Biggest Weekend Yet

The past few weeks have been crazy. Sometimes fun, often stressful, never dull. Working around exams and endless unforeseen and unwelcome responsibilities, I have tried to get in all my training. And here I am, six weeks away from the biggest race I have ever attempted.

Saturday was a long ride as usual. Got on the trainer at 5am and hopped off at 8am. It's amazing how you can get used to almost anything - even 3-hour stationary rides. It was so refreshing to hop off the trainer and hit the road with some teammates after for a nice, easy 50-miler. Downtown felt like an oven, but there was a nice breeze off the water, making for a very pleasant ride along the coast. I spun out another half an hour on the trainer before transitioning into my real triathlon: shower, eat, sleep (and study somewhere in there too maybe?).

No helmets on a trainer.

I've done hundred mile bike rides before. I know it can hurt and be boring, and be more of a test of how much you can stand to eat while pedaling. It was today I was nervous for this week. I had a 20-miler on the schedule, but the marathoners-in-training on the team were planning 22, so I decided to hop in on their run. We started in Santa Monica, ran up through Culver City, hopped on the bike path for a little more than 6 miles, made our way through Marina del Rey, then finished up through Venice Beach and Santa Monica Beach. Sometimes everything just comes together. You pack the right number of Gus, have all the best places planned to stop for water, ate just the right amount at just the right time beforehand. I'm proud of this run because nothing came together. I didn't bring any water or gu. I ate way too late and had to go to the bathroom the whole time. I only stopped for water once, and by then my face was caked with salt and my throat was dry. It was too hot. If there were ever a day when I would just completey fail, today was that day. But I didn't. I didn't even think about stopping, that just wasn't even an option. My first ten were slow, then a teammate and I broke away and the next six were a little faster, then I broke off and the last six were fast, right on that pace where I feel strong but controlled. By the time I was 16 or 18 miles in, I knew the pain wouldn't get too much worse, and admitting this made it a lot easier for me to suck it up and run. I could be hurting and run for another hour or be hurting and run for forty minutes. Seemed like an obvious choice.

When I finished, I started walking back down toward the beach to wait for my teammates to come around. I passed a Jack in the Box and decided to stop and get some water. It took me literally a solid minute to ask for a cup of water. After staring aimlessly into space while the guy at the cash register asked me what I wanted three times, I finally said, with conviction, "A cup. I want a cup." It was obvious that I had no money on me, so he just kind of looked at me for a few seconds then I finally realized I should specify. "Water." Cup in hand, I contentedly strolled down towards the beach, shuffling a little bit as my muscles tightened up. I came up to an obviously flustered woman walking 3 very large dogs. Normally, it wouldn't be hard for me to figure out that I should walk around her and forfeit my side of the sidewalk to her giant animals. But in my delerium, I stood there like a deer in the headlights and waited for the dogs to move. She kept yelling at them and tugging their leashes but they continued to jump all over each other. After enough commanding to walk, the one in front of me finally sat. For some reason I decided it was easier to step over the sitting dog than to just walk around. Even the hobos were looking at me weird. About half an hour and one mile later, I found one of my teammates coming up off the beach. I ran with him for his last mile then called it a day. A huge breakfast helped me out of my dehydration-and-electrolyte-deficiency induced dimensia and before I knew it I was forming coherent sentences and feeling ready for a nap.

So today I learned that I can run over 20 miles with no food and very little water but that if I plan to do basic tasks or talk to anyone after I probably shouldn't.

The First Bad Brick

In the past four months of Ironman training, I've had less-than spectacular bike rides, agonizing runs, and painfully boring swim sessions, but it seems like every time I go out for a bike-run workout, I hit my stride and just fly. Until today. Traffic in LA is infamously unpredictable, so it can be difficult to get in a really good ride going for time. I decided company would be the only way to get through this one, so I invited the team and led a group of about 10 out to the beach and to the north end of the Palos Verdes peninsula before turning around. At 7am on a Sunday morning, I can't really complain about the traffic I suppose. Compared to any other time of the week, it was a breeze riding out there today, but compared to quiet winding roads in New England, the stopping and going was tedious. Plus, the fog hadn't lifted yet by the time we got out to the beach, so we weren't even rewarded with the beautiful panoramas I have come to take for granted in California. Despite the disappointments of the ride, I was evenly matched for pace with another team member, so at lease I didn't pull the group alone.

