Yesterday was my first workout after the weekend’s race. It was a nice easy indoor bike ride, just to spin out the legs. My racing bike is in the shop, leaving me to ride on my road bike, something I hadn’t done in months. I set up my bike in front of the TV, and found something to occupy my mind. This isn’t so much about the workout as what happened during the workout.
The movie I’d picked was Rocky III. I turned it on just in time to see Rocky get knocked out and Mick pass away. Now I’ve seen this movie many times. I remember watching it with my friends, and trying to do some of the workouts that Rocky did. I remember Rocky lost the first fight, got trained by Apollo, and then won the rematch. What I didn’t remember was the most important part of the movie, what Rocky was going through after the loss. I knew it as soon as I saw his eyes, and almost fell off my bike as the realization sunk in. I was feeling the same things: disappointment, doubt, despair, and fear.
I watched with rapt attention as Rocky struggled with his feelings, knowing he was losing this battle as well. It was finally his wife that snapped him out of his despair. I don’t remember exactly what she said to him (it certainly is worth a second viewing on my part to find out), but the gist was he had to get back the “Eye of the Tiger”, that driving force that allows you to continue when you are down and hurting.
I thought about that today while I was running. I haven’t had an epiphany to give me back the “Eye”, if I ever even had it, but I know what I need to do. I also have a face to put to the HIM: Mr. T as Clubber Lane.
Clubber, I want a rematch! My prediction: pain! And like Rocky I too will be victorious in the end.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
There is no crying in Ironman!
Sunday, April 25th was my first attempt at a half Ironman distance triathlon. I gave it all I could, really I did, and came up a bit short, 9 miles short to be precise. The first thing I need to say is that this is a HARD race. In hindsight, I wonder if I underestimated its difficulty a bit. That is putting the cart before the horse; let me start at the beginning.
I woke up one morning last week with a scratchy throat. That had happened a few weeks ago and ended up being allergies so I thought nothing of it. I used positive thinking and everything else I could imagine to prevent or postpone the cold. While I was unable to stop the inevitable, my efforts did lessen its severity somewhat.
Race day came, and for me it was a couple of days too late in my cold cycle. I don’t know it for sure, but I do think I would have had a better chance had the race been shifted a couple of days in either direction. But, it was what it was and I was going to give it my all.
As usual I was worried about the swim. This was my longest open water swim ever, and it looked far. I had let that intimidate me in each of my previous races, but felt this time that not only I could do the swim, but I could do it faster than most of the people in my wave. It was a deep water start, which I hate, but I was glad to get into the water so I could pee and blow my nose. Man, did I feel better after that! We started and I just got into it. I put my face down, hit a groove, and focused on breathing and stroking. It was very physical out there in the middle of the pack. After taking a few good hits and kicks I decided to quit giving up my space and fight for it and started giving as good as I got. I remember one point where two people tried to squeeze me out, so I shoved both of them away and reclaimed my spot. It was a long swim, but one of my favorites ever!
The rest is pretty much a blur. I felt horrible on the bike: my stomach was upset so I couldn’t drink, my lungs hurt when I had to breathe hard, and my legs were fatigued right away. 3.5 hours is a long time to be alone with your thoughts when things aren’t going well.
I finally got off the bike and started the run. I don’t remember much of this either, other than I decided to walk after about 3 miles. I never ran again. A mental evaluation of my condition told me I was out of gas, dehydrated and overheating. I wasn’t able to stomach any GU, and barely a sip of water at a time. I got to a point where I wasn’t sure I could even walk to the next aid/water station; and it was then that I decided to quit.
Quitting was an easy decision, dealing with it afterwards hasn’t been. I know it was the right thing to do, but I was/am so disappointed. In hindsight, walking up to my family, still looking out on the course for me, was the most painful. I so wanted to be this stud that had competed and finished in this amazing race, only to walk up and say I’d quit was devastating. It is debatable whether I would have felt worse for them to find me in a gurney in the medic tent or a hospital bed.
