goodguidanceptc

[goodguidanceptc]

Ironman New Zealand Race Report  March 2, 2019

Welcome masochists and insomniacs. When people ask me about my races, I usually try to deliver a balance of facts (split times, data, total race time) and feelings (mind & body perceptions, key moments) in an entertaining yet succinct report. As usual, that often means STRONG LANGUAGE. Here goes:

Prologue:

A few weeks prior to the trip, I learned that I’d been selected for the “Ironman New Zealand Experience,” an online contest, administered with typical Kiwi approach by the local council. Read: relaxed, with ZERO Ironman lawyers involved. Six men and six women were selected--based on online posts--to learn a haka, perform at the athlete dinner and attend an after-race luncheon that included a presentation and performance of Maori history and traditions. 

I suspect my "pick me! pick me!” post got me plucked from a small applicant pool. Supporting evidence: of the twelve selected, two others were my training buddies from Chicago, Christine B. and Bernie Mc. SIDE NOTE: Each winner was allowed one additional guest at the luncheon--so a very special thanks to Christine for graciously counting my wife as her guest which meant I had both my wife and son at the luncheon.

Haka is Maori for “breathe fire.” Historically, hakas were performed by Maori warriors prior to battle. These days they are performed ceremonially to celebrate major milestones (marriage, retirement), honor important guests or--perhaps most notably--to intimidate opponents at athletic events (here’s a link). Outside of New Zealand, the most famous and awe-inspiring hakas are performed my the Maori All-Blacks National Rugby team prior to each match. 

I learned that there are hundreds of haka versions, each with its own inherent weight baked into the story it’s presenting. Although it was very different than the aggressive, male-only, pre-battle version the All-Blacks perform, I personally felt a tremendous honor and reverence for the one we learned.

The haka preserves indigenous culture, energetically injects traditional language into a modern forum, gathers and channels group energy by seamlessly melding ritual gesture and movement with raw emotion. It all adds up to a sum greater than it’s parts that’s simultaneously respectful and rebellious. Taken as a whole, the haka is something like how the Incredible Hulk would dance if the Incredible Hulk danced.

All of which is just to say that before I even started the race, I’d already experienced that tremendous joy that comes with receiving an unexpectedly perfect gift. IMNZ was already a success before the race even started. Now, let’s get back to facts...

Total race time = 11:33

Not a PR, but a mature result. “Mature?” you may be wondering, “Really?” Granted, few people would describe anything I do as mature, so perhaps a better word is un-deluded. Why? Because plantar fasciitis made for a “No-Run November” (all long runs performed in a pool), I hadn’t done enough resistance training, and winter holidays not only make it impossible to train, they make it nearly impossible to fuel properly. 

In his book, Elite Minds, Dr. Stanley Beecham suggests giving yourself a W when you trained your best and an L if you didn’t. My record for this training sequence (Nov-Feb) was 89-20-11. ( I gave myself T for Ties on days when training went right but something else went bad...usually diet.) In other words, a respectable-but-not-stellar W average (.741) earned a respectable-but-not-stellar result.

But still, the haka was awesome.

Pre-Race

Slept well. Ate well. No mechanical issues. Huddled briefly with most of the training buddies and Iron sherpas prior to warming up properly in the water.

Swim (1:06 total swim time)

Clear sighting, aggressive line, good tactics (drafted when possible), and even got some help from the current towards the end. That said, the two turn buoys at the far end were both a raucous scrum. First time I ever took a hard shot to the lip. My best swim ever. 

T1 (7:49)

"T1 is a 400 meter run from the swim out...” My ass. If that’s 400 meters, I’m Leslie Jones from SNL. Plus, AFTER the “400 meters,” a winding grass staircase comparable to any third-floor-walk-up or Wisconsin helix--easily another +50 meters at an +8% grade.

Once I did get up Mount Metric Bullshit, I moved right along. Sprayed on some sunscreen, stuffed a plastic bag under the regular bike jersey with some light gloves (in case it was nippy for the first hour), shoes on in the tent. Go.

Bike (5:38, technically a bike PR)

Two loops. Windy? A tad. The outbound tailwind was so strong, I struggled to maintain target watts. Get that? I didn’t have to pedal as hard as I’d trained to because I was easily traveling +20 mph on flat sections. Ditched the plastic bag and gloves at the first aid station because it was sunny and mild and I was feeling really great. Of course, logic dictates that inbound would be a shitstorm. Which it was. Oy. Mixed with some crosswinds too just in case you, oh I dunno...tried to pee on the bike and took too long...or wanted to take in some nutrition. Nasty. I caught myself using a bastardized mantra from IMAZ, “Frontside fast side, backside strong side” which morphed into “Out bound, throw down; In bound, get down.” whenever I was tempted to chase or draft.

A word on drafting: it’s illegal in Ironman races. BUT! By slipping into the draft zone of somebody passing faster than you are passing then letting them go, you can save energy and still stay within the letter and spirit of the rule. That said, 12 meters = 6ish bike lengths so don’t be the fucko that lingers.

Repeated that song and dance inbound on both loops. It’s a terrible thing when you can’t stay in aero-position because you gotta pee but can’t pee because the wind stuffs any momentum you need to keep your leg straight long enough to break the seal. But it WILL keep you legal.

For you data geeks: Normalized Power was 197 but I AVERAGED 20 m.p.h.

Another notable: the bone-shaking chip-seal they use to pave most New Zealand roads. It just rattled my whole rig from pedals to fingertips to helmet. That shit literally rattled my Torpedo bottle right out from between my aero-bars about halfway through. I’d already taken in the nutrition so I left it (apologies to all the Tidy Kiwis and the whole leave-it-like-you-found-it philosophy) and just held fresh bottles in with my thumbs as needed.

T2 (4:13)

Efficient but could have been a tad quicker. At this point in the race, I was on plan, feeling good and ready to attack the run. Nutrition was on point. Legs were solid, stomach was a non-issue and weather conditions were near ideal. Sunny and delightful low 70s. I was actually looking forward to Run Special Needs where I’d planted a fresh shirt and an extra bottle of nutrition.

Run (4:36 aka: avg 10:39/mi)

I went sub-4 hours in Louisville under raining mid-40 degree conditions. If I could have just matched that, I’d have delivered a juicy PR of under 11 hours.

It seemed reasonable that flat IM-LOU shitstorm would vaguely equate to hilly IM-NZ sunny delight, yes? 

No.

That three loop run over what my training bro Andrew T. would call offensive hills was having none of that nonsense. Turns out, I was woefully undertrained. My legs were just not up to the second and third loop of hills, despite biking to plan, executing nutrition properly, and taking the first loop at a very easy RPE.

In past reports I’ve shared some of the actual mental chatter that runs through my head but in this case none of my mantras were very interesting or helpful. What I have learned to do when I’m truly falling apart is to reinvest in technique. Focus on the extremely immediate present, which I used to counter punch one particularly angry and persistent neg that I just couldn’t shake. See if you can pick it out of the following scientifically gathered brainwave transcription:

...chatter-chatter-chatter...BREATHE...left-right-left-right-Toe-off-knees-up-hands-up-lean-easy-at-the-ankles-glutes-tucked-somebody-fucking-LIED-to-me-goddamBREATHE!-Toe-off-knees-up-hands-up-lean-easy-at-the-ankles-glutes-tucked-somebody-fucking-LIED-to-me-goddamnit-Toe-off-left-right-left...chatter-chatter-chatter...BREATHE

On a slightly more-vulnerable note, I will share this: typically, a few tears leak out at special needs. Hormones? Pain? Mental breakdown/relief that the marathon is half over? All of the above, probably. Just a few moments of a grown man losing it. (Do NOT watch Ricky Gervais’ After Life while jet lagged. But DO watch it. Amazing. Shut up. Don’t judge my process.)

Anyway, I was all business during the Special Needs of this run but lost it right after a particularly steep descend where some guardian bros had set up an “unofficial aid station” consisting of Red Bull, handles of vodka, and liters of Jaegermeister. A runner just ahead of me had grabbed something off their card table and their robust cheering were suddenly horrific screams warning him off of chugging it. I was just tickled and toasted at the same time and it all came gushing out. Just all kinds of quads burning gasping ugly face craughing (learned that word from a tweet praising After Life, btw). Of course my male ego would NEVER allow me to overly express vulnerability in front of the drunken bros, thoughtful though they were. So I kept running. A woman running along side me kindly asked if I was okay, I said, “Oh...yeah...this...just happens,” between gulping breaths, “The good...news...is...it’s much...later...than usual.” Which cracked her up, so... y’know, pay it forward.

After slogging my way through the third loop, and making my way through the finishing chute, where the normally incomparable Mike Reilly butchered my last name, I was told that I’d been on the leaderboard during the bike and immediately fell off during the run.

So even though I did not over-bike, I did under-train. Plus, I did not need to go directly to Medical in shock, which suggests that my race plan, nutrition strategy and execution was pretty spot on. IMAZ was a PR of 11:19 and IMNZ was 11:33.

OVERALL RACE GRADE: C. Just a C. 

OVERALL EXPERIENCE GRADE: A+

As with prior races, IMNZ yielded some incremental improvements. As I said at the top, this was a mature result, with which I am unsatisfied. I haven't yet done my best race. I haven’t yet DONE MY BEST. There is clearly opportunity for improvements to all five aspects of my racing:

Swim was well executed. Still room for growth.

Bike was properly executed. Adequate. If anything, I could have pushed more.

Run. Ugh. Time to throw myself into Runner’s World and CARA and make like Forrest Gump and Prefontaine and Mo. Also, back to Hokas. Or maybe Altras. The Brooks I ran in were farts. The blisters on my toes had blisters. Not kidding.

Fuel strategy and execution was on point, although I was a few kilos heavier than previous races. Holidays and too few resistance training sessions.

Transitions were adequate.

Am I one of the guys at the pointy end of the bell curve? Clearly still yes. Maybe I’ve just evolved beyond a standard group training plan. Self-Coach? I’ve got the credentials and experience. Back to a previous coach? Maybe a new coach? I’d take some applications. Yes.

In the meantime, I’ll see you in Chattanooga for some 70.3 action in May, 2019. That’s only two build cycles. Ima go noodle around in TrainingPeaks.

WAIT. HERE’S THE BERNIE STORY...

Bernie McNally is one of those people I am just glad to have in my life. This race report would be wholly inadequate if I didn't share how this amazing woman is absolutely unstoppable.

First, she got everybody who trained for New Zealand (at Well-Fit) a fleece.

I forgot to mention she broke her ribs in a bike accident a few months ago.

