Mob Frenzy

People change - I change. When I  am part of a group or engaged actively in the same interest as others, I become something that I was not.

Someone I respect and consider a friend, recently got into a race that requires a lottery entry. It is an exciting and very challenging race. I'm thrilled for my friend. But as I was thinking about this race and what would be involved for preparation, I realized that I felt no envy. I didn't once think that I'm undertrained or could not be ready for such a competition. In fact, I thought nothing other than genuine happiness for my friend.

This is a big change. In previous years, whilst I was in the thick of training and preparing, news of someone I knew (or trained with or read about) getting into a fabled race would have resulted in emotions ranging from guilt to envy -- each one of them self reflexive.

It was as if others' accomplishments or challenges were like mirrors with which I compared, evaluated and judged my own goals and current state.

But that was when I was on the inside.

That was when I was part of a group. I was engaged actively in the avocation of triathlon and all the relevant training and lifestyle eccentricities that entailed.

I'm now on the outside. I'm still training. I still have a race or two planned for this season. Swim/bike/run is still an important part of my life...and my lifestyle. But the conscious decision this year was to let this all-encompassing and life consuming passion settle into an activity and let some of the rest of my life percolate back into relevance.

And I've changed. I don't feel the tug and pull of updating my equipment as often. I have a training plan that I follow and I don't have the urge to alter it to keep up with others who are training for events I am not interested in this year.
Surprisingly, as a result, I feel more mentally nimble . It is as if my mind has switched from a basic Behaviorist model of reacting predictably to any stimulus, to something more...relaxed.

Maybe it is because I am now, kinda-sorta, a veteran of this tri stuff. Not that I'm great at it, but I know I what I'm capable of and that gives me some inner confidence. I think this is obvious.
I believe though, it has a lot more to do with not having the constant stimulus and thought-altering influence of the  mob.

This year, I'm not really in the "group". Although I may feel the group's influence occasionally when I wade into training sessions with them, their actions don't exert the same tidal pulls that they once did.
Maybe this is why I feel free enough to explore other facets of this active life, such as ultra and trail running. This is why, maybe, snowshoeing is such a pleasurable activity right now. Sure it is pretty good cross training, but it isn't really preparing me for something. It is just fun.

So this too seems to have become another element of my evolution. And re-reading these words, I realize that eschewing the frenzy (friendzy?) of the mob may have actually made me more comfortable within and without it!

Training for and completing three Ironman races gave me the confidence to do more. Stepping back, albeit momentarily, give me the confidence to do less and to do different. People change. I know I have. 

Tri to run, run to tri?

I've found myself a little too interested, of late,  in the idea of running longer distances...and running those distances off the beaten path.

Now I don't have any idea if I can run these distances, or even if they would bore me, but, over the past several years, my most pleasurable workouts have been off road in places that I have never explored before - running, climbing, walking, taking pictures - and never overly concerned about pace.

I've also been living somewhat vicariously through the stories and experiences of some local amazing athletes, such as Johnny Venture and Stacey Shand. I've also been following the triumphs, disappointments and musings of some online friends' blogs On the Run and Back of the Pack.

Still trying to mend my Plantars Fasciitis, I'm not running as much as I would like. The -30 to -40c temps of late have not helped either. But I am doing lots of snowshoeing and still enjoying the outdoors.

I have no Ironman scheduled, this year. Although I am really looking forward to the Great White North HIM in July. I'm also looking forward to another Ironman and hopefully the Silverman in 2012/13.

So. I started swimming again this week and enjoyed the numb tired feeling afterwards. I have ramped up my indoor biking and am leading a class on Saturdays. This week, the session is called "spin 'til you puke" - although, after I did a practice run of it, I felt less like puking and more like having a long nap. And I have done a few longish runs, so I will be ready come tri season.

