This blog is historical, as Iron-ness has moved from quest to lifestyle. Newer stuff:
http://endorphins-for-breakfast.blogspot.com/
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Monday, June 11, 2012
Tapering Redux
As I begin this post, IM Coeur D'Alene looms a mere 14 days away. Futzing with the stuff has begun in earnest. Taking things off the bike, adding them on. . .I've sold the Zipp Tubulars and replaced them with Williams Clinchers and a HED Disc, partially so we can have more wheels for the $$$, partially to assuage my concern that I could fail to finish because I have no experience fixing a flat tubie (seen it on YouTube, but like many folks, I've never actually changed anything but a clincher). I did a Retul fit with Brian Grasky this last Friday. Yesterday, I did part of a swim workout in my new T1 wetsuit. This is my civilized version of preparing for battle.
Although I know I've put in the time, my fitness seems to have developed a momentum of its own. Swimming, biking, and running all feel pretty smooth and effortless. I have learned what it feels like to bonk due to hypoglycemia, dehydration, electrolyte imbalance, physical exhaustion, emotional stress, and sleep deprivation, and I know how to respond to each when I see them coming. No injuries plague me, and if I can avoid mechanical bike failure or another calamity, there's no reason why I won't finish, and do well both personally and relatively. Completing the once unfathomable distance of a full Ironman--One Hundred-Forty Point Six Miles--now seems only a matter of pacing, hydration, and nutrition.
Some visuals:
1) This season's Performance Management Chart from TrainingPeaks.com. In brief, the blue line represents fitness, and the pink line represents tiredness. Tiredness will drop off quicker than fitness; tapering is optimizing both so fitness is maximum while tiredness is minimum.
2) Totals for mileage/yardage, and training time per week, since Jan 1.
The big rides and runs are behind me; the hard work is done. My weekly training hours have gone from 18 down to 14, and the next two weeks will be 8 (gasp) and 5 plus race (What am I going to do with all that time? I may even get caught up on honey-dos!). As I begin to back off the total training hours, I am to some extent surprised by the level of residual muscle soreness that I feel, but most surprised by how accustomed to it I have become. Letting it slip away will be strange, as I have equated the aches with improving ability. But I will, as I am at the point where more hard workouts would only add more to my overall fatigue than ability. My fitness, at least for this race, has been determined. All I can do is tire myself out by overdoing it and not trusting the science of training.
An article I read by Alan Couzens of Endurance Corner clarifies the physiology behind the need to taper:
"Just like the cycles witnessed in bone repair, muscles undergo a similar repair process in response to load -- a clean up phase that goes on between days 3 and 14 post training and a repair and remodeling phase that occurs five to 35 days post training event(Duguez et al 2002). This can be illustrated as follows:"
Luckily, I have had tapering experience as a former competitive swimmer, and I'm reassured that some speed work coupled with resting will actually make me faster. I've also had the experience of failing to back off, then hopping in the pool weeks after the end of the season and swimming better than I did in the big meet. Aside from info and workout planning, this is the main reason why I got a coach this season--not to ride my backside, but to yank my chain. So I know that easing off is the straightest path to my goal, even if it is not my temperamental inclination.
That, and not gaining back a bunch of weight. Karen is still a good cook. Eating is still fun. And throwing on 5-10 pounds in the next two weeks will definitely slow me down. Carrot sticks, anyone?
Following are my goals for this race:
10. Survive
9. Finish
8. Finish without walking
7. Finish in 95% confidence interval time (10 to 11 hours)
6. Top 10 in AG
5. Meet goal time (In the 10-11 hr range, I don't want to say specifically, as I'm superstitious)
4. Qualify for Kona (probably top 4-5 in AG)
3. Win AG
2. Beat a fair number of pros
1. Win the whole darned race
#7-10 should be straightforward assuming nothing untoward. #4-6 will depend on how well I race, and to some extent, who else shows up. #3 is rather unlikely, but not impossible. #2 is getting absurd. #1 involves selective lightning strikes, gravity surges, and other events of biblical stature that impact only people faster than me.
Yesterday, the plan for the final two weeks of training showed up in my inbox. I dutifully entered it into TrainingPeaks. My last entry was the race itself. It asked for an estimated time. Taking a deep breath, I input my expectation, then hit, "enter." Feet began tapping. Butterflies. The full weight of this undertaking, combined with my hopes and expectations, were suddenly staring down at me, monolithic and imposing. Next thing I noticed, I was pacing around the room. My hands were mildly tremulous. I realized that what I want, most of all, is to finish. Anything else would be gravy. Actually, it's all gravy. And it's all been fun.
Today, I am healthy, well trained, and by any measure, ready to do an Ironman. This will not always be the case, and I definitely have an attitude of gratitude not only for my health, but also that this amount of self-indulgent fun was in my Higher Power's plan for me.
Biggest thanks to Karen and the kids for their support!
More after the race.
Although I know I've put in the time, my fitness seems to have developed a momentum of its own. Swimming, biking, and running all feel pretty smooth and effortless. I have learned what it feels like to bonk due to hypoglycemia, dehydration, electrolyte imbalance, physical exhaustion, emotional stress, and sleep deprivation, and I know how to respond to each when I see them coming. No injuries plague me, and if I can avoid mechanical bike failure or another calamity, there's no reason why I won't finish, and do well both personally and relatively. Completing the once unfathomable distance of a full Ironman--One Hundred-Forty Point Six Miles--now seems only a matter of pacing, hydration, and nutrition.
Some visuals:
1) This season's Performance Management Chart from TrainingPeaks.com. In brief, the blue line represents fitness, and the pink line represents tiredness. Tiredness will drop off quicker than fitness; tapering is optimizing both so fitness is maximum while tiredness is minimum.
2) Totals for mileage/yardage, and training time per week, since Jan 1.
The big rides and runs are behind me; the hard work is done. My weekly training hours have gone from 18 down to 14, and the next two weeks will be 8 (gasp) and 5 plus race (What am I going to do with all that time? I may even get caught up on honey-dos!). As I begin to back off the total training hours, I am to some extent surprised by the level of residual muscle soreness that I feel, but most surprised by how accustomed to it I have become. Letting it slip away will be strange, as I have equated the aches with improving ability. But I will, as I am at the point where more hard workouts would only add more to my overall fatigue than ability. My fitness, at least for this race, has been determined. All I can do is tire myself out by overdoing it and not trusting the science of training.
An article I read by Alan Couzens of Endurance Corner clarifies the physiology behind the need to taper:
"Just like the cycles witnessed in bone repair, muscles undergo a similar repair process in response to load -- a clean up phase that goes on between days 3 and 14 post training and a repair and remodeling phase that occurs five to 35 days post training event(Duguez et al 2002). This can be illustrated as follows:"
 |
| Downward deflection is the initial stressor; upward deflection is the performance boost due to muscle remodeling. Note the time course; no net benefit accrues for roughly three weeks. Maximum benefit appears six weeks after a loading period. |
That, and not gaining back a bunch of weight. Karen is still a good cook. Eating is still fun. And throwing on 5-10 pounds in the next two weeks will definitely slow me down. Carrot sticks, anyone?
Following are my goals for this race:
10. Survive
9. Finish
8. Finish without walking
7. Finish in 95% confidence interval time (10 to 11 hours)
6. Top 10 in AG
5. Meet goal time (In the 10-11 hr range, I don't want to say specifically, as I'm superstitious)
4. Qualify for Kona (probably top 4-5 in AG)
3. Win AG
2. Beat a fair number of pros
1. Win the whole darned race
#7-10 should be straightforward assuming nothing untoward. #4-6 will depend on how well I race, and to some extent, who else shows up. #3 is rather unlikely, but not impossible. #2 is getting absurd. #1 involves selective lightning strikes, gravity surges, and other events of biblical stature that impact only people faster than me.
Yesterday, the plan for the final two weeks of training showed up in my inbox. I dutifully entered it into TrainingPeaks. My last entry was the race itself. It asked for an estimated time. Taking a deep breath, I input my expectation, then hit, "enter." Feet began tapping. Butterflies. The full weight of this undertaking, combined with my hopes and expectations, were suddenly staring down at me, monolithic and imposing. Next thing I noticed, I was pacing around the room. My hands were mildly tremulous. I realized that what I want, most of all, is to finish. Anything else would be gravy. Actually, it's all gravy. And it's all been fun.
Today, I am healthy, well trained, and by any measure, ready to do an Ironman. This will not always be the case, and I definitely have an attitude of gratitude not only for my health, but also that this amount of self-indulgent fun was in my Higher Power's plan for me.
Biggest thanks to Karen and the kids for their support!
More after the race.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
High-Altitude Century
For my 45th B-Day a couple weeks ago, Karen gave me a week-long, no kids date in Colorado, with two major foci: Whitewater Kayak Lessons in Salida, CO; and a weekend Leadership Training Course in Denver with Adventure Cycling of America. In short, it was a total blast. I know we're best friends, but the subjective sense of it can get lost in the daily shuffle of work, kids and kid activities, and of course, training. So it was nice to have a break from it all and just hang out.
A break from all except Tri Training, that is, as IM CDA was looming less than 2 months away, and I was in the middle of peak training periods of 16-18 hours per week. Luckily, an outdoor paradise like Colorado offered ample opportunities to ride our tri bikes, rent mountain bikes, and run to our hearts' content, even on those days when it was beautiful yet rainy/sleety. (It's all in the attitude)
Probably the highlight was Karen's first century ride, done along the Collegiate Peaks Scenic Byway/Colorado HWY 24 from Salida towards Leadville, with a short detour up 285.
As the scenery/elevation were both breathtaking, so no personal speed records were set. Additionally, I had done a two hour run the previous afternoon which was punctuated by three episodes of what could be described loosely, pun definitely intended, as "Shartlek" training, two episodes of which were actually indoors. 'Nuff said. With sufficient resuscitation, I was good to go the next morning.
We were initially going to go North on 24 from Salida, then over 285 to the valley beyond, then back. There was a fair amount of climbing, and even though we were doing OK with the elevation, we started to wonder/worry about the limits of daylight if we spent too much time climbing out of the valley, and then back out of the next valley. So we turned around and headed back to 24.
We continued North through Buena Vista and towards Leadville until we hit our turnaround at Mile 57 (for Karen), just shy of the mountain pass out of the valley. The best part of this route was that once we turned around to go back to Salida, almost the entire ride was downhill, virtually ensuring our success. It was a beautiful cruise back to our cozy and charming Bed and Breakfast. Karen got her mileage into triple digits for the first time, and I racked up 123 miles looping around her with chat breaks every few miles. We celebrated with a gluten-free pizza pig-out (no cheese in my case) followed by an early bedtime before our next Kayak lesson:
A break from all except Tri Training, that is, as IM CDA was looming less than 2 months away, and I was in the middle of peak training periods of 16-18 hours per week. Luckily, an outdoor paradise like Colorado offered ample opportunities to ride our tri bikes, rent mountain bikes, and run to our hearts' content, even on those days when it was beautiful yet rainy/sleety. (It's all in the attitude)
 |
| Getting started outside of Salida, CO |
As the scenery/elevation were both breathtaking, so no personal speed records were set. Additionally, I had done a two hour run the previous afternoon which was punctuated by three episodes of what could be described loosely, pun definitely intended, as "Shartlek" training, two episodes of which were actually indoors. 'Nuff said. With sufficient resuscitation, I was good to go the next morning.
 |
| Karen blazing down the hill towards the 14ers |
 |
| Happy Honey knocked out 101 Miles! |
We continued North through Buena Vista and towards Leadville until we hit our turnaround at Mile 57 (for Karen), just shy of the mountain pass out of the valley. The best part of this route was that once we turned around to go back to Salida, almost the entire ride was downhill, virtually ensuring our success. It was a beautiful cruise back to our cozy and charming Bed and Breakfast. Karen got her mileage into triple digits for the first time, and I racked up 123 miles looping around her with chat breaks every few miles. We celebrated with a gluten-free pizza pig-out (no cheese in my case) followed by an early bedtime before our next Kayak lesson:
 |
| Ain't vacation grand!! |
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Ironman 70.3 California Race Report
I'm of the mind that people primarily want to read race reports to figure out if they want to attend said race. To that end, I'm dividing this one up into sections, each progressively less relevant to that purpose and progressively more about me.
