From the Finishing Chute: A Day to Remember

13:09:18. My finishing time for a day I won’t easily forget. Tears well up and my throat tightens even as I write this. It was truly an epic day that merged the base and the transcendent, the serious and the jocular, the quick and the dead (energy-wise).

The Swim
The day began clear and calm with a 7:00 am gun and two laps of a 1.2 mile course in 63 degree Coeur d’Alene Lake. It seemed interminable--weak swimmer than I am, but I was able to remain calm amidst the inadvertent fisticuffs and maulings that happen when 1800 athletes aim for the same turn buoy a half mile away. An hour and twenty-five minutes later I was happy to be out of the water wobbling to the bike transition.

The Bike
After being peeled out of my wetsuit in one second flat by a two-person team of “wetsuit strippers,” I all but sauntered to the changing tent and then my bike. (It was going to be a long day after all, no need to overexert myself). On the bike, I felt very much at home and set a comfortable pace that would hopefully leave something on the run. Often called the “rolling buffet,” the bike leg is where you get most of your calories for the day, so I set to eating and drinking every 15 minutes--with my watch reminding me when it was feeding time.

Most of the course was quite beautiful, with some hills and wind. It was a wonderful feeling to be ticking off the miles at an OK rate and feeling well within myself. Around mile 81, I saw some friends who were volunteering as course marshals. They proffered good cheer and set me up for the last 30 miles back to Coeur d’Alene.

One hitch, which turned out to portend big problems ahead: my stomach started cramping about half way through the bike. To try to reset it, I cut back on my calorie intake--a hard thing for me to do since I knew this would have implications for the run. Unfortunately, it didn’t help, and I came into the bike-to-run transition with a crampy stomach having taken in about the half the calories I should have.

The Run
After a relatively quick change into my running gear, I passed through a startling gauntlet of female volunteers donning sunscreen slathered latex gloves and headed out onto the run. My legs felt surprisingly fresh. I started ticking off distance with short strides and was feeling positive about what lay ahead. My stomach, however, had other ideas.

It went from annoyingly painful to truly painful, and I had to start walking at mile two. (Warning: unrated talk of GI problems ahead). Still walking at mile 3, I stopped to throw up behind a late model Toyota. Then, (still walking) at mile 5, I laid down under a tree for about 10 minutes as a last ditch attempt to reset my stomach. I was starting to bump against a DNF (did not finish), which I could not believe I was actually considering. “These were dark times, young padawan.”

My siesta under the tree, though, did just enough. Over the next two miles (still walking!), my stomach started to unknot, and the referred pain I was feeling in my neck and back started to go away. And at mile 7, hosanna in the highest, I was actually able to start running again.

With the temperature in the 80’s and not having had anything to drink or eat for about an hour and a half, I was in an unrecoverable hydration/energy trough. But, I’d run between aid stations (about a mile apart) and walk through the stations while I took whatever fluids and calories I could. And I felt good, up until about mile 17, where I started feeling nauseated every time I ran.

But, nausea I could take. At least my stomach wasn’t painfully cramped. So, undeterred, I kept running/walking, taking in calories at the aid stations until, just for good measure, I threw up again at mile 20, behind a late model tree this time. I knew at that point that I could probably crawl to the finish (an official mode of locomotion according to the Ironman rule book--seriously!), so I just decided to abandon my quest for calories and sip easy-emptying water as I ran/walked to the line. And I certainly wasn’t alone.

Finding people surprisingly serious and silent on the bike leg, the slog of the run opened many people up to the exchange of bon mots (at least while walking). And, with the sun beginning to go down and the temperature dropping, it was actually a serene trip over those last six miles.

The Finish
At the turn onto Sherman street for the last quarter mile, the road was lined with hundreds of cheering spectators who slowly closed in until the passage was about the width of a house hallway for the last 50 meters. Just for a moment, I got a glimpse of what Lance Armstrong must feel riding through the throngs on L’Alpe d’Huez. Amazing.

