So true, so true.

Family, I love to hate you.

"The reason grandparents and grandchildren get along so well is that they have a common enemy."

~ Sam Levenson

I was sick, having spent the entire previous night heaving my guts out. My leg muscles hurt and I couldn't really do anything at all besides lay on the couch and mope. I couldn't even properly mope.

I decided to call dad, and then, because I hadn't talked to her in a while, I would call my mom.

Insert ominous music here.

Dad informed me how poorly my grandfather is doing, health-wise, now. His condition has worsened so severely that they have begun the process for home hospice care. He has been in the hospital this week and growing increasingly difficult to work with. He is in momentous amounts of discomfort I am sure and, like anyone in a situation of this kind, is sick of the poking and prodding that happens when you are in a hospital for any real amount of time. Dad says the morphine drip did wonders for his mood--when he let them use it.

All in all it was a good conversation with dad, nothing special, but good considering how many years my father and I went without a real, decent talk. Now we are going on several in a row.

So I called my mom. It is painful to even begin to think about it, but it went something like this:
"Hello?" A rather loud, already perturbed sounding voice.
"Hey mom, how are you?"
"I'm fine, how are you?" Already I don't get a good vibe from her voice.
"Oh, I got really sick."I start and then debate how much I really want to say. "I threw up all night and today have a lot of muscle pain and feel generally crappy."
"Oh, wow, what do you think it is, some sort of bug or food poisoning?"
"Yeah, I think it's salmonella."
"Oh, god, where do you think you picked up THAT from?" Again, her voice gives away a lot. If I was wise I would have just said I needed to go and hung up. But no.
"I don't know, I have to think through everything I ate, it could be any number of things."

We talked back and forth about how I should take care of it a few more sentences, then it was quiet.

"Grandpa Dick is going into Hospice. " Wait for some reaction. Finally she said something.
"Oh, that's too bad."
"Yeah, he isn't doing really well, his lung cancer is really advanced." I say a couple more things about it I don't remember now.
"Well, he is pretty old, so that's the way it goes." This is already sounding bad. Loving confrontation, I continue.
"Apparently this week dad says he has been in the hospital and has been pretty belligerent with the doctors, but I think that's normal." This was the beginning of the end of this horrible experience. One moment later and I wished I never would have called.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am going to leave this here. I don't even want to regurgitate what was said beyond this point.

Sorry to leave the audience hanging, but this is just another sordid episode in the battle everyone I have ever met has had with my mother. And its title as a movie would be something to the effect of:

"You owe me"

or

"What have you done for me lately"

Or

"I have never been treated well, poor me."

I have had it. I am officially finished being judged, being the subject of passive aggressive self-fulfilling guilt trips, being told how much has been done for me and how unappreciative I am, and blamed. It's over and you know? I don't care anymore that it is my "mom" because there are plenty of people in the world who DO care, and treat me like a human being and don't hold things over me to be used later.

So Mom, have a good life and be careful how you treat people. Although I doubt you will ever let anyone get close enough to you to worry about it.

Some day, you will be alone in your world of hate, facing the end of your own days, swamped in judgment and feeling sorry for yourself... and then, well, I hope you are happy, finally. Because no one will be there to tell you you are wrong when you use your last words to once again blame the world for your faults.

Ironman: Part Four

"There's no such thing as bad weather, just soft people."

~ Bill Bowerman

Ironman: It's not about facing your fear, its about challenging it to a footrace... and WINNING.

I was weary, but oh, so happy as I jogged into the transition tent. In the morning, when I left the trauma of the deep, dark lake-o-doom, the tent was dark, extremely crowded, and just makes you feel crazy. You feel like there is no way you will:

a) Leave wearing the appropriate gear--that you own
b) Leave having placed your swimming gear into your bag

But somehow it happens and you run off to fetch your bike and enjoy 6 hours of pain. I mean pedaling.

As opposed to the "morning transition" the "afternoon transition" is pleasant. It's quiet, bright, warm, and I am SO 'TARD HAPPY to be off the freaking bike that I am the worlds happiest kid on Christmas. I love everyone. Unfortunately, not everyone shares my enthusiasm (when you feel terrible nothing can make you smile) though I think they appreciate my smile.

I hope.

I found a seat in the middle of the tent that was very open, and set about my business:

-Off with helmet.
-Off with bike shoes.
-Off with bike shorts.
-Off with glasses. Wait, those have to go back on, better start making a different pile...always room for Virgo.

Now, dump out the run bag.
-Put on running shoes.
-Put on running hat.
-Put the glasses on. Yeeeeeah.
-Grab fuel belt of life saving juice.

NOW GO!! Creak, creak, creak, as I slog out of the tent. It's such a great day.

It was very easy this time to transition, and I was out in a couple of minutes. It seems after that point I always wish I would have enjoyed sitting there "transitioning" more... how weird. It is a fleeting, good, SITTING moment. The volunteers make it happen, and I kinda miss them a little.

(It took me a mile of running to remember I did not want to be wearing my arm warmers any longer, and I slipped them off and balled them up, planning on tossing them to the girls as I ran past. Which I did. And surprised the HELL out of them.)

Later, in the rain, I would dearly miss those arm warmers. Aaarrrrrrr....


The sun was behind clouds, this time, and I did not stop for any sunscreen (or leg rubs, which I received impromptu last Ironman). It was a decent temperature outside at this point, and I left the tent feeling reasonably well for how HARD I had pedaled. As I pushed into the first little out and back west of the park, about a half mile into the marathon, I was relieved. My training WAS good after all; after that hard of a bike ride, when I got finished and handed my bike off I was certain that my run would be doomed to a half marathon walk. It is one of those things where you start running and within a few steps you know.

You know if you are going to RUN the marathon or SURVIVE marathon.


Today, if I was going somewhere... I - WAS - RUN-NANG!!!!

I told myself, as I began the marathon, that I wasn't going to take anything from the aid stations until 10 miles, or if I had my own liquid left, 13 miles.

I had eaten and hydrated well enough on the bike, and I had my fuel belt with the same mix of Sustain (from Melaleuca) in 3 flavors that I had trained with. I also had clif Shot blocks with caffeine (my secret marathon weapon) and Endurolyte tabs just in case. My plan was to finish the fuel belt bottles by halfway through the marathon, and if I for some reason went dry too early before I reached the special needs bags (where I had full replacement bottles), I could supplement at the aid stations. But O wanted to avoid the weird stuff this time.

My last Ironman I overdid the cookies and coke a bit. Heh...

But then again, I had very different goals in 2007, my first Ironman. This time, I stuck to the plan because I wanted to RUN the marathon. I passed through the aid stations, with their tasty looking assortment of foods and beverages being offered, and instead sucked down half a bottle of Orange Sustain. I popped in a Shot block and sucked on it for a mile. I felt tired, as I should, but good. I felt ready to run.

