FullTriathlonRacing

Day 9 - The final km's

2011-12-31T16:20:00.000-08:00

Well, 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.

Today's ride - 45.6 miles (73.5km)
Total for the whole challenge (Dec 23 -31) - 630.5 miles (1,017km)

This was an omen of things to come. All foggy all day

Adam with that goofy grin. At least his helmet is straight this time

Adam and Jeremy who looks more contradicting. Roadie gear on triathlon bikes

Theme of the day. Fog

A haven in the fog. Good coffee, good stories

Jeremy, your orange mocha frappacino is ready. But that matching kit is sharp!

The miles are adding up for young Adam

Contemplating life, and New Year's eve plans

I've tried to find better, but damn these shoes are comfy!

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

Looks like that house in "Misery"

The swamp

The horses did not warn us of the pit bull puppy ahead

The comedy train, rolling all day long

That look says "This was fun, but I'm looking forward to a nap."

I saw this view a lot this past 9 days

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

The surprise of the day. Showing the guys the deer farm. People would kill for those bucks

This beauty deserves a day off, and a bath.

Day 8

2011-12-30T14:36:00.000-08:00

Man, 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.

Today's ride - 46 miles (74km)

Total so far - 585 miles (943km)

Lafayette Parish ordered 15 of these signs. 8 of them are on Bayou Tortue Rd.

After 1,000 Christmas K's, the hay will in fact be in the barn

Marcus soaking up the sun. kid is gonna crush dreams in 2012

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

The Chastant's rapunzel tower

Day 7

2011-12-30T14:26:00.000-08:00

Anne 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:

Today's ride - 74.5 miles (120km)
Total so far - 539 miles (869km)

Easily the best (and one of two) grocery store in Coteau Homes

Gene, sir, you have been outed.

Adam simultaneously eating and oogling the El Camino

Eric was either complaining or eating on this ride. Here's an action shot of him stuffing his face

Action shot of Eric complaining. Yes he's telling me I'm #1 in route picking

Scott overdressed and hanging tough. Who knew it would warm up to 70+?

Rare self photo

Adam pondering all the planning he hasn't done for his upcoming wedding

Heading into downtown St. Martinville

So cable as in Cox cable?

Sure the porch is structurally sound

WTF?! happened to this photo?

Finally a cup o' joe on this ride

My reward if I finish the 1000 Christmas K's

This guy was VW before VW was trendy. Check the dead head window cover

A new trail. I have no idea where it goes or what it is

Day 6

2011-12-28T20:07:00.000-08:00

There 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.

Today's ride - 84 miles (135km)
Total so far - 464.5 miles (749km)

Swear I've passed this barn 10,000 times, and never noticed the cool old truck in the barn

Anne and Adam planning their mutiny

Luke's Lucky Lounge, COMPLETE with drive-thru window. And yes, they're open at 8am

You think the Governor would pave the main road of a 3-time Kentucky Derby winner's home! Get it together, Jindal!

One of the roads in the accidental 20 mile detour

Anne trying to explain exactly where in BFE we were

"No, I won't yell at you. But I'd like to smack you in the face with a cycling cleat."

The homestretch, aka Cajunman course

Day 5

2011-12-27T16:39:00.000-08:00

Well 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.

Today's ride - 117.5 miles (189km)
Total so far - 381 miles (614km)

Pretty maids, all in a row

The engines of today's pain train

Day 4

2011-12-26T18:32:00.000-08:00

This 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!

Today's ride - 52 miles (84km)
Total so far - 263 miles (424km)

Day 3 - 47miles

2011-12-25T16:23:00.000-08:00

As 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:

Today's ride - 47 miles (76km)
Total so far - 211 miles (341km)

Cold AND wet? No problem. Thermal socks, and 2 waterproof booties. Gotta keep the tootsies warm

Uh, yeah. This was an attempt to catch some beauty even if the weather was dreary

Roads looked like this most of the day

Wal-Mart closed?! It was eery to see the empty parking lot. Sam Walton must be turning over in his grave

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

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

No ride is complete until you see the big ass brass indian statue. (Look closely)

No smiles today. Just glad to be donesky.

Day 2 - 77 miles

2011-12-24T17:14:00.000-08:00

Today 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.

Today's Ride - 77miles (142.2km)
Total so far - 164miles (264.5km)

Historical Main St. in St. Francisville

The most famous drag strip in Louisiana. The finish line of Rouge Roubaix

The Posse getting ready. Raisin' Canes jerseys made me want a Caniac, no slaw extra toast

Sam trying to figure out how to put the 5 finger glove on. It's no mitten, son

This is a perfect represtation of a lot of the roads we rode today. Pure paradise.

I'm taking it that this is a volunteer fire station

We pretended it was Rouge Roubaix recon. Really it was just to be out here riding

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

Mr Jones was not only generous with the gravel, but also the sand

One of the billion gorgeous old homes along the route

And the horse smells the barn. Time to wrap up the ride

I never get tired of the plantation homes. If only the walls could talk

Sam and Blair. Blair has been dominating the Louisiana CX scene this year. After riding with him, I totally see why.

Day 1 - 87miles

2011-12-23T14:52:00.000-08:00

What 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:

The Italian Stallion, ready for action. Safe to say that this is as clean as she'll be for a while.

30min into the ride, and we are already having a potty break. It's like I'm babysitting my brother's kids

My partners in crime today. And WTF is that brick thing in the background?

King of Style, Eric Bernard. Pumped to be 40miles in, and done with the headwinds

Marcus, the young Jedi

Adam, Still drunk from last night's shennanigans at The Tap Room (notice the helmet)

An Acadian flag painted on a Cello, or a big ass violin. Either way it's cool

Historic Grand Coteau. Complete with 1972 Green Chevy Nova

Before you yell BLASPHEMY! The HR monitor is only to keep miles, and how many Christmas sweets I can eat after the ride

Grand Coteau, complete with historic sign

Keepin it real at my favorite coffee shop in the swamp, Fly's coffee in Breaux Bridge

Free Wi-Fly, clever. And giving kids espresso. Pure genius

This is as much holiday cheer as I'm gonna muster

Easily bathroom break #17 for the day.

Day 1 in the books. Can't wait to do it again tomorrow!

1000 Christmas K's - WTF?!

2011-12-23T14:30:00.000-08:00

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.

The Kona Diatribe

2011-10-18T15:19:00.000-07:00

“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!”

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.

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^th 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.

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.

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 Universalsports.com 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!!”

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.

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.

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.

The run gently lures you in by sending you out onto a few turns then running straight down Alii drive. 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. 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^th 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.

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 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.

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:

- 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.

- SKeither, Rachelle, Elle Belle. Not many in-laws fight like we do J 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.

- Kell and Scott. You two are simply fabulous. Thank you for unconditional everything.

- 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.

- 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.

- 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.)

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.”

The Vibe

2011-10-06T23:33:00.000-07:00

Well, 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.
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.
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.
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.

EAT A CHEESEBURGER!

2011-09-29T12:55:00.000-07:00

156.7

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.?

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.

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.

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:

And not just for this:

Cross post blog from RKF

2011-09-15T12:07:00.000-07:00

Rocketkidz 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.
Anyway, here is my post from the RKF blog:

http://rkfracing.wordpress.com/2011/09/13/my-ferris-bueller-blog-by-john/

Cajun, Man!

2011-09-15T11:53:00.000-07:00

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.
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;
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.
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.
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.
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.”
Thanks for reading.

The X and Road to Kona

2011-09-04T20:10:00.001-07:00

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.

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^t.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.

The Big Catun (aka Big Cajun)

2010-11-14T18:34:00.000-08:00

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.

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 J 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.

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^rd, but I knew that with a 3min gap between waves if I caught the guy/fish that was in 2^nd 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^nd 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^nd and 1^st 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 J 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.

The Old Man in the Donut Shop

2010-10-02T17:00:00.000-07:00

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 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.

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. 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.

Chicken or Fish? Uh, Cajunman....?

2010-10-02T16:59:00.000-07:00

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.

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^th 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.

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. 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.

In the end, I got 2^nd 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^nd 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.

What's been up

2009-11-12T13:05:00.001-08:00

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:

“Elyse, can you grab my helmet out of the truck? Thanks, love.”
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?
“Well, how was your first race back?” she said with a smile.
“It was just as painful as I remembered. Would you be cool with me racing next weekend?”

2009-11-12T13:04:00.001-08:00

Maybe it's time to quit goofing off and put up some updates, eh?

FINALLY, the St. Croix report...

2009-06-08T13:18:00.000-07:00

This is so late, I know. But I wanted to write some other stuff about training, so I figured I'd post my St. Croix reveiw.
St. Croix is always mentioned in the small list of races that you have to do if you race triathlons. So when my buddy Brennan called and said that he and a friend were headed to St. Croix to do the 70.3, it didn’t take much convincing for me to book my ticket. The humorous part of this little adventure was that it was Brennan and Khalid’s first half ironman. Good thing Khalid never bothered to look at the course profile before signing up, as Brennan would have never jumped on board and I would have never been coaxed into going.
First thing about St. Croix is that it pretty much sucks to fly in to. American Airlines has really outdone themselves in being ridiculous with flight schedules, and equally ridiculous in ripping every dime you have out of your hands just to get your tri gear there. However, you forget about it as soon as you set foot on the island. The people are genuine, upbeat and not in a hurry for anything. And it is OBVIOUS that you are a tourist there, but that doesn’t stop anyone from greeting you on the street and telling you “Good luck Sunday” when you pass. We all went out to the swim start Thursday to get a swim in and check things out. To say the water was clear is a huge understatement. You could easily see 30 feet to the bottom. After the swim, I went to registration before realizing I forgot my I.D. In true island spirit, they said “No problem”, two people who agreed that I was who I said I was worked for them. After registration, we hit up a restaurant that looked good. However, when they told us it was a vegetarian and raw restaurant, we tried to leave. The waitress was heartbroken and pleaded with us to try it. I’ve had break-ups that were less uncomfortable than this little exchange. I don’t think she got it when I told her, “It’s not you, it’s me.”
Race morning came early, 4a.m. We loaded up the transition bags, and rode over to the swim start. For a world-class 70.3, the venue is super chill. I was putting my bike on the rack and setting up my transition area, and took a glance around. There were some real age group studs here, and it was pretty clear that this was gonna be a fast day. Keeping with the spirit that everything in St. Croix is just “a little more difficult”, we had to swim across the channel to a little island where the race would officially start. It was a quasi-beach start where it was a drag race for 50 yards, then you take a hard left. When we took off, there was chaos, followed by a hard left, followed by more chaos. The good news is that I didn’t get hit in the head and I got out of the water in a good position. Now, here’s the first of many things I learned in St. Croix (besides that it’s a good place to hide if you have outstanding warrants). Make sure you pre-drive the course, even if it is “only” a half ironman. Good thing for me, THE Jeff Cuddeback gave us some tips and tricks on how to stay out of trouble. The thing that most stuck out in my mind was “Don’t even think about racing until after the Beast. That’s when it starts to get tough”. That was good advice, and definitely helped out. Of course, driving the course would’ve shown the countless sharp turns, pavement, how difficult the backside of the island was, and oh yeah, where the 10 unmarked HUGE speed bumps were on the course. Nothing gets your attention like getting both wheels off the ground at 25mph while you’re in your aero bars. It’s quite an experience…really. A word on the Beast. It is as bad as they say it is. Good thing that the locals have a heart and a sense of humor. They paint the road to show you the start of the climb, and are kind enough to paint each 1/10th of a mile (the climb is 7/10ths of a mile in total) as well as painting the percent grade next to the mile marker. Like I said, those locals are super friendly AND helpful. After you crest the Beast is where the fun begins. That is where the coastal winds start to really hit you, and the shade is nowhere to be found. If you made the mistake (I did) of wearing an aero helmet, the backside of the island is where your head starts to cook. As for me, I kinda felt I went WAY too easy on the bike, but it made me ride strong the last 15 miles of the bike. I was shocked to see how many strong guys were sitting on the base bar just soft-pedaling in those last 15 miles. Being able to ride strong past those guys, and the energy to dodge that rooster (seriously, a rooster on the road) told me I made the right call on riding easy. I came into transition in about 11th for my age group, and knew that the run was going to be brutally hot. Brutally hot isn’t my favorite weather, but being from the swamp of Louisiana, brutally hot is about all the weather that I know. Ice on this course was mandatory. I was stoked to have my K-Swiss K-Ona shoes on, since they are wicked light but also have holes in the bottom for all the water I was dumping on myself to escape. I ran without a watch, but would just run on effort and try to run faster the second loop. When we were running through the golf course, Bryan Rhodes passed me. He didn’t fly by me, which is what I’m accustomed to whenever a pro passes me. This told me I was at least running ok. That 2nd lap was a real gut check. While picturesque, this race is brutal and grueling. I saw some pretty fit dudes and girls walking, or just sitting under a tree blown up. It was quite the sight. In the 2nd time through the golf course, I caught 4 or 5 guys in my age group. I had a nice foot race going with this one guy and thought that I would start my surge like 2 minutes before the 2nd lap turnaround. Well just a head’s up to anyone wanting to do that race, the finish line is NOT just beyond the turnaround. It’s 3 blocks down, then a block to the right, and then 3 blocks back in. So my little surge turned into a ridiculously long time in the pain cave. When the damage was done, the clock read 4:51:00. Not my fastest half ironman time by a long shot, but it was a satisfying finish on a tough course against some truly BAMF triathletes from around the world. Of course, the fun of this race would be the awards ceremony and after-party. I won’t answer any questions directly, but there was a good time had by all, and I do in fact know that Cruzan rum is made in St. Croix and that there are quite a few different flavors of this storied rum. Here are some pictures of said events: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=112986&id=516672989&l=b0262f396d

