tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12462271307228187542024-03-13T23:05:53.235-07:00FullTriathlonRacingJohnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.comBlogger68125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-54664765637587284972013-11-05T04:18:00.002-08:002013-11-05T04:18:29.239-08:00Drop the Mic (Kona 2013)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I firmly believe that
any man's finest hour, the greatest fulfillment of all that he holds dear, is
that moment when he has worked his heart out in a good cause and lies exhausted
on the field of battle - victorious</i>.” – Vince Lombardi</span></div>
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Ever since I started to race Ironman, I have strived for the
above quote. That feeling of purity; Pure exhaustion, pure joy, pure effort. In
Ironman Florida last year, after 10 years of racing, I finally was immersed in
that feeling. After that day, it’s almost as if I was satisfied with triathlon
and Ironman. No more demons in my head and no more disappointment in myself. I
could walk away from triathlon and act like a proper adult and be totally cool
with it all. But let’s be honest, I’m not sure I could ever act like a proper
adult. Instead of packing it in and finishing with the best Ironman race of my
life, I figured what the hell?! Let’s give Hawaii another go.</div>
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The Florida race changed everything about my preparation for
Hawaii. If I was forced to take that hard look in the mirror and have a 12-step
moment of admittance, I would admit that I am an exercise slacker. Just like
all the years of soccer, I worked hard. Just barely hard enough to keep
improving. And while I worked hard (ish), I sure bitched about it. A lot. However,
for this buildup to Hawaii, it was as if the shift change was just acceptance.
No bitching at WJones for the hard schedules, or if he understood what it was
like to be in a hot ass garage on the computrainer for 3x20min. Instead I just trusted
WJones, and I trusted that the work he prescribed was the work required to have
a good race in Hawaii. After all, while I’d put it together a complete race on
the beautiful shores of Panama City Beach, the 140.6 miles of Kailua – Kona is
a totally different beast.</div>
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Now before you yawn from that monster paragraph above,
please understand that the tale of the Ironman Hawaii cannot be told without
the groundwork of what it took to get there. The race is only the tip of the
iceberg. I got my ass kicked in Hawaii the first time, but I was determined to
flip the script this time. Obsessed is usually pitched in a negative
connotation, but that was me to the T. I pulled every magazine I had (I am
somewhat of a hoarder) with any Ironman Hawaii information in it to re-read. I
scoured the Internet for old interviews, articles and comments from Peter Reid
(who in my opinion is the most methodical IM Hawaii champion ever) or Torbjorn
Sinballe (a big guy who like myself has struggled in the heat). Jones cooked up
crazy treadmill hill workouts, and big rides where I just crushed myself. I
looked through UFC fighter’s diets to understand cutting weight for the race
more completely. I took advantage of Chevron’s health and wellness program to
meet with a superb nutritionist. And when I asked Molly the most embarrassing
question I think any Cajun guy could, “Is it possible to do this training, keep
my energy and drop my weight by going vegetarian?” she never so much as batted
an eye. The nutritional guidelines she put together for me were perfect. I’ve
never felt so good, and I’ll be forever grateful for her time and guidance. I
quit listening to the radio, and downloaded every podcast with Hawaii and
Ironman in the description. Looking back, it was all encompassing and
truthfully exhausting. But I knew that this might be the last time I’ll ever
get to race Hawaii, and nothing is guaranteed. If I prepared as perfectly as I
could, the only thing that’s certain is that I’ll have an opportunity to have a
good race. But if my preparation were shit, then I’d be guaranteed to have a
miserable race. With all this preparation, research and focus, I knew that
there was one stone that I had to turn over before I got to tread water in the
bay.</div>
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Everyone talks about the heat and humidity of Kona, and yes
it’s hot. But come on, south Louisiana is the place Lucifer comes for summer
vacation. So there was not really much of a change from being at home to being
in Kona. I arrived Sunday, but it seemed like a lifetime away from the race.
More important than getting rid of the travel legs or adapting to the sun’s
strength, I knew that I had to make peace with the island. Now before you call
me a stoned-out hippie, there is something about this island. When I first read
Mark Allen talk about it, I said the same thing in my head about him. “Oh, easy
on the new-age hippie sauce buddy.” However after spending time here, I knew
that this island’s energy is like a mirror into your own soul. I knew that I
had to accept that I did the best preparation that I could, worked my hardest,
and in the end this may not be enough. I made peace with this feeling that the
island may win again, and that is ok. Because the fun isn’t in the result, but
the fun has been in the journey. And I gotta be cool with that. After I made peace
with this and the island, it was time to focus on the task at hand.</div>
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The second time around, it just seemed like everything was
easier. You get a lay of the land, know where to eat (Da Poke’ Shack
EVERY-DAY!), how to maneuver around all the craziness of Ali’i drive, and
generally get it all figured out. I hit up The Coffee Shack and Kona Joe, which
to me are mandatory spots to check out. This year I mostly stayed away from Ali’i,
Dig Me Beach, Lava Java and the expo. As a triathlon geek, it’s hard not to
walk around and mix it up in that area with the sport’s fast and famous. I
think the closest that I got race week was having lunch with Larkin Carter at
Lava Java. I didn’t pick the place, but the food was good. While we were eating
lunch, in addition to your food you could taste the nervous energy from all the
racers in there as well. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One last
place on my short list that I had to hit up was Mark Andrews’ condo. Who is
Mark Andrews, you ask? Do you ride a speed concept? Have you ever watched a
Trek YouTube? Chances are 100% you’ve seen him. He is one of the masterminds
behind the speed concept, and is like a Doc Brown style mechanic. The guy is a
mad genius, and I needed his help. I broke a stem bolt right before shipping my
bike to Hawaii (via Tri-bike transport and HIGHLY recommended) and it needed to
be replaced. Lisa got my part to Lafayette before I got on the plane, so I had
it with me and fully intended to replace it once I got my bike. Not on Mark’s
watch! He told me that it was no problem, and to just come back in the morning.
The bike would be race ready and tuned up. It was an awesome gesture of
kindness from Mark, and it allowed me to just save a smidgeon of energy here
and there by not having to fuss with it. After I ran my mandatory errands, I
just kind of sat around the rest of the week. Well, there was that quick little
trip to the expo to hustle up some cool swag and free gear. Because at the end
of the day, I’m from Louisiana. And we have Mardi Gras. Free stuff is a way of
life.</div>
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My parents and Elyse arrived Thursday. They were
entertaining like always. There is nothing I love more than seeing people who
just pulled 16 hours worth of flying with minimal sleep and hygiene. As their
taxi driver, I always ask the same stupid question, “So where do ya’ll wanna
go?” Easy dumb ass, to the condo. To sleep. Or translated into the Bear’s (my
dad’s) language, “Buddy, we are gonna catch some zzz’s. We’ll hit the farmer’s
market tomorrow.” </div>
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Friday is the day that everything gets real.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As you wheel your bike toward check-in,
you look around and see that the face of Ali’i and the competitors is changing.
There is no more expo, no more athlete or companies swarming twitter offering
free stuff and invitations to parties. People you see on the street have that 1,000-mile
stare. You know that pit of the stomach feeling that you got when the middle
school bully told you he was gonna whoop your ass, and the teacher made you go
on the playground? Well, that feeling didn’t go away. It just laid in
hibernation for 25 years. </div>
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And the intensity is no greater than athlete / bike / gear
check-in. In reality, it’s a comical circus of shenanigans but it sure doesn’t
feel that way. There are people running around trying to give you t-shirts or
hats for riding a certain bike, or wheels. There are gaggles of people who are
tallying what frame you are riding, wheels on your bike, saddle you sit on, group
set, etc. I mean it’s the closest this country bumpkin will ever get to a red
carpet walk. And while I laughed about it while shooting that video (you know,
the fishbowl video where I filmed the people who were staring / filming me),
it’s highly uncomfortable and just taking that anxiety to another notch on the
totem pole. Getting through transition and bike check-in as quickly as possible
was a high priority. The quicker I could wrap it all up, the quicker I could
remove myself from this mosh pit of anxiety.</div>
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Despite the horrendous condo bed and lack of air
conditioning, sleep came pretty easily Friday night. However, Saturday’s 4am alarm
was about 10min after that snooze fest. I tried to pretend I could eat, but it
wasn’t happening. So I slugged down 4 Pediasure’s, ate an egg on top of rice
and got the hell out of Dodge. Or actually the hell into Dodge, since the Bear
and I got into the Dodge caravan and headed down Ali’i drive to the pier. That
ride to the race start is always awkward, no matter who you’re with or how many
times you’ve raced. Someone you love is driving you down to a spot where they
know in the very best case scenario that you are gonna get your ass kicked. And
at the very worst case, well, no one ever wants to acknowledge that the worst
case could actually happen to them.</div>
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A lot of people think I’m being a prima-Johnna when I draw
the parallel between Ironman and what it must be like in the UFC. Minus the
obvious blows to the head and never having to be across the fence from someone
named “Spider” or “Bones”, they have a lot of similarities. The walk through
body marking to “the octagon” of the pier is a deafening silence. You try to
feign confidence, contain the anxiety by putting in the earphones and getting
out the swagger. But you don’t dare make eye contact, as you are certain the
person you lock eyes with will see through your bullshit. You weigh in. The doctor
talks to you but it’s as if you don’t even know he’s there. The looming battle
is getting more real by the moment, and it’s all consuming. That first cannon
firing for the pro start almost frightens you out of your swim skin. It’s the
triathlon equivalent of that cage locking behind you. No turning back now.
There’s only one way to freedom, and it’s 140.6 miles that way.</div>
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The mean mugging continues while we tread water in the pier.
Thousands of heads bobbing up and down in the water, all with a gunfighter’s
trigger finger and waiting to be released onto the course. Those paddle
boarders and referees must say 200 times in the span of 15 minutes “BACK UP!
BEHIND THE BOUY! YOU WILL BE DISQUALIFIED!” No one listens, as everyone refuses
to give one inch to someone that they have never met. I listen to blatant lies
“I’m going to swim an hour.” Nope, you’re a liar. I detected the shake in his
voice, I better get in front of this kid. He’s gonna panic 400 yards in. The
years slugging it out in this mass start swim arena teach you a few things. You
learn to pick out the contenders from the pretenders. I know I’m ready for a
57-58 minute swim. Jessica threw her best stuff at me all buildup and I took
it. That feeling in my stomach is back, but before I could acknowledge it BOOM!
All hell broke loose.</div>
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Somehow starting on the left side of the buoy was a stroke
of luck and genius. I got 10, then 15, then 25 strokes in a rhythm before I got
smacked. This swim is in stark contrast to 2011, where I got to experience what
would happen if a mosh pit turned into a bar fight. Sure enough, 500 yards in,
people started to implode. I’m trying to pick my way through the shrapnel,
deciding to try and make that front group. But the front group is like that
mirage you see on the road during a scorching summer day. It isn’t there. And
if you do ever catch them, then why would you swim with them? You’re going
faster. So I just tried to get into a rhythm and head toward the turn buoy. </div>
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When I got to the buoy, it was as if I got my entire swim
beating at once. Some guy thought it would be comical to keep swimming wide,
and then randomly slam into me. Each time, I backed off and allowed him to swim
in front of me. After the third ramming, I dropped back and went to work on
this kid’s feet. Every stroke, tickle his feet. Every stroke, smack his ankles
to throw off his kick. I’m a gentleman most of the time, but I am not afraid to
use the tricks I have up my sleeve. After about 10 minutes of this back and
forth, I had enough. I figured if I accelerated I would get past this
Martinsville paint trading and get back to swimming. The last bit of swimming
had me a bit bummed. As I was stuck in what I thought was no-man’s land. Not
fast enough to be with “that group” I saw just up the water, and ahead of the
demolition derby behind me. Using my highly skilled predictive swim model
(patent pending), where I judged the gap versus the contact and my perceived
time in the water divided by my start position squared to derive a time that
put me at or around 1:03 from my estimation. So when I got out of the water and
saw a 57, I went with the only thing I could think of “HELL YEAH!”</div>
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Transition was a mad house as usual, and this year I added a
“fantastic” twist. I was going to try and put on a top that was dry, while I
was wet. I mean, I even did practice runs in the condo, developed a proprietary
folding pattern that would expedite the donning of said aerodynamic and (most
importantly) sun protecting top. Well, the best laid plans of mice and men….
left me frustrated and tangled up, but fully dressed and onto the bike.
Remember that demolition derby guy? Well, apparently I will not be getting a
Christmas card from him because he punched me in the back as I was standing at
my transition spot grabbing my bike. I kind of laughed because I knew the feet
/ ankle routine worked. Besides, bitches and punks hit people when they aren’t
looking. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.</div>
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In 2011 I flatted 3 times in the first 2 miles. No, that is
not a typo. So needless to say, I was holding my breath until we descended off
of Palani. I swam a 57, and got out of T1 in 1:01:00 so the racecourse wasn’t
too bad. But coming back down the hill from the out and back was the angry mob.
And they were angry. On a good day, if the wind is right and God smiles
favorably upon me, I can do 300 watts for 10 minutes no problem. Well, I was
holding 300 on the climb and people were coming by me so fast that I looked
down no less than 3 times to see if the brake was rubbing. That first hour was
like a Soul Train dance line moving to the music of “Drop John”. I came through
the first hour at a pace that would give me a 4:30:00 bike split, and people
were blistering by me. One guy who was particularly entertaining was wearing a
Michigan Wolverines tri kit, and weaving in and out of the reflectors on the
road as he tried to pass people. I didn’t know whether to laugh or fear for my
life. Another person of interest was a guy I met a few days ago. I recognized
him because of his kit, introduced myself and chatted him up a bit. Just as I
was going to leave, he asked, “What age group are you racing?” I said 30-34, to
which he replied, “Oh, I’m sorry.” Huh? What are you sorry for? That my
dashingly handsome looks and baby blue eyes make me look like a 20-24 thoroughbred?
No, John, in the world of edgy triathlon smack talk I believe it means he is
apologizing in advance for crushing your age group dreams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, that guy passed me too. It kind
of made me angry, but then I realized that if he could really predict the future
like that (him beating me), then I should ask him for the next Powerball
numbers. And that feeling of being a Powerball winner killed off the anger.
Really during the first 1.5 hours, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I was
holding good watts, watts that I know I can hold and run well. But there were
mobs of people dropping me. And I knew it wasn’t my weak descending skills as I
made a deal with myself pre-race to descend like a proper bike racer. So if I
wrecked then I went down more like James Dean, less like Steve Carrel. All I
could do is rest my belief in that the other racers passing me would either
blow up, or were just better than me. The pace we kept down the Queen K highway
was still batshit crazy. Turning onto the road headed to Hawi is where it went
from straight speed, to brute strength. </div>
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The climb to Hawi isn’t that bad, but it’s sneaky. You just
keep climbing and climbing and climbing. Sometimes you’re going fast, then it’s
like you are standing still. Then the random crosswind gives you a sober slap
across the face for daydreaming. You keep looking down at your cassette, as if
looking and wishing will somehow sprout another sprocket on the cassette. Then
you’re stuck in between the big and small chainring in front. The big is faster
but noisier and more painful. The smaller gives you a fluid pedal stroke but
you’re losing ground. Things are starting to heat up, and you’re just getting
grumpy. Like that tight pair of underwear that just keeps riding up, things are
getting uncomfortable. Just as the aggravation is starting to boil over, you
see that car coming toward you with the massive Timex clock on top and
immediately you feel giddy like Christmas morning.</div>
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For me, the coolest thing about Hawaii is that I’m racing,
but I am still a fan. It is so cool to geek out and see all the guys / girls
you read about, look up to, cyber stalk for equipment choices, prototype
equipment, etc slugging it out on the same tarmac you are suffering on. You may
only see them for a snippet, but it’s an all access pass to the levels of pain
some of them go in the race. And this year, there was no more vivid memory
etched in my brain than Andreas Raelart pedaling at 6mph with his feet on top
of his clipped in shoes, holding the bullhorn bars, helmet cocked to the side
and head hanging dejectedly. He was weaving like a downhill skier carving fresh
powder. He was a knockout casualty of the day, and a cruel reminder to me that
I need to race my own race no matter what. </div>
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When we bombed down Hawi, I just gave into the fear that if
I crashed on this decent I would definitely break my collarbone in the best scenario.
