Finding Time for Workouts

The Triathlete's Training Bible spends three entire chapters outlining the number of hours you should be training per year, per week, and per day.  These chapters make several assumptions: (1) You live in Miami and can train year-round; (2) You have no family whatsoever; (3) You collect a check every two weeks from a huge trust fund; and (4) Your body will stay 24 years old every year for 20 years.  I was trying to figure out how to squeeze more training hours out of each day to meet the 600-1200 hours per year recommended for Ironman triathletes when I came across this sentence: "If you have a full-time job, a family, a home to maintain, or other responsibilities, be realistic--don't expect to train with the same volume as the pros." 

The first time I read that, I was mortally offended.  "Be realistic" is like saying "Don't kid yourself by thinking you can train with the big boys."  My indignant response: "Well, excuse me!  I do have some, er, all of those responsibilities, and I expect that 99% of the people on the course have some or all of those responsibilities as well.  Apparently this book is not for me."

After I cooled down a little, I realized that this passage is just as true as other passages in "The Bible."  In reality, I've had to be very creative to fold workouts into my otherwise hectic life.  A few weeks ago I delivered flyers for a scout fundraiser, but I needed a hill workout.  So guess who volunteered to run up & down the hilly streets, sticking flyers on doors?  When my kids used to be more patient, I put one or both of them into the Chariot and dragged it behind my bike.  Resistance training.  I can testify that a full 80% of the other trailers on the bike path were being pulled by $6,000.00 triathlon bikes that were clearly not designed for that purpose. 

As my workout distances must increase for my intermediate peaks, so must the time I devote to training.  A creatively-minded person, I have figured out how to squeeze out a few extra minutes here and there to spend on workouts.  Some may ask, do a few minutes here and there really make a difference?  My answer:  VOLUME.  Here are some common examples that really add up:

While I'm swimming in the morning, I reason with myself:  "If I skip shaving, I'll save 5 minutes (10 more laps). Nobody will notice if I'm a little scruffy." 
Drink recovery drink in the car, not the gym (20 seconds). 
Tie my tie in the elevator (20 seconds).
Only button two buttons of my shirt if it's under a sweater (15 seconds).

While I'm running at lunch: "If I skip my shower, I'll save (12 minutes = 1.5 more miles).  I'll just shut my office door so that nobody gets too close."
Stretch in elevator before & after run (1.5 minutes).
Stretch hamstrings and achilles tendons during a post-run conference call (10 minutes).

While I'm biking in the basement, past my planned bedtime: "If I'm more worn out, I'll sleep more soundly in a shorter period ..." 
When I'm biking to & from work:
"Traffic looks really bad -- I'll bet I'm saving [5, 8, 10] minutes by riding today."
Eat dinner at Genevieve's little table while I read her a book before bed (5 minutes).
Skip shower if I'm swimming in the morning (10 minutes).

I know this post makes me sound rather pathetic, but such is life for an overbooked weekend warrior.  But before you criticize too much, consider this photo -- it's a mall restaurant with a sushi conveyor belt (because people are just too danged busy reading The Hunger Games on their Kindles to get up and order another piece of sushi).  Aren't we all just a little pathetic?

Some workouts are pure joy ...

And some are hours of misery. I can't complain about the scenery, the bike, or my energy over this 50-miler. But I CAN complain about that icy cold wind.

T1 Brick Workout

Friday morning I executed a "T1 Brick," which consists of swimming a mile in the pool, then quickly changing into my bike clothes (T1), and riding the 17 miles to work.  This is acutally a lot more fun in the summertime than in March, but the weather cooperated just enough.

One of the biggest challenges to the T1 workout is figuring out where to hang all my wet and smelly clothes to dry while I make my living at the firm.  I don't have the luxury of a locker room or a back closet in which I can hide my workout paraphernalia.  At any given time, the three hooks on the back of my door hold about 300 pounds of suits, towels, or workout clothes airing out.  The MacAttac also doubles as a drying rack for swim caps, swimsuit, and everything else. 

I do everything I can to make sure that nobody looks behind my door, or worse yet, closes my door to talk to me in private.  There is really nothing more embarrassing than your boss closing your door to talk business, and sweat-soaked clothing falling to the floor in one smelly heap.  Oh, wait -- there is something more embarrassing.  When your boss picks up the aforementioned clothing and attempts to hang it up again.

