Feeling Awkward and the OSM

From time to time, we all find ourselves in situations about which we may feel slightly uneasy. I was reminded of this by the recent World Triathlon Corporation's Ironman Access program launch and almost immediate rescinding of that program after considerable customer outcry on social networking sites. I've said my piece on this issue elsewhere...

But what I am interested in is that moment of discomfort. That instant when an individual (or a corporation's CEO) has an OSM -- an oh shit! moment. Everyone has had these. Something that seems like such a good idea at the time, actually turns out to be the worst of all possibilities.

Think of how you felt while getting stitches after using the pocket knife to tighten a screw. Or standing awkwardly, alone, after sharing an anecdote with someone whom the anecdote was actually about! Or, realizing that 300m into a mass swim start that maybe going full speed and keeping up with the leaders wasn't such a good idea, especially with more than 3km more to go. Or, my favourite, having your partner photograph someone who is not your partner straddling you in the cockpit of a car.

I've had more than my fair share of OSMs. Some of them in triathlon, and just as many, if not more in the dress-up, adult world. What intrigues me is that the moment of realization is not after the gaff has occurred. For me, the OSM happens just before the damage is done.

As I'm forming words in my mouth, but have not yet recruited my larynx, I have found my self inexorably hurtling towards uttering something that should never, ever have left my lips. It is like a train wreck. Everything is in slow motion. It actually feels like I've left my body and I'm looking down at the show. The verisimilitude is stunning. Sometimes it is even in 3D! What always whips me back into reality is the sudden sick feeling in my stomach, the unexplainable clammy hands and the palpable feeling of sickness that floods my blood stream riding shotgun with the adrenalin release. 

In my life, OSMs follow patterns. I see them coming. It is like Tourrettes but with a built-in early warning system. When I pay attention, I can stop them before anyone but my inner self notices. No damage is done. And actually, sometimes I may even learn from the only-in-my-head experience.

I'm in the middle of an OSM right now. I have very few definitive races planned for 2011, no set training plan, no regimen to follow. I've been sticking to a training plan for the past four years. This year...zip!

My OSM? Oh shit! I'm starting to gain weight, I'm sleeping too much and not very well, I'm eating the wrong stuff - at the wrong time and I'm becoming more and more lethargic in my own sluggishness.

At the height of my Ironman training two years ago, I could tell, when on my bike or on the run, if something was about to go wrong. I had become so attuned to my body that I knew that a slight feeling of confusion and lack of conviction meant I was running on empty. A quick jolt of carbs had me back in form withing a couple of minutes. Similarly, a twinge in my quad while climbing out of the saddle reminded me that I was pushing too hard and maybe I was running a little low on electrolytes.

Just days before Halloween, I look in the mirror and find that I've started wearing a scary costume that I haven't worn in years - I'm dressed like a couch potato, albeit a sweet one, I'm told.

This is my OSM! It is time to change my course, and alter it before it becomes my reality. Some may call it a wake up call. I think it is the end of T3 for me. It is time to HTFU and get back to living the lifestyle that works. Back to training tomorrow.

Training for what? Training for life.

Leaving Footprints.

In a different era -- BTE -- before triathlons existed – at least in my consciousness – my sport of choice was walking. I used to walk everywhere. I grew up in a place where the transit system was cheap, convenient and efficient, yet I often would start the day a half hour early and walk the few extra miles or 5 to get to where I was going.

Walking was my outlet, my time with myself – a time of pure and simple self-sufficiency. With such a history of walking, it was no surprise when good friend, SP, suggested we explore hiking the Appalachian Trail, that I fell for the idea. 

It has not occurred to me, until now, how back then, decades before I knew anything about chaffed nipples, I was learning about pacing, endurance and mental toughness.

 

Thinking back to that glorious time of self-sufficiency, dried food and iodine water purification tablets, I learned a lot about myself – during that gloriously challenging month clambering and hiking among the rhododendron, wolf spiders, moonshiners and invisible bears on the Tennessee/North Carolina portion of Appalachian Trail.