Worst case is that the road rash would not allow me to wear a shirt for several
months. Let it go, and let the bike go. I can’t say that there weren’t scary
moments, but once I made peace with the consequences, I got to kind of started
to enjoy flying 40+ mph down the hill on two skinny tires 2.5 feet off the
ground. </div>
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I came through the 100-mile mark in 4:12:00. HOLY WOW! I’ve
definitely slowed since the first hour, but that was still brutally fast in my
book. The bad news was that the wind was picking up. I was a little behind on
taking in enough water, and after 4 hours in the saddle, well the natives were
restless. In short, the last 12 miles took me 46 minutes. However, I did gun it
once I knew I had a shot of riding under 5 hours. Yes, it’s immaterial and
vain, but it’s my sand box and that’s what I did. I came flying into transition
in 4:58:00. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! Bike hand off to the volunteer. Uh lady, for
your own safety and well-being please don’t touch those shoes…. never mind.</div>
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Oh sweet mother in heaven, that plastic chair in T2 was more
comfortable than any Lay-Z-Boy I’ve ever plopped my rear down into. I just
wanted to sit and reminisce for a bit, but I knew all too well that this fight
still had two more rounds. My plans were to “lose” rounds 1 (swim) and 2 (ride
out to Hawi), and win rounds 3 (Back from Hawi) and 4 (Run to energy lab) while
winning round 5 (Energy lab to home) convincingly. Well, I accidently won round
1, and got into a slugfest in round 2 while still losing. Round 3 was a draw.
Now it was time to see what I actually had left for this marathon.</div>
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Against my better judgment, I ran with a GPS to keep my
knockout punch in my bag of tricks until the time was right. So 7:00 pace it
was until the energy lab or the wheels fell off; whichever came first. And
along Ali’i, it was all rose petals and fairytales. I was actually doing it!
7:00 pace would give me a 3:03:00 marathon, and that would be a massive run PR
for me and convincingly catapult me through my age group. I saw my parents on
the way out and back. Stanley, Tonia, Smitty and Shawn near Lava Java. And that
smokin’ hot lady I call “WOMAN! NO BUTTER ON THE TOAST!” ok, ok. I saw Elyse
right before I turned up Palani. I couldn’t believe it; I was doing what I said
I would do. Here it was. I was a little over the 7:00 pace, but well within
tolerance. And seeing Elyse being so positive and excited put some fire in my
belly heading up Palani. </div>
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I don’t know why, but it was never in the cards for me to
walk up Palani. I did a ton of crazy “sweaty man flinging sweat off the
treadmill” hill runs at Red’s. I was ready for Palani. But in the face of
danger, as Tin Cup would say, I laid up. I played it safe. I walked up. I don’t
know if I would do it again. I don’t even know if it affected the race at all.
But I know that I think about that moment, and how it defined the race for me.
It was an outward example that today I was racing with my head instead of my
heart. </div>
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Off of Palani and onto the Queen K, things were a bit slower
but still good. Casualties of the pros were starting to show up. Jodie Swallow
was laying in the median with cold towels all over her. There were quite a few
that were shuffling, head down and defeated. And misery loves company. So I had
to almost say out loud to myself that we were not stopping to “kick it with the
homies”. We had a job to do, and we needed to run. Mile 13 was when I started
to wobble the foundation a little bit. The pace started creeping in the 7:30’s
to 50’s when running. Add that to walking the aid stations for ice, and we are
falling off. Then the positivity kicks in. If I could run 3:15, in Hawaii, that
would be badass. Just keep running little buddy. And when that Dr. Phil stuff
didn’t work, I just went back to the only thing that ever works. I counted my
foot strikes. 1 to 20. Start over. And again. And again. The melodic rhythm and
routine of it all just quieted my mind. Before I knew it I was in the energy
lab. But now I was desperately looking forward to each aid station so that I
could have a break. Not because I was cramping. No, I convinced myself that I
was “racing smart” by walking the aid stations. And oh sweet Jesus did walking
feel good! The energy lab was uneventful, except that I saw a familiar face
right before the energy lab turnaround. Ole’ “Sorry” was right there, and it
was clear his doors were blown clean off. I wanted to say something, and in a
past life I probably would’ve. But I had my own demons to wrestle with, and I
knew that this island could turn around and bite me in the ass at any
moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I didn’t even
acknowledge him. As Maverick would say, “Just fly right by.”</div>
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I had a quick picnic of Red Bull on ice at the energy lab
aid station, and trudged out of the energy lab hole. It was getting late into
the run, and I was running desperately low on resolve and energy. All I wanted
so desperately was to have a great race here. 2011 just quietly taunted me in
the shadows. No way someone like me could have a good race at Hawaii. I’m a
fraud, a cherry picker. I never even deserved to go in 2011, and the race let
me know. How arrogant of me to think 2013 would be any different. I just didn’t
have what it takes to go well in Hawaii. I have no endurance pedigree, and I am
no elite athlete. This is the big boy table, and I need to be sitting outside
with the kiddos. No matter what you do, the voices in your head will tell you
all that. After a while, you just have to quit listening. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7,
8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 1, 2, 3, ….. to just tune out
the noise. Get back to basics. In one hour, this race and your season will be
over. But you will live with the effort you gave in your heart forever. That’s
what I focused on. Not a time, not a “LOOK AT ME NOW MO’ FO’S!” but an effort
that I could hold in my heart and be proud of. An effort that would let me be
at peace. An effort that I knew was complete and genuine. </div>
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I just threw myself down Palani. FTW! I’m running for this.
If I fall or cramp, or eat a mouth full of asphalt, it will be at full tilt. I
saw Elyse one last time. She said she didn’t cry, but I know she did. There it
was, the last chapter of my race. The finish line, and the knowledge that I
gave it my full effort. I just ran. Maybe a bit too hard, maybe a bit too fast
to savor the moment. What was I running for anyway? The difference between 52nd
and 54<sup>th</sup> in my age group? 43 seconds on my finisher’s photo? Nope. I
was running for me. I was running to empty the tank, and cross the line
exhausted; victorious.</div>
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There are so many people that I have to thank for getting me
to the start line of all these races and giving of themselves so that I can go
out and chase whatever it is that gets me out of bed every morning. </div>
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- First and foremost, my most awesome best friend, manager,
soigner, counselor, assistant, emergency bike mechanic and pillar, Elyse. </div>
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- WJones, the mad scientist that has never backed down from
a challenge and has kept pushing me to new heights since he told me that I
sucked in 2010. We talked about a complete performance, and “dropping the mic”
after our best effort. I feel that we did. Best race I could have hoped for
overall.</div>
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- My parents for always encouraging me, and never once
telling me “to grow up” or “kids ride bicycles, John”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is nothing more rewarding to me
than having my parents tell me that they are proud of me. I’m sure that I could
probably skip the 9 hours of self-ass kicking and they would still tell me. But
giving your best effort for them to witness will always hold a special place in
my heart. </div>
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- Jessica aka Swim Gurzi. I’m not gonna hug you like Eric
did, but just know that the 57 was your doing. Also know that I’ll celebrate
that for like 3 weeks. Then I have bigger plans (which does include MORE PAIN
and spitting in the pool gutter WAHOO!)</div>
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- Lisa, Jason and the crew at Capital Cyclery. There are no
words. 2003 I stumbled in your shop and somehow you could never get rid of me.
Thank you for all you do.</div>
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- Mark Andrews at Trek. I have no idea why you look after a
regular old age group Joe like myself, but I appreciate it so much. It makes me
proud to ride a Trek. </div>
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- Pat Fellows at Mizuno, Rocketkidz, LA Marathon, FRESH! A
man of a million talents, and someone I’m proud to call a friend. Dude, I don’t
know how Ironman is my 32 miles, or that it is at all. But I’m honored you want
me representing the Runbird, and I can say thank you for keeping me motivated
and moving forward.</div>
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- Stanley at Corner Bar. You add to the Lafayette triathlon
group, and are making a positive impact. And it’s not just by dropping people
on the Saturday ride. We are having more people at the time trials than ever. I’m
looking forward to seeing you 5 years into this sport. The sky’s the limit!</div>
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- Mark at Precision. Dude, you are a cornerstone of the
triathlon community, and I am humbled that you call me just to see “what’s up.”
I joke calling you the Godfather of triathlon in this town, but it’s true. You
have played a role in making Ironman racing big in our area. Thank you for all
your wisdom, guidance, and even having the stones to tell me to quit being a
head case.</div>
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- Mark & Mr. Red at Red Lerille’s. I still can’t believe
you guys gave me a job teaching spin. But I appreciate it, and the opportunity
to be a part of your family. We are spoiled here in Lafayette because your
relentless pursuit of perfection in what a health club should be. Thank you</div>
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- Keith Terro at Abshire Chiropractic. Bubba, we did it!
Your crazy voodoo and weekly adjustments kept me cobbled together just long
enough to get it done. Thank you.</div>
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- Kris Thibodeaux. If anyone should be fired as a client, it
should be me. Thank you for putting up with my shenanigans, and keeping my
muscles healthy and happy.</div>
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- My training buddies who helped me get ready for this. You
know who you are, and I hope that I get to return the favor. You guys / girls
kick ass. Thank you.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So after that long, awards ceremony speech you want to know
“What’s next?” Well, until yesterday, I had no idea what was next. I’ve tried
to retire; I’ve made peace with it after Florida and was ready to move on. But
the sport keeps pulling me back in with its siren song. So in 2014, I will go
back to the roots of triathlon. Where adventure and pushing the limit just to
see what’s possible replaces numbers on a clock and watts on a computer. I got
accepted in the elite pool for the Norseman Xtreme triathlon in Eidfjord,
Norway. Honestly, I’m scared shitless. I know that it’s a monster race, and it will
take a monster effort just to finish. So I know it will get me out of bed in
the mornings. After all, once you find that something, that passion, that fire
that makes you go; you hold onto it. You hold on with two hands and ride the
ups and downs. Because for me it’s in those ups and downs where you have the
quality life moments. Those moments that make you feel alive. As for Kona, will
I be back? Honestly, I don’t know. Kona is a beautiful, cruel, hard ass race.
It will always hold a special place in my heart. As for going back I will not
say never, but it may be a while. For 10 years, I thought that Kona was the
holy grail of triathlon. But to quote Patagonia founder Yvon Chouinard, “The
search for the holy grail? Who gives a shit what the Holy Grail is. It’s the
quest - that’s what’s important. The transformation within yourself is what’s
important.” And I’m interested to see what else is out there; what else is out
there to continue the quest…</div>
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Thanks for reading</div>
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<!--EndFragment--></span>Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-91662035277437165792013-10-09T18:32:00.001-07:002013-10-09T18:32:30.232-07:00Kona Madness, Round 2Well, to say that it has been a long time would be the understatement of the year. So here we are, back to the grind after the best triathlon (and dare I say sporting event) of my life at Ironman Florida. I did ponder not taking the IM Hawaii slot after the Florida result (You know, kind of like dissing the girl that once broke your heart. Not that I've ever done that, but I've heard...), especially since the first time I raced Hawaii was an absolute disaster. It was almost as if I was scared shitless (See this: <a href="http://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=scared%20shitless&source=video&cd=5&cad=rja&ved=0CFYQtwIwBA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DLk0hSeQ5s_k&ei=RABWUsCsCaSujALT1YGoCQ&usg=AFQjCNFfQyvg1E0tla94LRGTWgjGHmf60Q&sig2=4XBN055g0epfQLw-bL5oAw&bvm=bv.53899372,d.cGE">Merlin Mann - Scared Shitless (Webstock 2011) - YouTube</a> ) to go back and get beat down by the island again.<br />
<br />
Well, in short here we are just 11 short months removed from IM Florida and 2 years from the first time I landed on the island in 2011. Believe it or not, things were easier the 2nd time around getting here. In no small part because I finally squeaked open my wallet and paid for Tri Bike Transport to deliver my bike and gear bag. So no 80 lb duck walk with bike, gear, clothes, laptop bags from baggage claim to the rental car counter. Instead, I carried on the clothes and immediately got on the wrong rental car bus. Sidenote: Hawaiian people are very much like south Louisiana people. Friendly and fiercely proud of where they are from. So the bus driver brought me to the Alamo place with not even a funny glance.<br />
<br />
Onto these days leading up to the race. In short, you are in a fish bowl. It really is pure electric madness up and down Ali'i drive. There are sculpted abs and shredded bodies MURDERING the run and bike from 5:30am well into the pure dark every day. You always hear that the best races are lost on Ali'i during race week. And after seeing it first hand, I can believe it.<br />
<br />
And the stuff you can do all of race week. Oh man, it's like you're the popular kid in class and everyone wants you at their party. No no, here's a free this; we are giving away a bunch of that. Think Mardi Gras for tri-geeks. That's about the best way I can describe it. I'll do my best to document and take pictures of what is happening in the fish bowl that is Kona this week. But to be honest, I learned my lesson the first time around. Round 2 (this year), I'll be saving all my energy for the actual race on Saturday. It's gonna be tough, especially because I really want to see all the new bikes / kit / widgets coming out. And let's be honest, how could I pass up a chance to meet CHRIS FREAKING BOARDMAN?!! Well, I did. And while I'm still kicking myself for it, let's hope it's for the best.<br />
<br />
So that's it from the island. Thanks for checking in and seeing what's happening. My peeps show up today, so that means a mandatory trip to Kona Joe coffee and the Coffee Shack tomorrow for the world's best coffee (Kona Joe Trellis Reserve) and pizza that I would actually babysit my nephew (and his friends) for. Really, the pizza is that good. Until tomorrow, Aloha.<br />
<br />
<br />Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-73561469990160084392012-11-16T15:59:00.002-08:002012-11-16T15:59:19.178-08:00Victory 2004
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Victory 2004 </div>
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<i>(Note: The title has little to do with the race, but it was the song stuck in my head for at least the first 7 hours. Mom, please don't download this song off of iTunes. If you hear it, I may be out of the will.</i></div>
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“Listen, I’m not calling to bitch but if you were in
Lafayette I would punch you right in the face. I’m exhausted, I’m angry, and
I’m cranky because this weight cut has me eating soup and salad 85% of the
time. If I see another rice cake, I may choke out the Quaker oats guy. And
WJones, if you were in Lafayette you would be next.” This is how the typical
taper conversation went between myself and WJones. In retrospect, he was quite
patient with me. Especially because a physical confrontation would involve him
telling me, “Go outside and practice falling down, I’ll be there in a minute.”
After I would vent, he would calmly tell me “when you are done crying, go do
the workout I put on the sheet. Trust in the path, and you’ll see the result. And
do me a favor engineer boy; don’t think. Not even a little.” This pretty much
summed up my world perception from two weeks pre-race until race week. I was
panicky, I was nervous. I felt like shit. I didn’t even feel good during
workouts. The numbers were there, but there was nothing easy about any of it.