Pre-St. Croix and the Parable of the Mustang

2009-04-29T13:31:00.001-07:00

So I’m headed out tomorrow to St. Croix to race the half-ironman there, and see what this beast business is all about. I’ve been kinda messin’ around with doing the St. Croix race report to a Dr. Seuss theme, but it’s all still touch and go right now. I don’t know if I’ve got the chops to pull it off. He was a grumpy old genius who hated kids and still the people bought his children’s books. I’m a 7-5 paper pusher who occasionally highlights. I know my role, but I might give it a shot anyway.
While in St. Croix, I thought I might be no dice on the twitter, as my phone has decided to give up on me. Well, not completely, maybe the phone is on strike. So the 2, 5, and 8 keys don’t work. Try texting anything without the letters on the 2, 5, and 8 keys. Most of my stuff is Word!, Yes!, No, good. Real smooth vocab, for sure. However, they’ve got free Wi-Fi at the hotel, and Da Bear has an extra Cingular phone “just in case” that he’s loaning to me until I can FINALLY upgrade to the new iPhone in June. Who knew his “just in case” would actually happen (him, I’m sure.) Anyway, that’s a long-winded way to say stay tuned for updates, and general silliness from the US Virgin Islands.
I’ll end this quick blurb with my favorite parable. A buddy of mine called and we were talking smack. He told me something someone said he heard 8th hand from a guy next to a bus stop talking to a lady who used to babysit for my friends’ parents. Anyway, you get the picture. He told me the story, which was basically slamming me. So I felt inclined to share my “Parable of the Mustang”. It goes like this: When I was in high school, I had a 1968 Mustang. This beast was BAD. 390 cubic inch engine, slicks in the back. Just the sort of car you want a 15 year old full of testosterone to have. Anyway, this car attracted all kinds of attention; good and bad. But without fail, every time I drove the car anywhere, some dumbass would make a comment that went like this: “Well I’ve got this friend who’s got a (fill in the blank), and it’s got a (###) engine, and it would smoke your car!” After hearing this enough, I finally put together my clever reply. “Well go get your car. You should call your friend and get it and then we can race. I have nothing important going on, so call him and we can race right now.” This little reply was usually met with stuttering, mumbling, or embarrassment when they said, “I told you it wasn’t MY car, but a friend of mine’s. He’s pry not home anyway, volunteering at the nursing home, etc. etc.” While my bad ass car is long gone, the moral of that story still rings true today. Don’t run your mouth about a friend of a friend of a guy who used to live in your neighborhood, and how he would crush all our wills’ to live. Or how if your buddy could just sober up long enough to train, he’d be like miles ahead of us. You just end up living vicariously through other people, but more importantly you just look silly. A wise Portuguese fellow once told me, “You’re only as good as your last race.” But more importantly, in drag race talk, You gotta run what you brung. You don’t get to run what your buddy used to be able to do, or the race you woulda had if only x, y, and z didn’t happen. Talk less, train more.

The First Hit is Always Free

2009-04-22T14:33:00.000-07:00

In short, I got tempted the same way I’m sure that any addict gets lured in. As I was walking off the pool deck after swim practice, Claire said “John, we have an entry for the Louisiana Triathlon this Saturday if you’re interested.” Now, I had fully resigned to the fact that I was gonna race New Orleans and then St. Croix with nothing but training between. Well, it was that offer that set the wheels into motion.
When the alarm went off at 4am, it was pouring. I mean, typical south Louisiana swamp deluge. So I made the deal that since I was already up, I earned my bowl of pre-race Cinnamon Toast Crunch. After that, I would look outside and make the call. As luck would have it, the rain broke just long enough for me to pack the Banana Trek and all my gear into Subie and get on the road. I wasn’t even down my driveway, and I got a text from Jeremy. We were both waiting for the other to say they weren’t going, but neither of us did. The whole way to New Roads was pouring rain with bouts of driving rain. Thank goodness for Subie’s all-wheel drive, and nimble footing. And to the drunkard going the wrong way down the boulevard in Krotz Springs, thanks for staying to my left. I got to New Road’s, and parked Subie in a spot that I felt was way too close for the time I arrived. This is never a good sign.
Despite my negative Nancy thoughts, registration was wide open, and from what every volunteer and race official said, it was “Game on.” False river looked especially inviting with its white caps rolling into the boat launch. The usual pre-race was in order with the small adjustment to prepping the Banana for racin’ in the rain. 100psi in the tires, K-Swiss stickers on the disc, and roll dat action!
The water was kinda chilly, so they let us wear wetsuits. Right before the gun went off, a blast from the past (Terry B!) hollered at me to get on the other side of the dock. I guess he saw the bouys drift and could see the current from way up there. Turned out to be a good call. Thanks T! The gun goes off and it’s pandemonium. I mean, I swim HARD for the first 200, and there are 5 guys in front of me, and like 6 on the side of me. I know I can swim this hard to the turnaround, but don’t particularly want to. However, natural selection and lactic acid got rid of most of the guys next to me. At the turnaround, I was with two dudes, and I could live with sitting back there. I came out of the water right behind Lawson and some other dude that was wicked tall and had exquisite taste in wetsuits (2XU). I hit the boat dock and just decided to go. T1 was as fast as I’ve ever done, and with my new “Stay Fly” Bontrager kicks , I could actually put my shoes on while riding the bike. After my sweet knee gash trying to ride up the boat ramp last year, I decided to run up the hill. But don’t worry, my injury streak is still going as I somehow managed to find something sharp enough to gash my foot. You need a souvenir from every race, and nothing says souvenir like a scar!
Now, before I wig out, I gotta gather myself and get my shoes on. F that, Holy Shi-ite Muslim, Batman! I’m leading this race! I mean, not my age group, but the flippin’ cop car is out there in front for me! The internal dialogue went something like this:
“This is crazy.”
“Ok, focus.”
“Quit geeking out.”
“Obey the yellow box(PowerTap).”
“Man, this is SO COOL!”
I knew that coming out of the water with Lawson meant I maybe had 45 seconds or so lead on the guys behind me. So I just tried to ride around 270-310W on the yellow box of pain. I was frightened to look back, and with my choice of the ridiculously deep yet uber-cool Zipp 1080 on the front couldn’t because I was getting blown around from the gusts of wind. I hit the turnaround and figured this was where I could figure my time gap. I was 1min up on Lawson and about 2:30-3min up on JJ, Johnny D, and Norman. If I could keep the gap, and keep the pressure up, I might actually have a chance to be the Triathlon King of New Roads (it has a nice, trashy ring to it, eh.). I came into transition convinced that I held the gap the same, or maybe put a little more time into the guys behind (I was WRONG). Tammy D was too sweet with her comments when I was trading the banana for some runners and a visor. She bragged about my fast transition, so I kinda felt obligated even though I wanted to just chill for a minute and take my time. In retrospect, it was good she told me to get movin. As I came out onto the run course, Terry B shouted “You got plenty of time! No need to gut yourself. Just run.” (Note to self: ALWAYS gut yourself, but never in the first mile.) I still knew those guys were behind, but figured that I had plenty of time (2nd note to self: Never think during the run of a sprint. VAMOS, VAMOS, VAMOS!) I looked back a few times, until finally the biker leading me asked what I was doing. I said, “Looking who’s coming.” He said, “Who, dude? There is NO ONE even on the road.” The realization that I might actually do this sunk in. However, when we made the turn, the biker kept looking back. I asked what he was looking at, and he said, “That guy that just passed the car wash.” I didn’t need to see, I knew who it was. JJ was running me down. I knew pre-race that this would be a Battle Royale, and he wasn’t just gonna let me win. I kept digging but I felt slower and slower. The cruelest thing about New Roads is that you pass exactly 4 feet from the finish line with 1 mile to go around a concrete track; and everything is open, so you see it all. So I saw JJ as he ran into the park and flew past the caboose while I was just starting on the concrete track. I couldn’t believe I was gonna lead this race outta T1 only to lose it on the concrete jungle track. I made the decision to muster up my “sprint” on the backside of the loop, as I figured he’d gutted himself to bridge up to me. Maybe this surge would break him. Well, it worked, but barely. I just had enough time to zip up the UL-Lafayette jersey and come across the line. Mignon made me laugh when she said, “Well, you made that look easy.” So I took off my shoes and showed her my souvenirs. I think I may have frightened her.
Post-race was crazy, as I got to visit with TTrahan and Mignon, CBoggs, Hunter, Mr. Gary, and re-live being hunted like a gazelle with Jeremy. However, I think the coolest part of the whole day was the lead police guy coming up and introducing himself, and telling me congratulations. This dude made my whole week, and kept me safe; although he wouldn’t let me get close enough to the car to motorpace. Another cool part of the day was running back (well, me limping) with the legend, Johnny D.
Sorry to be so long winded, but this was special as it was my first big triathlon win. When I started this game, it was New Roads that kicked off the season. I always wanted to put my name on the top of the results list, and it was a special feeling to finally do it. It’s a shame that there might not be a 2010 edition of the race, as Mr. Dunnaway is retiring after 16 years. Even if it is, thank you Mr. Dunnaway for all the years of motivation to get out in the cold because I knew the Louisiana Triathlon was coming up, and I didn’t want to embarrass myself. I’d also like to thank Mr. Gary and Mrs. Cecile for the entry, and my awesome sponsors: Giles Subaru for Subie, Capital Cyclery for my pimp daddy Banana TTX, Zipp for my go-fast wheels, K-Swiss for those awesome K-ona shoes, and my parents for, well, everything. You guys are the best. Oh, and thanks Claire, for offering an addict a Saturday hit of adrenaline….

Coming in off the bike, trying to figure out how not to crash into Transition

Maybe I should zip the jersey AND fix the hat next time, so I don't look drunk

"You stalker, mother trucker!"
"Another half mile, and I woulda caught you."

Right before I show Mignon the New Roads souvenir on my foot. She'll never be the same.

Me and JJ, talking with the Legendary Johnny D.

Oh, you better believe you're giving me a hug! I even put on a dry shirt!

Just a preview of what's to come. Johnson/Fell, Rematch 275. This time, it's for the Title....

New Orleans Bake sale

2009-04-07T19:17:00.000-07:00

Pretty quick and down to it race report straight out of the Big Easy. Being the first race of the year, I always get a kick out of all the simple small things I seem to forget or ignore. You know, like if you wanna go fast take in a lot of calories on the bike. And get to the race venue plenty early so you're not stressed and dodging around at the last minute trying to get it all together. A really cool part of this race was being able to take Subie, the Subaru Outback, for the weekend. Those cars are super cool, and it's a close 2nd behind the 1960's VW minibus in pimp wheels. So I got Subie all loaded up with race gear, including my dad (Tha Bear) who made a game time decision to come check out the race. We hit I-10 and got to New Orleans just in time for some random bum to charge me $20 to not steal the bikes off the roof, I mean charge me $20 to park in a parking spot owned by the city. Ah, New Orleans, where greed and corruption filter all the way down to the street people. It's like I never left! Anyway, after some weaving and moving, I got my race packet with a shirt and water bottle. At least they didn't cheese up the packets with beads. That would have been too much.

Race day and the trek to BFE for the swim start came WAY too early. However, the good thing about a race in New Orleans is that half the city is still up at 5am. 2% of those are sober enough to walk, but their up nonetheless. In transition to get all the gear prepped, and here was my one true gripe of the race. Sure, the race had some studs out there. But to not know Natascha Badmann's ENTIRE palmares when you know other minor pro's notable results is unforgivable. This Swiss Miss has more Ironman victories than half of the girls' podium finishes that the announcer did talk about, combined. Of course, she did go and annihilate the course, so she got the last laugh. Anyway, after a bus ride to the swim start, it was another half mile hike to the actual swim start. A quick wetsuit zip for my friend Chris Lieto (I'm like a big Internet star here, I can't act like I'm star struck cause Chris Lieto asked me to zip his wetsuit. Ok, seriously, good thing the wetsuit doesn't have pockets. Autographs and pics for sure along with automatic facebook update via iPhone that I'm kickin it with Chris). Enough chatting with Chris, I got a race to do.

