#DFQ

Well.

This is it. In less than a week, I'll be dancing with the Iron Fates again. On Sunday, August 3rd, 2014, Racer 2410 will be starting a very long day in the Boulder Reservoir at Ironman Boulder.

Yesterday I spent a solitary evening #PMS (packing my shit). Today I did my second #TOTM (Test Of The Mini). Yes, one Cervélo P3C and all my stuff, fits easily in the Mini Cooper for the 14-hour drive down to Boulder.

I'm looking forward to the trip and to my return to Boulder after so many decades. I will be seeing a friend and a whole gaggle of cousins and family, many of whom I have not met before!

As always, I'm apprehensive about the long drive, but it will be fine. Just one of the hurdles that comes with not wanting to fly with #AMS (All My Shit). The race too, and all the race week prep, including the demands of the course is stressing me a little. This race, unlike ones with which I'm most comfortable, has a swim/bike start that is no where near the finish. It is a point-to-point, as it were. Not really a big deal once race starts, but it just means that much more organization to get bike and gear to the drop off places the day before. This is like Ironman St. George, which floods back into my memory. It is also like the Great White North Half, at which I had my best ever Half Ironman time (just under 6 hours.) The race report for that is here, written when I was more prolific.

My mind is elsewhere, however. It is somewhere between race focus and blur. My training, which I will not go into, is not what it should be. Having said that. Although my swim volume is down, my swim has never been faster or more confident.

Spoke 'n Hot Time Trial. Photo Credit: Paul Cutting Photography.

My biking too, is way under volume in terms of my planned long rides of 180km or more. But according to Strava, I've done 2,600 kms since January. That includes long and hilly rides in Penticton, BC and Golden Triangle. It also include stupid-hard Sufferfest training; including the 8-day Tour of Sufferlandria and the Two Days of Suffering National Day. #IWBMATTKYT.

Not enough volume, yes. But more confident on the bike but every before; and strong, thanks to the every Monday push from the women of Group 8 for whom I am a volunteer ride leader at the Spoke n' Hot women's cycling group. 

Now the run. #NBE (Nothing But Excuses). Weather, responsibilities, injuries, apathy, laziness, distraction, too much bike focus, you name it. Although I did have an enjoyable half-marathon experience in Phoenix in January! The run will be what it will be. I will run. I will walk. I will waddle. I will chafe. I will thirst and will not be quenched. I will hate my life. Then, I will love that I have been blessed with the resources and love from family and friends to be able to even attempt this.

This year, I only did one Race. See Dick Tri. This was the most fun I've had in a long time and I spent the whole race completely anaerobic after the fastest 300 Yard pool swim I've ever had.

Photo Credit: Paul Cutting Photography.

This brings me to Keep Moving FWD. This was my mantra for all my previous Ironman races. It was suggested by one of my imaginary friends who continues to impress me with how she continues to evolve and blossom.

No. I will not #KMFwd. This race will take a resolve unlike anything I've mounted before. It will take some serious Kung Fu...or Zen or juju.

This is where the delicious coincidence happens.

When I was studying eternity at Liberal Arts College, I had the privilege of having a single class with the then Beat Poet-cum Budhist Allen Ginsberg. He almost convinced me to attend Naropa University. This (new at the time) school offered an MFA in poetics with a contemplative, meditative focus. I didn't go. Instead, I found my relative fame and fortune in the business world. Missed opportunity, mayhaps. But there are no wrong steps, just steps away from inertia.

What does this have to do with Ironman, other than I have a heretofore unrevealed meditative, creative side? It turns out that the campus is not only in Boulder, but two blocks from where I'll be staying on race week.

This is a tangent in this blog, like a path not taken that, also, made all the difference.

So.

I leave shortly for the road trip. I have a new mantra, which in part is why I have all the hashtags.

This will be a race of no options. I will keep moving forward. But I will be motivated by #DFQ. I will not #DNF!

#DFQ? Don't Fucking Quit.

Here we go Boulder! I'm coming in hot!

Imaginary Friends

When I was wee, I didn't have any imaginary friends. I don't recall if I was not allowed to, or if there were just none available. Before I got to school, I mostly kept company with myself and found myself in some great adventures; some of these adventures took me to places that even now, as an adult, I have not had the resources or the guile to revisit.