The other part of my plan was simple but more difficult. 9:00 minute/mile for the first 3 miles, and then steady 8 minute miles as long as I could after that, and if I was really doing well I could throw in 7:30 here and there. Just like training. I had my heart rate monitor/watch on and was tracking my time. I had been through this so many times mentally that I had the times memorized, and even had "contingency" times memorized. And I was sort of in between at this point.

I ran along, passing so many people it was shocking. I was not running fast yet, but as I ran back by the transition area in the park, realizing Brian indeed was not right behind me, I had already probably passed 50 people in the first mile. They were walking out of transition, these same people who had ridden the fighter jets on wheels past me earlier. Interesting.

As I started into and through downtown Coeur d' Alene, I saw Jan and Shawna on the sidewalk, totally unprepared for my arrival. I lobbed the arm warmers at Shawna who screamed with surprise, and they started cheering for me instantly. I love the marathon leg--I am always running so much faster than the people around me (at least through the first 18 miles).

To LOOK better really does help you FEEL better, I think. That is, if you can see yourself. So much of this thing IS mental, after all.

Case in point:
A guy who I caught up to and was about to pass was doing the same thing I was at the big corner at the end of the main street in downtown: looking at his reflection in a big store window as he ran past. We saw each other doing it, and he beat me to the punch by saying "FORM CHECK! Yep, I look GOOOOOD!!" It was hilarious.
I told him "The most important thing in this IS looking the part, after all. Keep it up!" And I ran past him. It was a joke, but it is kinda true. You can control a lot by imagining yourself "looking like a pro" just like the Golf ads on weekend cable television say.

Bounce bounce bounce. I felt so bouncy and strong. Like, if I have enough energy to run like this, I owe it to all the people who DO NOT to run as fast as I can.

I sped out of town, imagining myself running like a pro, trying to do all of the things I tell Jan to do when she works on her running. I don't really have to think about them except for during Ironman, when I am tired and have heavy legs.

As I trotted along past the 5th mile, I watched the runners around me. I felt out of place as they plodded and walked. I realized how now my bike riding was the lagging sport of the three. It used to be my (gulp) swimming...

(Insert "shocked hero" music here.)

I saw startlingly few "runners" out there. At mile 8 I started seeing the difference between "first lappers" and "second lappers". The seconds lappers are on their way to the finish and are just flying along, in momentous amounts of discomfort, but really running hard. The first lappers, like me I suppose, are in less discomfort but just hanging on for dear life to get through the first lap.

Jan really needs to see this--I think she would really take heart to see that it is true: if you can run the end of a triathlon that is longer than a sprint, you really are doing pretty good.

I saw how many people pushed too hard on the bike because now -- I was making the fighter jet sound as I ran past them.


I will never stop the rain by complaining...

The turn-around east of town is 2/3rds of the way up this evil hill that goes around a lazy right swooping turn. Its a tough hill to ride a bike up, and during the marathon its really tough. When I got to it during the first lap, I felt ok, but wondered if I could actually run up this thing. I started at the bottom by shortening my stride a little, staring just in front of my feet, and increasing my cadence. I forced myself to lift my knees a little--just like in practice. I started increasing my cadence a little more. I pushed off a little harder. Hey, this is going pretty well, I thought to myself. I was passing people like crazy--most everyone around me had started walking. I was feeling pretty good about things, and starting to think it was going to be a relatively easy run, all things considered.

Remember what I said about feeling cocky at Ironman?

That's is PRECISELY the moment the rain really started to come down. It had been sprinkling off and on, and the wind was really whipping, but it had not yet hit that point of making me want to stop running, point at the sky with my extended middle fingers and start swearing at the top of my lungs. At least not until that moment. And believe me, the thought crossed my mind.

"BRING IT ON!" I think is what came out of my mouth, followed by a few more words. Stupid rain. It wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the 25 mph gusts coming off the lake. It was really getting chilly out there. And dark, I couldn't believe it was only 3-4 in the afternoon and it looked so dark.

I was at mile 10 and holding 8:30 per mile pretty steadily. It didn't really hurt so much, but it didn't feel good. It just... did.

People started showing up in space blankets. The steam from the chicken broth out on the course started to make me feel like it was winter time. Everyone was looking miserable, like a cat being dunked into a cold bath. I was no exception, and my legs were tired as I rolled back into town. I wanted to look good when I passed Shawna and Jan. One foot in front of the other.

I see Brian as I run down the long, slow hill. He looks good. He is jogging. He asked if this was my second lap, and I think he really must need more blood to his brain because his math is REALLY bad. And then I say "No, no way!"

I see Mark Kendall as I go into town. He is walking. I am surprised. Always being a great buddy, he cheers me on, pats me on the back and tells me I am looking terrific. I feel for him and hope he can recover soon enough. I pick up the pace a little into town, probably to 8 minute miles. I know I can't hold this long, but I am really itching to get this over with now. My hands are pretty numb and I am missing my arm warmers, which I wished I had not thrown away. But I can't stop now.

I turn the corner into downtown... I start looking at the people lining the street, hoping to spot Jan and Shawna, knowing I have to be on the lookout because I always see them before they see me. I am flying along, much much faster than the people around me, and I realize I am being cheered on by the poor rain soaked spectators. I throw my right fist into the air, A-LA Jeremy Gerking Ironman Canada at the beginning of the bike leg, and get a round of screams. I love this shit.

Still no girls.

I ran into the park and slowed-up a little. "I have to ease up or I am done." I tell myself. I settle back to probably an 8:45 pace as I go through the little turn around west of the park. I swear I should have seen Jan and Shawna. Oh well, they were probably on the other side of the street. I will catch them on the way out. And that will force me to keep running strong through town. Don't want my cheerleaders to see me mopey.

Looking back on the situation, now, I realize just how miserable I was in that rain and wind, and how much I was looking forward to seeing them out there for a boost. That is NOT to say I would be upset or angry if they weren't, because I know firsthand from all of the Ironman watching I have done just how hard it is to keep track of the times. But on a totally selfish and personal level, I really wanted to see Jan.

Ironman is a pretty selfish thing, you know.

I made the turn and started back towards the park. As I hit the first bank of Honey Buckets I felt my tummy tell me it was time for a break. I had only stopped once to pee on the run so far, but my GI was feeling less than thrilled at my pace and had started complaining about it. Of course the potties are all full, and there is a line. I have to pee pretty bad, I realize now that I am standing there, and I know I can't hold it too long out there. Crap, what to do...

I decide to press on. I stop at the special needs bag hand off and pick up my bag. My fingers are completely gone. Useless. Somehow I manage to do what I need to with the help of a volunteer. Its amazing how you do not realize how far gone your mind is until you have to SPEAK to someone, and then at that moment you hear your own voice you think "oh man, I am really out of it!"

