The Fourth Discipline is ... Tapering? Or Checking the Event Website.

The first olympic distance triathlon of my season is tomorrow morning.  After I contested Rumpus in Bumpass last year, I swore I would never undertake a spring triathlon again.  But training for over 6 months without a multisport event gets old.  For example, since last November, I've logged over 60 miles in the swimming pool.  Back & forth, back & forth, back & forth -- 3,840 times.  As cold as Lake Anna is in April, at least I'll be justifying all the mind-numbing hours in the pool.

I've heard that "The fourth discipline is effective tapering."  Tapering is the period between hitting your training peak and race day.  The smart athlete tapers the workouts just enough to allow the body to recharge, but not so much that essential form or fitness is lost.  It's a difficult balance, and it is made more complex by the three disciplines.  Running, for example, requires a very long taper (10-14 days of reduced mileage), whereas biking can be tapered in 4-5 days, and swimming requires a day or two, at most.  Because I started long-distance events with marathoning, I have unfortunately attempted to apply my running tapering to all 3 sports in the past, and the results have been disastrous.  I'm experimenting with a much more refined tapering system this time around, and I'll be sure to report the results.

One minor ... okay, major pet peeve.  In preparing for a triathlon, I run through all the steps over and over.  Swim:  Where does the swim start and end, where do they place the buoys, from which direction does the "chop" come, where are the biggest waves, what are the sight lines, where will the sun be at 10:12 am, etc.  T1: What am I wearing, what am I eating/drinking, what do I put on first, second, last, etc.  You get the picture.  One reason why I like repeating a race is because I'm comfortable with the course.  Imagine my surprise when I checked the race website today and found out that the course has been changed -- significantly on the swim and run. 

Here is the old course:

And here is the new course:

I certainly haven't swum in "Boxley's Cove" before, but this appears to be a rather significant change.  I hope the seaweed is minimal.  And I hope there aren't any sharks.  The water certainly looks a lot greener on the new course.  I suppose I'm glad that I found this out now, rather than tomorrow morning (at the empty Lake Anna Marina).  Time to start re-visualizing the race.  Apparently "Checking the event website obsessively many times before the race" is the fourth discipline.

And We Have Liftoff!

One of my earliest memories is the first time I rode a bike without training wheels.  We had a metallic-green banana seat Schwinn fixed gear bike with 12 inch wheels (airless tires made of solid rubber).  I can still clearly recall starting at the top of the driveway at our Nampa home, with my dad firmly holding the handle at the back of the seat.  As he guided me down the driveway, he said, "I'm going to let go now ..." but the sound of his voice was well behind me.  He had let go of the seat, and I hadn't even realized it.  I remember the rush I got from riding the green bike.  The freedom of riding with no training wheels.  I still enjoy riding my bike more than just about anything else.

I have put many miles on bikes in my lifetime.  We lived a mile outside of the city while I was growing up, and about 2 miles from my friends' homes.  I covered the dirt road between my house and my friends' houses many times on a metallic blue 1982 Schwinn Stingray.  I have seen some incredible things while riding on two wheels, and even today I still get a rush every time I clip into my pedals and zip down our driveway.

Fast forward to April 1, 2012.  Genevieve has grown very comfortable with her training wheels, and we have debated at length how to wean her off them.  We decided to spend $15 on a set of elbow & knee pads and gloves.  Now, lest you believe we're "helicopter parents" who are afraid of our child getting hurt, you obviously haven't experienced Genevieve in pain.  When she scrapes her leg on a branch or skins it falling down, she will limp for days, and will refuse to let you clean it for even longer.  The last thing we need is a spectacular (or even minor) bike wreck to set her back on her path to riding without training wheels.  More importantly, we put the pads on Genevieve to give her the last bit of confidence she needs to make the next step.