Then, in what can only be described as the luck of the Irish, she charmed her way into the “New Zealand Experience” haka class. Just showed up and got in. Turns out one of the women selected didn’t show up. Classic.

Here’s the unstoppable part: at around Mile 110 of the New Zealand Full fucking Ironman race, she hit a cone and went over her bike handle bars. Road rash up her arm, split her knee open and cracked her head/helmet on a curb. A bystander said, “Do you need some help? I’m calling an ambulance.”

Her reply?

“Just help me get my chain back on.”

So he did. And she finished the bike. The medics in T2 told her she needed stitches.  She said she didn’t have time, to just patch her up so she could get on with it. She finished the race with half an hour to spare. Words fail.

All I know is this: whenever I’m feeling like I can’t get it done--and it can be anything from driving in traffic to folding laundry to a holding pace on a long run--I know exactly what I’ll hear. 

A thick, sassy, Irish brogue doing the haka.

WITH GRATITUDE FOR…

I’m very grateful to my lovely wife Susan and my wonderful kids, Peter and Veronica for their support. Susan, you are my salvation.

I’m grateful to have the expert professionals Coach Russ and Coach Sharone and the entire Well-Fit staff and athletes who generously share their wisdom.

I’m grateful to my inspiring and impressive training partners. Especially the seven hardcore savages that got it done in New Zealand--Adam, Christine, Dan, Kelly, Megan, Mike, Will and Bernie.

I’m very grateful to anybody willing to excuse my terrible smell, deplorable language and barbaric sounds during training.

Maximum gratitude to Well-Fit, Get-A-Grip, Fleet Feet and all the pools I use.

I’m grateful for Crushing Iron (C26), Matt Fitzgerald, Joe Friel, Training Peaks, Scott brand bikes, Apple, Ironman.

Thank you to all the on-course maniacs cheering and making signs and wearing all sorts of crazy outfits to show love and support. For strangers exercising.

I’m grateful that I’m able to race triathlons. I’m grateful to you for reading.

[goodguidanceptc]

Louisville IM Race Report October 14, 2018

Welcome coaches, training buddies, close friends and masochists/insomniacs. As with prior race reports, be warned that this post contains STRONG LANGUAGE. Here goes:

Abstract:

Read the Athlete Guide. Always. Miserable cold and wet conditions. Water temp warmer than air temp, wetsuit legal. Absurd Swim (shortened due to aggressive current); T1 was all about gear choices; Adequate Bike under demanding conditions; T2 was also all about gear choices; Tough Run. Two key takeaways: 1) Read the Athlete Guide; 2) I haven't quite properly calibrated in-race fueling.

Total race time result = 10:18*

* Under grossly dis-humane weather conditions and my own flubs, that is a good result...with which I am completely unsatisfied. A no-surprise, well-managed bike and a somewhat uneven run (matched stand-alone marathon result). Feel free to stop reading now.

Pre-Race (aka: “the Dumbening”)

I cannot emphasize strongly enough: no matter how many races you’ve done, how confident you may be in knowing the procedures, the timing, the places, etc... read and re-read the Athlete Guide.

So although I cannot provide details, just know that I--through my own dumbness--was told to acquire my timing chip in T1 after an official manually noted my swim start time, while standing on the dock to jump into the Ohio River. Clearly communicated in multiple places: check-in closes at 5pm Friday. 

Brief rewind: woke up, standard pre-race breakfast, uneventful gear check and load bottles onto bike, walked over to Swim in. Shoulda found an IM staffer then, but didn’t think. Just didn't think it through; too cold and pre-race- process oriented. Got a little tunnel vision to get to the front of the self-seeded “1-1:10″ swim line. 

Announcer: The current is so strong, some of the pros were struggling to get up river. Swim shortened to .9 mile, in other words an Olympic distance. Race delayed. 

Some squats to stay warm, chat up some folks in line, never once thought to go  get my chip before passing though that big black arch.

Swim (:18 min or 1:18/100 pace)

I swear to you by all the barge traffic and catfish whiskers in the Ohio River, there is no way I was in that river for 18 minutes. More on this in T1. Feet first into the river, sight that first buoy and...

Ever look through a kaleidoscope? Or imagine a Disney version of puke from a flying whale?  The view from my goggles was: 

[Kayaks + swim caps + buoys]

X

(river current exceeding posted speed limits) 

= 

flying Disney whale puke (as I imagine it rendered)

Just utter chaos. I aimed for the big wall, hit the metal steps and out. To quote one of my training partners, “My hair barely got wet.”

T1 (9:20)

Up the steps and skipped the peelers. Rationale: stay as warm as possible as long as possible. Jogged to changing tent, quickly passed the clumping “under 1 hour” swimmers, grabbed a chair near the exit.

Decision time on what to wear and how much skin to cover for the bike. I went with 100% coverage. Socks, thermal legs, long sleeves, gloves, balaclava. Plastic bag under the jersey and five of those little hand warmers hunters use (squeeze and shake for 6+ hours warming) in my back jersey pockets.

Out to bike rack, unhook and... it’s find-my-chip time. Found an IM staffer who radioed multiple people before finally sending me past the Bike Out arch to where the chip folks were.

I.  Stood. There.  Forrr -- evv -- errr. 

Trying to alleviate my own frustration and anxiety, I literally put my head in my hands and made Hulk sounds.

Now, even in my adrenalized and hyper-performance-oriented state, I remember that I brought this shit on myself. So any expectation of special treatment, expedited problem-solving or what I call the lack of a “hop to!” by IM staffers simply cannot be criticized.  This crapola? All.  On.  Me.

Furthermore, I'm grateful. (Check prior race reports, if you must. OR just trust me when I say that...) I thank all the volunteers and cops and EMTs and Traffic Management and general staff within earshot. No matter what speed I’m biking or running. Seriously. I’m all about appreciation.

All that said, Swim and T1 times are clearly inaccurate. Although IM staff noted the time of day I jumped into the water, another IM staffer wrote my time on a clipboard when they activated my chip and yet another other IM staff told me they’d estimate my T1 time. But I didn’t know precisely where to go in T1. So I lingered.

[So again: read the Athlete Guide.]

And if you are ever in that situation--which I guaran-frikkin-tee you I will NEVER be--I recommend you DO NOT stop to ask questions. Continue until you happen upon the chip folks. Worst case: you miss them and back track... the biking equivalent of going back to get dropped nutrition.

Bike (5:43)

While I definitely did not feel myself relax heading down River Road, I did feel a certain familiar comfort. I’d ridden this course a few times so even in the cold, wet wind, I was pretty confident I could manage the bike.

In the spirit of gratitude, whether passing or getting passed, I try to say something positive (looking good, go git some, stay strong).

Even on a hilly course, I ended up pacing with a few others. I try to be sensitive to any ‘gamesmanship’ (I’m not trying to get in your head competitively) but I'm definitely chatty. And the cold and wet just invited comment, even if only to distract from the misery.

Stick out and first loop was uneventful other than the number of people shivering on the sides of the route. Second loop had more than a few cars on course that seemed patient and considerate (relatively, IMO) but still required careful negotiations.

A FEW FIRSTS FOR ME

BLINDING ANGER. I admit I might have been “kicking the cat” but I’ve never experienced this on course.

On the back side of the loop, in the narrow stretch of blacktop through the small neighborhood just after the long descent out of La Grange, there’s short, steep descent with a well-marked/painted “BUMP” before a short, steep uphill. I’m a technically strong and confident cyclist so getting through here on the first loop was a piece of cake. Second time though, there was a hefty pack of windbreakers weaving(!) across the entire width of the road. Despite shouting “on your left” repeatedly and loudly, I had to brake. On an uphill. Dropped my chain. Nearly fell. Unclipped.  All in the tiny 8ish yards of that short ascent. 

What did I do? Stood there trying to get my chain back on and swearing profusely that dickhead bucket-listers with fucking no fucking business fucking leaving their fucking strip-mall periodontist practices should fucking learn to handle their goddamn bikes.

As I passed them on the descent towards the hay-bale bullseye, I gently advised them about blocking, race etiquette and having some goddamn self-awareness. In my defense, I averaged very nearly 20mph that day. And when I accidentally felt somebody too close as they passed, I always apologized. In retrospect, I’m sorry I was that guy right then. 

PROFOUND SOLITUDE Stay with me as I get a little bing-bongy here... At the split to repeat the loop or return on the stick, most folks (the fat part of the bell curve) go left for their second loop.  I was returning on the stick. 

Suddenly I was not saying or hearing “on your left” or listening for the difference between aero wheels or a passing car. 

I was alone. Like the guy in that Robert Frost poem. Miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go before I sleep. And the mental chatter started. Cold. Grey. Wet. Stupid. Wasteful. What ego on you, chump. Clips from Moby Dick, Chapter 96. Burning ship, drove on to some vengeful deed. Gloom. There is a wisdom that is woe; but there is a woe that is madness. ee cummings A Leaf Falls. 

[Stop wasting your time with this race report. Go read some actual writers.]

Even my mantras had abandoned me. I may have started singing or rapping something from my training playlist to shut down the negative chatter. And that’s about when I realized how well I was managing this bike leg. I think that’s called a paradox.

DON’T BLOW IT NOW Somewhere along one of the last ascents, I realized that I’d dressed properly! Coach Robbie’s advice for plastic grocery bag was spot on. Sure the toes and fingers were cold, but functional. Ears and neck felt okay and core temp was a non-issue. I wondered if I’d taken enough calories (thought: probably) but come on! I’d handled some real shitball conditions pretty well. 

T2 (8:49)

Pulled off everything soaking wet except kit shorts. Replaced with dry thermal long-sleeve top, dry hat, dry gloves. Run belt, bottle, dry socks, shoes. Go.

While neither T1 or T2 were very fast, I really didn’t linger in the warmth. I remember thinking, “Take two deep breaths, make this decision and move it.” In other words, time was spent actually changing clothes.

BTW, Transition volunteers? True Guardian Bros. Can’t thank em enough.

Run (3:58 aka: avg 9:03/mi)

Two MAJOR joyous moments within the first mile:

1) As we’d pre-planned, my unbelievably awesome wife told me I was 18 minutes behind a podium slot. She told me later that I barked, “FUCK!” Regardless, I steal a kiss every race.  Better than a GU and just as sweet. [Yes she reads these. Wink!] 

2) Coincidentally, she was standing a few feet from Coach Robbie (C26), who I recognized but accidentally called Mike (his podcast co-host who I knew was on course). I think I shook his hand? Or maybe just shouted a happy shout?

So those two intercepts helped make the first 25% of the run all good.  I kept turning down the pace because, as Coach Robbie has said, “your legs are lying to you.”