About 20 meters before the finish, I met up with my two sons (5 and 3), and they came across the line with me (see photo up top, just after). That was very special. For all that my wife and kids have sacrificed so I could train, I felt privileged to share the experience with them. It was as much theirs as mine.

Now, five days adrift, I’m still turning the day over and over in my mind. For all the growing I did during my training, that really was just prelude to the experience of Coeur d’Alene. From the swim to the bike to the very eventful run, I was stripped down to my essence and got a rare chance to see who I really was. And I think I’ve become a better person because of it. Until next time. Cheers.

From the Staging Area: Quiet Confidence

The time has come. I’ve registered, checked in my bike, gorged myself on carbohydrates, and queued up some brainless DVDs to enhance my pre-race digestion and relaxation. The only thing left now is to see how it all unfolds once I step into Lake Coeur d’Alene for the first leg of the adventure. One thing I know: The well wishes and support of friends and family over the past couple of days has been very uplifting, and I can’t thank you enough. One never knows how things will unfold in any type of racing, but right now I’m nervous, very curious, and quietly confident about the day ahead. Cheers.

Mnemonic Miles: My Final Long Run

Sunday was my last long run--eighteen miles that marked the beginning of my taper down to Coeur d’Alene. And like most long runs, it was a contemplative venture; mile after mile filled with thoughts that lead from one to another, flip back around, and then jump someplace else entirely. Yet this run was an even richer adventure of mind and memory than usual, placed as it was right in the middle of my 20^th high school reunion weekend.

You get your miles in when you can, and it just turned out that I couldn’t get around running over my reunion weekend. So after a few hours’ sleep following Saturday’s festivities, I was up early hitting the pavement so I could be done in time for the Sunday morning events.

My high school alma mater, Cate School, is arguably one of the more beautiful settings in the United States (biased opinion here), and it was no sacrifice to run around its environs: golden foothills dotted with California oaks, expansive views of the Pacific and Channel Islands--just wonderful.

I hadn’t run on these roads since I’d been on high school cross country, and I hadn’t ridden on them for nearly as long. And it was as if each foot strike cracked open a batch of nearly lost memories, not just of old rides and runs, but of good, almost magical times with friends and schoolmates. Of course, some memories welled up that marked loss as well, for times passed that can’t be revisited--something made even more poignant by a couple somber Morrissey tracks on my MP3 player.

Still, I was buoyed by the run. It reminded me that I’m one of the luckiest people on earth to have had the opportunities I’ve had; to be surrounded by marvelous caring friends (even if we see each other only occasionaly), and to be graced with a wondrously great family. It’s easy to lose site of all I’ve been given when I get caught up in the daily march of life. It’s good to know that one long California run can bring it all back to the fore.

From the Countdown: Track the Race Live

Anyone with a leaning toward the macabre can log on to Ironmanlive.com on race day (June 26) and track the leaders and others much less gifted (like myself) as we make our way through the all day venture over water, hill, and dale. Thoughts of encouragement will be much appreciated, to be sure.

Janus Charity Challenge: The Final Stretch

A great many thanks to everyone who’s contributed to Partners in Health (PIH) through my Janus Charity Challenge page. We’ve made great strides and are now just a little over $700 short of the donation goal. Partners in Health is top-ranked by CharityNavigator.org and does wonderful and innovative work the world over to improve the health of the poor. See what you might be able to contribute leading up to the June 25 cut off. To make a donation, please visit my official donation page: click here. The more money we can raise for PIH before the race, the more likely it is that they’ll be eligible for Ironman-related matching funds. Thanks very much.

The Labyrinthine Way

Graham Greene’s extremely powerful and moving novel “The Power and the Glory” had the original working title, “The Labyrinthine Way:” A little known fact that has almost no bearing outside of the halls of academia and the booths of dark coffee houses in the Castro. While slightly obtuse and less lyrical than “The Power and the Glory,” I find the phrase an apt description of the concatenations that bring us to particular points in life.

