - but I have 5ks, 10ks, marathons, Half Irons in front of me this time in Becoming. The only way to get faster, is to go faster. The only way to get stronger, is to be stronger. It's never been long division, after all - just about playing the game as hard as I can play it. I know more now. I wonder what I'll do with the knowledge. I'm excited to find out.



Epilogue

Last week, while on an hour long trail ride with Fyr, a fox darted across the path. Even the foxes have returned. The Becoming has begun again.

Cuz I think it's cool.

I think you'll agree that you don't need to care about football at all to still think this is pretty dope.

Of Volunteering at Ironman

So my job was to to direct traffic, specifically spectators. It wasn't marketed as that - it was marketed that I'd be on the corner of State & Henry, right in front of Noodles & Co. First off, I thought that was cool - being in front of Noodles - because some of my friends sought refuge there last year while waiting for me to come back around and toasted me with my favorite - mac & cheese. Anyway, as far as I was told (I have no memory of where, geographically, anything actually was when I did the race, nor do I know the course or Madison well enough to have a clue), I was right around mile 1ish, and then again at mile 12ish and then 14ish, something like that. So how it works is, athletes are coming in one direction and going in another - my job, on paper, was to keep the athletes moving "to the right of the cones".

What I actually did was stop huge herds of people from blindly stepping into the intersections on their ways around downtown, getting the way of runners. Most people were very sweet, very lovely, totally understanding. Some where odd, and my favorites were the cats on cell phones who, completely oblivious, would just wander right into a runner's lane. Cripes. It was actually very high stress - I'd have to get some people half-way across, then wait for the runners coming the other direction to pass, them send them quickly. Sometimes I'd have to send huge masses going both ways across the intersection, and even my "quickly now, quickly now" would inspire little more than a weird little trot, and I'd always feel horrible when a runner had to break stride. I was extremely busy, and spent 4 hours turning my head constantly, putting my hands up like a traffic cop, directing people everywhere. I seriously hardly had time to get a drink. It was nuts.

But once in awhile there was the occasional break in the action, and especially as the day went on I saw the evolution of athlete traffic - at first very heavy coming one way, then very heavy coming both ways, then very heavy going the other way as most runners began their second half of the marathon. Early on I saw a runner looking very focused behind his sunglasses, wearing a hat with neck-shades on it and a Spiderman jersey. "Run, Bubba Run!" I called to him as he came by, and he looked up, kind of spaced out, then grinned. On his way back I saw him again and ran after him for a minute, telling him how great he looked. Also early on - I can't remember if it was before or after Bubba - I nearly missed Stu as he went by, then called out "Go Stu!" with his back to me - he lifted his arms in triumph.

I looked up during one short break from the madness to see Steve smiling at me - he was looking awesome, really strong. I ran with him for a few moments, screaming in his face as loud as I could, telling him how good he looked before smacking his ass and telling him what a rockstar he was. Later he came back around and I ran with him again, screaming and shouting. I told him his swim was awesome, and that this was it, this was the road to Ironman! I have no idea what else I ever said to these people, I was just overjoyed to see them, utterly happy for them, so glad I saw them and for even a moment shared in their day.

Later I looked up and saw a name I recognized on the back of some yellow shirts, and called out to Erin's team - Chief of Stuff turned around and I reintroduced myself - he didn't recognize me with the hat, he said. He turned around to show me "Chief of Stuff" printed on the back of his shirt - so cool - and introduced me to lots of Erin's friends and her parents, "This is xt4, one of Erin's blogger friends!" Her team, all clad in yellow, looked like they were having a great day, and CoS had things under control. He told me Erin would be coming around in 10 minutes or so, and he chilled with me in the intersection for awhile while I directed traffic. It was really cool - we chatted about how Erin had been doing, and I mentioned that I saw her on the bike that morning in Verona and she was looking great. We talked about who else we'd seen, how else it'd been going for everybody, what the day had been like. Finally Erin came rounding the corner and her team exploded and while I was escorting pedestrians to and fro CoS pointed me out to Erin (who, though, might have confused me for another team-member, since my volunteer shirt was yellow, like her crew's) before I bolted in her direction and ran with her a minute and screamed my face off for her, too. That girl - seriously, I know you've heard it by now, but she had a sensational grin on her face from start to finish. It was totally awesome. The kind of smile where she might start laughing any second. As I slowed and came back to CoS I said, "She's smiling, and for real, and that's all you can ask for at the Ironman." Her team waited at my corner for her to come back around the next few miles, and when she did I chased after her again like an idiot while CoS ran all the way down the street after her, and when he came back he said, "She wants to go out after this!" What?!? Awesome. CoS and I chatted a little more and then he and Erin's crew headed to the next destination. Cool guy, that CoS, one of the highlights of my day. And rumor has it he bought some Total Immersion books lately. Yeah baby.

I didn't see Brazo, or Pharmie, or Wil, or any of the others, but I hoped they were out there doing their thing. Around 8pm somebody came to relieve my shift, and I had about an hour to kill before heading to the Finish Line for medals. My legs were aching a bit after my race the previous day, so I hopped on Fyr - best decision of the day was bringing my bike downtown with me - and cruised around watching more of the race for a bit before heading to the Finish Line to get checked in and organized. Just as I got to the finish area I looked up at the jumbotron to see Bubba crossing the line - awesome! I was about half an hour early, so I sat down in a volunteer tent and rested, checking the internet on my phone for everybody's run splits and progress - so far so good across the board. Thomps showed up while I was chilling out and shook my hand - I was relieving him at the Finish Line, handing out medals. It was crazy to see Ironman behind the scenes like that - the catchers, they have this super smooth system where it's like an assembly line. They catch in two's, taking athletes through the chutes, then go to the back of a constantly moving line to catch more athletes. Everything is really efficient. Just before my shift started Steve crossed the line, and I was able to catch him in the finish chute and give him a hug, telling him, "Well done Ironman!" He seemed how all finishers seem - exhausted, happy, amazed, enthralled.

When my shift started, I was one of 4 medal people. One woman was just a crazy ball of energy all night long, and when we all started getting tired she'd fire us up - she was awesome. It was always very surreal and humbling to place the medal around somebody's neck - it was, honestly, a very important moment for the athlete. You don't want to screw it up. I'd always try to say something congratulatory. Some of the finishers were in great shape, some were hardly able to stand. There were several moments where a wife or girlfriend or husband or friend had somehow made their way back there and asked to place the medal around somebody's neck, and that was always pretty amazing. There were lots of moments like that for me, looking at the finish line from the end-out. We'd see athletes coming all the way down the chute, and you'd see their faces, some of them stumbling, some of them carrying children, some of them dancing and leaping.

I remember thinking, when one woman placed the medal around her boyfriend's neck with a look of, "Well there you go, see? You did it afterall." and a kiss on the lips - everybody here has a story. And I know that's obvious, but when I was an athlete that was peripheral to me. I was aware of it, but unable to be terribly attentive to it. Here, I saw stories unfold. Teach said in her post about how getting one swimmer to the finish line became her life's mission. I'm tapping into that, here - you see these stories in front of you, and you realize how huge this thing is. I don't mean huge in size and scope - those things are obvious but not my point - I mean huge on a human scale, on a personal level, and you want to help. You just want to do whatever you can to help. There are 2200 out there just like me, becoming Ironman, and this was their story unfolding. And they got up to run in the rain, and they missed their children during long rides, and they got divorces and got married and recovered from illness and they worked 60 hour weeks and they turned 65 and they lost 30 pounds and they carried their country's flag and all of it was a chapter in a story. I felt truly blessed, and sometimes even a little uncomortable, to be looking in on those stories when I'd see a husband medal his wife, or a woman cross the line in tears, or a man wobble his way across because by God he has never worked so hard for anything in his life. Some very intimate moments, these. And to get it - to truly get it - you have to realize that the thing he was working so hard for was only represented by this medal being placed around his neck. The medal is only the talisman. The thing he worked for is something else entirely. And sometimes those are just words, you know. Sometimes they're just hollow descriptions and vague metaphors. Not this night. This night the lion's heart was tangible and palpable and totally inspiring.