The one constant in these adventures is that I was always outdoors. You see, although family trips and vacations took me to interesting places, many of which did actually have an outdoors, my own day-to-day existence was one of being indoors, looking out.

I was always looking through a window or out of the bus, (we did not own a car), or even out an airplane window.  Outside were the great adventures that filled my young mind. In hindsight, though, they were more solo quests than fellowships (think Frodo on his own, without Sam...or Gollum).

I remember many of them. Some involved me singing or acting or racing through a storm. None involved other people.

As I entered school, I made some friends. Two of them come to mind. One I still write to, and another who, is but a link away...but a link never made. Again, contact with these friends was limited as, for my family, the outdoors was contact with anything and everything that was not within the family household.

As I got older, I made more and more friends and actually got to spend time with them. These were all of the real variety, although I did make one imaginary friend with whom I still correspond, a pen pal, a term I have often found more fun to say in German than in English: Brieffreund.

This is a triathlon blog right?

At this point in time, you may be thinking that you have stumbled across some errant post from FriendsReunited, or a quaint remembrance of nostalgic things past. It is neither.

But I'm not sure what it is yet.

Today, I read something that made me think of imaginary friends. Those who know me, or have read me before, hopefully, know that I have an imagination that is not bound by walls or bytes. My world is populated by imaginary people so numerous, that I sometimes have trouble keeping up to them. Ironically, all of these imaginary people are very much extant. They live and breathe and play and work and ride and race and eat and write. Oh yes, they write!

These imaginary people live, at least in my world, through the little photons, or absences thereof, on my computer and my smart phone screens.

What I read today was from one of these imaginary friends. Dame Ashley wrote about how to define a friend, and it got me thinking.

Dame? Yes. Ashley, like many of my imaginary (but very real people) friends is a citizen of Sufferlandria. I've written about The Sufferfest before.   Dame Ashley, like a small number of my friends, has accomplished a great act of endurance and strength that I can only aspire to...Sufferlandrian Knighthood. One day I will. Maybe sooner than I let on.

Sufferlandria It is an imaginary realm that is made up of very real people and extraordinary cycling training. It is possibly one of the best things that has ever happened to me, with respect to training. Being a Sufferlandrian has also helped me make friends with similar interests in not only cycling and training, but also in world view and with the understanding that, at least in my world view, an answer may just lead to another question.

I have also made many other imaginary friends. Some I found and  continue to find on Facebook and Twitter and some of the other social networks, some related to training, some too unsavory to publicly admit to.

Some of my imaginary friends I have had the distinct privilege of meeting. Some at races, some through travel and others, and they know who they,  have burrowed deeply into my brain and have made a cozy home there and are always on my mind.

Many of these imaginary friends also engage in training of one sort or another. Some are amazing cyclists that ride in legendary places that were part of my imaginary world. Others defy any kind of definition and conquer each and every challenge as if humanity depended on it. Still others don't blog or publicly write, but their words and occasional comments nourish my soul and motivate me to greet every day with a smile in one hand and a question in another (and to always, always embrace mixed metaphors and malapropisms.)

The most interesting thing about these imaginary friends, is that some of them are individuals that I knew as real people first. Some are even family! It is as if, through some kind of spooky quantum science they have teleported into another dimension. But unlike Rose forever bound on the other side of the wall, these friends come in and out of my day-to-day life. It is as if, somehow, my imaginary

world and my real life have merged. Who knows? Who cares! There is no doctor who can explain this.

It is these imaginary friends that this blog is dedicated to. They have continued to surprise me, to inspire me, to make me constantly question myself and my surroundings. They have similarly taught me to question with a critical eye that is not caustic and bitter, but rather filled with inquiry and wonder.

In August, I will be racing Ironman Boulder. This race comes after three successful Ironman Canada (Penticton) races, a near drowning and DNF at Ironman St. George and a cramped-out ride and DNF at Ironman Coeur d'Alene. I have not written significantly, if at all about these two events. I did write a little.