However, I have been listening to quite a bit of Brett Sutton lately, and my
favorite comment of his was “You would never ask a boxer on his way to the
ring, ‘Hey mate, how do you feel?’ So why the hell are triathletes worried
about how they feel? You’re trained to do a job, so go out there and do your
job.” I love the raw honesty of Brett Sutton, and in reality this was the only
hope I had in my heart for a good race. I had to look at Ironman Florida through
a boxer’s lens. I was trained to do a job, and regardless of how good or crap I
felt was irrelevant. I was going to go out and do what I trained to do.</div>
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I promised myself that my race plan would have no bearing on
who was here racing. For once, I was going to treat the race like a golf
tournament instead of a UFC fight. UFC fights can end at any moment with a
flurry of effort. On the other hand, a golf tournament is 72 holes no matter
what (of course you have to make the cut). You can never win an entire tournament
in one hole, but you can certainly lose it all in a moment. And that was my
plan. The first round (swim) and second round (bike), make the cut. The third
round (1<sup>st</sup> loop of the run), be on the leader board. The final round
(2<sup>nd</sup> loop of the run), make your move and go for the win.</div>
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I won’t bore you with pre-race foods, rituals, etc. If you
want all that, email me. However, one thing did change for me this race. It was
the first Ironman race where I was flying solo. The good was that I had a ton
of time to myself, and that I could do exactly what I wanted to do when I
needed to do it. The bad is that I miss my entourage and that walk to
transition race morning. There is something calming having your inner circle
walking with you down to the battle. Maybe it’s that for one or two minutes on
race morning you can take your mind off of the suffering that is about to
envelope your entire day, or maybe it’s just that security blanket that you
toted around as a kid that gave you the feeling that as long as it was here,
all was right with the world. Either way it was a long, dark march to the
inevitable.</div>
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After putting all the goodies in the bags, and air in the
bike tires I got into the wetsuit and headed down to the water. Now after many
years of racing, I went back to a trick I learned to get the wetsuit on/off
quickly. I used KY jelly on my arms and legs. Let me tell you, next race you
enter go to the grocery counter with a frozen pizza, a 20oz coke, and tube of
KY jelly and try not to laugh. Before the girl even looked up, I said, “I swear
it’s not what you think.” Anyway, after getting the wetsuit on properly, I
headed down to find a good spot for the swim. For some reason I was way more
calm for this Ironman as opposed to any of my previous races. I think it
stemmed from the fact I said that this would be my last IM race for at least a
year, and that I have done everything in the sport I ever hoped to do. This
race was just for me. Just to see how fast I could go and if I could execute.
No fighting to be in the first swim pack, no jostling for position on the bike.
Just staying in my box going as hard as I can go, staying in the moment and
moving forward. I got in the water and pulled my rude gentleman start move
where I pretend to warm up swimming. This way when the paddle boarders whack us
and tell us to get back, we back up and VOILA! Front row swimming. Well for
some reason the paddle boarders let us start in the water. They weren’t pushing
us all back. And just before the gun went off, I was splashing water and my
wedding ring slipped about ¾ of the way off my finger. All of the weight cut,
plus some strategic KY residue under the ring had made for a slippery environment.
And since I was staying in the Harem of Panama City, I can imagine coming home
after an unsupervised trip to the redneck Riviera. “But I swear Elyse, the ring
fell off in the swim! Honest!” Yeah, right. So the frantic panic of trying to
get the ring to stick on my finger and trying to hold my swim position ensued.
And just as I got it to where the ring would only get to my knuckle and at
least stick there for a second, KABOOM! Goes the cannon.</div>
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The swim can be summed up easily. Uneventful. I “gently”
placed one guy in the right direction after he was making a kamikaze move
diagonally away from the swim course. I placed him in the right direction, and
I think one day he may thank me for it. Out of the water in the first lap and
the clock read 44:xx. I could do the math, a 29min first loop. Not too shabby,
considering the chop that was out there. And back into the water for lap two.
Once again, the loop was uneventful except for seeing that awful, choppy swim
stroke and that signature soul patch. Yep, 3,000 people in the water and I run
into Jeremy on the swim. It was almost comical. We battle each other in
training, in races, even in eating the most chips and salsa at La Pagua. To
paraphrase the Joker from Batman Begins, “ I have a feeling that you and I are
destined to do this forever.” Out of the water, and into the maze that is
Transition 1. </div>
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Florida is a funny bike course. It’s deceptively evil. I
compare it to the Siren’s that would crash boats into the rocks. The course
begs you to go fast. The conditions allow you to go fast. The groups form to
help you keep the pace fast. It’s all there. And first couple of hours feels
almost easy, like it shouldn’t be this easy. So you go to the front and try and
get away. The pace is fast, 25, 26, 27mph. So you start thinking crazy
thoughts. Like “maybe I can stick it at this pace for the ride.” Um, no. Reality
bites, and about mile 70 it will bite you in the ass if you let those thoughts
drive your legs. So my goal was to ignore temptation and wait until hour 3 to
3.5 to really work. No matter what happened in the first two hours, the rules
were to stay out of the draft zone and avoid a stupid penalty, and the second
was to just observe what was going on around me. I had to remind myself about
50 times in the first two hours that the goal of the bike was just to “make the
cut.” During the two hours of observation, I realized who was what in our
group. The worker bees, the wheel suckers, and the people who generally had no
interest in spacing out by the rules. This is where I will tip a cap to Mr.
Riccitello and his USAT official crew. They were in force for this race, and
handed out appropriate penalties. Our group had a motorbike with us for about
an hour of the bike ride. The cheaters got dinged, and the people riding legal
were left alone to race. I liked it. Anyway, after a mishap with the special
needs bag, the second half of the bike is where I started to really feel good.
I noticed people putting their heads down, letting gaps grow to 20-30 meters
between them and the next guy, and a lot of uniforms with salt all over them. I
knew it was time to start my shenanigans. The first dig was at mile 70, and I
just rode off the front. Nothing really fancy, but somehow effective. I thought
I may have gotten away, but Das Wunderkid (a German guy that was DRIVING the
group at a knee groaning 55rpm) drug me back into the fold. All was well until
mile 90 when I tried it again. In a stroke of quasi-intelligence, I actually
researched where aid stations would be on the course. Then I wrote the mile
markers on some athletic tape I put on my aerobars. This way I would know when
they were coming up and if I wanted to stop and get some water. I knew the last
station was mile 92, and it was starting to warm up. So I made the deal that I
would grab water and immediately gun it out of the aid station. Whoever came
with me was my partner in crime. Well, no one did, but I caught a guy who was
riding well. We worked together into the beach road, when he disposed of me
like a bad carton of milk. Coming into to transition was when I got the news: I
made the cut.</div>
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The bike to run transition was maybe one of the cleanest
I’ve ever done for the amount of stuff I had to grab. The weather had warmed up
to a breezy 82 degrees. Now, I’m not the most intelligent guy out there but I
knew that it was going to be a stretch for me to try and run my goal pace the
whole way when it was 10-15 degrees warmer than I planned on it being. So I
immediately called an audible and settled on running 7:00 miles until I hit the
finish line or the doors blew off. Either way, I was going all in. And during
that first loop, it was all butterflies and fields a bloom. I mean, I had never
EVER felt that way coming off the bike. I was holding back running the pace. It
was incredible. The run course in Florida is very imaginative. Out/back,
out/back. So it is very chewable and easy to understand where you sit in the
field. In the first 6.5 mile out section, I did notice I wasn’t seeing very
many runners. No big deal, nothing to worry about. I just kept counting the
foot strikes. When I was about .5 miles from the turnaround and saw Mirinda
Carfrae, I thought, “That’s odd. But she did race Kona 3 weeks ago. Maybe she’s
just mailing it in.” The back section of the first lap got a little more
serious. I started to really focus on the effort, and getting those calories
down. The heat did worry me so the magic salt water was getting knocked back
with some frequency. As I came into town, some of my Lafayette friends were
yelling at me, “DUDE! You are crushing it! Keep it up.” Which is very nice, but
not informative at all. Either way, I knew that I was running in my space and
that round 3 (lap 1 of the run) was a success. I had no idea how much though.</div>
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Eric ran ahead of me and barked the info. “You’re 1 minute
back from 2<sup>nd</sup> place, and 9 minutes back from the leader in your age group.
You’re running 30 seconds a mile into both of them.” Eric’s monotone delivery
kind of numbed me to the shock of what he just said. Are you kidding me?! I’m 3<sup>rd</sup>
in my age group at Ironman Florida? And we are at mile 14?! No way! This is not
possible. I should be back in 14<sup>th</sup> or 23<sup>rd</sup> trying to run
up into a good spot. This silly golf analogy really did work out. Holy shit! I
really am on the leader board. What happens if I can actually pull this off?
Yes, these were all the thoughts that went through my head in the span of about
1 minute. But like that moment you find out that the beautiful girl you’ve been
eyeing actually would give you the time of day, you try and be Joe Cool about
it all. So I told Eric, “Good, this is where I meant to be. Time to do my job.”
On this comfortable couch, with the A/C on, it’s not such a big deal. But what
a ridiculous acting job I just pulled. I was freaking out inside. </div>
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About this time, I started to hit some rough patches. My
feet were crazy wet, and I could feel every strike on the concrete run through
me. As if you could wrap up “Just stop for a second and relax. Everything will
be fine” as a Christmas present, and if I opened it right then I would be
signing with joy. That is all I wanted, just to walk for a second. Bad idea. I
gave in at an aid station at mile 16. “Just to get some coke and water down,” I
said to myself. I had all these very elaborate, very legitimate excuses to
justify why I could walk the aid station. And I did walk, all of 18 steps. And
that was it. The internal voice came back, “What the Eff is wrong with you?
Dude, you freaking selfish prick. You hog time, fit your workouts in, demand
WJones look at your power files, borrow people’s equipment to do velodrome
tests, loan Eric’s space boots for 2 months, so you can walk in this race? Do
you know how much time EVERYONE, not just you, put in to make you successful?
You think Jessica likes waking up at 4:30 to coach swim? You think Lisa likes
the “hey do you think we can get those parts for the bike by Friday” phone
calls so you can have that “must have” “watt saving” gizmo? John Fell, you talk
A LOT of shit about racing. How you’re gonna go as fast as possible, or blow up
trying. What was it, ‘like a top fuel dragster. Either the run of your life or blow
the engine sky high.’ Well guess what mother lover, THIS IS IT. Here is your
chance to back up that mouth. Here is your chance to prove to yourself what you
have been chasing all of these years. That you are a fast IM racer. That you
can run 3 hours in an Ironman. That everyone has to come from somewhere, so why
can’t there be a fast Ironman from Scott, LA. Here is your chance to NOT QUIT
ON YOURSELF. You drop the walking, lift the pace, and roll that action!” </div>
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And that was the watershed moment. I never walked again. I
spent all of the mental and physical energy I had left to move forward. And the
difference between the first loop and the second loop was noticeable. The weird
thing was, when we hit the state park for the second time Mirinda was in about
the same spot that I saw her on the first loop. Either she was caving, or I was
putting together one hell of a run.</div>
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During the training, I had this theory that I based off of
UFC fighting. Truth is, I love UFC. There are so many parallels to Ironman,
minus of course the 8-foot high steel cage and getting punched in the mouth.
However, a funny thing happened while watching a fight. This guy gets knocked
out, but by all accounts he is still fighting and defending himself. Only the
trained eye knows he is comatose, but the body knows only one thing: defend.
And born of that was my theory. I convinced myself if I could teach my body
“the pace” which was my goal pace (3:00:00), then when things got dicey and the
isht inevitably hit the fan, my body would default to that pace. Well, at mile
21, it was time to put that theory to the test. However, to help was the first
time Luke appeared. A friend of mine from Baton Rouge was so excited to see me
on the course putting it together, and I had seen him a few times earlier in
the day. But now he was going to help me in a way neither of us ever saw
coming. The first split was “John, 2<sup>nd</sup> place is 1 minute up on you
and he looks terrible. DUDE you can do this! You just have to run. RUN!” And
that was what I had echoing in my brain, with my immediate silent rebuttal,
“Um, that’s all she’s got Cap’n! We are FULL THROTTLE!” But then a crazy thing
happened. Luke lied to me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Dude! The gap is 51 seconds. Come on John Fell, you have to
go now. It’s mile 23. Dig deep my dude!” It was almost as if it gave me a shred
of hope that I could lasso this guy back. 51 seconds in 3 miles. So possible.
So I started working, and I mean really working. I know I have 51 seconds in
me. Then the internal voice started, “Didn’t you tell WJones that no one is
tougher than you? Big talk for a small dude. If you said it, than back it up
son. Time to be tough.” The next split was 37 seconds. “John you are closing
the gap, but you gotta go!” Man, I knew what was happening. I was doing it, but
I was going to run out of real estate. It wasn’t going to be possible. 37
seconds in 2 miles was just a bit too much of a gap. I resigned that I might
not catch him, but I told myself “You still run as hard as you can. We are 2.2
miles to go and you haven’t quit all day. You have 2.2 miles. Don’t quit on
yourself.” At mile 25, the gap was 26 seconds. Then it happened. Luke saw it, I
saw it. And he just couldn’t contain himself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The 2<sup>nd</sup> place guy was easily 6 foot 5 inches
tall, and had the goofiest handlebar moustache I’ve ever seen. However, it was
easy to spot him. So there he was, about 200 meters up the road on me, coming
to a walk. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Luke about lost it. I think he
was losing faith that I could close the gap as well, until now. He sprinted
over to me and took this Gatorade bottle he was carrying and squirted me in the
face. It was the closest I’ve ever felt to being in the UFC. He got in my face
and yelled the loudest whisper (he didn’t want to spook the guy into running
and call attention to me) He said to me words that I will carry to my grave.
“John, in 2 months the pain you’re feeling in your legs right now will be
completely gone. However the pain of disappointment you will feel if you don’t
close that gap and take that dude will haunt you forever. Go for it!” As I came
within 20 meters of the guy, He started running again. He never looked back,
never saw me. He just started his death march to the finish line.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was locked and loaded. I knew we were inside mile 25, and
I knew where I was. I have run this race 3 other times, and run this route
countless times pre-race. We would make the bend, run over the boulevard, turn
right on the beach road, and run toward Gulf Crest. I knew exactly how far
every stretch was. I knew I had it in me to take this guy, but where would I do
it? How would I do it? Do I go with the Alistair Brownlee move and pass so
close that I brush him, while accelerating so hard it immediately breaks him?
Do I go with the Dave Scott where I go on the opposite side of the road so I
don’t draw attention to myself? A stealth move. Do I pull a Macca and sit
behind him until the finish chute and then slingshot passed him (also called a
Ricky Bobby slingshot)? And if I go too early, he may gather himself and
re-pass me. Or what if I go and don’t have enough kick to make it home?
Whatever I do, it’s gotta be violent and it’s gotta be decisive. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just as I settled on the spot and style
of my pass, the moustache man stops smack dab in the middle of the road and
starts stretching his hamstrings. This was it, it was all instinct. I went
completely blank. It had to be now. I went to the outside of the road and used
some runners on their first lap as camouflage. I never turned around, and never
looked back. I just went as hard as I could. I ran from the bottom of my soul.
I have run faster, but I doubt I’ve ever run harder than that moment. I ran
like a scared animal. I was weaving in and out of athletes. I willed every
muscle in my foot to push off just a little bit harder. I scraped my body for a
smidge faster turnover. I made the left after the downhill by Gulf Crest. I
promised once I committed to the move I would only look back once. And I would
look when I took a left so it wasn’t so obvious. I saw nothing I could make
out. It was a sea of runners. All running after me. I saw the Lafayette people.