We get in the water, and as much as the transfer and walk sucked, the swim was awesome. Point to point, swimming as far or close to the sea wall as you wanted. I had ZERO contact, and missed the lead group of 3 swimmers because I was following the only drunk guy who made the swim start. The rest was uneventful, and I'm happy to report that I didn't bump into any creatures or dead body's that the mob disposed of during the swim. I've still got my fingers crossed for no crazy infections post-swim. It was exciting to come out of the water at the pointy end of the race, and the banana hammock steed of a bike was ready to roll. The bike was all Louisiana had to offer. You had terrible roads, some wicked misplaced asphalt, swamp grass, mountainous overpass climbs, drunk guys in white shrimpin boots at 8am, and burnt stripped down stolen cars pushed in the bayou. It was truly a tour of Louisiana for all those that got on the bike course. The wind and some planning kept the drafting down, so that was cool to see. The headwind on the way back was wicked. At the last aid station, they were kind enough to give me a gatorade with the plastic under the cap still attached. Watching me open that with one hand would have made a good YouTube. T2 was lookin sweet as I was the 3rd amateur to come in off the bike. T2 took close to an hour.

On the run, I brought my Moroccan shakers with me. Or that's what my salt pills and jelly beans sounded like. I'll save the details, but the run was on point till about mile 4 or 5. Then things got really dizzy, I got really hot, and I really needed some ice. I would have traded you a 10 pound bag of ice for my bike, straight up, on Sunday. I was that desperate. Then there was "rumor" that I asked a random spectator if he had an extra coke. All he had was his half drank one, and offered it. I took it and guzzled, even as his girlfriend screamed, "Wait, that has bourbon in it." Ah yes, New Orleans. But like a true southern gentleman he said, "I didn't mix it yet. I'd never give away a bourbon and coke, love." You sir, would be my hero if that story were true. But like I said, it was just a rumor. Anyway, the detonation and blow up on the run was especially painful. The only thing that made it semi-acceptable was that Desiree Ficker insisted on running with me. Ok, she would really run passed me, stop, regroup, re-pass me, stop, regroup. This went on for 7 or 8 miles. It was a lovely first date, but I told her we are just leading different lives, and it's pry best if that's the only time we see each other.

One bright spot in the race was the finish line. A bunch of my friends and family were down in the quarter. I wanna believe it was to watch the finish, but it's pretty easy to convince people to come down to the French Quarter. Chris and Stacey came with their daughter to check it all out. Stacey thought it was crazy, Chris thought it was cool. Audrey thought it was fun when post-race we were speaking the same language.

Seriously, the race I've been dreaming about was 2/3rds complete when the hatchet came down on the run. And it's hard to remember all the good when the last thing is the run. But it's a great way to start the '09 season, and it was a good reminder to keep training. It's only April, and we got a million miles to go....

Hammers and Nails

2009-03-27T08:43:00.001-07:00

I’ve been writing this blog in my head ever since camp ended. All the elevation changes and climbing had me speaking monosyllabically by the end of the week, so I figured it would be a good idea to wait till my thoughts and speech were clear enough to expand on the camp experience. I won’t really go into too much detail of how much we did, what type of work we did, etc. For those who do wanna know the numbers, camp ran from Sunday March 15th to the 22nd. In that span, we swam 32,000 yards, rode about 328 miles, and ran about 52 miles. That comes to about 36 hours of play time out on the roads, trails, and in the pools of Tucson. While the numbers are there, they don’t tell half the story. There are stories a’ plenty of mountain climbing, scary descents, running out of food/water on the ride, rattlesnakes, wild boars checking out Lauren, bath water pools and superstar triathlon sightings that are better told over some Guinness and burgers.
To say I felt like a poser at this camp was an understatement. I mean, you had Will Ronco (5th at Ironman Lake Placid ’08), Marky V (usually 1st guy out of the water and off the bike at every race he does), Jacqui Gordon (5th at IM Lake Placid AND 7th at IM Louisville, all in the span of a few weeks in ’08, and soon to be top 3 at IM South Africa….you heard it hear first), and Danny Montoya (this guy has a standing reservation with a condo company in Kona, yeah he’s that fast). Oh, and for good measure, the 70.3 age-group world champ Lauren Harrison was flying in Tuesday ready to shred. Then there was me, the winner of…., well, I won a pool swim triathlon once. From the first training session we did, I could see that there was a big difference in this group and the training that I was normally used to doing.
There was no hammering the session, no test of wills to establish pecking order, no racing in training. The group got the session from Paulo, the Portuguese doctor of pain (Doutor português da dor), went out the door and got the work done. No extra, no less, no argument. Just do the work he says and wait for the next workout. Over the course of the week I started to understand the Posse’s (Paulo’s team name) motto, HTFU (Harden the F$&K up). Just get the work done. I finally turned off my brain and stopped trying to understand why we were doing what we were, or when I thought we would end a session. It was around Wednesday or Thursday that I just shut my mouth and took my beating (I mean completed my workout). There were only a few monster sessions throughout the week, but mostly it was just a healthy dose of swim, bike and run with some super fast, super cool, super humble people. We all suffered together, and it was so cool to get encouragement from the Posse’ when they were hurting just as much as I was.
It took a while for me to get what the camp was about. The best way I can sum up camp is that it was a first hand view that there are no short cuts, no genetic freak talent (except for Marky V’s 1:46 200 swim at the end of camp. That’s not human), and no luck involved. Just hard ass work. Either do it, or don’t; it’s up to you. And to be truly successful, like the 5 guys and girls I was in camp with, you gotta be nails. Anyone can be a hammer, and smack one or two workouts here or there. But the true bad asses, the real contenders are nails. They can take and execute any workout in any order, with any amount of work that you can throw at them. And they can do it day after day after day. That’s nails.
So thanks to the Posse’ for letting me roll with ya’ll in Tucson. And thanks to Paulo for opening my eyes to the work that needs to be done. Here’s to my new goal: Being Nails in ’09.

Still Livin’ the dream….

Days compressed

2009-03-18T21:37:00.000-07:00

Sorry for not updating yesterday. Life has been relatively simple here; wake up, eat, workout, eat, workout, eat, workout, eat, sleep. It's a great life for removing all the real responsibilities of adulthood and just work really hard. Anyway, I won't bore you with the workout specifics. Instead, I'll show you some of the photos from the last couple of days:

Day 2

2009-03-16T18:58:00.000-07:00

So Day 2 is in the books. It was funny and ironic at the same time. The 1st workout of the day was a hard ass run. It went something like 20 minutes warmup, 40x(30 seconds HARD/30 seconds ez). The funny thing is that this run took place on a soccer field. Halfway through, I kinda laughed internally how this run could possibly be punishment for a past lifetime in soccer. I couldn't laugh out loud cause I was in between bouts of gasping for air and spitting on myself. We got a quick bite to eat, then it was a fun 5k swim. And when I say fun, I mean that as not fun at all. And after the swim, they inform me that Sam McGlone was swimming 2 lanes over (IM 70.3 champ and IM Hawaii 2nd place). Uh, yeah. To answer your question, i got it handed to me in the pool. We then wrecked shop at Chipotle. We got home in time to apply sunscreen, sit on the couch and cry for 5 minutes. Then, it was out for an "easy" zone 2, 1.5 hour aerobic ride. The thing about Paulo is that I still think he is joking when he's serious, and think he's serious when he is joking. So I thought he was kidding when he said to "do the ride up Mt. Lemmon" for an hour, then descend back into town and wrap it up. Well, he was very serious, and nothing about climbing Mt. Lemmon is zone 2 aerobic. I was best friends with the 27 cassette on that ride. And the descent, well it wasn't exactly an overpass downhill. So in short, I'm a bit shelled and it's only day 2. I'm working on pics of this place, as it's awesome! It's hard work, but it sure beats workin' (at least for a week).

Livin' the dream....

Day 1

2009-03-15T20:44:00.000-07:00

Whoa Nelly! Today was the 1st day of the HTFU Tucson camp. We got rolling at 8am for a 4 hour "aerobic" Z2 ride. Uh, yeah. It was basically a don't get dropped ride. Overall a pretty solid ride, and the people here at camp are really cool. We got back, and then swam 4k in a boiling pot of a pool. Finished it up with a 50min run with some strides. Kinda ironic that the strides were on a soccer field. Ah, distant memories from a different life. So in all, the first day wasn't too bad. Except now I gotta back it up for 8 more days. Sounds pretty fun!! Oh, and the quote of the day heard on the way home, "They call them speed humps in Arizona. But it's a dry hump."

Shift

2009-03-14T14:45:00.000-07:00

First off, I must apologize for the ridiculously long delay since my last posting. Life has truly shifted around from squeezing in training where it would (or would BARELY) fit and focusing on coaching soccer back to full bore training again. For the first time in a VERY long time, I am not in charge of my schedule. And by that, I don’t mean that I’m married and the ole’ ball and chain tells me where to be and what to do. I finally surrendered to the notion that I don’t know what it takes to be any faster than I currently am. So I hired a coach, Paulo Sousa, in November to see how far I can take this triathlon thing. The blog title is one I’ve been meaning to write since January, as it’s pretty much aimed at what has gone on in my mind and body since the shift from being a self-coached schmoe to a schmoe that can no longer think for himself when it comes to setting up the training.

First thing that I noticed is that people are creatures of habit, me especially. I did my long run on Thursday, swam 3 times a week (including masters’ swim class), and I rode my damn bike a lot. I refused to ride the trainer (Hey, I’m single with few responsibilities. That means I can ride outside!), and the winter was made for easy cruisin’. Running was all aerobic chatty Kathy runs 3 or 4 times a week max. If I ran at lunch, or after a ride, it was 30-40 minutes max. And I was CERTAIN that I was training enough. Well, Paulo said no. Within 2 weeks of his schedule, I was at my breaking point. I couldn’t complete the training with soccer. There was no possible way to fit it all in. I failed for the 3^rd or so weekend in a row, and tried to tell him that I couldn’t do all of the training he required. He didn’t accept my attempt at a break-up. He said I needed to re-evaluate, and shift my thinking. Finally a weird thing happened, I just accepted what he sent me. No more looking down the road on training for the weekend, or 2 days from now to adjust and fit it all in. Just look at today, and get it done. If that meant getting up at 4am and running, then that’s what it was. If that meant swimming while all my buddies were riding, it was time to smell like chlorine. I had to shift my habits, and either accept the training or not. There was no picking and choosing of what I did, or melding his schedule with what my established order was. I had to accept that maybe I didn’t know best, and just shut my mouth and do what was on the paper. This meant riding on the trainer, swimming so much that I smelled like the pool when I sweat, and running volume that I only saw during most of my heaviest Ironman buildup. The funny thing was that there were no epic sessions on tap. Just a healthy dose of work to do every day. The healthy dose of daily work came with a choice; either shut it and do the work, or bitch out and don’t do it.

There were a few times this winter where I bitched out because I was so shelled, and just slept like 14-15 hours on Saturday or Sunday. But that’s all part of the shift, I guess. I’m finally fully accepting of what is before me, and really excited about the 2009 season. Paulo had an interesting quote on his website that he jacked from a Starbucks cup of all places, and it summed up the shift and commiting to this training pretty well. Here it is:

“The irony of commitment is that it is deeply liberating - in work, in play, in love. The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the fear that likes to dress itself up and parade around as rational hesitation. To commit is to remove your head as the barrier to your life".

I’m on a plane right now to Tuscon, Arizona for a triathlon training camp with Paulo and all the professional triathletes he coaches. There is a little apprehension, as the people I’ll be training with do this for their livelihood. But I’m looking forward to booking a seat on the pain train, and hopefully absorbing as much as I can from these guys. I’m going to try and keep the blog updated throughout camp for two reasons. First, so you can follow along at home, and second when I am old and grumpy and play shuffleboard, I can read back and remember the time I went to Tuscon. To find out how good I was, what it took to get better and some guidance on what I’ll need to do to be invited to Hawaii in October. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s gonna be a killer journey. That is all based on the hope, of course, that someone actually comes to pick me up from the Tuscon airport….

Livin’ the Dream!

