Let me first lead off by thanking my sponsors and supporters: Team Ossenbrink, Sugoi, CycleOps, Speed Theory, TELUS, and (most importantly) my wife Jenny & son Eli. You all helped get me to the start line and through the finish chute.
The timing of my first Triathlon of the year, the Olympic-distance race (1.5km swim, 40km bike, 10km run) at the Suburu Vancouver International Triathlon, was chosen as it's a good time to test my physical and mental fitness to see where it is strong, progressing, and where it needs some work. When you race to your true current ability (not what you wish it to be, and to the max that it is), you get a good lesson from a ruthless, honest teacher: Reality.
I'm a time-crunched Triathlete; so much so that there was a whole issue of Triathlete magazine last month dedicated to the "time-crunched Triathlete" that I haven't had time to read yet. I make a point to keep my cycling fitness progressing, but if I have to drop a workout, the swim or the run go first. I sneak in short workouts in the morning, mid-length workouts at lunch, and sneak out early or negotiate with Jen for an after-work session. But none of these blocks are consistent. I work out when I can and do a workout that will maximize the time I have or tend to the sport where I'm slipping the most. It's these thoughts that are running through my mind as I drive to beautiful Jericho Beach in Vancouver, BC.
Pre-Race:
The forecast was for a perfect race temperature. Cool (but not too cool) ocean temps, low 20s on the bike, and mid 20s on the run. Perfect for me, though I do like a cooler run as I tend to get cramped legs at higher temps. Parking was a mess as all the half-ironman athletes and supporters arrived early and took the good spots. I spent way too much time finding parking and walking 2km to transition. I had a good spot in transition that allowed me to spread my stuff out. I'm pretty minimal with my setup but, nevertheless, I do like some real-estate to spread out on. I started to get my wetsuit on, then... of course... my metabolism advises me to make a detour. "Less than 10 minutes until start" rings the speaker system as I'm standing in line to obey my metabolism. That's always a tough call - stay in line and take whatever comes, knowing you'll have to stop again later, or suck it up. I always choose the former. Morale of this graphic story is that one should show up as early as possible to a race site.
Race - Swim:
The gun goes off... and I'm running to the beach. I get to the beach and realize I'm on the wrong part of the beach. I trek over to the correct part of the beach and bolt into the water, in last place. The leaders are half-way to the first turn, at least 200m up. I'm not swimming THAT bad these days so figure I can hit the first turn by the time the back of the pack gets there, then they'll spread out. I surprised myself and caught the pack sooner than I thought, which meant a melee at the first turn as the slower swimmers gasped and grabbed through the first turn. Because I caught the pack so soon, it meant I had to swim around people for the rest of the leg, dodging and weaving. I hit the shore of the second lap at over 31:00; I usually do this distance in a race under 25:00. Still, I was frustrated but I wasn't discouraged. I still had two legs to go.
Race - Bike:
Not my fastest transition but it's a longer run to my station and I wasn't trying to blaze through T1 and get onto the bike. I moved with purpose and got suited and ready to ride. I knew what I had to do on the bike; pass people. A lot of people.
It was now time to test my bike fitness. I had a hard week of training, but felt I could go out and push. Right out of the gate I was passing people. Then a bunch more people. Once I got to the hill at Spanish Banks, I eyeballed up the hill to see who I'd pass next. My voice was hoarse from yelling "ON THE LEFT!!!" by the time I got through wreck beach. Literally I think I got passed 5 times the whole bike leg, by the eventual winners of the waves that went after mine. I had a good confidence-boosting ride overall. I hit a bit of a blip about 2/3 the way through the ride and I just couldn't control my heart-rate and wattage, but once I got to the Jericho hill downhill, it was back to business. It does help that it's a section of the course that, if you've passed a bunch of people, doesn't have too many riders on it. And there's a lot of people cheering and it's an opportunity to show strength at the end of a tough bike ride to both the crowd (they're cheering for your strength, after all) and the final people you pass (intimidation is a good race tactic). Unfortunately for me, that strength would be bested.
Race - Run:
The reality was simple: I knew my run fitness is not where it should be and it would be tested today. I transitioned quickly and though my legs were like logs, I was spry for the first 2km. Once the course got technical and had some ascents/descents, I started to hurt and knew I'd be hanging on for another 8km. The frustrating part is that I've held a faster pace on much longer courses in the past. It's a piece of humble pie when you have to accept the result of the amount of work you've been able to put in.
Did I mention that I really don't like loose gravel-packed run courses? It's like running in quicksand.
The 2km to 8km in the run was non-eventful in the fact that nothing changed: I was not enjoying running. I got proper nutrition at each aid station to stave off a cramping calf muscle that was bugging my for the last two weeks and that I tore at the Ironman 70.3 World Championships in 2010.
The last 2km I tried to summon what I could and shave a few seconds off my eventual finish time of 2:31 and change. I have to admit that I didn't push those last 2km as hard as I could, since it wouldn't have mattered that much on the finish time.
I did get a fun 'celebrity' moment after finishing when the announcer who blurts out your name as you cross the line remarked "I always love the 'other hobbies' information our athletes provide. It says here that Jared cures and smokes his own Bacon". I was greeted with a roar of cheers and applause from spectators and volunteers. A few athletes afterwords asked if I was "the Bacon Guy" and asked if it's less-fatty/gluten-free/organic/100-mile etc. Of course I said yes to all of it cuz hey, I'm "The Bacon Guy".
Epilogue:
Here's what I learned this race:
- The next 7 weeks need to summon my best effort at being a less time-constrained Triathlete
- I need to get to the race site earlier to get to the race line on time
- I need to focus on the first 200m to 400m of the swim and get in with a group and have them drag me around the course
- I need to keep pushing my bike fitness - it's my strength and makes up the majority of the race
- I need to do more mid-distance high-intensity bricks off the bike. I need to remain strong for the first 5km
- I need to practice mentally "hanging on" during the last half of the run
- I need to add a bit of core and strength work right now to stave off fatigue during the bike and run
- On poor terrain, I need to shorten my stride and up my turnover rate.
- I need to trust my nutrition plan to do what it needs to (that was probably the flawless thing about my race)
- I need to eat a bit less bacon and drop 5 lbs
Happy racing everyone. See you at the next one: Point Grey Triathlon!
Monday, July 14, 2014
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Ok, self, let's get our butt in gear. Time to adapt, again.
Sorry for the hiatus. It hasn't just been a hiatus from blogging about Triathlon, but a hiatus in regular, recurring training as well. Winter and Spring this year had some unexpected challenges with work and the motivation/de-motivation that can sometimes come with not doing something you love for a living.
I am happy to announce, though, that things are changing. I'm back doing work that I enjoy and, though it's always stressful to change jobs, I feel like things are on the up again.
Luckily for me, my coach has been able to help me maintain a somewhat good base fitness. So now it's time to build. Race season is here and I'm looking forward to some training and some vitamin D! Eli has also joined me for a few workouts and likes to yell "faster! faster!" during hill repeats with the running stroller, especially when it's not possible to go any faster.
Sometimes life can get in the way but it's how you deal with it that counts. I'm still determined to be in my best shape ever for the ITU Triathlon Grand Final on September 1st. That's 3.5 months to build. Getting into my best shape with a busy job and a busy young family will be no small feat. I can't easily change either of those circumstances (nor do I want to). So it means I will need to adapt, again:
- Bring back the morning workout (though not every morning)
- Be strict about getting in a lunchtime workout
- A 30 lb stroller with a 35 lb toddler in it is a good training accessory
- Bring maximum quality to every minute that I find for training
Alight. Let's do this!
I am happy to announce, though, that things are changing. I'm back doing work that I enjoy and, though it's always stressful to change jobs, I feel like things are on the up again.
Luckily for me, my coach has been able to help me maintain a somewhat good base fitness. So now it's time to build. Race season is here and I'm looking forward to some training and some vitamin D! Eli has also joined me for a few workouts and likes to yell "faster! faster!" during hill repeats with the running stroller, especially when it's not possible to go any faster.
Sometimes life can get in the way but it's how you deal with it that counts. I'm still determined to be in my best shape ever for the ITU Triathlon Grand Final on September 1st. That's 3.5 months to build. Getting into my best shape with a busy job and a busy young family will be no small feat. I can't easily change either of those circumstances (nor do I want to). So it means I will need to adapt, again:
- Bring back the morning workout (though not every morning)
- Be strict about getting in a lunchtime workout
- A 30 lb stroller with a 35 lb toddler in it is a good training accessory
- Bring maximum quality to every minute that I find for training
Alight. Let's do this!
Thursday, February 6, 2014
Why you should consider watching the Sochi Olympics
Dear Sochi (justified) Boycotter,
I will watch the Winter Olympics in Sochi. I will do so happily, but not without personal struggle
I will rarely watch live and prefer to PVR and fast forward through the commercials because the sponsors pay for their brief airtime with me. I will watch not because of national pride but because I want to celebrate my closest neighbours participating. I will watch not because I agree with the practices of the host nation; in this case I deplore the practices of this particular host.
I will watch because the athletes participating did not choose these particular Olympic games to participate in. They were chosen. Though Men's Hockey and a few specific athletes in other sports do make a lot of money, the vast majority of these elite athletes barely scrape by, relying on family, friends, and a side job. Their chosen profession is not celebrated properly except for 2 weeks every 4 years.
I watch the Olympics because I can sympathize with the story of the unsung elite athlete. The resolve it takes to completely dedicate your mind and body to seeing how far the human body and spirit can be pushed takes a self-consuming focus, dedication, and belief that our limits are tested but not finite. These athletes are struggling with competing in these particular Olympics. Does the pursuit of redefining physical limit outweigh everything else. Everything else these athletes have given up suggests that to them it does. To them it must. You can't give your life to something and not follow through, no matter what.
If you decide not to watch, I can completely understand.
But consider taking a look your chosen path/passion/profession. At the thing you've dedicated every available moment, every available cell of your body to pursuing. Remember it has come with some or many sacrifices. For the unsung athlete, in the majority of cases, the sacrifice is that you put family on hold, you put a financially gainful career on hold, you put relationships on hold. Your best friend is your sweat, pain, and belief. Pretend you were the best artist, the best banker, the best electrician, the best consultant, the best carpenter, the best doctor, etc. Imagine being devalued because people didn’t like the country you practiced your passion in. They didn’t like who sponsored your profession. They decided that your ability didn’t matter because you were given privilege to practice what you do.
Some countries with a strong Olympic record reward successful Olympic performance. Many with that same record do not. I say that only to reinforce that they are playing on a level field. They see each other as fellow competitors. They are not competing for your favour, their family’s favour, their friend’s favour, or their country’s favour. That favour is simply motivation and support for what their ultimate goal is: the performance that matches their best potential. For every athlete who achieves it, their sacrifice will be worth it. If it happens that it is the current recorded best on the entire Planet Earth, even just on that day?… …well… imagine for a second, for a split second, the personal pride you would feel. The pride that goes with living a humble life in order to pursue something that seems wildly ambitious, naive, and fantastic.
My schooling involved deep study of the Olympic movement. I would like to bring an accessible perspective of what it means to compete.
Citius, Altius, Fortius is not a motto meant for the IOC, not sponsors, not the host nation. It is a motto for a person who wants to physically manifest it. To that kind of person it always has, and it always will, been a drive and a dream.
Consider tuning in.
With the warmest regards,
Irondad.
Saturday, January 18, 2014
Accidental hiatus and trying to regain focus
It's been quite a while since I posted. And primarily it's been because I haven't had much to post about. The truth of the matter is that I haven't been training consistently since last summer for a variety of reasons. Nevertheless I got picked up again by Triathlon Canada to represent our country at the ITU World Triathlon Grand Final (Olympic distance) being held in Edmonton, AB, Canada (not a glamorous venue, but it does mean a ton of my family can come). I'm also again getting fantastic support from Sugoi Performance Apparel (www.sugoi.com)
So why am I not training like my usual self? The truth is that it's been a lot tougher than I thought trying to balance family, work, and Triathlon when you have a young family. It takes a toll on your motivation to train when you constantly miss workouts for a variety of legit reasons.
Training effectively requires a very structured approach. When the rest of your life is unstructured right now, it's hard to follow a structured training regime. My workouts right now tend to need to fit into whatever time magically appears in my schedule and wherever (geographically) I happen to be at that time. For example, let's say I have a bike and swim workout scheduled on a particular day but the only time that opens up is during the lunch hour and I'm no where near my bike or a pool. Well, pretty much that day is a write-off if I'm following a structured training approach. So I finish the day a bit disheartened and without the endorphin kick I get from training. Multiply that by x number of days over y number of weeks and you can understand why someone who is extremely structured by habit can find themselves frustrated and demotivated. Especially when you have hired a coach.
So clearly a normal child-free, stable work commitments, regular schedule kind of approach won't work for me anymore. What now? I'm looking for suggestions on what to try, but here's my current plan.
- Make sure I always have the right gear in my car in case an opportunity for a workout presents itself
- Start running and biking more with Eli in the Chariot
- Sunday morning swims with Eli will be treated as kick sets where I push him around on the foam rafts (which he loves)
- Treat the regimented day by day schedule as a list for the week rather than for the day. Move around workouts as required but following good training principles (e.g. don't do two hard breakthrough workouts consecutively)
- Be more proud of the training I can do and less frustrated by what I cannot.
--IronDad
So why am I not training like my usual self? The truth is that it's been a lot tougher than I thought trying to balance family, work, and Triathlon when you have a young family. It takes a toll on your motivation to train when you constantly miss workouts for a variety of legit reasons.
Training effectively requires a very structured approach. When the rest of your life is unstructured right now, it's hard to follow a structured training regime. My workouts right now tend to need to fit into whatever time magically appears in my schedule and wherever (geographically) I happen to be at that time. For example, let's say I have a bike and swim workout scheduled on a particular day but the only time that opens up is during the lunch hour and I'm no where near my bike or a pool. Well, pretty much that day is a write-off if I'm following a structured training approach. So I finish the day a bit disheartened and without the endorphin kick I get from training. Multiply that by x number of days over y number of weeks and you can understand why someone who is extremely structured by habit can find themselves frustrated and demotivated. Especially when you have hired a coach.
So clearly a normal child-free, stable work commitments, regular schedule kind of approach won't work for me anymore. What now? I'm looking for suggestions on what to try, but here's my current plan.