They were screaming. So was my body. My hearing was gone. I might as well have
been in a tunnel of silence. I cut through pairs of athletes hogging the lane
walking and talking about their awesome bike splits. I was on fumes. I could
barely talk. I tried to ask people who was behind me. I would have been better
off speaking mandarin Chinese. People just looked at me. As I ran toward
Alvin’s island and the finishing chute, my boys were there. Eric, “Captain
Canada” Trevor Casper, Brett, Luke and Pat O. They were going BANANAS! I am
begging them for a view of what was behind me. They were just hysterically
screaming at me. This had to stop. How could this guy answer that kind of
attack? It was brutal. I almost destroyed myself. I finally ask the volunteer
manning the chute, “Is he behind me?” No dude, you’re clear.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh sweet, mercy! Now it was time for the pimp check. Zip up
the jersey, straighten it. Wipe sweat and snot off the face. Look presentable,
your mother-in-law is watching. I come into the chute and there is 9:04:xx on
the clock. Oh wow. I hear on the loud speaker clear as day, “And here is your 2<sup>nd</sup>
age grouper of the day, from Scott, LA John Fell.” I just lost it. 2<sup>nd</sup>
age grouper overall and 2<sup>nd</sup> in my age group at one of the oldest
Ironman races on the circuit. My heart was exhausted but happy, because I did
my job. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I ran all day with my uncle Bob in my heart. That’s what the
kisses to the finish line and thumbs up were about. This was my gift to him. He
has always been the inspiration behind my endurance sports drive. In Hawaii,
the ultimate honor is to say someone “would go.” So if you’re surfing and
scared of a wave, they would say “Bob would go.” It is to show that Bob is courageous,
and that he would go and so should you. So that is what was written on my hand.
“Bobwouldgo”. Because Uncle Bob is courageous, and if he was racing Ironman
Florida then it would be racing at the front with courage. And that is how I
wanted to race, and wanted to honor my Uncle. Through all of the courage he has
shown in the past 2 years with his battles, he has inspired people to be
courageous in all avenues of life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I see my buddy Trey, and there are just no words. I don’t
even know what to say. I go over to where Eric, Brett and Trevor are. Questions
ensue but I just nod and smile. I sit against the generator, happy and
exhausted because I finally did what I always wanted from myself, which was
full effort. I never quit on myself. I never gave up. And I have a 2<sup>nd</sup>
place age group finish to prove it. That is when Eric tells me, “Dude, you won
your age group.” Como say what? Well, apparently when they were screaming and
yelling at the turn by Alvin’s Island had nothing to do with excitement. The
fact that I just caught and passed 1<sup>st</sup> place in my age group was the
reason for the hysteria. You read that right; I caught and passed 1<sup>st</sup>
place in my age group 750 meters from the finish. I guess that’s the thing
about Ironman. It really is never over until the finish line.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was easily the biggest sporting result of my entire
life, without equal. And on Facebook I said it was my “Turtle on a fence post”
moment. And that is how I still feel today. You see that turtle way up there on
that fence post. Every one sees the turtle, but the truth is you know that the
turtle didn’t make it up there solely on his effort. And neither did I. My
family has been there through the ups and downs, breakdowns, bad races, and
crazy training schedule. They have been supportive and patient. My man WJones
with his mad scientist training, and doing the impossible which is getting me
to actually believe in myself. To paraphrase him, “Hey, champions have to come
from somewhere. Why not Scott, LA?” Lisa at Capital Cyclery for seeing something
in me and helping me out 10 years ago as I was a young punk roadie kid who
loved to go fast but couldn’t quite put it together. PFizze Pat Fellows for
keeping me healthy and well shoed with those beautiful Run bird Mizuno shoes.
Kris my massage therapist for lying to me before every race and telling me that
I’m as lean and that my muscles feel as ready as they have ever felt. Jessica
for putting up with my swimming diva fits, and giving me all those sweet doses
of Gurzi “Shut up and swim”. My training buddies, who most times (Mike, Eric)
sacrificed their rides so I could get pushed just that much closer to the edge.
Our battles are always epic, and always a highlight of the week. And last but
most important, my wife Elyse. In our texts after the race, I said “This is our
victory, not mine.” and I meant it. You are my best friend and the best
teammate I could ask for. Thank you for permission and support to dream big.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So what happens now? Well, I ran most of the race knowing
that this was my last Ironman race for at least a year. But after the race, I
talked to Elyse and my Dad about going back to Kona. Elyse wanted a do-over, as
school only allowed her to come in the day before the race. And my dad set me
straight, “Son, two reasons we are going back to Hawaii for that race. First,
we (Fell men) don’t leave things undone. And I feel like we left that island
last time with things unfinished. And second, I really love that farmer’s
market in Kona. So I think that we should go back so I can hit the farmer’s market
again.” So in short, I’m going to suffer next October so my wife can enjoy the
race atmosphere and my dad can get star fruit at the farmer’s market. Sounds
like a fair deal to me.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-6109679985362327372012-11-01T16:07:00.003-07:002012-11-01T16:07:47.611-07:00Miseducation of John's Feet: The Allure
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The biggest question I think I had for myself in putting
this together was “How the hell did I get here?” A good question, and kind of a
comical answer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I rode mountain bikes a little bit in high school and
college, and started racing road bikes when I was a junior. And by racing, I
mean staying with the pack for about 3 miles of a 40-mile race. But my buddy
Dave Allen persuaded me to race and keep coming out and giving it a go, and to
this day I credit (or blame) him for loving the raw speed only the road bike
can provide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah, yeah,
that’s all well and good, but what about Ironman? How did you get pulled into
Ironman racing?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well after a whopping 4 months of racing triathlons, I
started reading everything triathlon I could get my hands on. Most of the
articles and talk were about Ironman and all of the races throughout North
America. There was Peter Reid, Tim DeBoom, Natascha Badmann, Heather Fuhr,
Simon Lessing on the national scene winning races. But really the intrigue
started with our local Ironman superstars. You had guys like Jimmy Bienvenue,
Mike Alexander, Jerry Martinez, Robert Mitchell, Mark Miller, Jody Ferguson,
Ken St. Pe’, Keith Manuel, John Deshotel, Charles Brenke. They called
themselves “Team LIT”, and these guys were the big guns in triathlon. They had
the respect in the triathlon circle that the rodeo clowns get at the rodeo.
These guys were the real deal. Hearing stories of these crazy epic rides to
Kaplan, Opelousas, Church Point, and all over south Louisiana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the “Team LIT” members explained
their crew as “drinkers with a triathlon problem.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nevertheless, I wanted into that party. Just the idea of the
Ironman race sounded gnarly. I was pretty shitty on the swim, and good on the
bike. The run? Well, I played soccer, how hard could the run be? Besides the
monster miles and larger than life characters, the three things that lured me
into Ironman were: the competition, the camaraderie, and Peter Pan syndrome.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Competition was everywhere in soccer. From age 6, seeing who
could get the most soccer ball patches on their shorts for scoring goals, to
who played the most minutes per season. You were constantly in competition, trying
to win your starting spot on the field, trying to keep your spot, trying to
score goals, trying to win games, trying to pick up chicks because you scored
goals that won games. You get the idea. I was a lazy forward, and there was
nothing better than that battle of one forward with the ball versus a couple
defenders and a keeper. It was as much a mental battle as it was physical.
There were fights, shirt pulls, fists, and even a Gatorade squirt to the face
(allegedly). But after that last game at DePauw, the competition in my life was
over because soccer was over. No more battles, no more bus rides, no more
pre-race music on the Discman (no judgment youngsters!), and no more adrenaline
from all that competition. I did try to party for a while, but I wasn’t very
good at it. Plus, since I was already losing my hair as a senior in college, I
could never fit in with the gel craze at Amanda Scott’s / 410. I tried to bike
race for a year or two, but just got frustrated with the shenanigans of it all.
You’re telling me the guy that is the craftiest, not the fittest could win this
race? Not cool. But Ironman, where the toughest, hardest working, fittest
person wins. This is cool! This is for me! Competition and scoring goals in
soccer was fun, and I may have embellished my goal celebrations a bit much for
how good I really was. But one thing I missed more than the competition was the
camaraderie. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Long bus rides, those stupid inside jokes at practice,
hiding coaches keys so he couldn’t get the gear out of the shed. These were all
the day-to-day bonding and general goofing off that I missed once soccer was
over. So when I looked at Ironman and saw that I’d get to go on 5-hour bike
rides and tell stories, cut up, and generally act foolish, how could I resist?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The last (and most important) allure to Ironman for me was /
is “The Peter Pan syndrome.” I’m sure all the psychologists (Elyse included)
are licking their chops on this one. What is the Peter Pan syndrome? Well, it’s
the refusal to grow up. Somehow, I figured out / decided that it was socially
acceptable to continue being a kid as long as I did kid things. And riding my
bike, swimming and running definitely qualified as kid things. Ironman offered
me an avenue to stay young, and never grow up. Because after all, when you
spend all your time swimming, biking and running, how could you possibly have
time to do any grown up things like applying for a mortgage, buying investment
property or starting a side business? No, Ironman was the perfect escape from
reality. It gave me the same experiences and opportunities that soccer provided
all 16 years, and gave me an excuse to see cool places and spend money, time
and effort on kid stuff like bikes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After 9 years of racing, I don’t regret a single minute. I
would still fall victim to the allure of Ironman racing if I knew then what I
know now. I may be poorer for all of the business / career opportunities
missed, but the ability to extend the competition, camaraderie and the chance
to not grow up is a deal I would make again. I’ll be forever grateful for
falling victim to the allure of the Ironman, and for all of the experiences
I’ve had on the race courses throughout the world.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-61499264932864161582012-10-26T07:45:00.002-07:002012-10-26T07:45:20.452-07:00Miseducation of John's Feet : Intro<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Honestly, it’s been a long time coming. I’ve been writing a bit, but mainly in my journal so I can remember all the crazy stuff I’ve cooked up over the years training for Ironman after Ironman race. And when I say remember, it’s really to taunt my yet to be born children with statements like “Whaaa, you had to run two miles in 20 minutes for PE class. When I was younger, I….” You see where that’s going. Nothing like taunting your unborn children for being soft. Anyway, while training for Ironman Florida has been fun this year, I’ve realized that my paper is empty. Paper, you ask? When I started training/racing triathlons, I wrote down my big “Pie in the sky” dream goals. They were simple: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">1 – Qualify for Ironman Hawaii<br />2 – Win Cajunman</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, both of those have been crossed off the list with a lot of hard work, a good bit of luck, and a ton of patient Elyse and family. After knocking these two off, and thinking long about my future in triathlon, I’ve decided that Ironman Florida will be my last Ironman race for at least a year*, maybe more. And what a wild, crazy, strange, exciting, exhausting, eye opening, frustrating, pure experience it has been. I’ve made a ton of wrong turns, had a bunch a bad “theories”, and generally did most all of the dumb stuff anyone training for triathlon could make. And while I’m not too thrilled with the direction of some of the fraternity / sorority / country club type crap that is infecting triathlon in recent years, I’d like to leave the sport even the tiniest bit better than when I started. And the best way that I know to do that is to write. What you’re gonna find is this series: The miseducation of John’s feet.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All 9 years, shoehorned into a series of blogs about what I’ve learned, what has worked, what I wasted time with, what has helped me, and really what it’s like chasing after the two above goals when you have a full time job, some responsibilities, and awkwardly flat feet. I’m not a sports scientist, nor do I really know all that much about the technical jargon of kinesiology. Nor will I will not debate grumpy people on the scientific approach of the 20 chosen fit subjects in some Norwegian study with double blind control groups. I’m an experiment of one, and I’m here to share my story (warts and all). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I won’t get into the nuts and bolts of my training, but I will outline some of the stuff that has worked for me throughout the years as well as some stuff I straight wasted my time with. How will self-reflection and whining on the internet leave triathlon a better place? Well, when I started there wasn’t much out there in terms of real life guys / girls talking about “the grind”. Sure, they had sexy Triathlete articles about Peter Reid going up to an abandoned Hawaii girl scout camp and putting together 40 hours of solitary Buddhist monk style training a week. But what about us regular hacks that have to push papers all day? Are we doomed to glow sticks at every Ironman race? So that is my goal with this series. To put out there all I’ve learned, and some of what I’ve tried to forget, in a nice little package for you to read. And if it gives you one idea, helps you flip over another rock of improvement or avoid a bonehead move, then I have succeeded. So I hope you enjoy the series, and good luck on your journey. </span></div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-68507953711716103762011-12-31T16:20:00.000-08:002011-12-31T16:20:02.665-08:00Day 9 - The final km'sWell, that was sure something. 1,000 km's is in the books. Today's ride was not without both shenanigans, caffeine and excitement. The shenanigans came in the form of fog. Lots of fog. All day. I thought it would burn off by 10am. My theory really didn't pan out. So we rode to Starbucks and waited for the fog to at least thin a bit. The stories Adam had really aren't for public domain, but they had me laughing obnoxiously. As did Jeremy's stories of passing out trampoline belly hugs to his wife. It's a wonder Lisa hasn't smothered him with a pillow while he sleeps by now. The excitement was that pit bull puppy that was on the loose and refused to leave Adam alone. In the panic of a terrorizing mutt trying to snack on his leg, Adam smoothly asked "Why me dog? Do I smell like beef jerky?!" I guess you had to be there. Anyway, I'd like to say thanks for all those people who came out and rode with me this week. It was a blast, and kind of a silly insane challenge I did kind of just because "it was there." A special thanks to Adam and Marcus who rode a large majority of the miles with me. Also to Will Jones, who will be receiving his limited edition (as in 1 of 2) 1,000 Christmas K's t-shirt. Details and pics of this shirt to follow. As for now, I'm kind of at a loss of creativity for what to do next. Something equally fun, equally ridiculous, and equally easy to photo the whole thing.<br />
<br />
Today's ride - 45.6 miles (73.5km)<br />
Total for the whole challenge (Dec 23 -31) - 630.5 miles (1,017km)<br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
This was an omen of things to come. All foggy all day </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Adam with that goofy grin. At least his helmet is straight this time </div>
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Adam and Jeremy who looks more contradicting. Roadie gear on triathlon bikes </div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Theme of the day. Fog </div>
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A haven in the fog. Good coffee, good stories </div>
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Jeremy, your orange mocha frappacino is ready. But that matching kit is sharp! </div>
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The miles are adding up for young Adam </div>
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Contemplating life, and New Year's eve plans </div>
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I've tried to find better, but damn these shoes are comfy! </div>
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I know this is a gratuitous product shot, but they make some awesome stuff. The pro tour bib short and lightweight gilet are staples of my cycling wardrobe</div>
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Looks like that house in "Misery" </div>
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The swamp </div>
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The horses did not warn us of the pit bull puppy ahead </div>
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The comedy train, rolling all day long </div>
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That look says "This was fun, but I'm looking forward to a nap." </div>
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I saw this view a lot this past 9 days </div>
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We almost got shot over this photo. Yep, that's strollin' around in a bath robe and hair in a towel with shower shoes on. You only see this stuff on a bike </div>
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The surprise of the day. Showing the guys the deer farm. People would kill for those bucks</div>
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This beauty deserves a day off, and a bath.</div>Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-54883345934435293912011-12-30T14:36:00.000-08:002011-12-30T14:49:44.046-08:00Day 8Man, the 1,000 Christmas K's is so close, I can almost feel it! Before today's ride, I was 130km away from busting this out, and today and tomorrow's weather is just superb! Today started off foggy, but a later start and shorter route was very welcome. Marcus ventured out with me on one condition, that a coffee stop was on the menu. After a doppio espresso, it was time to log some miles. Overall, it was nice to have an indian summer day. 70+ in late December?! I'll take it. Only one ride, and 57km left to complete the 1000 Christmas K's. I'm looking forward to putting this challenge in the completed column.<br />