The whole night was like this, a kind of ongoing highlight reel. When you watch the Ironman videos at the athlete's breakfast or on television and you get a little weepy - honestly the whole night, just like that. Probably you can choose to be clinical about it and just go about the business of seeing somebody stumble across the finish line, but not me. It hit me right here, every time.

I gave everybody a heads up that I had friends crossing the finish line, and we all worked with each other to make sure that if anybody had somebody they knew cross, they'd do the honors. That was another remarkable thing, and I noticed it across all the volunteers, even the aid station people - everybody there wanted to be the one to help the next guy. To be the catcher, do the medal, hand off the hat and t-shirt, whatever it took. You always kind of hoped you got to be next. You always wanted that direct connection with the athletes.

That's the thing about the volunteers, and this isn't self aggrandizing at all because I never really thought of myself as a volunteer all day, just somebody looking through the curtain a bit at Ironman backstage: These people deeply, deeply care about the athlete's experience. You could take these same strangers and put them together in Wal-Mart, and they'd probably have no words for one another. Put them here, in every kind of awkward, half dressed, body fluidish, most vulnerable circumstance, and the kindness and symbiosis is remarkable - the athletes need the volunteers, but the volunteers somehow really need the athletes, and both look for opportunties to demonstrate that, be it with a quick bottle exchange or a "thank you" from a breathless runner. I learned at the Volunteer dinner that there were something like 3200 volunteers. That's, like, 1.3 volunteers per athlete. It's like having a personal escort all day to make sure every single person makes it across the finish line. That's awesome. What a cool thing, that people care. You know, really. Just what a cool thing, on a basic, elementary, human level, that people give a damn about one another so much. Awesome.

Erin crossed the line, smiling as huge as she was the rest of the day, and it was an honor to put the medal around her neck. I can't remember what I said to her, but I'm sure it wasn't worthy of the moment. I saw Pharmie come screaming down - I'd read at Wil's blog that they'd been together after T2, so I wondered if maybe they wouldn't be crossing together, but she was solo. Her eyes were brilliant and a bit wild when she crossed the finish line, and I think until I said, "Pharmie" while placing the medal on her she wouldn't have known it was me. Then very shortly after Wil came across, and she was pretty emotional. Hard fought for, that medal. Good for her.

I was able to go back in the chute then and have a few brief words with Thomps and Steve and Pharmie, snapped some pictures, congratulated them again, heard the briefest points of what will be an epic race report from Pharmie, to be sure.

And then there was Frank. If you don't know: Frank Farrar is 78 years old. A dozen years ago he was told her had 3 months to live. He asked his doctor if he could do a Half Ironman, and his doctor said, "Sure, why not? You're going to die anyway." He was governor of South Dakota once. He's become something of an IMWI legend, and the last few years he did not finish. Last year, in fact, he was about a minute late. This year, at around 16:55, Mike Reilly got the whole crowd chanting "We Want Frank! We Want Frank!" He finally turned the corner in the finish chute and the place. went. nuts. All of us on the other side of the finish line were craning our necks, standing on chairs, whatever we could do to get a better angle. The music came to a halt before a thumping beat came blaring back out with the guitar riff to Black Sabbath's Iron Man. It was straight out of a movie, tell you what. Frank comes stumbling to the finish line - he has a wrapped up left knee, and his gait has him hunched way over into a kind of geez-he's-going-to-fall-right-over position, leaning way over to the side, and before he crosses the Finish Line the guy turns around, takes off his hat and bows to the crowed. Are you kidding me? Total class act. The place is totally insane, absolutely nuts. Hillary Biscayne and the other pro finishers are spraying spectators with champagne. Total chaos, it was beautiful. Frank crosses the line, and he is immediately mobbed by everybody. Media, catchers, officials, they swoop down on him like he's Michael Jordan just sank the winning shot. I'm standing there, saying out loud to nobody at all, "Are you kidding me?" I have a big stupid grin on my face. This is what it's all about baby. This is it. This is the Ironman.

Bits & Pieces:

Overheard, late Saturday night, lying in bed. My hand resting on Amy's stomach, feeling this baby girl flop all around in utero:

Me: Ironman tomorrow.
Amy: Yup. What an amazing day.
Me: I think the weather's going to be great for them.
Amy: I can't believe how cold it was! God it was miserable.
(Quiet then. This happens a lot among us, my family, my friends. We start talking about Ironman last year, then get quiet. Then:)
Amy: Brought your family so much closer together.
Me: It's a great thing.
Amy: A great thing.

Overheard, Sunday in Verona, watching the bikers go by:

Amy: You know, if you're just going to train as hard next year for a Half as you would...
Me (interrupting her): Don't even say it!
Amy: Well I'm just saying if you're going to be gone training a lot anyway...
Me (jumping out of my seat): Do you know what you're saying!? Don't say it! I haven't any willpower at all right now!
Amy (laughing): Well I just want...
Me: No! (settling down). It's not the right time. '09. Don't tempt me. I can't believe the things you say!
Amy: Okay. You're right, '09.

Overheard, Sunday afternoon while volunteering on the run course.

Woman: Did you do the race today?
Me: What?
Woman: I see you have numbers on your leg (from my race the previous day) - did you do the race today and now are volunteering?
Me (Stupified. Pausing to see if she's serious. She is. So:) No. I did not go 140.6 miles in (checking my watch) right around 9 hours and then decide to spend the rest of my day in an intersection directing traffic. But that you think I may have kicks ass, and you're my new favorite person ever.

Random Thoughts:

• Certainly was the year of the aero-helmet, no? Wow. I saw almost as many of those as I did normal helmets. I wonder if one is in my future. I tried one on at the expo, you know. Not that vanity is top of the list when one freely galavants in spandex whenever convenient, but I don't think you're supposed to look like such a dope in a bike helmet as I did those spacey hats.

• What's with flirty spectator women when I'm trying to direct traffic? That was just weird.

• Did you see the Mexican runner who did the ENTIRE RACE in a Nacho Libre mask? That's dedication to the cause, baby. Whatever that cause is, I appreciate the dedication.

• Me (To clearly important Mexican dude in the finish chute putting medals around all the Mexican finishers): Are you the coach?
Him: No, no coach. Just...organizer.
Me: So all these people know you as the organizer of this whole thing, the Mexicans doing the race?
Him: Right. (He pauses for reflection, then:) 2 years ago we were 37. Now, we are 400.
Me (trying to take that in.) Dude. That's awesome.
Him (Huge grin): I know, right! (we high-five)

• Speaking of which, wow, the passion for each other that the Mexicans had. Just awesome.

• Least favorite part of the day: All the damn sandwiches around for the volunteers to eat were slathered in mayo. Seriously. Even people that love mayo, can't we all agree that it's a lot easier to make, transport, and eat-while-very-busy a sandwich that is NOT slathered in mayo? Can't we provide convenient little mayo packets for those interested? Honestly. Twice denied the free turkey sandwiches at Ironman, two years running, because of the damn mayo.

• Favorite part of the day (besides all of the already accounted for good vibes documented above): Kid's t-shirt that said, simply, "My Dad is Ironman." I gots to find one of those somewhere.

Justice League of Triathlon: September!

Who: Triathletes and their accomplices of any and all levels of experience, interest, and fortitude. If you're reading this, you're invited. Even if you're not reading this, you're invited.

What: We eat dinner, we engage in triathlon-minded geekery, we occasionally touch on something in the real world. This month we'll be especially interested in all things Ironman, Teach's amazing race, x's Adventures on Lake Geneva, CoS's Account of Captaining an Ironman Support Crew, etceteras.

Where: I dunno yet. Stay tuned and I'll let you know when I do.

Come one come all!

Race Week: Devil's Challenge Triathlon

Well, while the rest of the world is generally taking a well-deserved break, resting and basking in their Ironman-ness, I'm happy to still be meandering right along. While I impatiently await myriad race reports, I'll keep you posted (literally) on my continued goings-on...I have a report of my Ironman volunteerism in progress (did you see Teach's succint yet meaningful post of her day? If only I were capable of that kind of brevity. Alas, you know me, I am nothing if not verbose...) - I'll get that posted in the next few days, I suppose.