I took the pedals off her bike to make it a "balance bike" for about 15 minutes, and she asked me to put the pedals back on.  Here is what happened next:

I took a cue from my Dad, and gave Genevieve the same "I'm going to let go now" a few seconds after I had let her go.  The whole experience nearly brought tears to my eyes (but didn't, because of course, I'm an Iron Man).  After a few rides, Genevieve looked like this:

For the next hour, Genevieve took wider and wider circles around the huge parking area, expanding the reach of her new freedom.  Even when she rode around the backside of the building so that we couldn't see her, we could still feel her enthusiasm.  It's difficult to describe the pure joy on her face and coursing through her whole being.  And it's even more difficult to describe my own joy as I pass along an element of my own life that has brought me to so many beautiful and challenging heights.

Carbon Wing + Side-Release Carbon Cage = Fail.

This morning I swam and rode my tri bike to work.  (Still searching for a name -- "The Assassin" maybe?)  It was the first test of the new Xlab Carbon Wing 400i.  While the wing itself performed as well as I expected, the Arundel side-entry carbon cage -- which is designed for easy release of your water bottles -- suffered an "untimely release" of my full water bottle when I hit a bump.  To make matters worse, it was early in the ride, and the bottle exploded like an orange Gatorgranade.  Time to try a more secure bottle cage ...

For having lost but once your prime, you may for ever tarry.

In August 2010 I returned to the Luray International Tri in an attempt to beat my personal best on that course.  The day was fraught with challenges, starting with my bike.  Exactly 60 minutes before start time, I got on my bike to roll into the transition area, and when I shifted into a higher gear, the shifter cable snapped.  I spent the next 59.9 minutes trying to find a mechanic with a spare shifter cable, threading the cable through my bike, adjusting my shifting, and setting up my transition area.  I forgot my timing chip, so I had to sprint back to the transition area for the chip and sprint back down to the start line.  I was literally putting on my swim cap while the race organizer counted down to the starting bell.  (Thank heavens I'm in an old man wave, or I would have missed my start.)

I came out of the water at exactly the same swim time as the previous year -- despite months of working on my swim stroke.  I shook it off and gave the the rest of the race my best effort.  As I crossed the finish line and looked at my watch, I was devastated.  12 seconds slower than 2009.  12 seconds.  In an event that took me nearly 3 hours to complete, I came within 12 seconds.  I clenched my fists and howled in disappointment.  I packed up my bike and drove two hours home, cursing myself all the way for "blowing it."

One month later, my life changed.  And so did my entire outlook on athletic events.  In September of 2010, during the DC Ragnar Relay, a member of our team passed away on the race course.  What began as a silly and epic relay among an oddball group of runners ended suddenly with a tragic loss of life.  In the hours and days that followed, I reevaluated my own life and specifically my athletic hobbies.  Perhaps running was too risky.  Biking to work suddenly felt too dangerous.  Open water swimming was just a drowning waiting to happen.  Almost overnight, the one element in my life that kept everything else in balance -- my exercising -- became the element that caused the most fear and anxiety.

But running is more than a hobby for me.  It's who I am.  Several days after the incident, I fought back the anxiety and emotion and put on my running shoes.  I will never forget the suffocating feeling of running the first mile.  Runners and bikers cruised along the path all around me, unaware of the internal struggle I faced.  As I put that difficult first mile behind me, my body found its natural rhythm again, and my legs carried me out of my fear and onto the path ahead.

Every mile since then has been different for me.  Even today, I still feel tremendous guilt for having been disappointed about my 12 second deficit at Luray.  After all, I completed the triathlon.  I drove home after Luray, and spent the rest of the day with my kids.  I have biked, run, or swum many days since then.  And one year after the tragedy, our team, including the widow of the teammate we lost, completed the DC Ragnar.  I will never be disappointed in the outcome of my workouts or events.  I'm grateful that I have the ability to even start these events.

Every mile on the path or in the pool is one more mile that I might not have had.  When I finish off a long swim, out of breath, with my heart pounding in my ears, my whole body feels the heavy air rushing into my lungs.  When I carve around a corner on my bike, wind flowing through my body, I can't suppress a smile.  When I run across Memorial and Key Bridges on my morning loop, I watch the sun rise over the national monuments and watch the fog slowly lift itself from the Potomac River.  The beauty and joy of it all is overwhelming sometimes, and I will not take these experiences for granted for as long as I am able. 