Maybe I was just burnt out about writing about training. Maybe I was just burnt out. What I do know, is that my imaginary friends, have rekindled an interest. Not in blogging specifically, but about training. About experiencing that vague feeling on the knife edge between agony and exhilaration that comes, not only with physical activity, but also in all parts of a life lived to the fullest.

I'll end it here, as I sense a group hug coming. Thanks to my imaginary friends. Both virtual and real.

You are all essential.

Welcome back fatigue.

Last Friday I did something that I said I would do. I took a day off and I had a workout involving all four disciplines. Swim, Bike, Run...and fuel. With May 5th fast approaching, in addition to the normal, gradual build up in my training tolerance, I am also trying to reacquaint myself and my muscle memory with what a real triathlon is about.

So, what did I do. I got up, had a non-fibre, carb and protein breakfast. Drove to the pool. I swam for just over an hour, or 3,100 metres. This wasn't a race. I wanted to get some time and distance in. As it turned out, it was very busy and I had to change where I was swimming three times (deep tank, to open pool, to designated lanes). This was a great chance to get up, have some water (I usually don't hydrate during the swim if I can help it) and pee a few times (this I usually try to do before the canon goes off -- hard to pee and stroke at the same time).

 
Following the swim I took my time, washed off the chlorine, had some carb and protein and drove home. Got on my bike in the basement and proceeded to spin (low gear, high cadence - with some harder work variety thrown in) for just over 3 hours or 71kms. I watched The Bourne Identity.  Action Movies work best for mindless circles. I've tried drama...too much concentration required.

I had to change clothing twice, went through six towels and had two bottles of water; one gatorade; one disgustingly sweet, flat soadpop thing in the fridge; one pb&j sandwich; and one cliff bar. I thought about using my race-proven favourite, perpetuem, but I'm saving what I have for later training.

Photo copyright CJ Katz

After I got off the bike, I had a very tough decision to make. Every part of me wanted to just get on the treadmill, make it easy, comfortable. But I knew that getting on the treadmill would give me too many excuses to cut my planned run short.

So I dried off, got indoor run gear on, drank some water, had a banana and drove to the indoor track at the field house.

There began a one hour/10km run that was divided into 4 segments where I switched direction, stretched my foot and drank water. I had a gel at Hammer Gel at 30 minutes.

It was at about 10 minutes into the run that I got "that feeling" back.  Long course triathletes will know of what I speak. You are tired. you are sore. But your legs are working. All that swimming and biking did not limit your ability to move your legs and arms and propel yourself forward. I probably could have run for hours.

This familiar fatigue was the signal that I'm doing something right and that my body is responding well to moving from sport to sport without too much protest. I remember this feeling well as I overcame my intense desire to walk and started running up Main Street at Ironman Canada .

This Epic Training session as it has now come to be known demonstrates that I might just be ready for, at least finishing Ironman St. George in May. 

Choosing Wisely

This is the year that I was taking it easy. To me that means I will not be doing an Ironman. Instead, I have found myself registered for two half marathons within a week of each other, a sprint and an olympic triathlon, a half iron distance triathlon and a marathon.

Taking it easy indeed. There are several other off-road/Xterra-type races I'd like to tri and I was hoping this was the year that I would break out into Ultra running and significantly more trail running.

It is nearly the end of March, there is still snow and ice on the ground. It is still too cold to not run without gloves. And to add insult to injury, I'm still futzing around with Plantar Faciitis, although I've read the condition  might actually be called Faciotis. This is interesting in that I have a cousin Faciotis. The difference from what I can understand is that one is inflammation, and the other is more permanent buildup.

My Greek ancestry aside, I've now committed to seeing professionals. Plenty of appointments to RMTs and a crackerjack podiatrist and, soon, a top rung sports physio for a gait analysis and all the other poking and prodding that will be necessary. Prior to my first appointment with the foot guy, I was resigned to the fact that I would have to stop running...again. But as I did that previously and it had no effect, he agreed that a different course might be appropriate and to be selective with the quantity and quality of running I do.

I have just returned from St. George, Utah, where I biked more than 600 km and ran no more that 17k. My foot felt great while I ran and while I cycled and while I rested. It felt like I was walking on sharp rocks after the 23hr journey back into this wintry abyss.

I'm at a crossroads here about what I will do next. Much depends on the what the top rung sports physio will say. Will I run more? I can't run any less.