- Make sure I always have the right gear in my car in case an opportunity for a workout presents itself
- Start running and biking more with Eli in the Chariot
- Sunday morning swims with Eli will be treated as kick sets where I push him around on the foam rafts (which he loves)
- Treat the regimented day by day schedule as a list for the week rather than for the day. Move around workouts as required but following good training principles (e.g. don't do two hard breakthrough workouts consecutively)
- Be more proud of the training I can do and less frustrated by what I cannot.
--IronDad
Sunday, July 28, 2013
"Challenge accepted" or "How I came to respect short-course"
Before my race report, let me first start with a big shout-out to Sugoi. For the second straight year, I'm a sponsored Sugoi Brand Champion. For anyone who trains with Sugoi stuff, you know why this is so cool.
Now the race report.
For the first time after a race, my body is begging for a nap. Pleading, in fact.
Today I did my first short-course Triathlon (700m swim, ~20km bike, 5km run). Sounds simple, right? After all, I've competed in a few Olympic, many Half-Ironman, and a full Ironman distance event. This race is sooo short by comparison. Well, today I learned why I tend toward long-course: I'm a big sissy.
To use a graphic example: The pain of Triathlon is akin to being cut slowly by a dagger, depending on race distance. The shorter the distance, the deeper the dagger but shorter the wound. The goal is to survive to the finish before you bleed out. Short-course is a deep excruciating stab and some sawing, but it's over quick whereas long-distance is a bit duller pain for a much longer time.
And as it turns out, I've become accustomed to less pain sustained over a long duration. Whereas today, it was deep pain but it was over quick.
Today's challenge was to see how willing I was to go down into the pain cave and "embrace the suck" and then try and hang on. Turns out I need need to toughen up.
I think I had a good first race at this distance. I came into it with ok fitness but with physical wrath from a new sport I'm trying (Tennis). The tennis the day before certainly messed with my swim and aspects of my bike & run. Still, my output was ok.
Mentally, coming from long-course to short-course it's a totally different learned behaviour. In long-course it's about conserving energy, being efficient, and slowly executing your strategy. There's lots of time to think through that strategy. I have always raced this way.
For short-course, every leg is over quite quickly. There's no room for in-race strategy. It's "run: go hard. bike: go hard. run: go hard and survive". So in-race strategy becomes in-race tactics: "In how much pain am I?", "Who's ahead of me and what do I need to do RIGHT NOW to catch them and break them". It's a game of hurt: put deep & harsh hurt into others while you survive your own.
I've never played this kind of game in Triathlon before. I'm really excited for this new challenge.
One last analogy for those who like analogies. Short-course Triathlon is like waging battle. Long-course Triathlon is like waging war.
Now the race report.
For the first time after a race, my body is begging for a nap. Pleading, in fact.
Today I did my first short-course Triathlon (700m swim, ~20km bike, 5km run). Sounds simple, right? After all, I've competed in a few Olympic, many Half-Ironman, and a full Ironman distance event. This race is sooo short by comparison. Well, today I learned why I tend toward long-course: I'm a big sissy.
To use a graphic example: The pain of Triathlon is akin to being cut slowly by a dagger, depending on race distance. The shorter the distance, the deeper the dagger but shorter the wound. The goal is to survive to the finish before you bleed out. Short-course is a deep excruciating stab and some sawing, but it's over quick whereas long-distance is a bit duller pain for a much longer time.
And as it turns out, I've become accustomed to less pain sustained over a long duration. Whereas today, it was deep pain but it was over quick.
Today's challenge was to see how willing I was to go down into the pain cave and "embrace the suck" and then try and hang on. Turns out I need need to toughen up.
I think I had a good first race at this distance. I came into it with ok fitness but with physical wrath from a new sport I'm trying (Tennis). The tennis the day before certainly messed with my swim and aspects of my bike & run. Still, my output was ok.
Mentally, coming from long-course to short-course it's a totally different learned behaviour. In long-course it's about conserving energy, being efficient, and slowly executing your strategy. There's lots of time to think through that strategy. I have always raced this way.
For short-course, every leg is over quite quickly. There's no room for in-race strategy. It's "run: go hard. bike: go hard. run: go hard and survive". So in-race strategy becomes in-race tactics: "In how much pain am I?", "Who's ahead of me and what do I need to do RIGHT NOW to catch them and break them". It's a game of hurt: put deep & harsh hurt into others while you survive your own.
I've never played this kind of game in Triathlon before. I'm really excited for this new challenge.
One last analogy for those who like analogies. Short-course Triathlon is like waging battle. Long-course Triathlon is like waging war.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Race Report: ITU Long Distance Triathlon World Championships
As most know by now, I was fortunate enough to have been selected to the Canadian team for the ITU Long Distance Triathlon World Championships for my age group (35-39 yr olds).
To sum up the experience is easy:
Travelling in Team Canada apparel, racing in a Team Canada uniform with my name on it, and hearing family, friends, and complete strangers (many Canadians themselves, but most were not) throughout the bike and run courses shout "Go, CANADA, GO!!" or "Alez, Canada, ALEZ!!" will go down as one of the most proud and humbling experiences I was ever given the privilege to experience. I tested myself against the best field of racers I've ever encountered and learned everything I intended.
To detail the experience requires a few more words:
Being Irondad has become a more challenging quest this past year. In Triathlon, I have set progressively more challenging goals for myself and become a little bit better each year. My life as a dad has changed too: Eli is 2+ and wants to do more together and I, as a result, want to do more with him too. My career is giving me a lot of enjoyment and I want to put the time in to be successful there. And perhaps most of all I'm trying to figure out how to be a better partner to Jen and give her the space to find herself the way she gave me the space to do so. My spring training and racing was wrapped in these overtones.
Like most Triathletes, I'm a "Type A": I want to be good at and control everything I do. But this spring I had the realization that I'm at a point where I cannot be the best at everything I want to be while keeping so many interests/hobbies/relationships active in my life. To analogize: there are too many little leaks in the hull of my ship and I can't fix them properly before another one springs up. Before long, I will burn out plugging leaks, a leak will grow too big to fix, or the hull will crack and the ship will sink. This spring, I spent all my time plugging leaks; in relationships, at work, in training. The hull is still intact but it's clear a change is near.
For me, this World Championship experience would be the exclamation point that would mark this change. My fitness was decent, my will was there, and I wanted this moment for me, my family, and my other supporters. I'm happy to say that in this regard the race was a success.
...but enough introspection. Here's the race report:
PREFACE:
The days leading up to the race were really fun. It was a ton of fun hanging out with my team mates and my Vancouver crew all decked out in our Team Canada gear.
Jen and Eli were giving me a ton of support. Neither adjusted that quickly to the time change and Jen was doing her best to ensure I could get the rest I needed at night.
Belfort, France was unseasonably cold. The air was 10-15 degrees cooler than normal and the water was 7 degrees cooler than normal. This would mean water temperatures of 13 degrees and an air temperature at the start of the bike of 8 degrees. Because of the coldness of the water and the fact that athletes would not be able to warm up after due to the air temperature, the swim was cancelled. The race would now be a Duathlon:
10km run; 87km ride; 20km run.
I've never done a Duathlon before and it would prove to be an eye opener. The implications of the change were significant:
- Fast swimmers would no longer have an advantage on the planned 4km swim
- Instead of 20% of the distance of the 146km race being running, 27% of the 117km race would be running; a circumstance that favoured strong runners.
- The bike course was shortened from 112km to 87km. This meant that strong cyclists and runners could hammer the bike much harder than normal
- Splitting the 30km into two meant that strong cyclists could hammer the bike and not lose as much time on the run as a result, as 20km means less distance to lose time on that 30km.
So my plan had become:
- Do the first 10km run just shy of an open 10km effort (for me, that's means a heart-rate of about 170-174)
- Hammer the bike as best as possible to catch and overtake the fast runners
- Pace the last 20km run like a Half-Ironman run (for me, that's a heart rate of 165)
- Fuel like a Half-Ironman with one small change: Gel before the first 10km run, don't take anything during the run, drink/gel as soon as settled on the bike (this is the change. Normally I don't take anything in the first 30 minutes on the bike so my body can warm up and absorb calories/liquid), take a gel ever 20 minutes on the bike, liquid as required. On the last run, consume what you can take in. Go Cola when it feels right and try not to have a burp turn to barf.
I also made some equipment changes for this race due to course and weather:
- Road bike with ITU-style aero pursuit bars (BMC Team Machine) instead of TT/Tri bike (Trek Speed Concept 9)
- Thin Merino wool socks for the race
- Toe covers on bike shoes
- Compressport Tri shorts under ITU one-piece uniform
- Compressport Tri top under ITU one-piece uniform
- Warm but thin-ish cycling gloves for the bike
- "Vest" made of foil emergency blanket
- Sugoi Hydrolite jacket for the bike
- Sugoi knee warmers for the bike
- Bento Box on road bike with large flask of gel
- Travel pill bags used to hold salt tabs
Some of these things I will absolutely do again. Some are a coin toss. Some were unnecessary. Some were dumb.
10k RUN:
The gun went off for the 10km first run and I absolutely panicked in the first kilometre. Fast runners were pulling ahead, bigger runners (presumably strong cyclists) were pulling the rear, and I was in no-man's land in the middle. My heart rate was also rising quickly. My thoughts quickly went to thinking that I needed to keep the front pack in sight, or I would have too big a gap to close on the bike. I was running well under 3:55 per km pace (fast for me for 10km) and my heart rate was creeping up even more. Running through the Alsace countryside, we came across some cows and bulls staring at us thinking we were crazy. Understanding their sentiment, I looked down at my watch and saw that my heart-rate had climbed into 180+. This is not a pace I could sustain and hope to have a good bike after. Yet, I didn't want to lose any more time against the front group. A couple mid-packers like myself caught up and we basically hung onto eachother the rest of the run race. My heart-rate never got on track and I was well into debt from a fuel and lactate point of view, having run a deficit for the first portion of this long race.
T1:
Run THEN bike? What the what-now? I had no idea how to transition this. Still I sped along into the change tent, threw on my knee warmers, put on my hydrolite jacket for the cold/rain, took my shoes to the bike, and .... shit. my gloves were still in the transition bag in the change tent. I thought to myself "I can go without gloves and save transition time, or I can go get them and not freeze in the rain and ice-fog". I opted not to freeze (smart choice, which I don't usually make). Back to the change tent to fish through the transition bags to find my gloves. That cost considerable time.
BIKE:
Having run first meant my heart-rate was higher than normal. I got onto the bike and my HR was around 155. I settled in and started to take gels from the flask and water. Then the uber bikers (big Danish, German, Dutch, etc. people) started overtaking me right away. I looked at my bike computer and my HR was still 155. Usually, this means a power output of about 230 watts or just over 3.2 watts/kilo. But it was like I was standing still. These guys were blowing past everyone. All on their TT/Tri bikes, making me question my bike choice. I was also now feeling the result of running way too deep beyond lactate threshold on the run. My legs were dead and dragging. I suffered through this blow to my ego for 20km when finally I had flushed my legs out enough to actually get some efforts together.
Then about 30km into the bike, it happened again: A crash. An Aussie guy just all-of-a-sudden went down. The 3 of us behind him (me at the very back) tried to stop, but crashed right into him and each other. I had mostly stopped when I hit him and rolled right as the others rolled left. I took the crash on my calf, hip, and forearm. I didn't hit him fast enough to have unclipped from my bike, so I ended up on my back with my bike above me. I unclipped as the course volunteers ran over, gave all a once-over, then let us proceed. Fortunately this time my bike was in full working order, but my forearm impact made being on the ITU pursuit bars quite painful.
But the biggest challenge on the bike was fuel. My flask of gel was not liquified enough and wouldn't pass through the nozzle of the bottle. I had packed a few extra gels in packages and had to use them very early and toss my bottle of gel. I had to rely on triple concentrated drink. As well, my full-gloves meant I couldn't get my salt tabs open in their little baggy. These kinds of mishaps and decisions cost hundreds of calories and grams of electrolytes. Things it would turn out I needed.
I pulled it back together and headed to the course's jewel element: "Le Ballon d'Alsace". This is a long, steep, and relentless climb up a mountain the size of Cypress mountain in Vancouver. This is where I'd hoped my road bike would shine, and shine it did. I was passing people. Lots of people. The only time I was passed was by this tiny Japanese team guy who was on a mission. I did have to stop to remove my hydrolite jacket as I was getting really hot. But other than that I climbed like a champ.
At the top of the hill it was cold, wet, and ice-fog. I stopped to try and put my jacket back on but it was buried too deep in my jersey. I would have to rely on my emergency-blanket vest. The vest worked, but my legs were numbing out on the decent. It was very fast and technical and my courage and skills were not up to the challenge. While the Europeans were descending like crazy people, I descended purposefully but carefully and am happy for it: I caught the Japanese athlete that had passed me on the uphill. He was on his back, helmet partially over his face, his bike in the ditch, and knocked out cold. He was being swarmed by medical staff.
The last part of the bike I pushed it as hard as I could with my frozen limbs.
The bike course was a ton of fun. It had everything a race in the French countryside should have: winding roads through little towns, cobble stones, rough farm roads, and fans shouting and cheering. It was absolutely awesome. I wish I could ride this kind of course all the time.
T2:
Stripped off my cycling stuff and went pretty fast through it. My legs weren't really up for another run as I started to run out.
20km RUN:
Now that I knew the run course, I thought I knew what to expect and maybe could even push the pace a bit. But within the first kilometre, my nutrition mishaps materialized into real issues: my hamstrings were cramping and seizing. I had to stop running, stretch out, and run very carefully after that. But I was going to leave everything I had on the course and not let up. I was wearing a national uniform and I was wearing the pride and humility that goes with it.
I was able to hold nearly target pace until the mid-point where my quads, hamstrings, and calves were twitching and threatening. The whole way, I focussed on getting salt and sugar back into my body. I started on cola right away, was jamming in my gels, and taking water to wash it all down.
And unique for me on the run was passing people suffering worse than me. With all the pace and nutrition mishaps, I was still moving with some strength. I was now passing super-bikers who went too hard or aren't really runners to begin with. I was passing people who were bested by the bike course and challenging hills on the run.
At 9km I finally got to see Jen, Eli, and Jeff & Vera (my in-laws). I was so happy and proud.
