A Single Question

I spent two hours yesterday not going anywhere. I was downstairs on the windtrainer, watching Lance Armstrong climb Sestriere [or as Paul Sherwin would say, "literally explode up the mountain"]. It was an inspiring ride to watch, and I found myself pedaling harder than normal as he launched his attack, as if I was trying to stay on his wheel. Sestriere [the 9th stage] was his first real signature win in the Tour, an incredible day for anyone, let alone a recent cancer survivor. It was his first day wearing yellow in the mountains, and he rode like a champion, leaving the best climbers in the world sucking wind. The sport of cycling has never been the same since that day, and it never will be again. I watched it in awe, knowing that a star was emerging on this very climb, laughing at Paul Sherwin and Phil Ligget as they kept asking if he had the legs to hold it up to the summit, or if this day was going to take too much out of him for the rest of the tour. I watched, secretly praying that EPO or some other drug cocktail wasn't fueling this man, because it is a beautiful thing to watch a man ride a bike so well, so effortlessly. It would be a shame if it was all a lie. At the very least, it made the two hours of pedaling go by quicker and left me excited for the next windtrainer session, because Alp D'Huez is next.

This time in four months, Ironman Wisconsin will be almost twelve hours underway, the sun will be ready to rest, as will all the triathletes still out on the course. It promises to be a tough day [what Ironman doesn't?], and I'm trying to prepare for it much better than I ever have before, and that's why I'm doing two-hour windtrainer sessions watching the Tour on my computer. I don't want to go in with any questions, with any fear, like I have for the last two. I want to be strong, with legs that have depth [to go along with the horrendous tan-lines they already have now]. I want to go in knowing that the fitness and strength will be there, and that my job is to let the day unfold, to be smart and patient, and when the time comes, tough. The ultimate goal, and I'm throwing this out there, is to finish in 9 hours, 50 minutes, to do the fastest Ironman in the family, and if all goes well, qualify for Hawaii. Why not?

There are plenty of days and weeks between now and Wisconsin, plenty of highs and lows that await me [and a big race does too: a 70.3 in Lubbock, which is funnily enough, on my birthday]. There will be plenty more Tour de France DVDs to watch, lots of long windtrainer sessions ahead. There are hills that I need to ride again and again and again, and then again. Countless loops around Town Lake. There is little mystery to an Ironman training program.

The question isn't what I want, or what I have to do to get what I want. I know the answer to both of those. No. I realized that now the question is simply: "are you going to do what it takes to be a 9 hour Ironman, or are you going to make excuses?" Those really are the only two options. And if you happen to be in Madison, Wisconsin on September 11th, at this exact time, I'll be able to tell you the answer.

And So It Begins... Again...

It's a Friday in April, and I'm enjoying the few hours of peace that a book and warm weather offer before I go to work. I'm reading about Churchill, and even though the second World War hasn't begun yet [though Churchill can see it coming], I'm already blown away by the man himself and the life he lead. Truly remarkable what courage and perseverance can achieve. But we'll leave Churchill, the prospect of work, and even [regrettably] the warm weather for now. There are more pressing issues on the horizon.

The entire Rookie Triathlon, as we often mention, takes less time to complete than the first leg of an Ironman [unless you're Andy Potts]. It is by no means a race of endurance. Not even close. It is not a race that allows you to find your legs, to find a rhythm, to warm up and ease into your pace. In fact, it's the complete opposite. It's incredibly high heart-rate the entire way. If you feel like vomiting, you're pacing yourself correctly, only maybe you're not going quite hard enough because you haven't dry-heaved yet. That kind of race.

Normally this is the first [maybe second] race of the season for both Joe and I. But, true to the cheater he is, Joe's year is already well under way. Even though it's only April, he's already qualified for the Boston Marathon, and since that wasn't enough, he's raced two half-Ironmans, capping his most recent 70.3 with a 1:35 half-marathon. Not too shabby.