Shift

2009-03-14T14:40:00.000-07:00

Changes, changes

2008-12-17T08:43:00.000-08:00

I guess they are right. The only thing that stays the same is that everything changes. A lot has been going on in beautiful Scott, LA. I have just been too slow to put up the happenings on the blog. For those of you that were looking for a super sweet Ironman Florida race report, I'm sorry to disappoint you. The race was good, and all went well. It was not really epic, or even really that memorable. I had a great race, and all my peeps got to be there. That was definitely cool. But other than that, it was just a nice, fun day racing with all the other crazies in tights.
Now the high school soccer season is here, and I'm cramming workouts anywhere I can fit them. That is a big change, from living the life of a Triathlon bum with a day job, to a frantic "gotta fit 25 hours of stuff" into each day. Way too much action! Anyway, the title of this blog is foreshadowing. I'll just give you the highlights:

1 - After Florida, I decided to accept the fact that I do not know what it takes to go 9 hours flat, or even sub-9 hours. Either I'm not doing enough, or not enough of the right stuff. Regardless, I've hired a coach. Now karma must have a way of finding me, because my new coach is about as forgiving with me in triathlon training as I am with the soccer team. Old school, Eastern European coaching, I'll take 2 please. Anyway, his name is Paulo Sousa (www.pstriathlon.com), and I'm looking forward to finding out what's possible for me in triathlon. Either I'll crack or excel. Either way, I'll still smell like chlorine when I go into the office!

2 - I kinda wrote my '09 race schedule. There are still a ton of open dates, but some highlights are New Orleans 1/2 Ironman in April, Buffalo Springs 1/2 in June, and Ironman Canada in August. From there its Ironman Hawaii if I qualify, and if not, either Silverman or Great Floridian. I'd rather the 1st option, though. I mean, I'm just sayin.....

3 - Even though its not a personal update, my boy J Johnson qualified for IM Hawaii at IM Arizona! I'm super stoked for him. It's like seeing a fellow inmate escape. You know it's possible. Errr, pry not a good analogy. How did we celebrate his ticket to Kona? Raisin Cane's Caniac combo, of course.

4 - I had Meche's donuts. It was all I thought it could be.

5 - I'm gonna actually ride on the trainer this winter......maybe

6 - And last, I got a Twitter. Sounds like a proper waste of time, and a great place to put all those random photo ops I find out riding. My name is twitter.com/JohnFell4 Creative, I know.

So that's the last 3 monts in a nutshell. Training is back on, and don't make fun of my new personal chlorine smell. You'll give me a complex.

More Sneaking around

2008-09-25T08:13:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the delays in posting. I've been trying to fit as much training/racing in as possible in the past few weeks. I guess the theme from all of it is to race as untapered as possible. With Cajunman cancelled (and yes, it was a good call to cancel it), DForeman and I decided on Wednesday that doing a Half Ironman in Dallas on Sunday would be cool. We could just drive up there Saturday mid-morning, race Sunday and come back. For those who love the Google, it was the Prairie man half ironman. Let me just say a quick word about Jack Weiss, the race director. This guy was super accommodating, and really went out of his way to help out some Hurricane Gustav evacuees. Ok, the race was really cool and a bit different. The bike was 4 loops, with more officials than I've ever seen. And the run was a nice mental test for Florida. You were on a levy road for 10 of the 13.1 miles. That'll take the focus out of you:) We finished up the race, and headed back. But not before I tried to drink the smart water people out of all their free samples. And Dodd almost got beat up by a cop smoking a Cobb pipe. Ask him about it, pretty funny. Oh yeah, the race was a PR. And on a fairly challenging course. I'm starting to think that tapering is for the birds. Then after a few days of less training, it was back to the grind. Some big week/weekend work, then a call from Eric came. He wanted me to ride shotgun to Natchitoches, and race Meat Pie. Yet another great last minute sneak attack idea. And overall it was a pretty fun race. I had a good run, and Claire has really done an awesome job of making me not suck in the swim. So things are looking up on that aspect. The real excitement was on the way home, when someone thought it was a good idea to put their tool chest on an open trailer. Well, thanks to the fine folks at the Louisiana Dept of Transportation and their lack of interstate maintenance, that tool chest hit the pavement in front of us at 70mph. I must tell you, there is nothing quite like seeing sockets, wrenches, and other assorted metal tools bouncing down the road while you are driving into this mine field. Luckily, the pimp daddy Caravan came out unscathed. Now that I am for sure done sneak attacking races, there is only one left on the calendar. Ironman Florida. So I made an interesting decision based on pushing the limit. I'm going to smack the training for 3 weeks from an idea I got with Peter Reid's training for Hawaii, taper/rest for 2 weeks, and get ready for race week. Being a whopping 4 days into this experiment, I've decided there are only one of two outcomes that will take place. 1. I'll push my fitness and racing up a few notches, or 2. I'll explode into a million pieces. Either way, it should be entertaining to watch the fireworks. Oh yeah, and before I go, below is a picture of my buddy BRider's TT rig for Ironman Arizona. Looks fast, fast.....

Sneak Attack of the Century!!

2008-08-25T14:40:00.001-07:00

Some good, fun training has been in the works since the bottle incident. Against my better judgment when I woke up Sunday, I figured I wanted to go test how my progress was coming along; especially in the swim/run segments. So I loaded up the truck and went to Rip van Winkle. Well, it pretty much rained the whole race, and I’ll spare you the blow by blow details. Save for the constant thought in the back of your mind that Lake Peigneur could drain AGAIN and take you with it, and the absolutely abysmal standards that Iberia parish holds their roads to, this was a pretty cool race. As someone said after we finished, “Have you ever had so many different, distinct smells pass through your nose on a run course?” And my answer would definitely have to be no. The worst one was by far someone cooking a breakfast worthy of a rainy morning; eggs, bacon, pancakes, etc. I was about 1.2 seconds away from stopping in and getting some grub. Anyway, the rough weather and festival of nasal delights were mere side notes. You have got to see this place. The gardens are beautiful, and actually being allowed to run through the nursery was really cool. As for the swim, the lake water stayed put, and I got the surprise I was hoping for. 1st out of the water, and as BSoignier put it, the sneak attack of the century. Ms. Claire has been punching me in the teeth Chinese gymnast coach-style for master’s swim class. It was cool to see the brutal hours of wheezing and getting crushed in the pool pay off. The bike, well, it was ok. The Bumble-B2, as my sister calls it, still needs some tweaking to make it sick fast, but we are getting there. The run was where it needs to be for my favorite race of the year (Cajunman), and the most important race left on the calendar (IM Florida).
All that long-winded banter is my introduction to choice. Before this weekend, I always thought that I would never make any big gains in racing, or get in the ballpark of my potential without moving to a place like California or Boulder. In short, making a pilgrimage to one of the triathlon Mecca’s would give me that breakthrough that I have been searching for. But after racing, and coming out of the water, I realized that all I need is right here. Sure, it’s hot as hell here, and flat as it gets. But before I put the final judgment that my hometown and training base holds me back, I need to take a real look in the mirror to see if that handsome devil staring back at me is the one holding me back. I thought that I “knew” how to swim, and knew how run. That was until I realized I didn’t know anything. I made that choice to put my season in Claire’s hands. Win or lose, it was the first time in a long time that I had to trust someone else to get me where I wanted to be. With the running, I called my old buddy JT, and used some Yoda-like knowledge of the great KSP. They gave me a little unbiased insight to my ability, where I was lacking, and what was needed to go up a level. It was a hard choice for me to ask for help. It was an even tougher choice to accept what they had to say, and adjust with full faith in their answers for my future training. I was pretty stoked when I got home Sunday and saw the results of my recent choices. I’m looking for even more good stuff in 2 weeks.

Thanks for reading….

The Dark Knight files

2008-08-20T06:18:00.001-07:00

How is life? I’m happier than, well, see the picture. I’m as happy as a pig in a golf course pond. This was taken at The Farm golf course. I thought it was funny and ironic. A pig in The Farm’s pond. D Foreman was quick to inform me when I told him this story that feral pigs are commonplace around here. I told him I thought they were all in captivity. Obviously I’m not a hunter.
Training is about the same as life. Everything is good, but there just doesn’t seem to be enough time in the day to fit it all in. That pesky work day gets in the way of all the training(Just joking, boss) On a bike related note; I had a friend come to me the other day to ask a favor. He wanted me to write up a piece kinda like I did about Jonathan Falgout’s wreck, and how we all need to patiently share the road. I heard the request, and have been pondering a story/write-up in my head. In the mean time, I used my Batman crime fighting skills to live it. It all went down like this:
Terry Butts called and said that he had one of his athlete’s in from Florida, and wondered if he could tag along with me on my after work bike ride. I said cool, and off we went for a little spin around Scott/upper Lafayette. The traffic was a bit heavy, but what do you expect for 5:30 on a workday? Well, I brag to this guy about how awesome this “Hidden Hills” road is, and how it’s pretty much the only hilly section around here. We get on the road, and he is about 10 seconds back from me. All of a sudden, I see a dark green Grand Cherokee coming toward me. Out from the passenger window comes a hand with a full coke bottle. I shook my head at the guy like “don’t even think about it”. He doesn’t throw it, and I kinda had a sigh of relief. About 15 seconds later, I hear “Owww! What the hell?!!!” I look back and the kid had thrown the bottle at my riding buddy and hit him on the arm. I turned around to check on him, and see if we needed to call someone or if anything was broken. He said he was cool, and just needed a second to gather himself. For some reason, I start riding the way that the Grand Cherokee went. I knew that I had seen that car before, and I thought maybe I would see it parked in a driveway. No sooner had the thought crossed my mind, here was the car again coming back at me. We were both in the turn, so they were going slow. For a split second, I thought about talking smack and getting them to stop. 4 versus 1 is really never a good idea, plus I really can’t fight all that well. I leave that to the guys on the UFC. Another bottle flew out, and smacked me in the chest. Using my bat vision, I snagged the license number, and called the cops. After what seemed like the world’s longest 911 call with someone who was telling me I wasn’t on the road that I was on, regardless of what the sign I was staring at said, we waited for the cops. They showed up, took our statements, and I got down to the box “I want to press charges” or “I don’t wish to press charges”. I thought about all the cyclists that ride around Lafayette, and how just because no one was injured this time was no excuse to let it go. So I checked that box to press charges. The cops were really cool, and even laughed when I asked them if I could get the address connected to the car’s license plate, so I could return their bottle to them, or when I asked if they could just taser the kids and we could call it even. The cops thanked us for calling, but were real honest that there’s not a good chance anything would happen. No sooner had we parted ways, than one of the cops chased us down, and asked which kid had thrown the bottles. I told him which one hit me, and which one hit the other guy. He said thanks for the info, because they caught the kids.
Apparently, the kids wilted under the strong arm of the law and confessed to doing the crime, and got the cuffs. Now, understand that I’m not bragging cause I ratted on some kids. I’m talking about this cause chances are if you read this, you ride, or you have loved ones that ride. Every time I leave out on my bike, my parents’ and ENM worry about my safety. Same with you and yours when they go for their ride. Maybe if this story gets around, and cyclists’ realize that the cops are there to help keep us safe on the road. Maybe these kids’ get some heat, and the next time some punks think it might be funny to throw something at a cyclist, they’ll remember the story of “those guys that got like 4,000 hours of community service for doing that”, and won’t do it. Better than writing that story for my buddy, I took the time to take some action for the cycling community. The pen may be mightier than the sword, but just about everyone respects the law, or at least the taser.