Through the course I could see other team members going strong and others fading slightly. I decided I'd catch up to my team members and try and push them along. I caught up to one of my tri-friends from Vancouver, Stephen, in the last 4 kms. I pulled ahead and was hoping he'd catch up and could have some Canadians cross the finish line together. And he did pull up... after my hamstring seized again with under 3km to go. I walked it out for a bit but never really found it let up. "Dude. No. No. Can you still run?", asked Stephen. Nope. I was fully seized up. But I needed to get running again. So I found a modified stride that let me limber up enough and I held it for the last 3km. I wasn't moving fast but I was running and even caught up with Stephen again with under one kilometre to go.
I was cheered all the way to the finish. "ALEZ CANADA!!!" Many thanks to my father-in-law who cheered me to the finish line as I completed my first ever race for Team Canada.
I finally found Jen, Eli, Jeff, and Vera after the race. It was a long day for them too, suffering in the cold, wet, and mud. Aside from seeing me on the run and after the race, they did say the highlight of the race was the mulled wine they served as refreshment. Clearly a perk of racing in Europe.
FINAL RACE THOUGHTS:
I'm working out what the rest of this season will be. I've got 2 early-season races in already and could have a big year if I really pushed hard. But that won't be this year. Here's my lessons/plans resulting from race-day lessons-learned and ideas for staying "the best":
- There are very very few occasions in a Triathlon or Duathlon where a road bike is a better choice than a TT bike. If you want to tinker, do it with wheels first, but a change to road from TT deserves very careful thought.
- In cold temperatures, tape your gels to your bike rather than flask them.
- Proper zone pacing should be a bible not a recommendation. In a long-distance race you're racing yourself more than your competition. Park your ego and be smart.
- I got badly beat at my best event: the bike. I need to work on on top-end strength.
- It's time for me to change my Triathlon plans. At least in the near-term. I need more non-Tri time and I need to be faster. That means I need to shift to short-course and go find some needed time with my family.
- I need to have a summer that isn't just about Triathlon. I do need a summer about making improvement to the elements, but not one that is as all-consuming as the past few years. To keep it simple, I need a summer off from long-distance Tri to find a balance with my family and to shore up some glaring weaknesses in my game.
EPILOGUE:
My goal for the race was to have a "perfect race". My penultimate goal was to not be the last person in my age group. I've raced at a high level relative to my investment for many years. This field was the strongest I've ever put myself up against, even in the Ironman 70.3 World Championships in 2010; the Europeans are a force.
I'm still searching for that "perfect race", but I wasn't last; I was 64 of 84 in my division and where I'd hoped I'd be.
But what this race confirmed is that if I wanted to race faster, aside for the few race-day issues, I would need to put in more focussed and consistent training effort in the months/years leading up to it. This isn't an investment I would make right now, given everything else I want to be the best at. I showed up to this race as well prepared as I was willing to be. I put myself up against very very fit and talented people and saw where I am currently measured. I'm happy with where that is: many minutes from the least successful, within only a few minutes of a big middle group of high achievers, but still within many minutes of the best of my age.
I'm now in Lisbon and many days have passed since my race. This is always a litmus test: after a few days from racing, how do I feel? I can honestly say I feel proud and humbled. Minus a few dumb things on race day, I would not have raced it much different: I would take the same risks, relied on the same nutrition, and played the course the same way.
I would have tried to find a few more workouts, but none that would have edged me out over others; I would have needed to put in several more hours that I did not have available to invest.
I would have liked for my own parents and siblings to be at the race. Jen's parents know how much our family invests because they're around it all the time. My parents know how much I invest, too, because they see me race often. But the two worlds haven't met in a while and they should. Plus I bet my Mom and Dad would be pretty proud seeing me cross a finish line in Team Canada gear.
And to keep score on my gear choices, here's the results:
- Road bike with ITU-style aero pursuit bars (BMC Team Machine) instead of TT/Tri bike (Trek Speed Concept 9) - NO! TT would have been faster, although i may have got hurt.
- Thin Merino wool socks for the race - YES! Worked like a charm.
- Toe covers on bike shoes - YES! Worked like a charm.
- Compressport Tri shorts under ITU one-piece uniform - YES! Worked like a charm. In fact the most comfy ever.
- Compressport Tri top under ITU one-piece uniform - YES! Worked like a charm.
- Warm but thin-ish cycling gloves for the bike - YES! Worked like a charm.
- "Vest" made of foil emergency blanket - YES! Worked like a charm.
- Sugoi Hydrolite jacket for the bike - NO! Got way to hot and was not aero.
- Sugoi knee warmers for the bike - YES! Worked like a charm.
- Bento Box on road bike with large flask of gel - NO! Tape those gels. Flask is dumb on the bike.
- Travel pill bags used to hold salt tabs - NO! Those bags are too tough to open and basically good for what they're advertised to do: nothing gets in, nothing gets out.
I'd also like to sincerely thank my wife, son, family, friends, and coach for all their support in helping me get here in one piece. It means a lot.
Finally, congratulations to my team mates and competitors on their races.
To sum up the experience is easy:
Travelling in Team Canada apparel, racing in a Team Canada uniform with my name on it, and hearing family, friends, and complete strangers (many Canadians themselves, but most were not) throughout the bike and run courses shout "Go, CANADA, GO!!" or "Alez, Canada, ALEZ!!" will go down as one of the most proud and humbling experiences I was ever given the privilege to experience. I tested myself against the best field of racers I've ever encountered and learned everything I intended.
To detail the experience requires a few more words:
Being Irondad has become a more challenging quest this past year. In Triathlon, I have set progressively more challenging goals for myself and become a little bit better each year. My life as a dad has changed too: Eli is 2+ and wants to do more together and I, as a result, want to do more with him too. My career is giving me a lot of enjoyment and I want to put the time in to be successful there. And perhaps most of all I'm trying to figure out how to be a better partner to Jen and give her the space to find herself the way she gave me the space to do so. My spring training and racing was wrapped in these overtones.
Like most Triathletes, I'm a "Type A": I want to be good at and control everything I do. But this spring I had the realization that I'm at a point where I cannot be the best at everything I want to be while keeping so many interests/hobbies/relationships active in my life. To analogize: there are too many little leaks in the hull of my ship and I can't fix them properly before another one springs up. Before long, I will burn out plugging leaks, a leak will grow too big to fix, or the hull will crack and the ship will sink. This spring, I spent all my time plugging leaks; in relationships, at work, in training. The hull is still intact but it's clear a change is near.
For me, this World Championship experience would be the exclamation point that would mark this change. My fitness was decent, my will was there, and I wanted this moment for me, my family, and my other supporters. I'm happy to say that in this regard the race was a success.
...but enough introspection. Here's the race report:
PREFACE:
The days leading up to the race were really fun. It was a ton of fun hanging out with my team mates and my Vancouver crew all decked out in our Team Canada gear.
Jen and Eli were giving me a ton of support. Neither adjusted that quickly to the time change and Jen was doing her best to ensure I could get the rest I needed at night.
Belfort, France was unseasonably cold. The air was 10-15 degrees cooler than normal and the water was 7 degrees cooler than normal. This would mean water temperatures of 13 degrees and an air temperature at the start of the bike of 8 degrees. Because of the coldness of the water and the fact that athletes would not be able to warm up after due to the air temperature, the swim was cancelled. The race would now be a Duathlon:
10km run; 87km ride; 20km run.
I've never done a Duathlon before and it would prove to be an eye opener. The implications of the change were significant:
- Fast swimmers would no longer have an advantage on the planned 4km swim
- Instead of 20% of the distance of the 146km race being running, 27% of the 117km race would be running; a circumstance that favoured strong runners.
- The bike course was shortened from 112km to 87km. This meant that strong cyclists and runners could hammer the bike much harder than normal
- Splitting the 30km into two meant that strong cyclists could hammer the bike and not lose as much time on the run as a result, as 20km means less distance to lose time on that 30km.
So my plan had become:
- Do the first 10km run just shy of an open 10km effort (for me, that's means a heart-rate of about 170-174)
- Hammer the bike as best as possible to catch and overtake the fast runners
- Pace the last 20km run like a Half-Ironman run (for me, that's a heart rate of 165)
- Fuel like a Half-Ironman with one small change: Gel before the first 10km run, don't take anything during the run, drink/gel as soon as settled on the bike (this is the change. Normally I don't take anything in the first 30 minutes on the bike so my body can warm up and absorb calories/liquid), take a gel ever 20 minutes on the bike, liquid as required. On the last run, consume what you can take in. Go Cola when it feels right and try not to have a burp turn to barf.
I also made some equipment changes for this race due to course and weather:
- Road bike with ITU-style aero pursuit bars (BMC Team Machine) instead of TT/Tri bike (Trek Speed Concept 9)
- Thin Merino wool socks for the race
- Toe covers on bike shoes
- Compressport Tri shorts under ITU one-piece uniform
- Compressport Tri top under ITU one-piece uniform
- Warm but thin-ish cycling gloves for the bike
- "Vest" made of foil emergency blanket
- Sugoi Hydrolite jacket for the bike
- Sugoi knee warmers for the bike
- Bento Box on road bike with large flask of gel
- Travel pill bags used to hold salt tabs
Some of these things I will absolutely do again. Some are a coin toss. Some were unnecessary. Some were dumb.
10k RUN:
The gun went off for the 10km first run and I absolutely panicked in the first kilometre. Fast runners were pulling ahead, bigger runners (presumably strong cyclists) were pulling the rear, and I was in no-man's land in the middle. My heart rate was also rising quickly. My thoughts quickly went to thinking that I needed to keep the front pack in sight, or I would have too big a gap to close on the bike. I was running well under 3:55 per km pace (fast for me for 10km) and my heart rate was creeping up even more. Running through the Alsace countryside, we came across some cows and bulls staring at us thinking we were crazy. Understanding their sentiment, I looked down at my watch and saw that my heart-rate had climbed into 180+. This is not a pace I could sustain and hope to have a good bike after. Yet, I didn't want to lose any more time against the front group. A couple mid-packers like myself caught up and we basically hung onto eachother the rest of the run race. My heart-rate never got on track and I was well into debt from a fuel and lactate point of view, having run a deficit for the first portion of this long race.
T1:
Run THEN bike? What the what-now? I had no idea how to transition this. Still I sped along into the change tent, threw on my knee warmers, put on my hydrolite jacket for the cold/rain, took my shoes to the bike, and .... shit. my gloves were still in the transition bag in the change tent. I thought to myself "I can go without gloves and save transition time, or I can go get them and not freeze in the rain and ice-fog". I opted not to freeze (smart choice, which I don't usually make). Back to the change tent to fish through the transition bags to find my gloves. That cost considerable time.
BIKE:
Having run first meant my heart-rate was higher than normal. I got onto the bike and my HR was around 155. I settled in and started to take gels from the flask and water. Then the uber bikers (big Danish, German, Dutch, etc. people) started overtaking me right away. I looked at my bike computer and my HR was still 155. Usually, this means a power output of about 230 watts or just over 3.2 watts/kilo. But it was like I was standing still. These guys were blowing past everyone. All on their TT/Tri bikes, making me question my bike choice. I was also now feeling the result of running way too deep beyond lactate threshold on the run. My legs were dead and dragging. I suffered through this blow to my ego for 20km when finally I had flushed my legs out enough to actually get some efforts together.
Then about 30km into the bike, it happened again: A crash. An Aussie guy just all-of-a-sudden went down. The 3 of us behind him (me at the very back) tried to stop, but crashed right into him and each other. I had mostly stopped when I hit him and rolled right as the others rolled left. I took the crash on my calf, hip, and forearm. I didn't hit him fast enough to have unclipped from my bike, so I ended up on my back with my bike above me. I unclipped as the course volunteers ran over, gave all a once-over, then let us proceed. Fortunately this time my bike was in full working order, but my forearm impact made being on the ITU pursuit bars quite painful.
But the biggest challenge on the bike was fuel. My flask of gel was not liquified enough and wouldn't pass through the nozzle of the bottle. I had packed a few extra gels in packages and had to use them very early and toss my bottle of gel. I had to rely on triple concentrated drink. As well, my full-gloves meant I couldn't get my salt tabs open in their little baggy. These kinds of mishaps and decisions cost hundreds of calories and grams of electrolytes. Things it would turn out I needed.
I pulled it back together and headed to the course's jewel element: "Le Ballon d'Alsace". This is a long, steep, and relentless climb up a mountain the size of Cypress mountain in Vancouver. This is where I'd hoped my road bike would shine, and shine it did. I was passing people. Lots of people. The only time I was passed was by this tiny Japanese team guy who was on a mission. I did have to stop to remove my hydrolite jacket as I was getting really hot. But other than that I climbed like a champ.
At the top of the hill it was cold, wet, and ice-fog. I stopped to try and put my jacket back on but it was buried too deep in my jersey. I would have to rely on my emergency-blanket vest. The vest worked, but my legs were numbing out on the decent. It was very fast and technical and my courage and skills were not up to the challenge. While the Europeans were descending like crazy people, I descended purposefully but carefully and am happy for it: I caught the Japanese athlete that had passed me on the uphill. He was on his back, helmet partially over his face, his bike in the ditch, and knocked out cold. He was being swarmed by medical staff.
The last part of the bike I pushed it as hard as I could with my frozen limbs.
The bike course was a ton of fun. It had everything a race in the French countryside should have: winding roads through little towns, cobble stones, rough farm roads, and fans shouting and cheering. It was absolutely awesome. I wish I could ride this kind of course all the time.
T2:
Stripped off my cycling stuff and went pretty fast through it. My legs weren't really up for another run as I started to run out.
20km RUN:
Now that I knew the run course, I thought I knew what to expect and maybe could even push the pace a bit. But within the first kilometre, my nutrition mishaps materialized into real issues: my hamstrings were cramping and seizing. I had to stop running, stretch out, and run very carefully after that. But I was going to leave everything I had on the course and not let up. I was wearing a national uniform and I was wearing the pride and humility that goes with it.
I was able to hold nearly target pace until the mid-point where my quads, hamstrings, and calves were twitching and threatening. The whole way, I focussed on getting salt and sugar back into my body. I started on cola right away, was jamming in my gels, and taking water to wash it all down.
And unique for me on the run was passing people suffering worse than me. With all the pace and nutrition mishaps, I was still moving with some strength. I was now passing super-bikers who went too hard or aren't really runners to begin with. I was passing people who were bested by the bike course and challenging hills on the run.At 9km I finally got to see Jen, Eli, and Jeff & Vera (my in-laws). I was so happy and proud.