There is no crying in Ironman. I might have shed a tear or two after the race (maybe that’s why I’m not an Ironman yet), but I have already moved on. I don’t believe there is any way I could have physically finished that race so I’m not going to emote over it. I’m going to savor the nasty taste that quitting left in my mouth and use it as racing fuel. In the future, when things are tough and I want to quit, I’m going to remember Lonestar 2010.
I woke up one morning last week with a scratchy throat. That had happened a few weeks ago and ended up being allergies so I thought nothing of it. I used positive thinking and everything else I could imagine to prevent or postpone the cold. While I was unable to stop the inevitable, my efforts did lessen its severity somewhat.
Race day came, and for me it was a couple of days too late in my cold cycle. I don’t know it for sure, but I do think I would have had a better chance had the race been shifted a couple of days in either direction. But, it was what it was and I was going to give it my all.
As usual I was worried about the swim. This was my longest open water swim ever, and it looked far. I had let that intimidate me in each of my previous races, but felt this time that not only I could do the swim, but I could do it faster than most of the people in my wave. It was a deep water start, which I hate, but I was glad to get into the water so I could pee and blow my nose. Man, did I feel better after that! We started and I just got into it. I put my face down, hit a groove, and focused on breathing and stroking. It was very physical out there in the middle of the pack. After taking a few good hits and kicks I decided to quit giving up my space and fight for it and started giving as good as I got. I remember one point where two people tried to squeeze me out, so I shoved both of them away and reclaimed my spot. It was a long swim, but one of my favorites ever!
The rest is pretty much a blur. I felt horrible on the bike: my stomach was upset so I couldn’t drink, my lungs hurt when I had to breathe hard, and my legs were fatigued right away. 3.5 hours is a long time to be alone with your thoughts when things aren’t going well.
I finally got off the bike and started the run. I don’t remember much of this either, other than I decided to walk after about 3 miles. I never ran again. A mental evaluation of my condition told me I was out of gas, dehydrated and overheating. I wasn’t able to stomach any GU, and barely a sip of water at a time. I got to a point where I wasn’t sure I could even walk to the next aid/water station; and it was then that I decided to quit.
Quitting was an easy decision, dealing with it afterwards hasn’t been. I know it was the right thing to do, but I was/am so disappointed. In hindsight, walking up to my family, still looking out on the course for me, was the most painful. I so wanted to be this stud that had competed and finished in this amazing race, only to walk up and say I’d quit was devastating. It is debatable whether I would have felt worse for them to find me in a gurney in the medic tent or a hospital bed.
There is no crying in Ironman. I might have shed a tear or two after the race (maybe that’s why I’m not an Ironman yet), but I have already moved on. I don’t believe there is any way I could have physically finished that race so I’m not going to emote over it. I’m going to savor the nasty taste that quitting left in my mouth and use it as racing fuel. In the future, when things are tough and I want to quit, I’m going to remember Lonestar 2010.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Mind what you have learned, save you it can…
This is probably my last entry before the race. I’m feeling surprisingly calm, so today I wanted to bring out the big guns. Something I’ve been saving since I ran across it months ago. I’ve been using this when I really felt nervous and it has really helped. If you were to see me race morning, looking out across the water, this is what is going through my head. It isn’t anything original, but who would have thought a darn puppet would be the one to help me through these last few days?
I believe the year was about 1980, and the puppet was Yoda. Luke Skywalker was leaving to try and rescue his friends. Sound familiar? Well it isn’t so much the scene as Yoda’s parting comments to young Luke: “Mind what you have learned, save you it can.”
As I look forward to the biggest race of my life, I have taken a modified version of this to heart. If Yoda were here today I think his comment would be a bit different, but the meaning is still the same. You have done the training. Focus on what you have learned and undergone, and it can get you through whatever is to come.
Coach, I hate to compare you to Yoda (even if you are shorter than I), but the analogy is there for me to grab. I hope you don’t mind that I use this as my mantra for this race! When things get really tough and I’m tired and wanting to quit, I will think of Yoda: “Mind what you have learned, save you it can.”
Bless you, my readers, for putting up with my dribble for these past few weeks as I slowly lost my sanity. In just a few days I will have an entirely different perspective on racing which I will share with you. I hope you enjoyed my journey!