Logistics and Race Support
As with any M-dot branded race, signup was pretty straightforward, if one is well ahead of the curve. I don't know when this race sold out, but it did. Being proactive, perhaps as much as a year in advance, would certainly get one in easily. My wife got interested 6 months from the race, and wound up signing up for a Carmichael Training camp which came with a race signup so she could join me in Oceanside for her first 70.3.
We drove to this race from Tucson, so I can't comment on air travel/car rentals. I rented a Zipp 808 Firecrest/Disc combo from Race Day Wheels. I'd hoped to get them sent to me at home before the race, but there was some confusion about shipping, mostly generated by me. They put them on the bike the day before the race at an offsite location. Finding them after the race to return the wheels was not as simple as they had intimated, but they sent me a label so I could ship the wheels back to them. There were hitches on both ends, but the wheels worked well.
Like many folks, we pre-rode the run course. Pre-riding most of the bike course was not possible, unless one is a US Marine (Oorah!) stationed at Camp Pendleton, where much of the beautiful bike course takes place. Map descriptions of the run course were a little unclear--the ramp up/ramp down that one has to do to access the Strand on the north part of each run lap in particular. But it was well marked on race day, as was the bike course.
Setup involved putting our stuff in three bags--bike, run, and daytime clothes. All material had to be deposited in bags after use, which made transitions slower, but uniformly so for everyone. Dropping stuff off on race morning involved finding parking near T2 (not too tough, but we were about an hour early), biking a little over a mile by headlamp to T1 (this was all well covered in a race briefing video), and getting ready for the swim.
Body marking, porta-potties, and other assistance--including mechanics out in the field--were eminently available. The bike course could have used another aid station or two, IMO, but OTOH, cool coastal weather keeps fluid requirements pretty low. Food, post-race massages, and burrito wrap blankets to fend off the chill for finishers were plentiful. I've heard M-dot races were well done, and this one was certainly no exception.
The Family's Experience--Most Relevant If You Have One, But Still Fairly Relevant If You Don't
We stayed at a Motel 6 in town, all 5 of us in one nicely large room with a kitchenette. This was a pinch-penny move that drove us all a little nuts. But in our previous experience, we haven't necessarily improved our sleep by springing for 2 rooms. Warning for those who don't know--Oceanside ain't Monterey Bay or Carmel By the Sea. When I took the kids out to breakfast Friday morning at Denny's while my wife slept in, we got to meet a local woman who had a yelling fit at the management, flung silverware on the floor, glared at me and the kids as I hustled them out of her way, and stormed out of the restaurant, presumably to return to her meth lab. Always a parenting opportunity, though:
"So, kids, see what drugs will do to you? That's why she's acting that way."
A fellow triathlete at the restaurant smirked at that one, but I was serious, and--having worked with drug addict and delinquent kids prior to med school--99.436% sure that I was right.
Our kids are 11, 9, and 4, which is to say, almost old enough for the oldest (who has taken CPR/First Aid) to manage them. This creates a need for babysitting, which no race I've yet attended has managed to provide. My wife called the race director and actually got a referral that worked out well, and, for $10/hour, dang cheap for CA.
Dining in the area, including both Oceanside and Carlsbad, is packed to the gills on race weekend. There seemed to be some other event in Carlsbad as well. I'd recommend that you make dining reservations ahead of time, unless your race strategy involves carbo loading on Der Weinerschnitzel hot dog buns. We missed the kids' 1-mile fun run because it took us so long to find somewhere to walk in and eat the night before the race. This is not to whine, but to inform.
At the race itself, the kids were welcome in the post-race athletes' section with all the choice grub. There was also a jumping castle to entertain them, which for our hyperactive offspring, was more than sufficient. Burrito wrap blankets were available but in short supply, and massages were available with little wait.
My Race Experience
I came in pretty well rested, with an easy week, B-race taper behind me. I felt as ready as I could be for the swim, which is to say, I couldn't wait to have it done. The water was cold, as expected, but after an hour of waiting in the chute for our wave to start, I was good and ready. Temperature was quickly a non-issue, likely to some extent due to the silicon earplugs I was using for the first time. Challenge #1 came within a few strokes of the start. Arm-to-arm contact with a heat-mate knocked off my Garmin 310xt, and it was immediately lost in the cloudy green depths below. I kept swimming, but started wondering if I could rent SCUBA gear the next morning. My regular stopwatch was running, and I had the Edge 800 on the bike, which I would now use on the run as well. Problem solved, but not cheaply.
I settled into a passable but somewhat choppy rhythm. My goggles, which I'd worn only once before, began to leak. Challenge #2. This was irritating, but I knew I just had to cope. So several times, I rolled quickly onto my back, emptied them out, squeezed them back on, and pressed onward. Passing folks in other waves required a good amount of extra sighting and maneuvering, and I began to entertain the mildly insane notion that a mass start would have been a good thing.
When we reached the outer buoys near the turnaround, Oceanside's promised calm and flat waters disappeared, replaced by challenge #3: 3-4 foot swells. The swim was now a bouncy, heavy traffic situation, which was not exactly the most compatible with speed. But it's the same for my whole age group, I reminded myself. Keep the arms moving, and it will end. And eventually it did. 29:09 was not my fastest 1.2 mile open water swim, seemingly slow for someone who spent his adolescence chasing a black line on a pool bottom, but good enough for today. On to better things.
T1 seemed to take awhile, not so much due to the obligatory gear bags, but due to my shaky hands fumbling while rolling up compression socks. Transition times for everyone were slow, but 5:00 was pretty dang pokey for me.
The best part of my race by far was the bike. I did a flying mount, slipped my feet in, and pedaled away. Challenge #4 was re-threading the cinch strap that got unfastened as I rode at 20+ mph.
A little anxiety, but not much of a problem. The course started flat and fast. The report from race officials was that the Marine Layer (fog and drizzle, not a phalanx of amphibious troops) had settled onto the course and the roads were wet (challenge #5). Ambulances, flat fixes, and wrecks were all over the course. But between the beauty of the ocean and hills, the easy speed of the first part of the course, and the humming of the disc wheel, I really started to enjoy the ride. I'd planned to be conservative on the bike to make sure I had a good kick on the run. But given the speeds I was holding with marginally more effort than expected (240 instead of 230 average watts), I decided to burn it just a little harder than planned.
There are three significant hills on this course, and the first is the biggest. My strategy was to spin up them easily, without making excess lactate or ripping quadricep myofibrils that I'd need later. My lowest (39/28) gearing didn't really permit spinning per se on a 10% grade, but I still took it pretty easy, and stayed seated the whole time. It certainly helped to be a disciple of Mt. Lemmon, AZ! Some folks were standing and cranking, but I wanted to avoid "burning a match" if I could.
I knew as soon as I hit the descent on the last hill that this was going to be my best HIM bike leg by quite a bit. On the way back into town after the hills, I repeatedly caught myself racing a young 30-something and a fellow 45 year old with whom I'd been trading passes. It really took some work not to overextend myself (challenge #6). When pro Jordan Rapp spoke recently in Tucson, he claimed, and I paraphrase, that every stolen minute on the bike leg will cost you two on the run. It was a fast bike leg, yes, but I wondered how many stolen minutes were involved. So I added two expresso gels in the last few miles of the bike, along with the scheduled remainder of the Perpetuem/Carbopro/Endurolytes brew that is the centerpiece of my bike nutrition. This would turn out to be imprudent.
Even though the ride into town was a bit tortuous and slower than I would have liked, T2 was easy. Bike time was 2:35:07, averaging 21.66 mph. Volunteers directed me to my stuff, and I was off the bike, in the shoes, and running out the other end in 1:47, which was pretty solid given the size of the T2 area.
I found my legs almost immediately, and settled into a solid pace between 8 and 8.5 mph. The 45 year old biker dropped quickly behind me, and I looked forward to running down a few more members of my age group. I grabbed a sports drink and a water at each of the first few aid stations, letting myself get a little faster, then a little faster. . . Then challenge #7, and the worst of the bunch, struck. I started to feel a little bloated. Then a fair amount more bloated. Then a little nauseated. I was likely done running folks down, but hopefully not done with the race. . .
Slowly, I backed down my pace, and only dumped water over my head at aid stations. The course was generally flat with the exceptions of a few ramps and hills, which made it easier to find and sustain a tolerable pace that allowed the bloating and nausea to slowly subside. Around mile 10, the bloat lifted completely, and I started picking it up cautiously again. Retrospectively, I think I'd overdone the nutrition at the end of the bike.
My wife was just getting started on the run as I came down Pacific Street for the last time. She looked fresh and strong, and I knew she was going to finish her first 70.3! We gave each other a cheer, then I ducked down onto the beach and kicked it into the end a little, making sure nobody with the numbers 45-49 on his calf passed me. Problems notwithstanding, my run was 1:34:50, exactly 10 seconds faster than I'd predicted, averaging 7:14/mile. Total time was 4:45:53, 7th in my age group, and 133rd out of 2903 overall, and almost 1/2 hour faster than my previous best. A pretty well executed and thoroughly enjoyable race, but far from perfect. Always room for improvement.
I waited around to see if I got one of two age group roll-down slots to the IM 70.3 World Championships, but none was forthcoming. In M 40-44, the slots rolled all the way down to the 20th or 30th place finisher, but our age group wasn't so indifferent. The first two finishers in my AG didn't want their slot, but the next two did. But the mere fact that I was in the hunt was exciting. Add 70.3 Las Vegas to my Triathlon Bucket List.
(Full disclosure: Due to "Race age" being that on Dec 31 of the year, I'm a 44-year old masquerading as a "45 Year Old" until May, when I become the genuine item.)
Logistics and Race Support
As with any M-dot branded race, signup was pretty straightforward, if one is well ahead of the curve. I don't know when this race sold out, but it did. Being proactive, perhaps as much as a year in advance, would certainly get one in easily. My wife got interested 6 months from the race, and wound up signing up for a Carmichael Training camp which came with a race signup so she could join me in Oceanside for her first 70.3.
We drove to this race from Tucson, so I can't comment on air travel/car rentals. I rented a Zipp 808 Firecrest/Disc combo from Race Day Wheels. I'd hoped to get them sent to me at home before the race, but there was some confusion about shipping, mostly generated by me. They put them on the bike the day before the race at an offsite location. Finding them after the race to return the wheels was not as simple as they had intimated, but they sent me a label so I could ship the wheels back to them. There were hitches on both ends, but the wheels worked well.