Through the course I could see other team members going strong and others fading slightly. I decided I'd catch up to my team members and try and push them along. I caught up to one of my tri-friends from Vancouver, Stephen, in the last 4 kms. I pulled ahead and was hoping he'd catch up and could have some Canadians cross the finish line together. And he did pull up... after my hamstring seized again with under 3km to go. I walked it out for a bit but never really found it let up. "Dude. No. No. Can you still run?", asked Stephen. Nope. I was fully seized up. But I needed to get running again. So I found a modified stride that let me limber up enough and I held it for the last 3km. I wasn't moving fast but I was running and even caught up with Stephen again with under one kilometre to go.
I was cheered all the way to the finish. "ALEZ CANADA!!!" Many thanks to my father-in-law who cheered me to the finish line as I completed my first ever race for Team Canada.I finally found Jen, Eli, Jeff, and Vera after the race. It was a long day for them too, suffering in the cold, wet, and mud. Aside from seeing me on the run and after the race, they did say the highlight of the race was the mulled wine they served as refreshment. Clearly a perk of racing in Europe.
FINAL RACE THOUGHTS:
I'm working out what the rest of this season will be. I've got 2 early-season races in already and could have a big year if I really pushed hard. But that won't be this year. Here's my lessons/plans resulting from race-day lessons-learned and ideas for staying "the best":
- There are very very few occasions in a Triathlon or Duathlon where a road bike is a better choice than a TT bike. If you want to tinker, do it with wheels first, but a change to road from TT deserves very careful thought.
- In cold temperatures, tape your gels to your bike rather than flask them.
- Proper zone pacing should be a bible not a recommendation. In a long-distance race you're racing yourself more than your competition. Park your ego and be smart.
- I got badly beat at my best event: the bike. I need to work on on top-end strength.
- It's time for me to change my Triathlon plans. At least in the near-term. I need more non-Tri time and I need to be faster. That means I need to shift to short-course and go find some needed time with my family.
- I need to have a summer that isn't just about Triathlon. I do need a summer about making improvement to the elements, but not one that is as all-consuming as the past few years. To keep it simple, I need a summer off from long-distance Tri to find a balance with my family and to shore up some glaring weaknesses in my game.
EPILOGUE:
My goal for the race was to have a "perfect race". My penultimate goal was to not be the last person in my age group. I've raced at a high level relative to my investment for many years. This field was the strongest I've ever put myself up against, even in the Ironman 70.3 World Championships in 2010; the Europeans are a force.
I'm still searching for that "perfect race", but I wasn't last; I was 64 of 84 in my division and where I'd hoped I'd be.
But what this race confirmed is that if I wanted to race faster, aside for the few race-day issues, I would need to put in more focussed and consistent training effort in the months/years leading up to it. This isn't an investment I would make right now, given everything else I want to be the best at. I showed up to this race as well prepared as I was willing to be. I put myself up against very very fit and talented people and saw where I am currently measured. I'm happy with where that is: many minutes from the least successful, within only a few minutes of a big middle group of high achievers, but still within many minutes of the best of my age.
I'm now in Lisbon and many days have passed since my race. This is always a litmus test: after a few days from racing, how do I feel? I can honestly say I feel proud and humbled. Minus a few dumb things on race day, I would not have raced it much different: I would take the same risks, relied on the same nutrition, and played the course the same way.
I would have tried to find a few more workouts, but none that would have edged me out over others; I would have needed to put in several more hours that I did not have available to invest.
I would have liked for my own parents and siblings to be at the race. Jen's parents know how much our family invests because they're around it all the time. My parents know how much I invest, too, because they see me race often. But the two worlds haven't met in a while and they should. Plus I bet my Mom and Dad would be pretty proud seeing me cross a finish line in Team Canada gear.
And to keep score on my gear choices, here's the results:
- Road bike with ITU-style aero pursuit bars (BMC Team Machine) instead of TT/Tri bike (Trek Speed Concept 9) - NO! TT would have been faster, although i may have got hurt.
- Thin Merino wool socks for the race - YES! Worked like a charm.
- Toe covers on bike shoes - YES! Worked like a charm.
- Compressport Tri shorts under ITU one-piece uniform - YES! Worked like a charm. In fact the most comfy ever.
- Compressport Tri top under ITU one-piece uniform - YES! Worked like a charm.
- Warm but thin-ish cycling gloves for the bike - YES! Worked like a charm.
- "Vest" made of foil emergency blanket - YES! Worked like a charm.
- Sugoi Hydrolite jacket for the bike - NO! Got way to hot and was not aero.
- Sugoi knee warmers for the bike - YES! Worked like a charm.
- Bento Box on road bike with large flask of gel - NO! Tape those gels. Flask is dumb on the bike.
- Travel pill bags used to hold salt tabs - NO! Those bags are too tough to open and basically good for what they're advertised to do: nothing gets in, nothing gets out.
I'd also like to sincerely thank my wife, son, family, friends, and coach for all their support in helping me get here in one piece. It means a lot.
Finally, congratulations to my team mates and competitors on their races.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Saint "Grind"
My coach told me that Ironman 70.3 St. George would be all about "the grind". "On the bike, you will be on 12% to 15% grade hills. If there is wind, it will feel like 25%. The same on the run. And you will be more hot than you are used to... it's in the desert which is much more hot and much more dry. And then you are also at higher altitude. But you need to think about moving forward. No matter how slow. It will feel very slow. But don't be discouraged. Focus on effort and play it smart. This course will be harder than everything before. Follow our plan and you will finish the race happy. This is a hard race, and maybe your hardest ever. Don't think about your time. Think about your training and your effort and focus on being strong the whole way. If you can do that, you will have a good race."
I jotted Coach Bjoern's sage advice down a few days before Ironman 70.3 St. George. And, indeed, it will go down as my toughest race ever. Ever.
My wife and son gave me this race as a Birthday Present. Eli has started to say things like "Dadda fast. Dadda swim. Dadda bike fast. Dadda run fast.". When I penciled in this race, I also did not know it would become the US Pro Championships. So for my birthday present, I got to compete with one of the best pro fields and what turned out to be the biggest age-group field I've ever seen. The cutoff was at 2800 competitors.
I arrived in Vegas and drove right to the venue on the Thursday (it's a Saturday race). I could say my motivation to get there early was to scan the race course but.... actually... I won tickets to hang out with the founders of TrainingPeaks.com, and the CEO and sponsorship team of the Ironman corporation, and Crowie (Craig Alexander, one of my heroes). I'll spare the details, but I had an amazing 30 minute conversation with Crowie about the support our families selflessly provide so that we can pursue this sport. He even got emotional at one point when I told him that Eli and I watched some post-race interviews of Kona last year where Eli was genuinely sad hearing Crowie's race recap and even hugged my iPad when watching it. Needless to say that Crowie is still one of my heroes of the sport. This was a really nice evening for me.
That same night I was putting my bike together and discovered a few "concerns". For one, my front brakes may or may not be working. Awesome. I cracked a piece of the integrated brakes on my Trek Speed Concept during packing. Shit. Oh well, I will be going so fast I will only need rear brakes, right? The second concern was cosmetic... the cover on the integrated bars was also cracked. I probably don't need that piece anyway. This whole thing could have ended poorly. Fortunately, I pack electrical tape, duct tape, and other emergency rations. Black Mamba (my bike) might not have looked pretty, but after finding a plastic cup, some scissors, and mounting the wheels to test my braking, she was ready to go. I felt like I was about to ride the "town bike".
Next day, I drove the tough sections of the bike and run course and dipped my toes in the water that would prove to be my nemesis. I got some light workouts in to rev the engine and checked in my bike and run gear and had a great pre-race evening meal at a local spot.
I even found time in the afternoon to get some real experience with the dry heat and walk around some unshaded mountain bike trails. This little walkabout was where I laid out my race plan:
SWIM: It'll be chilly but you've been in worse. I'm swimming well right now so focus on getting on the toes of some faster swimmers and let them drag you around. Don't get knocked out when you get kicked in the face.
BIKE: I'll be cold at the start. Pull off the pre-staged toe warmers from your shoes if it seems it could heat up fast. Don't drink fluids until my body warms up. Stay in high Zone 3 effort the whole way, even on the climbs if I can. Follow my nutrition strategy (gel every 20 mins, salt every 15 mins, fluids as required).
RUN: Hopefully I have gas left after the bike. It'll be hot now. Desert heat and dryness. It's a hilly run but nothing I haven't done, so just be mindful of form, effort, and nutrition.
FINISH: Take all the cold sponges out from your sponsored outfit. Zip up your uniform. High five everyone who's within your reach and sticks out their hand. Smile when you finish and don't look at your watch.
If all goes to plan, I'll pull out a 5 hour race.
I went to bed early and fell asleep quickly.
4 am wake-up calls are never nice. They're especially not nice on an earlier time zone. As I got up, I couldn't help thinking it was 3 am at home. Still, I had 7 hours of sleep, which, if you are an experienced racer, you know is a TON of sleep on the night before a race.
Slammed some breakfast and caught my hotel shuttle to T2 to catch yet another shuttle to T1. Got my area setup quick, pumped my tires, then headed for the obligatory portapotty visit. I'm coming to realize the quality of a race organization team can be measured in the number of minutes in line for the portapotty on race morning. St. George goes down as the best organized race ever, by that scale.
I was scheduled to hit the water at 7:25 but they wanted us out of the transition area by 6:30. "Wishful thinking", I thought to myself. Still, I moved quickly and with purpose and got out of there. We weren't allowed to set up our gear (we had to survive with what we put in our transition bags the night before) so I would have to trust that I made effective choices last night. For one, I decided to pack toe warmers for my bike shoes. I stuck them on my shoes the night before so that I could make the game-day decision to pull them off in T1 if the temperature felt right. I also decided to rock my number belt out of T1 instead of T2. That way I could move through T2 with purpose and get on with the chase. I also had my arm compression (slash sun stoppers) on under my wetsuit. In the end, these were all things that proved well thought out and executed... in fact one of my highlights of the day.
And so now, here's how that day went....
SWIM: They make you swim out to the start line so you can get warmed up. This is because the water there was between 12 and 15 degrees celsius. This was unpleasant. This was my first open water swim of the year. I did not pack my neoprene swim cap, so I double-capped instead. Still not enough. Even the well noted "pre race ritual" didn't warm me up. My shoulders etc. were warmed up by the time I showed up at the start line. My head was not. Horn went off and I went for it. I positioned myself in the front 1/3 and put out a good 300m start. Then I started to see dark spots in my vision, started to feel very off balance, and started to hyperventilate. And then I barfed. I tried to do freestyle again and catch back up, but then many more black spots came and I stopped. In that moment, I genuinely thought that I may black out and force myself to be rescued from the water. I lifeguarded as a teen so knew what I was probably experiencing. I just sat there for a few moments (probably a few seconds but it really felt like a long time). A rescue kayaker paddled over and told me I either needed to start moving or call it a day; if I just stay there, I will get too cold and go hypothermic. This was my very first time in that situation: I could literally get pulled from the water and my day is done; the day that Jen and Eli gave me as a birthday present. I actually thought about quitting. I also thought I might actually not make the swim cutoff time. Lots of thoughts happening quickly. So, I asked the rescuer to stay with me for the next 300m, until I turned the first corner buoy. He said "why don't you get started and let's see how this goes". So I got started. Doing breast-stroke. I do have a good breast-stroke but it is not as fast or efficient as freestyle. I also knew I'd spend some energy that I would probably need later on. But "whatever", I thought. My plan is already out the window and I need to switch into survival mode and just honour the present Jen and Eli gave me. ...and do what I intended to do: finish the hardest course I might ever do. So I alternated between freestyle until I got dizzy (barfed a couple more times) and breast-stroke (no barfing). I got out of the water in about 45 minutes. Freestyle would have got me out in 32 minutes.
T1: This race had a T1 the size of a football field, with a long run-in and run-out. Still I moved as quickly as I could and got to my bike. Stuffed down a Roctane Gel, got my shit together (even tore off the toe warmers, as it started to feel like the heat was coming), and got on my bike. Not the most stellar T1 but fast enough. I already knew I was now doing this for pride and not for performance.
BIKE: Took a good 10 km to warm up. I was focused in those first 20 minutes to get calories and electrolytes back into my body. After all, I had a desert to deal with. I always pack a "breakfast" of calories for the bike in case something goes down on the swim. I had never needed it until today. In the first 10km I had put down 4 gels, 4 salt tabs, and a bottle of water. None of this is "on plan". I never drink in the first 30 mins so that my digestive track warms up. I never pound down gels as it can become a digestive issue pretty fast. I was in survival mode and just accepted the consequences. But remarkably, the only thing that came back to haunt me was the liquid: I ended up "going" three times during the ride. But employing my emergency rations of gels meant I could hold a good strong (albeit conservative) heart rate for the whole bike... even on the toughest desert valley climb of all time. Coach was right: This big climb was really stupid and hot. Really really stupid and hot. As I past people walking their bikes up the hill I thought to myself: "Self... back home you climb this shit all day. So what if it's hot and dry out and you are chewing threw your liquids. At least you were prepared". And so I climbed. By the end of it, I had the wind and moisture sucked from me. I put down another 2 gels, a full bottle of liquids, and just gunned it downhill passing many many people who were a bit more cooked than I.
T2: Pretty spent from the bike. Thought about throwing some band-aids onto my toes that were threatening blisters. Thought to myself "attack the run, but not too hard". I looked at my watch as I exited. It told me I was running 4:15 face and I felt really good.
RUN: 4:15 pace did not prevail. It was now 28 degrees and there would be no shade on the run course. There would also be no flat sections: either climbing or descending. Steeply. So I'm exiting T2 with encouragement, thinking I'll pick off a hundred runners. Then the reality of the first 5km set in. Climb time. Then the next 11km is rolling climbing. Mostly steep climbs, except a 400m descent to the halfway point. Then it's an obnoxious climb to the 15km point (I descended that section only recently), then a quick descent, followed by another dumb climb, and then we're finally back to descending for the last several kilometers. In the desert. In the dry heat. Thankfully I had fueled well on the bike and followed my run plan for nutrition: Gel every 15 minutes, electrolyte tabs at the same interval as long as the stomach was holding up, go to Cola only when necessary (13km is where I gave in), and drink water as required. Bad blisters had set in during the first few KMs. I had to land on my heals for much of the run or risk bursting the water-balloons in my shoes. Ultimately, it was the blisters that did me in on the run. I'm going to experiment with my sock selection... too much padding really just doesn't work for me.