Preparing for that trip involved countless planning meetings at Dunkin Donuts pouring over maps and supply lists and equipment catalogs and bus routes trying to plan for the big excursion. The parallels between how I approached this and my current race prep are unmistakable, except of course, there is no Dunkin Donuts where I now live and I prefer to not take Greyhound to race sites.

On the training side, the tools were different, but the methods and theory were no different than what I have done for Ironman.  I would fill my pack with books – 70 pounds worth and walk for hours and hours up and down city hills, uptown, downtown and anywhere that seemed would be a challenge in my urban landscape.

I would try different socks and shirts and pants. I practised walking with and without water.  I would try granola bars and GORP and Snickers bars. Occasionally, I even splurged on some Gatorade. When my legs or my back and neck started to ache from the strain, I would take a break for a day or two and ride my 10 speed.

And in so doing, I became more confident in my abilities and even a little cockier.  Even though, as a teenager, I was apprehensive about jumping on a bus and traveling so far from home, I was beginning to anticipate the challenge.

When we finally arrived and found our way to the trailhead, we were greeted with several days of non-stop rain. All my hopes and dreams for a great adventure into adulthood were dampening, like my wool socks. I still have my journal from that time and that section reads like the last words of a man forever trapped underground with supplies dwindling almost as fast as patience. 

This was the same experience I found myself in some of my first races. All of a sudden, 300m into the swim, wearing a third-hand wetsuit that was too big for me, I realized that my arms were already tired and I still had 1600m to go – just to finish the swim!

The nascence of the terms “suck it up, buttercup” and “Harden the fuck up” are unknown to me, but it is precisely those sentiments that got me moving. In Tennessee, where we were holed up in our tent for days, stupidly waiting for the rain to stop, I hiked up out of valley and realized it was only raining in the valley! 

In Morden, Manitoba, it was a kick to the head from another swimmer that made me realize that I was in a half-iron distance race and it just wasn’t going to get any easier. 

The interval between my Appalachian adventure and start of my life as an endurance athlete is just over 20 years. In that time, I moved and lived some great adventures and had wonderful relationships and found the love of my life and together we grew a family that I still have to pinch myself about.

At the end of some of my races, I feel great, but always find that I could have done better had I just pushed a little more, or spent a little less time in transition. This realization leaves me often with a feeling of a void – like I missed some opportunity. 

Looking back at the decades between my youthful adventures and my middle-aged athleticism , I don’t feel that void.  I can’t imagine getting to where I am now without having experienced what I did in those 20-plus years.  I am sure, on further reflection, I will also discover even more examples of experiences that made me HTFU and get on with it.

Just this week, I finally completed the tattoo on my ankle. I never really wanted a tattoo, but the accomplishment of three Ironman races created in me a need for some kind of footprint in sand of where I’ve been.   

This marker of where I’ve been reminds me of some words I first read many years ago while I was preparing for my Appalachian sojourn. 

It is reportedly a quotation from Chief Si’ahl, (c. 1780 – June 7, 1866), the leader of the Suquamish and Duwamish Tribes. His name, was anglicised to Seattle. Take nothing but memories and leave nothing but footprints, he is alleged to have said.

I took that line, apocryphal or not, to heart as I entered the wilderness with a sense of awe and respect. 

As I exit an entirely different sort of wilderness, I see the footprint in indelible ink that circles my ankle like barbed wire grown into the fleshy bark of a tree.  

I must keep stepping forward, making new memories, if I am to leave any more footprints in the sand.

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.

Pilot Error and the Silver Linings in Dark Clouds.

Recently, I wrote about failure and geometry. More specifically I noted that there was more to any endeavor than the distance between two points.

In a recent race I encountered a whole different type of error. Screwing up - doing an extra lap on the bike ride. Aside from that momentary (6 minutes worth) of a lapse (laps), the race was great. Best ever sprint bike ride of my life, pretty good swim, average run.

This was the "icebreaker" race. The morning started out with snow and it was -1C. The race organizers considered canceling the ride part of the race.