On the other hand, the Rookie will be my first race of '11, and though I've been spinning fairly regularly, my running [though my ankle is finally healthy for the first time in six months] and swimming are well behind where I'd like them to be. I've been sick for the past few days [my breathing especially tight], and I've felt the desire to sleep as much as Tess does. But on Sunday, none of that matters. You don't need six months [or even six weeks] to train for this race. You just need to go hard, and then hold on.

This race doesn't have quite the build-up of last year's [where Joe and I were racing in the same wave], but it should still be a good, close and intense contest, with the winner offering the loser a few gratuitous pointers, and the loser talking about how they flatted six times on the bike.

Joe: How'd you feel on the bike?

Ed: Not too bad. It's a shame I flatted six times.

Joe: You flatted six times?

Ed: Yeah. I'd say it probably cost me about a minute and forty seconds.

Joe: Funny. Because my bike split was a minute and thirty-nine seconds faster than yours.

Ed: Tell me about it. Imagine how much closer it would have been if I hadn't flatted that many times.

Joe: You're an idiot.

I'm excited that's it here again.

But it's still only Friday. I'm going to go back to bed, read about Churchill, and then get a nap before work and try and kick this bug I've been carrying. I'm hoping if I yell loud enough at the book, Churchill's colleagues will heed his warnings about the threat Hitler's Germany poses. We'll see how it goes.

30 Weeks

For anyone out there keeping track, today marks 30 weeks until IM Wisconsin. 30 weeks is only significant because it marks the official start of my training program. For IM Florida in 2009, the official start of my training was a bit of a moving target, influenced by factors such as weather, the amount of sleep I got the night before, how comfortable I was in bed when the alarm went off in the morning, or how badly Amelia guilted me into getting up and working out. But this time around I have summoned my pride and decided to make an honest go of getting the best results I can from my training by sticking to the plan. I even went to the gym this morning on what is supposed to be a rest day - because, honestly, I don't think you can really start Ironman training with a rest day. Tomorrow morning is my first swim practice since the week after IM Florida. Yes Uncle Pete, that's almost a year and a half. I'm planning on doing a 2500m pyramid in easy fashion, but realistically I'm just hoping that I still float in water. I am looking forward not to actually getting into the pool and swimming, but to making myself swim. I am especially not looking forward to Wednesday morning and doing my first transition workout since 2009 either since it includes some outdoor running. But I am looking forward to making myself do the transition workout. I'm looking forward to making myself shed the rust over the next few base training weeks because accomplishing these small goals builds momentum and starts permeating the other areas of my life that I have told myself I will be successful in this year. Ironman training is something I know, even if just at a basic level, and it gives me a starting point to change the things that I have wanted to change but didn't know how or where to begin. So here I go, one day at a time, one workout at a time. The next 30 weeks should be pretty amazing.

January Training

Most Januarys (or is it Januaries?) my training is pretty feeble. In Singapore, it was rainy season, and between the huge downpours and the homicidal drivers, I found myself doing much less riding and running than I wanted. I managed to get through it when I was doing Ironman Langkawi at the end of January, of course, but without the incentive of a race, I tended to be erratic in my training, doing what I could, but usually more for personal enjoyment than strategic outcomes. In DC, it is a different story, January is usually a month of snow and ice, which limit riding and running outdoors. Swimming in the dark, cold months is also a chore, so January 2010 and 2009 were low periods for me, with a few windtrainer sessions and the odd run thrown in; no structure, no real sense of gain.