FINISH: Take all the cold sponges out from your sponsored outfit. Zip up your uniform. High five everyone who's within your reach and sticks out their hand. Smile when you finish and don't look at your watch. Executed to plan.
I actually don't remember my finish time beyond knowing it was north of 5:40. Officially my second worst time since I started Triathlon.
Immediately after, as I was fetching some food and admiring my medal, I knew I could have pushed it harder on the bike and on the run. I really had a lot of gas left. But really, how do you plan for this kind of race. You train and you test and you train some more. But when you have the swim I had, become concerned for your fuel and effort on the bike, then try and manage your run so that you actually finish.... well you certainly learn a lot.
I sat there on the grass, with my 4 slices of post-race pizza, my 4 bottles of coconut water, my 2 bags of chips, my 2 oranges, my 2 cartons of chocolate milk, my 3 bottles of water, my salt crusted race kit on, and my shiny finisher medal around my neck. My effort during this race did not waiver. It might have been conservative but I never gave up or coasted. I did not know what the course would bring so I gave it respect and I played for the finish. Now that I know St. George, I would play it different... less respectful, more aggressive. I learned that heat doesn't hit me when I fuel right. I'm an armadillo.
I'm not going to pretend that I didn't almost pull out at the start. There was that moment where I knew I wouldn't freestyle anymore, switch to breast-stroke, and risk not making cut-off (or worse). I wanted to get through this swim (and safely) and had to change my plan to one with no (or little) risk.
But honestly I'm not stressing about it. This course at this time of year was meant as a test. I have a bigger race to get done and I know more about where my fitness is than what training alone could tell me.
Did I mention this was the US Pro Championships? I'm having my pizza and I'm watching Andy Potts and Matty Reed get cornered from fans (justifiably). I think to myself that they're going to scarf the food and head right to the massage tent. Nope. In fact. Both gents come park themselves next to us fellow racers and start chatting about the course, the local support crew, and the strong field of competitors. This was definitely one of the highlights of the day.
I drove back to Vegas immediately after the race. Exhausted, I just stayed in my room, got in-room dining, and went to bed. Another 4 am wake-up to get to the airport.
Finally made it home. Eli was pretty excited to help me unpack my bike. "Dada racing?", he asked as he went and got a chammy and started to clean my bike. "Dada, fast?". "Eli fast", I said.
I jotted Coach Bjoern's sage advice down a few days before Ironman 70.3 St. George. And, indeed, it will go down as my toughest race ever. Ever.
My wife and son gave me this race as a Birthday Present. Eli has started to say things like "Dadda fast. Dadda swim. Dadda bike fast. Dadda run fast.". When I penciled in this race, I also did not know it would become the US Pro Championships. So for my birthday present, I got to compete with one of the best pro fields and what turned out to be the biggest age-group field I've ever seen. The cutoff was at 2800 competitors.
I arrived in Vegas and drove right to the venue on the Thursday (it's a Saturday race). I could say my motivation to get there early was to scan the race course but.... actually... I won tickets to hang out with the founders of TrainingPeaks.com, and the CEO and sponsorship team of the Ironman corporation, and Crowie (Craig Alexander, one of my heroes). I'll spare the details, but I had an amazing 30 minute conversation with Crowie about the support our families selflessly provide so that we can pursue this sport. He even got emotional at one point when I told him that Eli and I watched some post-race interviews of Kona last year where Eli was genuinely sad hearing Crowie's race recap and even hugged my iPad when watching it. Needless to say that Crowie is still one of my heroes of the sport. This was a really nice evening for me.
That same night I was putting my bike together and discovered a few "concerns". For one, my front brakes may or may not be working. Awesome. I cracked a piece of the integrated brakes on my Trek Speed Concept during packing. Shit. Oh well, I will be going so fast I will only need rear brakes, right? The second concern was cosmetic... the cover on the integrated bars was also cracked. I probably don't need that piece anyway. This whole thing could have ended poorly. Fortunately, I pack electrical tape, duct tape, and other emergency rations. Black Mamba (my bike) might not have looked pretty, but after finding a plastic cup, some scissors, and mounting the wheels to test my braking, she was ready to go. I felt like I was about to ride the "town bike".
Next day, I drove the tough sections of the bike and run course and dipped my toes in the water that would prove to be my nemesis. I got some light workouts in to rev the engine and checked in my bike and run gear and had a great pre-race evening meal at a local spot.
I even found time in the afternoon to get some real experience with the dry heat and walk around some unshaded mountain bike trails. This little walkabout was where I laid out my race plan:
SWIM: It'll be chilly but you've been in worse. I'm swimming well right now so focus on getting on the toes of some faster swimmers and let them drag you around. Don't get knocked out when you get kicked in the face.
BIKE: I'll be cold at the start. Pull off the pre-staged toe warmers from your shoes if it seems it could heat up fast. Don't drink fluids until my body warms up. Stay in high Zone 3 effort the whole way, even on the climbs if I can. Follow my nutrition strategy (gel every 20 mins, salt every 15 mins, fluids as required).
RUN: Hopefully I have gas left after the bike. It'll be hot now. Desert heat and dryness. It's a hilly run but nothing I haven't done, so just be mindful of form, effort, and nutrition.
FINISH: Take all the cold sponges out from your sponsored outfit. Zip up your uniform. High five everyone who's within your reach and sticks out their hand. Smile when you finish and don't look at your watch.
If all goes to plan, I'll pull out a 5 hour race.
I went to bed early and fell asleep quickly.
4 am wake-up calls are never nice. They're especially not nice on an earlier time zone. As I got up, I couldn't help thinking it was 3 am at home. Still, I had 7 hours of sleep, which, if you are an experienced racer, you know is a TON of sleep on the night before a race.
Slammed some breakfast and caught my hotel shuttle to T2 to catch yet another shuttle to T1. Got my area setup quick, pumped my tires, then headed for the obligatory portapotty visit. I'm coming to realize the quality of a race organization team can be measured in the number of minutes in line for the portapotty on race morning. St. George goes down as the best organized race ever, by that scale.
I was scheduled to hit the water at 7:25 but they wanted us out of the transition area by 6:30. "Wishful thinking", I thought to myself. Still, I moved quickly and with purpose and got out of there. We weren't allowed to set up our gear (we had to survive with what we put in our transition bags the night before) so I would have to trust that I made effective choices last night. For one, I decided to pack toe warmers for my bike shoes. I stuck them on my shoes the night before so that I could make the game-day decision to pull them off in T1 if the temperature felt right. I also decided to rock my number belt out of T1 instead of T2. That way I could move through T2 with purpose and get on with the chase. I also had my arm compression (slash sun stoppers) on under my wetsuit. In the end, these were all things that proved well thought out and executed... in fact one of my highlights of the day.
And so now, here's how that day went....
SWIM: They make you swim out to the start line so you can get warmed up. This is because the water there was between 12 and 15 degrees celsius. This was unpleasant. This was my first open water swim of the year. I did not pack my neoprene swim cap, so I double-capped instead. Still not enough. Even the well noted "pre race ritual" didn't warm me up. My shoulders etc. were warmed up by the time I showed up at the start line. My head was not. Horn went off and I went for it. I positioned myself in the front 1/3 and put out a good 300m start. Then I started to see dark spots in my vision, started to feel very off balance, and started to hyperventilate. And then I barfed. I tried to do freestyle again and catch back up, but then many more black spots came and I stopped. In that moment, I genuinely thought that I may black out and force myself to be rescued from the water. I lifeguarded as a teen so knew what I was probably experiencing. I just sat there for a few moments (probably a few seconds but it really felt like a long time). A rescue kayaker paddled over and told me I either needed to start moving or call it a day; if I just stay there, I will get too cold and go hypothermic. This was my very first time in that situation: I could literally get pulled from the water and my day is done; the day that Jen and Eli gave me as a birthday present. I actually thought about quitting. I also thought I might actually not make the swim cutoff time. Lots of thoughts happening quickly. So, I asked the rescuer to stay with me for the next 300m, until I turned the first corner buoy. He said "why don't you get started and let's see how this goes". So I got started. Doing breast-stroke. I do have a good breast-stroke but it is not as fast or efficient as freestyle. I also knew I'd spend some energy that I would probably need later on. But "whatever", I thought. My plan is already out the window and I need to switch into survival mode and just honour the present Jen and Eli gave me. ...and do what I intended to do: finish the hardest course I might ever do. So I alternated between freestyle until I got dizzy (barfed a couple more times) and breast-stroke (no barfing). I got out of the water in about 45 minutes. Freestyle would have got me out in 32 minutes.
T1: This race had a T1 the size of a football field, with a long run-in and run-out. Still I moved as quickly as I could and got to my bike. Stuffed down a Roctane Gel, got my shit together (even tore off the toe warmers, as it started to feel like the heat was coming), and got on my bike. Not the most stellar T1 but fast enough. I already knew I was now doing this for pride and not for performance.
BIKE: Took a good 10 km to warm up. I was focused in those first 20 minutes to get calories and electrolytes back into my body. After all, I had a desert to deal with. I always pack a "breakfast" of calories for the bike in case something goes down on the swim. I had never needed it until today. In the first 10km I had put down 4 gels, 4 salt tabs, and a bottle of water. None of this is "on plan". I never drink in the first 30 mins so that my digestive track warms up. I never pound down gels as it can become a digestive issue pretty fast. I was in survival mode and just accepted the consequences. But remarkably, the only thing that came back to haunt me was the liquid: I ended up "going" three times during the ride. But employing my emergency rations of gels meant I could hold a good strong (albeit conservative) heart rate for the whole bike... even on the toughest desert valley climb of all time. Coach was right: This big climb was really stupid and hot. Really really stupid and hot. As I past people walking their bikes up the hill I thought to myself: "Self... back home you climb this shit all day. So what if it's hot and dry out and you are chewing threw your liquids. At least you were prepared". And so I climbed. By the end of it, I had the wind and moisture sucked from me. I put down another 2 gels, a full bottle of liquids, and just gunned it downhill passing many many people who were a bit more cooked than I.
T2: Pretty spent from the bike. Thought about throwing some band-aids onto my toes that were threatening blisters. Thought to myself "attack the run, but not too hard". I looked at my watch as I exited. It told me I was running 4:15 face and I felt really good.
RUN: 4:15 pace did not prevail. It was now 28 degrees and there would be no shade on the run course. There would also be no flat sections: either climbing or descending. Steeply. So I'm exiting T2 with encouragement, thinking I'll pick off a hundred runners. Then the reality of the first 5km set in. Climb time. Then the next 11km is rolling climbing. Mostly steep climbs, except a 400m descent to the halfway point. Then it's an obnoxious climb to the 15km point (I descended that section only recently), then a quick descent, followed by another dumb climb, and then we're finally back to descending for the last several kilometers. In the desert. In the dry heat. Thankfully I had fueled well on the bike and followed my run plan for nutrition: Gel every 15 minutes, electrolyte tabs at the same interval as long as the stomach was holding up, go to Cola only when necessary (13km is where I gave in), and drink water as required. Bad blisters had set in during the first few KMs. I had to land on my heals for much of the run or risk bursting the water-balloons in my shoes. Ultimately, it was the blisters that did me in on the run. I'm going to experiment with my sock selection... too much padding really just doesn't work for me.
FINISH: Take all the cold sponges out from your sponsored outfit. Zip up your uniform. High five everyone who's within your reach and sticks out their hand. Smile when you finish and don't look at your watch. Executed to plan.
I actually don't remember my finish time beyond knowing it was north of 5:40. Officially my second worst time since I started Triathlon.
Immediately after, as I was fetching some food and admiring my medal, I knew I could have pushed it harder on the bike and on the run. I really had a lot of gas left. But really, how do you plan for this kind of race. You train and you test and you train some more. But when you have the swim I had, become concerned for your fuel and effort on the bike, then try and manage your run so that you actually finish.... well you certainly learn a lot.
I sat there on the grass, with my 4 slices of post-race pizza, my 4 bottles of coconut water, my 2 bags of chips, my 2 oranges, my 2 cartons of chocolate milk, my 3 bottles of water, my salt crusted race kit on, and my shiny finisher medal around my neck. My effort during this race did not waiver. It might have been conservative but I never gave up or coasted. I did not know what the course would bring so I gave it respect and I played for the finish. Now that I know St. George, I would play it different... less respectful, more aggressive. I learned that heat doesn't hit me when I fuel right. I'm an armadillo.
I'm not going to pretend that I didn't almost pull out at the start. There was that moment where I knew I wouldn't freestyle anymore, switch to breast-stroke, and risk not making cut-off (or worse). I wanted to get through this swim (and safely) and had to change my plan to one with no (or little) risk.
But honestly I'm not stressing about it. This course at this time of year was meant as a test. I have a bigger race to get done and I know more about where my fitness is than what training alone could tell me.
Did I mention this was the US Pro Championships? I'm having my pizza and I'm watching Andy Potts and Matty Reed get cornered from fans (justifiably). I think to myself that they're going to scarf the food and head right to the massage tent. Nope. In fact. Both gents come park themselves next to us fellow racers and start chatting about the course, the local support crew, and the strong field of competitors. This was definitely one of the highlights of the day.
I drove back to Vegas immediately after the race. Exhausted, I just stayed in my room, got in-room dining, and went to bed. Another 4 am wake-up to get to the airport.
Finally made it home. Eli was pretty excited to help me unpack my bike. "Dada racing?", he asked as he went and got a chammy and started to clean my bike. "Dada, fast?". "Eli fast", I said.
Monday, April 1, 2013
Anticipation
My first race of the season (tentative?) is only 5 weeks away and my 'A' race is 10 weeks away. That's a few more build cycles, maybe a few recovery weeks, and a little taper. Anticipation is starting to build.
About 2 months ago I was "ahead of the curve"; my strength was further along than in years past and I was building quick. Training isn't always a smooth journey... a few weeks of being sick, a few weeks of sitting on a spin bike instead of my TT bike, blah, wah, wah. Long-story-short, I'm back and track and ready for some focus. But really, this isn't the point of the story.