Looking east at downtown from Figueroa Corridor.

But the trouble didn't really start until I got off my bike, at which point I realized in over three and a half hours of exercise, I had drank only half a water bottle and eaten 2 Gus. I had run for less than 10 minutes when I felt cramps in my legs and a slight dizziness in my head. I had company for the first 40 minutes, which kept me motivated to keep going, but my pace slowed to a crawl once I was left solo for the last 20. Those last twenty minutes felt longer and more painful than the entire previous four hours. Fortunately, I have had enough training experience to be able to pinpoint exactly why it didn't go well, and now I know what I need to correct next week. And I better correct it - next weekend holds a 100 mile ride on Saturday and a 16 mile run on Sunday.

I wouldn't say my brick today was all a loss; I did enjoy some of the ride. But I have noticed such a big difference in my attitude towards my training in the past three weeks. All the power I felt during the summer seems to have dissipated and I feel like I am waiting for the next 62 days to pass as quickly as possible (not that I'm counting...). I've found I dread running solely because of how much smog I'll breathe in and how many crude comments I'll get from the people in the community, which is so disheartening after my whole attitude toward the sport of triathlon changed this summer as I enjoyed mile after mile. I'm questioning why I signed up for this race, why I chose this city, why I always force myself to do things that are so extreme. When I think about the alternative - accepting mediocrity - I can answer the third question. When I walk around campus with a friend, I can answer the second. And when I look at my photos from the summer, from all the trips and rides and runs taken in the name of training, I know precisely the answer to the first. In over 2000 miles of riding, 350 miles of running, and 60 miles of swimming, I have experienced highs so euphoric I cannot stop smiling, and I have also been brought to tears to the point where I can hardly see the road in front of me. I found a reason to do what I do. And the reason has never been a finish line.

I don't think we're in Kansas anymore...

I got all mentally prepared for my long ride today, filled my waterbottles, pumped up the tires, and stuffed a Clif Bar and some Gu into my jersey. You know you train too much when you start to like the taste of Gu; I used to squeeze the whole packet into the back of my throat to avoid any contact with my taste buds, now I catch myself savoring the taste. Anyway, I was all set to go, ready to hit the road, but realized immediately that "hitting the road" at two o'clock in the afternoon on a beautiful beach day does not mean getting into aero and coasting at 20mph on wide stretches of pavement like in New England. It means riding 200 meters, stopping at a red light, having your hear flutter every few minutes when oblivious drivers whizz by 6 inches away from you, and, of course, feeling that dust in your lungs every time you go to take a deep breath. But every once in a while, you look up from your aerobars and the white line in front of you, and at least for a moment everything is perfect.

 The view from Torrance was beautiful today. It was definitely a good day to be out on the Palos Verdes peninsula, I just wish it hadn't taken an hour and a half of stopping and going to get there!

There were lots of sailboats coming in and out of Marina Del Rey. I battled some strong wind along the shore, so I'm sure it was a nice day for sailing.

All in all it was a pretty decent ride, I got in 65 where the schedule called for 85, but given the chaos of the week, I was pretty happy with that. It's so frustrating to average just 12-14mph when you're riding 19 or 20 though. I have a feeling the trainer will be seeing some love in the next 11 weeks.  But it does seem to make it all worth it when you're at the top of the hill in Palos Verdes and you see the Pacific and the sky melt together at the horizon. They aren't lying when they say that LA has terrible pollution, ignorant people, unbearable traffic, and a huge homeless population, but they also aren't lying when they say that Sunny SoCal is one of the most beautiful places on Earth. If only the other 5,999,999 people here hadn't thought of that...

Is it really over?

Four more days before I leave this blissful independence and go back to school to try to become a social creature again. I have already left my internship, bidding farewell to endless Keurig K-Cups, abundant office supplies, dizzying Excel spreadsheets, and a 45-minute morning and afternoon commute.

I know it's time to get back to hitting the books and practicing with the team, but part of me is going to miss New England more than ever this year. Last summer, it rained 21 of the 30 days of June. This year, I can recall one rained-out long ride, and one run where it drizzled, which was actually more refreshing than frustrating. I have gotten to experience the outdoors here like never before... I'm already making a list of what I missed so I can visit around Christmas, when everything will probably be buried under a foot of snow.