The Grudge Report

2008-07-30T14:03:00.000-07:00

It’s not that I didn’t want to write about Idaho, or the race. I honestly really didn’t have much to say about it all. However, since I’m a man of a million words, and I promised myself I couldn’t write about anything else until I wrote about Coeur d’Alene, the race report goes down like this:

The preparation leading up to this race was about as perfect as I could have asked for. The usual suspects kept me healthy and rolling. Jason Abshire and Keith Terro kept me upright and walking, and Dr. Joe and Joey at LaCaze Athletic Solutions helped me with my crazy gangster lean problem on my right side. The great thing about a June/July Ironman race for those of us blessed enough to be inbred, I mean born and raised in Louisiana, is that the weather conditions for us during the big training is semi-bearable. Granted, there is the uncertainty in the spring of 45 and windy, or 80 and no humidity, but it sure beats the hell out of 95 and humid, with a 30% chance of afternoon showers and a 20% chance of dying if you stay outside longer than an hour, which we get all summer. Anyway, back to the race at hand. We stayed in Post Falls, which is about 10 minutes from the swim start and exactly one town over from Coeur d’Alene. For the most part, you are nice and isolated from the hustle and bustle of the Ironman spectacle. But the most important reason for staying in Post Falls when I go back to do this race again (yes, I am for sure going back) is the Whitehouse grill. A blip of a building right off of exit 5, this is the best restaurant I’ve eaten at, ever. No exaggeration, I’m doing this race again for 2 reasons: First because of all the crowd support and the second is Whitehouse grill. It’s a Greek restaurant with a catchy slogan, “You love garlic, and we love you!” Enough about the food and festivities, it’s time to race!
Race day came, and it’s been a long time since I’ve been so calm before the start. I told ENM as we had our awkward moment of her trying to get me wedged into my wetsuit. “Elyse, I think this wetsuit makes my butt look fat. Does it?” Women don’t find it so amusing when you use their questions against them. Anyway I kissed my mom and Elyse, and man hugged my dad (dudes don’t kiss, come on!). I waddled down to the beach with a confidence that in about 10 or so hours, we’d be talking about when we were flying to Hawaii, and who all was coming. Now before you call me an arrogant prick in your mind for being so bold, keep in mind that I had a pretty good idea what it would take to get to the big baby dance show that is Kona, and I knew that my training and racing results put me on the UPS truck. All I had to do was deliver the goods. The gun went off, and it was on! The swim was the most brutal I’ve ever encountered. There was about a 3 minute period where I really worried about drowning. I got punched in the head like a man, as opposed to all the girl slaps you normally get in open water swimming, and someone behind me grabbed my hips and pushed me under. I don’t care how good you are in the water; you’re never ready for that. I decided for my next race, I’ll do a bit of training with my weight room buddy “Crazy” Tim Credeur to get ready for the swim.
I come out of the water in 1:05:xx, and frankly I’m pissed. I know I can swim an hour, how did I not swim an hour? Just as I ponder my swim fate, and millions of beautiful Ironman groupies were screaming my name(hey, It’s my lie and I’ll tell it any way I want to), I face plant. Sweet move! Now I’m pissed about the swim, and the odd off color chance I hear someone say, “Huh, huh. John Fell. Get it?” Uh yeah, real original. Out of the change tent and onto the steed. The 1:05:xx swim got to my head, and I thought I had given up a bunch of time to the guys in my age group wanting to get their Kona ticket. (Little did I know that the lake level was causing a wicked current, and everyone’s swim was slow. Let that be a lesson, kids!) So I did the most brilliant thing I could think of, which is ride the first hour of the bike like I was trying to keep the yellow jersey. My heart rate was jacked, and didn’t come down till I finally calmed a bit and found a rhythm. The rest of the ride was pretty uneventful, except that stark realization that people from pan flat Lafayette, LA will probably suck at hills. Unless you count overpasses, then I’m a world champ. Anyway, I told my dad to run a covert op for me of counting everyone he saw in front of me with the ages 25-29 on their calf. I would have asked ENM to do this, but she goes to UL-Lafayette, and well I was a bit concerned to trust a UL student to count. When I came by on the run, they told me I was in 8th. Man, not too shabby. I knew we had 5 slots, and if I could just run the pace of every long run I’ve had since March, it would put me in the chute at 9:45, 9:50 at the latest. And for sure that would be top 5. I passed a “legendary” triathlon coach who was racing, and basically trains all day with zero stress, so I knew I was going pretty well. Then it happened. This guy comes by me with a good pace. I knew I could pick it up a touch and match him, so I decided to attach myself to him. In short, we ran stride for stride for 23 miles. We were catching people left and right. There was no funny business, as he was 30, and I 28, so we could use each other and not have to have a “There can be only one victor” race at the end. I was ecstatic, until I looked at one of our mile splits. The LCD simply read “8:03”. I was crushed, as I knew I was going as fast as I could for this moment, and that kind of running wasn’t going to pull the 3 guys in front of me back. I kept running hard, and the pace never really increased. It was that cold, scary, pit of the stomach fear that I had just realized. “What if I train my ass off, taper well, rest, do everything right. And then, on race day, I just don’t have it?” Well, I can now check that box, as I was just off what felt like 2 or 3 percent all day, from swim to bike to run. I felt horrible as I just basically quit on the course at mile 25. I cramped at an aid station, and then just cruised it in with this guy that I had been running with about 10 seconds up the road. I apologize to anyone who was watching Ironman live; as I’m sure I looked about as excited crossing that finish line as a 5 year old did who got a sweater/sock combo from Santa.
In short, I’m not bummed with the day, the preparation, or the sacrifice. I’m bummed because I’ve got a great, talented group of people behind me and who put as much into this as I do. As an athlete, I’ve got the easiest part; deliver the goods. And on the day, I didn’t deliver. But, hey that’s life. The (sorta) cool part was that the guy I ran with got his ticket to Kona, and I helped. That made me feel a little better. Wait, nope, it didn’t. Just kidding. Seriously, John from Los Angeles, enjoy Kona. I’ll be tracking you on race day, hoping you rock it. Anyway, after the race, all hope for a rolldown was demolished, as we only had 4 slots in our age group, I was sitting in 8th place. How much separated me from 4th? 15 minutes. You know how much time is in feeling off 2-3% on a 10 hour day? 15 minutes. So, the cool part is that I know I’m close to getting that spot. I just need to have a good day, and not have the German national Semi-Pro Triathlon team show up to the race I’m doing. And oh yeah, the moral of this story? Ironman still hurtsJ

What if....

2008-07-03T20:50:00.000-07:00

First off, I know I haven't written a race report for Couer d'Alene yet, and you are probably checking this blog to see if I have posted it yet. I'll pry write one, but I'm just not ready yet.

Here's my thought of the day for you. My very own Nike Triathlon commercial, if you will....

What if triathlon had nothing to do with awards, rewards or results?
What if there was no Hawaii?
What if there were no sponsors or free stuff?
What if there were no age group awards, no "championship" races?
What if there were no finisher medals or T-shirts to display proudly?
What if it was just a swim workout, followed by a bike, then a run?
What if you raced the course, and had no idea where you finished in the field?
What if it was truly just a group of guys going for a morning swim, bike and run?

Would you still be here?
Would you still be dedicated and focused?
Would you still sacrifice?
Would you still get the same feeling?
Would you race soley for self-discovery?
Would your passion still be strong?

The Silence before the Storm

2008-06-17T08:02:00.000-07:00

The popular saying is always “The Calm before the storm”, but I find that laughable. There is nothing calm about anyone before the big storm goes down, so I’m renaming it “The silence before the storm.” Everyone in the room sees the 800 lb gorilla trying to blend in and mingle with the bow tie and slacks on. But we all know he’s there, and we all know why. That’s a lot of how I feel about Ironman Coeur d’Alene this Sunday. There may be silence, but I know what’s coming. And oddly enough, the emotion isn’t fear, or even relief that it’s gonna be over in one short week. Nope, the dominant emotion is silence. Is that even an emotion, you ask? Well, it is now.
See, I know it’s gonna hurt, I know I’ll be tested and stretched and maybe even hurl a few times. But I signed up for this, my preparation has been absolutely flawless, and there are no excuses coming into this weekend. I’m gonna “run what I brung” fitness-wise, and see where the cards fall. If you are curious on Sunday, I’m number 287 or 288. Now how I got 2 numbers for the race, I’ll never know. Maybe they’ll let me bring a friend to jump in and do the race. Any takers? But for sure, the lady at Ironman headquarters told me no dice on getting 2 schwag bags. God forbid I get 2 license plate holders!
Anyway, I just wanted to take a quick second as well to thank all of you for the well wishes and votes of confidence for this weekend. No matter how many races you do, or where you fall in the race results, its always a big confidence booster to hear people are excited for you and will be cheering you on. Thank you, really. I can’t say it enough.
As for Sunday, the storm is coming. Whatever takes place in the week before doesn’t take my eye off of the 800 lb gorilla waiting to throw down on Sunday. I may be silent and calm now, but come Sunday…it’s on.

Thanks for reading

Banned in the USA!!!

2008-06-09T13:44:00.000-07:00

I figured I would hit up a little 2Live Crew in the title, and it may explain what exactly went down this weekend. If you'll look above, you'll see the REAL results of the Heatwave Triathlon in Ridgeland, Mississippi. However, if you went to the awards or looked online, you'll notice that my name is inexplicably left out of the results. How could this be, you ask? Well, it seems that USAT has McGruff the crime dog as an official. He deemed my Pimp daddy Jens Voigt Bell helmet illegal for this race. Now McGruff, being from the slow speaking part of the south(R_I_D_G_E_L_A_N_D, M_I_S_S_I_P_E_E), could not fathom that this helmet was not bought illegally by me and smuggled across the pond. No, this inbred Einstein was blown away that it was actually Jens' helmet(since his name was all over it), and was given to me as a gift. And no way could a helmet not for retail sale in the US could have a CSPC sticker (which it did). But the largest flaw in this whole fiasco, other than this guy's lack of tact and awareness of personal hygiene, was the fact that no official was at transition before the race to even check helmets. If he would have told me no way before the race, no matter what, I would have gotten my back up helmet. Instead he waited till I was out on the run to google the entire world of helmets so he could present his judge and jury verdict deeming me expelled from the race. Nevermind those silly iPod's people had on the course, or that he only checked my helmet. Even more curious was the "winner" of my age group was also from R_I_D_G_E_L_A_N_D. Interesting....

Anyway, aside from the assinine crap, it was cool to race with Jeremy and Will again. The swim was great (the blurry photo says 9:37, 11th fastest o/a), the bike was decent, even though I was still feeling pretty flat from the 1st week of taper (read, I didn't feel human yet, but not like I was run over by stampeding cows as was the situation earlier in the week). The run, well, I got to stop 3 times in the first 2 miles so I could remind myself why we don't mix strong gatorade for a short brutal-fast race. Silly rookie mistake, after 5 years in Triathlon. Maybe I'm the slow one? After I finally got rid of the stitch, it came together well. My "race" was good enough for 4th place overall. Before the McGruff incident, of course.

And yes, Jeremy beat me by 30 seconds. I outswam and biked him. But he got me BAD in the transitions, and on the run. So the belt was passed on to him. Even though I got beat, it was nice to see that spikey, gelled up club hair back in the transition area. Rivalry renewed!

After that episode, it's back to focusing on Coeur d'Alene, and getting mentally ready to go to the well for Ironman on the 22nd. Looking back now, it's just crazy that the race is here, and we're so close to dropping the gloves and gettin' it on. I feel that my preparation was as good as it can be. Now I just need to be patient (I know, it's a virtue...I don't have), and make some really good nutrition decisions so I don't pack on any Fattie McTaper weight. I also need to apparently wear a McGruff AND USAT approved helmet for CdA.

And as for someone calling me the "Bad Boy of Triathlon"? I have a bike with skull and crossbones on it. You think that's an accident?....

Clarity and a Peace offering

2008-05-21T12:49:00.000-07:00

How do I know that I’m doing enough training for the upcoming Ironman? I’m just about right when I’m trying to figure out ways to sleep at work, without people realizing that I’m actually sleeping. You know, the same way we tried to pull this off in high school? So, I figured I would drop in for a little bit, and end on a bit of a rant.