Last week, despite snow and ice and sub-freezing temperatures, I did 17.5 hours' training, broken down roughly into 9 hours on the bike, 3 hours running, 3 hours riding and 2 hours in the gym. This week will be slightly more. I have never had a January like this, and I have to say that it feels terrific. I'd guess that 90-95% of my training is aerobic, usually topping out about 5 beats below my anaerobic threshold. This definitely makes the training easier to absorb. I get tired rather than shattered. A typical two days looks something like this:

Workouts for Thursday, January 20
Workout #1: Endurance Miles with Muscle Tension 3x15min
Type: Bike
Planned duration: 1:30
Planned distance: 0.0 miles
Muscle Tension 3x15min
Notes - How to do it: This workout should be performed on a long, moderate (5-8%) climb or on a trainer with your front wheel set on a slight incline, 4-6 inches above the normal horizontal plane to simulate your climbing position. Pedal cadence must be low, about 50-55 RPMs and the heart rate intensity is not important (because your legs are moving slow your heart rate will be low). Large gears (such as 53x12-15 up hill) are required to produce the low cadence and high muscle tension. Correct form must be strictly maintained during these intervals. Strong concentration is needed to keep your upper body absolutely smooth yet relaxed while concentrating on correct pedaling form (over the top and through the bottom of the pedal stroke).
Set 1 Duration: 15min Cadence: 50 - 55, RPE: 7
Set 2 Duration: 10min RPE: 5
Set 3 Duration: 15min Cadence: 50 - 55, RPE: 7
Set 4 Duration: 10min RPE: 5
Set 5 Duration: 15min Cadence: 50 - 55, RPE: 7
Workout #2: Endurance Run with Running Strides 4x12sec
Type: Run
Planned duration: 0:45
Planned distance: 0.0 miles
Running Strides 4x12sec
Notes - Goal: This workout is used to ease transitions between training cycles by keeping the fast twitch muscle fibers activated and teaching your body to be more dynamic. RunningStrides are done after the EnduranceRun is completed and after a light stretch. RunningStrides are also used after WarmUp to open the lungs and prepare the muscles for difficult efforts. RunningStrides coupled with a good WarmUp are essential for injury prevention. How to do it: On a flat, preferably grassy section (a football field is appropriate), run at 30-60 seconds below 5K race pace for about 100M or the time indicated in your program. Focus on your mechanics including foot strike, knee drive and arm swing. You will have between 3-8 RunningStrides. Recovery between the RunningStrides is an easy jog back to your starting point or 1 min.
Set 1 Duration: 12sec Distance: 50m, RPE: 7
Set 2 Duration: 60sec RPE: 5
Set 3 Duration: 12sec Distance: 50m, RPE: 7
Set 4 Duration: 60sec RPE: 5
Set 5 Duration: 12sec Distance: 50m, RPE: 7
Set 6 Duration: 60sec RPE: 5
Set 7 Duration: 12sec Distance: 50m, RPE: 7

Workouts for Friday, January 21
Workout #1: Endurance Swim
Type: Swim
Planned duration: 1:30
200m Warm Up
200m Kick
200m Pull
2x600m Base Interval Swim 15sec RBI
2x300m Pace Swim Set 10sec RBI
200m Cool Down
 
Oh, and with regard to the previous posting by stubborn Edward (no argument there; he may be the only person I know who makes his mother look reasonable), I was reading an article by Chris McCormack, who just won Hawaii for the second time, and he recommends yoga for others, and includes it 3 times a week in his own training.

Yoga

Believe it or not, I can be quite stubborn. I know, I know. More than a few of you are probably saying, "Ed, it's not being stubborn if you're always right." And I would be hard-pressed to disagree with you. But for the purpose of this blog, let's not argue. Let's just agree with my opening statement, however difficult it is to believe.

My stubbornness revealed itself to me, of all places, through yoga. You see, I was convinced that yoga, while restorative and many other good things, did not have a place in a triathlon training program. Especially mine. It was like cleaning the lint out of the dryer; nice to do if you have time, but not essential. After all, how could yoga make me a faster swimmer, bike-rider or runner when it didn't make me swim, ride or run? (Weight-training also fell by the wayside for similar reasons). And while I knew I was inflexible, embarrassingly so, I was getting great results at my races - beating people who could touch their noses to their knees. This was air-tight logic then.

But, as the saying goes, fortune favors change. (I think Mom told me that one). Or maybe it was that you shouldn't count the burning bridges before they change. Anyway. You get the idea.