Then all that good ju-ju abandoned me like buoys on the Ohio River on the backside of the first loop.

I’d dropped my Infinit before finishing the entire first 24oz bottle. Why not stop and get it? I got no good rational answer. Ditched hat and gloves and actually rolled up my sleeves. My legs and shoes were soaked. (Walk-peeing wasn’t doing me any favors.) 

I felt better once I had another bottle from my Special Needs bag, but by then I’d already burned my biscuits (another C26 gem) so I was well below my planned and expected 8:40/mile pace.

I may have even cried a little. Apologies to extremely helpful volunteer who graciously ignored a grown-ass man losing his shit. I KNOW i was talking to myself, “It’s all in your head. Move it.” and other more terrible words.

The last 25% in-bound was an exercise in utter stubbornness. Coke Gatorade Coke Gatorade Coke Gatorade and tons of verbal self-flagellation to keep going. I sincerely believe I passed two guys in my AG out of pure self-loathing.

The Fourth Street Live finish lived up to the hype. There’s photographic evidence that I actually smiled as I crossed and nearly collapsed (again, super kudos to the volunteers). I was wheeled straight to medical, shivering and borderline shock-ey. Broth, blankets, checked vitals (core temp too low). As planned, Susan brought me multiple layers of dry clothes. Changed. Got my mental shit together after finding out I’d finished 16th. Gold star to Al V., the med tent massage therapist. Another Guardian Bro.  Limped home.

OVERALL RACE GRADE: PASS

As with prior races, IM-LOU yielded incremental improvements in all racing phases. As I said at the top, this was a good result, with which I am completely unsatisfied.

Am I one of the guys at the pointy end of the bell curve? Clearly yes. 

Did I KQ? Unequivocal NO. Not even close.

There is clearly opportunity for additional incremental improvements to all five aspects of my racing:

Swim pace was an anomaly. 3x/wk in the lap pool could be improved by 2x/wk in endless pool.

Bike power was lost due to shitass Garmin tech. But from what I remember, I was mostly high Z2 with relatively few power spikes given the course and conditions. I definitely managed the bike with patience and smarts.

Run suffered due to fueling strategy that is just not... quite...perfected. And again, deplorable conditions.

Fuel strategy. I over corrected from IM-AZ (early run GI problems). Calories, liquids (no solids) and delivery method feels right. Timing around T2 needs tweaking.

Transitions were what they were. MY dumbassery in T1 was offset by my smart gear decisions.

See you in New Zealand in March, 2019!

WITH GRATITUDE FOR...

I’m very grateful to my lovely wife Susan and my wonderful kids, Peter and Veronica for their support. Susan, you are my salvation.

I’m grateful to have the expert professionals Coach Klebacha and Coach Sharone and the entire Well-Fit staff and athletes who generously share their wisdom.

I’m grateful to my inspiring and impressive training partners, including but not limited to the TriFam, the Well-Fit Elite Team (too many bad-asses to list but special GOLD STARS to LIZ and LAURA) and other triathlete rockstars like Nic, Dana, Andrew, John, James, Tony, and all the Pauls and Mikes.

I’m very grateful to anybody willing to excuse my terrible smell, deplorable language and barbaric sounds during training.

Maximum gratitude to Well-Fit, FFC, UIC, Whitney Young, Get-A-Grip, Live Grit, Fleet Feet, the Lakeshore path, Louisville Landsharks.

I’m grateful for Crushing Iron (C26), Matt Fitzgerald, Joe Friel, Training Peaks, Scott brand bikes, Apple, Ironman.

Thank you to all the on-course maniacs cheering and making signs and wearing all sorts of crazy outfits to show love and support. For strangers exercising.

Special thanks and appreciation to Bernie Mc for the most amazing on course support. Extra special Top Marks to Bernie!

I’m grateful that I’m able to race triathlons. Thanks for reading.

[goodguidanceptc]

Madison70.3 Race Report June 10, 2018

Hello again. If you’re reading this, you are either one of my coaches, a training buddy, close personal friend and/or a deeply flawed masochist/insomniac. I suppose I love you just the same. I really really hope my race reports are improving with my racing. In the past, both have taken too long. Warning: strong language. Here goes:

Abstract (choose this option to skip the full read):

Ridiculous rain delayed start. Water temp warmer than starting air temp but still wetsuit legal. Adequate Swim; T1 trouble (dropped chain, lost Garmin); Adequate Bike; Bike trouble (lost 1/3 nutrition); more Bike trouble (a hard climb popped a spoke); T2 uneventful; Run was friggin’ tough yet I handled it well.

Total race time result = 5:26. 

Nowhere near a total PR, however, given the weather conditions and my flubs, I’m pleased with that result. Main goal was to manage the bike enough to crush the run. While the total time was nowhere near a Personal Record, the 1:45 run IS a run split PR. Success. Feel free to stop reading now.

Pre-Race (aka: “the Deluge”)

The Saturday before (and the Monday after) race day were gloriously temperate, sunny days. Sunday, June 10th, however, was a shitstorm of cold grey rain from 3am to 8am with a forecast high in the mid-60s and 15+mph winds. “WTF” is a gross understatement of the surreal madness of a 74-degree pre-race shake-out and subsequent 72-degree drive home, with a tempestuous Sunday mud bath in between.

So. Sunday morning. Standard high-carb breakfast and coffee. Got to transition in a mild rain, set-up the bike nutrition (Infinit x 3 bottles) and left everything else in my bag covered with towels; bike gear to one side and run gear to the other.

Then the skies really opened up. From about 6am to 7am, the rain came down like a big, heavy curtain that obscured the capitol dome. Visibility was less than a few yards. It was so absurd that I was literally unable stop giggling as I headed toward the start chute. Announcer: Race delayed until 7:30.

Swim (:35 min or 1:49/100 pace)

About 7:15 the rain lightened up sig-nif-i-cant-ly...so they queued us up for self-seeded swim start. I lined up in the back third of 30-33 wave. Good line, felt strong. Although there was some pushy chop, this was a pretty uneventful swim. I stayed within a body length of all the buoys. Even grazed a few. As usual, I expected a faster split and have many theories as to why I’m not closer to :30. If you’ve read any previous race reports, they haven't changed:

Theory 1: I subconsciously slow down when sighting. 

Theory 2: I’m too polite. In this swim, I let a breast-stroker(!) move me off my line as I passed, apologized to another swimmer when we kinda knocked arms and generally kept myself in clean water. 

Theory 3: quick cadence with no glide. Granted, gliding woulda been tough in that chop, but still. The flip side of “no glide” is that I tend to “short” the back third of my stroke. In other words, the short glide/quick cadence leads to me recover at the hip rather than the thigh. Swim coaches will tell you the back third is waaayyy less important than the front catch (it is), and yet a) it’s all connected, b) something otherwise inexplicable is slowing me down in open water.

Frankly, it’s likely a combination of all three.

T1 (4:17)

Hit the Garmin button (from Swim-to-T1). The run from Swim Out, up the boat ramp, through 50+ yards of swampy grass and mud and out to the bike racks was a long slog. Otherwise, I’d a been out around 3 minutes.

Because of the overnight rain and morning deluge, I didn’t clip my shoes onto my pedals. And because it was low-60s, I had to decide for/against a top layer over the race top. So...disposable thermal shirt on, shoes on, helmet on, glasses on. Go. Slipped and dropped my bike getting through a swampy drainage trench. Trotted out well past the mount line aaaand... fuckin chain had dropped. Quick fix, gouged my left ring finger. Aaaand finally awkwardly but safely rolled out. As I went to hit my Garmin button (from T1-to-Bike)...

MAJOR DECISION #1 ...my watch was gone. Gone. Mind you, the wrist band was there, just not the important part. Backtrack through T1 muck and find it? Um...nope. Fuck it.

Bike (2:59) (aka “multiple self-inflicted idiocy”)

The course started with a no pass zone which made for lots of cross talk. Frankly, I appreciated the communication. It was the safe choice. Quickly go out onto the roads where everything was wet and wild and I had no way of knowing my watts. Windy. Hilly. Kept it nice and steady, best I could. Took some care on the descents. Did I mention it was wet and windy? Felt strong and aggressive without torching the legs in the wind and hills. on a modest descent around Mile 18...

MAJOR DECISION #2 ...I dropped one of my three Infinit water bottles. Just slipped out of my wet hand and off into a ditch. Backtrack and try to find it? Lose momentum + navigate oncoming bike traffic + full dismount to get bottle vs 33% nutrition lost...uhm...ah, jeez... no. Fuck motherfuck it.

Moved along nicely. At 2nd Aid Station (Mile 30), I ditched the thermal shirt, useless black wrist band and heart-rate monitor strap, grabbed two Gatorades to help make up the nutrition deficit.

I was managing this shit show with zero internal chatter, continuing to thank volunteers and officers controlling traffic. Y’know, race with gratitude. That’s when, somewhere on a steep incline between Mile 34ish and 42ish...

MAJOR DECISION #3 ...I popped a spoke. Sounds just like you think it would. WHONG! Mother fucking fuck motherfucker are you fucking kidding me!?!

Right on cue, the mental chatter was on me like a murder of crows, heavy and black and keenly logical. It was something like a no-punctuation stream: stop stopping is easier work less be smarter be smart be a fucking grown up adult wisdom stop what are you fighting get a ride back from race support get your money’s worth stop get dry relax exhale stop heck maybe just check and see what happened maybe you can fix what harm is a quick stop check it stop.

And that’s when the “go fuck yourself” came out of me. 

Maybe if I had stopped to check what happened I might have seen the disconnected spoke and quit. Maybe if the bike truly broke, if it was a true mechanical failure, a danger, something unridable, if the chain had locked up. Maybe I would have stopped.

But in that moment, all I thought was “go fuck yourself.” 

At the time, all I knew was that my back tire that was no longer “true” and rubbed against the brake pad every revolution. Which, believe it or not, had happened in a recent FTP test. So, weirdly, I’d already experienced something similar.

Instead, I chose seventeen miles (give or take) of wobble; tiny tugs on every tire spin; a higher heart-rate and even MORE braking on descents. Frustrating. More work shutting down mental chatter, mostly about breaking an arm or clavicle until, finally, I got back to Transition.

I had accomplished half the goal of the day, to manage the bike in order to set-up a successful run. The Stoics aint got nothing on me after that shitshow.

T2 (2:59)

At this point, the hardest decision to make was whether to wear a hat, visor or nothing on my head. It was still overcast, slightly warmer and the rain had stopped. Run belt, socks, shoes. Go.

Run (1:45 aka: avg 8:03/mi)

Basically, i was running blind, without a real strategy beyond, “be smart run hard.” GU just before each aid station, walk the aid station, take fluid. Coke starting at Mile 10.