Training is good. The only rough thing is that there is a lot of it lately. I remember the good ole’ days when once a day training was the norm, and a two a days were “pushing the envelope.” Now, two a days are commonplace, and three a days are getting me on the bleeding edge. It’s amazing how the body adjusts to workout stress. Instead of accepting the adjustment, we continue to push that fitness envelope in search of the tired feeling that coddles us and comforts us into thinking that we have a proper workload for the upcoming race.
While I was still trying to recover from Gulf Coast last week, I was definitely still in need of some coddling. The highlights last week were a ride I’m not allowed to talk about, but will hence to forth be known only as “The 135”, and a brutal ride the next day with Mucho work followed by a brick run whose pace will only be described as “not cool”. So all in all, a pretty basic week. On Thursday, I’m packing up the trunks, runners, and wheels to go all Peter Reid one last time before Ironman. A place where the men are men, the sheep are nervous, and roads to nowhere go on for miles surrounded only by cotton fields. That’s right, Lake Bruin baby! It’s a great place to train, sleep, rinse, repeat. All the while not being distracted by anything remotely resembling technology (i.e. cell phone reception, Wi-Fi, and other fun time wasters). I’m even kicking around the idea of bringing the iScoot up there for some Motor pacing mayhem. But the jury is still out on that one.
Speaking of the iScoot, I have been riding it plenty but haven’t chased it yet. Benny is still willing to humble his 180+ mph machine to dragging me up and down the Youngsville/Abbeville highway, so the iScoot has been relegated to street go-kart, and general fun runner. Every time I ride that thing, I feel kind of like I’m breaking the law. Commuting shouldn’t be this fun.
Onto yesterday’s motor pacing session, and a bit of a rant with a splash of clarity. At the end of another successful (by successful I mean that I’m not sure if I wanna cry or wet my pants, or both at the end of the ride) session, Benny and I pull up to the corner of our route that pretty much signifies the end of the ride. It’s a long flat road, with a dip and a small incline, and we always drag race to finish the session with a high top speed. Anyway, off to the left was a lady, her car, a truck, and two of Youngsville’s finest in their squad cars. I noticed some fresh paint on the road, and the officers’ looking at us funny. Later on, I find out that only 20-30 minutes earlier at that exact corner, Jonathan Falgout was struck by the woman I saw sobbing by her car. While Jon and I aren’t close, I consider him a friend, a great ambassador for the sport of cycling, and a hard working athlete. At first, a feeling of panic rolled through my body, as this could have very easily been me that got hit. Same route, same time, same typical post-work driver carelessly going home and saying “Damn it! These skinny queers are just taking up the road. What the hell are they doing? Don’t they know it’s my time to go home. They are so inconsiderate! They need to get a damn job!” Or even worse, and in the case of this woman, she just wasn’t paying attention and never saw Jonathan till it was too late. Then I thought about this woman. I hope that she was sobbing because she temporarily took a dedicated, focused and hard working athlete out of the sport that he has sacrificed so much time and effort toward, instead of sobbing that she might be ticketed or her insurance go up. Then I thought about what I’d like to say to her if I had known the instant that our eyes met on that corner, that she had just hit Jonathan.
“See ma’am, you see a biker in tight clothes lying bloodied and battered on the asphalt with a shiny red, mangled bike tossed on the side of him. What I wish you would see are the tens of thousands of miles in his legs. I wish that you would see the dreams that he carries deep inside of him for the season ahead. Or the group of buddies that depend on him for stories and jokes on those long weekend rides, while depending on him to pull them back into the race or chase down a break in the heat of battle. I wish you would see the people that constitute his fan base, and watch with baited breath every pedal stroke of every race, hoping that his form is good, and cheering for him as today might just be his day for victory. See ma’am, I hope you and all of the other drivers see these things; not because cyclists’ want praise, awe or fame. I want you to see all of this so you realize we aren’t so different from each other after all. Cycling is a blue collar sport. Just like the job you put in countless hours at, cycling demands countless hours and miles for even the smallest hint of achievement, success and satisfaction. Sure, it’s a hobby and an extracurricular activity, but it’s a hard life and hard work nonetheless. And we fit it in the hard miles whether it be early, late, rainy, cold, windy, hot, or we plum just don’t feel like riding. We aren't solely bike racers. We are people just like you, strapped with life's responsibilities. We are husbands, fathers, youth coaches, doctors, engineers, accountants, students, mechanics, technicians and a million other different backgrounds. We fit it the hard miles around work, kids’ sporting events, family gatherings, birthday parties, etc. So see, ma’am, we aren’t so different from each other. I am very thankful that, while this was a tragic accident, Jonathan will be riding again soon. I hope that you and other drivers take away a lot more than you hit a biker, and he’s lucky to be alive. I hope you take away a respect for us for our dedication and sacrifice to get the hard miles in, no matter what; as we respect you for your desire to get home quickly and safely after a hard day’s work. Two blue collar people, sharing the same space in the universe for a split second in time. And maybe with this twinge of respect, we’ll co-exist peacefully as we both go up the road.”

Get well soon, Jonathan. God’s speed on your recovery.

Jonathan leading the TTT smackdown at a local race.

That's HOT!!

2008-05-16T12:32:00.000-07:00

So Gulf Coast Half Ironman has come and gone. Good times, and more importantly a good time for me to see how I’m progressing for Ironman Coeur d’Alene. No real excitement on the way up, except another example to solidify my theory that no one needs you at work until you’re gone. I put on the voicemail, Call me at XXX-XXXX if this is an EMERGENCY! Sure enough, I get a call. Is it an emergency? Hardly. The office world would be a better place if some people could wear footie pajamas to work. That way they could feel secure without calling just to hear you say that you’ll take care of things when you get back.
Anyway, back to the race. I get my crap at the expo, and am really excited to try and screw up my race. How? Well, I’m gonna run in the “Team issue” marble bag, aka Speedo, aka Man-kini. Never done before, not by this guy. So while I’m at it, I figure to go ahead and buy some new racing flats since mine are shot. Run them in the race? CERTAINLY! Anyway, the only semi-interesting things that happened pre-race are that I got Mean mugged (stared down for those not fluent in Ebonics) by Spencer Smith on his pink Planet X. Yeah, I know my bike is painted like a WWII plane, but yours is pink. And we are in the panhandle of Florida. When in Rome, Spencey boy. The second thing cool was I saw a Hoffbrauir House. The last time I was in one of those, I almost got jumped on the streets of Munich, got denied entry into some German clubs, and we climbed on a Smart Car. In short, it had sentimental appeal. I never did get to that place post-race, but I highly recommend it if you are in Panama City Beach, like beer, and getting plastered at a picnic table.
I didn’t sleep much the day before the race. No real reason, but I felt a bit off for the pre-race. Gulf Coast, while on basically the same general area as Ironman Florida, is WAY more low key than the money making, dream inducing juggernaut. Plus, they have wave starts. BIG PLUS! Anyway, we were the #6 wave, after pros and every woman in the race. I had Timmy Thomas in my wave, so I figured I’d let him know my swim strategy. “Timmy, I’m on you like a Prom date for the swim.” It worked out well, and despite the crazy swells (Some guy in a later wave drowned. Very sad, but proof that the sport is dangerous. So please be comfortable and confident in the water before tackling the distance you choose. That includes open water swimming!) I came out in 30min. Pretty slow, but most of the top guys in my age group were either right in front of me, or still swimming. Got on the bike, and just “Rolled dat Action!” Nothing real exciting. Tailwind out, brutal headwind back. I decided to spin on the way out, and use all the remaining bullets in my gun for the ride back. At the turnaround, I was in no-man’s land between the guys behind me and the pros. It was wicked tough staying focused and in rhythm. There was a group of 3 that included my buddy Will from Denmark and “THE” Jeff Cuddeback (holder of every Hawaii age group record), and they were maybe a minute down at the turnaround. I thought they would catch me, but for some reason they never did. Anyway, I was trying my best to book it down Beach Boulevard and into T2 because I knew I played my cards on the bike. Long story short, when I came through, the people were going crazy! The announcer said “Ladies and Gentlemen, our 1st Age Grouper is coming in off of the bike. We don’t even know who this kid is.” I wondered who he was too! He is pry more handsome than me, anyway. Then he said, “#637 from Scott, LA, John Fell.” Oh Shiite Muslim! That’s me. I’m in the front. This has never happened before. Cool. Well, the announcer decided this wasn’t enough, and wanted a during-race interview. I wished my mom happy mother’s day, and continued pimping out my costume for the run. Man-kini, check. Bret Michael’s bandana, check. Doper’s Suck wristband, check. 5 gallons of Body Glide just in case, check. Well, my meticulous preparation let my buddy Will out of transition before me. So into T2 1st, out of T2 2nd. NASCAR fans would be very disappointed in my pit stop. The chase was on, and I knew I had to close the gap to Will ASAP. See, I might have had too much information knowing that he had done Ironman Arizona in April. So I knew that the longer he held me off, the more confidence he would have in his abilities. So mile 1 was 6:08’ish, 2 was 6:20’ish, etc. until I closed the gap. Once I got there, I immediately attacked him. First was to get away in the neighborhoods, but more importantly I felt bad that he had too look at the horrible Man-kini Faris ensemble’ (Faris rocks his well, I don’t). Run was pretty good until the park. That was about the time that the cool morning breeze and clouds clocked out, and the brutal Florida sun checked in for work. From this point on, I couldn’t get enough water. This was to the delight of one aid station who I heard say, “OOOHHH. Here he come! Here he come! Get that boy some Wata!”; yet to the horror of another aid station where a mother had to tell her kid (who I’m pretty sure was scarred after seeing my outfit) “its ok honey, he’s not from America.” Anyway, I must have asked no less than 100 people from mile 9 on in, “How far is he back?” I got the same reply every time, “Who? There is no one back there.” I felt like a kid convinced the Boogie monster was under my bed. I held that last mile together with duct tape, a bandana, and a prayer. Came across in 4:34:16, and 1st in my age group. I was just happy that I got to race people, as sometimes triathlons involve no tactics, and are just an insanely long time trial.
Now it’s back to the grind of training, and trying to recover enough to get some long stuff in again, with 3 solid weeks of work before the taper begins. OH SWEET TAPER! How I long for thee! The only good thing about the Man-kini run outfit you ask, other than scaring people? Now I know I can pull off the “No speak Eng-leesh” if I need to…

Some pics from the Race (I know, it's like a train wreck. You don't wanna look, but you have to..)

Rollin' dat Action on the bike. And yes, I am proud of my white, Italian shoes....

No imagination necessary. Drink it in, ladies. Drink it in...

See VH1, I can look like a burnt out rock star too! Now, Gimme my own show!

The Ghost of Training Past

2008-05-06T08:53:00.000-07:00

I thought of this title, among other things, on a long ride I had. On the training side, I just started my second of two big blocks of super stupid, super crazy Ironamn training. The title reflects my and most people’s feelings that they aren’t doing enough training. Or more precisely, that the training I did last year was WAY harder, or WAY more volume than I am doing for this year’s rematch with Ironman Coeur d’Alene. That’s why I’m glad I keep a training log from years past, so I can see that I am not in fact behind in training. All those years of drinking well water out of the hose has somehow affected my ability to remember the past as it really was. I assume that most people do the same thing with their training, and look back and only remember the “Epic” workouts, or epic weeks within the training buildup. I do it, while simultaneously forgetting that most of those workouts landed me in Dr. Abshire or Dr. LaCaze’s office.
The second of these two build blocks is gonna be a little different this year from years past, in that I’m going to race Gulf Coast Half Ironman at the beginning of my first build week. Some say it’s stupid, I just think it’ll be a good way to get some race intensity in the mix as I felt I was a bit underdone on the intensity side when I raced Ironman CdA last year. I’ll then take a few days down time to absorb the race, and then hit it again. And of course, I’m looking forward already to going back to Lake Bruin to do my super – secret Peter Reid’esque, Epic camp at the lake. It’s kinda weird, but I’m actually enjoying the monster training, and will be a bit bummed when the Ironman build is over. I know that I don’t talk about training much in this blog, but I’ll carry on a bit for my sanity. Trying to be as objective as possible, I feel this is the first time since I’ve started triathlon (Ironman in particular) that I can finally do all of the stupid hard workouts that I read about, and not be cooked for 4 days afterwards. I had to chuckle Sunday, as I came in from a solo century training ride (oddly enough, my fastest ever century, and only stopped once for drinks), took a quick shower, and then headed to ENM’s house for Sunday dinner. 2 years ago, or even last year, that ride would have put me into a coma-like nap for hours. I guess the body really does just adapt to what it has to do. Why couldn’t I have taught it to throw a baseball 100+mph? Might have been a little more lucrativeJ
Benny S and my “Motorpace Chase” project has been a success. So much so, that I’ve bought a new bike. No, not the kind you pedal (Although some rumors that I do not like my Trek are going around, but that’s hogwash. I will, however, take bicycle shaped gifts….). Since it took me about 6 friggin’ months to find any half decent information on motorpacing, who really does it, and what kind of workouts to do, I’ll keep the detailed information to myself. Hell, it would be easier to find out a fraternity’s secret handshake than to get a pro to admit they motorpace, and what kind of workouts they do. Although I give mad props to Macca, as he answered all my questions about it, and steered me in the right direction on how to use the motorpace sessions. Yes, I got to talk to Macca on the phone, but no need to be impressed. I have no idea how I got in on the convo, but the information was priceless. So I’ll be bringing “The Pace Car” up to the lake for some “Motorpace Tag” on the desolate roads of Northeast Louisiana. I’m trying to talk my dad into wearing a Viking helmet while he’s on the scooter, but so far negotiations are going nowhere. As soon as I get my new steel, Italian steed I’ll post some pictures. Anytime I think of the new scooter, the chorus from Bon Jovi comes in my mind, “I’m a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride, cause I’m wanted, WANTED!, Dead or Alive!” That’s me, a cowboy on a scooter. Try not to laugh.
Racing wise, I’ll be heading off to Panama City Beach to race Gulf Coast this weekend. As if I don’t see that course often enough! If the condo I’m shacking up at has some Wi-Fi, I MIGHT post a pre-race blog. But for sure, I’ll be posting a post-race report, and maybe even some thoughts about if the change in training has helped or hurt the racing. Riveting stuff, I know. Maybe someone should alert the New York Times. This is Pulitzer Prize winning stuff! While the racing may or may not be great for me this weekend, I do plan on being victorious in the "Marble Bag Challenge" aka the Old School reunion. While it has been brought to my attention that I am too young to be old school, I'm going all out to trump the studs that were at Gulf Coast 10 years ago. My outfit, you ask? It's top secret like the Bat Cave. But I can give you a hint:

The noose around my feet

2008-04-22T13:41:00.000-07:00

Ok, now that stuff is actually happening in the world of triathlon, and I am doing a bunch of training and racing, I promise to update this most excellent blog more often. A quick recap for those watching at home. Raced a 5k, sneak attack style (or stealth as some would call it). Shooting for 17:30’ish. Ended up with an 18:26. Oops, kinda overshot it. Maybe next time. Then I started out my triathlon season with T-Gator #1. ENM swears that I won in her absence just to spite her. Looking out for my personal safety, I would completely disagree with her. Fast forward two weeks, and LA Triathlon was on the books. Jimmy B invited me to his camp, err, gi-normous house, so that I didn’t have to wake up uber-early to get to the race. I was mucho appreciative of the gesture, even though I failed his IQ test in figuring out the meaning behind the name of his camp. Race morning was pretty uneventful, except for the body marking incident and the run transition incident. Oh yeah, and the bike incident. Quite a few incidents, when I think about it. The body marking and run transition were one in the same, as a volunteer went ahead and reminded me that “Jesus was 33 when he died”, while I was teasing Will about his age. Uh, yeah lady, way to go. Mortality is almost a guaranteed to halt any conversation. This same lady came out of the woodwork, and tried to convince me as I’m leaving on the run that I was to in fact, ignore the large Orange RUN spray paint with arrows pointing in the direction I was headed. Visions of the heckler from Happy Gilmore popped in my head, as I kindly told her to lock it up, and continued following the large orange spray painted arrows. The race was fun, and I actually came out of the water with the leaders (my super-secret swim training is encoded in the title). As for the bike, I slipped a pedal, gashed my knee; f’d up my front derailleur, and drove the bus to the turnaround before getting destroyed. I pressed the gas on the run, and my legs said “Not today, junior.” All in all, a good time had by all. 3rd place was still a solid result, and I was glad to drink all the Monster energy drink I could get my hands on afterwards. Funny thing is that on the way home, ENM asked, “How does it feel to win and finish 3rd in your first two races of the season?” Well, honestly, it feels about the same as finishing two races in the top half, I guess. A lot of pain, followed by cookies and coke.
What I’m really excited about is the Ironman training block I’m in now. Knocking down some quality work in the past two weeks, and I’m looking at a killer schedule this week before I take some down time. Another cool note is that I found someone who actually enjoys motor pacing me. So that is working out quite nicely, although I think he’s just entertained by the folks coming the other way with looks of disbelief and shock on their face. Some dude almost put his truck in a ditch from staring too long the last time we went. Speaking of the moto, I am in the market for a scooter. So if you know of anyone who has a quality used one they aren’t using and wanting to get rid of, email me.
That’s it from mundane Ironman training world. And yes, of course, that Triathlon Championship belt resides in my living room now! VICTORY! Of course, Will informs me that the last race of the year is a duathlon. This belt could be switching hands more than a mortgage bank.

Thanks for reading....

DJ Dazzle

2008-03-25T13:30:00.000-07:00

It’s been so long, I even thought this blog was dead. No excuses, except that I pen about 3 entries in my head per week. But they don’t get finished, and they definitely don’t make it to your high contrast computer screen. I even started one that I’m really excited about, called “Losing Yourself.” And no, it’s not where I re-enact the Eminem video from the song of same name. Anyway, the quick and dirty update is that I started training after the cold spell, like everyone else. It just took me a little longer, as my girls on the soccer team just refused to lose so I could start training. I even tried to drag them all the way up to Shreveport, and play in February weather in a gigantic stadium so they might lose. No dice. They just kept winning. The result? See the picture below. Someone asked which was cooler, winning a state championship, or finishing Ironman. Well, my teammates and I could never stay sober long enough to actually commit to working toward winning a state championship as a player, so I can’t answer the question. But the state championship from a coaching point of view is way more stressful. You are managing talent, health, emotions, schoolwork, injuries, egos, etc. Ironman is just primal. Fear, adrenaline, and moving forward. Plus, I never get interviewed for Ironman, where I have to be politically correct and nice; for fear that I might hurt someone’s feelings. Nope, Ironman is basic, and I’m a simple dude. Ironman is easier, but the soccer thing was worth all the struggle.

Back to the triathlon grind. Went and did a few early season races, and was actually surprised where my fitness is right now, as compared to this time last year. Although, to sum it up for you, I got chicked at the T-Gator Duathlon (but so did everyone else who’s name isn’t Deshotels), actually had my pedal come off in Rouge Roubaix, but got to hang out with Pat Fellows for 5+ hours. When you get the chance to visit with someone who swam continuously for 34 miles (yes, miles), you take it and become all ears. That summed up my Rouge Roubaix, and we got motorpaced a little while by an official’s motorcycle. Now I know why the Euro dudes are so fast. After that, I went to do a local 5k, and actually beat a few high school cross country dudes. I set my sights a bit high, but still had a good time. All the while, trying to nail it all down for one more shot at Coeur d’Alene. That’s all the training and racing so far in a nutshell. I’ve got some exciting things on the horizon, but I’ll keep them in my bag for later.

On a not-so-cool note, some of my training homies, and members of the Two Dragons are out of racing/training for a bit. So it looks like while the Two Dragons membership has dwindled from 3 to 1 (although our buddy Brad tried to initiate himself into Two Dragons by getting a huge tattoo of a dragon on his right arm. Either that, or he got it so he could get discounts at Chinese buffets), I’ll still be out and about in the racing scene. The prelim schedule of where I’m renting transition space is over on the right. Hopefully, JJ makes his way back in the racing groove in time for summer smack down, and KSP can be Yoda to all of us young Jedi’s trying to realize that pesky little dream of racing Ironman in October.

Speaking of smack down, Will J Boggs has decided to throw a pro-wrasslin’ flair to the Lafayette racing scene. He won the inaugural battle with B.Rider in the Opelousas du, and thus retains the beautiful piece of plastic you see below. I just warn you William J, the challenges to your belt will come fast and furious, and most importantly, these challenges will have swimming as a part of the fun. None of this run/bike/run silliness. Weren’t you almost famous at that discipline once? At one race, a long time ago? Oh yeah, that’s just what Lafayette triathlon needs, a little WWE flair.

In parting, I’ll quote Ferris Bueller on the state championship experience, and bringing home that big wooden trophy: “It is so choice. If you have the means, I highly recommend picking one up.”

Thanks for reading….

PS What is with the name of this entry, you ask? Well, I met a friend of ENM's named Nick. But EVERYONE called him by his nickname, "DJ Dazzle". How cool is that nickname? And no one knew why they called him that. Needless to say, for the rest of the night, I had nickname envy.

Big Bag 'O Pain, served with a side of Mud

2008-01-11T11:49:00.000-08:00

All I can say is, ouch. I did my first cyclocross race this past weekend. I really didn't know what I was expecting, but definitely not that kind of brutality. All in all, it was 30 minutes of my life that took me back to the joys of club soccer, where I'd routinely get that blood taste in my mouth from running so hard, and wheezing in the lungs. Seriously, my buddy Nic told me to go all out from the gun, so I could pick my line instead of being behind people. Well, I went out really hard, and ended up 2nd after the first lap. And it was all downhill from there. Not literally, though. When people laugh at tri-geeks for their bike handling, I used to wonder why. Not anymore. I now know that I've got the bike handling ability of a hippopotamus jumping rope. I went as hard as 4 bike rides since Florida would let me, and figured I'd check my watch to see how deep into the race I was. 10 minutes! Oh boy, this is gonna be interesting. But apparently God has a sense of humor, as my front derailleur cable came undone, and I only had my small chainring in the front. Which was a blessing, as the last 10 minutes of the race saw me struggling with the 39-26 up the side of the velodrome.

All in all, I had fun, got muddy, saw my highest bike heartrate in 4 years, and I got to clean off in the sink of a public bathroom before I drove back home. Sounds like a successful outing to me. And yes, I'm already plotting my '08-'09 cyclocross season, complete with a possible trip to Nationals, and how long I need to rest after IM Florida. And the 'cross track at my house is done and rideable, so I'll be working on getting faster so I can not suck as bad at my next race.

One more thing before I go. A tip, if you will. Don't wear your Ironman Finisher t-shirt in public. I was scared for my life, as two guys at my gym wanted to talk to me about the shirt, and congratulate me on the accomplishment. One saying that he wasn't sure if he could handle doing an Ironman. Why is this a problem? The guy saying it was a Cage Fighter. As in, a professional UFC ass kicker. He beats people up on the weekends. Way more impressive than wearing a pointy helmet and spandex all day. So I gave him the shirt after he promised not to choke me out. I got away lucky. So, be careful out there...

Some pics to amuse you:

The calm before the storm. And yes, the large guy in purple kicked my butt. Who didn't?

So you're supposed to go this fast the whole time? I'm in trouble...

Yes, I know, too many Christmas cookies. I'm just taking after my hero, Jan Ullrich.

Pics from the trenches....

2007-12-23T08:46:00.000-08:00

You think you can ride this? First test of da track, da Monster.

Need help washing your bike after the ride? Rick the pit boss can help you out....

The recovery food of champions. It's why the Belgians go so fast...

Next ride, Sunday Dec. 30th. Want in? Bring your bike, an apron, and waffle mix. Rookies make the waffles...

Waffles, Cross, and Swamp Mud

2007-12-22T14:45:00.000-08:00

The very first annual Swamp 'cross festival took place today. It was waffles, riding, and plenty of swamp mud for all. A record crowd was on hand to see the new cyclocross track. Of course, if it was the first event, then it would be a record, no? Anyway, pics to come as I forgot my mini USB to upload pics. Just know that there was plenty of laughs, mud, falls, and waffles with Nutella, powdered sugar, whipped cream, and berry jam for everyone.

Stay tuned, as the second Waffles, Cross, and Swamp mud is slated for next Sunday (Dec. 30th). Rookies get to make the waffles...

Some Update Pics

2007-11-28T12:47:00.000-08:00

First is my 17.8 lb UFC cage fighter. AKA Operation Mud, Cowbells, Gin & Trombones. Man, I love Belgium!

Second is me meeting the Grip. If you're involved in triathlon, and don't know who this is, return your USAT card right now. And FYI, he didn't wear one piece of M Dot attire any time I saw him.

Obsession

2007-11-24T20:09:00.000-08:00

You would think that after an Ironman, you’d give yourself some time to relax and just absorb the events of the year, and try and recharge from all the energy spent pulling off the first two Ironman year I’ve done. No, I’m not that smart. The weekend after Florida found me in Austin. Now even if I was just in Austin to hang out, it would have been cool. The whole town has a cool hippie/fitness vibe. And they have the world’s largest Whole Foods. So I cruised around with the baddest bike racer I know, Shontelley-hoo, and we cruised the town. Anyway, I went to Austin to hear the Grip speak in a weekend long workshop. The Grip, as in Mark Allen. I won’t bore you with the details, as it was the best money I’ve spent on triathlon outside of race fees. Such a cool experience, and definitely not “I’m great, grandiose, and you can only hope to be a fraction as good as I was”speaking engagement that you would come to expect from a 6-time world champion. Quite the opposite, actually. Mark is very unassuming, and so approachable. Anyway, great times, and I’m still buzzing from the experience.

So what the hell do I do with “all this spare time” and get away from triathlon? Well, I took 2 weeks COMPLETELY off. I mean, I haven’t run outside of the “Run with Mark Allen” run at the workshop. As for biking, I’ve just been having fun on the singlespeed, and noodling around to and from work. But I really needed something to spark off the pre-season, without the boredom of all those familiar training routes that are mind numbingly burned into my brain. So I fell way off the wagon and found a new winter obsession. The picture is below. What the hell is that, you ask? Where are the aerobars? Well, it’s a cyclocross bike. As in a road bike that you ride on hardpack trails and gravel roads. No computer, no intervals, just mud, riding, and fun. I did my first ride on it Thanksgiving day. I can’t remember when I had more fun on a bike. I had mud in my teeth because I was smiling and laughing the ENTIRE ride. Super simple, and super cool. Anyway, its pretty fun getting muddy on a ride, and saying, “sweet” when the pavement ends on your ride, instead of saying “Oh shit!” like you do on that pretty carbon tri bike.