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Today's ride - 46 miles (74km)</div>
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Total so far - 585 miles (943km)</div>
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Lafayette Parish ordered 15 of these signs. 8 of them are on Bayou Tortue Rd. </div>
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After 1,000 Christmas K's, the hay will in fact be in the barn </div>
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Marcus soaking up the sun. kid is gonna crush dreams in 2012 </div>
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Yes, that's a dog tag. Chances are if you get hit, your iPhone will be toast. Make it easy for even a stranger to get you help </div>
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The Chastant's rapunzel tower </div>
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<br /></div>Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-53412208615212040482011-12-30T14:26:00.000-08:002011-12-30T14:32:23.260-08:00Day 7Anne made an interesting analysis that cyclists' have little to no understanding of distance or time. Well, I went ahead and added another example to this list. I convinced Eric, Adam and Scott that the route I had in mind was only about 60-65 miles. Well, I was off again by 10 miles. And before you suggest, yes I know what map my ride is. Mainly I just pick a general loop, and freestyle from there. So anyone in the future riding with me, be warned. Every mileage and/or distance I quote you is 'ish. As in, the ride is 3 hours (really means the ride is 3'ish hours). Anyway, here are some pics from the ride today:<br />
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Today's ride - 74.5 miles (120km)<br />
Total so far - 539 miles (869km)<br />
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Easily the best (and one of two) grocery store in Coteau Homes </div>
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Gene, sir, you have been outed. </div>
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Adam simultaneously eating and oogling the El Camino </div>
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Eric was either complaining or eating on this ride. Here's an action shot of him stuffing his face </div>
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Action shot of Eric complaining. Yes he's telling me I'm #1 in route picking </div>
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Scott overdressed and hanging tough. Who knew it would warm up to 70+? </div>
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Rare self photo</div>
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Adam pondering all the planning he hasn't done for his upcoming wedding </div>
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Heading into downtown St. Martinville </div>
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So cable as in Cox cable? </div>
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Sure the porch is structurally sound </div>
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WTF?! happened to this photo?</div>
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Finally a cup o' joe on this ride</div>
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My reward if I finish the 1000 Christmas K's </div>
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This guy was VW before VW was trendy. Check the dead head window cover</div>
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A new trail. I have no idea where it goes or what it is</div>Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-21632919609984384602011-12-28T20:07:00.000-08:002011-12-28T20:20:42.429-08:00Day 6There is one overarching theme that I'm seeing in the 1000 Christmas K's, that I have an awesome group of friends. I had another great group today to ride. And even when my 65 mile route turned into 84, nary a word of grumpiness was spoken. Ok, truthfully Anne said she did think about smacking me in the head with a cycling cleat. Either way, I am super stoked to have all this support and excitement for people that wanna come ride with me this week. The km's are really stacking up, and my butt is really arguing with my bike saddle. I'm currently sitting at right about 750km, and I'm getting excited to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Regardless, I'm still having a good time seeing all the best routes the swamp has to offer. This of course excludes the Catahoula highway. Never EVER again.<br />
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Today's ride - 84 miles (135km)<br />
Total so far - 464.5 miles (749km)<br />
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Swear I've passed this barn 10,000 times, and never noticed the cool old truck in the barn </div>
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Anne and Adam planning their mutiny </div>
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Luke's Lucky Lounge, COMPLETE with drive-thru window. And yes, they're open at 8am </div>
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You think the Governor would pave the main road of a 3-time Kentucky Derby winner's home! Get it together, Jindal! </div>
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One of the roads in the accidental 20 mile detour </div>
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Anne trying to explain exactly where in BFE we were </div>
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"No, I won't yell at you. But I'd like to smack you in the face with a cycling cleat." </div>
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The homestretch, aka Cajunman course</div>
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<br />Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-67661537786663994312011-12-27T16:39:00.000-08:002011-12-27T16:39:44.860-08:00Day 5Well today was going to be the queen stage of this ridiculous challenge. Last year for my birthday, I rode 100 miles with Sean. This year, in pure American tradition of bigger and better I figured we should aim for 200km this birthday. A nefarious cast of characters showed up: WJones, Schnur, Sam, Adam, Burton, Marcus and a cameo of EBernard. What started out a freezing ride turned out pretty sweet; except of course for the two back to back flats. The silver lining is that I learned mini pumps do actually work if you run out of C02 cartridges and need more air. Anyway, all day Sam and Schnur were in beast mode and did the Lion's share of the work. Sam's story was super impressive as he managed to get on ESPN, see Breesus break the NFL passing record, briefly nap, and make it to Laffy town to bust out our ride. All in a span of less than 24 hours. Mucho impressive. For the ride, I FINALLY got to ride into Washington. I've always wanted to detour on the long rides, and today was the day. A city founded in 1720 is always gonna strike up my interest. As for me, I am shelled. Tomorrow is back on the chain gang, but I may be a bit slower after the queen stage.<br />
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Today's ride - 117.5 miles (189km)<br />
Total so far - 381 miles (614km)<br />
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Pretty maids, all in a row </div>
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The engines of today's pain train </div>
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<br />Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-43861543459421156312011-12-26T18:32:00.000-08:002011-12-26T18:32:36.946-08:00Day 4This morning started out taking a zero. Waking up to the gloom and rain outside, I already had the pen and paper out trying to calculate if I bailed on today's ride how much I would have to make up every day to the 31st. Missing today would jump my mandatory daily mileage from 70 to 80. Just as I was gonna pull the pin (I even sent out the pulling pin email to all my buddies who were even thinking about riding), Marcus texted something like "If you wanna ride, I'll ride with you." and "The rain really isn't that bad in Lafayette." Which was basically making me realize I was being a Prima-Johnna. So I got suited up for another ride in the cold and rain. I tried a new shoe/shoe cover combo that I was convinced was more waterproof than yesterday's setup. Well I guessed wrong. I wish I had a photo montage for you, but really it was raining so hard most of the ride that I was afraid I'd ruin the phone if I took it out. And let's be honest, one of my biggest fears is ruining my phone and losing all the contacts. Sure I back up, but in this nightmare iTunes sync decides to be "difficult." Anyway, I digress. For 3 hours, Marcus and I just chatted about every subject under the sun. And then, like that, complete silence. Not another word was spoken. It was almost as if we simultaneously hit the wall and were ready for the ride to end. After that, it was just get the miles done and get home. The highlight of the day was easily the elderly couple in the station wagon that passed us on the way in. That old lady's face was priceless, like she had just seen an alien ship take a left at the stop light. The low light had to be at the end of the ride, when my boss was walking to his car at the exact time I was changing into dry clothes in the parking lot. You really can't even play that off. You just kind of have to own the embarrassment. Anyway, tomorrow is the queen stage of these shenanigans. I'm not real sure, but I know the distance is gonna be in the 200km range. No better way I'd like to spend my birthday then riding around telling lies with my buddies. I'm pretty tired (as in so tired that I fell asleep in the dealership waiting room this afternoon, sitting in a chair), but still looking forward to the rides ahead. And a little tidbit for you. If you're gonna ride in the rain, might as well ride long. Why? Because it easily took me an hour and a half to clean all the crap off the bike. Then again, smart people would've ridden the trainer!<br />
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Today's ride - 52 miles (84km)<br />
Total so far - 263 miles (424km)Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-69063171686803570662011-12-25T16:23:00.000-08:002011-12-25T16:23:26.850-08:00Day 3 - 47milesAs awesome as it was yesterday riding with a jovial crew of misfits, today was a complete turn of fortunes. I woke up to a dreary cold, damp morning. The whole time I was getting ready, I was trying to figure out how bad it would actually be if I took a zero today and just made it up the rest of the week. After at least 3 espressos and bribery that included promises of nutella bagels, I finally ventured out solo into the dank, dark day to bust out as much as I could. Truthfully, the miles are starting to stack up in my legs. I could feel the heaviness whenever the road kicked up ever so slightly. My main goals today were (in no particular order): don't get hit by a car, stay off the painted road lines, and get home at 10:15 so we could be on time for family yuletide festivities. I discovered if the day is really crappy in the future yet I have to ride, ride an out and back heading into the wind at the start. Once you hit the halfway turnaround, all the misery of the wet, cold and wind is completely erased. Essentially the ride is over when you get to cruise home with the wind. Even though the weather didn't exactly cooperate, Christmas morning is an awesome time to ride. The roads were empty, and I had time to just daydream and get lost in my thoughts. Not too lost, as we are far from over with these shennanigans. Here are a few pics I snapped between showers this morning:<br />
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Today's ride - 47 miles (76km)<br />
Total so far - 211 miles (341km)<br />
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Cold AND wet? No problem. Thermal socks, and 2 waterproof booties. Gotta keep the tootsies warm </div>
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Uh, yeah. This was an attempt to catch some beauty even if the weather was dreary</div>
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Roads looked like this most of the day </div>
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Wal-Mart closed?! It was eery to see the empty parking lot. Sam Walton must be turning over in his grave </div>
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Spraying these booties with the waterproofing tent spray was a stroke of genius! As long as my feet and hands are happy, it's pretty easy to keep on keepin' on</div>
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This was my attempt to be artsy. It did hurt my heart to see the Italian stallion filthy, but she held up like a champ </div>
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No ride is complete until you see the big ass brass indian statue. (Look closely) </div>
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No smiles today. Just glad to be donesky.</div>Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-4858170025219726892011-12-24T17:14:00.000-08:002011-12-24T19:27:14.081-08:00Day 2 - 77 milesToday was the "Twas the Ride before Christmas" ride. And it definitely lived up to it's name. My buddy Will Jones put together a fantastic route through the Felicianas and a good bit of Livingston parish. Really, it is the best riding that south Louisiana has to offer. The only place in Louisiana I'd say gives St. Francisville a run for it's money is Minden. A lot of the roads we hit are part of the Rouge Roubaix course. And since Will was in such a gracious and giving mood, he threw in a solid gravel section as a gift for all. The pictures I'm posting don't do this ride justice. Not only was the scenery beautiful, but the ride today reminded me what is so awesome about your riding buddies. The miles just rolled by. We are still a good bit away from 1000km, but hopefully I get a bunch more good days like today.<br />
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Today's Ride - 77miles (142.2km)<br />
Total so far - 164miles (264.5km)<br />
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Historical Main St. in St. Francisville</div>
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The most famous drag strip in Louisiana. The finish line of Rouge Roubaix</div>
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The Posse getting ready. Raisin' Canes jerseys made me want a Caniac, no slaw extra toast</div>
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Sam trying to figure out how to put the 5 finger glove on. It's no mitten, son </div>
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This is a perfect represtation of a lot of the roads we rode today. Pure paradise. </div>
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I'm taking it that this is a volunteer fire station</div>
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We pretended it was Rouge Roubaix recon. Really it was just to be out here riding </div>
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The premier gravel section on today's ride. Always cool whenever hunters give a shocked look at the herd of roadies rolling through the gravel on road bikes</div>
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Mr Jones was not only generous with the gravel, but also the sand</div>
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One of the billion gorgeous old homes along the route</div>
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And the horse smells the barn. Time to wrap up the ride </div>
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I never get tired of the plantation homes. If only the walls could talk </div>
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Sam and Blair. Blair has been dominating the Louisiana CX scene this year. After riding with him, I totally see why.</div>Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-61069318826083318772011-12-23T14:52:00.000-08:002011-12-23T14:52:22.872-08:00Day 1 - 87milesWhat a fun and frosty way to start off 1,000 Christmas K's. 3 brave souls, Marcus, Adam, and Eric came along for a pretty basic loop. The Port Barre/Washington/Opelousas/Arnaudville loop ride. They said it would warm up to about 60 degrees today. They lied. As for the legs, they felt fine but I think they know what is around the corner for them. I can just see at about Day 6 or 7 of this challenge, I'll be saying "It seemed like a good idea at the time". Either way, today was a great reminder of why I ride my bike. So I can see cool stuff and hang out with my friends. Here's some pics from today:<br />
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The Italian Stallion, ready for action. Safe to say that this is as clean as she'll be for a while. </div>
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30min into the ride, and we are already having a potty break. It's like I'm babysitting my brother's kids </div>
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My partners in crime today. And WTF is that brick thing in the background? </div>
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King of Style, Eric Bernard. Pumped to be 40miles in, and done with the headwinds </div>
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Marcus, the young Jedi </div>
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Adam, Still drunk from last night's shennanigans at The Tap Room (notice the helmet) </div>
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An Acadian flag painted on a Cello, or a big ass violin. Either way it's cool </div>
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Historic Grand Coteau. Complete with 1972 Green Chevy Nova </div>
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Before you yell BLASPHEMY! The HR monitor is only to keep miles, and how many Christmas sweets I can eat after the ride</div>
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Grand Coteau, complete with historic sign </div>
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Keepin it real at my favorite coffee shop in the swamp, Fly's coffee in Breaux Bridge </div>
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Free Wi-Fly, clever. And giving kids espresso. Pure genius </div>
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This is as much holiday cheer as I'm gonna muster </div>
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Easily bathroom break #17 for the day. </div>
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Day 1 in the books. Can't wait to do it again tomorrow!</div>