Meanwhile, it's Race Week! Again! Whahoo! If you missed last week's adventure at Lake Geneva, scroll down a bit for the goods. This week is my "A" race - and by that I guess I mean the race I've been most focused on this summer since I was able to focus. This one's a genuine Sprint - .25 mile swim, 15 mile bike, 3.1 mile run. By any accounts I can find this one is, I think, a generally well run, well organized affair - which after last week, seriously the triathlon could be held in mid-day traffic with all of us required to stuff raw hamburger in our trisuits and be chased by basset hounds and it would be better organized than last week.

My legs are actually pretty well shredded after a tough, hilly run on Saturday's race and then a lot of standing on Sunday (I feel bad even mentioning that my legs might be sore from standing on Sunday, considering...y'know...the 140.6 miles traveled by some...), so I've been resting these last two days and tomorrow I'll start some light, taper-ish workouts before Saturday. The weather right now looks a shade chilly, actually - 60 degrees but sunshine, which I think might be just about perfect, but maybe I'll toss a jacket on for the bike. We'll see.

Goals: I watched some video Amy shot of last week's race, and noted that while my sighting in the water was much improved, my form went to hell everytime I lifted my head to do it. I need to remember to keep my elbows up. Beyond that, I hope to again have the kind of effort I had last week - work hard, be strategic if I can, and go as fast as I can. I hope I can improve my T1 time...nothing to do about that but get more time in taking off the wetsuit, etc., so we'll see. I'd like to push the bike harder than I did last week, but I don't know anything about this course, so that'll dictate a lot. The run: Well, my sub 7:00/mile goal is still at hand. Again, without knowing anything about the course, we'll see just what's possible, but that's what I'm shooting for.

My buddy Mike's coming to town for the race, and I thnk Cuz'n Erin (who seriously is the Queen of Kicking Ass, you should all meet her in person sometime, maybe she'll come to a JLT dinner sometime) is I think coming too (yes, Erin?) and as it's her BIRTHDAY this weekend I think I'll dedicate my efforts to her. So, we should have a finely assembled Team to share the day with as well, and that's always a blast.

By the way, where is TZilla, you ask? He's around - he told me the other day he was waiting for some of my races and the Ironman stuff to dissipate before he comes back with his stories of womanizing and drunken nights. But he's got a Du scheduled for next weekend, so you know he'll bring some love soon.

So - there you go. Stay tuned for more!

Meanwhile...

While we all recover from our Ironman hangovers (I still have the Volunteer dinner to go to tonight!), I received an email today from a writer at the Isthmus, a magazine here in Madison. We'd been communicating lately about my videos of last year, and she wrote a nice article for their website on Saturday. Cool! Check it out!

Ironman by iPhone...

Much more to come on my day looking in on Ironman '08, but here a few shots I managed to catch with my phone -


Looking down Main Street in Verona at about noon.


State Street around 3:00pm...it's a whole different scene when the weather is as beautiful as it was!


The Finish Chute around 8:00pm...Run Bubba Run had JUST crossed the finish line!


From behind the Finish Line


Iron Wil and Pharmie celebrate becoming Ironman.


Steve & Pharmie, victorious.


Celebrating the final finishers.

Race Report: Lake Geneva Triathlon

So the odyssey that was the Lake Geneva Triathlon began with a mostly sleepless night on the World's Least Comfortable Mattress in a tiny hotel in the tiny town of Harvard, Illinois, which was about 10 miles away from the race venue. I was too jittery with race-day anticipation to sleep much, and Transition opening at 5am meant an early morning wake-up anyway.

After parking & loading up my gear, Amy and I headed over to transition. I mentioned in an earlier post about how the general consensus about this race by previous competitors was that it was frustratingly disorganized, but I'd received an email a few days before the race about how "you may have heard" that USAT revoked its sanctioning, but that they were making x, y, and z changes. I'd hoped that maybe this year would be a hallmark in their getting things buckled down...yeah. Not so much.

We stood there in a long line of other athletes, waiting for 2 dudes to do all the body marking for the entire race. They had a new rule this year that only athletes were allowed into transition (wow, y'think?), and that your body marking would be your ID in. So we're standing there waiting with everybody else when a guy yells, "You can take your bike in if you want and come back out to get body marked!" Awesome. I love consistency.

Aaaaaanyway, finally bodymarked, Transition was also unique - instead of racks, they had basic wire tension poles - stakes every few yards, and then a wire stretched between them for the bikes to hang on. The wire was about as high as my head, which meant the bikes were airborne while in transition. Weird, eh? I got my iPod plugged in while Amy went to find some coffee or something, and began the business of setting up. It was another piece I'd been missing - that early morning buzz and energy, the care and precision of setting up transition. It was a flawless morning - the moon was a bright sliver in the sky as the the curve of the earth slowly started to brighten. Stars were bright, the air was calm and comfortable, and it was a great day for a triathlon.

The sun rose over Lake Geneva, which is just gorgeous, and the whole lake was cast in a fiery orange as I joined hundreds of other athletes in the water to warm up. For being well-known for its shortcomings, this was one popular race -there were hundreds of athletes everywhere, and with 4 different races - a Super Sprint, Sprint, Olympic, and Half Iron distance to choose from, there was everybody from seasoned die-hards to brand spankin' newbies. It was a beautiful morning, and as I waded around, visualizing and staying comfortable, I again and again thought to myself how muh I missed this, and how great it felt to be back.

The Half Iron athletes took off, then the Olympic athletes in their many waves, and finally, just before 7:00am or so, it was time for the Sprint race. Happily, my wave was the first one called. 50 of us lined up for a ".5 mile" lap around 3 buoys, cruising in to the shore after turning that 3rd corner. The water was 4 feet deep "for safety reasons" - apparently last year, which was Ironman weekend so the weather was horrible, they had a lot of rescues (again, lots of newbies, I assume), so this year they aimed to make it more fool proof or something. Whatever, didn't matter to me, but in a further demonstration of the general hilarity that would pervade the day, Amy said that lots of swimmers just stood up and walked while chatting (I'm picturing mall-walkers in trisuits, good times), and that at one point the race director was telling people that if they get tired, just grab a kayak "and they'll pull you" (normal USA Triathlon and World Triathlon Corporation and Common Sense rules are that you can grab a kayak for rest, but you can't allow them to propel you at all).

So finally, after all, I'm lined up with 50 other athletes, ready to start the Sprint race. The great thing about being in the first wave is that you can see who's in front of you - you're not confused by which wave this or that athlete that you're around might be in. It gives you immediate feedback for your position in the world. My goals for the swim were first to swim strong, but also to allow myself to be in the middle of the pile more, to surge ahead to a leading pack where I could, and see if could generate an actual strategic swim instead of just enduring the leg. I positioned myself smack in the middle of the starters...the gun went off...and I prepared for the initial insanity as I burst into my first real race in a year.

I thrust into my stroke, braced for impact...and was immediately all alone. It was the strangest thing. At first I just figured there was a bubble of space around me, but as I sighted every other or third stroke (my other goal for the day - swim in a straight line) I realized that there was one bullet of a swimmer already far ahead of me...and then just me. I was literally leaving everybody else in my wake. Now...I realize that in any Sprint, a large constituency will be people brand new to the game, and maybe not really strong swimmers, etc. etc. But can I just say how awesome it felt to be a real live genuine leader in a race? It was friggin' dope as hell! I was thrilled, and totally motivated to keep them behind me, imagining them gaining, snapping at my heels, inching closer. It was a totally new sensation for me in a race, and I gots to say, I liked it.

We headed down the first long stretch, parallel with the shore, as I sighted every few strokes and kept the turn buoys and the leader in my sights. We turned right, then, into the rising sun, for a short stretch before turning right again, coming back the opposite long end of the rectangle. Gentle mist rose off the lake, boats and buoys were only silhouettes for the rising sun behind them, and I was kicking butt. Man, I was having fun.