The question is, should I try to run off road and see where the road less traveled takes me? What if that choice indeed makes all the difference and leads me even further from triathlon. And what if it does? I am trying to find my bliss, or at least follow it. It is out there somewhere. And whether it is wearing spandex or gators or, maybe, crampons, I just need to go have a look at what is just beyond that ridge or coulee...

For the time being, I'll amuse myself with the ongoing debate about Ironman vs Ultra runner. Here's a recent installment from the interwebs for your viewing pleasure.


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The Waiting

As you may have read in the previous entry, I recently spent a long time waiting. I spent a long time waiting in places in which I didn't particularly wish to be.


A good chunk of my brainspace was consumed by feelings of anger, frustration, helplessness and the soupçon  of despair. At times, it took all my energy and patience to manage these emotions, especially while sharing the same experiences with my equally bewildered family.

We were waiting. Waiting to catch a plane, maybe. Or maybe waiting for something that would never come. It was an existential conundrum just to consider rolling out of the too soft bed every morning with nothing but a Pandoran suitcase and each other for comfort.

And although I wished not to linger, nor to be consumed any further by over-thinking our ill-fortuned displacement, I could not avoid relating this waiting to the time I've spent before races.

In a motel room, with nothing but a duffel bag, bike,  and my tri kit, I've spent many days waiting for the Saturday or Sunday race to come. Call it tapering, call the foreshortened bouts of  "race-prep". It was  waiting for the days and nights to pass. It was eating and drinking in restaurants that I normally would avoid - or taking food back to a strangely accommodating room to eat by the warm glow of network television.

Every waited day lead up to race morning to take that zombie-like walk to the still, dark waters of the lake that would shortly boil with the kicking of feet and flailing of arms. I'm challenged to see how this is any different from the daily routine we established in Chicago and London and Glasgow and Calgary.

The sole difference is, in race-season, the question is "will I be ready?". This differs only marginally from "will the airline be ready?" Does it not?

I continue to examine, analyze and interpret these experiences and thoughts. I marvel at my family's resilience, their good nature and drive, despite the onslaught of crisis after failure after calamity.

I still have a lot to learn.

How triathlon training can get you through the inconceivable.

I've written before about triathlon and improvisation. Simple principle: If you prepare to improvise, you probably won't have to...much. In a race, bad things can happen and usually do.

A short generic list could look like this:

• Forget to pack race nutrition
• Goggles break during race warm-up
• Get a flat or two or three
• Weather too hot, or too cold or too wet
• Go out too fast, or too slow
• Bonk, hit the wall, bite the dust, crash and burn...

How you respond to bad things is a small indication of how well you have trained athletically and a bigger indication of if you have the mental toughness  required to successfully complete any endurance activity.

During a race, bad things happen. Sometimes they come in clusters. Sometimes you can overcome and persevere. Other times it is best to just pack up and go home, knowing that you are not quitting, you are making a strategic race decision. The outcome of this decision will impact future races, training patterns, and even, potentially, how you deal with real life, non-sport situations.

Personally, in difficult situations, I have found myself repeating the mantra, "I can do this, I'm an Ironman!" It usually helps, or at least adds comic relief, especially when facing a toilet plunging situation.

But sometimes, in very rare situations, you may find yourself in a place where you cannot make a "strategic race decision". You cannot simply stop, you must endure. You must take everything that is thrown at you, make the best of it and just get through it. A good attitude is the only thing that can get you through these situations.

Think of bad work assignment situations, family crises, natural disasters and, in a very recent example from my life, international family vacations.

Those of you who know me, know that my family and I just completed a disappointing holiday. Because it involved air travel,  we were in a situation where calling it a day and going home was just not possible - or permitted by federal law and the Department of Homeland Security. But we endured. And even as things went from bad to worse to ridiculous and then changed gear into inconceivable and absurd, we got through it. My mental toughness and positive attitude kept me sane. My family? They probably kept it together after years of dealing with my mental toughness babbling.

We endured, we persevered, we finally got home.