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<br /></div>Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-55094450658260145242011-12-23T14:30:00.000-08:002011-12-23T14:30:32.828-08:001000 Christmas K's - WTF?!You've probably seen some banter on twitter and Facebook about 1,000 Christmas K's. What is it, you ask? Well, it's a really stupid (and by stupid I mean creative) idea to ride 1,000 km's (622 miles for you liberal arts majors) between Christmas holiday and the new year. Since my company was gracious enough to give us off December 23rd AND 26th for the holiday, I figured this was as good a year as any to give it a go. How did I dream up this feat of ridiculousness? Well, I didn't. Inspiration struck last year around this time while reading a blog from a Rapha product designer (they make cycling clothes) Graeme Raeburn tried the exact same thing. And since I've been struggling a bit (read, a lot) with motivation and packing on my fare share of the holiday pounds, I thought this would also be a "brilliant" way to spark some big miles in the teeth of winter. So why am I writing about this? Well, I just think this is a really fun idea to see what it's like to ride a weekly mileage of a pro. And just so I remember that I love being a desk jockey, I'm going to journal the entire series of rides on the blog. One, so I can see pictures of all the cool stuff you see while winter riding. And two, to remind myself what it actually felt like to do all these miles. The good, the bad, and the frozen. So enjoy the shennanigans that are about to unfold.Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-9339014233330799052011-10-18T15:19:00.000-07:002011-10-18T15:19:25.816-07:00The Kona Diatribe<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Gentlemen, the rules are simple. There are three five minute rounds, starting and ending with the bell. Protect yourselves at all times. Any questions from the blue corner? Any questions from the red corner? Touch gloves and come out fighting. BRING IT ON, COME ON!” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ok, so pre-race wasn’t as intense as Steve Mazzagati prepping me in the octagon for a battle with BJ Penn, but the air around the pier was palpable nonetheless. It was as if my dad was the cut man in my corner handing me the sunscreen, then aquafor, then the final Vespa. Big John, aka The Bear, isn’t a man of many words which worked out well on this day as there were no words needed to be said. My ears were ringing with the silent conversations of the athletes around me and the buzz of what was about to go down. A simple, “hey kid. I love you and I’m proud of you” was the jumping off point I needed. It was time to climb over that seawall and into the bay of madness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On the way to throwing my leg over that wall, I ran into Sean. For every word that we said to each other, there were about 1,000 going through my head. Before we parted, he pointed to the Banyan tree about .1 miles from the finish line and said “Hopefully I catch you right there. That means we both rocked this race.” I knew it was a compliment, but once you slip into fight mode, everything is a threat. My mouth said, “Yeah that would be cool” but my eyes said “I’d go to the deepest darkest places of my soul to outrun anyone in the last half mile, friends included.” There is something about racing that makes me calous and cold, even among people I like. It's time for the battle, and my armor is on. I made my way to the wall, over the barrier and into the caldron. As I surveyed the line of people already treading water, I made the executive decision to swim to the tires tied to the pier. I figured I would chill there, and then 5 minutes prior to starting I would slot in line and instigate the war. Well, out of all chutes to pick I am convinced that I made the worst of choices. We were really close to the inside buoys, and in any other Ironman I’ve done they’ve let us swim on the inside of the buoys as long as we swam around the outside of the last one. Straight lines being the same distance and all, I figured this would be the case in Kona. In fact, this was as far from reality as I could contemplate. Kayakers, SUP’ers and lifeguards lined the entire inside buoy line and were very protective of anyone coming even inches inside that line. So needless to say I spent the entire out portion of the swim in hand to hand combat. There was not one 50 meter section where I got any semblance of a rhythm. I am pretty honest about my swim shape, and the age group start in Kona was not a fair reflection of my swim fitness. I got elbowed (when someone gives you a 6 o’clock elbow to the ribs I’m pretty sure it was no accident), punched, legs pulled, etc. So pretty much like a cat wondering into a pit bull kennel. I will admit that the slow swim is somewhat of my own doing. I lack the confidence and testicular fortitude to immediately jump on someone’s feet if they are slicing through my group. It’s like all of a sudden I’ve got plaid knickers on, hanging out at the 7<sup>th</sup> tee letting people play through. The triathlon swim is not a gentleman’s sport, and I need not be a gentleman during it. The swim is a primal affair full of alpha male/female types, and I should start acting accordingly. Anyway, apologies for the side note. I was out of the water in a touch over an hour, and into the transition area. I really enjoyed the fresh hose water as an hour of salt water in your mouth will really make you grumpy. The change tent was a mad house. Bodies were everywhere. Chaos is such an understatement for this transition tent. I did the quickest change that I could and hit the Astroturf running to my trusty steed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There are 1900 bikes in the span of about a basketball gym, some picking up that lagniappe neon yellow helmet race week did help a bit to find my bike. I was hustling through to the mount line/bike course and all I could remember was how many people were going every which way in transition. It was like a bomb threat at a Pilates convention. After the eternity of Astroturf running, I got on the bike and away I went. Or so I thought.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I hit the road out of Alii and onto Palani, then a sharp left. Not one person around me was acting like they were about to head out on a 5 hour bike ride. This was a full throttle drag race straight out of the parking lot. We hit the only rough patch of the entire bike course (and I do mean that accurately. The state of Hawaii has a PHENOMENAL DOT and paving program. The only crap pavement I saw all week on that island was the 2 block section that is about to change my race.) which was about two blocks. I was down in my Aerobars getting adjusted, and didn’t even see what was about to derail me. A big seam/pothole in the road engulfed my front wheel. I knew when I hit it; I didn’t even need to wait for the sound. The tube pinched and popped immediately. For Pete’s sake, we’re in mile 1 of Ironman Hawaii and I’ve already got a flat. Not too flustered, I change it relatively quickly. The bead doesn’t sit right the first time, so I had to use both CO2 canisters to get back rolling. I gathered everything, made the back of that block and back onto the Palani descent where was a “supposed” no passing zone. It’s funny to me how much of the week I was confronted with the dreaded Triathlete “snowflake” syndrome. This syndrome allows people to look at blatantly obvious signs, rules, etc. and say “Well, they must be talking to everyone else but surely not me. I’m special.” Yeah, special like a snowflake. Or as my mom says, “You’re special, just like everyone else.” About halfway down the Palani descent, my same front tire blows out again. Now I’m a little worried. With no C02 left, I get tech support to give me a floor pump. Get the new tube mounted and away I go. I’m nervous because I only brought two tubes, and we are mile 1.5 into the bike and I’ve used both of them. I put a super emergency tube and C02 set in special needs but I am conveniently 68.5 miles away from there. I really didn’t even get to form that whole previous sentence as a thought in my head before the tire blew again. I just, there are no words. My soul just deflated right there on Palani. I had no idea what to do. I did the only thing I could do, which was take the front wheel off and start walking my bike. Once I walked my bike through a crit finish because of a rolled tubular, but that was 3 city blocks. This walk was going to be a little bit longer. As I’m walking down Palani, I look over and see Elyse, my mom, and my in-laws. So I did what anyone would do, “Hey mom.” Her response brought back memories of my youth where I’d do something super intelligent like use the van as the green monster for home run derby (breaking the side window in the process), she shrieked “JOHN!” “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Well, I didn’t really feel like being sarcastic so I just told her what happened and handed her the wheel. It was over. 8 years, sweat, tears, miles travelled, dollars spent all to be done in 1.5 miles into the bike. The real punch in the face was the Michellie Jones interview. You can see it on </span><a href="http://www.universalsports.com/video/assetid=035aaa7a-3c4d-49fa-90f2-845ca20de1cf.html#2011+ironman+world+championship"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Universalsports.com</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> at time 2:23:20 or so. I tried to be positive and cool, but I really just wanted to go back to the rental house. I mean, I haven’t even burned enough calories to get a pint of Ben and Jerry’s yet. And my day could be over. So I waited, and waited, and waited. I’m guessing probably 30 minutes went by. My buddy Neil who was spectating the race saw me and was gonna run to his hotel and get a wheel, but that may take an hour. Then one of WJones’ friends sprints up to me: “I’m Erica. Will’s friend. What’s wrong?” So I try not to be neither captain obvious, nor a panicking Peter and simply say “I kind of need a front wheel. You got one?” She didn’t, but said “I’ll be right back” and sprinted off. Sure enough she came back 5 minutes later with a wheel. I don’t wanna know who she robbed, but as Dave Chapelle would say, “BACK IN THE GAME!!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is the part where I want to pretend that I still had that warrior spirit, and that I was as battle hardened as Chrissie Wellington by saying I got my shit together and just went on the attack. But truth be told, I just didn’t have it. When Michellie asked if I just wanted to finish, I said “Yes, it’s great to be here.” And really that’s how I rode the rest of the bike. I tried to ride hard, I really did. But I never really dipped into the “Suitcase of courage” or went to the well out on the course. I did, however try and dip into my nutrition gel stash at about mile 30 and proceeded to drop my Vespa AND back up Vespa on the Queen K. With the nutrition plan now shot, I was going to have to rely on that “awesome” powerbar drink and coke.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My buddy Damon told me to not even think about riding my bike hard until I got to the end of the Queen K highway. If you’re wondering how you know when you’re at the end, well you hit a stop sign and take a left. Follow the signs that say Hawi. And that, my friends, is where the race starts. Basically it’s a steady 20 mile climb (with some downhills) from sea level up to the town of Hawi. All the interviews I’ve ever heard about this race talk about the winds of Hawi, and all I’ll say is that they need to be experienced to be understood. They aren’t hurricane force, but the gusts will make you pucker a bit. Once on the road to Hawi is where the highlight of my race happened. I got to be a real-time fan on the road. The Ford Explorer with the clock on the top crested the top of the hill with Lieto, Vanhoenaker, Alexander, Bockel, et. al in hot pursuit. I had seen this on TV and the internet feed so many times, but to see the battle unfold on the road gave me Goosebumps. As cool as the moment was, those winds on the way to Hawi have a way of sobering you up quick. Once I hit the turnaround, gathered my special needs and collected that now desirable extra tube and C02 cartridges the rest of the ride just kind of went by. Once we got back on the Queen K and headed into town, I was surprised by the amount of people up the road that were weaving back and forth. The heat was wearing on a bunch of people. Either that or I was having one wicked acid trip. To say I was glad to get off the bike is an understatement. As hard as it was not to think about it, all I thought about was “if I wasn’t an idiot with 3 flats, I’d be an hour up the road.” Those negative thoughts have a way of creeping in at the worst possible moments.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Running into transition reminded me how HOT Hawaii was. I mean, Louisiana is hot, but I’m never stupid enough to be walking around barefoot on the pavement during summer. In the transition area, the Astroturf was hot, the concrete was hot. Hell, the tape holding the strips of Astroturf together was hot. There is just a crazy amount of heat bouncing back up at you. And the last thing my legs wanted to do was run. Regardless, the positive side of the run is that there are minimal things that can go wrong out there equipment-wise. I could even have a “wardrobe malfunction” and keep on keepin on. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The run gently lures you in by sending you out onto a few turns then running straight down Alii drive. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got to see Elyse and my family which always gives that boost and most of the Alii out/back is shaded. OH WONDERFUL SHADE! This is how the Hawaii marathon gets you in her clutches. After passing Lava Java, I slipped on the latex glove Torbjorn style to keep me cool. A word to the wise: use a heavy duty latex glove or something tough. That “super cool trick” lasted a whopping 3 miles before I ripped it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had so many siren song thoughts, “If you weren’t an idiot, you’d be at mile 10 right now. You should stop under that tree. Man, just hang out at the aid station. Doesn’t walking feel good? You can walk; all you have to do is stop running a while.” It’s almost as if the voices will drive you mad. In all the madness, the only weapon I have is to count my left foot strikes. Count to 20. Start again. Count to 20. Start again. This strategy actually got me into a decent rhythm until I hit Palani to head out toward the energy lab. It was here where good and horrible happened. The good? Seeing Chrissie Wellington beaming from ear to ear bringing it home for her 4<sup>th</sup> title. Such an amazing athlete, and more importantly an amazing person. The horrible? Palani is where the walking started. I walked up Palani. Like a punk. All I needed now was a flowing white robe, a beard, a walking stick, and change my name to Gandalf. The run/walk went on, more running then walking. But once you succumb to the devil by walking you are doomed. It’s so much easier to walk the second time, then the next and so on. By the time I hit the energy lab I was excited and I mean PUMPED to see an 8:xx on the pace. What happened in the energy lab can only be described as a mix of the time I stumbled drunk through the streets of Florence and ALLEGEDLY embarrassed myself and being the guy in the corner of the frat party. At special needs, I got my Red Bull. “Oh please sweet Austrian nectar of Zeus GIVE ME WINGS!” Down the hatch that Red Bull went. And it did in fact give me wings, for 8 steps. Then the flood gates opened. And by flood gates, I mean a raging river of vomit. A symphony of expulsion. As violent and disgusting as the episode was, it was almost like I got to press ctrl+Alt+Delete on my body. I felt weak as hell, but the stomach cramps and midget in my stomach all subsided. I clawed my way to a weak jog, which turned into a vicious battle between me and a 50-something Japanese man of who could make it out of the energy lab first. Good thing I didn’t have to trip him to win, because I would have. But there was no need, as I “smoked” him with my galloping 10 minute/mile pace. Once I was back on the Queen K, the stark realization that if I didn’t bust my ass I would be finishing in the dark and in 11:xx:xx. I just had to run more, and run as swift as I could. It may be a small, feeble victory, but I wanted to finish in the 10 hours range. At that point in my life there was a vast ocean of difference between 11:03:xx and 10:55:xx. Looking back now, that’s absolutely silly, but at the time it was the coupled thought of finishing in the light and under 11 hours that kept the legs ticking over. And they did tick over, slowly, painfully. So much emotion was balled up in that last 4 miles of road. I was just silently suffering in my own corner. It was dark, I was hurting, I knew the race was a full on shit show for me. Coming down Alii drive after the corner was the realization of both goals. BARELY getting in before sunset and under 11 hours. But there was no joy, no excitement, no satisfaction. Just a shell of me walking across that line. I was just hallow, emotionless and standing at the end point of the biggest race in the triathlon universe. Elyse and I did the post-race shenanigans for a Timex study, and then like that it was over.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">8 years ago I don’t know what I expected to happen by getting to race in Hawaii. I’m not sure really why I was so fixated on this race for so long. It really is an amazing atmosphere to be a part of. However in the end this race is just a race. A wise person told me to know what you’re capable of on race day, but hold the expectations and hopes in your heart. That is my only regret of this whole journey. I foolishly said that “anything under 10 hours I’ll be happy with.” It was this really simple yet foolish statement that gave me feelings of embarrassment and shame post-race. Never in a million years did I think that I would be clawing, scratching and fighting to squeak in just before it got dark. Yet that is the reality of my day. Am I bitter about that? Absolutely not. I’m quickly over the embarrassment of not putting together the race I know I’m capable of because the truth of the matter is that there is always another race up the road. And the best part of Hawaii for me is the journey that got me into the race. Memories of Kaplan rides, Wednesday world championships, stud parade runs, crazy 5am Gurzi swims, “assaults” on Mt. Lemmon, John Fell memorial loops (even though I’m not dead yet. Odd, I know), driving through <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Texas en route to Buffalo Springs, Coeur d’Alene, convincing the ticket clerk that the monstrous black bag is in fact a massage table and not a bike, actually racing in Many, LA during a monsoon, or barely beating the train in Natchitoches. That life list of cool experiences stretches further than the eye can see. Or how would I ever know how much my family loves me if I never raced. Then I would never realize that they smile when I do well, get upset when I struggle, get nervous pre-race, cry when I cry, hurt when I hurt and feel my victories and defeats as genuinely and intensely as I do. And how could I ever feel the genuine love of someone who cares for me so much that they sacrifice so that I can chase my dream? In a society of instant everything, it’s almost unfathomable to find a woman that will stand by you through the trials and tribulations of your heart’s passion, encourage you when the chips are down, build you up after another failure, and give of themselves to help your pursuit of. Without this 8 year journey, I may not know how wonderful Elyse is to me or what a caring, loving and supportive family I have. I would have never met so many colorful characters, and excellent mentors for sport and for life. As I look back on this journey of 8 years, thousands of miles and oh way too much money squandered in the name of a dream, I regret not a second of it. After all, Hawaii for me was just “My pursuit of”, my proving to myself that I had the gumption and the work ethic to accomplish something way out of my comfort zone. To show myself that deep down in my core, I’m a stubborn little dude. A warrior. To prove that I can fail not 7 times and get up 8, but fail 7 x 77 times, and get up still. And maybe with saying I wanted to go 9:30:00 in Hawaii I was shooting for the moon. But by missing, maybe I still ended up in the stars.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thank you for being a part of my journey. It’s been wild, wonderful, frustrating, exciting, and almost surreal all at the same time. I do want to take a moment to thank a few unreal people who made this a reality for me: </span></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mom and dad. You two are my biggest fans. I am honored to be your son. Even though I know you are, I always strive to make you proud.