#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!

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. 

...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!

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!