In no time we approached the final buoy, and I spied one of the wolves chasing me down gaining on my right side. We met each other at the last buoy, but he had position on me and gained a body length heading into shore. I chased him and hung in his draft and pushed hard to the shore, coming out of the water the 3rd swimmer.

My time as I crossed the transition mat was...7:40. Okay, I had a great swim - at least anecdotally I had a great swim, with all the people behind me, but c'mon. There is NO WAY that was a .5 mile course. I think seriously they just plopped some buoys out there with what looked to be convenient distance for the race or something. First of all, it should have taken me about twice that long, and in fact I started wondering if I wasn't supposed to somehow do two laps or something. What's weird is that last year the swim times were more consistent with a half mile - 14, 15, 16 minutes. So I don't know, except for the put-them-in-four-feet-of-water strategy, why or how they'd change the course to be that insanely inaccurate. I conjecture that maybe it was closer to a .3 mile swim - that would have given me about a 1:35/100 pace, which is a hell of lot more reasonable than the Michael Phelps :57/100 pace that on paper I swam. Anyway...all that means is that, as far as my personal goals go, I have no idea just how I did pace-wise, since I have no idea just how damn far I swam. But whatever - I swam hard, I had a blast, and I sighted really well. And even if it really meant nothing at all in the grand scheme (you have to remember that the times of athletes in later waves might be much faster than mine, so all of my assessments here were just in my single wave of 50 people), coming out of the water as the 3rd swimmer was totally euphoric. As it is, looking at the overall finishing leaders, my time wasn't too bad at all.

I cruised into T1, already a mess of criss-crossing athletes from the Olympic swim, who were coming out of the water the same time as we Sprinters were. My heart rate was, as usual coming out of the water in a race, stratospheric, and I sat down to get my wetsuit off. Apparently glued to my damned ankles, it was taking me way too long to get the suit off. Then my sunglasses were totally fogged for the rapid change in air temperature as the sun rose, so as soon as I put them on I took them back off...all wasted time. Amy cheered for me from just beyond the fence, "Good job babe!" and I shouted back "Ack!", still thinking about my stupid wetsuit. She said, "Good swim!" and I replied, "Pretty good swim!" You know, the usual series of grunts nonsense that come from somebody mid-race. After finally getting my shit together, I was out of T1 in 1:42, which is faster then the ten stupid minutes I felt like I was lolligagging around in there.

Across the timing mat! Into the road! On the right side of the cones! And...I'm suddenly surrounded by riders who had apparently never actually mounted a bike before. These were all Oly distance, so I don't assume they were all newbies or anything, so I don't know what was going on, but it was like this major pile of ineptitude. Legs flailing about as feet try to nail into pedals, people jogging their bikes out and then abruptly coming to a complete stop so they could sort of fall onto their bikes, it was madness. Add to it that we had about 5 feet of width to all mount our bikes, and that traffic was active in the opposite lane, and it was another shining example of just how sort of off-kilter this race was from start to finish. Undaunted, however, trusty Ol' Blue and I laid waste to the carnage, mounted up, and prepared to kick ass for 17 miles.

Right away I pegged one of those built-for-triathlon athletes, lean and tall and atop a rocketship, and decided I was going to hang onto him for as long as I could - turns out he was Olympic, and I'd lose him in a few miles. The course wound around Lake Geneva and the surrounding townships and farmland, and with 4 different races going on, and so 4 different courses, sometimes overlapping one another, navigating the correct course was an adventure. Probably a lot of the problems of the race could have been solved with simply more manpower, but lacking the number of volunteers we were relegated to confusing signage at every other turn. You'd see the word "SPRINT" or "OLYMPIC" or whatever in huge letters as you approached, but then this tiny arrow pointing which way to go was mostly unreadable until you were just in front of some intersection. I'm sure some athlets found themselves off course somewhere during the day. The thick of this continued for three or four of the first miles, until the longer distances separated off onto their own courses and it was just the Sprint and Supersprint distances sharing one course. Since Supersprint started after our many waves, once we finally got onto our own course I could assess who was where - and there in front of me were my swimming buddies. Far ahead was the swimmer who I sighted on but was way ahead, and not-too-far ahead was the dude who caught me at the last buoy. I bulls-eyed him, and me and 'Blue laid chase.

It was a gorgeous day, sun shining, mid 60's, no wind. The course was just difficult enough, though, to keep me busy - lots of rolling hills and shifting, many turns, few opportunities to just tuck in and ride. I was pushing hard up the hills, always trying to keep my cadence around 90rpm, as usual. I was cruising consistently at about 20mph, and though I wanted to go faster, the course wouldn't let me, even though my legs felt strong. I edged my way closer and closer to Number 2, before finally blowing by him entirely. Now it was just me and Number 1, and he was waaaay head of me. Once again, I was totally alone. I might as well have been on a training ride - it was totally surreal. Again I envisioned the pack chasing behind me, and swear to God Phil Liggett (the voice of the Tour de France and pro cycling, for those unfamiliar) was narrating my ride - I could even picture that little icon at the bottom of the TV screen saying "leader" was 45 seconds ahead, and then I'd be "Chase 1", and then somewhere behind me would be the little "Peloton" icon. Kickass.

At around mile 10 I went screaming down a hill that, turns out, ended in a kind of X-shaped intersection. There was a volunteer at the bottom with flags, telling me turn left, turn turn left, turn left. If you imagine the X, my left turn was a sharp, accute angle turn, and the way the road cut through the hillside I couldn't see traffic to my left or right. (Stupidly) putting my trust in the volunteer then, who was happily flagging me left, left, left, I slowed enough to make my turn...only to see a car on my right screaming at me. I can't judge distances when cruisng that fast on the bike, but he was probably 3 second from impact with me. Shit! Then I glance to my left (this is all happening in less than a second), and another car is immediately bearing down on my left - this one seriously a second from impact with me. I barely threaded the needle between them, and had this been a training ride I probably would have stopped my bike and thrown up. "Dude! You have to stop traffic! What the hell!?!?" I screamed at the dopey volunteer. I mean hey, I'm extremely appreciative of volunteers, and the time they take out of their busy days and lives to help with a race. Just not so much when they're trying to KILL ME.

I was a little rattled for about a quarter mile, and my speed immediatley dropped as I got my act together. Finally I regrouped, and made another turn right onto the last series of small rollers before some significant ups and downs near the finish. As I looked right I saw I was being chased, and he was looking strong. About half a mile later I was caught, and with a word of encouragement he flew on ahead of me. I kept him in my sights as we came back into the area around Lake Geneva, now with some blistering descents of 37, 38, 40 mph. I kept my hands on the brakes, though, for any unexpected traffic. Finally, approaching T2, I slid out of my shoes for the final cruise in. The crowds were really great all day, and they cheered us in - I was the 3rd guy off the bike, so they were especially loud and excited. It was awesome - I felt like a pro, coming in so early off the bike. I finished 17 miles in 50:09, good for a 20.4mph average, which didn't blow the doors off the joint, but I rode steady, consistent, and hard, and I don't think I could've done any better.

T2 was awesome, as it usually is for me, and I was out of there in 1:02, most of that spent running through the large transition area to actually get on the run course. The chute going out to the run was lined with people, and they were all cheering for me - Number 1 and Number 2 were far ahead of me now, so it was just me, all alone, and since the spectators were waiting for runners, now, they were happy to see me. I cruised out onto the course, greeted Amy right away with a high-five, and found my pace.

Keeping my sub 7:00/mile average goal in mind, I was already clocking 6:26. I slowed that to just under 7:00, knowing I wanted to leave some in the tank to negative split the last 1.5 miles. As it was, though, this wasn't the course for that kind of goal. All day I'd been hearing about "killer hill", and about .5 miles into the run, I discovered it. It started with some gradual rollers - hard going up, then fly like hell down, before a .5 mile stretch that was entirely up-hill. And, it was a bitch. Maybe a 8-10% grade, it just kept going and going and going. There was nothing to be done for pace or strategy - it was steep, and all you can do is keep your form solid and just keep climbing. Spectators dotted the road, clapping and offering encouragement. Hard as the hill was, though, I felt good. It was never too much, never out of reach, never too insane. Just a really steep hill. Nothing to be done for it but climb. Finally, as I reached 1.5 miles, it U-turned to head back the way I came. Now I got to get some of that time back. I leaned slightly forward, kept my leg turnover high, and began my controlled fall down .5 miles.