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">SKeither, Rachelle, Elle Belle. Not many in-laws fight like we do </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Not many people would care for me like you two have over the years. The blindness issue was just a drop in the bucket of all love and support.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Kell and Scott. You two are simply fabulous. Thank you for unconditional everything.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lisa Lisa. 8 years of dreaming, and you were with me the whole way. I’m blessed to have someone look after me like you and the boys at Capital do. I’ll be with you till I hang it up.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">WJones. You CRAZY bastardo! I took the trust fall as you were the only one with the cajones to tell me I needed improvement and was overtraining. The ride has been amazing, and we only pause to acknowledge the great stuff we’ve accomplished. Now onward and upward to 2012. My results are your results. I trust you infinitely.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last but not least, Elyse. The love of my life. You are blunt, callous, caring, beautiful, strong, soft, and all of things I need you to be when I need you the most. You are my rock, and I guess I will publicly admit us getting married IS the reason I finally qualified for Hawaii (your mom kept telling me that, but I denied it as I didn’t want your head to get big.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As for me, is Hawaii the closing of the book? Will I go back? I don’t know. There are so many cool experiences out there. I’m just lucky I got to be a part of the greatest triathlon show on earth. Until then, as Bill and Ted would say… “Be excellent.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-1564237483367389012011-10-06T23:33:00.000-07:002011-10-06T23:33:44.516-07:00The VibeWell, it's exactly about 36 hours till the canon fires and I take off on my first attempt to finish Ironman Hawaii. I know that I said I would keep up with this blog pretty regularly, but I must say that I completely underestimated the power of this island. From the moment you show up, the place just engulfs you with energy, excitement, emotion. I have spent way too much time down around Ali'i drive just "soaking it all in". I have chatted with people from all over the world, ran into and visited with some of the top triathletes across all the distances, and seen a natural beauty in this island that can only be described as breathtaking. But with all of those fancy words and feelings, there is still a race to be run out here. I heard once someone say that the best races are left out on Ali'i drive the week before the race, and I totally agree with that. I have this overwhelming desire to be around so I'm sure to "not miss anything", yet it's way too easy to keep walking around till you look around and realize that you're exhausted. There is just so much to see and do, and it's way easy to forget that you have kind of a big race coming due.<br />
As for the course, uh well it ain't flat like the Queen K. We drove it today, and once you get to the T (end of Hwy 19 aka Queen K highway, that's when the fun starts). I probably should have gotten out of the swamp one or two more times to do some climbing that was more than an overpass.<br />
Overall, I think the whole experience so far is just humbling. I'm excited to be here, honored to represent south Louisiana (even though I would have picked someone better looking who doesn't mumble), and just humbled to be in the presence of so many great athletes. While we drove the bike course, Melissa mentioned something about the sacrifices people made/make to get here. That spurred the conversation to ponder collectively how much work everyone has put in to be on this island fit and ready to race. And I mean everyone. Lottery winners, qualifiers, pros, special interest people, and so on. No one's work made them more "worthy" to be here. The suffering on Saturday will be genuine, it will be shared by everyone, and the course will serve it out regardless of how you got here. It's a special venue and a special race. I'm so stoked to be a part of it.<br />
Thank you to everyone for following me and sending out encouraging words along my journey to get here. Only 36 hours till I get the opportunity to put together the race that I'll carry with me for a lifetime.<br />
<br />Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-10783252465744743072011-09-29T12:55:00.000-07:002011-09-29T12:55:38.996-07:00EAT A CHEESEBURGER!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">156.7</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That was the number staring up at me from the scale this morning. I was over the moon, as I wanted to really focus on nutrition and eating well ALL the time aka being a 24 hour athlete. My big reason for wanting to lose all the weight ( I walk around normally at 170lbs, and raced Texas at 163) going into Ironman Hawaii? Besides being able to wear those Z. Cavaricci’s I saved from middle school, I wanted to be as small as possible for the heat. So the truth is that triathlon is a power/weight sport. But, how far is too far when it comes to dropping the lbs.?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, first I finally took a good, long look in the mirror. Sure I was skinny, but there was definitely some “fluff” that could be dropped off without too much argument. In short, I thought I ate well but couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t lean like some of the other guys I race against. So step #2 was to start a food journal. Me? I’m inherently techhy and geeky, so I went with the LoseIt! App on the iPhone. Not only does it chronicle my food choices, but also tells me how many calories I’ve eaten and what my calorie budget per day is to hit my goal weight. So when I put in the goal weight, I went for a number that was “perfect world” scenario. 156. Man, I am 168 post-Ironman Texas and 12 lbs is a lot of weight. So how’d it happen? I wish I could tell you that it was all trash bag sweat suits and running at noon. But the truth is that I had to act like an adult.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t get “a treat” because I went to the grocery store all by myself. And I don’t “deserve” a box of Newman’s own mint Oreo cookies cause I ran 2 hours. Just keep my net calories at or below what the devil box tells me. And voila! No magic pills, no “Body by Vi” bullshiite. Just being smart about my calories. That, and not eating like a newly freed inmate at Golden Corral. I figured out the Greek buffet WILL in fact let me get seconds, I just need to grab a clean plate. Apparently eating 5 plates of healthy food will still make you gain weight. So I pulled my mouth away from the trough and started to eat a little less like a horse and more like a human with (alleged) manners. I remember telling Elyse during the Tour that Bradley Wiggins cuts 20 lbs from offseason to the tour de France. And the article went step by step on how he did it (cyclingnews if you’re interested). Anyway, other than Elyse saying that was very girlish to be talking about how to lose weight, I looked at how simple the plan was on paper. And that’s when it hit me. Losing the weight for me will be simple. Losing the weight will not be easy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Things I learned from this weight cut? Well, I really wasn’t eating enough calories during “normal” training. Sometimes my net calories would be like 900. And anything under 1,100 net calories sends your body into “oh boy we’re back to caveman days and starving” mode. In essence it shuts down. Friday, Saturday and Sunday when I was doing “Epic” training, well it really wasn’t so epic calorie wise. So I would over eat by at least 1,000 calories per day. That meant I was starving during the week which caused me to struggle with energy in workouts and save fuel, then gorge myself on the weekends because I “rode X hours today”. Once I evened this out, the weight started to come off just like the app said. Almost 1.5lbs per week like clockwork. Why am I telling you this other than to brag that I will be wearing one of the only usable pairs of Z. Cavaricci’s in existence (tight rolled of course)? I am telling you this because I’ve struggled with weight all my life, and there is a simple way to lose weight that is right in front of you. It just takes patience, commitment and focus to get it done. Doesn’t really matter if your reason to lose is for beach season or to wow your ex-girlfriend at your 20 year reunion. As for me? I hope the focus on nutrition and weight loss is gonna be more for this:</span></div>
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And not just for this:<br />
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Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-38130159766442446052011-09-15T12:07:00.000-07:002011-09-15T12:13:57.998-07:00Cross post blog from RKFRocketkidz foundation is an AWESOME non-profit/charity that I am excited to partner with. Their mission is to bring the sport I love (Triathlon, not NASCAR although I do love NASCAR) to the youth of Baton Rouge and surrounding areas (including Lafayette). I do plan on posting some of my writings there as well. Rocketkidz takes financial contributions (of course), but where they really need help? Your time and enthusiasm for sport by volunteering your time at a Rocketkidz event. Peruse the website and see if there is an event that you can be a part of. After a morning helping those kids acheive "the impossible" of finishing a triathlon, you will be leaving with more energy, enthusiasm and excitement than you arrived with. You'll show up to help them, and they'll end up making a lasting impact on your life. Guaranteed.<br />Anyway, here is my post from the RKF blog:<br /><br /><a href="http://rkfracing.wordpress.com/2011/09/13/my-ferris-bueller-blog-by-john/">http://rkfracing.wordpress.com/2011/09/13/my-ferris-bueller-blog-by-john/</a>Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-16344874190119604272011-09-15T11:53:00.000-07:002011-09-15T11:54:37.883-07:00Cajun, Man!Well, it’s really no secret that I’ve always wanted to win the Cajunman triathlon. When I got into the sport in 2003, it was THE triathlon in south Louisiana. Every year it was the state championship, and all the guys that I looked up to like John Deshotel, Neill Rowland, Ken St. Pe’, John Thompson, and even the incomparable Bobo Anderson showed up fit and ready to rock. Couple that with the fact that it is still one of the only races that I can do without spending the night in a hotel, and you have a race that is and will always be close to my heart.<br />I’ll save you the dramatic suspense of the race; i.e. what I ate pre-race, swim strategy, watts on the bike, run splits and all the shenanigans that I sometimes pay a little too much attention to. All I’ll say is that all race long, I just felt like I was on a good day. I believe George Hincapie once referred to those days on a bike as “no chain”. That explained my race perfectly Sunday. It felt like I was pedaling the bike with no chain. It was effortless. I will say in cliché fashion that winning the race felt a whole lot like it did when I was 2nd on the results sheet, or 28th, or just a couple pages down the results list. After the race, however, was a different story. My family was there, and it was nice to finally check off that bucket list item of “Winning Cajunman” with them in attendance. However, Elyse conveniently missed the Cajunman start, race, and finish. A couple people asked if I was mad or grumpy that she missed it. This is where I’ll have to reality check all you type-A triathletes. Newsflash: We run around in Lycra with helmets that look like they came off of the movie “Spaceballs”. A non-triathletes view of every race is the same;<br /><em>The start looks like a flock of ducks trying to land. Then you frantically put on said Spaceballs helmet, mount your bike and disappear for a pre-determined length of time (you always give her an estimated time that would put you in the start house of the Tour de France Prologue TT, because if you were honest with her she may think she has time to go get breakfast). You fly into the transition area while trying to undo feet from shoes like a kindergarten shoe tying lesson, then off on the run. Finally, you run in the shoot with your hands raised like you tackled a gorilla, climbed Everest, or want everyone to admire your freshly shorn armpits. And if all this “excitement” for said spectator isn’t enough, they get to stand next to you like a puppy waiting for a treat while you and your buddies relive every inch of the course like it was an Epic battle slated for a made for TV movie.<br /></em>So yeah, I have no clue why she wouldn’t want to be a part of that. Seriously, I told her it was cool to miss it, as she sacrifices and helps me out enough to accept and encourage me to get out the door daily for training. Sometimes we get so wrapped up in the selfish view “Look what sacrifices I MAKE getting up early to train”, we forget that training = tired post training. Tired post training = minimal movement and general avoidance of all chores. And to come back to that encouragement part, Elyse’s favorite motivational speech goes something like: “Don’t be a little bi@tch. Go run. Don’t run for you. Run so I don’t have to hear you whine later about not running.” That’s a motivational nugget of gold, right there.<br />Back to the race, I would like to thank Rusty Bex and his big entourage of volunteers that make Cajunman possible. It is one of the longest standing races in Louisiana, if not the south, and such an icon in the Louisiana multisport world. Just now I thought about how many people have used Cajunman as a catalyst for fitness, or as a challenge to get them off the couch and motivated, or simply as an excuse to go outside and train with their buddies. That’s a lot of lives, and paying it forward. I’d also like to give a thanks to the evil Dr. Jones for helping me accomplish that bucket list item of Cajunman. Thanks for that, and scheduling a ride after Cajunman. Nothing like starting the bike at noon! Also a big shout out to Lisa at Capitol Cyclery for that beautiful speed concept, and the Run bird at Mizuno for making some super sweet run slippers.<br />Now all that’s left for 2011 is that little Iron distance race October 8th. As my favorite contestant from “Rock of Love” says, “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”<br />Thanks for reading.Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-46025544083626449242011-09-04T20:10:00.001-07:002011-09-04T20:10:39.836-07:00The X and Road to Kona<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">Well, to be totally honest I am a procrastinator. I have been meaning to write my race report from IM Texas for about three months. Well, as it turns out I never did get around to it. You know those last 2 miles of that run in The Woodlands I started to think about all of the people that I was gonna thank. I was thinking of all my peeps that were coming with me to Kona. In truth, there’s no way that I could thank everyone that has helped get me here nor is there any way that everyone that has played a role in my success could make it out to the big island to see me race. So after pondering it a bit, and some prodding from my mom (who is a future New York Times bestselling author) and wife, I’ve decided to just write about my experiences on my journey to Kona. This will serve as a few things. From a selfish standpoint, it’ll help me remember this most excellent but also most crazy journey. And from a different standpoint, it’ll allow me to take you along for the ride. All the good, the bad, and the comical. Since I know putting in public will put some solid pressure on me to perform, I’m planning to blog 2-3 posts a week up until race week. Then race week, it will probably be every day. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the show.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Elyse and I have a very good understanding of the racing season. And by understanding, I really mean that she has the tolerance of a Tibetan monk. See, her dad is a triathlete, trail runner, and general crazy endurance person. So just like daughters of hunters who think guys being gone from November to January is totally acceptable, Elyse thinks that training hard 10-11 months out of the year is, well, normal. So when we talk about races coming up, there is always concern for where on the calendar the X falls. See, the X dictates when play time is over and it’s now time to make training, recovery, and big training priority. Before the X, it’s all fun and sun, mixed with coffee rides and crazy good food. After the X is 9pm bedtime, endless 2-a-days, and an obsessive familiarity with the Loseit! App on the iPhone. So the X for Kona fell on August 13<sup>t. </sup>That date sticks in my mind like the day I found out that my mini mullet wasn’t as cool as I thought it was. The past 3 ½ weeks have been pretty much summed up by the words: train/rest/train/eat/sleep/repeat. Not that the routine is a bad thing, it just gets a bit mind numbing at times. There is a part of me, however, that craves the routine. That X dictates my life. It’s that X that has me sitting in a car en route to the training Mecca of Minden, LA. Yeah, you heard me right. That X reminded me that the race is approaching, so I evacuated ahead of Tropical Storm Lee to higher ground. As womanish as it sounds, I evacuated so I could make sure the 5 hours of bike training got done. And I made sure it got done outside in the sun, as opposed to inside on the trainer or in 65mph winds. The trade-off to the training retreat is that there may be a “few” more hills than what the swamp has. Regardless of the hills, it’s funny how an approaching race helps us justify ridiculous decisions. 3 hours each way in a car and a hotel stay just to get in that long ride? Well, of course. The race is coming. Fly out to Tucson so we can rack up big hours in the sun instead of indoors? Certainly, the race is coming. And it seems that the closer race day slides toward us, the larger amount of stupidity, I mean leeway, we give ourselves. Uh, the race is only two weeks away, I DEFINITELY need new shifter and brake cables. No wait, while I’m changing the cables we should just go ahead and replace the shifters and derailleurs. I mean, the race IS coming up you know. Ah the lunacy. In the end, I’m still convinced that Ironman makes you a bit crazy. And with that, let the craziness begin.</p> <!--EndFragment--> Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-40666246749581189752010-11-14T18:34:00.000-08:002010-11-14T18:35:10.386-08:00The Big Catun (aka Big Cajun)<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"> Building up for IM Cozumel, I figured I needed a good hit out to get some more racing intensity. Not that my WJones trainer sessions that may qualify as torture in some countries aren’t hard, but it’s always good to race against a few people to see how you’re going at the moment. After I did the Oxbow in April, I knew that Andy Kennedy would put on a first-class race. So when he put the only Olympic distance race anywhere around us on the calendar, I knew I had to drop the cash down to race it. Not to mention that False River/New Roads is one of my favorite venues to race. Maybe it’s the nice open water, maybe it’s all the live oaks and plantations, or maybe it’s Jimmy Bienvennue’s wit and his family’s hospitality at the Rear Dock. Either way, I was stoked to head down there. After the packet-pickup at Satterfield’s, it was off to sample some local cuisine (read: Subway). I knew the race was gonna be interesting as it was the first race on the speed concept, and it was the first race test since WJones and Jed simultaneously smacked me in the head about my lazy long bike training habits. So like the classic book goes, deeper into the rabbit hole I went.