New bottles all around, fresh Aquaphor for my under arms, and I am off. Oh, man, stopping was not so good for my legs. There was a really big alarm going off in my head now, that one that says "YOU IDIOT! What are you DOING OUT HERE?? You can't do this!!!"


There WILL be a fight for your soul before this is over.

(CONTINUE...)

Even though you know its going to happen, its still awful when your body starts to tell your mind that no matter how determined you are, it ain't gonna go down so easily.

I ran through the park. Raining harder. As I pass the beach of the swim start I remember to give the swim a mental "fuck you". Ha. I felt a smile on my face as I realized that, like in 2007, I had arrived at the realization that I was going to finish this thing. It was much less satisfying this time, but it was still a relief. I decided to pick up the pace through downtown, and resumed my Jan watch.

No Jan.

I hoped she and Shawna were all right. I hoped they just had retreated from the rain because I knew Jan did not have rain gear. I suddenly felt horrible for her and wished we had prepared better for the weather. Now I really wanted to finish faster, to make sure she was ok. My legs told me it wasn't going to be that way, and I held my pace. Oh well.

I stopped at the first aid station I come to and grab a chicken broth. HOLY SHIT that is tasty stuff, and WARM. It feels really good going down and I decided that will be revisited later. It is amazing how much better that made me feel. I ran a bit faster, bumping it back to 8:30 per mile.


I passed Mark Kendall. He gave me a big pat on the back and cheered me on. He was wearing a space blanket, like almost everyone else. Only us real psychos were still running without any sort of protective gear. I didn't care, I was on the Ironman survival run mission 2009.

I don't remember a lot of the rest of the marathon, to be honest, up until mile 21. I kept running, and I managed to maintain 8:30 to 8:45 per mile, somehow. I was really hurting, but this was a test. This was not just a race I wanted to finish, I wanted to GO, this time. It was a test of my will, and a test of just how much I could push it. I could not run faster, I don't think, but I could maintain. I don't remember--I had the blinders back on and was staring at the ground 15 feet in front of me.

I remember passing the cemetery right when we turn into town, and all the motivational signs people made on the lawn across the street. I never saw Jan's , but I looked for them even this time, backwards and over my shoulder, as I ran by. I am still a little sad that she put all that effort in and I didn't get to see them. I ran by and around the corner, expecting to see Brian at any moment.

I passed mile 21. I was ecstatic. I was going to make it, and I was going to run the entire marathon--my first and most important goal. I decided to walk through the aid stations as a reward, and it was OK at that point. I didn't care what it did to my time anymore. I would run and then allow myself to walk just a few steps every aid station for the last 4 miles.

I ate a handful of cookies, too.

I couldn't control the emotions after this point. I looked at my watch, it said I was at 10:55 total time... So close, I realized, so close. Does the time even matter in a race like this, really?

I was laughing and joking with people on the sides of the streets cheering. I felt wonderful and terrible all at once. Typical.

I saw Brian, two turns before my finish. He looked tired, but determined as always. He was just heading out for his second lap. I walked by him and slapped him on the shoulder and told him that no matter what, he had to finish, because it would be the greatest feeling he has ever had. He assured me he would, probably a little wierded-out by my sudden End-Of-Ironman emotion, but he appreciated it, nodded and smiled, and told me good job. "Go finish!" He yelled at me as we parted. He was having a long day, but he learned a lot, I think, and really enjoyed it.


Finishers left, First lap, right. I GO LEFT!!!

I made the magical turn to the left for FINISHERS ONLY and ran up to my favorite corner on earth.

I made the corner, and it was PACKED with people, standing in the freezing cold and rain. I was all alone, this time, there was no one around me. I didn't think it was possible after 2007 to enjoy the finish more, but now I know I am wrong.

I cruised down the hill, waving my arms like a madman, pumping my fists. I dont know what I was doing, I was so tired, and so overwhelmed and happy. I really felt like this was a world apart from Ironman 2007 in terms of how hard I pushed and how much I overcame.

The finish chute in front of me. Tears in my eyes. So crowded compared to 2007, and it feels so much more alive. Slapping as many hands as I can reach. Pumping the fist. I see Shawna on the side and slap her hand.

All pain disappears.

I got to the finish line and stopped, and then leaped across it as my photo was taken. I landed with my arms in the air and looked at the sky, rain falling into my eyes.

I did it. Again. And this time, I really feel like I deserved to hear the words:

Aaron Moss, you are an Ironman.

Ironman: Part Three

You mean I still have to ride 50 miles???

That was my grim realization when I started riding after my second flat tire at Ironman. I mentioned in Part One how quickly the complexion of the day changes. This is not to say I was suddenly feeling awful about life, it was just that stark, cold slap in the face by reality saying "wake-up".

What was worse, I had not even ridden out of town to the hills yet. Gulp.


Digression:
I must say, here, that there is a very important distinction regarding the hill climbing in 2007 and in 2009. See, a few weeks ago, I finally got smart. If you go back and read about the bike ride in 2007 you will notice my comments about the gearing on my tri bike being poorly suited to hill climbing. It is a big gear time trial bike.

A few weeks before Ironman, after doing a 110 mile ride in the heat with over 4000 feet of vertical climbing, I decided enough was enough. I bought a new Shimano Dura Ace cassette. My old cassette was an 11-22 (I know, and I waited 9 years to change that???) and the new one is an 11-25. I swear that I have never felt such love for 3 gear teeth in my life. It is WONDERFUL--compared to what it was like. It still is not a granny climbing gear, but let's be honest--it is nice to climb a hill in the saddle without fear of falling over backwards because you can't actually keep the pedals turning over.
End Digression

So there I was riding north, feeling ok, the wind at my back, occasionally looking at the watch. It was cloudy; the wind was gusting now to the point that I was fearful of being shoved off of the road at times when I was crouched in my aero bars. My legs felt very heavy. The burning was not my issue, it was that heaviness. Out at Hayden Lake the hills started, and the heaviness was a big problem.

I had been playing the passing game with a big 43 year old kahuna named Tom who was riding a beautiful black Cervelo P2C with deep dish Carbon Zipps and a "who's who" of finer carbon components scattered about his ride. Essentially, his bike was worth more than my car(s). It made the sound of an F-18 when it passed me, roaring down the hills. (As happened with so many people, he would pass me on the downhills and I would inevitably lurch by him on the hills. The old game of Gravity vs. Efficiency.)

One hill in particular is up above the lake after you have been swerving around, just before you head away into the country. Its a very steep, sustained climb that is really punishing. Here is the difference between the first lap and second lap--I didn't even remember climbing it the first lap!! I turned to Tom, looking deep in personal anguish and disbelief (as was I) and snorted "Tom, why does it have to be like this?"

He gave a sort of grunt and replied very plainly as he glanced back at me briefly, "We paid a lot of money for this pain."

That was it in a nutshell. We volunteered and the course delivered.