At this point in the season, I start to anticipate what it will have in store. This year in particular, my anticipation is broader than just the sport. I'm anticipating what it will be like to travel without family if/when I race in Utah. I'm anticipating being on a 10 hr flight to Zurich with a toddler and his "terrible twos". I'm anticipating balancing the excitement of being on Team Canada with the need not to totally monopolize a family vacation with "me time".
I'm also letting it be known that after this season, competitive Triathlon will not likely be in the cards for a while. I will be a recreational Triathlete once again, although a serious one ;-). I'm really trying to anticipate what that will mean for me. It's something I'm having trouble picturing.
All these things put an interesting twist on the weeks ahead. Last year I was focussed on achievement... putting the most I can into the experience. This year, I think I'm more focussed on getting everything I can out of it.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Being happy with "Real-Life"
It happens to all us amateur athletes, but I think it can tend to be more complicated with those of us with a family and a very involving career: There are times when "real-life" has to take priority over the "fantasy life" of training as an elite athlete.
Now don't get me wrong. Elite athletes are not living a fantasy life. But there are those of us who would LOVE to be an elite athlete, but are restricted by the time required to achieve performance at that level (and talent in my case).
At the moment, my professional life (i.e. the part of my life paying the bills) is experiencing a welcome flare-up in work complexity, volume, importance, responsibility, and urgency. It tends to settle back into something predictable, but for now, I'm swamped. And to be honest, I'm really enjoying it. I also have a 22-month old son, a wife who has a time-consuming career in law, two dogs, a nanny, a house, and a mortgage. Not atypical. What is atypical is that I still have that nattering urge to become the best athlete I can be.
Most of my posts are about how I try to be successful in athletics while tending to my "real-life". This post is a bit different: How to be successful in "real-life" while tending to my athletics:
Rule 1: Find your balance.
Rule 2: You can miss a workout or a race for a good reason, but really make sure it's a good reason and not just an excuse. It's ok if that's for several days/weeks/months straight. But really be honest and strive for Rule 1.
Rule 3: Prioritize your current best opportunity for the success you want, at any given time. This means that if your opportunities are at work, with your family, your friends, or with your sport, be sure to chase the most promising one with the best potential. If you let a great opportunity pass you by, it may not come by again. But remember Rule 1.
Rule 4: To set yourself up to take advantage of opportunities aligned to your definition of success, do what's required to keep those opportunities open and tend to all of them. Do not let them slide.
Rule 5: Be honest with the people in your life about where you want to focus. Transparency means you can gain fans not foes.
So following these rules, since November I have prioritized work over family and training, keeping an eye on Rule 1 and 4. I have had a rare opportunity to push my career forward very significantly very quickly. If I had prioritized training, I would have missed this chance. But following Rule 4 means I have found time for family and found time to maintain my fitness base. I also cut calories immediately and made the switch to early nights and mornings to get important workouts done.
The result: My career is on a steep rise. My little family is having a ton of fun together. My fitness is way ahead of last year at this time and only 10% off my peak from last year. If I looked at my decisions as investments, I'd say I have a healthy portfolio.
I won't lie though. I would really like to have been far ahead of my fitness from last year already. I know that if this was my best opportunity for life success, I would have focused here. And it really was a big opportunity. But my biggest opportunity from Nov to now has been at work. In fact it's let me afford converting my garage to my pain cave for efficient training. Win-win.
So for those in the same boat, give yourself a break and remember the rules. If you have more rules, please comment on this post.
Now don't get me wrong. Elite athletes are not living a fantasy life. But there are those of us who would LOVE to be an elite athlete, but are restricted by the time required to achieve performance at that level (and talent in my case).
At the moment, my professional life (i.e. the part of my life paying the bills) is experiencing a welcome flare-up in work complexity, volume, importance, responsibility, and urgency. It tends to settle back into something predictable, but for now, I'm swamped. And to be honest, I'm really enjoying it. I also have a 22-month old son, a wife who has a time-consuming career in law, two dogs, a nanny, a house, and a mortgage. Not atypical. What is atypical is that I still have that nattering urge to become the best athlete I can be.
Most of my posts are about how I try to be successful in athletics while tending to my "real-life". This post is a bit different: How to be successful in "real-life" while tending to my athletics:
Rule 1: Find your balance.
Rule 2: You can miss a workout or a race for a good reason, but really make sure it's a good reason and not just an excuse. It's ok if that's for several days/weeks/months straight. But really be honest and strive for Rule 1.
Rule 3: Prioritize your current best opportunity for the success you want, at any given time. This means that if your opportunities are at work, with your family, your friends, or with your sport, be sure to chase the most promising one with the best potential. If you let a great opportunity pass you by, it may not come by again. But remember Rule 1.
Rule 4: To set yourself up to take advantage of opportunities aligned to your definition of success, do what's required to keep those opportunities open and tend to all of them. Do not let them slide.
Rule 5: Be honest with the people in your life about where you want to focus. Transparency means you can gain fans not foes.
So following these rules, since November I have prioritized work over family and training, keeping an eye on Rule 1 and 4. I have had a rare opportunity to push my career forward very significantly very quickly. If I had prioritized training, I would have missed this chance. But following Rule 4 means I have found time for family and found time to maintain my fitness base. I also cut calories immediately and made the switch to early nights and mornings to get important workouts done.
The result: My career is on a steep rise. My little family is having a ton of fun together. My fitness is way ahead of last year at this time and only 10% off my peak from last year. If I looked at my decisions as investments, I'd say I have a healthy portfolio.
I won't lie though. I would really like to have been far ahead of my fitness from last year already. I know that if this was my best opportunity for life success, I would have focused here. And it really was a big opportunity. But my biggest opportunity from Nov to now has been at work. In fact it's let me afford converting my garage to my pain cave for efficient training. Win-win.
So for those in the same boat, give yourself a break and remember the rules. If you have more rules, please comment on this post.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Craig Alexander
If you saw my last post, you know I'm a fan. Here's why.
http://triathlon.competitor.com/2012/10/features/video-craig-alexander-reflects-on-kona-2012-and-looks-ahead_64576
http://triathlon.competitor.com/2012/10/features/video-craig-alexander-reflects-on-kona-2012-and-looks-ahead_64576
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Simon says...
Two people I admire most in Triathlon are Simon Whitfield and Craig Alexander. It's obvious why I admire them as athletes: they are both champions and their prowess has endured. Still, there are a lot of great Triathletes to admire.
The main reason Simon and Craig are at the top of my heap is because they are both family men and have still been able to be successful. In fact, you could argue that they became MORE successful in their sport after they became fathers. I admire this for a few reasons. First, their family is their #1 priority and the sport is #2. Second, they make the time to be good fathers. Third, they recognize that their family is part of their team, that it is not possible to do what they do without that level of support. Fourth, they have found a way to become the best while still being around.
Like most Canadians, my heart sank when Simon crashed out of the race. Canada would not see him get a medal this time out, nor likely ever again. But what really broke my heart is his account of what happened when he finally got to his family after the race. His daughter was crying, his wife was obviously heart broken for him. He said how choked he was that his family sacrificed so much by letting him travel and get ready for the games, staying home while he pursued his dream/career. All that hard work by everyone else, for nothing. That hit home for me.
I was having the race of my life when I crashed my bike a month ago. Like Simon, I got out of the water where I wanted. Like Simon, I got onto the bike as planned. Like Simon, I went down. Fortunately I wasn't hurt as bad as him and I went on to finish. Still, I was completely crushed that I didn't get my World Championship spot.
These past several weeks, I've been somewhat unmotivated to train hard. In the first weeks after the crash, it was because although I could push hard, my body was pretty hurt. Now, it hurts less when I push, but I'm still paying for it afterwards... bruises and strains take longer to heal when you're older. Still, until watching the Olympics, I couldn't really put my finger on my lack of motivation. After Simon's account of his day, it became clear.
Jen, Eli, Jen's parents, and my parents have given me a tremendous amount of support and sacrifice since I declared I was getting back into serious racing. Sometimes reluctant support, but never waining. When Simon intimated that he felt like his family's sacrifice was for nothing, and that he felt like he had let them down and devalued their support, I knew exactly what he meant.
Therein lies my own lack of motivation. Do I really to spend more good will from my family to continue to try and pursue this goal of competing at an international level in Triathlon? What if it happens again, what if I don't achieve my goals? Then again their sacrifice will mean nothing.
I'm not sure what the answer is, here. There is an event horizon I'm working towards: ITU 2013 Long Course World Championships. I'm already on the team. I've told myself that I could do nothing and still race. This, of course, would be unacceptable.
For now, I'm going to continue to train, fight through my lack of motivation, and try and reconnect with my love of the sport. But like Simon and Craig do so well, I will ensure that my family is #1 and the sport is #2.
The main reason Simon and Craig are at the top of my heap is because they are both family men and have still been able to be successful. In fact, you could argue that they became MORE successful in their sport after they became fathers. I admire this for a few reasons. First, their family is their #1 priority and the sport is #2. Second, they make the time to be good fathers. Third, they recognize that their family is part of their team, that it is not possible to do what they do without that level of support. Fourth, they have found a way to become the best while still being around.
Like most Canadians, my heart sank when Simon crashed out of the race. Canada would not see him get a medal this time out, nor likely ever again. But what really broke my heart is his account of what happened when he finally got to his family after the race. His daughter was crying, his wife was obviously heart broken for him. He said how choked he was that his family sacrificed so much by letting him travel and get ready for the games, staying home while he pursued his dream/career. All that hard work by everyone else, for nothing. That hit home for me.
I was having the race of my life when I crashed my bike a month ago. Like Simon, I got out of the water where I wanted. Like Simon, I got onto the bike as planned. Like Simon, I went down. Fortunately I wasn't hurt as bad as him and I went on to finish. Still, I was completely crushed that I didn't get my World Championship spot.
These past several weeks, I've been somewhat unmotivated to train hard. In the first weeks after the crash, it was because although I could push hard, my body was pretty hurt. Now, it hurts less when I push, but I'm still paying for it afterwards... bruises and strains take longer to heal when you're older. Still, until watching the Olympics, I couldn't really put my finger on my lack of motivation. After Simon's account of his day, it became clear.
Jen, Eli, Jen's parents, and my parents have given me a tremendous amount of support and sacrifice since I declared I was getting back into serious racing. Sometimes reluctant support, but never waining. When Simon intimated that he felt like his family's sacrifice was for nothing, and that he felt like he had let them down and devalued their support, I knew exactly what he meant.
Therein lies my own lack of motivation. Do I really to spend more good will from my family to continue to try and pursue this goal of competing at an international level in Triathlon? What if it happens again, what if I don't achieve my goals? Then again their sacrifice will mean nothing.
I'm not sure what the answer is, here. There is an event horizon I'm working towards: ITU 2013 Long Course World Championships. I'm already on the team. I've told myself that I could do nothing and still race. This, of course, would be unacceptable.
For now, I'm going to continue to train, fight through my lack of motivation, and try and reconnect with my love of the sport. But like Simon and Craig do so well, I will ensure that my family is #1 and the sport is #2.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Wounded
Let me just cut to the chase and mention that I crashed my bike at Ironman 70.3 Lake Stevens. This is my first crash in training or racing since starting the sport.
Around mile 30 and after the toughest climb and steepest descent, I laid the bike down on a dusty 90 degree corner made slick by the rain. I scrubbed all the speed I thought was required and as I was entering the turn, I found myself on the ground; it was that instantaneous. I'm pretty sure I yelled as I was falling and hit the pavement. I got up and the traffic officer asked if I was ok and was I going to continue. If so, I needed to head to the nearest medical tent, get cleaned up, and checked out. I obliged. The tent was nearby. I got rinsed a bit and was asked lots of cognitive questions. They checked my helmet (it didn't hit the ground apparently) and I was on my way.
I was wounded pretty badly, though I didn't know how bad until later. My bike was wounded... this I knew for certain. My front derailleur shifter had broken off, leaving me in the big ring. My rear derailleur was bent in and I couldn't shift to the top of the cassette without the derailleur hitting the spokes. If I was to finish, it would be me and my bike finishing wounded.
I could handle the descents ok, though in pain due to some major forearm bruising and bleeding, but the ascents were tough. I was zigzagging up the hills sometimes as low as 35 rpm. I chastised myself most of the way, telling myself I need to make back up the ground I lost and find a way to get to the run. It was all heart, good nutrition, and some good fitness that took me to the line. I got into T2 with a 2:49:50 bike split.
-----
Prior to the race, I was settling into a state I can now call "ready". I was pretty mellow. Getting ready, I was less crazy and more purposeful. I let myself chill, didn't stress, incorporated some quality time with Eli and my Dad by going to the race site together, and relaxed in the evenings with Jen. I trusted I could make the race happen. As the clock ticked closer to the start, I had fewer and fewer things to worry about. After all, there's fewer things you can affect as you get closer to a big race. I slept well on race night, getting a rock solid 5 hrs of sleep on top of 9 hrs the night before and a restful day. Like I said, I was "ready".
Even the weather couldn't get me down (yet) on race morning. I did my routine, got my food in, etc. Everything was falling into place.
The swim was good. I swam well but kept running into people from earlier heats. That's both a good and bad sign when you're running people over. Other than ending up underneath a course marker (scary) everything went to plan in the water and exited under 33 minutes.
The first 10km on the bike were rough, but I settled into my rhythm, knocking out my splits and was well on my way to sub 2:35 on the bike, which was my goal considering the wet weather and chilly temps.
Then the crash. Then the salvaging.
I got on the run in pain. My hip was angry. Like the biggest red bird from Angry Birds. Yup, that angry and that big. I still wanted to do well. I still wanted a qualifying spot. I thought that if I could run down as many people as I could, I might still have a shot. Wouldn't that be a triumph! I kept picking people off during the run. I hit the last 2km with everything I had left. I got the run done, even with 3 stops at first aid to flush the wounds, in 1:42.
5:09 and change, 18th in the 35-39 age group. In other years, it could/would have made Vegas. Today it didn't. Lake Stevens reduced their spots from 50 to 30. The two spots for my group went to first and second. No roll down.
All I got to take home was a sprained and scraped left thumb, sprained and scraped right pinky, scraped and bruised right shoulder, forearm (with a bunch of gravel under the skin), hip, knee, and ankle. I haven't yet fully inspected my bike, but damage seems to be limited to the derailleur and shifter.
So what now? I'd struggle to be ready for the other two qualifiers that are proximate (Calgary and Boulder). And even if I healed, could I get on the podium and get that Vegas spot? Not too sure.