Instead. The transition was moved indoors (that added 5 minutes to my swim to bike time!) and I wore many layers and tights and a cover over my helmet - as did others.

I had the worst sprint triathlon time of my life - rivaling my first ever one I did 4 years ago.

I had the best time in a sprint triathlon in my life - rivaling my first ever one I did 4 years ago.

So how can this be? How can such a crappy performance be remembered so fondly?
It was a terrible day to be racing outdoors. Roads were wet, air was cold, snow was falling. But through all this, I decided that I would enjoy myself, regardless of what I encountered. I bundled up and took my time getting ready after the swim. But when I was ready, I gave it everything I had and blasted through the bike course that was straight and flat and with a tailwind in one direction that had me going 43k/hr.

It was so much fun that I forgot to count laps. I did seven, instead of six. But I enjoyed every single one of those laps and then followed them up with a strong and happy run.

This race was clearly an example of pilot error. I screwed up. I could have had a very good time. But, really, it is all about attitude. I didn't really care about time. I wanted to be comfortable, not cold. And I wanted to race as fast as I could, shrouded in a puffy dark cloud of comfort. Was I happy? I was ecstatic. And I took the energy of having completed this race into my very cold commutes to work.

This is not a race that will be forgotten soon...ask any one else who did it and they'll share similar stories.

Failure?...or this is where two dimensional reasoning gets you.

I was thinking about a high school geometry class earlier today. I spend a lot of time thinking about triangles. More specifically, I was thinking about points.

One point is a point in time/space. 
Two points make a line.
Three points create (potentially) a three-dimensional plane - although the math guru I spawned  would say: "but do not necessarily define a line -- they may not be collinear."
To summarize:  You need three points, at least if you are going to watch Avatar in 3D. You'll probably also need those geeky glasses too, though.

So after I sat down and let the blood rush back to my brain after these esoteric thoughts mathematical , I started to put into perspective a half marathon I ran on the weekend.  My goal was to finish in under two hours. I finished in 2 hours, 3 minutes and change. My personal best for that course is 1:58:48, my first ever run at that distance - and that course was 2:40 and change.

Ignoring the fact that I have been training for my first Marathon (two Ironman finishes don't count) at the end of May and am not completely focused on speed, I initially felt like I failed.

Of course I failed. All the other cool kids are running 1:40s or 1:50s...So what if I'm "big boned" and still running heavy and asthmatic and not very fast over long distances.  I still wanted to get from point A to point B in less than two hours, and I failed. didn't I?

Well. This is why I started thinking about geometry and Euclid, or was that Pythagoras - some Greek in any case. I became aware that my goals have been too two dimensional. I've been thinking about two points, when I should be thinking about three, or four or more.

My goals, as obtuse as they may sometimes seem, are so much more than point A to point B. They involve so many more dimensions, including time - but not necessarily finish time. They include building a healthy life, growing with my family, shrinking girth, and genuinely learning from the journey.

When I crossed the finish line,  I was disappointed. But I have to look at all the individual segments or points of the run  including the points that I was running a 4 minute/km pace; the preparation for it;  the ongoing prep for the full marathon in May and the sprint triathlon in two weeks. Oh and the rest of life that never goes on pause.

I realize that this triangle may not be as easily defined as  a2 + b2 = c2, but it has more relevance to what I'm doing than I first assumed. 

For those of you that are mathematically inclined, you will recall that a sum of a triangle's angles add up to 180 degrees. As I was running 21.1k, preparing to run 42.2k, it became acutely obvious to me that I would be seeing that 180 number before the run...180k bike ride in late August. Coincidence? Hmmm.There are no coincidences!

It is time to pull up my big boy tri shorts and HTFU. I started this journey because I grew tired of looking like a cuddly rhombus. It is not individual races or goals of finish times that motivate me. It is doing the training and building structures, physical, intellectual and emotional where none previously existed. And learning as much about myself in the process as I can.

No, not failure. Eureka!
I'd better get out of the bathtub now.