I trudged past him, up to the top, which actually turns out is a false top, and littered the countryside with expletives inappropriate for this forum.


Behold! Vanilla Thunder hath Vanish-ed!!


When I made the FINAL turn around on the bike and was heading back around the long swooping, gradual uphill turns, I fully expected to see Brian RIGHT there, still, clinging about 10 minutes behind me.

But I didn't.

It is selfish, I suppose, to say/feel this, but I was happy I didn't see him. First I was happy because it meant I had not fallen off my pace too much. Second I was happy I did not see him because it may have meant he got smart and held off the pace a little, given the crazy gusting winds out there. I didn't yet consider the third possibility, that he was having problems. Later, when I was riding into town, that thought occurred to me. I think I had had enough problems for us both, and maintained that he had just slowed down for his own benefit.

I saw the sign for 100 miles. 12 miles left. I mean... 12 MILES LEFT!!!! How awesome is that?? I swear, no matter how hard you train for this bike ride, and how well or poorly it goes, there is no better feeling than getting finished with the Ironman bike leg. You can not help but instantly feel better.

Of course I still had 12 very windy miles left. And it was DI-RECTLY into the southwest wind. Of course. How else would it be today?

I decided to go for it back in to town. I knew I couldn't hold the fastest tempo I wanted to, but I could push a little, spin faster... do something to feel energy in my legs which at this point were not energetic. I increased the tempo just a touch and started passing some of the people who had been with me. When we rode back on to the last long straightaway towards the "roundabout of tire-death" I really pushed it, getting up "on the rivet" and feeling my quads burn a little.

Soon there was a large opening in front of me. It was odd. I looked behind me and there, to my surprise, was a string of about 8 cyclists drafting off of me. They were not wheel to wheel, but they were definitely not legal, either. But this is Ironman and you have to be pretty damned blatant to get a card. So there they were. I chuckled--this is not how I saw myself from the inside, but apparently I was worth drafting off of. Or maybe I just smelled pretty.

I couldn't hold the pace all the way in. Some of the little ups and downs were too much and I backed off--unleashing the flood of fast 40 and 50 year olds behind me. It was amazing the whooshing sound it made as they all glided past, legs enormous and chiseled, bikes at least 3 times as expensive as mine. What a fashion show.

I just held on enough into the last small out to really stomp on it before rolling into transition -- where I was just disoriented enough that, when I got off my bike, I started running it back to its rack. DOH! In Ironman you just hand the sucker to the volunteers and they usher you directly into the tent.

The volunteers quickly corrected me, I felt stupid, and then happily scurried in moderate amounts of discomfort to what feels like heaven to me: the transition tent.

The GOOD part of my race was about to begin. Finally.

Ironman: Part Two

"We have made it to the starting line. In this moment, the probability that we will do the event reaches 100 percent. The hundreds of things that can go wrong leading up to an Ironman have been cleverly averted, and the thousands of things required to get to the start are all now officially history."

~Mitch Thrower

You must UNLEARN what you have LEARNED...

We are taught early on that if something hurts--don't do it.

Somehow we forget these early, simple lessons during Ironman.

Leaving the water of Lake Coeur d' Alene was a moment of mixed emotions for me.

A) Ridiculously happy to be out of the water (what would ya do with a drunken sailor)
B) Terribly disappointed (and still am, I realize now) in myself for not slaying that swimming dragon.

Maybe the third time is a charm.

Based again on previous experience, I brought arm warmers and mittens for the start of the bike ride. The arm warmers did not slide easily onto rubbery wet post traumatic swim arms. Oh no. The first of many many wonderful volunteers to help me throughout the day managed to maneuver the appendages into the sleeves. It was remarkable.

And then the gloves. Oh, dear...

These are not aerodynamic, fancy-pants cycling gloves. Oh no, these are cotton knit gloves from some race back-east that appear from a certain distance like the gloves permanently adorning Mickey Mouse. I used to think they were silly, maybe Mickey is just a smart sonofabitch.

Anyway, I left transition on my wonderful old blue bike feeling much better than 2007-- albeit nervous, now, because this was the "meat" of the race for me. I can do well on the bike, but this year was a big test for me. I had trained very hard for the bike portion, working more hills, more centuries, and as a result I felt stronger than I ever had. I wanted to really hold 19 mph on this ride, really, really wanted to, so that I might have a shot at breaking 11 hours overall. I have huge faith in my running ability, but this year on the bike was new territory.

It was amazing as I rode away from town, finally able to see beyond the blinders of the swim trauma, the difference between the cyclists I was with in 2007 and this year. Much better cyclists this time around, men and women, and much nicer bikes. RIDICULOUSLY nice bikes. And leg muscles popping out all over the place.

I set off at my best warm-up pace, and wasn't shivering after 6 miles. That was definitely an improvement this time around. I settled into a group of very quick cyclists who were riding a pace that was on the verge of being fast enough for my race pace, but I knew I wasn't ready to push it yet this early on (about 12 miles) in the bike.

I forgot about that after my first flat tire. Yes, first. It was mile 15ish of the bike ride. There is a little traffic circle just north of town, and I was heading around the round-about when I felt my rear wheel go slushy around the corner. Oh no. I know that feeling. Please, not a flat. Please please please please please.

I looked at my rear wheel as I swung around and straightened out. Flat as a pancake.

Ugh.

Luckily for me there was an aid station right there, and I rolled up to it. I coasted to a halt and set about changing the tube. My land-legs had really just started to arrive after that horrid second lap of the swim, and I wasn't even close to warmed-up. I had been hovering around 18 mph, and felt ok with that, but the wind was starting to intensify from the southwest. Basically, my legs were not feeling great yet, and it was obvious that the weather wasn't going to be on my side today.

I checked the rim, rim tape, spoke nipples, and tire. I got the new tube in and was ready to inflate. I screwed the CO2 cartridge into the nozzle and put it onto the stem and PSSSSSSHHHH that sucker emptied without going into the tube. Don't even think about asking me HOW that happened! Oh crap--only one CO2 cartridge left. I decided that it was too risky to use it, since I would be without for the remainder of the lap, and went to walk to the other end of the aid station where they had a pump. Successfully inflated and ready to roll, I took off.

Total time lost: 5:25. Panic set in. It shouldn't have--5 minutes is NOTHING. Heck, 10 minutes. But this is where the bad things are going to happen, at the most insignificant times. I felt rushed for some reason after that flat, rushed and pressured, like I needed to push. I got back on my bike and hammered.

My legs were burning, burning more than they should have been. I cranked on, telling myself this was Ironman and I didn't train so hard to "just finish." I know, I know... but at the time, that kind of logic makes sense for some reason. Maybe its a blood flow to the brain issue.