And it has surely been a labyrinthine way that has brought me to my taper for the upcoming Ironman Coeur d’Alene. It’s really hard to believe, actually. The whole thing started when I told my wife that I’d like to do an Ironman sometime in the next 10 years. Her first response: “That’s very cool, just not this year, please!” And that’s how it all began.

I can’t recall the exact details of how I worked around this (short term memory loss secondary to training-related hypoxia), but my use-it-or-lose-it qualifying time for the Boston Marathon had a lot to do with it. I’ve always wanted to do Boston, and you get only two years to use your qualifying time to enter. I didn’t do 2004, so 2005 was my last chance, so I had to do it. After glancing at the calendar, it seemed logical to springboard that fitness from Boston into a full Ironman attempt. And my wife, as wonderful and athletic as she is, acquiesced and bought into it all. So it all began.

Along the way to this, my last big weekend of workouts before the event, I’ve worked around virulent household sicknesses, too many school vacations, tropical storms, extreme sleepiness, and an out-of-state move scheduled for two days after my race (which includes selling our house). And while this may not seem like much at face value, I found it quite challenging, especially in the face of the often quixotic quest for more and more hours in the pool, in the saddle, and on the run.

Not one to burn the candle at both ends, I can’t believe I’ve actually gotten to this point and stuck pretty much to my original training plan, and I’m excited to see if it’s enough when I toe the line June 26. Regardless of the outcome, the training alone has taught me a great deal: patience in the face of barriers, persistence in the face of inertia, and often most important, quadruple lattes in the face of sleepiness.

From the Training Table: Nothing Good to Eat

I’m living a dream of abundance, and as can happen with dreams fulfilled, it’s not exactly all it’s cracked up to be.

With my training in full swing these days, I am a calorie incinerator. My six or seven weekday workouts alone burn through a lot of energy, but my long weekend ride and run are just calorie wildfires. On my most recent Saturday ride, I probably burned 3,000 calories, and on my Sunday run, I probably came close to 2,000.

At face value, this seems great. The opportunity of a lifetime to eat and eat and eat, almost whatever I want, whenever I want. In reality, though, it’s far from the land-of-milk-and-honey ideal you might think.

Yes. I’ve become a regular at the Kispy Kreme drive through (glazed crème filled rocks!), and I buy packages of Mother’s Cookies four at a time. But these crème filled dreams are much more the exception than the rule.

Sadly, eating in many ways has just become part of my training--often driven more by what I need than what I want to eat. I may be hankering for foie gras and pork loin on Friday night, but that’s not going to take me too far down the road on my Saturday ride. “Guess it’s beans and rice again.”

Over and over, my nutrient needs avoid my gustatory yearnings. It’s hard to fathom, but when I really need to eat--like just after a long run or ride--I’m not at all hungry. And when I’m hungry, many times I can’t really eat because I have a hard workout coming up.

Obviously, I fit the calories in and many of them are enjoyably consumed. Yet, I also eat a lot utilitarian calories (Power Bars, plain bagels, Fig Newtons ad nauseam) and drink a lot of startling colored, awful tasting sports drinks. But, just like all those long runs and rides, it should pay off in the end when I toe the line. I only hope someone will have foie gras and pork loin waiting for me if and when I finish.

From the Boston Marathon: What a Way to Train

The last 6 miles were pure torture, from the top of Heartbreak Hill down to Beacon street then on to the finish at the public library on Boylston. But, I did it, and the 109th running of the Boston Marathon was nothing short of an extraordinary experience. To prove it, I brought my camera along. Check out my photo tour of this year’s race to get a glimpse of what makes the Boston Marathon so special: take the tour.

Andromeda Train

I am tired. And it’s not from my recent string of late night training sessions--well, at least not completely. The Andromeda Strain visited our house a month ago and has yet to leave. First, the boys were sick. Nothing serious, just a draining, long term fever with the always enjoyable GI eructations. Then my wife and I got it. Then, after a false plateau of good health, it cycled through the whole family again. Fun, fun, fun.