Right away after the U-turn I saw a guy coming up the hill not far behind me. About .25 miles into the freefall, I discovered the mass peleton - it's like they all showed up at once, hundreds of runners, a mile or more behind me, trudging up the hill. They remained scattered for the rest of the run home as at about 2 miles the dude I'd seen approaching the U-turn behind me passed me. He was looking really strong, and there wasn't a footrace to be had. I finally reached the end of the "Killer Hill", but still had work to do going up and down the opposite sides of the rollers. Finally, with about .5 miles to go, it was all downhill. The road was split into two, and some dopey teeneages were ambling through my running lane as I approached. I had to yell at them to "Get out of the way! Runner coming!" Then they heard me and leaped out of the way, startled, like they had no idea a race was even going on. Again, awesome run support, race crew. Sheesh.

On the final stretch, with the finish line in sight, I found my pace again to finish strong. I heard footsteps though, and just before the mats I was passed. I could've made a race out of it, and probably beat the guy to the finish line, but I chose to pull up instead and save something for next week. I was the 5th to finish the run, and to that point, then, the 5th to finish the race overall. My final run time was 22:56, for a pace of 7:23. About a minute longer than my sub 7:00/pace goal time, but there was nothing to be done for it with the crazy climb. Still, I felt great about the run. I went hard and consistent, and even though I was passed, one of those was a better runner, and the other was just one of those finish-line things that you can't do a lot about. As it is, they had this distance charted right at least, and I can say that my 7:23 is a new PR at this distance on race day!

My total time was 1:23:27, good for 8th place in my Age Group, which was a top 25% finish of all of my AG finishers. Overall, I was 22nd out of 224 men, for a top 10% finish. If numbers are important, then any way you cut it I feel great about my position amongst the masses. More than the numbers, I know I raced how I wanted to race. I did my best - I was smart when I needed to be, brave when I needed to be, cautious when I needed to be. I pushed hard all the time, was able to live up to my training, and finished feeling strong and smiling. It was a great day of racing.

Amy said they'd gotten the finish line arch inflated literally moments before I arrived, and as I packed up transition I saw bikers coming in, I assume from the Olympic or Supersprint distances, who were actually riding their bikes in the transition area. Kee-ripes. I could only shake my head and laugh. The only way for athletes to go in and out of the transition area to get their bikes after the race was to go through the bike in/out area, which put the responsibility on them to look around and make sure they weren't about to get in the way of a racer - something not everybody seemed capable of doing. The whole race was just weird like that - it was a beautiful area, and man there was a lot of people there - you feel like if they could get the last 10% of this thing right, paid attention to some details, it could be a really great race. As it was, I felt bad for people who this was their first experience in racing, as it really paled with how a top-notch race can be run. Amy felt more strongly than I did - she flat out thought it was dangerous. We both agreed that, fun though it was, the crazy impromputu health risks and the apparent abandonment of sensible metrics for the swim course mean I probably won't be coming back to this one.

I'm having just a bit of tightness in my right upper hamstring tonight, probably from flying downhill as long as I did, something that's a little difficult to train for. I'm not too worried about it - I'll do the usual icing and resting. My knee presented zero issues, and if ever there was a run course to aggravate anything still hidden in there, this would have been it. I'll take this week pretty sensibly easy to prepare for next Saturday's race - as of now the weather looks pretty good, with sunny skies but chillier weather, highs in the high 50's/low 60's. More on that race, though, and my goals for it, later.

Special thanks to Amy for representing Team Bintliff in a solo effort today, and for Baby In Utero, who Amy said was kicking and hopping around all morning. Now...for a good's night's rest, and Ironman support tomorrow!!!!!

Ironman Week: Updated Frequently...

UPDATE 9/7: Tidying up loose ends...

Well, most of the athletes are getting ready to roll, so in case anybody's still out there in blogland, this will be my last pre-Ironman post. I hope to post my own race report Saturday sometime, but it's a crazy weekend so it could come Monday.

You can track athletes live all day at www.ironmanlive.com - just plug in a number and it'll tell you how splits are going for that athlete.

Athletes:
Erin: #102
Bob (Brazo): #1402
Pharmie: #2023
Steve in a Speedo: #386
Stu: #1258
Wil: #2169, wearing Black & White 2XU Trisuit
IM Able: #53
RunBubbaRun: #1317Tri-Dummy: #748
JWM: #831

Madisonions - we're getting together to have dinner on 9/18. Any and all are welcome. I'll have a dedicated post for it next week, but just planting that seed now -

Have a great race, everybody. Can't wait for the race reports!

________________________

One last thing...

The week starts getting crazy now, and many of you will be traveling Wednesday or Thursday - online time will be a luxury you'll soon not have, if you haven't lost it already. In case you're still out there, IMWI '07 athletes, just one last thing:

Thank you.

It's been my honor and privilege to follow you mile by mile this year. This virtual playground is a strange thing sometimes - I'm constantly describing my "friends" I've never met to my wife, sharing your stories like I would an old buddy's I just shared beers with. It's an interesting question to ponder why we all keep blogs like this, share ourselves like this, find our mutual spaces like we do - but I'm glad it happens.

Sunday is the celebration of all you've worked for. It's the culmination of all your sacrifices, daydreams, and long-time hopes...not to mention mileage. Ironman is more than a race - you know that by now. In fact, the race seems sometimes the least significant part of it all. But its mysteries are deep, and I can tell you that even having done it once and being in training for it again still two years out, its allure and affect are just as strong and curious and magnificent and brilliant. Ironman transcends the swim, bike, and run, and certainly the athlete who engages it. It's a rare and beautiful thing in life, to partake in something so genuinely larger than yourself.

Your adventure will be a great one, whatever happens. And, with absolutely no melodrama intended, you will not be the same afterwards.

In toe-ing the line, you're doing more than most people. For that, you are timeless.

Go now, Become Ironman.

x

Reengage

This is what I'm talking about.

Last night, I put on my headphones, got into my own zone, and packed my tri bag. I jotted notes of things I need to remember to pack or pick-up today. I ate an intentional dinner. I hydrated.

I slept okay. Not great, but okay. I kept thinking about the race.

Today, among work and the Ironman meet-up and everything else, I have a couple extremely brief workouts to get in, then Amy and I are traveling tonight. I have registration forms printed out. Course maps.

I have that flitting in the center of my gut. The kind that makes my fingers wiggle, seemingly of their own accord, when I'm standing or walking around.

It's not nervousness, it's preparedness.

It's not minutae. It's details.

And it occurred to me that it's been an entire year since I've felt this way. I had some small road races last fall, but they were mostly social events. I had a half marathon in May, but I wasn't in form and didn't approach it with the same attitude. I had a really small triathlon in early May, but the nature of it made it easy for me to just go through the motions. Looking back, I'm not very proud of my attitude last spring. I took things for granted. I think I was still living in a bit of Ironman burn-out, but still. Then the injury, and the summer lost, and...well. I've covered that part ad nauseum.

But this is what I missed. All of it. This is race day for me. Not just the gun and the finish line and everything in between. It's the getting ready, the sorting of thoughts, the getting the mind and attitude right. It doesn't matter a bit that tomorrow's race is a sprint, that I'll be finished in less time than most people will be out of the water on Sunday. The distance of the thing is totally irrelevant, and maybe that's what I learned most this year. It's a race! It's time to test the mettle (heh, or the metal...), put the training to use, drive & thrive, push & plunder.

It feels so good to be back!

God I love this game.

Lowered Expectations

Well, in an amusing bit of morning reading, I searched for "Lake Geneva Race Reports", just to get a little familiar with what to expect this weekend. The resounding opinion of the internet at large is that the race director is a real tool. The race, which has 4 distances, from Super Sprint to Half Iron, is famously disorganized, often poorly marked, and often poorly measured - in fact, I guess last year HIM swimmers were coming in in, like, 17 minutes. The course was at off by as much as half! That's kind of hysterical. He's so bad, though, that USAT revoked its affiliation with him. Cripes.