I believe the year was about 1980, and the puppet was Yoda. Luke Skywalker was leaving to try and rescue his friends. Sound familiar? Well it isn’t so much the scene as Yoda’s parting comments to young Luke: “Mind what you have learned, save you it can.”
As I look forward to the biggest race of my life, I have taken a modified version of this to heart. If Yoda were here today I think his comment would be a bit different, but the meaning is still the same. You have done the training. Focus on what you have learned and undergone, and it can get you through whatever is to come.
Coach, I hate to compare you to Yoda (even if you are shorter than I), but the analogy is there for me to grab. I hope you don’t mind that I use this as my mantra for this race! When things get really tough and I’m tired and wanting to quit, I will think of Yoda: “Mind what you have learned, save you it can.”
Bless you, my readers, for putting up with my dribble for these past few weeks as I slowly lost my sanity. In just a few days I will have an entirely different perspective on racing which I will share with you. I hope you enjoyed my journey!
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Visualize this...
The day of my big test draws near, and once again I am starting to feel anxious. I’ve done everything I can to prepare, at least everything within my power. I’ve spent the past 8 months training harder than I’ve ever trained before. I’ve even took advantage of an injury to work on my mental training. So what’s the problem, why am I anxious, especially this far in advance?
The answer is quite basic and very simple: I don’t KNOW that I can finish this race. I came to that realization earlier this week, and I’m ok with it. I THINK I can finish, and for now that will have to be enough. Two weeks from now I will KNOW I can do it, now that is positive thinking! It is powerful, and I believe it is going to help.
Last night, as I lay down to sleep, I started thinking about the race. Instead of stressing about the things I didn’t know, I focused on what I did know. I saw myself standing on the shore and looking at the swim course. It looked long, and the water was probably cold. I put my face into the water, and just started swimming: three strokes and breathe. Every now and then I looked up to sight the buoy, and then kept swimming. I can swim this far, I know it, I’ve done it. And then I was done, the swim was over and I crawled out of the water! This is going to work, barring the unforeseen I will finish this race.
My plan for tonight is to visualize T1 and the bike. Hopefully I will fall asleep before I get to T2!
The answer is quite basic and very simple: I don’t KNOW that I can finish this race. I came to that realization earlier this week, and I’m ok with it. I THINK I can finish, and for now that will have to be enough. Two weeks from now I will KNOW I can do it, now that is positive thinking! It is powerful, and I believe it is going to help.
Last night, as I lay down to sleep, I started thinking about the race. Instead of stressing about the things I didn’t know, I focused on what I did know. I saw myself standing on the shore and looking at the swim course. It looked long, and the water was probably cold. I put my face into the water, and just started swimming: three strokes and breathe. Every now and then I looked up to sight the buoy, and then kept swimming. I can swim this far, I know it, I’ve done it. And then I was done, the swim was over and I crawled out of the water! This is going to work, barring the unforeseen I will finish this race.
My plan for tonight is to visualize T1 and the bike. Hopefully I will fall asleep before I get to T2!
Saturday, April 10, 2010
A successful opening day.
This morning was my first race of the season. As usual I would have liked to have done better, but based on how I felt, and the conditions, I am very satisfied with my results. That said, my watch reported a better time by 3 minutes than what I read at the site. I know my watch matched what I did, so the only solutions I can imagine are that I misread the time this morning or I got 3 minutes in penalties. I will be pretty irritated if it was the latter! Regardless, I wasn’t there for the time, just to build a little confidence and get ready for Lonestar in two weeks. Here is my recap:
At the start of the race it was cold and windy, but the skies were mostly clear. The wind was coming from offshore, giving us some nice choppy water – a new experience for me. I wanted to stay out of the way of the masses, so I picked a spot about 2/3 back away from the front. At the 10 second count down I looked around and everyone else had moved up, leaving me at the very back. At 66 degrees, the water was the coldest I’ve swum in. I was really glad I’d swum the day before in 68 as it didn’t seem that bad in my sleeveless wetsuit. Once we got going I just put my head in the water, started stroking and breathing just like I’ve done in the pool many times. I couldn’t seem to get a seal on my goggles, and the cold water didn’t feel all that great washing around inside my lens. That was nothing, the real problem was the waves! Like I said, I’ve never experienced that, and it was difficult swimming conditions. Some strokes I would bring my arm around and find nothing but air as I had gone over a wave. Other times I would push my arm forward expecting to smack the water only to push it through the middle of a wave. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your perspective) I am a better swimmer than I give myself credit for. I should have started further up, because it wasn’t long at all before I started passing people. I didn’t swim over anyone, but I did deliver a few hard blows – accidentally. The swim was much easier after the turn around. I didn’t even notice the waves. What I did notice was someone knocking off my Road ID. I haven’t taken it off in 9 months, so I feel a bit naked without it.