How bad could it have been? Really? Here goes - in short points:

• Journey begins pre-dawn December 18.
• Plane delayed.
• Arrive Chicago O'Hare. Connecting flight to London, Heathrow canceled.
• Heathrow Airport closed for all air traffic indefinitely. Here is some related Airport closure news.
• Stranded in Chicago for six days. Two adults, two teenagers - one small hotel room. (Did enjoy Chicago, great city!)
• Fly to Heathrow Airport for transfer to Glasgow, Scotland.
• Glasgow connection delayed because aircraft must arrive from Dublin and Dublin airport closed for two hours because of "pilot error". Some dude took wrong turn on main runway and got stuck. This was originally a link, but now longer works.
• Arrive Glasgow, December 24th, 9 pm.
• My suitcase is utterly destroyed and is only held together by luggage belt that I had put on it.
• Our host, tour guide, chauffeur and close relative becomes ill and bed-bound for 5 days.
• Coldest and snowiest December in UK on record.
• Never saw the sun once, except in pictures and a documentary on the Discovery Network.
• Swine Flu epidemic grows in UK.
• Friends and one child all get sick to varying degrees.
• I get sick for two days.
• We do nothing that was planned during our vacation.
• Spouse falls on ice and seriously bruises elbow. Can't use arm for one day.
• The day before we are scheduled to leave, an elder and much-loved relative dies.
• January 4th 2011, journey back home begins in the pre-dawn darkness.
• Flight is delayed because fuel delivery system at Heathrow breaks down and no planes can be refueled.
• Arrive at Heathrow, we missed our flight to Chicago on United. 
• No flights available for a family of four going anywhere close to North America until the next day.
• Booked in the Ibis Hotel, AKA the Abyss in London for the night. Not a hotel I would normally even recommend to enemies.   Edit. this hotel has cleaned up its act, since then. Probably because of this blog.
• Spouse gets sick - has the same flu-like symptoms that everyone had earlier in the week.
• January 5, 2011. Scheduled to fly with Air Canada from Heathrow to Calgary, Alberta, then home.
• Plane is delayed one hour because air crew needs more sleep because of late previous night arrival.
• On runway, plane has a generator malfunction and must taxi back to terminal.
• Decision is made to use back-up generator, after refueling and going to the back of the take-off cue, plane takes off, three hours late.
• Miss connection in Calgary. 
• Get standby tickets for 9 pm flight, but that flight is overbooked. 
• Spouse and one child manage to get seats because there are two no-shows. 
• My other child and I spend the night in Calgary, arriving at Hotel just after 10:30 pm.
• Leave hotel on January 7th, 5 a.m. to catch flight home.
• Truly problem-free and effortless 45 minute flight home.  

Thanks to my triathlon training (and a two precious solo runs in Glasgow), we endured the bewilderment of the inconceivable, much like after a race where everything goes wrong, despite months of training and dedication.

And miles to go before I sleep...

Looking out of the 5 a.m. window this morning, I wondered if anyone else has the same fear and trepidation that I have before a winter run.

My routine is pretty simple. I check the weather channel and cross check it with the network news and do a triple verification on a web weather site the night before. If the temperature is supposed to be in the descent range, start thinking about going for a run in the pitch black of a Saskatchewan winter morning. It is of course understood that December 9th is not yet winter.

The whole process is much akin to using the entrails of a chicken to prognosticate and plan the next day's outdoor exercise, or whether (no pun intended), there will be any at all. My threshold for a solo run in the dark, when everybody is still sleeping is -20c. Now the wind often blows here, so -20c is the perceived temperature. This morning, for instance, it was -6c, but with a windchill of -19c (37km/hr winds). I have come to understand that running alone, in the dark at temperatures below that is just stupid.