Anyway, the general consensus is that the venue is beautiful (and is probably the reason why the race continues to be successful), but to "lower your expections" about the race. Since I'm just doing the Sprint, I don't need to worry much about aid stations, etc., and I won't be coming into a chaotic transition area off of the Oly or HIM course, with the shorter course athletes milling about. It is probably a solid affirmation that I should use this first race as a warm-up for next weekend's "A" race, and I'll just take it as it comes and do my best out there, remembering that I can't control anything but what I'm doing. I'll have to accommodate whatever mileage the swim course ends up being, and I suppose I'll trust my Garmin more for actual race distances, to get a sense for actual performance.

So anyway. I hope I'm not headed into disaster, and it'll help to revise my race morning expectations so that if there is a lot of disorganization I can take it in stride and go with the flow, rather than get frustrated or rattled. We shall see!

Race Week: Lake Geneva Triathlon

Meanwhile, if I can tear myself away from the frenzy of Ironman for two seconds (is it normal to be this excited for a race you're not even doing????), I do, it turns out, have my very own race to finally be excited for. It's been a long time since I've headed a post "Race Week", and I'm really fired up for this one.

I'm doing the Lake Geneva Triathlon, Sprint distance - which, sort of a surprise to me, is not your typical Spint distance of a .25 mile swim - that's instead the SuperSprint. Huh. So, I have on tap a .5 mile swim, 17 mile bike, and 3.1 mile run.

I'm feeling extremely good going into this race - maybe as well as I've ever felt going into a race, and certainly a short distance race, since I've never worked so hard or dedicated so much time exclusively for a short distance race. That process in itself has been really good for me - I've had fun exploring speed training, spending time in higher heart rate zones, and generally having more intense workouts. It's been a complete removal from the hours and hours and hours of slow and steady Ironman training. It's fun to feel like the game always has things to teach you, if you're always willing to learn. I've enjoyed being its student, as always, but especially this summer. And even when the injury derailed the rest of my entire summer, I was learning then, too. All good things in the grand scheme.

Goals? Well first and foremost - and this one is pretty well already accomplished - just to appreciate the day, to enjoy its existence. That sounds corny, but I really was heart broken this year to not be experiencing that early morning quiet setting up transition, that rush as you burst out of the water, that burn in your legs a few hours later as you work towards the finish line. I'm more excited than anything else to just be a part of it all.

Beyond that: I've really stopped defining my goals with time limits or agendas in mind. I think it's good to have those kinds of goals - and I've wondered if somehow I'm copping out somehow not committing myself to this time or that time, but how fast I cross the line just isn't really that important to me, maybe because I learned so much at Ironman about "best laid plans" - you just don't know what race day has in store. But, I do want to feel like I'm doing my best. Not in some arbitrary way that just makes me feel good about myself, but that I'm sincerely performing to the best of my abilities. And in that way, I suppose, it's useful to use the clock as at least a rough guide. I think my best at half a mile might be around 14 minutes or so. I have had serious improvement in the pool, and I do want to feel that in the water - that I'm swimming hard and fast, and am able to reflect my training improvements in a race (that is, after all, the damn point, no?) In addition to that, my goals in the water are to sight well - that's something I've been working on (I'm tired of zig-zagging around) - and to experiment a little bit with swimming with faster groups, maybe charging up from one position to another if it presents itself. Those are things I've never been good at, and I'd like to get better at. The bike will take care of itself - I suppose an average of 20-22mph or something in there. As I mentioned earlier, I do have secret ambitions to run a 3.1 mile run leg of a Sprint triathlon with a sub 7:00/mile pace - or a total time of 21:42. I'm right on the edge of that in training, and I've been improving (I've also been improving with overall speed on the bike, which is nice). I haven't had occasion to put it all together, which is what races are for. So, after a .5 mile swim and 17 miles on the bike, I don't know just what I'll be capable of on the run. If I'm doing my best and it's giving me a 7:15 or 7:30/mile pace or whatever, then I'll take it and keep working to see if I can get faster. But know that I'll be pushing for that sub 7:00, in hopes I can do it.

It's also really nice, I realize now, to be racing Ironman weekend. That just feels good to me.

So. Great to be talking about race day. Can't wait to see what happens out there.

My $.02: The Run, The Finish, The Aftermath

Wow, so you've made it out of T2. You've been doing this race for something close to 8 hours or more, and NOW you have 26.2 to go. That's awesome. And insane. I think Ironman doesn't make much sense, if you were to try and stop to think about it. It can get overwhelming if you try and think of all the distance you need to cover before you cover it. So I say: don't think about it. The race is daunting enough without any added pressure, so once you get out there on the run, be in the run. Try not to do the math to figure out how much time you have to do this, or what pace you need to do that. Just - run. Trust in your training, put one foot in front of the other, and go.

Unless you do this for a living or you have some serious Kona aspirations so that every millisecond counts, look for the first opportunity you have to stop for your team of supporters, be they one or 50, and give them some hugs and high fives. They've been out all day waiting for a glimpse of you - if you've ever gone and watched a marathon or triathlon, you know that the spectator's role is hurry hurry hurry wait wait wait there he is whahoo! okay now where should we go. Likely you'll have some friends and family there that have been part of the whole adventure with you, and have sacrificed a lot in their own ways for you to become Ironman. Now is one opportunity to show them some love. You won't regret it, and neither will they.

The thing about the run is, for everybody, your strategies and plans and objectives are totally unique. You might be cruising for a sub 4 hour marathon, or maybe you're a hack like me who's just hoping to get to the finish line. Whatever your ideas, keep in mind what Rich Strauss says and race with a principle, rather than a plan. At around mile 7 or so of the marathon, suddenly Gatorade was out of the mix for me. I took a sip, nearly puked, and that was it - after all the gallons of Gatorade I'd drank in the last year in preparation for Ironman, I was officially done with it with most of the marathon left. My body just wouldn't have any more. So? Improvise. I diluted it with water, to still get the sodium and calories where I could but avoid as much of the taste, which seemed to be the thing making me gag. I drank the chicken broth for sodium. Snacked on whatever I could. When crisis comes - and it will come, be it a GI issue or a cramp or just a bad stretch of mileage or the end of Gatorade as you know it - well...I think that's when the forging of Ironman comes to completion. That's when it's about you vs. you, to steal a line from our friend Erin. And when it gets lonely out there, and hard, and impossible - that's where you start withdrawing from your Ironman deposits, which you made during your early morning long runs, or when you were out in the thunderstorms, or when you chose to run in 15 degree weather instead of hit the treadmill. Sometime in there you'll have to dig deep. And that is what becoming Ironman is all about.

There are aid stations a-plenty, and port-a-potties too, so take full advantage. Thank the volunteers, who are just awesome. High five everybody. Keep your attitude positive, and positivity will reign on your race. I believe that's true.

At 13.1, you'll approach the finish line...only to be turned away to repeat the course. Your Special Needs bag will be right there, and as on the bike, you might fill it with some special treats, or fresh socks, or an inspirational token to get you down the home stretch.

It'll get dark, and the surreal thing is that you'll have raced from morning darkness to night darkness. That's awesome.