Oh YES ...

Guess what arrived in the mail today?  The Xlab Carbon Wing 400i.  The solution to my months-long hydration quandry.  Brace yourself for 55 grams of pure awesomeness!

About "Overuse Injuries"

There are 26 bones in each foot.  A problem with just one of them can kill your running (and potentially biking) for an extended period.  One or two of the bones in my left foot have been a little buggy for a week now, and it's caused me enough concern to sit out running for a week.  (Luckily, swimming and biking do not seem to be affected, so I'll hit both disciplines hard this week.)

Throughout the season, I pick up a variety of aches and pains.  I have an informal classification system for what constitutes an injury:

• Anything that lasts less than a week doesn't rise to the level of "injury." 
• Anything muscle-related, no matter how serious, isn't an "injury."
• Anything that is not used to run, bike, or swim, can't be "injured."  (e.g. Once I nearly cut off my pinky, so I taped it up and wore a rubber glove when I swam for the next few weeks.)
• Anything that still bothers you after a week requires some dialing-back or a shift in routines.
• Anything that bothers you after two weeks requires a call to the doctor.
• Okay, fine.  Anything that bothers you after a month is finally an "injury."

One of my biggest pet peeves (and the reason why I almost never take an "injury" to a doctor) is the overused term "overuse injury."  I've had the same conversation with a lot of different doctors.  The conversation ALWAYS goes something like this:

"Doctor, my knee has been bothering me a little lately.  It hurts here, here, and here."
"Have you been running a bunch of miles?"
"Yes. I'm training for an Ironman."
[Dr. sits back in chair] "Well, this looks like an overuse injury.  You should take 6 weeks off, then try to ease back into it."
"Wow, thanks for the in-depth analysis!  What was I thinking when I got off the couch to run?  I should just give up all athletic events to avoid 'overusing' any part of my body.  Oops!  I just 'overused' my mouth and brain trying to point out the irony of your diagnosis!"

Aside from teaching me the fine nuances of sports medicine, my injuries have taught me a good deal of patience over the years.  A full-blown injury that requires no activity kills more than your training schedule -- it kills your morale.  Some of my lowest lows are the result of an injury that I let go too long.  There is nothing worse than being completely prepared physically and aerobically for a race, but having to sit it out because of a small but serious injury.

After pushing myself through painful running, biking, and even swimming workouts over the years, I've learned that it's best not to tempt fate with injuries.  One of the benefits of triathlon is that few injuries keep you from doing all three displines.  So I'll hit the bike path and double up on the swimming, and we'll see what next week brings.

T2 Brick Workout and a Trip to Theodore Roosevelt Island

This week the weather has taken a turn for the better, so I've taken advantage of the extra training opportunities.  This morning I completed a T2 brick workout.  I rode my bike to work, then ran a 5.5-mile loop that included the path around Theodore Roosevelt Island.  (It might be a slow ride home tonight ...)

I know I say this often, but I'm really lucky to live and work near so many interesting paths.  The island is one of my favorite memorials because it's an anti-memorial.  While Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson, and FDR are all on the overwrought, sterile, neo-roman National Mall, old Teddy is tucked away on this beautiful island that millions of people drive over every day -- and probably don't even know that it exists. 

The National Park Service honored Roosevelt with a giant statue, but other than a little sitting area (which is calm and beautiful in the early morning), and a few raised walkways, the whole island is at the mercy of nature's whims.  Although the island was at one time clear-cut, it has been allowed to naturally regrow for the last 100 years.  It is amazing to see the variety and beauty of nature that results from an island simply being left alone.  Roosevelt was an avid outdoorsman and a pioneer in conservation and preservation of our nation's lands, so he will always be one of my favorite presidents.  It's fitting that in the quiet of the morning, there was a little bird perched on his raised hand.

I challenge you to find a cooler running path than this raised walkway on TR Island.

Some of the local wildlife.