Well, with the weather this week making it too cold and rainy to exercise outside, I trained indoors. Windtrainer. Weights. Spinning Classes. And since they were free, yoga classes.

-The windtrainer was what it always was and will be, though this time more tolerable because of Instant Netflix.
-The weights were nice, mainly because I'm past the stage where each lift is followed by paralytic soreness, and I'm starting to feel strong(er) again.
-The spin classes were fun (especially in the new shoes), though the music choice by the instructors leaves something to be desired, as does their obsession with having you get out of the saddle for five seconds and then sit down for five and then stand up for five... it doesn't exactly lead to a smooth ride.

But all of these were familiar, and I knew why I was doing them and how much progress I could make.

Yoga was a different story.

Going in, I expected to stretch and breathe and listen to quiet music. I did a bit of that, for sure. (I even bowed along with everyone else at the end of class and said "Namaste"). But I didn't realize the strength, the control that yoga demands. My legs burned holding chair pose and a variation of warrior pose and lots of other poses that I can't pronounce the name of. I dripped sweat trying to follow a supposedly "Restorative Yoga" class. Doing basic movements and holding basic positions were not as easy as they should be for someone who considers them-self in good shape.

After each class, I would leave feeling loose, but strong. I had stretched and strengthened - especially the muscles I rarely dedicate any time to intentionally stretch or strengthen.

And so it was born. Yoga is now part of the training routine. Starting off three times a week. Possibly building to four in a few months. There is plenty of room for growth - both in terms of flexibility and strength - but I look forward to it. And having tried it, I know it can only make me a better triathlete. Hell, maybe even a better person. I'm excited about all of it, no matter how slowly I progress.

Like Mom says, "Rome's bridges weren't burned in a day."

Interesting Conversations

I know that the capital of Mexico is Mexico City. I know a good portion of the multiplication table. I also know that my shoulder pops/grinds quite loudly, and if I press it at a certain point and time it correctly, I can get a reaction out of pretty much anybody (I seem to remember Ellie's face especially. She looked as if I had just vomited on myself).

Another piece of knowledge I have acquired over the years is that what interests me does not always interest others. In fact, it rarely does. I have come to know this is their fault, not mine.

For instance, I know that Carinne doesn't really care about the fact that:

-I bought new spin shoes [with spd cleats- which I've never used before], and they feel great, not only in comfort but also because there isn't nearly as much play in my pedals as before, with my shimano/ultegra pedals.

-The Jack and Adams team gear feels great. Especially the bib shorts, which I am looking forward to donning on a some long rides. And if nothing else, when I unzip my J&A top, I feel like a tour de france rider with the mesh-overalls showing.

-At the Pure Austin Quarry Lake location, I am excited about swimming in their lake because I won't have to flip-turn and I hate flip-turns. Also, I'm excited because two laps around the lake is roughly 1,500 meters, and that's convenient to measure a workout against. Plus, it will be good to get a few swim workouts in my wetsuit.

-Driving home from work yesterday, I caught the light right before I get on to I-35. I never get that light. Never. But I did yesterday.


These of course, are life's little victories. We all have them. Most of mine, I've discovered, are some way related to my training. (Running a ten mile Town Lake loop in a minute faster than before... Destroying Joe in T1... Buying a new Gu flavor and loving it). And these things happen and there is a sense of fulfillment. Of triumph. But just as I kind of zone out when Carinne talks about what happened in her dreams, I see that same distant look in her eyes when I talk about my bib shorts and how comfortable they really are, even on a windtrainer.

She is a work in progress, for sure, but with the patience I have inherited from my father, I will keep at it, keep relaying bits of information like: "It was a great run today. I didn't chafe at all," -- I will keep saying these things until she either finds them interesting, or abandons me. Though as she has said repeatedly, I am "the light of her life." Abandoning me, therefore, would leave her wallowing in the shadows. However, women are notoriously irrational. You can't put anything past them.