And then, somehow and finally some way, you will find yourself inching through miles with a "2" leading the other digit, and by God you're about to finish the Ironman. I'm not going to talk about the finish chute at all, except to say two things: First, try hard - try really, really hard - to memorize what you're seeing and feeling and experiencing. Take it all in, and burn it into your head as you fly towards the music and the madness and the cheering and the frenzy. It's a very special thing, and you can take it with you for the rest of your life - the way the air feels, the sounds, the crisp fall smells. Second - when you do finally cross the Finish Line, they'll take your picture. This is a big thing, this picture, and it's only an instant. I know you'll have a lot on your mind, but try and remember a few things about that picture. Don't crowd the guy in front of you - I was so stupid excited that I flew down the chute and totally caught up to the guy in front of me just as he was about to cross. I luckly stopped just in time, extended my hand to wish him well, and let him have that moment that he'd worked so hard for all by himself, (and, lest you find me the very standard of graciousness, I admit I also stopped so that I could have my finishing moment by myself, too. And, incidentally, in my race report I thought that guy was a woman, for the stupor I was in. It wasn't until I watched the video later that I realized he was a much taller he than me. Weird.) Remember that neon glowy thingies around your neck or your wrists or whatever, they'll show up super bright in photos, so that they might obscure your face. Remember that if you're wearing an improvised garbage bag as a rain coat, it might be great to strip that before you cross the line. Or hey, maybe the photo is the least interesting thing for you in the world and you won't care about some stupid photo - that's cool too. For me, I was happy to have it. I hang it on my wall, and it means a lot to me.

You'll be caught by volunteers after you've crossed the finish line, and they'll put a well earned hunk of hardware around your neck, as well as hand you your finisher's bag with a t-shirt and hat and some other cool stuff in it. They'll physically escort you entirely through the post-finish chute, in case you need help, or need to visit the med tent. You'll be in very good hands, and very well taken care of. Tri Teacher asked me the other day in what kind of ragged state my finisher's shirt was, hers being well worn with pride, and she rolled my eyes at my OCD when I told her that I packed mine safely away right after the race. I bought other shirts that say "finisher" on them, but my official shirt gets limited playing time. Same with my finisher's hat - I don't wear that one running. That's just me - I hope to pull those babies out and impress my daughter some day when I'm old and fat and feeble.

There's a family meet-up spot, and last year they had pizza in there, and I was all over that. My family, though, wasn't aware of the meet-up spot, and they were kind of wandering around the finish area looking for me while I wandered back to kind of look for them. If you feel like you want to have some kind of plan - let's meet by the big tree near the bench on the corner - then it's probably wise to do that well before the race and have it scoped out. Probably, though, you can just wing it. Seems that's what everybody else does.

You'll be pretty amped up, despite your exhaustion, but after your intial crazy great celebration with your friends & family, don't forget you'll need to go get your bike and transition bags. It's a really good idea to have somebody that will be celebrating with you at the finish line have some comfy shorts or sweats, or a sweatshirt, and flip-flops, so you can get out of your sweaty race clothes. The volunteers will walk you through the process of getting all your gear, but only those with wrist-bands will be allowed in the bike area.

The logistics finished, you now begin the rest of your life...as an Ironman.

And hey, that's pretty alright.

Just a few last notes:

You'll hurt. A weird, new, how-come-I-didn't-expect-that kind of hurt. Strange things, maybe, that never showed up in training; for me both my ankles just killed. My body was so sore, in every possible way, that I woke myself up groaning the next night. For two days I could hardly walk. It was crazy. Expect that, and know that it's your body's way of insisting on some rest. You can lay off the triathlete OCD for a little while and forgo a "relaxed" 5k to "cool down" or whatever - just veg out a little, your body's earned it. When you do start coming back around to training, you'll know when it's the right time - and when it feels too soon. Don't be surprised if you find things are wonky for awhile - I think my legs were fatigued seriously until early November. I suppose, at least for first-timers, that's all part of it. One thing I do suggest is that you put something on your calendar - you may very well start to experience some serious withdrawal, and it's not all emotional - your body is used to some serious mileage, and to suddenly deprive it of the natural chemicals you've been producing and stewing in for most of a year can cause some weird responses, mentally and physically. You'll probably have, even if this is the one and only Ironman you ever want to do, some kind of "now what?" Even if you get a 5k or 10k on the calendar, it's something to look forward to, something to satisfy a little bit of that familiar wanting to look ahead.

Last thing: Be patient with yourself, and especially avoid any sweeping statements about your definitive future Ironman plans (Well, unless you're in line the very next day to enter the following year's race. Then you, my friend, should sweep away with continued conviction.) It's a weird thing. The week or month or months after the race, you might feel totally content, totally uninterested in even thinking Ironman. And as winter comes you'll enjoy your free time again as your own, and you'll do fun and new and interesting things. You'll realize with shock that weekends can be used for other things than being on a bike. Maybe the next season you'll fire up some new races, or whatever. But somewhere in there it seems almost everybody starts wondering - maybe next time I could improve my run this much. Maybe I would swim a little smarter and wouldn't it be cool if...and pretty soon you realize that you've been thinking in terms of "next time" when you hadn't even imagined "next time" yet. I guess there's a reason why you're always hearing of the age grouper who's doing her 2nd or 3rd or 5th Ironman. It gets into you somehow. On the other hand...maybe you will have no thoughts of "next time" at all. Maybe everybody around you will start whispering about Ironman again, but for you that once was enough. You have other things to do, other pursuits to follow. That's cool too - and is a reason to avoid thinking of yourself as a career Ironman athlete too soon. Just - go with the flow, I guess. That first year after Ironman, at least for me, it was weird. The lessons Ironman teaches you, they don't stop after your 140.6th mile. In a lot of ways (corny alert), they only begin.

Okay, well, I think that about covers it. Hopefully you've found something of value in this $.02 series - as always, if you have questions or want to know anything more, I'm so not an expert but I'm happy to share my experiences. If nothing else, maybe you know better how some of the IM logistics are handled in Wisconsin, and you can take one thing off of your mental list. I've enjoyed going back there a bit to bring it all top of mind. And I'll see you there again in '09.

Livestrong

I don't tell you everything. In fact, I keep things here mostly to triathlon and its immediate orbit. The occasional anecdote about world's wider adventures, but mostly the purpose of this thing isn't to be some kind of personal diary, but instead a place to share this slice of my life. So this is a thing we've been going through for many months, with increasing concern and attention and sadness. I wanted to tell you about it today.

We have a friend, Randy. He was a teacher with Amy at her previous school in Minneapolis, where they work with alternative (at-risk) students. "At-risk" generally means "nobody else wants them in the building", so to thrive in that kind of environment and be passionate about teaching those particular sorts of kids, it takes a special person. Randy had been there for many many years, and was the kind of science teacher who made lessons of the real world. I always thought of him as a sort of wizard. A kind of Gandalf who was this brilliant by-example mentor for younger teachers, like Amy, and also one of those teachers that impacts his students far after the bell has rung.

Randy has run 19 marathons. He kayaked most of North America in his younger days. He was an accomplished photographer, his eye drawn to the inspirations found in nature, a reflection of his broader philosophies (found probably in his classroom relationships as well) that the powerful is often found where others might overlook. I first met him, if you don't consider Amy's frequent stories of the really cool thing that happened at school today officially "meeting", when he came to support me in 2005 when I ran the Twin Cities marathon. He wasn't running it that day. He was just beginning to seriously fight cancer.

He'd run Grandma's Marathon in June of '05, and I think that was his last marathon. The year before, he'd been experiencing some pain in his leg. It was one of those things mentioned casually at the doctor, and they did a quick once-over, and they found a tumor. His has been, the last 4 years, the quintessential cancer fighter's story, inspiring and mesmorizing and tragic in every way. There'd be some drug that would be working for a few weeks or maybe even a few months. He'd have a setback. He'd take three steps forward. He'd take two steps back. Everytime he came back from a doctor's appointment hearing bad news, and to "expect the worst", he'd rally and for a month or 6 weeks he'd be feeling good and strong, before the inevitable downturn.

6 months ago or so, the obvious became clear - that this was a hill getting too steep to keep running up. Still, he was strong, because he was wired that way. He became very close friends with another of my close friends. Theirs was a surprising friendship that, even under the darkness of cancer, blossomed into something unexpected and lovely. She's been there by his side these several months, in joy and sadness. It's been surreal to experience something like twilight with people you care about.

He managed to make it through the school year without having to miss many classes at all, which is true to form - he's the kind of guy that "just wants to make it" to something on the horizon. He was able to come to some of our goodbye parties when we moved in June. Last month we were back in Minnepolis, and Amy got to go spend some time with him reading to him, or sitting quietly. He enjoyed placing his hand on Amy's belly, sharing however he could in the life of a child he won't know. By then he was in the serious throes. He'd lost a great deal of weight, and his hand felt papery when I shook it (mostly held it). He moved slowly and carefully. He was tired in ways that transcend fatigue. He was a very very sick man.