My legs burned and I kept on, knowing full well I was going too hard. The wind kept getting harder. I couldn't eat yet, my tummy wasn't too happy with me. I was able to drink plenty, however, and at mile 35 sucked on a couple caffeinated Shotblocks which felt good, convincing me to just try eating. I did, eating half a Clif bar, and WOW did I feel better. It's amazing how we can trick ourselves so easily, right in our own brains.

The legs burned, and I ignored it. I was holding a pretty good pace, but I couldn't go as fast as I trained into the wind, which seemed to be coming from everywhere, but I maintained the fastest tempo I could hold. I was riding with a couple people who looked to me like as soon as they got off the bike, they were bound to walk a long way.

The hills were relentless, and occasionally we were even lucky enough to go downhill into the horrible wind, which resulted in having to pedal downhill more than usual to maintain speed. That is a wonderful way to suck extra energy! And it hurt. A lot. I went through town again and saw my cheer team, and smiled and waved to them. Jan and Shawna were screaming at me as I raced by, and I felt better. I didn't feel so alone at that moment. Out there on the bike, when everyone is hammering into a wind that is relentless, it feels a little lonely for some reason. Quiet and hard and alone all together. (Seems like an REM song.)

I went through the special needs pick up at Higgins point, just east of downtown, and grabbed my bag = two extra tubes and two extra CO2 cartridges. Just in case. At the time I did not even consider the possibility of getting another flat, but I was sure happy I had that extra bag out there.

I saw Brian Kirby a.k.a. Vanilla Thunder a bit behind me after I made the turn and I screamed at him and put my arms in the air. It makes me feel better when I cheer for people out there. He was hanging on to me pretty good, I hoped he wasn't going to hard but from the looks I guessed he was. That or I was going a lot slower than I thought. It didn't matter, really, because I sure couldn't go any faster!

I actually felt at that point like I was getting used to the hurt, the pushing. The wind was at my back heading north out of town, and I came to that roundabout where I got the flat tire. My stomach knotted up a little as I headed around it, even, remembering just a couple hours previous what I had spent my time doing.

And then it happened.

PSSSHHHHHHT!!

Oh dear lord. SERIOUSLY??

I felt the characteristic "bump bump, bump bump, bump bump" of a deflated front tire and I pulled over. Un-be-fucking-lievable. No way. I had to be dreaming.

I laughed--what else could I do? It was just going to be that way today. I looked at my watch and realized that I would have to finish the bike ride at 7 hours in order to be under 11 hours for my whole race. It was mile 50ish, and I was at 4 hrs. I tried to do math. Could I really average 22 mph the rest of the way? Nope. Not even close.

My heart sank a lot right then. I would be lying if I said I didn't shed some saline quietly to myself. But then something happened.

I sat up and got my shit together, breathed a few times, and remembered the training rides in the rain when Jan had her rash of flat tires.

(Continue.)

I remembered the really long hard ride that wiped me out just a few weeks ago.

(Continue.)

I remembered the swim, just a few hours ago, and how I thought the same thing then but overcame and finished still.
(Continue.)

I thought about my Ironman 2007.

(CONTINUE DAMN IT!)

That made me smile. Here I was, sitting on the Ironman course, angry because I might not break 11 hours. When I thought about it that way, it seemed hilarious and stupid. I bet there were 2000 people out there who would give their left arm to finish around 11 hours!! It was a very important turning point, mood-wise. I felt better. I changed my tube. I chatted with some volunteers. I ate a banana. I got on my bike and started again with the leg-killing pace, into the wind, feeling like this is what I was supposed to be doing, regardless of the time I would achieve.

Sitting there I fully expected Brian to go whizzing merrily by me. Thankfully (for him) he did not.

Ironman: Part One.

“Courage is the discovery that you may not win, and trying when you know you can lose.”

~Tom Krause

Finishing is victory at Ironman.

I believe that every Ironman has a defining moment. There is some point during every single person's ironman experience as a competitor that becomes the attitude, the emotion, the feeling of the day. And it will make or break you.

For me, during this Ironman, it was at 2/3rds of the swim.
And the feeling was: "Continue".

I was initially confronted with that idea when I stopped about 1.8 miles into the 2.4 mile swim, dry-heaving and gagging on lake water and pure, unfiltered fear. Tears were in my eyes. It felt worse than the first Ironman. No one said it would be easier the second time--in fact, I spoke with the founder of ART and he told me he thought the 2nd Ironman was the hardest. Mentally, I had believed I was prepared, but maybe I was not. However, I at least thought I would be ready for just how punishing the swim was. How did this happen?

The first lap had been a personal record for me; 33 minutes for 1.2 miles. Not rocketing through the water by any stretch, but during a 2.4 mile swim I rarely feel good enough to swim towards my upper limit and I had today. I re-entered the water at the beach after my first lap feeling cocky. First lesson in Ironman racing: NEVER feel cocky and over-confident. It really is amazing how the moment you do, nature senses it like a swarm of bees and unleashes revenge of heavenly proportions upon you. For me, the wind had picked up during my first lap, and I swam fast enough to catch up to a large crowd of very angry, aggressive swimmers.

The waves at the distant end of the course, furthest from shore, had grown unconscionably large. The waves were so large in fact that two people could swim up and over one of them single file. Undoubtedly, the weather had gotten worse. Bad weather was to be the second biggest theme on June 21st, 2009. The first most important theme I already stated at the beginning.

Finishing is victory at Ironman. For me at this point, finishing the swim again was victory. This year, at the gun and into the first lap I had stayed back and toward the outside--a lesson hard learned from the titanic beating I received during Ironman 2007. As a result I earned my best 1.2 mile swim time. What I did, however, was swim well enough to place myself smack into a pack of swimmers that I was trying to avoid. It hurt and it was scary. I did exactly what Dr. Gerking told me not to do: I lost my wits. I lost energy trying to push through the crowd, only to be beaten back. I couldn't find a rhythm in the enormous waves. I couldn't breathe. I got sick.

I felt sad as I thought about my wonderful swim time melting away in the waves. I pushed around the turn and felt like I was going to throw up. I stopped and looked towards shore. Through the tears forming in my eyes I could make out the finish arch. 0.6 miles away. I could do that, I told myself over and over. I could swim that any day of the week. AND the waves were going with me. I gagged and tried to puke up the bad emotions. Every time I started swimming my stomach revolted. It was by far, to date, the hardest 0.6 miles of my life. I remember seeing the enormous crowd along the concrete steps in front of the resort as I swam in. I wondered if I was noticeable, flailing along.

And then... it was over.

The clock said 1:12. I think it ended up being longer than that, 1:14 for some reason, but the clock said 1:12 as I tried to hold it together up the beach, onto the grass, towards the army of waiting peelers who would make my ascent onto land official. I kept thinking about 1:12. Thats 13 minutes faster than my last Ironman swim. I made it. And it was a lot faster. But what's more--

I only lost 7 minutes that second lap! How the hell...?