One thing is for certain. My trip down to Utah nourished me both spiritually (yes, I'm aware of the irony) and physically. I feel stronger and more confident than I have felt for a long time, especially on the bike.

The trip organizers put together the right mix of work, challenge and fun. I think I'm ready for anything during this "easy" year.

I just have to remind myself that my training transcends the race course and will help me walk past the sharp little rocks that are now underfoot. 

One Day More

If I could bottle and sell the excitement and apprehension-flavoured energy felt the day before leaving home for a big race, I know I'd make a small fortune. I still feel this energy after three trips to the show...well, not the big show in Kona, but the other show in Penticton, that is close to Kelowna, which rhymes with Kona, ironically.

In previous seasons, as I would pack my race kit and plan for the trip either cross town or cross country, I would sing to myself: "One Day More!"

That musical, the only musical that I really liked and that was introduced to me by my First Wife, begins with the protagonist's stealing of bread and his struggles long after that single event...If you think about it, Jean Valjean in Victor Hugo's work is just trying to get some quality carbs. Is that so different from what the triathlete seeks?

One day more! Everything changes for that one day...before it changes back, as if it never happend.

This year, I haven't really felt this energy. It could be because I resigned myself to some shorter efforts and a few running races. I did have my first multisport race of the season last week -- an aquathlon, but before the race, I just didn't feel "it".

Don't get me wrong. I had a great time. I was surrounded by friends, especially a distinguished athlete from out of town and her husband. I was also happy my first wife was also in my corner counting laps and threatening that I'd better go faster - especially during the transition.  Nice.

Still struggling with Plantar fascists, as I call it, my running mileage has been way down. I entered into the race without any preconceived goals. I set a very conservative swim time, which I beat by 10 seconds, despite being headbutted within 20 strokes of the start by an errant idiot swimming the wrong way in the wrong lane.

I never pushed during the swim, I drafted for the most part and passed on the bulkheads whenever the opportunity afforded me, must have passed about eight people this way.  No stress. I was at peace for the whole 745 metres (5 metres were used up trying to figure out if I had a concussion).

Photo by First Wife

 

Photo by Paul Cutting

The run,  too,  started conservatively. As I proceeded through the 25 laps, I got stronger and more comfortable. JM caught me in the last kilometre. He and I used to run together. Those were some of the happiest training days I ever had. He too is coming off an extended injury-recovery period. But we had a fantastic sprint-like last kilometre. He really pushed me, like he used to and it was the best part of the race. I can't remember much other than him passing me, me passing back and everything on the periphary of the indoor track being a bit of a blurr - except lapcounting First Wife urging that I'd better move my ass!

But, still. One Day More.

Tomorrow I leave for Utah. I'm going on a road cycling trip on the St. George Ironman course. I'm traveling with friends who run a start-up adventure company called sportstogo.ca. It will be a 23-hour drive through the winter and into the spring as we travel to a different country, a different climate and ecosystem, and a different world. I'm just a little giddy.

This is the break that I think I need to re-energize me. I will drink deep from this experience as I bike OUTDOORS!!! and run and swim and hike through  Zion National Park.

Of course, when I return to work, to my family, to my life, nothing will really be different. But just as after my sojourns to the (other) big shows, I will be just a little changed and my perspective will have an entirely new landscape to consider. 

One more day before the storm...one day more! Let's see how much life is left in this old soul.

Looking back at my life as an endurance athlete.

On August, 29th, 2010, I completed my third in a row Ironman Canada at a personal best time. I had some interesting struggles and some triumphs and a pannier-full of revelations about myself, my abilities and what motivates me. You can read all about the race, my actions and my times in my race report.  


But this isn't the place to go over the individual race. I deliberately took my time before I blogged, just so I could put some distance between where I am now and the four years of preparation, training and racing that went into three years of Ironman.  


During most of September, I also struggled with what I've come to understand as T3. In triathlon, one contends with two transitions - swim to bike and bike to run - T1 and T2.  T3 is the transition from racing to not racing. It doesn't matter if you are a professional, a serious age grouper or just some guy, like me, who one day decided to get up off the couch, T3 is something many triathletes and endurance folk will probably face after they have completed their "big" race. Google Marathon Blues or post race depression for some more specific thoughts on this. Or for a quasi scientific/scholarly analysis, read an Ironman specific analysis here. 