One thing is for sure: I'm feeling a bit wounded physically and mentally.
Around mile 30 and after the toughest climb and steepest descent, I laid the bike down on a dusty 90 degree corner made slick by the rain. I scrubbed all the speed I thought was required and as I was entering the turn, I found myself on the ground; it was that instantaneous. I'm pretty sure I yelled as I was falling and hit the pavement. I got up and the traffic officer asked if I was ok and was I going to continue. If so, I needed to head to the nearest medical tent, get cleaned up, and checked out. I obliged. The tent was nearby. I got rinsed a bit and was asked lots of cognitive questions. They checked my helmet (it didn't hit the ground apparently) and I was on my way.
I was wounded pretty badly, though I didn't know how bad until later. My bike was wounded... this I knew for certain. My front derailleur shifter had broken off, leaving me in the big ring. My rear derailleur was bent in and I couldn't shift to the top of the cassette without the derailleur hitting the spokes. If I was to finish, it would be me and my bike finishing wounded.
I could handle the descents ok, though in pain due to some major forearm bruising and bleeding, but the ascents were tough. I was zigzagging up the hills sometimes as low as 35 rpm. I chastised myself most of the way, telling myself I need to make back up the ground I lost and find a way to get to the run. It was all heart, good nutrition, and some good fitness that took me to the line. I got into T2 with a 2:49:50 bike split.
-----
Prior to the race, I was settling into a state I can now call "ready". I was pretty mellow. Getting ready, I was less crazy and more purposeful. I let myself chill, didn't stress, incorporated some quality time with Eli and my Dad by going to the race site together, and relaxed in the evenings with Jen. I trusted I could make the race happen. As the clock ticked closer to the start, I had fewer and fewer things to worry about. After all, there's fewer things you can affect as you get closer to a big race. I slept well on race night, getting a rock solid 5 hrs of sleep on top of 9 hrs the night before and a restful day. Like I said, I was "ready".
Even the weather couldn't get me down (yet) on race morning. I did my routine, got my food in, etc. Everything was falling into place.
The swim was good. I swam well but kept running into people from earlier heats. That's both a good and bad sign when you're running people over. Other than ending up underneath a course marker (scary) everything went to plan in the water and exited under 33 minutes.
The first 10km on the bike were rough, but I settled into my rhythm, knocking out my splits and was well on my way to sub 2:35 on the bike, which was my goal considering the wet weather and chilly temps.Then the crash. Then the salvaging.
I got on the run in pain. My hip was angry. Like the biggest red bird from Angry Birds. Yup, that angry and that big. I still wanted to do well. I still wanted a qualifying spot. I thought that if I could run down as many people as I could, I might still have a shot. Wouldn't that be a triumph! I kept picking people off during the run. I hit the last 2km with everything I had left. I got the run done, even with 3 stops at first aid to flush the wounds, in 1:42. 5:09 and change, 18th in the 35-39 age group. In other years, it could/would have made Vegas. Today it didn't. Lake Stevens reduced their spots from 50 to 30. The two spots for my group went to first and second. No roll down.
All I got to take home was a sprained and scraped left thumb, sprained and scraped right pinky, scraped and bruised right shoulder, forearm (with a bunch of gravel under the skin), hip, knee, and ankle. I haven't yet fully inspected my bike, but damage seems to be limited to the derailleur and shifter.So what now? I'd struggle to be ready for the other two qualifiers that are proximate (Calgary and Boulder). And even if I healed, could I get on the podium and get that Vegas spot? Not too sure.
One thing is for sure: I'm feeling a bit wounded physically and mentally.
Monday, July 9, 2012
When do you know you're "ready"?
Many friends who know that I'm about to race an important race next weekend at the Ironman 70.3 Lake Stevens. A race that I've worked for and that may or may not qualify me for a repeat appearance at the Ironman 70.3 World Championships. These friends have all been asking, "Geez you're looking fit. Are you ready?". My reply has been, "Honestly? I really don't know." The truth is, I'm not sure what 'ready' actually feels like. Probably because I can't say I've had a race where I've truly felt 'on' and able to access all my fitness; something has always seemed to go awry on race day.
So I'm putting this out there: What does 'ready' feel like?
I'm hoping I'm feeling it by the time I hit the start line next Sunday. So far, I've entered the familiar stages of "taper crazies" a.k.a. the Stages Of The Pre-Race Taper:
1) I could be doing more: The feeling that maybe you should skip the stretching/yoga recovery session after a monster training week, in favour of a brick session of hill repeats on the bike and then on a run. After all, there's 6 more days until race day. You log on to TrainingPeaks.com and review your current stats and upcoming schedule.
2) I'm completely exhausted and I can't imagine I'm going to be recovered by race day: Every muscle in your body is sore and or tired and all you want to do is nap all day and then go to bed. Meanwhile, there are still 'recovery workouts' and short-duration high-intensity sessions on the schedule. You log on to TrainingPeaks.com and review your stats just before you pass out in the living room.
3) I should have done more: You get through Stage 2 and miraculously you're starting to feel great. So great, in fact, that the normal dull nagging feeling that you should be 'doing more' turns into a confidence-challenging voice that's mocking "see, I told you to do more". I hate that voice. You log on to TrainingPeaks.com and review your stats, hoping to find workouts where inaccurately reported your time/effort.
4) Stages 1 to 3 combined: This is the dark phase. Try not to harm yourself or other people during this time. You start to log onto TrainingPeaks.com, but then break down and cry.
5) Race day preparation: This is more of a coping mechanism than a stage. Basically, you pack your stuff in order to put your "Type A" personality at ease by controlling something, in this case its making sure that at least all your stuff is ready, even if you're not. Try to do this without anyone else around, because it's annoying to see you bounce around the house muttering to yourself. No time for TrainingPeaks.com. Logging on may force a regression back to Stage 4.
6) Acceptance: That stage where you lie to yourself a bit and say "I've done what I can do, the day is going to be whatever it's going to be, and I'm just going to do my best and have fun". Listen to this lie. Believe this lie. Think fondly of your breakthrough workouts. Stay away from TrainingPeaks.
7) Excitement (i.e. "Ready?): You allow yourself to believe that today could be a good day. It could be your best day. After all, you trusted the process, put the work in, have many more 'completed' workouts than 'dropped', and have heard "Geez, you're looking fit. Are you ready?" at least a few times in the past 2 weeks. You stop letting TrainingPeaks.com judge you.
So far, I've never made it passed Stage 6. I've peaked over at Stage 7 once or twice, but never fully arrived.
So, is Stage 7 "ready"? Am I ready? Who knows? Ask me next Monday.
So I'm putting this out there: What does 'ready' feel like?
I'm hoping I'm feeling it by the time I hit the start line next Sunday. So far, I've entered the familiar stages of "taper crazies" a.k.a. the Stages Of The Pre-Race Taper:
1) I could be doing more: The feeling that maybe you should skip the stretching/yoga recovery session after a monster training week, in favour of a brick session of hill repeats on the bike and then on a run. After all, there's 6 more days until race day. You log on to TrainingPeaks.com and review your current stats and upcoming schedule.
2) I'm completely exhausted and I can't imagine I'm going to be recovered by race day: Every muscle in your body is sore and or tired and all you want to do is nap all day and then go to bed. Meanwhile, there are still 'recovery workouts' and short-duration high-intensity sessions on the schedule. You log on to TrainingPeaks.com and review your stats just before you pass out in the living room.
3) I should have done more: You get through Stage 2 and miraculously you're starting to feel great. So great, in fact, that the normal dull nagging feeling that you should be 'doing more' turns into a confidence-challenging voice that's mocking "see, I told you to do more". I hate that voice. You log on to TrainingPeaks.com and review your stats, hoping to find workouts where inaccurately reported your time/effort.
4) Stages 1 to 3 combined: This is the dark phase. Try not to harm yourself or other people during this time. You start to log onto TrainingPeaks.com, but then break down and cry.
5) Race day preparation: This is more of a coping mechanism than a stage. Basically, you pack your stuff in order to put your "Type A" personality at ease by controlling something, in this case its making sure that at least all your stuff is ready, even if you're not. Try to do this without anyone else around, because it's annoying to see you bounce around the house muttering to yourself. No time for TrainingPeaks.com. Logging on may force a regression back to Stage 4.
6) Acceptance: That stage where you lie to yourself a bit and say "I've done what I can do, the day is going to be whatever it's going to be, and I'm just going to do my best and have fun". Listen to this lie. Believe this lie. Think fondly of your breakthrough workouts. Stay away from TrainingPeaks.
7) Excitement (i.e. "Ready?): You allow yourself to believe that today could be a good day. It could be your best day. After all, you trusted the process, put the work in, have many more 'completed' workouts than 'dropped', and have heard "Geez, you're looking fit. Are you ready?" at least a few times in the past 2 weeks. You stop letting TrainingPeaks.com judge you.
So far, I've never made it passed Stage 6. I've peaked over at Stage 7 once or twice, but never fully arrived.
So, is Stage 7 "ready"? Am I ready? Who knows? Ask me next Monday.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Being a "Good Sport"
This weekend I did a different kind of "endurance event". I had not been out with my good friend to go listen to good underground music in a long time. There was a very great artist in town this weekend and I knew I'd have to go. Problem is that I had the Scotia Half-Marathon on the card for the next morning. It wasn't an important race from an achievement point of view (it was a tune-up for Ironman 70.3 Lake Stevens in 3 weeks) so I decided I'd make it work.
Lots of friends came up to my while I was out asking "are you sure you're going to run tomorrow"? "Yup!", I'd say, "But it's going to be water only tonight". At 3:00am as I was leaving, I got some high-fives and well wishes and I headed home. My ears still ringing, I didn't really sleep and nearly dropped out of the race.
7:00 rolled around and I decided it was game-on! A mad dash to the start of the race at UBC. I got there nearly 5 minutes after the gun went and I had to start from nearly the back of pack. Still, I ran the best race I could and even pushed some good finishing pace for the last 5km. Result: 1:36:22. Not bad and not great, but as expected.
The special moment came as I was walking to go catch the bus home. Lots of runners were still coming in (it was around the 2 hr mark in the race) and some little kids were cheering with their Dad for all the racers. To them, they were having fun watching these athletes work their hardest to finish the last bit of racing... they didn't care that they were the first or the last of the runners. I went up to the kids and said "Hi, I heard you cheering when I was running by; it really helped me finish! I think you deserve this!". I handed them my finisher medal. They looked at me like I was Superman and had just given them my 'S'. Their Dad thanked me profusely and kept asking if I was sure I wanted to do that. "It's my pleasure", I said. The kids just held the medal and studied it, smiling ear to ear. I bet they stayed for as long as they could to cheer the other runners.
I knew on Saturday that I was not going to run the race of my life. My friends out with me on Saturday probably thought I was crazy, but committed. Maybe these kids on Sunday are inspired to become athletes themselves. I know that I'm inspired to share my love of athletics. It's important to me to be a "good sport".
Lots of friends came up to my while I was out asking "are you sure you're going to run tomorrow"? "Yup!", I'd say, "But it's going to be water only tonight". At 3:00am as I was leaving, I got some high-fives and well wishes and I headed home. My ears still ringing, I didn't really sleep and nearly dropped out of the race.
7:00 rolled around and I decided it was game-on! A mad dash to the start of the race at UBC. I got there nearly 5 minutes after the gun went and I had to start from nearly the back of pack. Still, I ran the best race I could and even pushed some good finishing pace for the last 5km. Result: 1:36:22. Not bad and not great, but as expected.
The special moment came as I was walking to go catch the bus home. Lots of runners were still coming in (it was around the 2 hr mark in the race) and some little kids were cheering with their Dad for all the racers. To them, they were having fun watching these athletes work their hardest to finish the last bit of racing... they didn't care that they were the first or the last of the runners. I went up to the kids and said "Hi, I heard you cheering when I was running by; it really helped me finish! I think you deserve this!". I handed them my finisher medal. They looked at me like I was Superman and had just given them my 'S'. Their Dad thanked me profusely and kept asking if I was sure I wanted to do that. "It's my pleasure", I said. The kids just held the medal and studied it, smiling ear to ear. I bet they stayed for as long as they could to cheer the other runners.
I knew on Saturday that I was not going to run the race of my life. My friends out with me on Saturday probably thought I was crazy, but committed. Maybe these kids on Sunday are inspired to become athletes themselves. I know that I'm inspired to share my love of athletics. It's important to me to be a "good sport".
Monday, May 28, 2012
♪ No, I won't back down ♪
The Thursday prior to my first Triathlon of the year, Shawnigan Lake Half-Iron, I had very specific goals for the race: Be out of the water in 0:32:00, Bike a 2:25:00, Run a 1:35:00. Transitions and other mishaps to add up to no more than 8 minutes. Finish time: 4:40:00. These numbers were well within what I felt I was capable of, based on current fitness and past performance.
On Friday morning, things changed.
I very rarely get sick. I hadn't had a cold in years. So it makes sense that just before my first big race of the year, a race that I intended to use as a baseline to fine-tune from in the next 7 weeks leading to my most important race of the year, that I get a doozy of a cold.
The moment I realized I was sick proved to be a critical one. I could have decided not to race. I could have chosen to dial back my effort. Or I could accept the challenge. I knew what my decision needed to be... I had taken the "easy" options already this year and it had left a bad taste in my mouth.
I don't know if its just me, but there never seems to be a race where everything works out perfectly. There are so many variables in play with Triathlon that I can't imagine they all end up in the athlete's favour. A perfect race would involve (assuming the athlete is well trained):
On Friday morning, things changed.
I very rarely get sick. I hadn't had a cold in years. So it makes sense that just before my first big race of the year, a race that I intended to use as a baseline to fine-tune from in the next 7 weeks leading to my most important race of the year, that I get a doozy of a cold.
The moment I realized I was sick proved to be a critical one. I could have decided not to race. I could have chosen to dial back my effort. Or I could accept the challenge. I knew what my decision needed to be... I had taken the "easy" options already this year and it had left a bad taste in my mouth.
I don't know if its just me, but there never seems to be a race where everything works out perfectly. There are so many variables in play with Triathlon that I can't imagine they all end up in the athlete's favour. A perfect race would involve (assuming the athlete is well trained):
- Well executed taper week structure, nutrition, etc.