The next huge lesson at Ironman: nothing is really as bad as it seems. It is like the weather in Colorado. When it seems like a terrible day or like nothing is going well, wait five minutes. It will usually feel completely different.

The Morning.

I remembered the morning of 2007 being a little chaotic in the hotel room, so this time I had my ducks in a row the night before. When the alarm roostered at 3:45 (it really is a rooster alarm), I laid there for 5 minutes and thought about what I needed to do. I waited a moment for the nervous energy. It didn't happen.

I was remarkably calm. I thought about my training and how prepared I felt physically, and a wave of excitement rushed through me. I was excited, this time, and not terrified of the unknown. I was well rested and healthy. Having the first Ironman race under your belt makes a significant difference.

The morning continued in this way--very calm and smooth. We easily found parking a few blocks from the transition area. Not too bad of a walk before the race. We dressed warmly and arrived to feel a little breeze blowing, but not too bad yet. NOTHING like 2007.

So far, so good. I can do this, I told myself. I have done it before. I can do this, over and over.

I felt like I was so prepared that I had so much of an easier time getting everything in order before the race; I could swear I was forgetting something. But no, it was just me having that previous experience. I arrived at the immense, flood-lit transition area with my beautiful wife/Ironman cheerleader before the thing even opened; I was among the first 15 in. That was a cool scene, what with the flood lights and anticipation. Jan and I walked back to the car and I dropped off the extraneous stuff I wouldn't need during the race. I smooched our dog good bye, and Jan and I walked hand in hand towards downtown Coeur d'Alene.

She decided it was time for her first ENORMOUS cup of coffee, I think it was 20 ounces, and I went back to transition to fiddle. It was sunny and pleasant walking along the water. I started to really feel the excitement of it all when I saw how crowded the swim start was already, and all of the other triathletes, much more nervous than me, scrambling around in the final 30 minutes before we were kicked out of transition.


The bike was in terrific shape, as always. It was hard for me at the first Ironman to leave it overnight, I am super anal about that. This time it was a relief to have it out of sight before the race so I could really be at ease... Even though, it's a Virgo outlet for me to keep my tri-bike in excellent condition and now, considering that I wouldn't have it if it weren't for my grandpa, well, now it means an extra special amount to me. I will never get rid of this bike. Or let anything happen to it.

Anyway, I checked my tires (cough for later in the story), filled my bottles, fidgeted a little,grabbed what I needed, and had just figured out where and how to put all my crap on my bike when I hear my name being called. I turn around and see some frantic waving over outside of the transition area fencing. It was my dad and my Aunt Siri, the latter all the way from Alaska. All of my dad's siblings had come in to town (Spokane) if they weren't there already for my grandparents 60th anniversary, so Siri decided to come see the start of an Ironman--fresh from knee surgery. We walked around to the grassy knoll where just days before, at the base of the gigantic blow-up gatorade bottle, Brian, Jan and I swam the course and laughed. Hardly the state of Ironman swim start.

The mass-swim start of 2600 people is ridiculously awesome to see.

I got the chance to hang out with Dad, Siri, Jan and Shawna before I had to go to the beach. I felt good. I felt really good. Calm, fun, warm once dad let me borrow his jacket, ready. I knew in the back of my mind that it was probably bad to feel so good before the race. When or how that would play out was to be determined. It was time to march with the other athletes towards the beach.

At that moment, who should walk past me but Mark Kendall, one of my early triathlon mentors while I was in college. He was largely responsible along with Jeremy Gerking for my enthusiastic start and successful beginnings in triathlon. Mark and I walked along together, chatting about how we felt, neither of us willing to really go out on a limb and claim we were going to have a brilliant day. I assumed he would smoke the sucker.

But do any of us really do that well at Ironman? I guess it's all relative.

The march was agonizingly long to the beach among the crowd of a thousand other athletes, clad in super neoprene suits nervous as hell. Finally, finally my chip crossed the mat and beeped--one slight portion of the myriad of other beeps.

The sand was cold on my feet as I made the final commitment to this day, and stood on the beach wondering, again, what on earth it was about this that I felt compelled to do. And then I smiled.

You are an IRONMAN... AGAIN!

"The first requisite of success is the ability to apply your physical and mental energies to one problem without growing weary."

~Thomas Edison

This one's for you, grandpa.

11 hours, 23 minutes, 48 seconds after trudging reluctantly into the dark, cold, wavy waters of Lake Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, I emerged from the marathon to the sound of cheers and laughter and the announcer telling me what I wanted to hear.

Aaron Moss, from Kenmore, Washington... YOU are an IRONMAN, for the second time!

It was a very hard day. Much more difficult than the First Ironman. But, after enormous waves, again being beaten-up pretty handily in the water, 2 flat tires, a RIDICULOUS 15 mph headwind on the bike, rain and 50 degree temps on the run-- I managed to shave 1 hour and 21 minutes off of my time.

It really is an experience that is hard to describe to someone who has never done it, or even seen it. It is a sustained effort over so long, and it requires so much mental exertion; so much time is spent in doubt...its hard to imagine it ending at ALL during a number of points during the day.

My race report will be coming soon. Until then, I am on vacation!

Tomorrow!

Tomorrow is Ironman. For now, this is my pre-sleep wind down in the form of blogging. I am so excited to go do this. And, to make things better, I found the pics of my last race. These are good!


Samples Picture of Aaron.

Another

biking in...

GO!!!

Still Going!



I would love Ironman to look as good as these pictures!! Hopefully it will just be a fun day. I am starting to get a little AMPED up, but so far, its not as bad as the last time I did this craziness.

Talk to you apre-tri!

Whew.

Ahhh.... controlled chaos! There really is a method to this madness!

Rain, wind, waves... oh my.

"The trouble with weather forecasting is that it's right too often for us to ignore it and wrong too often for us to rely on it."

~Patrick Young

Right on, Mr. Young.

The weather will not be ignored. Today was cold, windy, rainy and downright icky. The waves seemed smaller at first, but then as we swam further out it was the familiar 3 foot giant swells. Still, the swim feels good, almost fun. Now add the 2500 other lunatics thrashing all around me for instant, giant washing machine effect. Barf.

Still, I look forward to it.

Today I opened my race stuff and looked through my bags for race day. I changed the cleats on my bike shoes. I cleaned my bike chain one last time. I will lube it race morning before I am off. It was too wet today to ride, and even Jan just ran after our activities on-site. The weather was cruel today.

Still, I am excited to get out there and do triathlon for over 10 hours. Hopefully not 12. I am ridiculously excited to this race. I am just NOT excited about the weather forecast: 62 and rainy. Crap, it was better in SEATTLE!!!!!

I handed out around a hundred samples of Aquaphor today, even got booted from the area of the registration line when they saw me handing them out. Apparently, this activity is frowned upon, because nearby are vendor booths where companies pay primo coinage to have the opportunity to hand out stupid stuff. I didn't see anyone else capitalizing on the line of hundreds of tri-geeks, so I was just being entrepreneurial...