Like many folks, we pre-rode the run course. Pre-riding most of the bike course was not possible, unless one is a US Marine (Oorah!) stationed at Camp Pendleton, where much of the beautiful bike course takes place. Map descriptions of the run course were a little unclear--the ramp up/ramp down that one has to do to access the Strand on the north part of each run lap in particular. But it was well marked on race day, as was the bike course.
Setup involved putting our stuff in three bags--bike, run, and daytime clothes. All material had to be deposited in bags after use, which made transitions slower, but uniformly so for everyone. Dropping stuff off on race morning involved finding parking near T2 (not too tough, but we were about an hour early), biking a little over a mile by headlamp to T1 (this was all well covered in a race briefing video), and getting ready for the swim.
Body marking, porta-potties, and other assistance--including mechanics out in the field--were eminently available. The bike course could have used another aid station or two, IMO, but OTOH, cool coastal weather keeps fluid requirements pretty low. Food, post-race massages, and burrito wrap blankets to fend off the chill for finishers were plentiful. I've heard M-dot races were well done, and this one was certainly no exception.
The Family's Experience--Most Relevant If You Have One, But Still Fairly Relevant If You Don't
We stayed at a Motel 6 in town, all 5 of us in one nicely large room with a kitchenette. This was a pinch-penny move that drove us all a little nuts. But in our previous experience, we haven't necessarily improved our sleep by springing for 2 rooms. Warning for those who don't know--Oceanside ain't Monterey Bay or Carmel By the Sea. When I took the kids out to breakfast Friday morning at Denny's while my wife slept in, we got to meet a local woman who had a yelling fit at the management, flung silverware on the floor, glared at me and the kids as I hustled them out of her way, and stormed out of the restaurant, presumably to return to her meth lab. Always a parenting opportunity, though:
"So, kids, see what drugs will do to you? That's why she's acting that way."
A fellow triathlete at the restaurant smirked at that one, but I was serious, and--having worked with drug addict and delinquent kids prior to med school--99.436% sure that I was right.
Our kids are 11, 9, and 4, which is to say, almost old enough for the oldest (who has taken CPR/First Aid) to manage them. This creates a need for babysitting, which no race I've yet attended has managed to provide. My wife called the race director and actually got a referral that worked out well, and, for $10/hour, dang cheap for CA.
Dining in the area, including both Oceanside and Carlsbad, is packed to the gills on race weekend. There seemed to be some other event in Carlsbad as well. I'd recommend that you make dining reservations ahead of time, unless your race strategy involves carbo loading on Der Weinerschnitzel hot dog buns. We missed the kids' 1-mile fun run because it took us so long to find somewhere to walk in and eat the night before the race. This is not to whine, but to inform.
At the race itself, the kids were welcome in the post-race athletes' section with all the choice grub. There was also a jumping castle to entertain them, which for our hyperactive offspring, was more than sufficient. Burrito wrap blankets were available but in short supply, and massages were available with little wait.
My Race Experience
I came in pretty well rested, with an easy week, B-race taper behind me. I felt as ready as I could be for the swim, which is to say, I couldn't wait to have it done. The water was cold, as expected, but after an hour of waiting in the chute for our wave to start, I was good and ready. Temperature was quickly a non-issue, likely to some extent due to the silicon earplugs I was using for the first time. Challenge #1 came within a few strokes of the start. Arm-to-arm contact with a heat-mate knocked off my Garmin 310xt, and it was immediately lost in the cloudy green depths below. I kept swimming, but started wondering if I could rent SCUBA gear the next morning. My regular stopwatch was running, and I had the Edge 800 on the bike, which I would now use on the run as well. Problem solved, but not cheaply.
I settled into a passable but somewhat choppy rhythm. My goggles, which I'd worn only once before, began to leak. Challenge #2. This was irritating, but I knew I just had to cope. So several times, I rolled quickly onto my back, emptied them out, squeezed them back on, and pressed onward. Passing folks in other waves required a good amount of extra sighting and maneuvering, and I began to entertain the mildly insane notion that a mass start would have been a good thing.
When we reached the outer buoys near the turnaround, Oceanside's promised calm and flat waters disappeared, replaced by challenge #3: 3-4 foot swells. The swim was now a bouncy, heavy traffic situation, which was not exactly the most compatible with speed. But it's the same for my whole age group, I reminded myself. Keep the arms moving, and it will end. And eventually it did. 29:09 was not my fastest 1.2 mile open water swim, seemingly slow for someone who spent his adolescence chasing a black line on a pool bottom, but good enough for today. On to better things.
T1 seemed to take awhile, not so much due to the obligatory gear bags, but due to my shaky hands fumbling while rolling up compression socks. Transition times for everyone were slow, but 5:00 was pretty dang pokey for me.
The best part of my race by far was the bike. I did a flying mount, slipped my feet in, and pedaled away. Challenge #4 was re-threading the cinch strap that got unfastened as I rode at 20+ mph.
 |
| I was also humming the Star-Spangled Banner while Integrating a Hyperbolic Function in 3-Dimensions |
A little anxiety, but not much of a problem. The course started flat and fast. The report from race officials was that the Marine Layer (fog and drizzle, not a phalanx of amphibious troops) had settled onto the course and the roads were wet (challenge #5). Ambulances, flat fixes, and wrecks were all over the course. But between the beauty of the ocean and hills, the easy speed of the first part of the course, and the humming of the disc wheel, I really started to enjoy the ride. I'd planned to be conservative on the bike to make sure I had a good kick on the run. But given the speeds I was holding with marginally more effort than expected (240 instead of 230 average watts), I decided to burn it just a little harder than planned.
There are three significant hills on this course, and the first is the biggest. My strategy was to spin up them easily, without making excess lactate or ripping quadricep myofibrils that I'd need later. My lowest (39/28) gearing didn't really permit spinning per se on a 10% grade, but I still took it pretty easy, and stayed seated the whole time. It certainly helped to be a disciple of Mt. Lemmon, AZ! Some folks were standing and cranking, but I wanted to avoid "burning a match" if I could.
 |
| Bike NP 257, Avg. Pwr. 245. Pretty steady, given the course. |
I knew as soon as I hit the descent on the last hill that this was going to be my best HIM bike leg by quite a bit. On the way back into town after the hills, I repeatedly caught myself racing a young 30-something and a fellow 45 year old with whom I'd been trading passes. It really took some work not to overextend myself (challenge #6). When pro Jordan Rapp spoke recently in Tucson, he claimed, and I paraphrase, that every stolen minute on the bike leg will cost you two on the run. It was a fast bike leg, yes, but I wondered how many stolen minutes were involved. So I added two expresso gels in the last few miles of the bike, along with the scheduled remainder of the Perpetuem/Carbopro/Endurolytes brew that is the centerpiece of my bike nutrition. This would turn out to be imprudent.
Even though the ride into town was a bit tortuous and slower than I would have liked, T2 was easy. Bike time was 2:35:07, averaging 21.66 mph. Volunteers directed me to my stuff, and I was off the bike, in the shoes, and running out the other end in 1:47, which was pretty solid given the size of the T2 area.
I found my legs almost immediately, and settled into a solid pace between 8 and 8.5 mph. The 45 year old biker dropped quickly behind me, and I looked forward to running down a few more members of my age group. I grabbed a sports drink and a water at each of the first few aid stations, letting myself get a little faster, then a little faster. . . Then challenge #7, and the worst of the bunch, struck. I started to feel a little bloated. Then a fair amount more bloated. Then a little nauseated. I was likely done running folks down, but hopefully not done with the race. . .
Slowly, I backed down my pace, and only dumped water over my head at aid stations. The course was generally flat with the exceptions of a few ramps and hills, which made it easier to find and sustain a tolerable pace that allowed the bloating and nausea to slowly subside. Around mile 10, the bloat lifted completely, and I started picking it up cautiously again. Retrospectively, I think I'd overdone the nutrition at the end of the bike.
 |
| Dip in HR corresponds with the Bloat |
My wife was just getting started on the run as I came down Pacific Street for the last time. She looked fresh and strong, and I knew she was going to finish her first 70.3! We gave each other a cheer, then I ducked down onto the beach and kicked it into the end a little, making sure nobody with the numbers 45-49 on his calf passed me. Problems notwithstanding, my run was 1:34:50, exactly 10 seconds faster than I'd predicted, averaging 7:14/mile. Total time was 4:45:53, 7th in my age group, and 133rd out of 2903 overall, and almost 1/2 hour faster than my previous best. A pretty well executed and thoroughly enjoyable race, but far from perfect. Always room for improvement.
I waited around to see if I got one of two age group roll-down slots to the IM 70.3 World Championships, but none was forthcoming. In M 40-44, the slots rolled all the way down to the 20th or 30th place finisher, but our age group wasn't so indifferent. The first two finishers in my AG didn't want their slot, but the next two did. But the mere fact that I was in the hunt was exciting. Add 70.3 Las Vegas to my Triathlon Bucket List.
(Full disclosure: Due to "Race age" being that on Dec 31 of the year, I'm a 44-year old masquerading as a "45 Year Old" until May, when I become the genuine item.)
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
DESERT TRIATHLON CLASSIC RACE REPORT
In our customary fashion, we packed the crew off in the Suburban Utility Vehicle for a weekend of triathlon, hotel life, and fine dining. This weekend's main course: The Desert Triathlon Classic, an International but not Olympic distance (meaning not strictly 1.5/40/10km for S/B/R) race in Palm Desert/Coahuilla, right near Palm Springs. Race distances were 0.75Miles/40K/6 miles, so it was pretty close.
The setting was lovely and the pre-race pickup pretty well done. We got to swim in the lake on the afternoon prior, which was nice. My only issue was that the bike course explanation was a little counterintuitive, and this was worsened by confusing maps with arrows that indicated turns that were not correct come race day. Luckily, the course was well marked on race day.
Transition setup was pretty standard, as was our routine. I got up early and set up my wife's stuff while she slept a little and got the kids ready. Given that it was only a 2 hour-ish race at a protected park with a good playground, we decided our budding babysitter oldest daughter could watch her younger sibs. I carried a cell phone JIC.
The swim start was in waves, heading straight into the morning sun. The water was chilly, but not painful. The buoy was essentially invisible; we were referred to a couple of palm trees on the far shore that marked where it was. This was not a problem until I got close enough to fail to pick up the buoys and get a little extra swim yardage in before noticing the leftward departure of my compatriots. No biggie. Back on course.
The bike course was my favorite part of this tri, and I'd return just to do a TT on a flat, fast, beautiful, palm-tree lined course. Even though I let Karen have the race wheels, I felt fast and rode well. The course was two laps of a flat course. Power, HR, and cadence all steady and just sub-threshold. Personal best by >10min, and tantalizingly close to the 1 hour mark.
 |
| .Click for larger view |
The run course was two laps, again flat, around Lake Coahuilla for an even 6 miles. It was on dirt, some broken pavement, and pavement. Some griped about this, but I'm OK with a non-manicured run course.
 |
| Click for larger view |
I went out just a bit too hard on the run, and started feeling it with a little bit to go. I didn't fade per se, but I didn't kick it into the finish either. I didn't lap Karen until just before the end. She had a mighty race, and knocked about 1/2 hour off her previous best time. Here are our lines:
 |
| Click for larger view |
All in all, an excellent weekend. Worth doing again, in my opinion.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Newest Swim Video
In the ongoing quest for improvement and acquisition of all possible "free time" to be had in triathlon, I video'ed myself swimming from various angles. Like the clown displayed below, I appear to be "crossing over":
Any other observations are welcome. Here it is:
Any other observations are welcome. Here it is:
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
ADHD and triathlon, a Slowtwitch.com Post
Other Member: I think a lack of exercise is one of the reasons for all the meds today and the ADHD / behavioral issues particularly with boys. When I was a kid we spent a lot of time outside just doing things.... anything and everything. Now it's all changed. Kids roaming around outside are seen as a nuisance or threat to society or what have you. Boys used to explore and just get into things. Boys still need that, but don't get it anymore.