I crawled out of the water and headed up the ramp. I didn't see anyone removing their wetsuits, so I raised my hand and yelled out STRIPPER! As fuzzy headed as I was; I wasn’t so bad off that I didn’t get a chuckle when I heard myself. It wasn’t as funny when some big guy ran over and helped me undress. He was in such a hurry too; you would think he was in a race!
After a quarter mile jog to the transition area I made it to my bike, made a clean and I thought quick transition, and was on my way. Everything was going according to plan. Dead ahead of me was the Kemah Bridge. Not a horribly big hill, and with the training I’ve been doing in Magnolia I figured I was better prepared than everyone else. I planned to hit it hard, keeping the gears as high as possible, and then standing up for the extra push. I was going to crush and demoralize everyone in front of me when I flew by them. I was barely on the hill when my legs asked me what I was doing and forced me to immediately start dropping gears. I settled on the small chain ring, kept spinning and still passed several people. After a bit of a technical section where we doubled back to go over the hill again, we had a straight shot: 5 miles out and back. The way out was mostly a head wind, and I was pleased with the pace of 17-18 mph. I passed many riders, and was passed by several young bucks that were really cruising! After the turn around, with the wind at my back, I was able to pick up the speed a bit more, hitting between 21 and 24 mph. It was a short bike leg, so there wasn’t much to report. I stayed in the aero position and went as fast as I felt I could. Someone passed me at the last minute, which irritated me a bit. I hope I wasn’t thinking bad thoughts about him because he crashed at the dismount line and had to get help to get back up and de-cleat.
T2 is where I experienced my first difficulty. I should have investigated it after the race to see what the problem was, but for some reason I couldn’t get both brakes to catch on the rack. I don’t remember my solution, but I was out of there and on the run pretty quickly.
I set my sights on the guy in front of me, and the guy behind me must have done the same because he caught up right away. He was breathing very hard and I knew he wouldn’t last. I was right: it wasn’t but a couple of minutes before he dropped back, never to be seen again. I had some youngsters pass me on the run, including at least a couple of women that started 10 minutes behind me. I’d wish I were young again, but then everyone else would also be faster. I think I’ll stay where I am! Long before the first mile marker I noticed the sun was out and I wasn’t cold anymore. My glasses started to fog up (a common occurrence for me), I guess from the heat off my face. I grabbed a cup of water at the next aid station and dumped it over my head. That really helped not only cool me off and rinse my glasses, but it was cold water and snapped me back to the race. I did the same thing at all the remaining aid stations. The course ran through the boardwalk and neighborhood, making it difficult to get a real feel for where I was on the run. It wasn’t long though before I saw the finish line and it was over. For the record, my watch and the clock both said 1:21:30 as I crossed!
Having finished the race, drunk my beers and taken the obligatory nap, I realize why I like triathlons more than running: they are harder. There is so much going on that you can never just get in a groove and zone out. Maybe that will change with the longer distance in two weeks (the part about being able to zone out), I’ll be sure to let you know!