Now I have been stupid in the past. For instance running the Hypothermic Half marathon in -36c one year and then compounding the stooopid factor by running it again the subsequent year when it was -47c with windchill. Don't get me wrong. It can be done. And other than the panic when I couldn't get my frozen balaclava to work or my glove back on after trying to scrape some frozen gel into my mouth, it was somewhat generally, mostly unpleasant. But think of the bragging rights!

I still remember, during one training run that was longer than three hours, a wise fellow runner wondered "why are we doing this, we aren't training to be flippin' polar bears!"

But I do it because I need to run. Not run inside, but be outside. Moving. Breathing...and being just a little scared of what could happen if I stop.

Returning to my pre-run routine. After checking all the weather information sources, and noting that every one of them offers different data, I decide yes/no based on temperature. If it is a go, I lay out clothing appropriate to the expected temperature. It is all about layers. Then I sleep. In the pre-run eerie darkness, I again check the temperature. Sticking my face out the door is pretty useless because, at this time of year, the wind is more relevant than the absolute temperature. So I look out the window at the evergreens and the chimneys.

When I finally make the decision to run...I face a brief moment of fear. Am I dressed appropriately? What happens if I slip. What happens if I can't run and I'm sweaty? In the five or so years I've been doing this, I have only turned back home once. That was due to so much ice that I couldn't make it more than half a block without slipping.

Still, the fear is there. I never feel this fear in the fall or summer or spring. What if I'm too hot? Well, I can peel off a layer. I can do that every other season. Not now. My layers are at the bare minimum to provide warmth, but limit moisture as I sweat more than the average industrial condenser.

I've often wondered why it is that my heart rate always races the first 5 minutes of the run. Maybe I'm having an anxiety attack over the fear of the unknown.

Still. At 5 a.m. the sparkling white darkness invites me, like the song of sirens into a strangely familiar realm to which I must return.

Within half a block from my house I'm fine, the panic subsides and is replaced by the annoyance of aching joints and muscles. That too subsides by the time I'm on the trail. From there, I find my stride and complete the run I chose to do...and never again consider the cold or the wind or the snow. 

But I dare not stop. 

...Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest mornings of the year...

Becoming the lyric

I’ve taken to listening to podcasts. Not the CBC or NPR sorts where lofty ideas are floated. My auricular  peccadilloes are a little less grandiose, yet so much more expansive. 

I do things to music. I have always done things to music. It composes, not so much the soundtrack of my life, but the libretto of my essence.  Long before the Walkman existed, I remember truckin’ (yeah truckin’!) around town with a portable mono cassette/radio in a small canvas purse-thing and a pair of Sennheiser earphones rescued from my brother’s garbage bin after Rusty, the family dog had chewed them within an inch of their phono 1/4 inch plug.  I still remember the odd looks I got on the ski slope as I got of the chair lift with this contraption strapped on to me like a man purse with brain scan attachment.

A few years later. Sony did introduce it’s revolutionary Walkman. This was truly revolutionary. Even though I had clearly invented the device a number of years earlier, Sony had managed to miniaturize a cassette player and create the first viable portable listening device. The build-up to my crescendo to a onanistic auralgasm through the use of increasingly miniaturized devices parallels a number of narratives of my life. But this isn't the place for it. Suffice it to say that sometime between Kate Bush and R.E.M. I made the leap from portable CD player to MP3.

Since that time I have never been too far from music. I pride myself on having perfect pitch...well, being able to distinguish and occasionally hit any note I hear. This isn't to say that I can sing. My family makes it all too clear that my singing is closer to Leonard Cohen than to Bon Jovi. That's fine. When I sing now, it is often inside my head or outside - with nothing but the asphalt disappearing beneath my clincher wheels. Or on anotherwise empty running trail. Singing out loud while swimming, on the other hand, has proven to be a little problematic -- more from a breathing point of view, than anything else. 

Sometimes, with earbuds connecting me to my little musical stash, I can reach the right note and put the melody together and find my voice. When I am in key, and I know the lyrics it becomes a little pocket of perfection. I can no longer hear the song. Just myself. When I'm in tune everything plays out according to a song sheet that was long ago written. With the right tune, all the training and effort coalesce into a forward momentum that releases endorphins that feel like a peaty whisky entering my blood stream. 