I think boys to some degree have always had ADHD in various degrees or forms. But in the past, boys used to get more exercise, chores and walk to school etc, to use up this energy.
I think boys to some degree have always had ADHD in various degrees or forms. But in the past, boys used to get more exercise, chores and walk to school etc, to use up this energy.
Me: I can see both sides of this issue. Without a doubt, society has become more passive and feminized, and overuses ritalin and other amphetamine derivatives essentially as a pharmacologic means of "norming" energetic kids.
But there are legitimate cases where medication is warranted, and ignoring or undertreating the problem is potentially perilous.
When I was a kid 30-35 years ago, only the most severe cases of ADD, as it was then called, were diagnosed and medicated. Before the diagnostic bar was lowered, many of us with real and significant problems flew under the radar simply because we weren't the worst offenders. I also managed myself on exercise, as a competitive swimmer. 2-4 hours of swimming per day was just about enough to help me to sit still. During the off season, I was off the walls. In junior high and high school, I took a "bathroom break" in the middle of every single class so I could walk around the halls to shake out my wiggles. Retrospectively, there was clearly an issue, but nobody noticed, as I was a good athlete and an "A" student.
College required a little more focus and self-control than I had, and that's when my spazzy, meandering chickens came home to roost. After a very bad run with alcohol and its friends, coupled with three episodes of agitated, melancholic depression, I had to radically alter how I did things. Effective solutions for me have included 12-step programs, antidepressants, and of course, hours of exercise daily. On medical recommendation, I tried vyvanse recently, but found it to be somewhat superfluous, and took myself off it. In addtion to exercise, I find that adrenalizing music also helps me to focus. Call it the neuropsychology of heavy metal. ;-}
When we met, my wife and I bonded around a number of things, energy level being one. Not surprisingly, our three kids are chips of the old block(head)s, and we have a rather busy household, to put it mildly. Our POV started out as very strongly anti-medication. But life doesn't always cooperate with one's prejudices. Our oldest child, now 12, developed not only ADHD symptoms, but concerning mood symptoms as well several years ago. After trying everything else with little significant result and fighting medication tooth and nail, we finally agreed to try medication with her, and it made a world of difference in her school performance, self-manageability, and overall happiness. Our second child, age 9, takes it as well. His symptoms are not as severe, and my feelings about medicating him are mixed. Our youngest is 4, and seems every bit as energetic as the others. But should she manage without needing ADHD meds, we have no intention of putting her on them as a matter of course.
Current medical literature shows properly treating a ***REAL*** case of ADHD lowers the risk of depression and addiction. (Although I'd be cautious around that as well) Overmedicating active kids cannot be a good thing, either. If you're contemplating medication, be thoughtful and cautious about this one, and get a second opinion. And a third.
--------------
Stubbornness is not a widely recognized talent, but it's the only one I've got.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Injuries and Motivation, a post from an online group that I wrote
"yyyy" is the anonymized name of another group member. My responses are to him:
Me--Hmm. Not sure I agree, on a couple of points.
I suppose it's to some extent a matter of definition--particularly of "competitive." At what level? Local? National? World? In one's own mind? And why do you care about competition?
Pushing through injuries will get you what you describe, but careful training, even with steadily increasing mileage, likely won't. It's all in the approach. Outside of a genuine life and death setting, there's nothing heroic about forcing oneself through injury. It's just creating an unnecessary problem.
Not that there isn't a genuine temptation to push for me: I love everything about the athletic lifestyle. I revel in exertion, exhaustion, and endorphins. I actually find competition a fun way to interact with peers, and a great way to get motivated. I like the mind-boggling rush of pushing past my preconceived limits. Sports push me into a gloriously, enjoyably primal, limbic brain mode, and I'd be in a real spot if I had to give it up. It is the antithesis of all the polite, faux horseshit that I have to put up with in the human social world in order to fund Basecamp Quigley. For a spaz like me, the white noise of exertion is my most effective form of meditation, free association, and what Nathan calls "Back-burnering."
But like anything that gets the dopamine flowing in the Nucleus Accumbens, it requires caution. The key to keeping the party going is effective cortical oversight--caution, sensibility, reason. The temptation to overdo it is always there, and my past, athletic and otherwise, is littered with numerous failures of limbic guidance.
Me--I think xxxx 's point re body adaptation is key. You don't see endurance athletes, even those who have been at it for awhile, walking around bowlegged like weightlifters, hidebound from muscle fibrosis due to repeated stress. Nor is breakdown inevitable. Quite the contrary. Slow, incremental (versus excremental?) increases in distance/effort will strengthen and limber both the muscle and the gristle, and prevent injury and breakdown. Increasing the stress on the body by increasing training will expose weaknesses, whether they are structural, technical, training/strength related, or psychological. If a weakness if found, it needs to be addressed properly in order to continue, and experience has shown me that it is unlikely that it will be best addressed by brute force. Luckily, the body is constantly remaking itself, and the medical/dietary/health/
My foremost concrete suggestion would be to make sure you stay mentally resourceful and flexible, explore and use any and all available resources, and be OK with doing less than you think you ought to.
Me--When I was a young competitive swimmer, I had the retrospective good fortune of closely pursuing accomplishment for three straight seasons and pushing myself into a career ending injury. I had been on the brink of being national caliber, High School All-American, and recruitable by schools that would have paid for my education, but it was all gone in a matter of weeks because I couldn't make myself back off when my body first asked, then insisted, then demanded.
How this was good fortune was far from obvious at the time, but it: 1) Taught me that COX-2 anti-inflammatories/
My assumption in my mid 20s was that I'd only be able to run for a few more years before I fouled up my knees, and wound up permanently on the stationary bike watching soap operas and sipping Crystal Light. After all, I was a 200-ish pounder, and there's only so much shock one can administer to the knees. . . This was the conventional wisdom at the time; nobody was really aware of controlled stress as a stimulus for rebuilding and injury prevention. After my swimming experience, I figured that I could milk it as long as possible as long as I was cautious, then bow to the inevitable need to switch to the bike. But time wore on, and I continued with impunity, and at increasing mileage. 20 years and 30K+ miles later, I have no knee/hip/ankle pain whatsoever. It likely won't go on forever, but that's another day's problem.
There may be some fortunate genes involved, but IMO, there's no real reason to think so. There is some luck, as I went against a fair amount of the prevailing "wisdom" re running back in the late 80s to 90s. Recovery time and reasonable surfaces were a large part of it. It was probably fortunate that I preferred trail running and hill running 3-4x/week to daily flatland running on concrete. More recently, a fair number of distance running coaches incorporate hill training as one of the centerpieces of injury prevention, and running on hills in Northern NM and the SF Bay area was, as luck would have it, my preferred form of exercise from ages 20-40. "Heel striking" was also the preferred technique of running back then, but I fell more naturally into a forward-leaning, midfoot striking, Neanderthal style run, which felt more natural to me.
This gets to probably the most important point: I listen to my body far more than I listen to what others' idealized methods and techniques ought to be. Nobody knows me better than me.
Even as I've recently remade my technique into a more efficient, chi-running/pose running style, I constantly play with technique to see what feels not only most efficient speedwise, but most natural in terms of effort. Muscle exhaustion is inevitable; joint pain is a 100% indication to back off until it goes away. If this is what top triathletes and coaches say and do, it's likely a good idea. If my body agrees, then it's unanimous.Part of why I can't really anticipate the limits of my triathlon performance trajectory is that I don't quite know what they are. Our bodies have limitations, and pretending they aren't there is the best way to invoke them. If they are encountered abruptly, they push back hard. But if they are approached gradually and cautiously, over a longer time period, they flex/bend. Given the nature of adaptation, I will not likely run into the limits of my triathlon abilities, particularly cycling, for a few years.
I'd like to qualify for and participate in the Ironman world championships in Kona, HI. It's a great daydream, and a heck of a motivator. But I can't bring myself there by sheer force of will. Every time I run, bike, or swim, or do all three consecutively in a race, I'm "going to war with the army I have, not the army I want." I cannot push myself farther along the imagined path towards a goal than I actually am. I'll drive myself into injury, guaranteed. Further, I'll make myself, and those around me, miserable. And there's no real way to anticipate the path anyway: It's always different than my internal model.
On the whole, I think that if you argue for your physical limitations, they're yours. Approach them cautiously and introspectively, and you may very well be on the other side of them before you know it.
Taking a step back, though, I think that perspective is perhaps the most important point. If this is as far as I get, as fit as I get, as fast as I get, then it's OK. Better than that, it's been a blessing to be able to live so fully in this arena. I have the paradoxical good fortune of working amidst ongoing tragedy, which makes the everyday blessings of my life that much more obvious. If it all ended tomorrow and I never took another stroke, stride, or pedal, it would still have been amazing, and far more than others have had.
Best of luck.
--Tom.
--
Thomas W. Quigley, MD FAAP
Assistant Professor of Anesthesiology
Division Chief, Pediatric Anesthesiology
University of Arizona Health Sciences Center
“You will always find those who think they know what is your duty better than you know it. It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.” -Ralph Waldo Emerson
On Sat, Dec 17, 2011 at 6:06 PM, yyyyyyyyyy <yyyyyyyyyyy> wrote:
yyyy---FIRE (Frequent Injuries and Repeated Exacerbation), of shoulders, knees, elbows, etc..
Chronic athletes know all about them. The body isn't built for the wear and tear of swimming, running, rowing, biking or pretty much anything at the intensity needed to be competitive today.
Me--Hmm. Not sure I agree, on a couple of points.
I suppose it's to some extent a matter of definition--particularly of "competitive." At what level? Local? National? World? In one's own mind? And why do you care about competition?
Pushing through injuries will get you what you describe, but careful training, even with steadily increasing mileage, likely won't. It's all in the approach. Outside of a genuine life and death setting, there's nothing heroic about forcing oneself through injury. It's just creating an unnecessary problem.
Not that there isn't a genuine temptation to push for me: I love everything about the athletic lifestyle. I revel in exertion, exhaustion, and endorphins. I actually find competition a fun way to interact with peers, and a great way to get motivated. I like the mind-boggling rush of pushing past my preconceived limits. Sports push me into a gloriously, enjoyably primal, limbic brain mode, and I'd be in a real spot if I had to give it up. It is the antithesis of all the polite, faux horseshit that I have to put up with in the human social world in order to fund Basecamp Quigley. For a spaz like me, the white noise of exertion is my most effective form of meditation, free association, and what Nathan calls "Back-burnering."