Well, I've got a phone call to make. I think Carinne needs to know that the new protein Gu powder I bought tastes milky and sticks to my throat, and will therefore be excluded from my diet. I will explain to her some other products I am considering, perhaps tossing in a few reservations about each one. I won't ask her opinion of course, but will toss her an easy question like "can you guess what I'm wearing right now?" just to keep her interested and distract her from talking about her dreams.

The Side of the Road

It is where they found the body of Jim Fixx, the author of "The Complete Book of Running" when he collapsed and died of a heart attack. It is where I have changed countless flats, including one in the dark, in the rain, on a hill, in winter on the way home from work. It is where aid stations and mile markers are located, and where you high-five family and friends during a race. The side of the road. It is the twilight zone of running and riding, a place you never think of, somewhere between the world of people who use the sidewalk and those who use the road. It is where, if you had been driving or riding along Beach Drive yesterday in the brisk 35 degrees of late morning, you would have passed me, running as fast as my battle-scarred legs would carry me for 8 minutes, so I have some numbers about heart rate and distance to share with my coach.

Based on these numbers, we will plan running workouts that will make me faster and stronger which, based on yesterday's effort, should not be hard. I suspect my feeling of sluggishness had something to do with the sub-freezing temperatures (there was a nice little breeze). I don't seem to operate as well when the temperature is below about 45. That is some sort of threshold for me. It always takes me about 15 minutes to feel like I am running, and 45-50 minutes to actually feel fluent. In the real cold of winter, I never really hit that second point, and I make the first by the slimmest of margins. My heart rate was higher in Panama City last Monday in a steady run than it was yesterday in a full-on effort. Go figure.

The real significance of all this is that, in the dark days of winter, I am laying the ground work for an exceptional year. I am training with a focus and a purpose, and I am in regular touch with a coach who sets workouts and helps me track progress and analyze results. My Garmin is going to be my new best friend, and I will be doing field tests every 8-12 weeks to see how I am improving. It's exciting, and I look forward to a year of great achievement, including perhaps a July visit to Lake Placid, to see what I can do on that course when I am in the sort of condition I should be after 6 solid months of work.

It has been a few years since I have raced as well as I can. I think I have become comfortable training in ways that I like, and neglecting the things that are really difficult. I have allowed speed to slip, and I have tended to run as I feel, rather than for a purpose. My nutrition has been hit-and-miss. This is all fine, unless you are 54 and wanting to excel, in which case you need to stop making excuses and start making smart decisions that will maximize the impact of your training. One thing that keeps me focused is another memory from the side of a road. On Alii Drive, near the beach where the Ironman starts, is a little marker. It is where the race finishes. I want to cross that line again. It is one of the greatest moments in life.

It begins

It has been 2011 for three days now, and I've been training for two of them. Nothing major; two windtrainer sessions where I turned up some good music and rolled the legs over, pushing the pace towards the end just to see what was remained in the legs and not finding much. This comes as no surprise, as I haven't been on my bike since October, or done anything since October. I took a much needed break: drank beer, read books, watched movies, and drank more beer. But it is no longer October. It is January, and has been for three days. And I am back on the bike, appreciating songs with steady drums.

Today was a fifty-minute windtrainer session, no heart-rate zones or intervals, just turning the pedals and sweating. I thought about lots of things, as you do when you aren't going anywhere. I missed my family, who are still by the beach and laughing at the little one who tells everyone to sit. I envisioned Wisconsin, what my legs would look like after nine months of good riding. I thought about my purpose, because I had read Jack Canfield in the morning. I thought how nice the bike sounded after our hibernation. I laughed at the end, when I gritted my teeth and had nothing. And the ride was over.

There is a long road between here and Ironman Wisconsin. A very long one. I know it. And if I train the way I want, it won't always be a pleasant route. It will push me to places I would rather not go, force me to ask questions and then live with the answers. It will take me up hills that destroy my legs and beneath water at 5 am when I'd rather be sleeping. I know it won't always be this much fun. But today, as I listened to a phenomenal song with a glorious drumbeat and powerful guitars and felt my legs scream like the lead singer's voice, it was.