Pour One Out for My Dead Homie

Forgive me for getting choked up about the demise of my stopwatch.  It was a Father's Day gift from Alisha a couple of years ago.  I've replaced its battery twice, and in recent months I've held the band together with a succession of rubber bands.  (The band is not replaceable. Thanks Timex for your eco-consciousness.)  The start/lap button is so worn down that if I push it wrong, it will spring out of its casing.

To some, a watch might seem like any other tool of the trade -- a water bottle, a pair of shoes, or swim goggles.  When they break or wear out, you simply replace them.  But the stopwatch is the only tool that accompanies me on every workout -- running, swimming, and biking.  It has recorded some of my greatest athletic achievements: a 5:35 mile, a 19:07 5K, and a 67:18 10-miler.  It has also recorded some bitter disappointments: an olympic tri 12 seconds slower than the previous year, and a swim split that didn't improve despite months of work.  But my stopwatch is objective, fair, and merciless. 

It's my only true competition in every event.

It was the alarm that woke me up every morning for two years.  It was my cookie timer, my bread timer, and my "time-out" timer on many occasions.  It was a quiet signal to strangers in the conference room that I was a weekend warrior.  It held my wedding ring during my swims so that I didn't have to worry about the ring falling off my cold fingers.  I have used the sharp point on the buckle to open Christmas packages, pop balloons (sorry kids), and turn screws.  It has been covered in mud, mosquito repellant, sunscreen, and baby slobber.  It has prevented me from developing skin cancer on a gleaming white halo around my left wrist.  Its soft blue glow was always there for me in the darkest of nights, ready to tell me how late I was.

And so my Ironman watch recorded its last split today -- my second-fastest mile swim ever.  Another rubber band can't fix you this time, my friend.

The Simple Joys of Life

Be honest -- When was the last time you laughed like this?

"Stop looking at me, Butterfly!"

How Many Miles in Your Lifetime?

On Monday, I shared a lunchtime jog with another attorney in my firm, and we debated whether a human being has a "cap" on the number of running miles.  (Hey--It's better than talking about energy law.)  I have heard it argued many times that "a mile you run today is a mile you won't be able to run 30 years from now."  Knee cartilage wears out, bones get fragile, tendons lose their spring.  I've often wondered how many miles I have before my body gives up and I have to return to collecting old pennies for a hobby.  I feel like every year I pick up a new nagging pain -- right achilles tendon, the tarsals in my right foot, swollen big toes, etc.  At some point, will I give up?

But he pointed me to this website, 100K Lifetime Miles, which is an online gathering for runners who, as the name implies, have run 100,000 miles or more.  Think that sounds extreme?  One runner claims to have run 7,661.5 miles in one year -- when he was 53.  That's a daily average of almost 21 miles.  Daily.  For one year.  21 miles.

I was quite proud of the fact that I logged over 600 running miles for three consecutive years -- 2009, 2010 and 2011.  But some people on this website have gone over 20 years without missing a single day of running.  Insane.

Brick Workout

Saturday I completed a 3 hour & 10 minute "brick workout."  A brick is when two disciplines are combined -- usually biking and running -- to get muscle groups used to the shift from one use to the next.  Transition 1 (swim to bike) is much easier than Transition 2 (bike to run), mostly because biking and running share more crossover in terms of muscle use. 

This particular workout included riding 10 miles, then locking my backpack to a fence (the ghetto "transition area" in the image below), then riding a 20 mile loop, followed by a 10-mile run, then a 10-mile burnout ride back to my house.  The backpack holds my running shoes, power gels, extra water (since I haven't decided on a hydration system yet), and a bunch of Vaseline.  If you happen to see this bike locked up to a random fence in the middle of nowhere, please don't steal it.  It's my ride home.

The workout went very well.  It took until about mile 3 of the run before my legs found their rhythm.  And on the ride home, I left the bike in a moderately high gear and forced myself to power through.  My thighs complained all the way.  I didn't set any speed records, but it was a good checkup and confidence-builder for my training plan.  It was also a good test of whether the new bike will help with Transition 2 (and not simply cut down my bike split).  My lower back actually felt much better after 30 miles on the new bike (still unnamed) than coming off the MacAttac.  I suppose the real moment of truth for the new bike is in 5 weeks at the Rumpus in Bumpass ...