Chatted up a few folks as I paced based on my perceived exertion. Around Mile 4 John Spillman said he was running 8:00/miles. Around Mile 7 Chris Navin said he was running 8:30s. I just kept trying to make strong moves without burning out and pace along somebody that felt right. Coulda used more coke on the last few aid stations.

Every borderline cramp twinge was a panic of salt intake. 

The very last +8% hill at mile 13.08 is just nasty mean.

STILL READING?

Scroll back up to the Abstract for the summary. All I can say is, in a sick sort of way, I have to laugh. I give myself a SURREAL D+ for the mistakes I made prior to popping a spoke and a STOIC A+ for grinding that race out in under 5:30 after that mechanical.

[goodguidanceptc]

It has begun. Here we see Past, Present and Future. #paincave #wellfitchicago #ironman

[goodguidanceptc]

Before and after. 2017 Annual Christmas-to-New-Year Family Puzzle. #familyfun

[goodguidanceptc]

Race Report: Ironman Arizona Race Date: November 19, 2017

2017 started with the mantra, “Make the Kona choice.” I used this to plan and execute training, diet, meal timing and portions, as well as social activities, bedtime, even reading materials. As training data and assessments coalesced, I tweaked it to a more intrinsic, “Make the sub-10 choice.”

Why sub-10? According to www.coachcox.co.uk (which I highly recommend for robust IM data analysis), over the last ten years, the Average KQ time for AG males, 45-49 at IMAZ is a vicious 9:34. In fact, to even sniff at KQ at any Ironman, sub-10 only sometimes gets you in the running.

As volume and intensity of rides and runs increased over months of training, “Make the sub-10 choice” was truncated even further to: “1-5-4,″ an oversimplified shorthand for my expected S/B/R splits. Aggressive? Sure. Mistake? Maybe. But “Aggressive Mistakes” could be the tag line for every middle age endurance athlete. I wanted to redeem a terrible 2015 IMOO, be one of the guys at the pointy end of the bell curve, and with a healthy injection of luck, maybe earn a Kona Qualification.

To help make rides and runs (and lifting sessions) fun, like most folks, I built a playlist library. As I shuffled new songs in and out, the playlists became a mish-mash of blues, hard rock, EDM, classical and funk. Fun. Odd. Me.

I’ll save you some time (ha!)... I didn't get anywhere near sub-10. I made great strides in fitness, learned quite a bit and had some big fun doing it. Falling well short of a 10 hour Ironman has generated a mixed bag of emotions. So, not unlike my playlists, now that IMAZ is done, I’m all over the place. Here’s my race report.

Day Before and Race Day

In light of the result, one very small detail stands out from the day before: as a light snack at about 3:30, I had some corn chips and approx.1/2c guacamole.

Race day: All good. Proper fueling, proper timing, proper execution. 

Lesson: I’m well prepped on race day. Very little anxiety or stress; I planned the race and I’ll race the plan (mostly). But remember that guac snack.

Swim (1:08:32)

Tempe Town Lake is basically a giant, unfiltered pool, murky but calm, a Lake Michigan Lite. Two challenging aspects of the course are 1) officials make it very tough to preview actual course and 2) about 400 yards of swimming directly towards a 7:02 sunrise.

The new self-seeding race start works fine for me, I’m no mass start purist and I’m happy to navigate fewer dolts over the first couple hundred yards. I’d been in this water twice over the past 30 days and shaded goggles got me through.

In candor, while there’s always room for improvement, my Garmin indicated 1:26/100 avg. over 2.58mi and mapped very close to where Ironman says the buoys were placed. So in terms of efficiency, the extra .18miles could be attributed to race-start procedures/location, where I hit my T1 button as well as some normal jostling.

Lesson: better sighting and overall technique will help improve time.

T1 (5:14)

Smooth. Almost half the time my coach thought I’d take. I don’t fuck around in transition.

Bike (5:41:43; 19.7mph avg)

My plan was simple: “Front side strong side, back side fast side.” I’d muscle uphill to the Shea Road turnaround (strong side) and let gravity and aero deliver high speeds back into town (fast side) for three loops. This also fits my general race strategy of “take what it gives you.”

Furthermore, even the windiest rides I’d taken over the month that I lived in Tempe to train, the gusts rarely got above 15mph. So 5-10mph wind forecast was manageable. I had a solid, tested nutrition plan. I’d rented a small profile front wheel and disk back (practiced on during my stay) and a respectable 289 FTP. I made my race weight goal of 162lbs (74kg).

But Ironman is a bitchy trickster.

Because on race day, that bitch wind that usually hits at Beeline Highway, was already in everybody’s face at McKellips Road, a full 10 miles earlier (per loop), than any practice ride. However, logic indicates that if it’s that nasty outbound, it’s at my back inbound! Sure enough, IM tracker data supports this over first and second loops, essentially indicating 17mph outbound, 26mph inbound, though less dramatically on third loop data (16mph out/19mph in).

To stay conservative, I deliberately turned down watts to manage the additional 30miles of headwind on McKellips. Garmin says: 183 avg watts (63% FTP) overall. This may indicate I left some power out there, or(!) that good technique and aerodynamics on the “fast side” kept watts down despite high avg mph.

On the front side of the second loop, lots of “47″ and “46″ male calves passed me. I really hate getting passed. IMAZ results say I ranked 39th out of the water but 60th off the bike. So you just gotta believe me when I say that I let a lot of people go. Is that a positive step in my evolution as a competitor? Or was that concession to windy course conditions? All I know is that I took too long on the bike and there was a lot of conflicting chatter in my head.

To compound the problem, every time I peed, i had to gear up/mash hard in order to coast long enough to straighten a leg as I went. And if a few guys got past me as I peed, I had to catch them. Was that racing my plan? Yes and no. Yes I’d always planned to pee on the bike, but the wattage spikes to regain momentum may have caused problems later. On the other hand, 183 avg watts! So it’s a circular conundrum.

Two other items of note. 

I ate one Clif Bar within the first hour, as planned.

As is my habit, I thank volunteers as well as first responders (police, EMTs, Firefighters) as I go.

Lesson: trust the training. A good plan, well executed, will get it done.

T2 (2:49)

Again, smooth. No issues. I’d gotten all my nutrition and hydration in on the bike and my full body scan was all good. Even gave Susan a quick peck as I went by.

Run (4:21:26 or 9:58/mi)

Ten. Minute. Miles. Criminal. A heinous crime.

What happened? Started slowly--as planned-- and knew the course. Everything for the first two miles was A-OK! I wasn’t pushing. What happened? No problems on second loop whatsoever, I had the legs and the stomach was fine. Cola provided a great boost around mile 24. I ran the last two miles at sub-8:00 pace but did not negative split. I didn't get anywhere near my expected average pace of 8:30s or better. What happened?

One. Bad. GI moment. At Mile 2, forced porta-pottie stop to release the terrible pressure. 

So let’s Tarantino this crime... let’s go back... rewind... maybe you already know where I’m going...

IF I had started cola earlier (mile 16?), I could have negative split...

IF I had not had a brief but sudden bout of diarrhea at the second aid station (symptoms started bubbling at first aid station)...

IF only I hadn’t over-reacted in FEAR, slowing at every aid station to ensure that I was never too far from a port-pottie.

Did I need to walk every aid station? Absolutely not! 

In other words, despite near perfect race day plan and execution, that one  single, sudden burst of diarrhea blew up the whole run. Because once it started, that fear of it becoming a serial killer dominated my race management. Now, in the court of my post-race opinion, where does the blame belong? 

Infinite formula? Both bike and run formulas were used extensively during training. Verdict: Innocent.

That Cliff Bar early on the bike? Circumstantial evidence does point to this suspect, given IMOO results and frequent immediate distress after some(!) training bricks, but the timing doesn’t seem right and, again, used plenty in training. Verdict: Innocent.

Heat? It reached mid-80s. But I never felt that oppressive burn (or other symptoms) of being overheated AND I’d been training in it for over a month AND I did not cramp up afterwards. Verdict: Innocent.

Loss of Confidence? I don’t think of myself as a runner despite having completed multiple 70.3s and lots of long training runs, not to mention the friggin’ Chicago Marathon, sub-4 in 90+ degree heat. Verdict: GUILTY, Aiding and Abetting.

Guacamole? Forgive my grossness here but this suspect matches the volume and consistency of evidence left in the second aid station porta-pottie. Timing fits, too. Verdict: GUILTY.

Lesson: sometimes “take what it gives you” is not the right move. Sometimes fortune favors the bold. Should have and could have run harder and let the poops fall where they may.

OVERALL RACE TIME: 11:19:26

OVERALL RACE GRADE: B-

I had faster time expectations in all three phases, especially the Run. Honestly though, it is somewhat disingenuous to suggest that 11:19 is not impressive. It is. Especially given that this was only my second ever full 140.6 race.

Did I redeem a terrible 2015 IMOO? Unequivocal YES.

Am I one of the guys at the pointy end of the bell curve? SORT OF, depending on how pointy #48 out of 495 ranks in my AG (largest AG at IMAZ).

Did I KQ? Unequivocal NO. Not even close.

Furthermore, I admit that 1-5-4 was a stretch goal from the very start, especially given my limited time in the sport. I also have to admit that there was never any data to support the kinds of power or paces I know to be required for sub-10 results, including but not limited to:

1-5-4 does not account for 10-15 minutes of transition

A 5 hour bike split indicates a 22.4mph average speed

3.2 - 3.4 w/kg is well below elite ratios of 4.0+w/kg

A sub-4 standalone marathon does not project to a sub-4 IM marathon

A 5-hour 70.3 does not project to a 10-hour full

SWIM: A-

Could reasonably trim 7-8 minutes, or about :10-:15 seconds/100.

BIKE: B+

Wind. But also, could have managed/reduced surges better. Could reasonably trim :30 minutes with a few extra watts.

RUN: C

That initial shock of FEAR so early in the run created a tactical overreaction predicated on a lack of faith in my own abilities. I’ve just got to start thinking of myself as a runner. Then, run.

Finishing / Post Race

I’m very grateful to my lovely wife Susan and my wonderful kids, Peter and Veronica for their support. Susan, you are my salvation.

I’m grateful to have the expert professionals Coach K and Coach Sharone and the entire Well-Fit staff who share their wisdom. 

I’m grateful to my inspiring and impressive training partners, including but not limited to the TriFam (Adam, Anjelica, Bernie, David, Kelly, Lauren, Megan, Sach), the Well-Fit Elite Team (too many bad-asses to list) and other triathlete rockstars like AJ, Jeremy, Kristin D., Laura B., Thomas, Tony, and all the Pauls and Mikes.