But like anything that gets the dopamine flowing in the Nucleus Accumbens, it requires caution. The key to keeping the party going is effective cortical oversight--caution, sensibility, reason. The temptation to overdo it is always there, and my past, athletic and otherwise, is littered with numerous failures of limbic guidance.
yyyy-----Or even non-competitive, but for an extended duration, all the more pertinent if your expected lifespan is on the up-slide.Are we doomed to give up the sports we love, or restrict them to a couple of decades of fireworks? Can the party go on?
Me--I think xxxx 's point re body adaptation is key. You don't see endurance athletes, even those who have been at it for awhile, walking around bowlegged like weightlifters, hidebound from muscle fibrosis due to repeated stress. Nor is breakdown inevitable. Quite the contrary. Slow, incremental (versus excremental?) increases in distance/effort will strengthen and limber both the muscle and the gristle, and prevent injury and breakdown. Increasing the stress on the body by increasing training will expose weaknesses, whether they are structural, technical, training/strength related, or psychological. If a weakness if found, it needs to be addressed properly in order to continue, and experience has shown me that it is unlikely that it will be best addressed by brute force. Luckily, the body is constantly remaking itself, and the medical/dietary/health/
My foremost concrete suggestion would be to make sure you stay mentally resourceful and flexible, explore and use any and all available resources, and be OK with doing less than you think you ought to.
yyyy---From more seasoned athletes, I would like to know what their standards for unreasonable cowardice are, with respect to pain of chronic injury keeping them off their chosen sport. How much do they tolerate before backing down. How much pain have they persisted through and seen the light at the end of the tunnel in spite of it, etc. Does having a sense for the consequences mean that they're more predisposed to being a bigger wimp, or is that just me?
Me--When I was a young competitive swimmer, I had the retrospective good fortune of closely pursuing accomplishment for three straight seasons and pushing myself into a career ending injury. I had been on the brink of being national caliber, High School All-American, and recruitable by schools that would have paid for my education, but it was all gone in a matter of weeks because I couldn't make myself back off when my body first asked, then insisted, then demanded.
How this was good fortune was far from obvious at the time, but it: 1) Taught me that COX-2 anti-inflammatories/
My assumption in my mid 20s was that I'd only be able to run for a few more years before I fouled up my knees, and wound up permanently on the stationary bike watching soap operas and sipping Crystal Light. After all, I was a 200-ish pounder, and there's only so much shock one can administer to the knees. . . This was the conventional wisdom at the time; nobody was really aware of controlled stress as a stimulus for rebuilding and injury prevention. After my swimming experience, I figured that I could milk it as long as possible as long as I was cautious, then bow to the inevitable need to switch to the bike. But time wore on, and I continued with impunity, and at increasing mileage. 20 years and 30K+ miles later, I have no knee/hip/ankle pain whatsoever. It likely won't go on forever, but that's another day's problem.
There may be some fortunate genes involved, but IMO, there's no real reason to think so. There is some luck, as I went against a fair amount of the prevailing "wisdom" re running back in the late 80s to 90s. Recovery time and reasonable surfaces were a large part of it. It was probably fortunate that I preferred trail running and hill running 3-4x/week to daily flatland running on concrete. More recently, a fair number of distance running coaches incorporate hill training as one of the centerpieces of injury prevention, and running on hills in Northern NM and the SF Bay area was, as luck would have it, my preferred form of exercise from ages 20-40. "Heel striking" was also the preferred technique of running back then, but I fell more naturally into a forward-leaning, midfoot striking, Neanderthal style run, which felt more natural to me.
This gets to probably the most important point: I listen to my body far more than I listen to what others' idealized methods and techniques ought to be. Nobody knows me better than me.
Even as I've recently remade my technique into a more efficient, chi-running/pose running style, I constantly play with technique to see what feels not only most efficient speedwise, but most natural in terms of effort. Muscle exhaustion is inevitable; joint pain is a 100% indication to back off until it goes away. If this is what top triathletes and coaches say and do, it's likely a good idea. If my body agrees, then it's unanimous.
I'd like to qualify for and participate in the Ironman world championships in Kona, HI. It's a great daydream, and a heck of a motivator. But I can't bring myself there by sheer force of will. Every time I run, bike, or swim, or do all three consecutively in a race, I'm "going to war with the army I have, not the army I want." I cannot push myself farther along the imagined path towards a goal than I actually am. I'll drive myself into injury, guaranteed. Further, I'll make myself, and those around me, miserable. And there's no real way to anticipate the path anyway: It's always different than my internal model.
On the whole, I think that if you argue for your physical limitations, they're yours. Approach them cautiously and introspectively, and you may very well be on the other side of them before you know it.
Taking a step back, though, I think that perspective is perhaps the most important point. If this is as far as I get, as fit as I get, as fast as I get, then it's OK. Better than that, it's been a blessing to be able to live so fully in this arena. I have the paradoxical good fortune of working amidst ongoing tragedy, which makes the everyday blessings of my life that much more obvious. If it all ended tomorrow and I never took another stroke, stride, or pedal, it would still have been amazing, and far more than others have had.
Best of luck.
--Tom.
--
Thomas W. Quigley, MD FAAP
Assistant Professor of Anesthesiology
Division Chief, Pediatric Anesthesiology
University of Arizona Health Sciences Center
“You will always find those who think they know what is your duty better than you know it. It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.” -Ralph Waldo Emerson
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Lake Mead Tri Report
November 12 was the last race of the "season." I'm throwing up the quotations because it seems silly for a middle aged-dude to think of his life in athletic seasons. I haven't done that since I was a collegiate lacrosse benchwarmer. It's more appropriate for my almost 9-year old heir, Mr. Joshua Squishua Quigshua, whose seasons are Fall Little League, Winter Elite Little League, Spring Little league, and I Don't Feel Like Playing Soccer.
Anyway, the race. We packed the whole gang up in the suburban assault vehicle, stashed our transition bags in the trunk, and threw the bikes on the back, this time with a combination Kryptonite lock. The race gave us a sweet deal on hotel rooms--$77/night at the Holiday Inn express--so we celebrated by getting two rooms, in the hopes of having privacy. You can guess how that worked out. . .
I'd done an almost-as-hilly race rehearsal the previous week, going 56 on the bike and 13.1 running in 4:45. Online race calculators predicted a 5:15 to 5:35 finish based on previous race history and course conditions. I very much wanted to do as well as I could, as the results here would be the last impression of my abilities as I start to gear up for Ironman Coeur D' Alene next June.
The next morning, we showed up at the race sight unseen and a little late, after orienting a local babysitter from a nanny service to the kids, who stayed at the hotel. Turns out the nanny cost more than the hotel, which incidentally has been tossed around by our 11 year old daughter as a way to make money at races. . . We paid for peace of mind, though, as she was CPR/First Aid certified, background-checked, and very experienced.
Lake Mead is lovely, and the transition setup was easy and intuitive. As this was an inaugural event, there were only twenty-some odd entrants in the Half-Iron distance race, a couple of whom didn't show. I didn't see a whole lot of 40-44 year olds, so it seemed my chances of another age group medal were good.
The swim was, well, an open water swim. I hadn't worn my wetsuit since September, and it was mighty snug. This threw my technique off a little. I seemed to veer all over the place, and I had to look up frequently to stay on track. I quickly settled into a passable rhythm, and was the second one out of the water. As we slogged out of the primordial murk, the olympic distance participants, including my wife and adventure-mate, were starting to wade into the water for their 7:30 departure. It was fun to hear cheers.
T1 went OK. I'd vaselined my lower legs in the hope of being able to take off the wetsuit while standing up, but I quickly wound up on my arse pulling at my legs. Next time I'll just start there and spend less time fumbling.
The bike course was gorgeous and fun. It was very hilly (4,100+ feet elevation gain over 56 miles), and I made a point of ascending in an easy, low gear ratio, spin style, so as to save my legs, and grinding a little harder on the downhills. I was quickly passed by a young twentysomething, and I worked at not chasing him too hard. Then a thirtysomething passed me, and I was in fourth place overall. As the bike leg wore on, I was surprised to find nobody else passing me. I was alone among gorgeous sandstone hills and navy blue lake water, and started to feel more like I was on a recreational ride than in a race.
I'd started a little dehydrated, and there were only two aid stations on the bike. I stopped at the first one to drink a whole water bottle, and exchanged the other two. Luckily, it was also pretty cool out, so by the end of the bike, I was completely hydrated, re-carbed on the 400 calorie per hour Perpetuem/Carbopro/Endurolytes combo that seems to suit me, and stocked up on salt tabs (one per half hour). By mile 56, I was a little relieved to be getting my butt out of the saddle. The flying mount and dismount that I've done with every bike commute since early October is now second nature. Included in T2 was a visit to the facilities that was the best indicator of successful rehydration.
I knew I'd saved something for the run, and I set off at a steady, low tempo pace, spurred on a little by the smell of BBQ wafting over from the finish line. At 1 mile, Karen flew past in the other direction, finishing her Olympic distance run. The first half was mostly uphill, and I worked on form and not burning it too hard. There were plenty of aid stations, and I swilled as much water and electrolyte drink as I could stand, in the hopes of staving off the bonk. At the beginning of mile 5, I started seeing the speedy twentysomething bicyclist ahead of me, and noted that I was moving up on him steadily. In my head I tried to remember how many were ahead of me. I counted three. This meant, if I was right, that I was threatening to break into the medals. Meaning of course, the overall medals, something I'd not yet done. This was an exciting possibility, but I reminded myself that there were still 8 miles to go, and I had 62 miles behind me already.
The difference between third and fourth place is in many ways larger than that between first and second--recognition versus obscurity. Olympic Gold medal games/rounds are exciting, but the Bronze medal matches always carry more of a sense of urgency. . . Bit by bit, I edged up on him, trying to stay within myself and not let the pursuit instinct get the better of me. Then we hit a steep hill, and I saw him walking. Sorry, I thought. You're done. I still felt strong, and I knew that I would pass him shortly. Assuming I could keep from getting caught behind, this meant that I was headed for the medals. I tried to be encouraging when I passed him, as I'd been with everyone I'd seen on the run, but the disappointment etched on his face seemed impenetrable. I'm not sure I would have felt any differently. At the turnaround, I noted only two in front of me, far enough ahead that I likely wouldn't catch them, and nobody fast behind me within rifle range. A steady downhill run to the finish would net me a medal. I kept the speed up just to see what happened, and with 2 miles left, I started to see the next competitor in front of me.
Had there been a few more miles, I would have caught him. But I was starting to feel the beginnings of some serious muscular soreness in my hamstrings and glutes. Given that nothing short of a two mile dead sprint was going to get me past him, I just kept a steady pace into the finish. Chickensh$%, in retrospect, but I worry that 44 year old legs couldn't have withstood the sort of enthusiasm that comes from a far younger part of me.
Finishing time was 5:13:30. This was over 30 min faster than my last 1/2 IM, and 90 seconds better than my most lofty expectation!
It remains unclear how far I can go with this whole Triathlon thing. Perhaps to the Big Island, but that seems presumptuous given that I've yet to do a full IM and it's not clear where I am on my "learning curve."
Cruising into the finish line was fun. Being in the top three, and having the kids watch the awards, was better. The all you can eat BBQ was the piece de resistance.
Anyway, the race. We packed the whole gang up in the suburban assault vehicle, stashed our transition bags in the trunk, and threw the bikes on the back, this time with a combination Kryptonite lock. The race gave us a sweet deal on hotel rooms--$77/night at the Holiday Inn express--so we celebrated by getting two rooms, in the hopes of having privacy. You can guess how that worked out. . .