But the race director gave me a lecture so I left, and handed the rest out just as easily across the street in a popular parking lot. Good enough!

Well, its almost race-meeting time. I hate this. Its all a bunch of over-anxious, anal type-As in one big tent listening to a bunch of shit that really is not useful whatsoever. Oh well, as Brian would say.

One final thought is the value of planning ahead. This is a crazy chaotic mess if you have not thought through every minute at least once. And thank god for the ART tent (Active Release Therapy).

OK, enough. My battery is about dead which is a sign I need to turn this off. I will sleep well tonight. And I will sleep in a bit tomorrow. After all, its my last day before Ironman!!!!! Woooo hoooo!!!

Arrival in Ironland and other Tales

"It's a cruel season that makes you get ready for bed while it's light out."

~Bill Watterson

This picture look familiar?

It should, it is exactly like the picture from 2007, the last time I engaged in this lunacy called Ironman.

Aah, its wonderful, though! We arrived last night, around 9, into Coeur d'Alene (how elegant a name--so annoying to spell!) Along the way over I phoned my dad who told me my grandfather, experiencing all of the age-and-smoking-related ailments a human can experience, had been put back in the hospital for a variety of reasons I will not go into. So, seeing as how his hospital in Spokane was right off the freeway, and I knew my way around ok, we decided to stop and see him. And I am glad we did.

My grandfather has always been a stoic, kind of stern figure. But lately his own mortality, as a result of aforementioned age-and-smoking-related health issues has caught up with him and he has softened quite a bit. Over the last few years he has appeared to me to become almost an entirely different person--and one of my favorites.

So Jan and I stopped by and he was, in his own subdued kind of serious way, thrilled to see us. Hospitals have a way to make all those staying in them seem older and sicker than they really are, and he was no exception. I was and am concerned for him, but what he is really experiencing I will never know. He is a Male and a Moss, and from a generation that does not complain--they just motor on. And so it goes, and so it goes... I will never appreciate what he has gone through for me, for my country, for himself and his family. The least I can do is listen to him and show him I care.

After we stopped in Spokane we kept on to Coeur d'Alene (CDA). We are staying in the Motel 6, which on Wednesday before Ironman, was woefully understaffed. I waited in line to check in for about 40 minutes while Peggy managed to answer phones, make reservations and patiently deal with the 80 year old in front of me who did not know how to use a credit card swipe machine. Ack. It was torturous (at best), but eventually it ended-- and I was hurriedly cramming the bikes into the room so that we could head downtown for my LAST pre-ironman beer: Vanilla Bourbon Stout at the CDA Brewery. Oh man, it is worth waiting for. Thick, rich, not too hoppy, yummy!!

We met Brian Kirby, my labmate, and his dad there, had dinner, and enjoyed a lot of laughs--most of which were at Brian's expense as his dad more than willingly shared embarrassing details of Brian's somewhat misguided youth.

The last time I was here it was just me; and I had a few notes to go by from my Ironbuddies. This time, I am the veteran and Brian is the newbie. And I have to say that it's really nice to have him here. The humor and laid-back attitude is well suited to counteracting my anal, serious, anxious demeanor. We blend together into about the perfect level of attentiveness to the tasks and schedule at hand.

This morning we swam in the lake down at the actual swim start, just like last time I was here. BUT this time, the water was about 64 degrees. The waves, however, were ridiculously huge, like last time. As Brian would happily state, "OH WELL!" We will deal with that on race day. After that we rode our bikes over the run-course and enjoyed the gusty winds sweeping in off the lake, rather annoying. There were a lot of nice bikes with people on them doing the same thing as us. Its amazing how many people converge on the towns which host the Ironman events. The population of the town is literally 30% larger for one week of the year. And hopefully everyone is spending their out-of-town dollars accordingly!!

After our bike ride we did the Ironman check-in game, waiting in line then going in the dark tent of reckoning. I remembered last year the psychological evaluation they hold, and warned Brian not to look too shifty... he apparently did ok because he emerged with the same blue Irongeek bracelet as me.

Now the day is over and its time to rest. Its almost 7 and mentally I am done for the day. Its an intense experience from start to finish, and every day the bed is calling me... the cardboard Motel 6 bed and its sleepy spell are pulling me again.

Till tomorrow.

But, alas, no beer for Ironpeople...

A good Thursday before ironman is complete! Now its time for dinner in the sun and sleep. Aaaah, life.

Ironman Thoughts

"There are mental demons we fight and mental angels that we all carry around; it’s how we deal with them that will determine if we can finish this thing called the Ironman, this thing called life."

~Mitch Thrower

Ironman Race Day Thoughts

Sitting at work. All I can think about is Ironman.

I am standing on the shore with a couple thousand other triathletes. It is quiet but for the sound of the waves, the voices over the loudspeakers, the helicopter and the demons screaming.

We stand together in solitude.

Strangely experiencing a mix of fear and curiosity.

Looking ahead to T1.

Not looking forward to the impending beating in the water by my fellow athletes.

Wonder where Jan is? I wish she were here with me now.



Sitting at my desk, 400 miles away on a beach filled with anticipation and adrenaline.

Go Team!

"The key is to make mistakes faster than the competition, so you have more chances to learn and win."

~John W. Holt, Jr.

Team Moss had a good day, Saturday, at the Five Mile Lake Sprint Triathlon, in Federal Way, WA...

Brian Kirby had a fantastic pre-ironman tune-up race! In just his third triathlon ever, I believe, he went home with 3rd place in the Male 30-34 age group. Sweeeet!! Watching him fly into the park at the very end of the run was something. That big dude can really move! I dare you to get in his way!

The beautiful and amazing Jan Howard earned her first hardware by improving on her previous time on this course by 10 minutes, winning 3rd place in the Women 30-34 age group. This girl has worked RELENTLESSLY on her running especially, but on all parts of her racing and it is really paying off. Not only did she train right through this race, but the day before she came home from a week long trip to Atlanta, complete with booze and southern cooking. Indeed, her accomplishment is special. But most importantly, the part that means the most, is that she has figured out how to race the best way for her. She has taken the tools taught to her and figured out HER OWN WAY, and it is working. I am so ridiculously proud.

I managed to use the entire length of the 5K run to catch and pass someone and earn 5th overall and 1st in the Men 30-34 age group. It might have been 3rd or 4th overall if my timing chip had not stuck inside of my wetsuit after the swim to bike transition. Oh well. I felt really good all day and feel good today. I forgot how hard going fast is!!

Shawna Hengel, in her first triathlon EVER, flew around the course and earned 5th in Women 30-34. She looked waaaay too comfortable out there, and I fully expect her to experience exponential growth throughout this season! She has talent!


Now, as the unofficial coach of this rag-tag bunch of wanna-be trigeeks, I have to say I am damn proud. All in all, I would say that Team Moss had a spectacular showing.