After many relatively sleepless nights and arduous days of nursing ill progeny (my poor wife usually has to fend for herself), it’s quite hard to even think about getting in a single workout, let alone the doubles often needed for triathlon training. Any other time, I’d have taken some days off while awaiting the scourge to leave our home, but with an Ironman looming, I didn’t.

I probably should have. It would have been the prudent thing to do. But, being lazy by nature and always looking for reasons to slack off, I often feel I have to lash myself to the mast of productivity and workout sick, and tired, and oftentimes just plain sleepy.

And while this is not always wise, it does fit into my new training philosophy--a veritable sea change in how I view my workouts. Before I began training for my upcoming Ironman, I was always yearning for a kind of ease in my runs and rides. Not “easy” mind you, but ease, where things felt right and good and dialed in, even when I was going hard. I would be put off by those inevitable times when I felt crummy or lethargic.

Now, with an Ironman in my future, where a marathon run follows a long swim and near-epic ride, I’m trying to embrace those bad times in my workouts because no matter how bad I’m feeling, I suspect it’s likely to be worse at some point during my race. Rather than worry about why I’m feeling horrible on that long run, I now try to own that feeling in a way--internalizing it so I know how to work around it, or through it, the next time it comes up.

In many ways, it’s a healthier approach to training, even when I’m working out sick. (How’s that for twisted logic?). Now, if I can just apply this new paradigm to other aspects of my life, I’m sure my wife and two sons would be ecstatic. It’ll probably take more effort than the Ironman, but I’m working on it.

From the Pool: If Can't Be Fast, I'll Just Be

I’ve become quite philosophical of late about my swimming. I now accept that I am slow. There’s really no other way to see it. But, as painfully clear as that fact may have been to my poolmates, it took me a number of months and a slog through the 5 stages of grief for me to come to grips with it.

The process went something like this: Denial “I can’t really be that slow. I must be sick;” Anger “Look at those yahoos in the next lane showing off with their flip turns and fast arm turnover;” Bargaining “Maybe if I learned to do flip turns I’d be fast, too;” Depression “Where’s that duathlon schedule?” Acceptance “Hey, slow worked for the tortoise.”

Slow as I may be, I am showing some progress--largely due to regular trips to the pool but also to the Total Immersion program, which has really helped my technique.

There are times when I still feel like a crab in the water, but with Total Immersion I’ve become more streamlined and relaxed, even if I don’t achieve it every, or even most, laps. The constant goal of improving technique not only helps pass the time lap after lap but it also adds a bit of a Zen quality to swim training. You swim in the moment, mindfully focusing on various minute aspects of your stroke. And this has actually transferred to other aspects of my training and life.

We live in a world of distractions, and as much as I love that (truly), there’s a time to turn inward and live fully in the moment--whether it’s editing a document, riding up a six percent grade, or washing the dishes. Greater efficiency is a by product of this, but the real payoff of these mindful moments is that they help center us, put us back in touch with our true capabilities, and set the stage for growth. Of course, meditating with the Dalai Lama may be more centering than swimming, editing, or washing dishes, but you have to take what you can get.

Hits from the Long Run

There are always a few surprise standouts from the MP3 player on my long runs. On yesterday’s 20-miler, it was a hirsute Welshman (Tom Jones) and six prog rockers from the heartland (Kansas).

Ruffled open-collared shirts aside, don’t be too quick to discount Tom Jones. He’s got pipes and enough artistic integrity to work with producers like Trevor Horn. Give a listen, you may be surprised. As for Kansas, it’s always great to hear the musicality on a classic hit like “Carry On.”

Tom Jones; from “The Lead and How to Swing It” (1994)
If I Only Knew
Situation (cover)
Kansas; from "Leftoverture" (1976)
Carry on Wayward Son

The Janus Charity Challenge

In my run up to Ironman Coeur d'Alene, I’m raising money for a great charity called Partners in Health. Top-ranked by CharityNavigator.org, Partners in Health does wonderful and innovative work the world over to improve the health of the poor. To make a donation, please visit my official Janus Charity Challenge page: click here. It's safe. It's secure. So why not herald in spring with a gift from the heart? Thanks very much.