For my last weekend home, I've decided to stick around rather than drive somewhere for a weekend trip. Today, I rode the long way around to northern Rhode Island, hugging the coast. My amazing "triathlon support crew" met me there with a car and set up an awesome T2 - shoes set out next to the running hat with more than one fluid option... I felt like a pro. It was only 55 degrees when I hopped in the saddle this morning, but by the time I finished my ride, it must have been around 80. I dropped the bike and made a quick transition to a nice run with some of the best views I've seen yet this summer. Don't hate on Rhode Island cause it's little. So by 1pm, I'd ridden 90 miles in 5 hours and run about 6 miles in 45 minutes. I'm starting to feel like this ironman thing could really happen!

Views from Dartmouth, MA. It was so nice out there today, I could have taken hundreds of pictures, but I decided to spend the five hours pedalling like I was supposed to.

Maybe some Malibu canyon climbs next week? Painful, but usually worth the view. Plus, from what I hear, Silverman doesn't boast the flattest bike course in the country, so it's probably time to start climbing real hills.

The First Blog

In the recent weeks of boredom at work, I've drawn enormous inspiration from blogs of other people and their experiences undertaking endeavors much more interesting than sitting at a desk. I have found myself in   a unique place in the past three months. My feelings of calmness and freedom that have come with a summer at home seem amplified when I think of the whirlwind that lies ahead as I head back to school, where a full semester of classes, responsibilities, and my final 12 weeks of Ironman training await.

Back in May, I had mixed feelings about leaving behind the California sunshine to come back to suburban New England. It didn't take long at all for me to wonder how I possibly could have chosen summer in the city of smog and traffic over months of serene bike rides through the White Mountains of New Hampshire and along the rocky coast of Maine, or trail runs at the same state park I've been logging miles at since I was 15. When I decided back in November that I wanted to attempt an ironman, I was giddy at the thought of trying my hand at the full distance. As a tough spring semester of 5 difficult, time-intensive, "weed-out" classes and race directing got underway in January, the exciting progress I had been making in triathlon all fall came to a screeching halt. By the time Collegiate Nationals and the Wildflower Long Course Triathlon rolled around in April and the first week of May, I'd given up any lofty aspirations and went in with one goal: finish. With Ironman, finishing is a lofty aspiration in itself, so I came home from California hungry for a routine that would set me up to acheive my goal.

Now that the summer is coming to a close, it seems like it's finally an appropriate time to reflect on the last 12 weeks and look at the progress I've made. I think my workouts this past weekend speak for themselves. Saturday, I undertook my first really, really long brick. The training schedule called for a 3 hour ride follwed by a quick transition into a 2 hour run. For the first weekend in a while, I had no plans to go away, so I decided to explore my own backyard this time around. I've had some inconsistencies on the bike, but everything went my way from the first pedal stroke on Saturday. I easily cruised around flats and a few rolling hills right around 20mph, crouched in aero almost the entire time. After 60 miles, with a final average of 19.0 mph, I showed off a flying dismount to my imaginary audience and set off on the 2 hour run. I haven't run over 10 miles on just pavement in a long, long time, so I was nervous to try it in a brick. Since I usually run on unmeasured trails, I also have no clue what my long run pace is, so I wasn't sure how far I was going to be running. I figured 8:30-9:00 min/mile sounded about right, so I plotted a general course that I could add to or subtract from if need be. I settled into a pace that felt good and just stayed there. 8.25 miles and 1:06 hours later, I came around to my make-shift aid station (i.e. waterbottles and gu stuffed in my mailbox). I walked through the "aid station," refueling and mustering motivation to get through four more miles. Hit my stride again and it felt like nothing. One more stop for fuel and I powered through 2.75 more miles. Ended up running 15 miles in just over 2 hours, averaging 8 min/mile. So I think that nagging question in my head of "Have I made any real progress this summer?" was answered by those 5 hours and 75 miles.

Sunday was an easier day, 10 miles on Boston's Harbor Walk. I got into town before the city woke up, and made my way from South Boston to Charlestown and back before "recovering" with breakfast on Charles Street with my mom. A relaxing 2200 yd swim capped off a great weekend of training.

I think I've accomplished even more than my training workouts show, though. Having an internship forced me to really think about my future, and what I initially thought would be a depressing realization that life after college would be boring and monotonous turned into an epiphany that my options are limitless. Who knows what trails I might be running on a year from now.

All right, back to..."work"...