He passed away this morning. Crossing the finish line at last.

I'm sad for Amy - he was a good friend to her, an amazing person in her life. I'm sorry for my dear friend, who has experienced so much in such a short time with Randy. I'm sorry for his students, and the students he would have had, for the loss of a wise sage, and decent man, and brilliant teacher. Randy was just one of those guys where you feel with him gone, the ripple is wide on who it will touch.

Last October a bunch of us dressed up for a halloween fun run, and Randy was there, dressed like Fester from The Addams Family (or is it The Munsters? Randy would know), to slowly make his way down the 1 mile walk/run. His feet were really sensitive for some new pill he was taking against the cancer. After 19 marathons, that 1 miler was his last race. I'm glad I was a part of it.

Peace be with you Randy. Thanks for everything. Thanks for the critical eye you gave some of my photography, and the genuine praise when you found stuff you liked. Thanks for printing out the occassional blog entry and sharing it with your students - I never felt worthy of that at all. Thanks for thinking of me and passing along your running and cycling magazines; I hope you'll allow me the honor of feeling that a torch was passed, there. Thanks for being such a great part of Amy's life, such a great friend and mentor and teacher to her, and with her. Thanks for the love and peace and serenity and wisdom you shared so honestly and freely.

Today's run is for you, kind man, good soul. We'll miss you.

From the front left: Randy, Amy & Sara. From the back left: Susan, Mike, me, Patric, TZilla, Ben
Anoka Halloween Gray Ghost Run, 2006

A Decision, et. al.

Thanks for your advice and ideas everybody - I really appreciate your insights, and especially knowing "what you would do". As it is, I have been given clearance to race. Whahoo! Amy's two cents were similar to Bill's - the word dumbass may have even made another appearance. Ultimately, with advice in mind but through my own process, I've decided to go with the Sprint. Of course, big pieces of me wanted to do the Oly - hell, big pieces of me wanted to do the Half Iron, and I'm in no way ready for that - but I've been trying to assert some better training strategies lately that I'll take with me into Ironman training, and one of those is the mantra just because I can, doesn't mean I should. I was looking over my Garmin on Saturday after my workouts, and back to late April and May, when I had my last two runs before I got hurt. I ran 12 miles one Saturday, then 16 miles then next weekend, with nothing in between. And it ended in injury. Just because I could, doesn't mean I should have. And, I'm applying that philosophy to a lot of my base training that I've been doing the last few months - I'm doing a lot of speed and interval work, but I'm drawing a line, too. In the past I've had a tendency to race some of my training, instead of training to race. Pointless and fruitless. So anyway, with all that in mind, I think I would be physically and mentally prepared for the Olympic distance, and might even have done it well, but in the spirit of staying disciplined I decided to exercise some restraint and - dare I say - common sense, and do the mileage and intensity I've been training for. So - back to back Sprint weekends baby! Lake Geneva triathlon on the 8th, and then the Devil's Challenge on the 15th. The Lake Geneva has a shade longer bike - 17 miles compared to 15 - and I guess some kind of "famous killer hill" (so says the website for the race) on the run. I could not be looking forward to it more.

Some encouraging results this weekend - I have a secret dream (don't tell anybody about this), to crack a 7:00/mile average pace on the run in a Sprint triathlon, sometime, someday, some way. I seriously don't know if it's possible. I've been working the last few weeks on pacing myself through some shorter simulations - not the full 3 miles - to make it happen, but I've hit a wall each time. Saturday I had a 3x brick workout, where I was out 15 minutes as hard as possible on my bike, then a 1 mile run hard as I can. Rest 5 minutes, and repeat. The bike was so-so - I stayed right around 20mph for each interval, but it's hard to get into a serious rhythm in only 15 minutes, especially when you turn around at 7:30. But on the run, the first one I ran in 7:11 (and, thanks to the Mexican Fiesta the night before, felt friggin' horrible the whole time), the second one - now obviously getting more physically fatigued but feeling much better than the first go - I rocked a 6:59, and the 3rd run I was able to pull out 6:54. That's extremly fast for me. That puts my average of the three in the...what...7:05, 7:06 ballpark? Encouraging. This is my last week of hard training though before I mini-taper for the next 2 weeks' worth of races, so we'll see what happens.

Also this of note: My buddy Mike came to town this weekend, and we spent much of it putting together the baby's room and especially all the furniture. Good times, everything's really coming together. But, last night, I was putting together a bookshelf and had a piece lying on the ground, and there were - you know if you've ever put together furniture, there are those cam bolts, and then there are those screws that stick out that go into the cam bolts? No matter if you don't know what I mean, but there were these screws sticking out of a board that was lying on the ground - not the sharp ends sticking out (though these kinds of scews don't have sharp ends), but the drive ends sticking out - anyway, and I was (stupid alert) in bare feet and carefully stepped around stuff to retrieve a tool of some kind, and in my careful stepping I kind of slid my foot atop one of the screws and sliced my left foot, just underneath the big toe, on the ball of my foot. HURT. LIKE. HELL. So I have it dramatically bandaged up today, mostly for cushioning so that I can walk normally, as last night I was limping like a dandy and putting weight on the side of my foot and all things that if done with consistency would be begging for some kind of further stupid injury. The cut itself isn't terribly deep but it is painful, and probably it's good that I'm not running today. I think it'll be okay, I think (hope) it won't slow me down too much with the right protection on it. Though I can tell you that if I were doing Ironman in two weeks I'd be freaking out.

Okay, to work I get. My final $.02 chapter is coming up, as soon as I can manufacture the necessary time to get it done. Stay tuned, and thanks again everybody!

Your $.02

Wondering if you have some advice out there.

I have a friend. We'll call him...Tito. Let's say Tito lost his whole season to a...oh, I dunno...how 'bout a knee injury. As good a reason as any. He DNC'd two races which broke his freaking heart. Fell into a deep and miserable depression and gained 40 pounds. Okay, he didn't fall into a depression and didn't gain 40 pounds, but he felt like it. Plus he was busy with extraordinary things because he's...let's say he's a zookeeper. And he had to move all the polar bears from one part of the zoo to another part of the zoo and it as a major project and took months and months. And Tito's wife is pregnant, so that created a whole new level of crazy. Let's just say that.

Okay, so Tito finally went to the doctor in July, and he was given a prescription for all the right things, and was told to keep his training to sprint distance triathlon and not to exceed that. And Tito has a sprint race coming up on September 15th that's been the sole objective for his training so far this shortened season. Let's say that.

Now - suppose Tito just became aware of ANOTHER race he could do the week before his otherwise scheduled race. And let's say he could, if he wanted to, sign up for an Olympic Distance. And even though his doctor told him in July to keep it to Sprint distance or shorter, he's already run 14 miles on a whim one Saturday, and his high mileage on the bike is around 30 miles. So it's not like he feels incapable of it or something. And, his knee has been 100% for several weeks. And let's say Tito's an Ironman so he irrationally thinks he's capable of damn near anything. Let's say.

Do you:

A: Hell yes sign up for the Oly, and do the Sprint the next week, even if performance at the Sprint suffers just a shade, because life is short dammit and the game is too good to be away from it all summer long.

B: Sign up for just the sprint distance of the one race, and follow it up the next week with the already scheduled Sprint, and treat the first one as a dress rehearsal and really take the second one as seriously as originally planned.

C: Don't be signing up for no damn races all the sudden like that, just stay the course and stick with the original plan, which was one race on the 15th. Yes, this is the nancy drew way to go, but no sense tempting the injury gods.

Oh, and Tito hasn't even asked his wife about the race yet, because she has ultimate veto power, seeing how she's great with child and all. So she could smite the whole budding plan right out of existence.

I gots to go swimming now, but Tito sure would appreciate knowing what the infinite triathlete brain trust had to say on this strictly hypothetical matter...