Special gratitude to Tatsu, Jeremy and Paul Z who were involved, but thankfully not harmed, with my training ride crash. Tatsu was especially gracious and understanding. Thank you.

I’m very grateful to anybody willing to excuse my terrible smell, deplorable language and barbaric sounds during FTP tests.

Maximum gratitude to Well-Fit, FFC, UIC, Whitney Young, Get-A-Grip, Live Grit, Fleet Feet, the Lakeshore path, Joliet Bicycle Club, PSHS and the pros at Moxie Multi-sport in Tempe.

I’m grateful for Crushing Iron (C26), Matt Fitzgerald, Joe Friel, Training Peaks, Scott brand bikes, Garmin, Apple, Chipotle, Lifetime Fitness, Ironman.

Thank you to all the on-course maniacs cheering and making signs and wearing all sorts of crazy outfits to show love and support. 

Special thanks and appreciation to Matt Dryden, Rob Lemons and Bernie Mc for the most amazing on course support--with special Top Marks to Bernie the Leprechaun!

I’m grateful that I’m able to race triathlons. 

[goodguidanceptc]

Although I’m out of town, I highly recommend this workshop...

[goodguidanceptc]

Race Report: Puerto Rico 70.3          Race Date: March 19, 2017

Dominoes, games of flipping black tiles to match white dots, factor large in Puerto Rican culture. One version is played by standing them on end in rows and pushing the first one to knock the rest down. This can be fun or frustrating, depending on how well it’s planned.

1st Domino: I forgot my bike shoes. Unclipped them to pack my bike and left them on my dining room floor.

2nd Domino: Bracket that holds skewer, cassette and chain derailleur got bent during transport. A tech at the race expo fixed it.

So while I’m sweating a strange tech trying some bike repair magic, I’m Googling speed plates and bike shoes. Nobody at the remarkably small race expo had any solutions, but I found a tiny store in San Juan (with the grandiose name, Koishima Tri Club. More syllables than square footage), run by a Guardian Bro named Abraham. He pulled some thoroughly used speed plates off his own shoes and mounted them on a pair of $40 shoes.

Problems handled (sort of). Good dinner, in bed early. 

Race day

Up very early to rendezvous with Team Well-Fit at 4:30. Too early. Ate. Set-up T1 and “t-.05.” Normally, I like to be “kicked out” of T1 with very little extra time to overthink the race. That said, so much positive energy from the other Well-Fit folks is hard not to love.

PR swim exit is a third of a mile away from T1. So we set up a “t-.05″ with shoes to make that extended run. Susan–new knick-name, “Number One Sherpa”–stood guard over shoes and water bottles (to rinse salt water). I put my tri-top and HR strap there, knowing I could use the run to put it on. We loitered at “t-.05″ for about an hour before we walked over to swim start.

Lesson: I’m well prepped on race day. Too much time leaves too much room for negative head chatter.

Swim (:36:56)

Went with WF tri shorts only. The first 400 yards were rough. Assholes and elbows everywhere. Getting my hips pushed was new. But sorted out by first turn. Stayed along buoys, felt the cool ocean current as I reached the bridge, sighted the swim out and went hard.

Need more technique work. FIVE WHOLE MINUTES slower than expected :32.

Lesson: double check buoy placements day of race. Course was practically a crescent moon. Could have saved time by NOT hugging course buoys after second turn.

Lesson: next 70.3 I will dominate my fearful chatter and conservative approach, take the pole position and force the other guys to swim around me. I’m taking the beating anyway and maybe I could draft better…

T1 (6:36)

Smooth but could have skipped rinsing off salt water and pulling on shoes. BUT! learned a trick to pull tri-top on like a dress (vs. overhead, like a t-shirt). Thanks to Dan K!

Bike (2:40:06; averaged approx. 21mph)

First race on new bike with power meter…and last-minute replacement shoes. Had a hard time calibrating PM (twice!) so although I did not have perfect confidence in readings, I held 80% +/-5% (210-230watts) for majority of two loop lollipop. Given avg mph, I probably wasn’t too far off, given head/tail winds.

Followed nutrition/hydration plan…mostly.

Just after the second turn around (Mile 45-ish) my right foot felt odd. I thought it was surely the used speed cleat failing. Nope. Cleat was fine. Sole was coming unglued from upper… a little more with each stroke.

Mashed the last ten-ish miles of rolling hills dealing with flappy shoe. Lots of mental chatter during this section, mostly R- and X-rated versions of:

why are there so many expressway exit/entrance ramps on 70.3s?

Shoe. Idiot. Shoe. Idiot.

Is my bike broke? What’s that sound?

At the dismount line, I unclipped left but just peeled the right upper off the sole. Fuckit.

Lesson: remember shoes. Simple.

Dismount / T2 (3:21)

Dominoes falling. Forgot shoes…replacements failed-ish…didn’t take in as much salt on back third of bike…flappy flappy flappy into dismount…forgot bottle of Gatorade in T2 (hydration plan for first third of run). None of which occurred to me as I went about my business. I was not rushed or panicked, yet I clearly lost focus here. And it cost me…

Run (2:09:43 or 9:54/mi)

One teammate declared intention was for 9:00/miles. I thought she was being cautious because she didn’t feel well. I sincerely expected sub-8:30/mile average.

St. George has hills. Atlantic City has heat. I’ve done both. But StG is temperate  and the AC Boardwalk run flatness literally inspired the board game Monopoly. Plus, I’d been acclimating for weeks. So I was not intimidated by the hot and hilly run profile or the legendary “oven” along the backside fort walls.

I should have been. Words fail. Murder. Brutal. Brutal murder. Brutally murderous.

My interior quads (vastus medialus) on both legs started cramping up around Mile 3. I administered at least two salt licks to every little “clench.” Burned through my positive self-talk and chatter early on. I walked the aid stations to hydrate and the uphills on the second loop. It was a war of attrition as they clenched up more frequently and locked more firmly as I went. At mile 11 the right calf cramped up like a padlock. A Guardian Bro from Boston asked if I was okay and even though I said, “No,” we ran those last two black and terrible miles together. Lost track of him towards the end. Grinded it out.

Finishing Chute / Post Race

Didn’t recognize Andy Potts when he congratulated me at the finish line. Had to go back for a fist bump.

When I sat down, the muscles below the knee cramped up on both legs. One after another… left and right calf (gastrocnemius), left and right shins (peroneus longus) on a spectrum of pain in various sequences for minutes on end, from “please make it stop” to “hot death” to “so bad they scared my wife.” I’ve never been shot, but I suspect I know something close to what it feels like to get shot.

Work to do on running techniques.

Lesson: Clear the mechanism when the dominoes start to fall.

OVERALL RACE TIME: 5:36 

OVERALL RACE GRADE: C 

I had faster time expectations in all three phases. An argument could be made against comparing PR70.3 vs AC70.3:

PR70.3 early season vs AC70.3 late season.

AC swim course cut for safety concerns, skewing subsequent bike and swim splits.

New gear in PR, some planned (bike and power meter), some not (shoes and cleats).

Dramatically different T1 layouts.

Dramatically different run course profiles.

That said, overall times indicate that PR70.3 was not an improvement.

PR70.3 =  5:36

AC70.3 = 4:56

DIFF =       :40

SWIM: B- 

I expected time closer to :32 with better cadence. Also, I was in a very small minority of racers without speed suits.

BIKE: C-

Who forgets their fucking shoes!?! Also, lost focus on hydration plan towards end.

RUN: C

Literally a step backwards in pace and evolution. Heat and hills were devastating yet better focus in T2 could have helped deliver better result.

Might have to go back to beat that run course. Whoah... domino.

[goodguidanceptc]

Race Report: 2016 Atlantic City Ironman 70.3

Prologue

So. Here we are. The last race of my second year. My first year was what we all know now to be an absurd logic, a 70.3 in May (Saint George) in preparation for the Full (in September (Madison, WI). both acknowledged widely as among the most challenging triathlon courses in the U.S. Then I got a coach, some wisdom and a little patience. 2016 was the year of the Half. To learn. Saint George (again), Racine 70.3 (washout-DNS), Chicago International and now, finally...Ironman Atlantic City 70.3.

I don’t know what others practice in terms of sharing intentions, but I keep mine quiet and only share with a select few. Not only race-by-race, but long term. Suffice to say that I’d never approached this sport to be a finisher. I expect to perform well. Maybe not, “I’m here to win” Macca style but something impressive nevertheless. I’d put some pressure on myself.

So. Here we are...

Atlantic City on an Autumn weekday is a surreal mix best expressed the following equation:

(Overlook Hotel + Bellagio)

-------------------------------       X       | Great Expectations’ Mrs. Havesham |

      Godfather, Part 2 

The decay vibe is alleviated by the tourist population (and in this case, two thousand-ish racers) that show up for the weekend, but it took awhile to shake the weird malaise that hangs in the air. Enough about ambiance. 

Saturday, I drove the bike course and checked in the bike. Ate right (the traditional linguine with chicken limon/chicken piccata), got to bed early and--as is becoming my habit--was unable to calm my mind or body for some restful sleep. Turned out to be a blessing in disguise...

RACE DAY 5:15(!) am

Woke with a start because my alarm did not go off! Turns out I’d set it for 4:30 PM. Yeeesh! Dummy. So I quickly get dressed and ate--standard pre-race of oatmeal, bagel w/PB, coffee w/two of those tiny blue plastic cups of Carnation French Vanilla creamers. As with most Ironman races, transition closes at 6:30.

5:30ish

The route to T1/T2 Bader Field was short but packed with cars. Not an exaggeration to say that it was a parking lot. Pure tail-lights. I was able to stay calm and Susan was just as cool when we agreed that I should walk the remaining few clogged blocks, cross the bridge and tarmac and get myself to transition. As required, I’d checked my bike Saturday and all I needed to do was put bottles on my bike and lay out bike/run gear, nutritions and sunscreen. I resolved that next race would be attempted sock-free, but I for now: bike AND run socks.

Got to my bike with plenty of time, set-up next to support bars but kept to the letter and spirit of the rule to keep everything under the airspace of your own bike, hung a foot towel and just felt the moment. Chatted with some other racers in the area...all good as the sun came up.

6:30ish

Sipped Gatorade as I strolled to the start. I’d been reading the FB group posts about DelMo sports and the Race Director and all the nervous energy of various racers. The RD strongly recommended against swimming the course prior to race day as it was a busy recreational boating area subject to currents and other dangers in a Jersey back bay. So. Here we are...