- Bike is in 100% perfect working order
- Weather is optimal for the athlete
- Apparel is optimal for the athlete and weather
- Race course is ideal for the athlete and in perfect condition
- Athlete is well rested, well nourished, and healthy prior to the race
- Race day nutrition is executed perfectly
- Swim, Bike, and Run race tactics are executed perfectly
- No equipment issues on race day
This is by no means an exhaustive list. The idea, though, is that the athlete has been given the opportunity to access 100% of their potential on race day. This has not happened for me, as of yet.
So when I got sick, it certainly was going to affect my ability to access 100% of my potential. The challenge before me was to manage the degree to which it would affect me, i.e. if my performance was now going to be max out at 90% of my potential, I better try and get the whole 90%. The most logical way to do that, I decided, was to focus on the things that I can control and ignore the things I cannot. I can control my nutrition, my effort level, my schedule, and my equipment. I cannot control the course, the weather, the quality of my sleep, or my health.
On Friday, I packed early, took some cold meds, and went to bed by 10:30. It's as though my resolve to deal with my health challenges angered the race gods.... I was up for much of the night on Friday.
Saturday morning came quickly and I headed out the door to travel to Vancouver Island for the race with some teammates (shout out to Nathan Killam and Donald Fast). I fuelled well during the day, executed my pre-race routine to near perfection once at Shawnigan Lake, and went to bed early after a shot of Nyquil. That further angered the race gods.... up for much of the night on Saturday.
On race morning as I was waking up still exhausted, I caught myself thinking "no one would blame you for bowing out, nor holding back". But I would. And not at least trying would be an insult to myself, to Jen, and to Eli. I had put in the work and they had put in the support. Time to race.
I had the luxury of being 5 minutes from the race site and had VIP parking, so I took my time in the morning. I ate right, got all my gear on, waited for my "metabolism" to tell me that I was ready to leave for the race site. I even got my wetsuit part-way on (I hate doing that at the race site with dirty feet).
----
As a side note, I do need to commend Sugoi for their race suit this year. I have used Zoot and Orca race suits in the past. The one I now have feels like it is custom made. It is the best fitting, best performing single piece of race or training gear I've ever worn. Bar none.
----
Once at the race site, I was very relaxed. My gear was ready. I was ready. I knew my plan for the day: give'er and leave nothing in my body.
The gun went and the masses were off. Some early crowding on the swim got me stuck in a pack that wasn't going too fast. I dropped that group and found some good feet to hang on to. Around the mid point, the pack I was with was fading, so I bridged to a new group (who couldn't seem to swim straight) and got boxed in. Still, I was swimming well and my energy was up. With 400m to go, I decided to stay with the people I was with rather than gun it.... no need to waste energy for :30 gain.
T1 went fairly well. Dropped the wetsuit, put in the socks and helmet, and I was off. Bike mounting was another story. ...darn it, I forgot to secure my shoes with elastics. Still, off I went.
After a short stop to get my shoe on properly (was having issues with it while moving), I hit the gas. Got into my target heart-rate and stayed there. Climbed hard and attacked the downhills. I was controlling my effort and executing my tactics. I knew I wasn't going to hit my target bike split. In fact, I'd probably be 10 minutes off. I couldn't control that. I could just do my best to access my fitness. I did get an extra boost here and there, though; whenever I'd pass cheering kids it reminded me how excited I am for Eli to watch my fly by and be inspired and proud.
T2 was fast. Probably because my sunglasses were still in my equipment bag. Oh well... My visor would keep the sun out of my eyes just fine.
At the start of the run, I knew I was in for some suffering. My hamstrings and back were very tight and my feet were sore. My shoes were not ideal for the soft-packed gravel course. So I did the only thing I could do... get my heart rate to target, hold form, and suffer through it. I admit, it was frustrating to get passed a few times... I had done a lot of passing on the bike. About 7km into the run, things got a bit more challenging; I had gotten a nosebleed from my sinuses cracking a bit. But around the 10km mark, things improved and I actually felt ok. The last 4km were a struggle. I was feeling pretty done, I admit. I still hung on to my effort and pace, but I knew I was doing it for honour at this point.
As I was heading for the finish line, I did take the time to feel proud. I left everything out there, and even got a personal best (although only by a few seconds) of 5:04:00. I had been challenged, I had suffered through it, and I earned the finish. I could hardly walk and the outside of my feet were bruised from the gravel, but I had a heart full of satisfaction.
In the end, this race gave me what I needed. I have a baseline performance for the year that leaves me hungry for improvement. My coach and I will digest the data and put a plan in place for the next 7 weeks. I know what things within my control I need to improve and I can accept the result of things outside of my control. And I know that I can handle the challenges just fine.
Monday, May 7, 2012
BMO Half Marathon Race Report: Time to think different
Generally, we're all our own biggest critic. I know this is certainly the case for me. There is a time, though, where you also need to be your own biggest supporter. The latter is far harder than the former.
I had intended to set a personal best at the BMO Half Marathon on May 6th, 2012. I had about 3 good weeks of training behind me, after 5 weeks off from running. My training times and my proven ability to hold a high degree of effort while on the run gave me confidence I was going to make my goal.
The night before the race, I fueled well, hydrated well, got my kit ready early, and did all the other things I needed for a good race the next day. Check out my race kit from Sugoi! I got to sleep around midnight. But then I woke up at 2am. I had one of those nights that involved waking yourself up as soon as you fall asleep with the thought "I think I just fell asleep". ...oh well, I've raced on no sleep so if that was how this one would go, then so be it.
I got up at 5:20 and my first thought was a negative one: "I'm going to be tired during this race".
I parked my car downtown, hopped the train, and got to the start line with my two gels. I brought only 2 instead of 3 as I figured I would grab the 3rd one on course. Mistake.
I ran into a few friends at the start line. Most asked "are you ready for a PB?" No, I said. I'll probably run around 1:30:00 to 1:32:00. Another negative thought, considering I knew I was fitter than that.
Race started and I actually felt pretty good. I was hitting my paces for the first 3km of downhill, being conservative, but taking advantage of the slack start. Once I hit the flats, it was another story. I couldn't find the energy to get into my race HR. My legs were feeling strong, but I just couldn't find that top gear. Then I hit the first roller and my negative thoughts came in: "I didn't think there would be hills. This is going to mean some slow times for me today". Still, I was on track. Then I hit an aid station at the 8km mark to take my gel. I let the 1:30:00 pace bunny get by me. I never regained. They were always in sight but I couldn't find the kick I needed to catch them. The more defeated I felt, the worse my technique got and I stopped pulling my feet underneath me. I would hit another uphill and think to myself I'm going to lose more time. I'd take the downhill with speed and think I wasn't making up enough time. This cycle continued for the 236m of ascending and descending over the next 13km.
It was only with about 3km to go that I looked down at the time and saw that there was a chance I could still hit my goal. I'd need to push through one last tough section to do it. Then I let myself think that I should have just toughened up earlier. This thought ended up holding me back during the last 3km.
Finished at 1:31:14. My fastest run of the year, with only 3 good weeks of training. In my heart, it was my worst of the year.
I'm taking away two lessons. First, I need to stick with my nutrition plan. I needed more calories before the race. I needed that second gel. Second, and more importantly, if you believe you're going to fail, you will fail. You can't succeed if you don't believe it will happen. No matter how good the performance, if you don't judge it as a success it will not be a success.
I am going to work hard for the rest of the year to stay positive during racing and training despite setbacks and motivate myself with my own thoughts.
I had intended to set a personal best at the BMO Half Marathon on May 6th, 2012. I had about 3 good weeks of training behind me, after 5 weeks off from running. My training times and my proven ability to hold a high degree of effort while on the run gave me confidence I was going to make my goal.
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| Sugoi, Compressport, and New Balance race kit |
I got up at 5:20 and my first thought was a negative one: "I'm going to be tired during this race".
I parked my car downtown, hopped the train, and got to the start line with my two gels. I brought only 2 instead of 3 as I figured I would grab the 3rd one on course. Mistake.
I ran into a few friends at the start line. Most asked "are you ready for a PB?" No, I said. I'll probably run around 1:30:00 to 1:32:00. Another negative thought, considering I knew I was fitter than that.
Race started and I actually felt pretty good. I was hitting my paces for the first 3km of downhill, being conservative, but taking advantage of the slack start. Once I hit the flats, it was another story. I couldn't find the energy to get into my race HR. My legs were feeling strong, but I just couldn't find that top gear. Then I hit the first roller and my negative thoughts came in: "I didn't think there would be hills. This is going to mean some slow times for me today". Still, I was on track. Then I hit an aid station at the 8km mark to take my gel. I let the 1:30:00 pace bunny get by me. I never regained. They were always in sight but I couldn't find the kick I needed to catch them. The more defeated I felt, the worse my technique got and I stopped pulling my feet underneath me. I would hit another uphill and think to myself I'm going to lose more time. I'd take the downhill with speed and think I wasn't making up enough time. This cycle continued for the 236m of ascending and descending over the next 13km.
It was only with about 3km to go that I looked down at the time and saw that there was a chance I could still hit my goal. I'd need to push through one last tough section to do it. Then I let myself think that I should have just toughened up earlier. This thought ended up holding me back during the last 3km.
Finished at 1:31:14. My fastest run of the year, with only 3 good weeks of training. In my heart, it was my worst of the year.
I'm taking away two lessons. First, I need to stick with my nutrition plan. I needed more calories before the race. I needed that second gel. Second, and more importantly, if you believe you're going to fail, you will fail. You can't succeed if you don't believe it will happen. No matter how good the performance, if you don't judge it as a success it will not be a success.
I am going to work hard for the rest of the year to stay positive during racing and training despite setbacks and motivate myself with my own thoughts.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Out with the old, in with the new.
My race season is just about to start, so I thought I'd share what changes I've made to my whole Triathlon setup for this year. These changes have precipitated from two big changes/milestones. The first is that 2011 was a break year for me. A year off gives you time to break the emotional connection you have to your training/racing setup and courage to start fresh. The second is that I'm entering my first year of the 35-39 age bracket. I'm going to race against a whole new field, a far more competitive one, and any hope of sandbagging disappeared when I started to look at finish times for that bracket. Being almost 35 also means I'm old enough that I'm going to be a little more susceptible to injury, but also that I can afford to mitigate the possibility of injury by buying a bit more speed.
...plus, who doesn't like new toys.
Here's the list and each item's benefit thus far... note, these benefits are independent from what I've gaining by being well coached and increasing my training volume.
Apparel:
...plus, who doesn't like new toys.
Here's the list and each item's benefit thus far... note, these benefits are independent from what I've gaining by being well coached and increasing my training volume.
Apparel:
- Orca race suit to Sugoi for racing/biking/training. I'm excited to have my first apparel sponsor ever, Sugoi Performance Apparel. For those who know the brand, you'll know it's extremely well constructed, designed for real athletes, and very sleek and stylish. Their Tri race suit is the best fitting, most comfortable sports garment I've put on my body ever.
- Compressport compression products are now my staple. They're well priced and work as advertised. My 34 yr old legs and arms recover like they were 10 yrs younger. I'm in this stuff nearly every day, so I'm coming from a position of experience.
- Oakley Zero to Oakley Jawbone. I wanted the option to change lenses and not buy new glasses. I made this before getting back to training, so not sure if this counts ;-)
- Blackburn stationary trainer and CycleOps Powertap Elite+ traded in for CycleOps Powerbeam. I made this change to get the most of my indoor sessions, of which there are many. I train around my son's schedule on weekends, so even if the weather is nice I'm putting in time in the garage. I attribute much of a nearly 35% increase in my bike strength since December to using this device for training.
- Cervelo P2 has been traded in for a Trek Speed Concept 9.8. The intended ride was a Cervelo P5 but that's their fault, not mine. This bike is second hand from pro Rachel McBride who rode it last year to an 11th place finish at the Ironman 70.3 World Championships. It is constructed and imbued with speed.
- Shimano Dura-Ace has been traded for SRAM Rival. It came with the bike.
- Giro Adavantage race helmet traded for Bell Javelin. A race helmet should be changed every 3 to 4 years for safety reasons. The Bell fits well for my aggressive position on the bike.
- Profile Design Aerodrink has been traded for X-Lab Torpedo Mount. I made this change after realizing I want to take on liquid on the bike, then dispose of the bottle. Plus, it seems to reduce the air pocket created by the aero position.
- Look Keo Classic traded for Look Keo Blade Carbon. The person who bought my bike wanted the pedals, as it completes the look of the bike. Since I'm on a top of the line bike I thought I'd better have the pedals that matched.
- Polar CS600 traded for Garmin Edge 500. Polar has just stopped being innovative, compatible, and easy to use. My Garmin is solid and sends the data I want where I want it to go: everywhere.
- Traditional chainrings traded for Rotor Q-Rings. I admit I was skeptical to try asymmetrical chainrings. But when I tried them for the first time, I felt like I was on a gyroscope... they self propel, it seems.
- Northwave shoes for Sidi T3.6s. I've been riding Sidi shoes for a year on my road and CX setup. Their fit is just so lux that I had to make it happen for Tri. It will be a shame to pee in those on race day, though. ;-)
Swim
- Orca Sonar wetsuit to Orca Alpha. The swim leg has been a challenge for me in the past, despite doing well in training. Thanks to Speed Theory Vancouver for helping me out and getting me into a faster suit.
- Finis Swim Metronome. My stroke rate can be dialled in and examined to see it's affect on overall speed. This has helped me really develop a rhythm that lets me swim easy. Great product and the single biggest contributor to my swim improvement.
- Garmin 910xt. Swim data. Booya.
Run
- Sugoi run stuff. Try it and tell me I'm not right.
- Traded Newton runners for New Balance. Don't get me wrong... I love the feeling of the Newtons. But I've been getting chronic calf issues for a few years now, especially on training blocks that had a lot of speed work. My coach suggested I try something different. I chose the New Balance 890v2 shoes as they are very light and don't have an overly aggressive heal to toe drop (8mm vs. 4mm with the Newtons). My body is still adapting, but I've had zero issues with my calves.
Last but not least, I'm trading up my Tumblr account for a Blogger one, as you can see from this post.
I doubt I'll make such an extensive change until I'm in the 40-44 age bracket. ...plus I don't think I can afford to unless I luck out with getting great deals and support like I got this year.
I doubt I'll make such an extensive change until I'm in the 40-44 age bracket. ...plus I don't think I can afford to unless I luck out with getting great deals and support like I got this year.
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