I've been to T3 before and got the Tshirt. The best way out of it is simply to plan another event or activity before the end of the "big" race. Then you have something to keep training for. You have good reason to rest and do very little (you have to rest up before the big push). This pre-planning (some would call it goal setting) also helps you answer that most annoying of questions - "so whatcha doin' next?" 


But this time, I wanted to try something different. I have been training so long and so hard, I had lost sight of what I was actually doing. Looking back at my training blogs over the past four years, I have seen reduced time in the pool and significantly less time on the bike. I did spend more time running this year, but that had something to do with a new goal - the Fargo Marathon. 


Despite the reduced training time, I still achieved a personal best. Not because I was in better shape, I would argue that I was in marginally mediocre shape, training wise. I did better because I raced smarter. I had a faster swim, despite ending up on the rocks and losing time there. I had a crappy bike ride. Mind you I got hailed and rained on and faced surprisingly strong winds. But my pre-race plan was to not push as hard on the bike and save something for the marathon run. 


The weather conditions forced me to not push that hard on the bike and I had a tremendous run - I actually ran! In my third year of racing I figured out how to race this race and was pleased with my results. I broke 14 hours by 10 minutes. If I were racing Ironman Canada a fourth year, I'd be focused on getting an even faster time.

But I'm not racing #4. Not this year. I'm looking back from the finish line. 


Over the past four years my family has been very patient and understanding with the absentee member of the family. Training 17 hours a week meant a lot of time out of the house and a little too much time in the shower. At least I was the one who did most of the laundry. My hope for this year and beyond is to synthesize everything I've learned about myself and coping with challenges and make our family life a little richer. (We will actually be a lot richer since I won't be spending all that money on race fees, travel  and hotel rooms this year!). My hope is to spend more time living my life with my beautiful family and looking for opportunities to train with them, whenever possible.


Over the past four years I've also made some friends through the sport and through the various blogs and websites I've trolled around. Some have become truly special confidants and albeit virtual, training partners and friends. I have traveled thousands of miles to see some of them, or traveled across the continent with them as athletic support. I've also texted with them from airports, Starbucks, hospital waiting rooms and roadside motels  for their words of wisdom, encouragement and acceptance.

Over the past four years I have met some others that I met have broken my heart.


Looking back beyond the finishing tape, what have I learned? More than I'm willing to admit. I used to joke that through this training I'm getting younger. And I did. Physically, I reversed much of the excessive living and corpulence that had taken hold of me. Similarly, I reversed some of the closemindedness and intolerance that I found myself experiencing. Ironically, when I was most alone - 30 km from home on foot or 120 km on bike, I was nearest to when I used to walk miles and miles alone after school as a pre-teen and teen. And, during those long, training sojourns, I found myself having the same rich, creative, expansive thoughts that I had believed were gone forever.

Looking back what have I learned? 

• Procrastination is good, just don't make a habit of it.
• Be prepared to improvise and you'll not have to...much. 
• A little pain means you are doing it right. a lot of pain means you're not. 
• Hear from everyone, but listen to yourself.
• Those who have the least to give you sometimes give you the most.
• The more you spend (time and money) the faster you will become, but then what?
• Shower lots, but don't forget to moisturize.
• Swimming in a chlorinated pool in your running shorts will get the stink out.
• If you can't run, walk...but really, are you sure you can't run?
• Make peace with the wind. You don't have much of a choice.
• Experience fear, discomfort and disappointment during training - you'll respect them more race-time
• Asthma drugs rob you of Potassium. Stock up on your bananas and Fig Newtons.
• A little spit goes a long way...preventing fogging in goggles, for instance. 
• A C02 pump will quickly inflate your tire. A conventional pump will get you home.
• During a race, stopping feels great. Finishing feels better.
• If your butt hurts on the bike, stop sitting so much.
• If your loved one says she doesn't mind you training for 6 hours...again, spend time with her instead. 
• Non racers don't care about the details of the race. It's the bloopers that are interesting.
• There is no shame in lubing your nether regions. 
• Regular running shoe laces still work better than speed laces during long runs.
• You can save money by eating and drinking real food during training. 
• There will always be people faster and slower than you. Who cares! Just beat the nun!
• Every little while do a systems' check and see that you are on track, then adjust appropriately. 
• Make your experiences available for others to read. Learning should never be kept secret. 