And if the season stopped there, well, maybe I wouldn't be so nervous still. Today is Monday. This coming Sunday is IRONMAN. All I can really do now is rest, be smart, and stick to my pre-race plan. The water appears to be cooperating temperature-wise, and the training is behind me. That is really the best I can hope for. I will be blogging from race headquarters, the Motel 6 in Coeur D Alene. Woo hoo!!!

Ironperson #568

"I am not a number..."

~Number 6 (The Prisoner)


Bib Number: 568
MOSS --AARON --32 --M --30-34 --KENMORE --WA --USA --STUDENT

If you can not be in Coeur D'Alene in person to watch #568 do the Ironman shuffle, please feel free to watch him do it here:
IronmanLive.com

New title for the blog: Training and Complaining

"Sweat silently. Let's have no squawking about a little expenditure of energy."

~Martin H. Fischer

We should all take some time to help those a little less fortunate than us. For instance, whenever possible, after a forest fire, share your water bottle with adorable little critters most of us only read about in books or see on television.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yesterday I was loading a few things into the car for a trip to Goodwill, which occurred because I am cleaning out the garage in an effort to make room for two vehicles instead of just one. Incidentally that didn't happen. I closed the garage door, walking by the button and giving it a tap, and was walking to my car on the other side as the door is closing(I deftly step over the laser-beam sensor as the door closes--don't try this at home, kids). Lo-and-behold my canine companion Cappie followed suit. I don't know if it was dumb luck or if she knew, also, how to avoid the beam that stops the door from unleashing its squishing powers, but she squirted out into the driveway, obviously pleased with herself, before the door closed. She pranced to the car while I stood in utter disbelief.

I realized that she saw the current situation (I had the garage in such disarray, and was carrying a huge armful of crap) and thought I might be trying to run away, and that she had better get a move-on if she were going to keep an eye on me.

Then she got to go to Goodwill.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


My muscles and tired limbs are healing.

One of the very coolest things about training for an Ironman is that, unlike training for shorter races, you get to really taper. You get to, in a controlled fashion, dwindle your training volume down (while maintaining intensity of course) towards the race in an effort to rest and recover and sharpen towards race day.

Tapering for Ironman is great for two reasons (at least for me):
1) I am training much less distance and therefore training takes up a lot less time out of the day, and therefore I have much more time to do useful things--like clean bikes, organize the garage, and vacuum.

2) Since I have been training so damn much until now, I do not feel that overwhelming urge telling me I "should be running" or something. Nope. Nada. No training.

The unfortunate thing is that I am not too good at resting. I may not be training, but I am, as I mentioned, tearing apart the garage. That is not restful (and you would agree if you saw this in action). Therefore I do need to work on resting.

But the no training thing? I have that down.

The last ride. The bike is different, the speed is faster, but the partner is the same.

Insanity to the Nth--plus one.

“The thoughts written on the walls of madhouses by their inmates might be worth publicizing.”

~Georg Christoph Lichtenberg

Pedaling upon the Burke-Gilman trail towards school. Legs burning. The whirring sound of my tires and the creaking of my old aluminum frame compete with my thoughts for the virtual stage. The microphone picks up nothing but static.

In the distance the sun rises, for the trillionth time I wonder?? Seeing the same rising sun as the first humans, I stop and wonder for a moment if this is something I should be taking more seriously. I wonder if I take everything too seriously.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Over the last four weeks I have ridden 4 centuries, run over 100 miles, swam over 20 miles, and eaten more than my body weight.

I rode the Urban Assault race as hard as I could, but we only came up with a 6th place finish. I really wanted that one.

The next weekend we went to Bellingham for the Ski to Sea race, which was on Sunday. I was doing the mountain bike leg--my first time. Its a 14.5 mile leg as hard as you can possibly ride. I rode it on Saturday this way, then ran a few miles around lake padden. The next morning I woke up and spent most of the day waiting for my turn. When I got the baton, I rode into a division win and 32nd overall out of 416. The next day, Monday, I set a PR for 110 miles on my tri bike and then ran 8 miles.

My body has, as my friend and triathlete mentor Jeremy Gerking put it best "...found the razor's edge, and stayed there..." for a month.

I have done workouts in consecutive weeks that have simulated the Ironman wipe-out experience so well, I almost felt as though I needed a month off after one of these monsters. But the next week I would show up, ready to roll. In the process I found new depths of strength and endurance, courage and tolerance for pain. All good things in the Ironman Triathletes weapon cache.

I have made it through another ridiculously hard training season. Ironman is now 15 days away and I am in full-on taper mode. It almost feels weird not to be sitting here already worried about my 112 mile ride with 3500 vertical feet of climbing followed by a 12 mile run... I almost feel like I am cheating. Until I think back to last weekend, when I did just that, and then I can't help but be a little sad that once again, its almost all over.

Except for one last thing. Ironman itself.

For all the training and fatigue and emotions--the race is still where it all is headed, it is still the focus. Don't lose that focus, not ever. The instant you do, you get swallowed up and spit out by Ironman.

I made my plan.
I am training my plan.
I can't wait to race it.

Until next time...

Castles Made of Sand

"I've been imitated so well I've heard people copy my mistakes."

~Jimi Hendrix

How long have I been listening? The music of intimidation, the song of insecurity, the gospel of graduate school.

I have listened to the lectures and the speeches and the seminars.

I have listened to defenses and breathing capitalist info-mercials.

I have heard the gospel and the sermon, the prayer and the confession.

The sound of failure and survival over the years has begun to sound the same, the soul among these voices almost non-existent. Am I destined to become one of these? Will my ultimate comfort some day be the sound of my own voice like it is for those around me?

~~~~

It is the 18th week of Ironman training.
I am strong and getting quicker, but approaching each workout takes its own brand of strength and conviction. Each time I step to the edge of the pool, each time I snap into my pedals, each time I lace up the running shoes; determined, yet afraid. The rain, the cold, the wind-- yet again. Hours and hours. The fatigue of each pedal stroke to pass over yet another hill. The numbness in my toes and fingers. Again and again I push the limits of my willingness to perform at an unprecedented level (for me) in the hopes of... what was it again?

There is never enough sleep. Never enough time. Only more to do, more pushing and exerting. More thinking and planning. More organizing. More more and finally, more.

Eating, sleeping, working, training. I become Microsoft Outlook.

~~~~

This morning I took 5 minutes to watch my dog after her morning walk. She rolls over in her bed that is too small for her and glances at me, upside down, her paws flapping around the ends of her legs like rubber. Her lips are hanging back from her doggy gums to reveal her dirty canine incisors. She sneezes. Surprised even at herself, she whirls herself up and shakes vigorously, her tags and emblems rattling on her collar. She looks at me and blinks, head cocked over and ears perked up.
I look at her and smile and appreciate the simplicity of her life.