6:50 race start went off and waves were starting on schedule but there was an odd energy in the air as “Wave 9 45-49yo A-K males” started gathering...more buzz and “is this really happening?” than usual. There had also been more chatter on the FB group than usual so I just figured that was the vibe for this race.

7:22 wave start SWAM 23:19

Does that split seem unreal? Yes. Into salt water for the first time was odd. I was very careful not to take in any. I definitely felt more ‘on the water’ than ever before, but the salt water taste was new. Jostling at the start and lots of contact for the first 600-ish yards. But not as aggressive as I’ve had in previous races, just more brushes and grazes from others. I was sighting a distant hotel far from the Boardwalk but didn’t really keep a decent line despite what felt like a good rhythm and pace. I was reaching and pulling through strokes; feeling strong along the buoys. 

The first turn came suddenly and surprisingly, as did the second turn. Much much later I would learn that the RD had cut the swim distance between Waves 6 & 7! The explanation from various sources: the currents where the two back-bay waterways met were strong enough to create a whirlpool that dislodged a buoy and literally brought race pace swimmers to a stop. In other words, a natural water treadmill.  For you Sting and/or Greek mythology fans, the racers were literally (and the RD, figuratively) caught between the Scylla and Charybdis...!

In other other words, that unreal swim split of 23:19 was because our wave only swam .8 miles. I knew something was odd but in race mode, my Thought-in-Moment (TIM) was, “Deal with this later.” That said, it gave me enough pause to fuck up my Garmin by hitting Lap, Stop, Start, Lap, Holding the Lap to reset... ah, well... “Deal with it later.”

T1 3:45

Swim exit was some ladders on a dock. Not great. But I did get a great stripper/peeler volunteer! Ran under the AC Fire Dept. fresh water “shower” and into the racks. Well-Fit jersey preloaded with salt tabs, sunglasses and replacement wheel--on. Helmet--on. Dried feet, socks--on. Sunscreen--on. Out.

BIKED 2:32:08 (Average speed 22mph)

Now my personality on the bike is chatty and relentlessly positive. I thank all the cops, all the volunteers, the EMTs, EVERYBODY. But I also say stuff to people I pass. Because why not share some positive energy. “Stay strong.” “Yes we can!” or whatever other hair-brained hippie nonsense pops in my head at the time. If somebody passes me, I usually say something like, “Go get some.” or “Put the spurs to her”or “Looking strong.” I realize that this could be construed as gamesmanship or even unsportsmanlike. Is it? Somebody tell me if I’m being a jerk.

Further, I’m always a little extra giddy for the first few miles. A little wet and cold, settling the helmet and glasses, popping the salt pills, fidgets, etc. but this was the chattiest and happiest I’ve been so far. I’d driven the course and knew we’d have a few miles on the turnpike, we’d be passing another airport (where the USAF Jersey Devils are stationed), and most of the backside roads protected by some gorgeous old-trees (think of a flat Barrington Hills) over the course of a very flat lollipop.

I was actually giggling and saying things like, “We are friggin’ riding the Turnpike!” to everybody over the first few miles. I mean, it was all just too absurd. 

I rode my race, feeling 80% of FTP (based on RPE), hydrating and taking salt pills on schedule... so I was not going to chase somebody down just because their process was different than mine.

But.

Before long, I was aware that some half-a-dozen of my AG were all taking the course at about the same pace. Early on, some of them hammered past and a few dropped far behind. But me and two others just organically held very similar pace for most of the course. As a no-draft race, we would overtake, fall back and re-pass each other, but I never let them get more than a few hundred yards ahead. And never looked back when I was out front. I dubbed one Buttcrack and another one Red. Red and I chatted some as we cornered or worked through aid stations, but Buttcrack refused to engage.

Then, around Mile 45, Buttcrack stood up and powered away. Stood up!?! Here was somebody who had all the trappings of a hardcore cyclist--the kit, the helmet, the positioning--STANDING UP on arguably the flattest course in the country. So my only TIM then was, “Bad tactics. Catch you later.”

I was dealing with headwind on the stick back, which made sense. I’d hit 29mph on the stick out; this was the unprotected section (airport and highway); the riders had all thinned out. Battling.

Here’s where Red also pulled away. I fought some very negative thoughts and frustration. In candor, he seemed heavy for his rig; had a little extra around the middle. So watching him pull away yard-by-yard was tough. Tough. Tough to stay in the saddle. Tough not to chase. Tough stay on plan.

Then, back over the Turnpike, last two miles of which was a sneaky handful of ascents/descents to get over and through the on/off ramps. Enough to notice some near-cramps in the left quad, despite pointedly racing to plan.

LEARNING MOMENT: Running your own race can also mean having fun. I hate getting passed. [NOTE that this is the same learning as the Chicago International Triathlon.] It’s hard to gauge your RPE and speed in a race so finding somebody that ‘feels’ like they’re at about the same pace is oddly reassuring. Sort of.

T2 3:22

Took an extra second to find my parking spot. Shoes, belt, visor. More sunscreen. Changed shirt and socks.

RAN 1:54

First three miles were an ‘M’ on the Bader Field tarmac. Felt the twinges of a cramp building on that left quad, but two extra pills and some Gatorade cleared it right up. Thought the tarmac was hot but running the Boardwalk put that in perspective. Once I got off the tarmac and onto the boards, I thought the ocean breeze would keep things cool. False. That said, it was not terrible. Nothing like Racine. Biggest challenges: 

1) A very special Seinfeld episode: an uphill pier out into the ocean and back at Mile 5. Manageable.

2) Another uphill at “Caesar’s Pier” that we had to run twice, once at mile 10 and then back into the finishing chute at mile 13. 

3) Mile 9-10 was a detour around the finish chute ONTO SAND! Terrible. Pace jumped from 8:20-8:40 to 10+ to negotiate stairs, a sandy track and then a concrete turn before getting back onto the boards.

LEARNING MOMENT: Seriously consider going sockless on bike and run. Serious swamp foot.

Although there is still room for much more speed, I felt good for the majority of this run. Walking the Aid Stations is a good strategy early although it was tough to get back in gear through the last five. Really had to psyche myself up to get the legs moving again. No GI distress despite a caffeinated GU at Mile 8 and coke/water for the last four miles.

Remember Red? I passed Red on the tarmac and grinded past Buttcrack near Mile 11. An utterly new and amazing experience for me: exiting the Swim and Bike ranked 30 and 31, respectively in my AG, and finished the run ranked 22.

I was genuinely shocked to see the race clock reading 05:2?:??!! as I turned into the chute. Faster than I’d ever seriously considered. Susan said something wonderful and supportive and amazing as I ran past. As usual, she was right there after I’d gotten some coke and water and left the “Athlete’s only area.” 

Recovering on the way to shade and the morning-bag pick-up area, there was a lot of chatter about the heat and humidity, which I found surprising. I had one brief moment around Mile 10 when I felt the sun “get close” and I managed to hydrate, ice and pace myself through it. I thoughtlessly pulled my shorts open to dump ice into my shorts right in front of an aid station volunteer. Apologized, and we both sort of laughed it off.

While heat was clearly a factor, it was not an oppressive limiter...or perhaps I just managed my hydration better. Pure speculation: people pushed harder on the bike since the swim was cut short and cooked themselves for the run.

The route to our (slowly decaying) hotel took us back along the chute, past Caesar’s Palace Pier and another quarter mile back along the course so I clapped and cheered for runners still on course. The shouting made me light headed and Susan told me, “Okay, knock it off. Drink some more pop. If you pass out, I can’t catch you.” Arizona is going to be very tough without her.

EPILOGUE: Overall Grade is A-

Overall: Swim = B+ (shortened course), Bike = A- (avg 22mph = Oly bike pace for HIM distance yet still disciplined), Hydration = A+,  Run = A (ran down a dozen runners in my AG.

Much much later, in the ice bath, I fully articulated the thought: “I just ran a sub-5 HIM. Even if we project the time out for a full swim, that’s sub 5:30.” Nice way to end the 2016 season.

I recommend the race. Well run, good people, capable and decisive RD, despite the sand-run detour around the finish chute. I cannot in good conscience recommend Atlantic City. 

My “A” race for 2017: Arizona Full in November, 2017. Very aggressive intentions. Navy Seals are taught that most humans only fulfill about 40% of their full potential. There’s always more in the tank than you realize.

TOTAL RACE TIME: 4:56:59

[goodguidanceptc]

2016 Chicago International Distance Triathlon Race Report

Prologue: Night Before

Ate right, got to bed early even though I rarely sleep well pre-race. Audiobook Moby Dick. Apropos, I’d say, given how much I’ve embraced a sport of chasing AG podium times.

4am

Coffee and oatmeal (standard pre-race minus the bagel and pb). Dressed. Tirecheck. Gatorade into three bike bottles, plus one spare. Walletkeysphone. Out the door for a light bike to the transition area. This is new. 

5:30ish

Bikes are packed tight on the racks even though they are assigned by waves. Dealt with two bros: One was a smiling noob willing to move and adjust anything. Other one asked when he thought I was going to finish the swim. “At or before 7:33,” I said. (Translation: “We’re in the same 7:03 wave and I’ll be out in under thirty minutes.”) “Oh,” he said, “well we’re going to be pretty close, so... Are the bikes usually racked this way?” (Translation: “I think I’m faster than you and your bike is in my way.”) 

Now I’ll admit that my testosterone and adrenaline jump off the scales--like everybody’s, I’d guess, pre-race--but this guy was throwing down on me. So I said, “Well, all the races I’ve done have bikes alternate. And they are hung by the seat. For space. Like they said in the course talk. I mean, we all just want to be good neighbors. Right?” and took off my shirt. (Translation: “Look at my M-dot tattoo before you imply that I’m slow and stupid.”) He clammed up but offered his pump to noob-dude a few minutes later.

LEARNING MOMENT: Be polite. Separately, bring a headlamp to pre-dawn bike ride and set-up.

6:30ish

Sipped Gatorade as I strolled to the start. Kudos to Well-Fit for having a tent near the start. Reassuring and calming presence for me. Into the chute... chatting... a guy named Tom from Susan’s training class. I wear earplugs to eliminate motion sickness, but today I was happy to have them blocking the ear-splitting speakers mounted at ear-level in the chute. Ate a GU.

7:02 (7:03 wave start)

Saw Mauricio an arm’s length away at the water start line, slightly right of center. High five. Took space, face down blew bubbles and HORN! Stress free start, good sighting, no worries. Many many men are terrible at sighting. Around the first turn +100 yards or so, I catch a wetsuit with yellow trim in my line of sight. We chug along together most of the way, although yellow trim may have faded the last 200 yards because I didn’t catch his face or number at the churn of the exit.