 

...So take another drink, 'cuz it will give me time to think...

Racing with Myself...

...oh oh oh oh!

I was thinking a lot about Billy Idol dancing in front of the mirror with himself and I couldn't help seeing some of the similarities with the situation I've found myself in this third year of Ironman training and soon, racing.

This year has been a peculiar one. I've had lots of trouble finding the same motivation to do the duration and intensity of training I've done in previous years. At the same time, I've made breakthroughs, both physiological and intellectual that I never thought possible. I am not the same man I was when I started this Tri-angle over four years ago. Certainly not the same physically. My mind is wired differently now too.

Stress and setbacks in any aspect of life are now relative. It doesn't mean they are any less significant or relevant, but I approach them differently. Before I used to look for the answer to problems. I've learned. There ain't that many universal answers - or even specific ones. Instead, I look for solutions that will get me back on the road and the journey.

My best friend pointed out that I don't need to "to try to  fix everything". She's right. I've learned that I should try to fix how I respond, adapt and evolve from every situation, be it emotional, physical, or athletic. 

In my first year of Ironman and, somewhat in the second, I had a lot to prove. Both to myself and to others. I did that in spades in the first and seconded it last year.

This year, not so much. For a long time I just felt like I was just going through the actions, dancing with myself in front of the mirror, as it were. The other Bard croons:

Oh dancing with myself
Well there's nothing to lose
And there's nothing to prove
I'll be dancing with myself

And that is just it. I've got nothing to prove and nothing to lose. I'm just doing this because I said I would. I've grown up during this process and I've grown younger, as well. I have no idea what will happen on Sunday.  I know that physically, I'm as ready as I could be, albeit a little short on the long stuff. Mentally, I feel like I could do an Ultra! No! I'm not foreshadowing!

On Sunday there will be several thousand wetsuit clad athletes churning Lake Okanagan into a froth as this Tri-angle meets its crescendo. The one thing that I know for sure is that I'll be racing with myself..oh, oh oh-oh!

The long pause before a short burst.

In Japanese symbolism the koi can represent perserverance in adversity and strength of purpose. The strongest koi swims upstream until it reaches the final waterfall, where it vaults into the mists and becomes a water dragon.

It is apropos that the local graffiti guy, Def3, chose to paint a koi on a local, favorite wall  and that I noticed it after my first long ride of the season.

A little background. I chose this year to cut back on my races and focus on my first stand-alone marathon, Breaking 6 hours at the Great White North Half IM and getting a personal best in my third Ironman Canada.
To my surprise, I found that less was actually harder than more. Without an impending race, I meandered out of the current and found myself wading, walking...coasting - when I should have been pushing harder than ever to prep.
By my calculations, I volunteered over 25 hours at local triathlons as everything from Bike and Transition Captain to general gopher and set 'er uper. This kept me in the Tri spirit, but really did keep me away from training.
That being said, I did achieve my first two goals and am feeling a little too confident for my third. But getting the training in is proving very difficult. It is like I am swimming upstream. I can't seem to put together the epic training days and weeks that I had achieved last year and the year before.

It is the same with posting on this blog. I'm just not motivated. Maybe I'm swimming up against something that happens in the third year of endurance athletes...apathy...boredom...complacency?

With less than five weeks to go before Ironman Canada, I really have to get my gills into the training. I know I will and I know I have done the work to get me there, albeit in a meandering kind of way.

This lack of focus, however, points to the need to radically refocus for next season. More on that later. No more distractions, I have to do this training like a fish needs a bicycle - or something like that.

Bawdy Ink and Allegory.

I remember when I first embarked upon this TRIron-journey. The first question non-triathletes asked me, after "how far?" and "are you flippin' nuts?", was "are you going to get the tattoo?".

Now that was something everyone could understand. A tattoo. A permanent mark both recognizing and advertising the accomplishment. A brand...well, actually not a brand at all, more like a badge of honour. Branding is an entirely different kink.