Music in Dreamland

I have a long held belief that real runners don’t listen to music when they run. And while that may very well be true, I’ve recently taken to music on my long runs like William Bennett to slot machines. It helps pass the time, and it helps me maintain a more measured pace so I can settle down for some true LSD--long slow distance.

But, the other great bonus of music on the run, and possibly the most important: I get reacquainted with songs I haven’t heard for years. Music has always played a key role in my life. Once you have kids, though, you just don’t get quite as much time to listen to music as you’d like…which is OK. On my long runs, though, I now get the chance to listen (really l-i-s-t-e-n) to my music. It’s probably been five years or more since I’ve heard some of the songs streaming into my headphones. When I heard the first few bars of Music in Dreamland from Be Bop Deluxe’s Futurama, I was carried back over twenty years to my childhood home in Southern California, where I wore the grooves off that album. About every fifth song hits another memory and carries me elsewhere.

The soundtrack of each run is always different--not so much because the shuffle on the player throws different songs at you; it’s more that the tenor of every run is different. The weather, the route, the distance, how you’re feeling all come together to give a special imprint to each run. And on each run, there are always a few standout tracks. Sometimes it’s Van Halen; sometimes it’s Bruce Hornsby; sometimes it’s Lyle Lovett. You never know what’s going to play big (though it’s hard to go wrong with U2’s Mysterious Ways).

On my last long run, Prince was the king. Le Grind from the Black Album, Pink Cashmere from The Hits/The B-Sides, and the title track from Musicology were IT. Their funky R&B soulfulness synched with my pace and had me singing falsetto down the trail--scaring small animals and young children the whole way.

All this listening may disqualify me as a real runner, but I figure if I’m going to be putting all the miles in any way, I may as well enjoy them.

A Third Thing

In a recent issue of Poetry, Donald Hall wrote about the importance of having a “third thing” in life--something outside of family and work that added extra meaning to the day and, in so doing, brought greater stability, enjoyment, and passion to the whole of life.

Athletics has long-served as my third thing. I have many joys in life--baking, reading, writing, lounging around in omphaloskepsis--but it’s the concrete goals of athletics that really force me to focus, to carve out the time that really makes something a daily presence.

And nothing helps me to focus better than a race-too-far. Whether it’s trying to qualify for the Boston Marathon or finish an Ironman triathlon, such lofty goals (lofty for me at least) take a prime spot in my psyche and help anchor the whole.

It’s very easy to get sucked into the “importance” of work and the chaos (no quotation marks here) of family. Before you know it, you've become the monomaniacal Ahab hunting the White Whale--obsessed with checking email and perfecting the unperfectable course of the day with two young boys. The third thing of training gives me a mental and physical break from it all. It’s something to think about, and do, that has nothing to do with either work or family, and this ultimately helps me take work and family head-on with more creativity, verve, and happiness.

One Sweet Ride

I distinctly remember wondering in my early days of fatherhood--when our first son, now 5, was just 3 weeks old--if I’d ever be fit again. Those early days, depending on the type of baby you have and your own personal disposition, can be quite trying both physically and emotionally. You’re not sleeping; you’re not eating well; and your psyche has bumped hard against the realization that things have changed forever. Making time for a run or a ride seemed ludicrous in the abstract and down-right impossible in reality.

But, slowly, you rally. And one thing that helped save my fitness in those early weeks, and over the past five years, was our jog stroller. The first one we bought was the single Baby Jogger II with the 20 inch wheels. It was, and still is, one sweet ride. It’s lightweight. Maneuverable. The 20 inch wheels fly. And it’s narrow enough to navigate urban sidewalks at a run. With the optional weather shield that encloses the kid cockpit, you’re ready to hit the road in almost any winter weather. That it doesn’t fold down very compactly (I think the newer models do) is the only real drawback, and it’s far outweighed by the pluses, except maybe for those Yugo drivers who need to get the jogger down to the rail trail.