LEARNING MOMENT: I'm not finishing strokes even when I’m clear of other swimmers. Paranoia over shitty sighters. Also, other areas of improvement include tucking the chin into the shoulder, glide more, kick timing.

T1

Long run. Rug and grass = messy and sloppy. Helmet, jersey, no gloves. Socks and shoes on in the grass. Had to twist my bike to clear the bar because Señor Swimfast’s bike was in my way.

Bike

200 yards in, my torpedo dropped off the front of my bike. WTF FML. Nevertheless, I hammered LSD. The “ride right pass left” rule was kinda...iffy. Kept having to swing wide.

At the S-curve southbound a bogie slipped past me.  All black kit, all black bike, Zipps and an aero helmet. Why a bogie? Well. The “47″ on his calf...I got pissed. I wouldn't let him go. He wouldn’t let me go. I cornered more aggressively and with better technique, but he shifted cleaner than me. Together we blew by many bikes, even though we never spoke.

Now a few people may have passed me and I know better than to chase, but I could not help myself with this guy. Especially in lower Wacker (Batman Begins) and bus parking (Start Wars). Attacking corners, dealing with traffic, flying through light and dark, blowing through weird smells, and sounds and echoes and patterns, navigating narrows and wides and barriers and concrete was really hardcore fun... all while dealing with a nemesis? That was the most fun I’ve ever had on that bike.

LEARNING MOMENT: Running your own race can also mean having fun. I hate getting passed.

T2

No biggie. Shoes, belt, visor.

Run

Always takes a few to get my legs under me, activate the other muscles. I’d kept on my pills plan but under hydrated on the bike (only 20oz total), so I kept a bottle of Gatorade in hand out of T2. Rationale: get another 10-15oz in early, hopefully without getting sloshy. Accidentally inhaled some Gatorade and said aloud, “Crushed the swim and drown on the run. Dumbass.” which got a laugh.

On the grass just past the swim start I tripped on a root and took a tumble. Full on Judo throw rollover. But not a scratch! I mean, that was the best place to take my first run fall ever.

My wife and a WF bro named Paul waved as I went past the WF tent so I threw them my Gatorade bottle along with extra tube still in my bike jersey.

Ran through first few aid stations, still taking water, but when I accidentally grabbed a cup of clear Skratch, I decided to change my tactics. Walk the aid stations, hammer in between. (I’ve seen race reports with HR graphs that chart this strategy so I’m digging it.)

It warmed up around the Shedd and McCormick, but not too severely. Felt like home field to me. (Actual thought: “Heh... don’t have to run the sledding hill. Cake.”)

Just past the Firefighter Memorial a guy who was cramping hard was stopped, furiously kneading his quads. I stopped to give him two pills. “Just swallow them?” he asked.  I said Yup. I figured it was paying forward the guardian bro from 2015 St. George run when my quads locked up. I’d said, “Just swallow them?” 

Gave a little cheer at 31st St. turn around. A volunteer was throwing cups of water on runners so I said, “Hit me, man!” and he did. Socks got soaked.

LEARNING MOMENT: Seriously consider going sockless on bike and run.

Closed like a Kenyan. I actually caught Adam S., a training partner some years my junior. We were both surprised. Almost threw up after the finish. That was new. Other than that, no GI distress whatsoever.

EPILOGUE: Overall Grade is B+

Ice. Water. Medal. Watermelon. Chip removal. Gave beer ticket away. Overall, I swam B+, biked an average 22mph (B+), lost two water bottles (C-), tripped on the run (D-) without damage (A+), passed Adam (A-), beat Mauricio (Pass) and finished the whole thing in 2:32:46. B+ effort on my first race at this distance.

In retrospect, I could have gone a harder after the run turnaround, but the subconscious anticipatory inhibitor was still on. Gotta learn how to disable that at will.

Went to watch Susan in the swim but couldn’t spot her (turned out I was watching the red caps that started two waves after hers). I cheered myself hoarse while the kids and I waited for her near the She'd. 

Some of the best buds and training partners in the world--Kelly (with her husband Rob), Meg, Bernie, Adam and Sach--were there supporting Susan and me. Really really great human beings that make me smile all the time.

[goodguidanceptc]

Looking Backwards through Binoculars: The Most Useless Analogy in the History of Internet

I recently had what addicts and Buddhists call, “a moment of clarity.” Here it is: every creative effort I’ve undertaken has led to some uncharacteristic physical challenge.

In my late teens, I auditioned for the Goodman Theater School. I was not accepted. Instead, I walked into a ballet school for a three year stint.

In my late 20s, I developed a portfolio of spec ads to become an advertising creative as a copywriter. I spent years freelancing (mostly for catalogs), but never made it to any big agencies. I got nothing for this one...

In my 30s, I took improv classes. I was not invited into the ComedySportz ensemble. Instead, I earned a Tae Kwon Do black belt.

In my 40s, I’ve directed and produced a number of independent shows (improvised, scripted, stage adaptations of stories). Despite multiple attempts, I have not been accepted into any major Directing programs. Instead, I did a 140.6 Ironman triathlon.

Dealing with rejection is tough. Always will be. Over the years, I have gotten better at rejecting the dichotomy of terms like “success” and “failure” and come to apply a more nuanced assessment of creative work in terms of “integrity,” “being fully present” and “potential.” I’ve also gotten better at feeling the soothing balm of those terms when the creative output--monologue, spec ad, improv show, scripted performance--has not fully captured its fully present potential integrity.

Therefore, embracing the creative lexicography, here’s a useless triathlo-thespianic analogy:

The swim = audition skills

The bike  = acting technique

The run = grinding it out despite, well...anything

(Maybe I’ll try to connect performing to Tae Kwon Do in another post.)

Swim = Audition

The swim is technical; the gateway into the rest of the race. It has absolutely ZERO to do with the rest of the race, but it can crush all your your preparation if you execute it poorly. During the swim, you must be present and in the flow, yet it must be done quickly and efficiently.

Auditioning is highly technical. It’s the gateway to the job. Auditioning skills have ZERO to do with the performance, yet it can eliminate you from consideration. During the audition, you must be present and in the flow for the minuscule amount of attention the casting director/auditor/client has.

In both activities, you must be prepared and impressive. The hard work is happening out of sight yet anybody watching can usually tell if you are struggling or loose.

Bike = Acting Technique

The bike is equipment + the engine + preparation + navigation + self-awareness. This takes the most time and therefore demands the most preparation time. You can spend an enormous amount of money on the frame, gear-set, wheels and miss the point of building the engine. Watching others work on some of these beautiful machines can appear effortless and beautiful; joining others with various types of machines can reveal the astounding difficulty and pain it takes to get it right.

The performer must be physically right for the role + able to access the proper emotions + know and trust their own process + connect to the material, the other artists involved, the space + understand how “to know is to do” guides their choices. Ideally, this takes the bulk of the performers’ time and therefore demands the most practice. You can spend a fortune on training classes, workshops, headshot/resume, your reel, agents, unions, etc. and still misapply the skill to the situation. Watching other’s work can be inspiring and joyous; working through the rehearsal process can reveal the astounding difficulty and pain it takes to make the internal and external connections critical to a worthwhile performance.

Run = Self-Delusion

Run a marathon after all that? Yup. 

If you’re able to audition well (to get out of the room) and bike well (to know your craft, your preparation, yourself, in short--to act), you have to be both hopeful, steadfast and delusional to...just...keep...going... despite anything else that has come before this moment or anything you can envision for the future.

Why is this the most useless analogy in the history of the internet? 

Self-examination? Self-immolation? Just plain selfish? Maybe. Maybe some or all of them in some swirling, therapeutic/addictive need to feel some sort of progress. Almost certainly self-delusion and self-serving need to examine the choices that lead me where I am today: posting a Tumblr post to, well... nobody really.

What insight does this analogy offer? Dunno. But I’m pretty sure the Venn diagram of these two groups is just two big, separate circles. Little more than looking backwards through binoculars.

[goodguidanceptc]

2016 St. George 70.3 IRONMAN Race Report

I’m writing this while it’s fresh, but without detailed, empirical data. My Garmin, along with most of my race gear and bike, is still in transit via UPS Ground home from St. George. So this is FIRST DRAFT.

PRERACE: Slept well and fueled properly. Woke up to U2′s “Bad (live)” and ate 1c maple and brown sugar oatmeal, blueberry bagel w/peanut butter and 2 c coffee. Took 24oz dilute Gatorade to sip on the ride to Sand Hollow; deliberately waited for last bus. The quiet roomy ride was nice. Styx, “Best of Times” on the radio. Made me laugh. Off the bus for body marking was colder than predicted. #2166 on arms, 47 on the calf, pass on the smiley face. 

Set-up, lubed up, suited up. Set T1 space as planned with two shirt options: 1) old thermal I could drop at an aid station when it got warm and 2) new, warmer, bad-ass black long-sleeve UnderArmor if it stayed cold...forecast called for 20% chance of rain with high of 70.

As they called for racers to clear T1, I handed my morning clothes bag (packed with options and layers) to the always awesome volunteers. 

Standing in line for porta-potties was so brisk, I put my blue silicon cap under the purple race cap just to keep the head and ears warm. Pro start gun went off as I was waiting.

Air temperature at race start: 53F (never got above 57F) / Water temperature at race start: anywhere from 57-62F(?)...rumors.

SWIM: As other purple caps queued up, I did jumping jacks and shuffle runs to rev the HR and warm-up. Wave 16 went off at 7:48. Since I tend to go out hot, I was not thinking pace as much as space...and sure enough, churned past a few guys. I’d been in Friday for 800y but was still a little shocked at the cold. Caught some mouthfuls of water. First red buoy turn was okay. But I never really caught my breath or got into my 3-stroke breathing pattern. I felt short--short of breath with no real hip rotation. Fully present, no real fear--but just fighting the water. If that makes sense. Not to mention slower pink and yellow caps. 

I literally hit the second red turn buoy with my hand so although it was on-line, that was a crap turn. Looked for another gear--get the hips more involved. Took a few more mouthfuls of water and had to navigate past more pink and yellow swim caps. No flow. No glide. I remember thinking some ass-head boat support must be crossing near by because it was rough. 

Big kicks for the last 400y to try to get blood flowing to toes and NOT make my usual mistake of trying to touch down too soon. Up the ramp--hey, it’s raining!--and hit my Garmin. 

:38:50!?! One of three goals for this race was to improve my swim time by even the smallest measure. A time worse than last year was a very real defeat.

I got very frustrated and frightened here. Mental chatter about failure and hopelessness and futility. Terrible thoughts and emotions--big and dark and nasty. The sky got darker. Like when Sauron shows up.