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Race morning was fun as always, and I really dig the system for racks that Andy’s crew uses. Number the racks with 6 bikes per rack. So simple, yet so brilliant. I was a bit bummed with the announcement that wetsuits were allowed as I wanted some non-wetsuit pain in prep for Cozumel. Anyway, after mis-timing the race start AGAIN, I got a whopping 2 minutes for warmup. Our wave went off, and I thought maybe I could swim with this Brady fish that crushed my dreams in Cajunman. Well, once again he evaded my pursuit. I lay blame squarely on my parents for not putting me in club swimming <span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin;mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-char-type:symbol;mso-symbol-font-family:Wingdings"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol;mso-symbol-font-family:Wingdings">J</span></span> Anyway, about 5 or 6 minutes into the swim my goggles fogged up. I mean, bad fogging. I couldn’t see the next bouy. Or are those my goggles? Wait a sec, how can it fog on the outside of my goggles? Well as it turns out, my dad’s proverb of “3days fog then it rains” came true as yesterday’s fog was back and this time it was thick as bayou water. I could barely make out Satterfield’s in the distance and just swam there. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Out of the water, I saw my buddy Brian in transition about to head out on the bike. Mini freakout moment as I thought to myself, “Self, did a guy who took 2 years off of swimming just outswim you? Are you even working in Master’s swim? Way to dig yourself a nice hole for the bike.” Well as it turns out, even though Brian is from the old school (you know just like your dad said “When the men were men”) he’s only 26. That meant he was in the first wave. Disaster averted. However, they still had a few people up the road and I needed to erase the swim damage. At Oxbow, the bike is out and back on the levy road. Well, I advocate to always checkout the course before the race. Maybe I should’ve at least had a look at the course pre-race cause we hit the turnaround cone after like 5 miles. When you’re in the pain cave, a minute seems like 10, and 5 miles could easily be mistaken for triple that. I thought though, “I am on the form and day of my LIFE!! I am already at the turnaround. BEAUTY!” Well, it turned out I was a long way from home. So to the turnaround and the surprise of having to go straight where Oxbow lets you turn left was overshadowed by seeing that on the road I was 3rd. And that’s where the magic happened. On the road I was 3<sup>rd</sup>, but I knew that with a 3min gap between waves if I caught the guy/fish that was in 2<sup>nd</sup> I would be leading the race. The first biker had the lead car on the way down the levy road, but all of a sudden I see him coming in the opposite direction with no lead car. Then 2<sup>nd</sup> place just busts a U-turn in the middle of the road. I was a bit confused and mad that this guy just cheated right in front of me. Then the lead car is headed in the opposite direction and yells something at me. Because the aero helmet covers my ears coupled with the fact that Elyse SWEARS I’m half deaf, I didn’t hear the lead car. So I hit the turnaround and the ladies’ there are way too excited to see me. At first I thought it was maybe because I looked quite dashing in my race outfit, but once I hit the cone they said “You’re the first biker!” Uh, what? Did both guys turn early? What is going on here? Before the conegate shenanigans, I was reeling in 2<sup>nd</sup> and 1<sup>st</sup> place. Now, they were way gone. Once I was on the way home, I had like a country mile between me and the next guys. I thought to myself that even if those guys turned early, the WJones torture sessions are working cause I’m crushing the bike! All I have to do is run these two guys down. Getting back into town, I found out where that country mile gap I had came from. Apparently the lead car got nervous that we went off course and started turning people around early. Now I’ll vouch for Andy and say that he runs a first class operation, so I knew that we weren’t lost on the course and there’d definitely be a well-marked turnaround. So the lead car made an honest mistake, no worries. It gave me a great opportunity to run really hard and see if I could catch anyone. During the run, Brian said something to me that stuck with me on the day and has gone up on my motivation board as almost a coined phrase, “Hey, win anyway.” Pretty simple but pretty profound. Focus on the task at hand and not the shenanigans that took place. Well it all turned out in the end, and I was fortunate enough to get the W at the Big Catun. Even with the fog and the lead car shenanigans, Andy and his crew did a great job of taking it all in stride. I’m already looking forward to defending my “Interim” Big Catun title <span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin;mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-char-type:symbol;mso-symbol-font-family:Wingdings"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol;mso-symbol-font-family:Wingdings">J</span></span> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Author’s note: Why am I referring to The Big Cajun as The Big Catun”? Well, someone at the swim cap shop got a little confused on how to spell Cajun. Apparently it’s local diction, and hasn’t hit webster’s yet because he spelled it Catun. And Voila, the Big Catun was born.</p> <!--EndFragment-->Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-52580201569654283952010-10-02T17:00:00.000-07:002010-10-02T17:01:47.062-07:00The Old Man in the Donut Shop<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">I know I know. You thought that either your RSS feed for this blog was broken, or that I fell off the face of the earth. Well, both sound way better than the actual truth. The actual truth is that I have been writing, but mainly in my journal. Anyway, it’s about time I start blogging again, and I have a doozy to start this whole party off. It’s about that time when everyone is kind of getting tired of the training and the racing, and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>that tailgate party you keep getting invited to is looking way more exciting than another 5 hours with a bike seat. I mean, boudin, beer and BBQ, or Gatorade and Gu? I know, tough choice. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Since that desire is creeping in all of us to wrap up the season, most people are definitely not pondering what their weaknesses are and what they need to work on for a successful year next year. I am definitely in this camp, as I’m sort of like the grumpy old man that has been drinking his community coffee and reading the paper every day at the donut shop. I mean, I’ve done what I’ve done for many years now. There are certain workouts I think I need to be ready for an Ironman, or some wattage/pace/swim numbers that I need to see before I’m comfortable and confident knowing I’m about to race. And it’s not just the comfort in these numbers, but there’s a “relatively” comfortable training path to get there. They say men love routine, and I must be the annotated picture in the science literature that proves this. So I kind of shocked myself that I wanted to start asking some people that I trust what they see and what I can do/change to improve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Well, if you do decide to do this, make sure you have had an EXCELLENT few days or are half drunk. Cause hearing where you suck might be a touch of the buzz kill. But I think it’s important to do this, as everyone myself included, views their training/numbers/log with rose-colored glasses. And there is a definite explanation for certain biases, workouts, ideas that you have. Even if these ideas are completely stupid, they are your ideas so you stick to em. So I’m writing this to you, but also as a public challenge to myself. The only way you get better is by improving (Thanks, Captain Obvious). And the only way to improve is to work on what you’re not good at. And the only way to truly know what you’re not good at is to look at the numbers, or ask some training mentors/confidants and get your answer. Once you get your answer, it’s all up to you. As for me, I started the process and getting ready to make a few changes to my grumpy old man in the donut shop training. I do love my training set up, and the way I’ve done things up to this point. However, if I keep doing what I’ve been doing, I’ll keep getting what I’ve always gotten. The way I look at it is that I can only get better. And if not, I know exactly where the donut shop is.</p> <!--EndFragment-->Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-32538217612587810082010-10-02T16:59:00.000-07:002010-10-02T17:00:55.108-07:00Chicken or Fish? Uh, Cajunman....?<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">Now, why would I write a race report on a sprint race? Well, it’s simple. First, Rusty puts on a killer race. B, winning this race is one of only two things that I’ve wanted to accomplish since starting triathlon. I mean, it IS my hometown race (Technically, the Scott Triathlon is, but since it is now defunct we will annex Cajunman as the hometown race). And 3, whether it’s a state championship or not, Cajunman is THE race that started it all (mad respect to New Roads tri, another long-standing classic on the south Louisiana race calendar). Rusty’s race set the bar on what and how a top notch sprint triathlon is supposed to look and feel like. Anyway, I digress. The Cajunman is a crown jewel that I’ve never won but continue to swing for the fences on. I came close in 2007, finishing second to a studly and wicked fast Neil Rowlland. That close call is what keeps me coming back, and a reason I signed my name on the dotted line to race again. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">This year was, uh, hot. I mean, that kind of hot where it’s summer and you’re standing next to a running 18-wheeler engine and there’s not breeze outside. Yeah, that kind of hot and it’s only 7am. The good news about the heat is that your warmup can be pretty minimal. Anyway, after seeing and chatting with a few people pre-race, it was time to get in the water. Since it is South Louisiana, and I get exactly zero opportunities to wear that badass TYR wetsuit in the swamp, I called Kiwami and had them whip up a Kaiman onesy with my favorite bike shop’s logo on it. I knew it’d be a good boost (even if it was just mental) to have a super fast tri suit on for the swim. The only problem? Well, it is red and when it gets wet, um, let’s just say people can tell if you’re Jewish or not. So I modified a pair of tri shorts to fit under this super slick, super fast suit. All I remember of the swim is that the bouy kept creeping over toward us, and then I was getting bumped around. After about the 5<sup>th</sup> time of getting hit, I knew it was time to swim wicked hard. After that, I had some clean water and just swam long and controlled. I focused on reaching the stroke, and not getting frog kicked in the face by one of the stragglers in one of the previous waves. A unique part of the Cajunman is the deep water start and exit. After exiting the water with your heart rate at MAX + 10, you have a nice long stroll to your bike. However, if you’re trying to win it’s an opportunity to sprint while hopping from carpet square to carpet square and moving that heart rate to MAX + 30. After my carpet hopping, I got to the beautiful, always ready newly slick Speed Concept. Sometimes I just get my geek glasses out and just gawk at all the details and engineering that went into this steed. But this was not the time, as I knew that of the other main contenders here, I had to push my swim advantage as far as I could. Onto the bike I was so excited to go that I MAY have almost wiped out in the first chicane out of transition. I was hoping no one saw it, but there were about 40 people that got a nice giggle out of my elementary school bike handling.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">You know that route you go home every day, and you feel like you could drive it with your eyes closed? Well, that’s how I feel about this bike course. I’d hate to even give a guess on how many times I’ve ridden parts of that course. But just in case the previous 400,000 trips down these roads didn’t do it, I pre-rode the course the day before for about 2 hours. I knew every bump in the road, and at times I just buried my head and hammered. About halfway through the ride, I see what just about every triathlete sees during the bike. It’s almost like a mirage on the horizon, as you see people and they look like they are grouped together. As you get closer, you realize that they aren’t anywhere near each other. However, this time there was a group that looked like they were riding tip to tail with one poor soul pulling the train not knowing he’s towing a school bus full of kids. As I passed I reminded them triathlon was “individual effort”. And I honestly felt bad for the guy towing all these guys shamelessly drafting, as he had no idea they were camped out on his wheel. That was all of the infamous drafting that I saw, and honestly a lot more goes on in just about every race I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I didn’t really have a wattage goal for the bike, but I knew that if two things happened I would be going well. One was going cross-eyed and the second was drooling on myself. Check and Check. Into transition is where things really got interesting. I was hauling into T2, and saw Kevin Cart’s bike already racked in transition. Now, Kevin has PHENOMENAL bike skills, but how did he outswim me too? I started to freak out a little that I had to run him down. As I hit the run, a friend of mine yelled that I was only 1:30 down. Oh great, I ONLY have to run 30 seconds a mile into him. Uh sure. Well, it must be Kevin’s excellent skin and taking care of himself that made me forget that he is 41 and went off in the wave in front of me. In my oxygen depleted state, I finally realized this at mile 1.5. After this groundbreaking discovery, I just tried to run as hard as I could because I knew that the Primeaux brothers were gonna unleash some nasty fast runs and it was gonna be all I had to hold them off. In retrospect, I thought that maybe I could’ve run harder. But my buddy Eric put me in my place when he said, “Dude, I disagree. I heard you before I saw you. You sounded like a race horse with a weezing problem. You were in the hurt locker.” Crossing the line was nice, as was my sister and Scott bringing me a bag of ice to stick on my chest. I joke when I call myself a big diesel engine, but this was one of those times when you could feel that engine overheating. I wanted to climb into either the ice bucket with the beer, or the big ice chest with all the bags of ice. Neither worked out as there was a security guard next to the ice chest and I had enough groping in the swim so the beer ice was out too. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the end, I got 2<sup>nd</sup> place, and was beaten by a faster athlete on the day. Mark had a great race, and was really strong across all 3 disciplines. He’s got a bright future in the sport, and it’s fun to watch these young guys go so fast. As opposed to saying the young guys are the racers of the future, they’ve proven they’re here now to win. It’s good motivation for 2011 as I drag these old bones around training for next year. However, I did get a 2<sup>nd</sup> place trophy AND a hug from Tammy D, so that’s as good as the winner’s trophy for me! Thanks a million to Rusty Bex and his people for keeping this classic race going. It’s one of the original and still one of the premier races around. Also thanks to my awesome family at Capital Cyclery. Jason built up the sick Speed Concept and keeps it running flawless. And what can I say about Lisa, except that she’s the best and I am grateful to have her help to continue chasing the dream. And of course thanks to Elyse, Kellee and Scott for suffering through the heat to cheer me on. I don’t know if free Buffalo Wild Wings was a fair trade for being out in that blast furnace, but it’s a deal I’ll take every day! Till next time, it’s back to the grind. Thanks for reading.</p> <!--EndFragment-->Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246227130722818754.post-38120050163301646102009-11-12T13:05:00.001-08:002009-11-12T13:11:45.442-08:00What's been up<div>In short, i've been away from this blog for way too long. I actually forgot I had it still active. The crazy shizz that has transpired in the last 6 months is too much to go over. The good news is that my vision is back to acceptable, and I can train again. Enough with the sob story, since you're a faithful blog reader I am gonna post a piece I wrote for the Texas magazine "The Racing Post". It was all because of the pic below:</div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403327577055197858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG_ercYJVqHm-99L1HEgNAxnlORjrqmI3AKtanECJC3CpTW128P6yLrDgRIwkleRTpQm4d7vayFwn02eN6aonWMyeBvw6HEKDMRkxHYii5jXS4HmwSjocVr5tErJoJQ-ATQbdhW8zcDAcr/s320/IMG_2948.jpg" border="0" /><br />“Elyse, can you grab my helmet out of the truck? Thanks, love.”<br />I guess it’s time to warm up. What am I doing here? Just 2 months ago I was completely blind in my left eye. I mean, hell, I just got my vision back to acceptable like a month ago. These guys all look so fit. I’m not even close to my best fitness this season. I should have chosen my first race back a little more wisely; maybe stick to triathlons or try agrandfondo for fun. But a ‘cross race? You’re certifiable. Weare getting called to the start. Man, this is about to get real. Where do I line up? Oh crap, I’m on the front row. Don’t make eye contact, don’t look around. I just looked around; not good. Everyone is staring at me like a vulture about to feast on its prey. Ok, relax. Don’t panic now, just adjust your goal. The new goal is to not finish last, and a bonus for not getting lapped. My name gets called, it’s too late to bail now. How are my hands numb? It’s like 75 degrees outside. There’s the gun! BIG POWER. GO GO GO! CLIP IN CLIP IN! Get your position in line for the first hard right hander. YOU’RE GOING TOO SLOW! PEOPLE ARE FLYING BY YOU! I told you this race was a bad idea. Unclip and jump the barriers. BACK ON THE BIKE! CLIP IN CLIP IN! Next lap clear those barriers less like a ballerina and more like a ‘cross racer. POWER UP THE HILL! TURN, TURN! You gonna jump or dismount? JUMP OR DISMOUNT? MAKE A DECISION! THE LOG IS HERE! That was weak, the guy behind you is pissed. Make a decision and stick with it.Downhill into the sand. PICK A LINE, DON’T CHANGE!YOU CHANGED, NOW POWER THROUGH. YOU’RE LOSING TIME ALL OVER THIS COURSE! YOU GOTTA PULL THE LEADERS BACK, DON’T LET THEM RIDE AWAY! That’s it, this is where you’re gonna fly. Get to the pavement, and around the baseball field. That’s it, lay the power down. GOOD EFFORT, GET IN THE PAIN CAVE. As the race gets longer, you get better. OH, TOO CONFIDENT IN THAT CORNER! CRASH! GET UP QUICK! CLIP IN, CLIP IN! PEDAL, PEDAL, PEDAL!You didn’t lose too much time. CLAW BACK INTO THIS RACE! Be smooth over the barriers. You know you’re faster once we’re out of the sand. No mistakes now, the race is almost over. Ok, just take a quick peek to see if someone is back there. You’re clear. Can I catch the guy in front? He’s so close. BIG EFFORT! VENGA VENGA VENGA! It’s the last turn, DIG DEEP! So close to catching him. Maybe next race. Now breathe. I gotta grab my wheels and find a place to clean up. Where is Elyse?<br />“Well, how was your first race back?” she said with a smile.<br />“It was just as painful as I remembered. Would you be cool with me racing next weekend?”Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04088645591646186324noreply@blogger.com0