I'd done an almost-as-hilly race rehearsal the previous week, going 56 on the bike and 13.1 running in 4:45. Online race calculators predicted a 5:15 to 5:35 finish based on previous race history and course conditions. I very much wanted to do as well as I could, as the results here would be the last impression of my abilities as I start to gear up for Ironman Coeur D' Alene next June.
The next morning, we showed up at the race sight unseen and a little late, after orienting a local babysitter from a nanny service to the kids, who stayed at the hotel. Turns out the nanny cost more than the hotel, which incidentally has been tossed around by our 11 year old daughter as a way to make money at races. . . We paid for peace of mind, though, as she was CPR/First Aid certified, background-checked, and very experienced.
Lake Mead is lovely, and the transition setup was easy and intuitive. As this was an inaugural event, there were only twenty-some odd entrants in the Half-Iron distance race, a couple of whom didn't show. I didn't see a whole lot of 40-44 year olds, so it seemed my chances of another age group medal were good.
The swim was, well, an open water swim. I hadn't worn my wetsuit since September, and it was mighty snug. This threw my technique off a little. I seemed to veer all over the place, and I had to look up frequently to stay on track. I quickly settled into a passable rhythm, and was the second one out of the water. As we slogged out of the primordial murk, the olympic distance participants, including my wife and adventure-mate, were starting to wade into the water for their 7:30 departure. It was fun to hear cheers.
T1 went OK. I'd vaselined my lower legs in the hope of being able to take off the wetsuit while standing up, but I quickly wound up on my arse pulling at my legs. Next time I'll just start there and spend less time fumbling.
The bike course was gorgeous and fun. It was very hilly (4,100+ feet elevation gain over 56 miles), and I made a point of ascending in an easy, low gear ratio, spin style, so as to save my legs, and grinding a little harder on the downhills. I was quickly passed by a young twentysomething, and I worked at not chasing him too hard. Then a thirtysomething passed me, and I was in fourth place overall. As the bike leg wore on, I was surprised to find nobody else passing me. I was alone among gorgeous sandstone hills and navy blue lake water, and started to feel more like I was on a recreational ride than in a race.
I'd started a little dehydrated, and there were only two aid stations on the bike. I stopped at the first one to drink a whole water bottle, and exchanged the other two. Luckily, it was also pretty cool out, so by the end of the bike, I was completely hydrated, re-carbed on the 400 calorie per hour Perpetuem/Carbopro/Endurolytes combo that seems to suit me, and stocked up on salt tabs (one per half hour). By mile 56, I was a little relieved to be getting my butt out of the saddle. The flying mount and dismount that I've done with every bike commute since early October is now second nature. Included in T2 was a visit to the facilities that was the best indicator of successful rehydration.
I knew I'd saved something for the run, and I set off at a steady, low tempo pace, spurred on a little by the smell of BBQ wafting over from the finish line. At 1 mile, Karen flew past in the other direction, finishing her Olympic distance run. The first half was mostly uphill, and I worked on form and not burning it too hard. There were plenty of aid stations, and I swilled as much water and electrolyte drink as I could stand, in the hopes of staving off the bonk. At the beginning of mile 5, I started seeing the speedy twentysomething bicyclist ahead of me, and noted that I was moving up on him steadily. In my head I tried to remember how many were ahead of me. I counted three. This meant, if I was right, that I was threatening to break into the medals. Meaning of course, the overall medals, something I'd not yet done. This was an exciting possibility, but I reminded myself that there were still 8 miles to go, and I had 62 miles behind me already.
The difference between third and fourth place is in many ways larger than that between first and second--recognition versus obscurity. Olympic Gold medal games/rounds are exciting, but the Bronze medal matches always carry more of a sense of urgency. . . Bit by bit, I edged up on him, trying to stay within myself and not let the pursuit instinct get the better of me. Then we hit a steep hill, and I saw him walking. Sorry, I thought. You're done. I still felt strong, and I knew that I would pass him shortly. Assuming I could keep from getting caught behind, this meant that I was headed for the medals. I tried to be encouraging when I passed him, as I'd been with everyone I'd seen on the run, but the disappointment etched on his face seemed impenetrable. I'm not sure I would have felt any differently. At the turnaround, I noted only two in front of me, far enough ahead that I likely wouldn't catch them, and nobody fast behind me within rifle range. A steady downhill run to the finish would net me a medal. I kept the speed up just to see what happened, and with 2 miles left, I started to see the next competitor in front of me.
Had there been a few more miles, I would have caught him. But I was starting to feel the beginnings of some serious muscular soreness in my hamstrings and glutes. Given that nothing short of a two mile dead sprint was going to get me past him, I just kept a steady pace into the finish. Chickensh$%, in retrospect, but I worry that 44 year old legs couldn't have withstood the sort of enthusiasm that comes from a far younger part of me.
Finishing time was 5:13:30. This was over 30 min faster than my last 1/2 IM, and 90 seconds better than my most lofty expectation!
It remains unclear how far I can go with this whole Triathlon thing. Perhaps to the Big Island, but that seems presumptuous given that I've yet to do a full IM and it's not clear where I am on my "learning curve."
Cruising into the finish line was fun. Being in the top three, and having the kids watch the awards, was better. The all you can eat BBQ was the piece de resistance.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Tinfoilman (!!!) Triathlon Race Report
As is appropriate to the name, this is a short, quick, easy, sprint tri. And as the weather here in Tucson has gotten downright reasonable, any semblance of Iron-ness is officially gone, unlike the Firecracker Tri over the weekend of July 4 which, like all 3 of the races in the Tucson Tri Series, covers the same course around the U of A.
I actually took the day off before this one, unlike most Tris under 1/2 Iron distance. The incentive was not just to see what I could do with a bit of rest, but to possibly net myself a top 3 finish in my age group and get a cool Tinfoilman trophy. This was the first time in as long as I can remember that I've actually coveted a trophy for its own geeky sake.
As with many triathlons, the Tucson Triathlon Series punishes those with fast swim times by starting them last. This means 3-4 hour delays between the opening of transition to set up and the actual event. Yet another reason for mass start swims. In exchange for a promise of later guarded nap time free of kid responsibilities, I took both my steed and my wife's down to outside the U of A pool and set up both our transitions. In what was probably a great stroke of luck, Karen's tire blew out completely around the valve stem as I topped it off. Better to change before the race than during. :-}
After a leisurely breakfast, we went back and waited for our swim heats, bringing our oldest as photographer, and leaving the two youngers back with grandma Sandy.
Karen's swim was 2 heats before mine, so I got to cheer her on. Then I got in and paddled away for 825 yards:
The swim felt pretty good, and I hopped out and trotted out to transition. I've been working on "flying" transitions, in my 44 year old caucasian way, so I'd set the bike up with shoes on. I put my geeky aero helmet on, stepped on a towel to dry my feet off, threw some thin, 2-layer socks on, and took off running with the bike. Transitions weren't timed, but I'm pretty sure I was in and out of T1 in roughly a minute. My head still felt a bit underwater-ish, so the running mount was more of a trotting one. Most folks pedal on top of the shoes and put their feet in one at a time, but I just slipped my feet into both shoes at once. It worked pretty well, looks notwithstanding:
My power numbers on the bike weren't stellar--I held an average of 260 watts, and my 20 minute TT numbers usually run 300-325 watts. But I went pretty fast, for me: 23.5 mph average, and I didn't feel like I was burning it too hard. I felt smooth, and more importantly, I only got passed by one of my heat-mates (we were the last heat). A sprint tri, at least for me, is more of a VO2 max race than a Lactate threshold race, as an olympic tri is.
I passed Karen on one of her laps, and noted, with no small amount of pride and joy, that I thought she looked really cute even before I positively ID'ed her(!!!)
T2 was similarly blazing--I unstrapped my shoes and rode in with my feet on top of them, doing a properly executed flying dismount. I was into my shoes and running in probably 45 seconds.
It took me the first kilometer to feel like I had my legs under me, but then I got going pretty well. It helped that I got passed by some skinny punk-oid with the number "21" tattooed on his calf in sharpie (his age, for those who don't know). I let my heart rate run up from 155-ish to 159-ish, which is about as high as I can run it without making serious lactate. 5K goes pretty quickly, and it was over in no time.
Karen blazed it in 1:22:46, and was getting a head start on the bananas and gatorade at the finish line:
My line:
I was sixteenth overall out of 305 particpants, 20:35 for the 5K, transition times included in the bike. This was 5 entire minutes faster than my race in July on the same course, which didn't seem all that slow to me at the time. I was second in my age group, netting me the coveted hardware:
The only faster 40-44 year old was a Kona Qualifier. Granted, he was 4 minutes faster than me, for a race which is roughly 1/9th of an ironman. But I'm starting to wonder if my long-term dream of qualifying is neither all that farfetched, nor all that far off. . .
Training for Ironman Coeur D'Alene begins in earnest this December. But next, meaning next week, is the Lake Mead 1/2 Ironman, which is likely to be far more representative of my long-distance potential.
Thanks to EQ for all the photos. Thanks to KQ for joining me in enjoying this pleasant torment.
I actually took the day off before this one, unlike most Tris under 1/2 Iron distance. The incentive was not just to see what I could do with a bit of rest, but to possibly net myself a top 3 finish in my age group and get a cool Tinfoilman trophy. This was the first time in as long as I can remember that I've actually coveted a trophy for its own geeky sake.
 |
| You know you want one. |
As with many triathlons, the Tucson Triathlon Series punishes those with fast swim times by starting them last. This means 3-4 hour delays between the opening of transition to set up and the actual event. Yet another reason for mass start swims. In exchange for a promise of later guarded nap time free of kid responsibilities, I took both my steed and my wife's down to outside the U of A pool and set up both our transitions. In what was probably a great stroke of luck, Karen's tire blew out completely around the valve stem as I topped it off. Better to change before the race than during. :-}
After a leisurely breakfast, we went back and waited for our swim heats, bringing our oldest as photographer, and leaving the two youngers back with grandma Sandy.
Karen's swim was 2 heats before mine, so I got to cheer her on. Then I got in and paddled away for 825 yards:
The swim felt pretty good, and I hopped out and trotted out to transition. I've been working on "flying" transitions, in my 44 year old caucasian way, so I'd set the bike up with shoes on. I put my geeky aero helmet on, stepped on a towel to dry my feet off, threw some thin, 2-layer socks on, and took off running with the bike. Transitions weren't timed, but I'm pretty sure I was in and out of T1 in roughly a minute. My head still felt a bit underwater-ish, so the running mount was more of a trotting one. Most folks pedal on top of the shoes and put their feet in one at a time, but I just slipped my feet into both shoes at once. It worked pretty well, looks notwithstanding:
 |
| Poetry (poultry?!?!) In Motion |
My power numbers on the bike weren't stellar--I held an average of 260 watts, and my 20 minute TT numbers usually run 300-325 watts. But I went pretty fast, for me: 23.5 mph average, and I didn't feel like I was burning it too hard. I felt smooth, and more importantly, I only got passed by one of my heat-mates (we were the last heat). A sprint tri, at least for me, is more of a VO2 max race than a Lactate threshold race, as an olympic tri is.
I passed Karen on one of her laps, and noted, with no small amount of pride and joy, that I thought she looked really cute even before I positively ID'ed her(!!!)