Oh yeah, Dr Schmedding if you are reading this: What ankle injury? :)
At the start of the race it was cold and windy, but the skies were mostly clear. The wind was coming from offshore, giving us some nice choppy water – a new experience for me. I wanted to stay out of the way of the masses, so I picked a spot about 2/3 back away from the front. At the 10 second count down I looked around and everyone else had moved up, leaving me at the very back. At 66 degrees, the water was the coldest I’ve swum in. I was really glad I’d swum the day before in 68 as it didn’t seem that bad in my sleeveless wetsuit. Once we got going I just put my head in the water, started stroking and breathing just like I’ve done in the pool many times. I couldn’t seem to get a seal on my goggles, and the cold water didn’t feel all that great washing around inside my lens. That was nothing, the real problem was the waves! Like I said, I’ve never experienced that, and it was difficult swimming conditions. Some strokes I would bring my arm around and find nothing but air as I had gone over a wave. Other times I would push my arm forward expecting to smack the water only to push it through the middle of a wave. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your perspective) I am a better swimmer than I give myself credit for. I should have started further up, because it wasn’t long at all before I started passing people. I didn’t swim over anyone, but I did deliver a few hard blows – accidentally. The swim was much easier after the turn around. I didn’t even notice the waves. What I did notice was someone knocking off my Road ID. I haven’t taken it off in 9 months, so I feel a bit naked without it.
I crawled out of the water and headed up the ramp. I didn't see anyone removing their wetsuits, so I raised my hand and yelled out STRIPPER! As fuzzy headed as I was; I wasn’t so bad off that I didn’t get a chuckle when I heard myself. It wasn’t as funny when some big guy ran over and helped me undress. He was in such a hurry too; you would think he was in a race!
After a quarter mile jog to the transition area I made it to my bike, made a clean and I thought quick transition, and was on my way. Everything was going according to plan. Dead ahead of me was the Kemah Bridge. Not a horribly big hill, and with the training I’ve been doing in Magnolia I figured I was better prepared than everyone else. I planned to hit it hard, keeping the gears as high as possible, and then standing up for the extra push. I was going to crush and demoralize everyone in front of me when I flew by them. I was barely on the hill when my legs asked me what I was doing and forced me to immediately start dropping gears. I settled on the small chain ring, kept spinning and still passed several people. After a bit of a technical section where we doubled back to go over the hill again, we had a straight shot: 5 miles out and back. The way out was mostly a head wind, and I was pleased with the pace of 17-18 mph. I passed many riders, and was passed by several young bucks that were really cruising! After the turn around, with the wind at my back, I was able to pick up the speed a bit more, hitting between 21 and 24 mph. It was a short bike leg, so there wasn’t much to report. I stayed in the aero position and went as fast as I felt I could. Someone passed me at the last minute, which irritated me a bit. I hope I wasn’t thinking bad thoughts about him because he crashed at the dismount line and had to get help to get back up and de-cleat.
T2 is where I experienced my first difficulty. I should have investigated it after the race to see what the problem was, but for some reason I couldn’t get both brakes to catch on the rack. I don’t remember my solution, but I was out of there and on the run pretty quickly.
I set my sights on the guy in front of me, and the guy behind me must have done the same because he caught up right away. He was breathing very hard and I knew he wouldn’t last. I was right: it wasn’t but a couple of minutes before he dropped back, never to be seen again. I had some youngsters pass me on the run, including at least a couple of women that started 10 minutes behind me. I’d wish I were young again, but then everyone else would also be faster. I think I’ll stay where I am! Long before the first mile marker I noticed the sun was out and I wasn’t cold anymore. My glasses started to fog up (a common occurrence for me), I guess from the heat off my face. I grabbed a cup of water at the next aid station and dumped it over my head. That really helped not only cool me off and rinse my glasses, but it was cold water and snapped me back to the race. I did the same thing at all the remaining aid stations. The course ran through the boardwalk and neighborhood, making it difficult to get a real feel for where I was on the run. It wasn’t long though before I saw the finish line and it was over. For the record, my watch and the clock both said 1:21:30 as I crossed!
Having finished the race, drunk my beers and taken the obligatory nap, I realize why I like triathlons more than running: they are harder. There is so much going on that you can never just get in a groove and zone out. Maybe that will change with the longer distance in two weeks (the part about being able to zone out), I’ll be sure to let you know!
Oh yeah, Dr Schmedding if you are reading this: What ankle injury? :)
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Anxiety
I’m sitting here this morning, trying to digest some pancakes before I go out for a nice ride/run combo, reflecting on my journey and what is to come. That sounds deep, but it really isn’t. With only three weeks until my first big test, I’m looking back on my training to reassure myself that I’m ready, at least as ready as I can be.
I started feeling anxious a couple of weeks ago, and have already lost more than a couple of hours of sleep. 70.3 miles is a long race. I know I can do the individual components, but how will I react when they are back to back? More importantly, this is a race. I’m not delusional, I’m not racing other people (though I will compare my results to theirs once it is all over), but something happens to me in a race and I tend to push myself harder than in training. It’s also different running/biking/swimming by yourself with music playing in your ears compared to running with a whole bunch of people around you. I’m banking on the swim to spread out the competitors so there isn’t as much dodging in and around people. The swim should be interesting though.
If I had a dime for every person that has told me I will be fine, I’d be a rich man. Actually not, but I could probably get into the dollar cinema! That doesn’t help me much though, it only matters what is in my own head. I mentioned I was anxious to my coach the other day, and she recommended a warm up race to settle the nerves and shake out the cobwebs. I’m going to do just that, I’ve signed up for a sprint next weekend. It is short enough that I’m absolutely not concerned about the distances, not even the swim. I’m even going so far as to consider this a race, and I’m going to push myself pretty hard to do well. I don’t know that it is going to help my anxiety or not, but it gives me something to distract those thoughts for another 10 days as I focus on an event where I know I will do fine.
My wife and I had dinner with Ironman Betsy and her husband last night. While discussing her swim at the Ironman Arizona, she mentioned something I’d never thought of: what if someone knocks off my goggles while I’m swimming. I don’t think I could swim in saltwater without them, and freshwater might not be much better. Fortunately she also gave me a couple of solutions: stuff an extra pair of goggles down the front of your wetsuit in case you lose yours, and put your swim cap on over your goggle strap to cover them in back. While I now have one more thing to concern myself with, I’m not worried since I have a plan.
Am I anxious? You betcha! Will I lose sleep because of it, probably? What am I going to do about it: finish my morning coffee and go do my daily workout. That should give me at least a couple of hours of respite…
I started feeling anxious a couple of weeks ago, and have already lost more than a couple of hours of sleep. 70.3 miles is a long race. I know I can do the individual components, but how will I react when they are back to back? More importantly, this is a race. I’m not delusional, I’m not racing other people (though I will compare my results to theirs once it is all over), but something happens to me in a race and I tend to push myself harder than in training. It’s also different running/biking/swimming by yourself with music playing in your ears compared to running with a whole bunch of people around you. I’m banking on the swim to spread out the competitors so there isn’t as much dodging in and around people. The swim should be interesting though.
If I had a dime for every person that has told me I will be fine, I’d be a rich man. Actually not, but I could probably get into the dollar cinema! That doesn’t help me much though, it only matters what is in my own head. I mentioned I was anxious to my coach the other day, and she recommended a warm up race to settle the nerves and shake out the cobwebs. I’m going to do just that, I’ve signed up for a sprint next weekend. It is short enough that I’m absolutely not concerned about the distances, not even the swim. I’m even going so far as to consider this a race, and I’m going to push myself pretty hard to do well. I don’t know that it is going to help my anxiety or not, but it gives me something to distract those thoughts for another 10 days as I focus on an event where I know I will do fine.
My wife and I had dinner with Ironman Betsy and her husband last night. While discussing her swim at the Ironman Arizona, she mentioned something I’d never thought of: what if someone knocks off my goggles while I’m swimming. I don’t think I could swim in saltwater without them, and freshwater might not be much better. Fortunately she also gave me a couple of solutions: stuff an extra pair of goggles down the front of your wetsuit in case you lose yours, and put your swim cap on over your goggle strap to cover them in back. While I now have one more thing to concern myself with, I’m not worried since I have a plan.
Am I anxious? You betcha! Will I lose sleep because of it, probably? What am I going to do about it: finish my morning coffee and go do my daily workout. That should give me at least a couple of hours of respite…
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