After the birth of our second son, we upgraded to the Hummeresque Kelty Deuce Coupe with 16 inch wheels. This double-wide stroller has plenty of room for two. It’s not cheap (which can actually be said for any good jog stroller), but it paid for itself many times over when, even in hectic weeks, I could lasso the boys in there and still get in some key miles. Like the single Baby Jogger, the Deuce Coupe is lightweight and relatively easy to maneuver (given the 75 pounds of kid inside). Plus, it folds down very compactly and has many parent-friendly pockets and bottle holders on the back. You’ll pay a nice (read “big”) price for the optional weather shield, but it does a very good job keeping the elements out--and the kids in. One major drawback, the double-wide size makes it a bit too big for running on all but the grandest of sidewalks.

Over the past five years, the boys and I have logged hundreds of miles in our two joggers. And while they’ve often been reluctant passengers (our oldest, in particular), they know it’s part of the routine, and that it will certainly put dad in a better mood for the rest of the day.

With our oldest now in kindergarten, we’ve pretty-much mothballed the double-wide. (It’s resurrected only during school holidays.) And I must say I very much miss pushing the two boys on our 4 mile runs week in and week out. Though I’m unsure of the imprint it’s had on them, for me, it’s given me a chance to share a very special part of my life with them. The miles we’ve logged may be a distant or forgotten memory for them five years from now, but I hope it’ll somehow leave them with a bit of a road map to who their father is.

Why? The Serengeti, of Course

James Joyce took the ordinary and made it extraordinary. Daily, mundane lives exploded in color, richness, and intricacy in the pages of his great works. Something as simple as making breakfast or walking on the beach became opportunities to explore the interior of life and plumb the depths of the conscious mind. Which brings me to this blog.

Nothing has led me to examine my life more than becoming a parent. Like getting married or buying a house, having children is one of those things that most people do at some point in their lives. Yet, while it's seemingly trivial in the aggregate, each is a very big deal to the individual. And, I have to say, bringing up my two sons as a part time stay-at-home dad has taught me many things about myself--some of which are admirable, some of which are far-from-flattering. Let's just say, when I have plumbed the depths of my conscious mind, I have more than once turned away chagrined. But, I'm learning every day and trying to be a better, new-and-improved father.

Athletics is another seemingly mundane activity that also plays a huge role in my life and in my self-exploration. I've raced bikes, ran, swam, or speed skated regularly for over 20 years. Why? There's health. There's fitness. There's the rush of competition, and the challenge of mastering technique. All thing's that motivate me. But what really keeps me interested is the inner journey of athletics. It's a chance to mesh the mind and body; to return to a long-forgotten state when, as little australopithecines, we roamed the Serengeti looking for food and avoiding predators. We're hard wired for activity; and for me, it gives me a chance to transcend Seinfeld and Survivor, CNN and the New York Times, and just turn inward--associating my mind and body, not dissociating them, which so much of today is focused upon, and which I fall prey to more than most.

I've recently signed up for an Ironman triathlon in Coure d'Alene, Idaho (www.ironmencda.com). If I finish the 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and 26.2 mile run, i'll definitely be able to mark one off my short list of things to do before I die. In "Tri Dad," I hope to chronicle the ins, outs, and in-betweens of taking on this task while being a part-time stay-at-home dad. Some posts will wax philosophic. Some will simply chronicle the week. Each will be a piece of the puzzle.

More Pain, More Gain

Great interview with Lance Armstrong on NPR today. Melissa Block covered a wide range of topics and in a very studied manner, unoffensive to the general public and followers of the pro peloton alike. NPR : Armstrong Mulls Next Year's Tour de France.

Snooze to Lose

I always feel very dissociated from my body when I don't get enough sleep. I'm cranky, tired, and on top of it all, can't seem to hear what my body's telling me it needs (beside more sleep). This study out of the University of Wisconsin suggests I'm not lone. http://www.plosmedicine.com/archive/1549-1676/1/3/pdf/10.1371_journal.pmed.0010062-p-S.pdf