T2 was similarly blazing--I unstrapped my shoes and rode in with my feet on top of them, doing a properly executed flying dismount. I was into my shoes and running in probably 45 seconds.
It took me the first kilometer to feel like I had my legs under me, but then I got going pretty well. It helped that I got passed by some skinny punk-oid with the number "21" tattooed on his calf in sharpie (his age, for those who don't know). I let my heart rate run up from 155-ish to 159-ish, which is about as high as I can run it without making serious lactate. 5K goes pretty quickly, and it was over in no time.
Karen blazed it in 1:22:46, and was getting a head start on the bananas and gatorade at the finish line:
My line:
| 16 | Thomas Quigley | 335 | 44 | 14 | 10:39 | 15 | 32:32 | 24 | 20:35 | 1:03:46 |
I was sixteenth overall out of 305 particpants, 20:35 for the 5K, transition times included in the bike. This was 5 entire minutes faster than my race in July on the same course, which didn't seem all that slow to me at the time. I was second in my age group, netting me the coveted hardware:
The only faster 40-44 year old was a Kona Qualifier. Granted, he was 4 minutes faster than me, for a race which is roughly 1/9th of an ironman. But I'm starting to wonder if my long-term dream of qualifying is neither all that farfetched, nor all that far off. . .
Training for Ironman Coeur D'Alene begins in earnest this December. But next, meaning next week, is the Lake Mead 1/2 Ironman, which is likely to be far more representative of my long-distance potential.
Thanks to EQ for all the photos. Thanks to KQ for joining me in enjoying this pleasant torment.
What Motivates Triathletes to Suffer? | Active.com
What Motivates Triathletes to Suffer? | Active.com
Triathlete exhausted at the Kona Finish Line.
Photo: Jesse HammondDave Scott and Mark Allen suffered immensely during the 1989 Ironman, the race remembered as Iron War for the awe-inspiring duel that took place between these two legendary athletes within it. In fact, Scott and Allen probably suffered more than any of the 1,284 other competitors in the race, and that is probably why they finished the race more than three miles ahead of any other competitor.
Allen’s most excruciating moments came about halfway through the marathon, when Scott, who had been towing Allen along since the first strokes of the swim almost seven hours earlier, threw down a vicious surge that threatened to once again finish off the man who had lost to Scott five times previously at Ironman.
“I responded, but barely,” Allen later wrote of those moments. “My reserves were reaching their limit… This is too much. My legs are killing me.”
Despite these torments, Allen found a way to rally and win the greatest race ever run. Which means Dave Scott ultimately suffered even more. Soon after Scott crossed the finish line 58 seconds behind Allen, a journalist asked the runner-up how the race had felt.
“I’m not sure I want to feel that again,” he said.
Accepting the degree of suffering that Dave Scott and Mark Allen bore in their Iron War requires exceptional motivation. What motivated Scott and Allen to embrace the agony they did in their epic showdown? It certainly wasn’t money. The prize for winning the 1989 Ironman was a meager $20,000. The second-place finisher took home $8,000.
One of my goals in researching my newly published book about Iron War was to discover what motivated Dave Scott and Mark Allen to reach so deep in that race. I learned that, while each man had his own personal motivations, perhaps the greatest motivation was shared—and not only that, but was the same motivation that draws every Ironman participant to the challenge. Scott and Allen just had more of it.
In 2008, a Canadian-born sociologist named Michael Atkinson published a paper titled, “Triathlon, Suffering, and Exciting Significance.” In it, he argued that the tremendous amount of suffering that all triathletes experience in training and, especially, in races is not a negative price that participants pay in pursuit of the rewards of the sport; instead, that suffering is itself the primary reward.
Atkinson argued that the comforts and conveniences of modern life have come to pamper us so much that much of the excitement has been drained from our daily existence. Our bodies are so coddled that we crave physical challenges. On top of that, we have grown mentally soft, and we know it and vaguely despise ourselves for it.
Triathlon represents a way to put some excitement back into our lives, to toughen us mentally, and to boost our self-respect. The sport delivers these rewards by affording us an opportunity to overcome great suffering. The prize that every triathlete seeks above all others is what I call the finish-line feeling—that tremendous feeling of satisfaction that comes when we complete a race and conquer the internal weakness that tempts us to quit.
It is no accident that the event that caused triathlon’s popularity to explode was Julie Moss’s famous crawl to the finish line of the February 1982 Ironman. We who watched it—the susceptible among us, at least—felt a powerful urge to suffer as she did, and to bravely defeat our suffering, as Moss did hers.
The more you suffer in a triathlon, the better the finish line feels. While the finish-line feeling is the ultimate motivator for the suffering we subject ourselves to in races, other motivators may inspire us to suffer even more, which enhances the finish-line even more, which boosts our willingness to suffer still further. The opportunity to win is one such motivator. Competition is another. Competition against an arch-rival works even better. A state of peak physical readiness—having your best day and knowing it—is still another.
In the 1989 Ironman, a perfect storm of circumstances conspired to make Dave Scott and Mark Allen willing and able to endure as much suffering as any athlete ever has in competition. And that’s one of the reasons both men redefined the possible on that unforgettable day.
Push your limits at a race.
What Motivates Triathletes to Suffer?
Triathlete exhausted at the Kona Finish Line.Photo: Jesse Hammond
Allen’s most excruciating moments came about halfway through the marathon, when Scott, who had been towing Allen along since the first strokes of the swim almost seven hours earlier, threw down a vicious surge that threatened to once again finish off the man who had lost to Scott five times previously at Ironman.
“I responded, but barely,” Allen later wrote of those moments. “My reserves were reaching their limit… This is too much. My legs are killing me.”
Despite these torments, Allen found a way to rally and win the greatest race ever run. Which means Dave Scott ultimately suffered even more. Soon after Scott crossed the finish line 58 seconds behind Allen, a journalist asked the runner-up how the race had felt.
“I’m not sure I want to feel that again,” he said.
Accepting the degree of suffering that Dave Scott and Mark Allen bore in their Iron War requires exceptional motivation. What motivated Scott and Allen to embrace the agony they did in their epic showdown? It certainly wasn’t money. The prize for winning the 1989 Ironman was a meager $20,000. The second-place finisher took home $8,000.
One of my goals in researching my newly published book about Iron War was to discover what motivated Dave Scott and Mark Allen to reach so deep in that race. I learned that, while each man had his own personal motivations, perhaps the greatest motivation was shared—and not only that, but was the same motivation that draws every Ironman participant to the challenge. Scott and Allen just had more of it.
In 2008, a Canadian-born sociologist named Michael Atkinson published a paper titled, “Triathlon, Suffering, and Exciting Significance.” In it, he argued that the tremendous amount of suffering that all triathletes experience in training and, especially, in races is not a negative price that participants pay in pursuit of the rewards of the sport; instead, that suffering is itself the primary reward.
Atkinson argued that the comforts and conveniences of modern life have come to pamper us so much that much of the excitement has been drained from our daily existence. Our bodies are so coddled that we crave physical challenges. On top of that, we have grown mentally soft, and we know it and vaguely despise ourselves for it.
Triathlon represents a way to put some excitement back into our lives, to toughen us mentally, and to boost our self-respect. The sport delivers these rewards by affording us an opportunity to overcome great suffering. The prize that every triathlete seeks above all others is what I call the finish-line feeling—that tremendous feeling of satisfaction that comes when we complete a race and conquer the internal weakness that tempts us to quit.
It is no accident that the event that caused triathlon’s popularity to explode was Julie Moss’s famous crawl to the finish line of the February 1982 Ironman. We who watched it—the susceptible among us, at least—felt a powerful urge to suffer as she did, and to bravely defeat our suffering, as Moss did hers.
The more you suffer in a triathlon, the better the finish line feels. While the finish-line feeling is the ultimate motivator for the suffering we subject ourselves to in races, other motivators may inspire us to suffer even more, which enhances the finish-line even more, which boosts our willingness to suffer still further. The opportunity to win is one such motivator. Competition is another. Competition against an arch-rival works even better. A state of peak physical readiness—having your best day and knowing it—is still another.
In the 1989 Ironman, a perfect storm of circumstances conspired to make Dave Scott and Mark Allen willing and able to endure as much suffering as any athlete ever has in competition. And that’s one of the reasons both men redefined the possible on that unforgettable day.
Push your limits at a race. Matt Fitzgerald is the author of Iron War: Dave Scott, Mark Allen & The Greatest Race Ever Run (VeloPress 2011) and a Coach and Training Intelligence Specialist for PEAR Sports. Find out more at mattfizgerald.org.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
San Diego Triathlon Classic
This past weekend, my lovely wife and I enlisted my folks to watch our three Bazoogers, packed up the bikes and junk, and headed to San Diego for a weekend of triathlon, dining, and generally having a 48-hour date. (!!!)
Generally, all went quite well. But the devil's in the details, of course. The biggest detail was a bit of self-inflicted stress. Being security-minded, I locked the bikes to Karen's car. Then being overly efficient, I deliberately left the bulky key fob for my Monstah Truck at home. Including, of course, the bike lock keys.
D'oh.
As I was able to determine right after arriving and figuring out my catastrophic error, case-hardened steel U-shaped locks are, as they should be, quite resistant to bolt cutters, hacksaws, and reciprocating saws. My Tasmanian She-Babe-O-Luscious Welder wife had suggested that a hand grinder would likely do the trick with the right blade, and we needed one anyhow, so I oughta just go buy one.
Inevitably, the grinder was the solution. But Ace Hardware at Point Loma didn't carry it, so I tried the less effective options first. On my way to Home Despot, I stopped by Moment Cycles, who hosted the race. Luckily, J. T. Lyons, the race director, knew someone who had a hand grinder. Big thanks also go to Steve Harrison, the bearer of the hand grinder with diamond blade, for driving out of his way and making the rest of the weekend possible. And sparing me the wrath of Karen.
Unfortunately, I was too worried about gittin' the job done to remember the camera, as a night shot of me holding the lock that held the bikes to the car while Steve's grinder threw off massive sparks would have been sweet. This is all I got, though:
So much for the Kryptonite (TM) New York Lock. Now I know how to blast through 'em in about a minute, just in case the Pediatric Anesthesiology thing doesn't work out.
Anyway, on to the race. The swim went well, in the sense that I was the fastest in my age group. But despite the fact that I've actually been swimming over the last several months, my swim leg has not gotten faster. Frustrating. When I breathed on my left side, I would drift quite strongly to the right. When I breathed on my right side, I went straight. Maybe a wetsuit fit thing, maybe a stroke thing. And then there was the inevitable scrum of passing people in previous heats. I think I'm actually someone who would benefit from the much maligned mass start, and not just because I played water polo in college. :-}
Biking felt solid. The course, which twice climbed a normally inaccessible hill at the Point Loma Naval base, was beautiful and fun. As it's my weakest leg and the one for which I have the least "feel," I stuck to my plans to "Train like a lion, race like a lamb," and "Go to war with the army you have, not the army you want." I managed to stay within the realm of my actual abilities instead of the ones I would have if wishes were quadriceps. My avg. speed was 20.2, MPH, which is pretty good for me on a 24 mile hilly course. Surprisingly, my bike leg was 14th out of 74 in my age group.
Transitions were OK, but not stellar. I've amassed the info on how to make them quicker, but have yet to practice things like rubber-banding my shoes to the bike and donning them on the fly, which would likely save me a couple minutes.