So why cyclocross? Is it necessary? Well, not really. But the bike is orange, it’s named “Gin and Trombones”, and most importantly, it’s a new sensation while still getting in some good cycling miles. And Dr. Joe said training is all about keeping that central nervous system on it’s toesJ

So like any good obsessive, compulsive, Type A dude, I had to research this cyclocross phenomenom. So, I’ve watched a million YouTube cyclcocross videos, planned my first race in Houston in January, and am even gonna build a cyclocross track in my front/back yards. It’s good cause it takes the ole’ mind off of triathlon, racing, eating like a Buddhist monk, and obsessing about training for next year. Instead, I’m laughing at the characters of this new, cool cycling bastard child. Guys like Barry Wicks, Ryan Treborn, and Jeremy Powers. And I can definitely get excited about any sport that encourages drinking for spectators, and for heckling the racers. Sounds fun to me. So cyclocross is my new obsession. That is, of course, until it warms up…

Ironman Florida, The Soundtrack

2007-11-09T22:08:00.000-08:00

Forgive me for the odd title of this race report. On the weekend before Ironman Florida, ENM and I escaped to my parents’ camp to chill out, get my mind right, and do a little training before the race. While we were sitting on the dock, Elyse said “You know how every movie or TV show you watch, the music always fits the situation perfectly? Wouldn’t it be cool if we got to choose the music for our life? Kinda like a soundtrack.” So, indulge me if you would. While I write this, I’ve put the song I’ve chosen as my Ironman Florida soundtrack on repeat. Five For Fighting’s “Superman (It’s not Easy).” Before you call me a grandiose prick because I think I’m Superman, go ahead and buy it from iTunes, and let it repeat while you read this.

Everything that could have went wrong race week did go wrong. All sorts of extra-curricular stuff with coaching soccer, obligations, and basically everyone “needed me for just one second.” Needless to say, I was stoked when Wednesday morning rolled around. I packed up the car and went down to Panama City. I figured that I would stop off at the Whole Foods in Baton Rouge and my addiction, the Nike store in Gulfport. Well, that put me in Panama right as registration closed, which was the only reason I went down on Wednesday. Silly me and my addictions. Anyway, my friend Julie and her husband were cool enough to let me sleep in a spare bedroom since my room wasn’t ready till Thursday. Florida was her first race, and she was surprisingly calm. But I did talk her out of carrying 16 gallons of water/Gatorade/gu for race day. From the time I got there, the weather was unreal. Just perfect. The water, well it looked like that pretty blue that you get when you use the Brand name “2,000 Flushes”, not the cheap Wal-Mart knockoff. Thursday was silly, as we waited in line for like an hour to register. Friday was a blur as well, and I entertained myself with bouts of eating dark chocolate Peanut M&M’s, watching “Talladega Nights” and going down to the race expo to see how many Timex hats I could get for free. Although, I had this nagging doubt in my head that I wasn’t ready like I was for Coeur d’Alene. Amazing how hindsight on a race that has passed makes you feel like you were so confident, when I was probably feeling as nervous and unprepared as I did in Florida. One thing I was worried about was my core alignment, as I quit going to Dr. Joe after Coeur d’Alene. Not because his program didn’t work (because his program IS THE JAM!!!), but I just was running out of time every week in training, and that was (stupidly on my part) the first thing to go. Well, Dr. Joe was coming to see his first Ironman in person, and I got to see him Friday night. He stretched me, checked my alignment, and deemed me fit to fly. On a deep level, it made me a lot more relaxed.

Race morning came, and I was so nervous that I couldn’t get food down. 2 Ensures and a bagel with Nutella and some juice. And that almost came up. I got to transition at 5:30, and like the Type A people most triathletes are, 80% of the racers were already there. So that meant a line to the porta-potties like a mile long. When this happens, I always turn into inspector gadget, looking for a hidden gem of a porta-stop. Well, I found one, even the nice one with handicap access and enough room to dance around. After that, my dad and I did the ritual we started in September of 2003. He holds the tube of KY jelly, while I put it everywhere and get my wetsuit on. And naturally he laughs at the awkwardness of this father/son bonding moment. After I got my wetsuit on, we hug, he tells me to go fast, and I go to the beach. I felt kinda like a NASCAR crew chief, as I had to make a tactical decision to go with regular tint goggles that would be good for the sun just coming up on the first loop, or the mirrored daddies for the glare of the second loop sun. I chose the latter (good move). The swim was eventless, and felt effortless. Except I poked a hole in my new wetsuit. Pissed? Yep. Got out in 1:01:xx and was stoked. I swam super easy, kicked the dude’s ass with the snorkel that I saw, and was right where I needed to be. Of course, after I got my wetsuit stripped, I cramped like an idiot. I blame the wetsuit stripper, as I think he’s got a vendetta against me because I’m better looking!

Pointy hat, shoes, and my pimp daddy new Neon Limited edition Oakley’s (Thanks Capital Cyclery. Even the Euro-dudes were jealous of my glasses). Now onto the steed. What is there to say about the bike ride? I was patient the first 30 minutes, and came up on Jeremy. We both said the same thing at the same time, “Jeremy, how’d you get out of the water before me?” I told him I was kickin’ it old school with Scuba Steve. He understood. Back to the bike, I had always heard tales of “The Kona Train.” It was basically a pack of riders that used the 7 meter draft rule to string out, and form a train. How’s that help? Turn off your brain for 5 hours and just look at the dude in front of you and ride. Then get back to me. Well, the train went by me like I was standing still. I looked at the SRM and decided against it. Then, the voice of Yoda, aka Ken “back when I did Kona in ‘07” St. Pe’ came into my head. “John, that SRM is nice. But sometimes, you just gotta nut up and ride.” Just as I thought about this, a train of 3 guys came by. Now or never, just hang on. The rest of the ride was a blur. If I may steal lyrics from the soundtrack, “Men weren’t meant to ride with clouds between their knees.” That’s what I felt like, just flying. It was almost surreal. And yes, the rumors are true. There was some blatant cheating going on out there. I’ll call out Billy Dean Johnson (#488). You, sir, are the most memorable cheater I saw. Blatantly sucking wheel should be punished, and that 5 hour marathon isn’t punishment enough. Just know I saw you, and so did Santa. Just as I started to get frustrated with the cheating, Jeremy came by and said some pearls of wisdom, “Don’t worry bro. They can’t hide on the marathon.” And coming into transition off the bike, all I could think about was shredding this run.

Keith was a saint in transition, and put sunscreen on my bald-ass head, since I had to wear my new Infinit visor (Thanks Michael!). I took off and forgot my concentrated Infinit for the run. In a game day move, I left it. I would survive on salt pills, coke, Gatorade, and balls out running. I wish I could tell you what I thought about during the run. There was really no thought, just rhythm. I saw Jeremy about a minute up on me at the turnaround in the state park. Once again, I was confused as I came in the bike before him. Maybe he’s related to Harry Potter? Could be the spike perfect hair. In any event, I was not seeing too many people that didn’t have a P on their leg. I kinda started to wonder if I went too hard on the first part of the run. I pulled out my paper, and saw I was on pace for a 3:12 marathon. I trained my ass off for a 3:05, so I knew I wasn’t too far off. The run back into town was pure. I’ve never felt as perfect, effective, and methodical as I did on that second 6.5 miles. Hit the turnaround in 1:36:xx, and just knew it was on. I saw my support crew, and knew it was now or never. They didn’t come to see me finish, they came to see me fly. For this one moment, I was their hero. Even heroes have a right to dream. This was it, I knew for sure I put together the race of my life. My dream of going to Kona, my day was upon me. My buddy Jantzi found me in the state park, and did the customary lying, telling me that I looked great. When I saw him again, he asked if I wanted to know where I was in the race. Of course, that’s why I’m here. He said 11^th, and at that instant I felt my chest explode. My dream just bled out hearing those words. The closest guy was 3 minutes up the road, and the top 4 were long gone. I started to cramp on the top and bottoms of my hamstrings. The adrenaline and focus I was running on was starting to fade. It was time gut it out, and find the better part of me. That part you find on mile 22 of the marathon, where all the confidence, planning, and intelligence is gone. You are left with who you really are, and find out what you really have, which is courage, hope and love. And even though I write this, I still can’t fathom being at that point. I guess it’s really “Not easy being me.” So I finally come to grips with the fact that my best race isn’t getting me to Kona. I told myself, “Fu$k Hawaii.” I’m going down fighting today. Jantzi came back and told me that I might have a chance to go under 9:30, and that he was in awe of what he was seeing. I thought, “In awe of who? I’m running like a 65 year old dude with a hunched back.” When he said those words, I remembered my crew. The people who had as much invested in this as I did. The selfless dedication to helping with training, feeding me, kicking it with my dog. Anything to make my life easier, and so I could fly a little higher. I needed 2 miles in 17 minutes. It’s on, I told myself. It’s time to give back to them.

It doesn’t matter how many Ironman races I do, the last mile is still so emotional. I’m such a soft little girl, but I just started crying. I came down the finishing chute, and saw that 9:29:xx. It was mine to be had. All the runs that started at 4am, all the crazy ass bike rides, swimming underwater down and backs. All worth it. I just fell into ENM’s shoulder, snotted all over her shirt, and cried. Mark Allen said somewhere, “To go faster than you’ve ever gone, you have to go to where you’ve never been.” It’s so true, and so simple. I went so hard, I left a piece of me out there Saturday. And I did for my people, my support crew, my loved ones. Because as I’m listening to the soundtrack, I realize that I’m the man in the phony red sheet. They are my supermen.

Thanks for reading...

In your FACE!

2007-10-30T08:05:00.000-07:00

#295. The reality of them dishing out your race number makes you aware that race day is almost here. Funny thing, a guy I know is doing Florida asked if I was nervous. Am I nervous? Does a bear crap in the woods? Of course I’m a bit nervous. I just don’t want to get eaten by a shark, kicked in the face, or fall off my bike at high speed (or any speed). Seriously, I think that there are a bit of nerves before every Ironman, no matter how many you do. I am eerily calm/wigged out as I think my body is convinced that this taper is not for a race, but for the end of the season. I think the ole’ body will get a bit of a jolt come Saturday morning.
As is my theme lately, I apologize for the lack of updates. I’ll bore you really quick with the training. Hammered it for 3 weeks (20+ each week), then recovery week, then 3 week taper. As for questioning if I should have done more for this Ironman, I’m really questioning more if I should put my Bontrager Speed Bottle (Thanks Capital Cyclery!!) on the down tube or seat tube of the Jet fighter. And if I should put Red Bull or Infinit in the Speed Bottle. Decisions, decisions. Really glad I’ve got stupid questions to occupy my time as opposed to obsessing about the details of training that has already passed.
Anyway, I’m off to Florida on Wednesday (tomorrow), meet up with some friends, go to packet pick up, sneak a ride in, and sleep. Thursday will be more of the same. If you are looking for a party on Saturday and will be in Panama City, check out in front of the Gulf Crest condos (right at the first turn on the run). My parents made a gumbo, and will generally treat this like a Mardi Gras/tailgate party. All day. Stop by and tell them that you know me and read my babbling on the internet. My mom will probably be impressed, not because you read the blog, but because you’re there for gumbo.
Now, for shameless self-promotion (as if the past 2 paragraphs weren’t enough?), if you want to follow Ironman Florida, but don’t feel like being chained to the computer on Sunday, go to www.ironmanwireless.com , and enter in the numbers of people you want to receive updates on (hint, #295, hint). Then whenever one of your selected friends crosses a line, you will get a text message with the update. I did this for KSP when he went to Hawaii. Made it nice to know what was happening during the day.
A quick good luck to all of the people doing the Cajun Cup 10k. Mr. Castille is rumored to be back in town, so enjoy watching a National caliber runner shred the streets of Lafayette. Well, you’ll at least be able to see him for 600 yards or so.

And yes, for Florida, I’m all in…

Some Cajunman pics

2007-09-13T12:05:00.000-07:00

The man, the myth, the legend. Mentor to me and JJ, accomplished everything in triathlon, and can still dress like a frat boy. If we did a rendition of Star Wars, KSP would be Yoda.

Since we started the 2 dragons photo in Wisconsin, KSP figured we should keep it going since we all raced. Isn't it amazing that JJ's hair is still all spikey and club-perfect even after swimming, biking and running? And no, the kid in the background IS NOT my illegitimate son...

Patience is a card game?

2007-09-12T08:03:00.000-07:00

"Even if training goes perfectly, triathlon is 90% failure, and 10% success. You have to accept that." – Hamish Carter, 2004 Olympic Gold Medalist in Triathlon

I put the quote above because it was in an interview of Hamish that I read last week leading up to Cajunman, and it was the one thing that I pondered every workout leading up to the race. I’ve always wondered how a pro cyclist, swimmer, etc. could train their whole lives for one day, one gold medal, one Tour stage victory. All those years, for one day. I wish I could tell you I thought about my bike set up, or when that crazy Lacey girl would get booted from the “Rock of Love” show with Bret Michaels. But unfortunately, this week was deep thoughts courtesy of Hamish Carter.

The short version of my Cajunman report goes like this. I’m no poker player, but my race did come up “All Aces” just like I hoped for. Problem is, Mr. Rowlland had a Royal Flush :)

The long version is that I knew I was “All in” for this race. The first part of the week, I was a bit nervous. Did my mouth write a check my body couldn’t cash? I said I was going to race for the overall. Could I do it? Would things fall in place? