Why not?

I remember this one time back in the day watching Universal Sports Network.  They were showing the highlights from the Kona Ironman.  I liked watching it; I wanted to be one of those racers.  They were putting all they had right at that moment combined with the tireless training over past months.  The finish line footage looked so incredibly satisfying.  I’m biased now… I can look back and remember that the satisfying finish line crossings were in the dark… lights out… sun’s down, gone, and set.  It was late in the evening.  People were still trucking just to taste the finish line.  One by one it showed the finish line crossings.  And that was that.  The show ended; I watched something else.

Now fast forward to years later.  I decided to run a marathon.  Why not, right?  There are more epiphanies than that, but it narrows down to that simple question.  I ran a marathon.  After that a friend convinced me to do an Ironman with him.  We signed up and training began.  I taught myself to swim from scratch.  I bought a tri-bike online and assembled it myself.  I could already run.  I trained, and I trained, and I trained.  I trained myself.  I had lunch with a personal trainer from a gym connected to my company through business.  He had done multiple Ironman races before.  We talked for an hour.  He didn’t charge me anything because he “enjoyed talking about it.”  I got pointers.  Some I used and some I didn’t, but it was firsthand information. 

I did that Ironman and it was great.  I had some crushing experiences and I had some great ones.  I did another a year later.  I have good and bad memories associated with each race.  I finished both.  That’s it.  That’s my short version story.  It’s simplistic and boring and lots of words to read.  There’s plenty more words to read though.

Fast forward again to now.  I watched a movie (again).  I remembered an event from the movie that turned out to be from a different movie, but I couldn’t remember which one.  I tried but couldn’t pull out the knowledge.  Days later I had a crappy night.  Like a beer and pizza night.  The kind of night you don’t want to go anywhere or see anyone.  I wanted to watch a positive movie.  I watched a movie I thought of, randomly.  So, no guff, my brain magically picked the movie that contained the moment I thought the other movie had.  That’s it.  That’s all.

That subconscious.  It’s a crazy super power we all have.  It just keeps chugging while we eat, play, and sleep.  It’s a machine that never stops without any actual effort from our conscious thoughts.

Now let’s backtrack.  That one guy who watched Ironman races and enjoyed the athleticism, dedication, and effort poured into finishing the race?  He did one later.  A friend encouraged him and he did it.  It just happened.  Afterwards it was just a casual thing.  Doing another, or more down the line, are no big deal.  That magical subconscious just kept the idea alive and the reality alive until it was time to actually do one.  Done.  Check.  Completed. 

So how many people have ideas of new activities or adventures in life?  But when these ideas propagate and surface… instead of tucking them away for later… they just shoot them down.

My life is too…

Work is…

I have … responsibilities…

I’m too…

Just submerge that idea and drown it in a pool of day to day repetition and monotony.  Take your conscious thoughts and strangle out an idea and keep it from your subconscious.  Your subconscious is like a superpower that all of us get to enjoy, but too often individuals run themselves into the dumps or set roadblocks in their own lives. 

Collect your aspirations and dreams and let them sit idle, because why not?  Just collect them and let your subconscious and even conscious thoughts think about your success.  Use that weird super power of subconscious thought that we all are gifted with.  Yeah, not everything will come to light, become a reality, or propagate.  But perhaps some will.  We may not all become a doctor, fireman, or policeman like we thought in 1^st grade.  We may not place 1^st in the Boston marathon.  We may not walk on the moon.  But something will shine through.  Don’t get stuck somewhere you don’t want to be.  Don’t accept the repetition of the daily grind.  We may not ever be first, but never accept being last.

 

If you fail, which we are all bound to experience, please explain to me how you are worse off than when you started.  If I had failed and missed the cutoffs of my first Ironman I would have a DNF (dfd not finish).  But I’d have the health, the dedication, and the trip to Whistler to remember.  What shame or defeat ever is tied or tethered to saying that you tried.

That’s it, you can stop reading now.

But let’s rewind to the time watching Universal Sports Netowork.  The dark.  The evening time when the finishers crossed.  My first Ironman (I know, it was my first), I crossed the finish line in the dark.  My family was there, they announced my name, and I was done.  I felt incredible.  I was triumphant and glad to be done.  I had missed the bike cutoff by less than thirty minutes (8 hours and 10 minute ride).  My family was worried and I had no idea that I was 20 minutes shy of getting pulled from the course.  That’s the summery.

My second Ironman I trained hard for.  I trained with my once upon time girlfriend.  We swam enough, ran enough, and spent countless hours on the bike and on hills.  I was ready to rock.  She may have beaten me, but I still got an incredibly improved time.  When I finished my second IM my family was waiting for me, and so was she.  But this time I was just done.  I had completed the race.  There was no “will I finish” mentality.  And that was it.

So now to compare the two.  The questionable finish with no experience or knowledge will always remain, in my brain, the more incredible race.  Because that feeling to identify if we can even do it is an incredible feeling.  Just jump in and see what you can do.

Pieces of the puzzle

I recently switched desktop computers and currently have zero access to my photo archives, so sadly this post is straight up text.  No sunsets, no sunrises, no pretty pictures of any kind.  But I'll have my network up soon and the photos will be back!  And I don't have Word installed... so watch out for grammar problems and keep them to yourself.  I ain't talk so good when the machine ain't checkin' my werds.


Turning 30

I’m going to turn thirty soon; i roughly a month and a half.  It’s a bummer.  But the biggest bummer isn’t my age or how I feel about said age... it’s my new racing category.  I’m in a faster racing age group; it sucks.  My last half marathon, the one that I placed first in my age group, I wouldn’t have even placed in for 30-34.  I’d have been chumped.  So now I need to get faster.  And I will.  Because even though I'm turning 30 I'm still progressively getting more fit than I've ever been.  By the time I'm 40 the world had better watch out.  I'll bring sexy back.  I'll bring it back and jam it in people's faces.  K'pow!

Physiology

I’ve been running long for about three years.  My body’s adapted to endurance racing.  Forget training and diet and all that jazz.  My body has adapted on the physiological level.  I can chug my body along at a pretty decent pace far more efficiently than I could when I started years ago.  I can hold a said pace with much less taxation on my heart, leaving me the room to crank my heart up to it's old standby rate while traveling faster.

Range of motion

The body is a crazy thing.  All your pieces work together to make you move.  My body is pretty use to running and moving for long periods of time.  But I have a piece that doesn't work right- my right big toe.  Yep.  My downfall in running all comes down to the inflexibility of my big toe.  Weird right?  I wont go into detail of the problem or how I'm going to solve it, but it's pretty interesting stuff.

New Toys

I recently purchased an inversion table.  It's pretty great.  It locks at many positions other than completely upside down... so I use it to pitch myself slightly backwards after a long run and help my blood make its rounds.

I'm in the market for a new GPS watch.  I want to have a heart rate monitor at all times during my "hundo" and I need to own a second training watch to swap out at exchange points during the race.  I'm completely irritated with watches on the market and feel like I'm getting ripped off for the technology that exists.  I hate Garmin.  I said it, I hate them.  I think I'll end up with a Suunto.  I could go into great technical detail on my rant, but I wont.

It doesn't count as toys but I have a new training trick.  It's a secret;;I think it's pretty interesting.  Sciencey people can question me for fun, but I know it'll be a fact that likely stays with myself.

My Brain

The ace up my sleeve is my brain.  It thinks thinky thoughts.  All it's mush and contours are filled with running knowledge and tricks of the trade.  I may start coaching soon to dump some of that knowledge somewhere.  But for now the knowledge remains free and available.  But someday...

More-so my brain knows what my body can do.  It's seen how I can push my body and how far it can go.  It knows when to tell my body to stop whining because there's still plenty of gas in the tank.  This, to me, is the most important trait I've learned.  I can check in with my body during a race and gather actual feedback, rather than just "I don't want to be doing this anymore."  In addition to this my brain knows that the activities I do are possible out of determination and training, but there's more to that.  My brain accepts that at anytime my body could break.  I could get injured, or be injured, and that's a reality I must accept.  I have future goals for racing and things I'd like to accomplish, but I know that can change at any point.  It's just reality.

My brain has heard words of concern about the toll I'm placing on my body.  No one got anywhere in life whilst hanging in the kiddy pool.  I'm aware of the demand and impact I throw on my body.  If I make it to 60 and my joints ache with every step I'll be aching with a smile.  Those aches and pains will have been earned.  It's like a scar.  Some scars have bad memories, but some come with great ones.



Until next time... with pretty pictures.  I had one on my desktop from my trip to Colorado.  I cant have a post without any pictures... relevant of not.

Sunrise in Wyoming.

Welcome to signing up for an Ultramarathon.

I’ve signed up to travel 100 miles on my feet in under 34 hours.  This is another new step in the whacky world of Justin.  Come September I’m going to beast it.  There are reasons I’m single, I accept this, I’m crazy.  I’m coo coo for coco puffs.  If coco puffs is synonymous for needing to create a savings fund for my future titanium knee caps.  I’m going to be half terminator.  Thumb up…  Get it?

Full disclosure, the pictures?  They don't have anything to do with this.  But people like pictures.

There are things about my body I’ve learned to accept.  You know how kids want to go out and play?  But it’s raining.  The rain is pouring down and just spoiling everyone’s party.  My abs are my children.  They want to play.  The rain is my horrible and atrocious diet.  My abs want to come out and play, but I keep dumping showers of pizza, burgers, and candy bars on their parade.  I’m a rain storm pouring on my own parade.  Such is life.

So it’s time to step up my game.  Last year I had a female to keep me on track with my biking and swimming and a friend that happened to be a female (and her awesome running friends, aka my friends) to keep me on track with running.  This year I need to stick hard to my own flight plan.  I need to be better at the diet part of training.  I need to log 30-50 miles a week and boost that to here and there 70’s closer to race season.  I have a plan.  I may post it eventually just to give an insider’s view to the experience.  I have a calendar… with dates… distances…  And I plan to somewhat stick to it.  One day a week is dedicated to long runs on pavement and another day each week is dedicated to 10+ miles of trail running.  My wiggle room is that I can substitute distance on trail for time at a mile to ten minute ratio: a planned 12 miles run can be settled for 2 hours because trail running can be a different beast.  I need to log between an hour to two hours running before meeting up with my (extremely awesome and just all out incredible ladies I run with) group on Saturday mornings.  Because that’s my favorite run of the week.  And if I can dedicate the distance before meeting up with them I can for sure finish with them.

I’m going to run a marathon in July and shoot for a Boston time.  Mixing two trainings is probably not a common plan, but I’m going to shoot for the moon.  Yep.

I bought a vest.  It holds a 2 liter bladder and two water bottles.  It’s pretty great.  I have several pairs of new shoes.  I’m going to spend the time over the next months narrowing down which shoes I want to race in and what food I want to carry.  It’s a new adventure and I’m going to discover the nooks and crannies of the adventure.

I have a job that really works great with my crazy races.  A normal work week leaves me with a three day weekend.  I can do two long runs a week with a day’s active recovery in between.  Really, everything in life is in a great spot for tackling adventures head on.  I’m looking forward to exploring this new whacky world.  My blog may get updates here and there, but really it’s hard to gauge where the interest lies without feedback.  I’m just going to run a bunch, haha.

That’s it.  That’s my rambling.  Hope it was enjoyable.

This race season is over: What I've learned, and then my brain just started leaking random things into words

Race season 2014 is over.  I had some success and I also had some humility.  It was an excellent year.  I improved my Ironman overall time and splits. There are definitely areas to improve on, and that’s the name of the game right there.  I had a great time running a marathon “for fun” with my bestest bud. I ran Hood to Coast for the first time (and likely the last).  I ran a marathon “for time” in early September that put some egg on my face.  And I finished the year with a duathlon, an impromptu change of the Portland Triathlon to adapt to a Willamette River algae bloom.  I only attempted one mountain this summer, North Sister, and we failed. 

  

I was barely trained for my September marathon.  About nine weeks past the Ironman.  I had mixed training runs with lazy recovery.  My muscles and joints could still handle the distance.  I wanted a Boston time.  I knew going into my race that it wasn’t possible.  I just wasn’t trained enough and I didn’t want to hurt myself.  I would, however, go for broke.  The course was very flat, but the sun was out all day and there was very little shade on the course.  My half marathon time was excellent, somewhere around 98 minutes.  I was cruising and holding back a little, I felt great.  I had a secondary goal of 3:35; my girlfriend at the time’s best marathon time.  After the halfway point I just started to massively lose energy and ability.  In the beginning I could hold a 7:20 pace but now I was slowing.  The 3:30 pacer caught up to me and I ran with him for a while.  I ran with him for about 10 minutes and then walked through an aid station.  I could see him in the distance but I just couldn’t catch back up.  I kept running as hard as my body would allow.  I figured the 3:35 pacer was world’s behind, because I was still moving forward.  Well, that delightful sign bearing, “3:35” caught up to me.  I ran with him for a long while and then hit a point I had to walk.  I watched him fade into the distance.  The story goes on and involves a lot of walk/running and somehow a worse time than my “Let’s only train for a marathon for 10 weeks!”  But the important part is covered, I failed.

I told myself that the all day sun wore me down.  I saw two people puke on course and three afterwards.  It was rough even though it was flat.  That’s what I let my brain believe.  I was good enough, but it was the fault of everything else that led to my failure.  Brains, man.  It’s easy to convince yourself of something when you’re both the lawyer and the jury.  And it’s crap.  I wasn’t trained enough and I wasn’t prepared.  I took my physical capabilities for granted and let them run on auto pilot.  When it came time to get behind the wheel and disengage the auto pilot I pretty much wrecked my car (only it’s economy, don’t worry; I’m fine).

North Sister was a grueling day with really good friends.  We had fun the whole day and I wouldn’t change anything.  But we failed.  There was still too much snow near the top and we didn’t have the correct gear for it.  For safety sake we had to turn around.  It was a narrow crossing and wouldn’t have taken long, but it also wouldn’t have taken long to lose a step and slide down fast into rocky rubble.  We failed.

I look back at the failure throughout the summer and I smile.  I always had fun, and I always learned.  Now I have areas to improve on and places to grow stronger.  I can’t imagine the arrogance I would have if I had succeeded at each endeavor.  I’m pretty thankful for getting knocked down a peg; next year I can climb back up a little higher.

This coming year is undecided.  Last year I trained with a pretty special girl, and now things are no longer.  She got me to where I am in terms of cycling ability and is the root of logging a high number of open water swims.  I hope I’ve grown enough mentally to log the required training without her beside me (or out in front of me).  It’s another thing to improve on, though. 

 

At this point in my life I’m pondering doing the Leadman 250 in Bend.  I want to find another marathon and shoot for a Boston time; I may even try Skagit Flats again.  I have very little interest in doing the Portland Triathlon again (which might not even be possible, conflicting date with Leadman last year).  I’ll try to find another Olympic distance triathlon in the area.  I may even sign up for a Sprint distance; I’ve never tried one.  I want to decide early and pick my primary race.  Currently I think I’ll winter/spring train for a long triathlon and then target marathon distance in late spring/summer.  I want my Boston time.

 I need to improve my diet.  Anyone who’s ever seen what I eat is probably secretly wondering how I’m still alive.  I’m a sweet Lamborghini (got to be a little cocky, right?) running my engine on rubbing alcohol.  I never had my body fat tested last year.  During my 2013 season I had my body fat tested 3 times during the season to make sure I wasn’t letting myself go.  I’m a runner; I can’t just flex and see if my muscles got bigger.

Here’s to a hopeful 2015.

 

To those that have read this: I truly appreciate it.  I like to let curious people know what goes on during races.  I also hope it helps to motivate at least a couple.  It’s also a benefit to myself because I can just ramble and get a feel for how I interpret my events.  Writing can pop out little details that talking can’t.  And as much as I like pictures… they don’t do much.  They can help add details to stories and give them some recognition.   “A picture is worth a thousand words.” Nope.  A picture tells someone what to imagine.  It tells them what to do.  A story allows for interpretation.  Stories are grand because they allow the listener to get lost in their own mind.  Why do we read books?  Because they tell the stories but allow our brain to paint the picture.  I love to listen to stories of outdoor adventures because I can put my own spin and imagery on the event.  If someone showed me a play by play video of the event I’d likely get disappointed.  Not because they trip wasn’t epic, but because I like my own tweaks and pictures I’ve painted. 

 

This is my blog so I can speak my mind.  This is why I hate Instagram.  Over saturation and edited colors.  The sky doesn’t glow like the Heaven’s are angry.  It’s a lie to those that haven’t gone.  It breeds disappointment.  Imagine someone took a trip to the top of a mountain, one I had posted of a super saturated and glowing sunrise, a sunrise so deep blood orange you’d think the apocalypse was coming.  Now imagine this person gets to the top for themselves and see’s the sky blue breaking through the puffy clouds.  The lower peaks and valleys below.  And they breathe deep and say, “This is it?”  There’s no devil’s Kool-aid orange sky or cobalt blue waters.  Imagine they’re actually disappointed at the beauty around them.  Because we showed off the world more vibrant and exquisite, we’ve deformed the beauty... we added makeup.  We do it to make ourselves look more epic.  This is the day and age we live in.  I like my pictures as much as the next person.  I love my SLR because it captures what I see.  I like to remember my trips as they were.  This is in no way in insult to Instagram’ers.  I’ve used the term myself, “I’m going to make xxxxx Facebook jelly.”  I’m going to post pictures so fun and adventurous that it’s like a hook.  I’m a jerk like that sometimes.  But in reality it’s about being an ambassador to the adventures you pursue.  Show people what it’s about and if they’re curious, show them more.  Take them out, give them opportunities.  In my experience most people peter our and never truly tag along.  But never let that stop you from giving people the opportunity to find a new place or have a new adventure.  The one’s who explore will enjoy (almost) every second of it.  There’s places high, low, and inbetween in this awesome world.  If a person bails on you because the season premier of “blah blah blah blah,” then nuts to them, you’ve tried; go on your own.

 

 

I’ve loved doing my Ironmans, I’ve loved my marathons, and I’ve loved my outdoor adventures.  It would be awesome if people wanted to try these things, too.  But to each their own.  When I talk to people about doing an Ironman I focus on a side point: the people out there that you would never imagine doing one.  Couch to 5k?  Couch to Ironman is possible too, just takes longer.  Couch to marathon?  Couch to ANYWHERE.  Putting in the time and effort can take you anywhere you want to get.  The trick is to stop saying someday and say, “this year, but I’ve got to start now.”  Get better everyday even if it’s beeeeaaaarly measureable or quantifiable.  You’ll fail sometimes, I certainly have, but the experience of failing can be amazing.  And it can give you a passion to get better.  I’d rather fail at a summit attempt of North Sister than be the king of hiking in Tryon Creek (that’s just me). 

 

That’s my rant.  Because it’s my blog.  And I’m allowed to.  Thanks for reading if you got this far.  Infact, going into winter is the hardest time for training and keeping motivation.  So, if you read this and like it, let me know.  If you have feedback, I’m all ears.  And definitely if you want to take an adventure but don’t know where to start, ask.  I can point you the right direction, or at least in a direction to get you started.  It’s all right there around us; sometimes you’ve just got to jump out of your comfort zone.

Ironman Coeur d’Alene 2014

Trip Report

Coeur d’Alene was a very nice town.  It’s been an Ironman locale since 2003 so I’d guess they’re pretty used to how things need to go.  Lake Coeur d’Alene was gigantic and pretty impressive overall.  Water temperature was pretty good.  Probably not to someone from the warmer states, but having trained in Portland it was just up my alley.  The athlete’s meeting was incredibly informative and I think they covered about everything possible.  I had an accomplice at this race (hereafter referred to as Ravishing Opal Eyes, or ROE), so touring the town was a bit more relaxing.  We swam once after picking up our packets on Friday and biked once on Saturday.  The meal voucher was good at eight restaurants.  I ended up using mine Monday morning for breakfast on my way out of town.

 

Transition closed at 6:15 and the swim began at 6:40.  This seemed a little strange to me since we had to go through transition to leave our morning drop bag.  Thankfully the weather was pretty decent.  The swim was a self seeding wave start.  There were a few signs with completion time ranges held up right before starting to spread out the swimmers by pace.  I heard someone say 60 degree water temperature which felt about that so I’d believe it.  We were walked down to the sand and continuously funneled through the starting arch until everyone was in the water.  The course headed out roughly 800 meters, turned left to go another 200’ish meter, and turned left towards shore to swim back again.  The swim consisted of two loops.  We had to get out of the water and cross a timing mat and then head right back in for the second loop.  On the second loop it was announced (I was swimming, so interpretations are rough) to turn at the clump of paddle boarders.  I found out after the race that the first corner buoy had blown away.  A few people got to knock a few yards off their course as the staff improvised.  Once out of the water the wetsuit peelers ripped off wetsuits and we headed to grab our swim to bike bags.  The volunteers inside the changing tent were helpful and abundant.

 

The bike course was a two loop course consisting of (approximately) 16 miles through town and along the lake and then 40 miles along highway 95.  Going out either way was primarily uphill, which meant coming back into town was primarily downhill.  The course had 3 (for each loop) no passing zones due to confined space on the course.  I only noticed a single spot on the course with road kill gear; one bridge transition had a nasty bump with a myriad of water bottles and CO2 cartridges following it.  Rough bumps are no fun.  The bike course had tons of spectators through the city and near the lake.  The section along highway 95 had spectators as well, but due to limited parking and logistics they were far less abundant.  Overall, crowd support was a major highlight of this course.  Aid stations were about every ten miles.  Each stop had two’ish portapotties which created some lines, but lines dissipated further into the race as bikers spread out.  As soon as my front tire crossed the dismount line a volunteer was there ready to take my bike.  The bike to run bags were on a basketball court and were easy to locate.  The changing tent was far less crammed for T2 since there was less congestion.

 

The run course was also two loops.  The run went out of town and along the lake mirroring the first portion of the bike course.  Aid stations were very abundant, about every mile.  This year’s run course was apparently the test to try Red Bull at aid stations.  The course was very nice and there was only one nasty hill during the run.  The hill was steep and banked.  The run had a lot of crowd support.  The turnaround went right into downtown and back out which had the heaviest density of crowd support.

 

Based on what I've read there were 151 DNFs and 1953 finishers, with over half of the finishers being first time participants.  Based on result derivations from the actual race results for 2466 competitors I see 1958 finishers, 345 DNS (did not start), and 160 DNF (did not finish).  I’m missing three people in those numbers somewhere.  Of the DNFs 8 did not finish the swim, 112 did not finish the bike, and 40 did not finish the run.  Of the 40 at least 5 finished the race but crossed after the time limit.  I don’t know how many competitors started the race and were recovered by boats / medical personal.  All DNFs in the results have swim times listed.  It’s possible that recovered swimmers were left as DNS in the results.

 

The Personal Recount

I woke up at 4:30 to eat breakfast.  I had my morning clothes in a pile.  After getting dressed I at some assorted nuts with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, some Poweraid, and a little bit of black tea.  I continued to snack on pretzels after breakfast up until I left my hotel room.  Everything was in my wetsuit bag ready to rock.  I shaved my face, applied some Butt’r to the appropriate places, and made a PB & J for my swim to bike transition bag before heading out the door.  My family drove me to the race start.  I arrived sometime around 5:30 and got body marked while heading into transition.  I brought my PB & J to my transition bag and headed over to my bike to add some Ultima to a water bottle and fill my aero bottle.  This year I had waaay less stuff than last year to leave in my morning bag.  I can’t even fathom how last year’s bag was rippingly full, but it was.  I found ROE and we talked for a minute and finished up in transition.  I left my bike pump with my sister and got the lower half of my wetsuit on.  From about 6:05 on, they bullhorned out how many minutes were left in transition.  Right around 6:15 I dropped my morning gear bag and headed towards the boardwalk area.  The Portland Triclub president was along the side as we headed towards the swim start; I don’t know him very well but it was awesome to see another familiar face.  I found ROE  and we talked and hugged and got ready.  It was nice to have someone to talk to this year (other than some random person).  As the mass headed down the beach area we took a minute to get in the water and wet our suits (haha, PUN!).  But seriously, I peed in my suit as soon as I got in the water.  That’s what happens when they close transition half an hour before the race starts.  Some more hugs and “good lucks” were exchanged before heading under the arch.

 

The water had some swells but nothing extreme.  Heading out 800 meters meant that hugging buoys wasn’t too imperative.  I was able to secure a nice spot and make some decent progress.  I didn’t get hit at all other than some tickles here and there.  I “crawl”ed the whole course without any breaks except for resorting to breast stroke a few times for defensive purposes.  The first loop was pretty straight forward.  Coming back towards shore my goggles began to fog a little and I drifted a bit off course.  I sighted myself out a nice tall tree that contrasted the sky quite nicely.  Take that, goggle fog!  I got to shore and headed onto dry land to cross the mat.  Heading through the inflatable arch to cross the timing mat was pretty irritating, but I guess everyone had the same impact on their performance.  I dipped my goggles as I headed back out in order to clear the fog.  The seconded loop was choppier than the first.  I had a few strokes where I didn’t breathe and a few where my head slapped back into the water.  It actually gave me something to think about, so other than swallowing a bit more water than normal, it was kind of nice (in a weird way).  During the swim my left hand started to get a numb sensation so I’d wiggle my fingers as my hand passed out of the water.  As we approached the first turn of the second loop every swimmer was just as confused as me.  The red buoy was missing.  This threw people waaay off.  Were they lost?  Did they pass it?  None of us knew that it had blown away at that time.  We just kind of followed the masses towards some paddle boarders and then turned.  It worked.  Heading into shore I felt great.  The home stretch!  Swim 800 meters towards shore and graduate to the next level.  I got out of the water and started to unzip and get ready for the peelers.  They ripped off my suit and I headed to grab my T1 bag.  I got out of the water in 1:23:XX.  I had shaved (more like chopped) 30 entire minutes off last year’s swim time. 

 

There were actually a ton of people in the changing tent still!  I got my shirt out of my bag so I could put it on while I peed in the portapotty.  I headed into the tent and proceeded to don my gear.  I couldn’t find my socks.  Whatever, I kept putting stuff on.  I still couldn’t find my socks.  I turned on my watch and flapped my wetsuit and looked through my bag.  No socks, none.  I had put baby powder in my bag with the intention of drying my feet before wiggling my toe socks on; I guess baby powder was all I was going to get.  I put each foot into my transition bag and blasted them with baby powder.  I used the entire “travel sized” container on my feet and threw my bike shoes on.  This year I pinched the back of my shirt towards the center so the volunteers applying my sunscreen could get all my skin.  I spent just shy of 14 minutes in transition due to the sock mystery, but whatever.  I headed out to grab my bike and was incredibly happy with the sight.  Tons of bikes still on the racks!  Last year coming out of the tent I’d have needed to be blind to miss my bike; it was one of the only ones still there.  I felt great physically and mentally.

 

 

The start of the bike was great.  I felt good and I was around people.  At this point I didn’t realize how much faster I had swam compared to last year, but I did know I felt better.  This year I used a cadence and speed sensor rather than the GPS of my watch to conserve some battery life.  I started to eat some gel right away and wash it down.  Heading out on the first leg of loop one was nice.  I was feeling great and had no idea what hills were coming, I liked that.  I passed ROE on the way out and yelled something random.  I kept going and the turnaround came quicker than I thought.  Back through town and out the other way.  I met my first no passing zone which a few people ignored (it was really packed).  The ride out was a lot of uphill with some head wind.  I was incredibly thankful for all my hill training with that *bodacious babe* before the race; this was where I needed it.  The ride out was long.  There were a few wind gusts that made me back off my aerobars for a bit, but after a while I got a feel for the ride.  I saw ROE again and it gave me some spark.  I stopped and ate half my PB & J while peeing at an aid station and headed out again.  After hitting the turnaround I was able to milk my cycling strength: fast peddling downhill on the aerobars.  Downhill with a tail wind almost made the uphill head wind worth it.  It was fast, it was fun, and I would get back to town a lot quicker than I thought.  I had a pro behind my when I entered the third no passing zone.  You’d have been lucky to fit a pencil between our tires.  Once the zone ended he dropped the hammer and sailed past people.  I could only wish to pick up that speed that fast.

 

The second loop was still solid, my slight decrease in steam was countered by the fact that I now knew what to expect on the course.  I flew out of town and headed towards the first turn around.  I saw ROE again and we waved.  I hit the turn around again and headed back towards town.  The second trip out on highway 95 was incredibly rough.  The head wind had grown to an irritating level.  Peddling uphill with the head wind made my quads feel incredibly fatigued.  I kept chugging along and stopped at an aid station.  I stepped into a portapotty and almost fell into the wall.  The combination of bike cleats and the horribly crooked portapotty made things fun… especially while eating the rest of my PB & J.  I got on my bike again and continued up the course.  This 20 mile stretch was the hardest part of the entire race for me.  I knew I could do it, but I felt like it was just eating my time.  I hit the turn around and felt extremely relieved.  On the way back to town I passed the two leading pros on the run course.  It was awesome to see Andy Potts in the first place position chugging along.  After passing him I hit a hill and dropped to about 10 miles an hour.  It passed through my head that I’m on a bike going slower than Andy Potts is running right now.  I had one point heading back towards town when my chain slipped from my front sprockets.  I was actually happy this was my only bike issue all race.  I hopped off my bike for the five second fix and then kept on trucking and made it to transition.

 

We could leave out bike shoes on our bike for transition, but I needed to leave them on to keep my feet dry.  I grabbed my watch off my bike as the volunteer took it for me.  I went to the tent and wiggled on my toe socks from my T2 bag.  I left behind my Red Bull can and water belt.  I shaved about 5 minutes off my transition time from last year, now being just shy of 6 minutes (I blame getting each of my toesies in the socks). 

 

I left the tent to start my run and switched my watch into GPS mode.  At the start of the run I could tell my legs had been hammered by the bike.  Be it the wind or the hills, or both, I wasn’t going to pull a run time I had hoped.  My right shin was really tight so I started with a walk run combo.  Eventually my legs felt a little better and I was able to run for longer periods.  At the aid stations I drank Red Bull and Powerbar drink to keep hydrated.  I ate a few bananas and eventually settled into a pretty decent run.  The only hiccup was the long banked hill.  It was so crooked and steep I decided to walk it on both loops.  I could see that most people around me made the same choice.  I saw ROE three times (I think) on the run which really helped my mentality during the end.  Each time I started running again my legs would burn until I was back into my tempo. 

 

During the run there was an aid station that was circus themed.  People were dressed up and so peppy.  It was nice to have a unique check point to remember.  Most of the other aid stations just meshed together.  On the run it was crazy to see how salty some people got.  I don’t sweat a ton, and get mildly salty on my face.  Some people had salt dried all over their shirts, and a couple with salt lines dried down the backs of their legs.  I took four salt sticks the entire race and was grateful I didn’t lose so much in my sweat that it was a necessity.  I peed about two hours into the marathon and figured I should up my fluid intake.  One portapotty had a poster inside of it which was kind of different.  Also, one had what I’m pretty sure was a bottle of urine in it on the floor.  I started taking two cups per an aid station after my first stop; water coupled with anything else with sugar.  I was doing well in the race overall, but each time I saw ROE pass me I got excited and felt even more energy.  She was doing so awesome and her run pace was solid.  The last time I passed her I was so proud (and jealous) that she was more than halfway into the marathon.  It was really great to have someone in the race that I knew.

 

I ran hard the final push into town and crossed the finish.  I saw my family, ROE’s family, and ROE’s gorgeous smile.  I felt great.  I coughed a bit, but nothing like last year.  Pictures were taken, food was eaten, and back to the hotel I went.  It was done.  13:25:29.  2 hours, 39 minutes and 27 seconds off of last year at Whistler.

 

It was so amazing having my family, ROE’s family, ROE, the PTC club president, and even one of the PTC members I saw along the course.  Even though I was in Idaho I didn’t feel alone.  Back at the hotel I had very little appetite.  I ate handfuls of nuts and finished the Powerbar drink that was left over on my bike.  I went to bed feeling pretty great.  I didn’t sleep well, which I didn’t expect.  I left town the following day and drove all the way home.  I walked four miles which helped stretch my body back out after a six hour drive.  About the only lasting soreness is in my left glute/hamstring and around my left deltoid.  Sitting in the car really brought out the left glute stiffness.  When I got out of the car during my ride I’d hobble for a few steps until everything stretched back out.

 

Coeur d’Alene Versus Whistler

 

Coeur d’Alene operated from a single transition area whereas Whistler had two completely different transition areas.  I liked the logistics of gear dropping at CDA better.  Whistler was condensed and walking everywhere was standard.  In CDA we had to drive to the race area, but the town seemed to have a pretty sizable amount of parking.  I definitely liked the Whistler one loop swim over the CDA two-loop.  Whistler had a far more prominent feeling of the event since the town was so small.  Blue bracelets were everywhere in that town.  In CDA, you’d see a few throughout your hotel, or out and about, but not really a dense population until you went back down to the race area.  The crowd support at CDA was better than Whistler.  Whistler has closed a rode for a 15 mile portion (30 total out and back) and crowed support was limited to residence from the tiny farm town out that way.  CDA didn’t have a plethora of crowd support along highway 95, but it was enough to keep you going.

 

 

 

Next on the list are the Skagit Flats Marathon and the Olympic distance Portland Triathlon, both in September.  I’ll take it easy for a couple weeks and then ease slowly back into training.  Part of my brain says that was my last Ironman, but another part says I should do more.  Maybe down the line a few years, we’ll see.

Pre Ironman Coeur d’Alene 2014

It’s almost here.  I’m close.  I’ve trained for months and Ironman Coeur d’Alene is three days away.  Really, I feel pretty bland about it.  I finished last year and this year I’ve put in far higher quality training.  I’m really eager to compete in the event, but getting ready to go is the tedious part.  Last year I took pictures of all my transition gear.  Getting my gear ready this year was pretty straight forward between referencing my pictures and adding in my few new additions.  I feel I’m prepared enough physically that the rest is kind of blasé.  I interpret that as a good thing. 

Before I start typing like a machine I feel it’s important to state that two people are gigantically significant supporting influences to my training.  You don’t know them, so let’s just call them B and E (ha, they rhyme).  B is a runner and keeps on top of her training.  I tag along with her training when it works out.  Most of my long runs are tagging along with her and I wouldn’t have my running base if it wasn’t for her.  E is a strong biker.  We’ve logged hundreds of miles cycling through the season.  I run short and fast workouts with her.  All but one of my open water swims have been with her.  My cycling and swimming base have been built by training with her.  It’s amazing how two people can provide such a strong pillar for my training.  They both are awesome people.

 

Now, let’s break it down.

Strength.  I’m strong.  This is where I rip my shirt in two and flex like Schwarzenegger.  But seriously, I did the bare minimum for strength training.  For next year (no more Ironmans) I need to work on getting my legs enough strength to spin on a bike for a few hours at a solid heart rate.

My starting gear.

Swimming.  I’m a majestic dolphin.  I swam very little in a pool this year.  I did a lot of open water swims with a max swim of 2.2 miles.  I had a terrible outing earlier this week; the worst one to date.  I got a headache and I felt far less buoyant than normal.  I got out of the water and walked on shore.  Sometimes you need some humility in a workout; I’ve never had to do that before.  I bought some new goggles for this year with a mirrored finish.  Last year there was one buoy that was in line with the sun and I could barely see it.  Mirrored goggles for the win.

T1: Gear for my bike transition.

Biking.  My bike has zebra handlebar tape now.  What else do I need?  This year I had one ride just beyond 100 miles that involved several spins around Sauvie Island.  That day’s goal was to hit 100 miles; we did.  Another long ride was 103 miles from Beaverton to Lincoln City and back again 80 miles after a one day rest.  My cycling has tremendously improved this year with a huge impact from my training partner, who happens to be pretty awesome.  I’ve logged more long rides with her than I ever would have done alone.  This year I’ll use a speed and cadence sensor rather than GPS for my bike in order to conserve battery power on my watch.  I’ll wear the bike shoes I’ve trained in all year rather than switching to my races shoes.  I know how my training shoes feel and that’s what matters.  Maybe my race shoes will make an appearance at the Portland Triathlon in September.  Last year I only had black arm sleeves.  I bought some white ones in case it gets hot this time.  This year I also opted to buy an aero helmet.  We’ll see how it does, but boy is it sexy.  There are flagrant amounts of sarcasm in that statement, but I’m sure to the right crowd maybe it’s true.

T2: Gear for my run transition.

Running.  I like running.  I’m forever grateful that running is last.  I ran the Newport Marathon at the end of May with my best bud.  She rocked it and I got some distance under my belt.  I’ve done some speed workouts this year and stayed on top of long runs pretty well.  I’m going to wear the same shoes from last year.  I never broke in new shoes and I’ve decided to stick with what works.  I haven’t logged too many miles on my Asics since last year’s race… maybe two marathons and a couple long runs… but really only 120 miles or so in total.  This year I’m going to put some calf compression sleeves in my transition bag.  I’ll decide in the tent if I feel like putting them on or not.  Other than that it’s the same old tried and true gear.  Nothing too fancy, just keep running until 26.2 arrives.

Support.  I don’t really talk about the event a lot with people other than my close friends.  People who ask about the event or my training are actually helping.  It gets me in that mindset if even temporarily.  They’re helping me out and they don’t even know it.  It’s a big life event that receives numerous hours of training and preparing.  I try to be careful who I bring the topic up around because some are not as receptive to it for various reasons.  The most prominent one is that people can’t really relate.  Try talking about running 20 miles to a person who loves knitting; the two are different fields.  And reverse the situation too, a knitter talking to a runner about their favorite needles. 

The truth of the matter is that some people don’t have the fitness/health, time, or finances to do some things.  But what I wish I could cram into people’s faces is that there is time for things.  If you want to try something just sign up or rent/buy the supplies or book the ticket.  Pounce on it like a hungry tiger.  The excuse train can chug forever.  We all won’t tackle the same things.  Even with the races and the mountains and the backpacking, I still see a variety of people’s pictures and think, “man, that is just awesome.”  We all have different limits and interests.  My Ironman could be someone else’s 5k… or king size quilt… hell, it could be getting their chili recipe juuust right.  But pouncing with the willingness to accept failure is half the battle.  No one will laugh, no one will judge, what others will see is that you threw caution into the wind and tried.  If you fail, keeping trying and fail better, and you keep going until you get to the finished piece.  And then you get an overwhelming sense of accomplishment.  The little hiccup and burp-like failures along the way make the accomplishment even better.  So just don’t stop.

April Update

The sun is slowly peaking its head, my birthday is just around the corner, and race season is sneaking up.  Life has had some changes and still has more approaching; some I like and some I don’t.  Training is crawling along.  I have lost any and all ability to mentally handle swimming in a pool.  I’ve been spending far more time this year training with others.  I have one solid running partner that’s better at waking up early than I am, but has helped me get some runs in when I didn’t have the mentality.  I have one solid biking partner that has helped me get out on some greatly beneficial long rides.  Once the sun hits my running partner’s training will be different than mine, and my biking partner may transition into a thing of the past.  I could be on my own, and I’m a little worried.  My diet is, for short of a better term, chaotic.  Work leads me to forget to eat, and then I’m starving and I gorge on whatever I can get my hands on.

I had one race today.  The next few races are a 30k trail run in southern Oregon near the end of April, the Newport marathon at the end of May, and Ironman Coeur D’Alene at the end of June.  The trail run will be fun and fast paced, but may get competitive.  The Newport marathon is for moral support and should be a fun time.  The Ironman will be the big fish and, even though it’s only my second, it will likely be my last Ironman.  I think next year I will focus on speed.  Ironman races are fun but are a bit of a financial pit.  The races are expensive and hotels gouge during those times because they fill the whole town.

As far as the training goes this year’s training has varied drastically from last year.  Since I can’t handle swimming in a pool I bought a season pass to Hagg Lake.  I hope to spend a lot more time in the lake this year to prepare for my races.  I can swim pretty well in open water; I’m long, the wet suit helps keep me straight, and I can glide pretty well.  My weakest area is gauging my level of exertion in the water.  I need to get a feeling of the hardest effort I can maintain for an hour or two.  I tend to back off on swim pace to avoid over exerting myself.

Cycling is probably my weakest area; as strong as I am I just don’t think I have the quad muscle to use my heart rate to my advantage; I can’t hold a solid pace very well in the upper heart rate range.  This will be all right for the Ironman, but for the Portland Olympic Triathlon it’ll be a huge disadvantage.  I’m worried about my mentality and my ability to keep up the long rides in the next few months.  I finally have my bike straightened out.  I’ve actually cleaned the chain thanks to my biking partner and I’ve fixed my rims to limit flats. 

Running is my strongest leg.  I’ve gotten faster and I can hold a solid pace for a long time.  This year I need to work on speed.  I want to average a 7-minute mile for my marathon in early August.  I don’t know if I can do it, but I’m going to push everything to see if I can.

I bought a large lunch box and I’m going to start loading it at night for the following day.  I need to have better food at an arm’s reach so I don’t eat terrible things or just not eat anything for hours and hours.  It’s not really a diet, but more of keeping things accessible.  In the evening I’ll still be good ol’ gluttonous Justin, it’s just through the day I need to keep the food train chugging.

 

Now for the story of the day.  I did this duathlon today.  It was rough, like really rough.  5.x miles of trail running followed by a 14 mile trail ride around Hagg Lake.  Out of the gate everything was alright.  I could tell my heart rate was a tad high from some poor day before diet choices, but it was pretty good.  I kept hold in single digit place and dropped back to about 15^th before getting to the bikes.  I transitioned like a pro, maybe 15 seconds, and I took off on my mountain bike.  That’s when things got ugly… and I mean ugly.  There was so much mud, SO MUCH.  Things went alright for a  while, had to walk the bike a few spots.  The first ugly spot was coming down a muddy hill into a huge puddle (think small brown lake).  I sped through the never ending lake and sent water all over me and to both sides.  I giggled like a school girl at how much fun it was.  Then my tire got caught and my bike STOPPED in the puddle and send my ‘goods’ crushing into my seat.  Yeah, that was a new experience.  I continued on!  I had to bail off the bike to walk it probably 35+ times.  I stopped to lower my seat because I was coming close to pulling my calf muscles from trying to kick out and throw my foot down to not fall over when my tires would spin in the mud.  My knees felt the lowered seat height and standing up on the bike was near impossible due to tire spin.

There’s very low clearance between my bike frame and my rear tire.  I got mud caked so thick it looked like a beaver dam and I’d have to stop and get a stick to dig it out.  When I’d walk the bike it was like pushing a boulder from the mud caught in my tire, sometimes the wheel wouldn’t spin.  Mud was caked so thick in the tire lugs that it was like riding with slicks.  Sticks would get caught up and jamb my sprocket.  My chain fell off twice.  I wrecked once, sent my bike end over end.  I was able to click out and pretty much step forward as the handle bars rotated to the ground, kind of like stepping off an escalator.  I wish I had that on video, but next time I’m sure it’ll be my face in the ground.  I just kept on chugging along and so did everyone else.  At the end some guy I had talked to on the course nodded me over and open his personal stash, he told me I biked too hard to be drinking a Hamm’s.  There was one guy who finished after they had closed down the finish, removed the path cones, and packed up the clock.  It was an awesome time once I was done, but I think that’ll be my only experience with mountain bike racing.  With how things went I’m certain next time I’ll shatter some bones.  But in the end I’m really glad I went out and did it, it was a really fun experience.  From now on my bikes stay on the road.