My numero uno goal was to finish strong. Having practiced transition runs after all long bike rides made a big difference in how quickly I found my running legs. I immediately felt strong, and started to savor my favorite triathlon pursuit: passing people on the run who passed me on the bike. A little too much, as it happens: I was cookin' along at about 9 to 9.5 mph, a pace which would allow me to realize a dream of finishing a 10K triathlon leg in under 40 minutes. But alas, my ego was slightly larger than my legs, and I had to slack off a little for the last 5K, finishing the leg (purportedly) in 43:29. On the bright side, this was still 2 minutes faster than my previous best 10K run split.
Nonetheless, I was happy with the result: 2:23:16, 5 minutes faster than my best/last Oly Tri, and on a harder bike course. As it turns out, though, the race officials found the course to be 10.2 Km. So FWIW, I would have crossed the real finish line in 2:22:26, with a 42:39 10K split. . . Karen finished in 3:20, which was far better than a summer of training in the Tucson heat had led her to expect. She's hooked on tris as well, and may very well be talked into doing a Half Ironman with me this coming spring!
The rest of the weekend was lovely as expected. We dined, we slept in, we left to come home when we darn well pleased. Could've used a couple more days, of course. . .
Generally, all went quite well. But the devil's in the details, of course. The biggest detail was a bit of self-inflicted stress. Being security-minded, I locked the bikes to Karen's car. Then being overly efficient, I deliberately left the bulky key fob for my Monstah Truck at home. Including, of course, the bike lock keys.
D'oh.
As I was able to determine right after arriving and figuring out my catastrophic error, case-hardened steel U-shaped locks are, as they should be, quite resistant to bolt cutters, hacksaws, and reciprocating saws. My Tasmanian She-Babe-O-Luscious Welder wife had suggested that a hand grinder would likely do the trick with the right blade, and we needed one anyhow, so I oughta just go buy one.
 |
| Mama Bear, blasting away with the Plasma cutter, which could have sliced through the lock in about 5 seconds. |
Unfortunately, I was too worried about gittin' the job done to remember the camera, as a night shot of me holding the lock that held the bikes to the car while Steve's grinder threw off massive sparks would have been sweet. This is all I got, though:
 |
| It's a thing of beauty. Really. |
Anyway, on to the race. The swim went well, in the sense that I was the fastest in my age group. But despite the fact that I've actually been swimming over the last several months, my swim leg has not gotten faster. Frustrating. When I breathed on my left side, I would drift quite strongly to the right. When I breathed on my right side, I went straight. Maybe a wetsuit fit thing, maybe a stroke thing. And then there was the inevitable scrum of passing people in previous heats. I think I'm actually someone who would benefit from the much maligned mass start, and not just because I played water polo in college. :-}
Biking felt solid. The course, which twice climbed a normally inaccessible hill at the Point Loma Naval base, was beautiful and fun. As it's my weakest leg and the one for which I have the least "feel," I stuck to my plans to "Train like a lion, race like a lamb," and "Go to war with the army you have, not the army you want." I managed to stay within the realm of my actual abilities instead of the ones I would have if wishes were quadriceps. My avg. speed was 20.2, MPH, which is pretty good for me on a 24 mile hilly course. Surprisingly, my bike leg was 14th out of 74 in my age group.
Transitions were OK, but not stellar. I've amassed the info on how to make them quicker, but have yet to practice things like rubber-banding my shoes to the bike and donning them on the fly, which would likely save me a couple minutes.
My numero uno goal was to finish strong. Having practiced transition runs after all long bike rides made a big difference in how quickly I found my running legs. I immediately felt strong, and started to savor my favorite triathlon pursuit: passing people on the run who passed me on the bike. A little too much, as it happens: I was cookin' along at about 9 to 9.5 mph, a pace which would allow me to realize a dream of finishing a 10K triathlon leg in under 40 minutes. But alas, my ego was slightly larger than my legs, and I had to slack off a little for the last 5K, finishing the leg (purportedly) in 43:29. On the bright side, this was still 2 minutes faster than my previous best 10K run split.
 |
| That's a "Hang Loose" with sloppy technique. |
Nonetheless, I was happy with the result: 2:23:16, 5 minutes faster than my best/last Oly Tri, and on a harder bike course. As it turns out, though, the race officials found the course to be 10.2 Km. So FWIW, I would have crossed the real finish line in 2:22:26, with a 42:39 10K split. . . Karen finished in 3:20, which was far better than a summer of training in the Tucson heat had led her to expect. She's hooked on tris as well, and may very well be talked into doing a Half Ironman with me this coming spring!
The rest of the weekend was lovely as expected. We dined, we slept in, we left to come home when we darn well pleased. Could've used a couple more days, of course. . .
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
PsyOps 101: Getting a handle on the gray matter
For me, one thing that has distinguished Ironman preparation from that of preparation for a marathon or half-Ironman is the smaller margin of error. Going 140.6 miles involves far more meticulous preparation and execution than a Marathon or even a Half Ironman. Overtraining can leave you just as stuck as not doing enough. Nutrition and hydration failures--which I experienced both at Marathon and Half-Ironman distance--could bring about an early end to the race. More than any format, Long Course IM absolutely requires some degree of thought, planning, and improvisational ability to handle the inevitable SNAFUs, and keep them from going to TARFU or FUBAR.
Within the context of sports, I am happily competitive and aggressive by nature. I want to win; I love to do my best and see what I'm capable of, and I genuinely enjoy a wholehearted effort. This is well and good for shorter distances, but one of the particular challenges of the Iron Distance is that this approach is highly correlated with burning out. The cost of burning out can be anything from a slow Marathon, to a walking Marathon, to a DNF. According to those who have gone before, there's really no chance to push things until the very end if one wants to finish.
For me, and for most if not all who have the internal drive to attempt a Full IM distance, taking it easy runs contrary to my intrapsychic makeup. My inner beast craves the raw thrill of pursuing and overtaking prey. As I found out in the Half-Ironman I did last June, the chase has its own seductive rhythm, which has little regard for pacing or plans. My inner Competitor wants to be better and faster, for the sheer vanity of it. And the Boss has to get them all on the same page.
Within the context of sports, I am happily competitive and aggressive by nature. I want to win; I love to do my best and see what I'm capable of, and I genuinely enjoy a wholehearted effort. This is well and good for shorter distances, but one of the particular challenges of the Iron Distance is that this approach is highly correlated with burning out. The cost of burning out can be anything from a slow Marathon, to a walking Marathon, to a DNF. According to those who have gone before, there's really no chance to push things until the very end if one wants to finish.
For me, and for most if not all who have the internal drive to attempt a Full IM distance, taking it easy runs contrary to my intrapsychic makeup. My inner beast craves the raw thrill of pursuing and overtaking prey. As I found out in the Half-Ironman I did last June, the chase has its own seductive rhythm, which has little regard for pacing or plans. My inner Competitor wants to be better and faster, for the sheer vanity of it. And the Boss has to get them all on the same page.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Bike Calisthenics, Pending Tri Bike, Natatorium Update
Yesterday I added bike-related calisthenics to my standard ride days. Hindu squats, calf raises with slow lowering, lunges, and backside-blasting leg extensions with a band. Today, I feel like a gay dinosaur, so I'm taking the day off. No weights yet, but I will add some when I'm sure I can do it without injury.
I told Karen that if all works out, my butt was going to be even larger. Her enthusiasm was resounding. ;-}
My current steed is an entry level road bike with aerobars. It has been berry, berry good to me, but if I am to do a full Ironman, and to continue with this sport, I think I could kick a bit more ass on a real, light, aero, slick-looking tri bike. At least that's what I keep telling Karen.
I'd been planning the purchase of a real tri-bike sometime before the end of the year, but I found the one I wanted on ebay for a ridiculous price (Allegedly NIB, $1000 less than retail!!), and nailed it down yesterday. Hope it's not too good to be true. Tune in next week.
This is not our only personal effort to jumpstart the economy. Construction of the Quigley family Natatorium continues apace. We've moved from plumbing only to rebar.
Amenities will include hot tub, lagoon with umbrella pole so parents can supervise from inside the pool, and a few jets grouped together in the deep end which should, when coupled with a swim tether, sorta-kinda simulate a swim stream. We'll see about that last one. It's for the kiddos anyway.
I told Karen that if all works out, my butt was going to be even larger. Her enthusiasm was resounding. ;-}
My current steed is an entry level road bike with aerobars. It has been berry, berry good to me, but if I am to do a full Ironman, and to continue with this sport, I think I could kick a bit more ass on a real, light, aero, slick-looking tri bike. At least that's what I keep telling Karen.
I'd been planning the purchase of a real tri-bike sometime before the end of the year, but I found the one I wanted on ebay for a ridiculous price (Allegedly NIB, $1000 less than retail!!), and nailed it down yesterday. Hope it's not too good to be true. Tune in next week.
This is not our only personal effort to jumpstart the economy. Construction of the Quigley family Natatorium continues apace. We've moved from plumbing only to rebar.
Amenities will include hot tub, lagoon with umbrella pole so parents can supervise from inside the pool, and a few jets grouped together in the deep end which should, when coupled with a swim tether, sorta-kinda simulate a swim stream. We'll see about that last one. It's for the kiddos anyway.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Swimming--technique, tools, etc.
Swimming, meaning the sport, is something we as a species do with a shocking lack of grace. Even the best of us bears more resemblance to shark bait than a waterborne mammal making deliberate efforts to get somewhere.
As a youth, I was a competitive swimmer, devoting myself to this retrospectively silly and boring pursuit to the exclusion of other sports that I likely would have enjoyed, to the exclusion of a balanced life, proper rest, friends. . . So I've got a little baggage around this particular leg of the Triathlon, which has to this point kept me from putting a significant effort into it. Yet it's far and away my best leg, relatively speaking. So I'm going to set the past, and my fundamentally land-based nature, aside in the service of overall speed.
To this end, I took my new Go Pro HD Father's day present to the pool to video some swimming. I attached it to a helmet mount, the helmet mount to a rock, and set it on the bottom of the pool. In addition to cute kid swimming videos likely to wind up on FB, this is what I came up with:
For the sake of comparison, here's Michael Phelps, our finest specimen of shark bait:
While I clearly ain't no Michael Phelps, I think my technique is pretty good. Just need to put in some time to get back a little of my youthful swimming strength, hopefully not at too much cost to running/biking.
Suggestions welcome.
As a youth, I was a competitive swimmer, devoting myself to this retrospectively silly and boring pursuit to the exclusion of other sports that I likely would have enjoyed, to the exclusion of a balanced life, proper rest, friends. . . So I've got a little baggage around this particular leg of the Triathlon, which has to this point kept me from putting a significant effort into it. Yet it's far and away my best leg, relatively speaking. So I'm going to set the past, and my fundamentally land-based nature, aside in the service of overall speed.
To this end, I took my new Go Pro HD Father's day present to the pool to video some swimming. I attached it to a helmet mount, the helmet mount to a rock, and set it on the bottom of the pool. In addition to cute kid swimming videos likely to wind up on FB, this is what I came up with:
For the sake of comparison, here's Michael Phelps, our finest specimen of shark bait:
While I clearly ain't no Michael Phelps, I think my technique is pretty good. Just need to put in some time to get back a little of my youthful swimming strength, hopefully not at too much cost to running/biking.
Suggestions welcome.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)