TRANSITION 1: I’m unsure about volume and content but there was swearing.  

Yanked off my right sleeve first (as planned and visualized) and worked my left sleeve off my Garmin. Peelers always make me smile. While I know I said, “thank you,” I’m also pretty sure the swearing continued all the way to the bike. And they were very very bad bad words. Words that make movies R-rated and get NHL players suspended.

Here I forced myself to stop and take a breath. Two reasons: 1) To follow my fuel plan for two pills and at least 10oz Gatorade in T1; and 2) To clear the mental self-loathing mechanism.

[In improvisation, when you do something that sucks, you have to remember that there’s nothing to do about it. It’s done. History. And move on. Despite knowing this (intellectually), I could not shut down the internal Hulk-rage (emotionally).]

In other words, the T1 theme was ANGER. Self-loathing-Sith-Lord-level-fury-blackout-rage. I shoved my wetsuit into the bag, put on my bike gear and--”decided” isn’t the right word... maybe “defied”-- the cold, rainy, grey conditions, hustled to the mount line, clipped in and cranked up.

Even before I reached the Sand Hollow exit, I knew I’d made a mistake. Cold rain on my face and arms. Doubling down on swearing rage, I U-turned to get another layer on. Left my bike at the mount line--thanked a young lady--and went to dig through my bag for a shirt. My warm black shirt was soaking from the wet suit so I put on my old thermal.

BIKE: Rode hard and worked to dissipate the anger without falling, blowing up or blowing out a tube. The chip seal that had worried me was a non-issue. Although those first 8 miles were no problem, I held back a bit for safety, gradually getting more aggressive in wider and smoother sections.

RPE of 7.5-8, careful to neither block nor draft, I kept checking both sides as I went. As I attacked the hill around Mile 18, the rain briefly broke and I caught a big memory: off to the left, wide sun beams streamed through light grey clouds onto rolling red, green, tan, brown rolling hills sculpted into a deep valley. There was even some blue sky. Just lovely! Then it was gone and I put the spurs to her again.

Attacked hills and descended aggressively through Mile 20, 24, 27 despite cold rain. Stayed on fuel plan for pills and fluids without letting up. 

Another rider I’d been leapfrogging said, just prior to the Mile 42 descent into the overpass bottleneck, “About to get noisy again.” which made me smile. We blew past some blockers in the overpass bottleneck and worked to keep some momentum.

The new section was a straightaway out&back before a left to turn into Aid #3. This turned out to be a false flat disguised by the surrounding hills that’s actually a low roller. Gearing up and down as I figured this out, I dropped my chain. Quick fix, but still frustrating.

At Aid #3 I considered stopping to pee but thought, “I can literally piss on Snow Canyon.” and skipped the ports-potties. Somebody behind me said, “Here we go!” just as Snow Canyon presented the gift of a stiff headwind. My thermal shirt was soaked through.

Another vivid memory: An enormous, blood-brown, sheer canyon wall that loomed like a huge, disinterested god--powerful and emotionless--over puny, humans spinning on tiny wheels. I was humbled and flattered at the same time.

That ethereal, bing-bong Zen stuff vanished quickly as I fought to keep a decent cadence. Freezing toes and fingers. Squishy socks. Hard rain.

Another vivid memory about 40% up, in the form of a confession: I ignored a cyclist that had fallen at about the same spot where I’d fallen last year. Since he did not appear hurt and I recognized his expression of surprise and resignation, the human empathy I’d have in any other circumstance completely vanished.

I’d come here to defeat Snow Canyon and unclipping for any reason meant another failure (that crap swim was still with me and the chain drop was still fresh). Under any other circumstances, I would have stopped to help, but in that moment, I literally thought, “Fuck you, Snow Canyon. I’m not falling for it.” and rode past him. I’m happy to report that somebody stopped to help him.

Instead, mentally, I got inside that anger (if that makes any sense) and redoubled my efforts up that slope. Even in terrible wind and rain, I became aware that I was passing lots of riders. I made some grunting animal sounds when I got out of the saddle with about 30% of the climb left but was able to quickly sit down. Also, if you told me that three people passed me, I’d be surprised.

I said aloud, “Where is that fucking little brown ranger house?!” and somebody laughed and then there it was. A guy I dubbed “Ski bro” was there sort of loudly announcing that “you should throw the blood into your hands like this...to get the blood in your fingers...don’t wiggle them... we tell kids in ski lessons to throw the blood into your fingers...” Which I did. And the climb was done.

I beat Snow Canyon.

Snow Canyon got revenge in the freezing descent into town. All the way into T2 was a fight between speed vs shivering; giving up to gravity vs maintaining control; 35+MPH vs 55F.

I would sincerely have welcomed death as a sweet release from the pain. But lying on the side of the road all broken AND freezing would be worse. Since I could easily picture mangling my clavicle and pelvis without dying, I eventually feathered the brakes. Even that was a risky proposition with numb fingers.

Back in town, my wife gave me a big, “Woohoooo!” as I went by and for a second, it was good. That bike leg was not about HR or even uphill efforts. It was about mentally shutting out the cold wind and rain.

BIKE LEG SPLIT WAS 3:12 / AVG HR 136

TRANSITION 2: The dismount volunteer wrapped a thermal sheet around me. My fingers couldn’t work the helmet chin strap clip off. She offered help and I said yes please thank you.

Dry socks and shoes, two pills and fluids. No shirt. Again, I’d thought it was going to warm up. Tucked the thermal blanket into run belt, hat on and out. If there was a T2 theme, it was QUIT SHIVERING GODDAMMIT.

RUN: First mile was hard to stop shivering. Nice strong pace up the initial climb that turns into a steeper initial climb. Me and Chad(?) got up those first four miles together. Then I lost him. Water at every aid station, as planned, another two pills at Mile 6. No more chit chat, no mental chatter. Just grinded out the first nine miles.

Cold wind and hard rain = shivering = leeched off energy; so even though HR was never a concern, the last 3.1 miles were mentally hard. Feet and legs were okay. Into the last downhill chanting, “Close like a Kenyan” and some other runners shared positive noises and support--some as they passed me, some as I passed them. I’d achieved the third of my three goals: to run the full run course, stopping only to walk & fuel at aid stations.

RUN LEG SPLIT WAS 2:07 / AVG HR 144

TOTAL RACE TIME WAS 6:10 (PR) -0:33 vs 2015

TAKE AWAYS (in no particular order):

MORE OWS. Turns out the wind had been blowing up chop and cross-chop (learned that word later) all morning. After the race, I’d learn that even the pros had trouble dealing.

PREP FOR VARIABLES. Weather is an uncontrollable variable. Duh. What I can control is what to keep on hand to wear.

NITRO BOOST AT THE END OF THE RUN? Kept fuel plan throughout. Soda might have helped the afterburners for the last three miles--and gotten the run under 2 hours, even under those conditions. No need to fear GI issues if I’m on plan.

ADJUST TAPER. Swim split may have been impacted by travel schedule and slightly too long/too soft taper.

REVIEW MANTRAS. “Slow is smooth and smooth is fast” kinda worked, but “Fast is fast and fast is fast” is technically more accurate. It’s still a race and there’s still room for improvement.

STRETCH GOALS ARE STRETCH GOALS. Accomplishing two out of three goals and cutting :30 minutes for a course PR? Solid performance! Take joy in that success.

MEMORIES. St. George has given me some great gifts. Styx on the dark bus, an epic view of that valley, that primordial canyon wall, the ski bro. Take joy in them, too.

SHOULD I GO BACK?

[goodguidanceptc]

The Exuberance of Potential

Sometime around March of 1984, in a well-appointed Rockford high-school hallway--by well-appointed, I mean the lockers were clean and there was carpeting in the hallway that had not yet been blood-, soda- or nail-polish- stained--I realized I was all wrong about kinetic versus potential energy.

Moments before walking through that hallway, I’d been in a science class where our bearded and bespectacled teacher (whose face and winter biking gear I can clearly picture walking up the east stairs but whose name is lost to the ether), laid out the concepts for us. At the time I had no idea that chemists and physicists would perpetually argue over precisely which discipline earned and owned “the potential energy of the unsplit atom” versus “the kinetic energy of splitting the atom,” or even why ownership was important to chemists or physicists.

(That sentence was full of multi-syllabic nonsense. Worse, it was pretentious.)

But the teacher started by asking us which it was, physics or chemistry. At the time, I cared even less about the categorization than I did about the work that went into splitting the atom. History. Worse even, historically irrelevant to my next week, the farthest out I could envision my event horizon.

(This post is turning into a real scientific jerk off. Let’s focus.)

I knew--as only junior high school athletes can deeply know in their bones, the universal human truth and insight only they have garnered--that the explosion was the thing. Nuclear detonation--kinetic energy--was both physics and chemistry and therefore the undisputed cooler kind of energy. More important anyway.

In retrospect, it seems obvious that a high-school boy would come to that conclusion. Here’s where I learned how wrong I was: Not ten minutes later, in the hall, I saw Cory Flanagan in her pom-pon uniform. She was beautiful, smart and powerful in a way only high-school girls can naively and gracefully embody. I was thrilled to see her. 

(Astute readers will note that I remembered her name, not the science teacher’s.)

I loved her. It’s taken me over thirty years to realize one of the many reasons I loved her was not because I could regularly see her in a short skirt, but because we shared so much potential. (Spoiler alert, we are both living our own reasonably happy lives with our own reasonably happy partners in our won reasonably successful careers.) This is not about that.

Cut to Saturday night, March 5th, 2016 (not long from now) at about 10:18pm. I will be standing at the back of a reasonably appointed store-front theater in Chicago, awaiting the opening of “Tying the Knot: Misadventures in Wedding Planning,” which I directed. The eleven person cast has the show.  It’s theirs. They will make it wonderful, they will be funny, they will create something amazing out of thin air.

In those moments before the show, I am in love again. I am in love with all the potential energy of that moment. In that moment, I am the geeked-out science teacher, the nervous theater director, the high-school boy in love and there is nothing I can do about it. 

I never met Martin deMatt, who famously told Second City students, “You are pure potential.” And I still don’t care whether it’s physics or chemistry or both. But I have learned that there is nothing more exciting than the potential energy of the moment right before opening a new show.

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Reply with wedding, engagement, reception pic. Of Mister Gregori picks it you get two free tix!

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New and original pieces from the Art Awakens exhibit are now being auctioned off in the name of Star Wars: Force for Change to support UNICEF Kid Power.

See more and bid for your favorites at eBay.com/artawakens. 

Pictured: “Only What You Take With You” by Dave Quiggle

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