Podcasts extend this euphoric stream of consciousness into multi-hour sessions that would make a transcendental yogi blush. 

I know there are many out there that advocate listening to your own body instead of music when doing endurance training. Sure...maybe for some. But the delicious secret that isn't really talked about is that the music never leaves you. Long after the batteries have run out. Or during the race when you are forbidden from using earphones, your personal soundtrack continues beats on in harmony with your heart.

During Ironman Canada 2010, I had some precious tunes running through my head as I swam, biked and ran through the Okanagan. They cheered me, sped me up, salved my pain and ultimately reveled in the triumph of my personal best time. Apparently there was music all along the course. I never heard it.

To become the endurance athlete that I'm trying to be, I have learned the I first must become the lyric to the soundtrack of my life. Without it, everything goes out of sync and all around me cacophony echoes.

This is the coda. And the overture.

Spinning Tunes.

Photo by CJ Katz

So this week I went back onto the bike. I was never off it really, but it was  more often leisurely commutes to work or invigorating offroad gambles on knobby tires. The weather in this land has now turned to the nine month season that, amongst  many less-than-obvious benefits, includes no bugs. Other than the occasional foray with the cyclocross into the snow, or gingerly transporting a bike to and from a waiting car, there is little outdoor riding happening in -20 celcius.

But I got onto the bike - indoors. The hour-long experience reminded me how a fluid trainer forces you to be honest. On the road, unless you are doing the macho cyclist socks-match-the-shorts-thing, you can always coast. Or you can soft pedal and still propel yourself towards your destination. You can "cheat". 

Indoors, you are racing no one but the clock. If you cheat, you are just wasting your time - and even worse, you are in a basement or living room or kitchen and getting sweaty and being pathetic for nothing. You have to be honest and do the work...otherwise, why bother? Unless you must soft pedal for recovery, because of an injury or other viable reason, there are far better exercises and activities in which to engage rather than wasting time on a trainer. 

I administer an indoor bike class for my triathlon club. By administer,  I mean run, operate, lead, set up, collect, clean up and wake up for, every dark, freezing, godless, Saturday morning. I still shake my head about why I do this. I know why I do. I enjoy the experience and the energy I get back from the other riders. I'll go with that.  This year, I decided that I would lead a lot more of the sessions, rather than rely on videos, such as Spinervals. Why? I wanted to challenge my introverted self into stepping (or spinning) a little further out of my comfort zone and share with the participants some of the routines that I have picked up in my brief life as an endurance athlete.

So I spent a lot of time thinking and writing down a number of training sessions that would first not scare off the participants, and that would gradually challenge them and help them feel like they were not "cheating", or wasting their time at that crack of stupid early morning.

I spent an equal amount of time putting music together. Trying to find music that would work with the training, but that would be interesting enough to keep the participants motivated. My musical tastes are quite expansive, and include most musical styles - except the that big haired abomination that, sadly still flourishes and shows up on "Greatest Hits format" radio stations and local concert halls catering to geriatric, and financially destitute axe wielders...but I digress. 

I felt a little like a David Bowie character - I am what I play. I put music together that I hope will surpise, inspire and keep every spinning. Last time I tried this, I was told, by someone in the know, that my music sounded like it came from a Greek discotheque. I took that as a compliment. 

So I got on the bike and the trainer this week. On Saturday at 7 am, I unveil my workout to the paying participants who hopefully like it enough to want to come back. In cycling, they call the TT, or time trial the race of truth. For me this will be the race of honesty during which some key questions will be answered. Is this challenging enough? Is it interesting? Can I keep up and lead the class? Will I pass out? 

Whatever happens, I'm locked into this until the first thaw in May. Honestly? I think I'm looking forward to this.