I don't mean any sarcasm or misplaced witt in my words. The desire to celebrate an accomplishment is reasonable and justified. And I respect that. How one does it is a very personal and meaningful commitment to themselves or to those around them. Tattoos have a lot of history under them both personal and anthropological, other than those that are in some Asian script that actually spells "that ain't chicken".

So before I completed my first Ironman. My head was a-buzz with the merits of getting the M-dot. For all you noobs, that's what the call that M with a dot over it. It is actually a trademarked symbol. Its use in most of the media is somewhat strictly regulated - although not as much as the Olympics and their logo - but that "society" has a budget that rivals the Vatican.

I even recall some talk of tattoos with the M-dot having to have the Registered mark on them...but you can't believe everything you read, especially not online.

If you haven't figured it out just yet, symbols are just as important as words to me. And while I completely respect anyone's use of a now very commercial symbol on their body, I could not justify doing likewise. At least not without investing some additional meaning to it.

So on the advice of some very good friends and others who have seen me without clothes on, I came upon a design that included the M-dot, but was based on the stylized imagery of the individual events and my struggle to find proficiency. (still haven't found it by the way.) In addition, I also chose this to be a canvas in progress. Filling in the M-dots as I completed up to three Ironman races.

I found this to be the perfect marriage of making use of meaningful symbols and a nod to a recognizable, commercial entity, Ironman.

I was happy with the results a little anklet-like tattoo with swim bike run, one filled-in M-dot and two unfilled ones. The idea being that the unfilled ones would get filled as I completed more Ironman races.

Now I'm at two completed with another scheduled a few month hence. I haven't bothered to go "fill in" #2. Is it laziness? Fear of Hepatitis? Or do I just not want to stay away from swimming for a week or two for the expected crust to heal.

I think it goes deeper than the ink. It is the understanding of the finality of things. By completing this trio of ink it signals that I will be done. It will be over. Filling in #2 means #3 will need to be done soon too - if I ever complete the IMC in August.

Then what? More races...Silverman? Something more extreme?  Eating at KFC? More tattoos? Do I stop racing? Do I switch to branding or piercing? Or do I just suck it up and stop thinking about things so much.

Well. If I find a two week lull in my swim training, which I doubt, I might fill in #2...If not,  I will get it filled in after the race. Easy decision.

What about #3. Will I get that filled in then too?

Well, I know that I have acres of extra real estate on my body - even the small tracts that are unforested. But I don't really have any compulsion to get more ink, at least not of the iron variety.

So I'm seriously thinking of leaving one space unfinished...a hint that there will always be one more race. This could be my incentive to keep the spirit and soul of this lifestyle alive.

In some ways, it is a bit like the birthmark in  Nathaniel Hawthorne's story. Only in reverse. Adding it will foreshadow the end.

So who would have thunk that getting some ink in your body would end up being allegorical. Interesting things happen to one's body and mind when we are pushed to our limits.

Cross Training

For the past two off-seasons, the only thing I really concentrated on was race season.

For the past two race seasons, the only thing I concentrated on was the race...then the next race and then the big race.  This year was going to be different and it has proven itself to be.

I still have a couple of races and the big race to prepare for. But I have spent - in my estimation - more time doing stuff around the house, asserting my relevance to teenagers and a partner.

This weekend is a good example. With my partner yielding the hammer and crowbar (like that isn't normally the case!), we systematically destroyed and disassembled a perfectly good, but dysfunctional basement. The plan is to gut it, empty it, rebuild it and carry on...along with the new mortgage carrying fees. Somewhere a banker is smiling...

We must have spent more that 21 hours over three days on this project and there is more to do. My humble task was that of sorter, carrier, dumper and family cook. I took on this role with gusto. It involved filling bins or my arms with debris, then walking out of said dungeon and into the freezing outdoors, only to deposit destroyed artifacts and detritus of my life into a larger bin - being careful to pile stuff to maximize room available.

It wore me out. I would much rather have spent the time doing an Ironman without any training.

But what occurred to me was that this was actually amazing cross training. Think about it:

• Running up and down a flight of stairs countless times. That's all leg work (especially quad and calf work).
• Picking up at least several tons of stuff without blowing out my back. That's all core. I never do enough core work. 
• Carrying the damned, nail-and-dust infused crap. That's all arm work,. There is also significant activation of the small, stabilizer muscles throughout the body as I walked up to the outdoors and then on frozen, very slippery surfaces. 
• Then there is the nutrition and hydration. Making and consuming the right food and drink so that I'm not bloated or sleepy (although I did make a turkey leftover-surprise-kinda-thing). And ensuring I'm putting in enough to give me the energy I need. And the drinking. Well lots of coffee, but not so much that I have to keep taking off my sodden boots to go in to pee. There are course marshals throughout my neighbourhood. No public nudity!
• You want speedy transitions? How about finally feeling the urge and needing to get out of winter clothes and steel-toed boots fast? How about getting out of stinky, grimy and dusty clothing and cleaning up enough to make a nutritious, interesting and safe meal for four?
  
• Finally, the mental toughness. Going to bed on Friday and Saturday knowing that Sunday will be more of the same. Yet persevering and still going for a run after down-tooling on Sunday. Then going to bed on a Sunday, knowing that there is at least three more days of work and then potentially five years of repayment. 

This is cross training at it's best. If Ironman did anything, it prepared me for real life!

Remembering to not forget.

Training in December, when the temperature ridicules me at -49C windchill, is all about remembering old patterns.

I forgot that. I forgot the energy I could create and the feelings I could dissipate by doing some very simple drills.

Yeah, they hurt. Yup, it is a pain to run indoors. Is it embarrassing to be goose stepping around a bunch of teenagers and elliptically committed adults? You bet! And I can't even spell machs...mocks...mawks?

Still. Remember how good it felt to finish the workouts? Remember how prepared I felt wading into the water or getting off the bike. I trained for that transition. I trained in the depths of insanely cold winter so that I can concentrate on doing the race, not worrying about whether I could finish or not!

And even when I found myself so cramped up that I wanted to cry, it was never a question of not finishing. It was always about damage control, or dealing with temperature, or how long to walk backwards until my quads came back on line.

Waking up to -49C windchill, I forgot about all this.

It took a phone conversation with an ancient friend to remind me. She reminded me that in 1976, I wanted to be just like Bruce Jenner.

She reminded me that even though I was on the fast track for field stardom, at least in shotput, the politics of amateur athletics suffocated my dreams. I wasn't allowed to defend my gold medal.

She reminded me to remember the curiosity I once had lighting fires everywhere in me and, once too often, around me.

It is that curiosity that made me relearn to swim and do a first ever sprint triathlon.

It is that curiosity that made me first ask: "what happens when I push that?"

So what will happen when I push myself to train a little harder in December to March?

I'll see the difference at the beach at Ironman, in the transitions and in the quiet moments where there is no noise but my footfalls.

I'll not forget to remember!

Waiting is part of the transition

Waiting.

There's a lot of waiting in life.

From the moment of conception until someone turns the lights out permanently, it seems like we are always waiting for someone or something, or even ourselves to make something happen.

Take right now.
I'm waiting for the cold/flu sickness-thing to be purged from my body.
I've been waiting for days.

Not quite sure what I'm waiting for.

Well...

To feel better perhaps.
Or, I'm waiting for my T-cells to fight off the attacker - or less likely, give up the ghost and turn out my lights.

But, and here's the rub. I'm not really waiting.
I'm multitasking. I'm taking medicine, drinking fluids, resting, writing this blog, thinking about how I'm going to spring back, wondering about dinner...

I'm doing stuff.

Even if I'm immobile in bed, feeling sorry for myself, I'm still going forward - or thinking back and using that to look forward (as how good I felt last time I started to feel better after a cold).

So for the anxious triathlete waiting for the season to start, I ask: "when did the season ever end?"

Every day not training is a day preparing somehow for the very first time your hair gets that familiar and now comforting smell of chlorine.

Every day that you drive by a runner, you wonder when you can pull on your own shoes and feel the aches of the first few miles melt away to a middle distance bliss.

Every day you walk past your bike, hanging and lonely in the basement is one less day before you'll be back on that saddle and moving your feet in the circle of life - triathlete style.

This isn't waiting at all. It's all race prep.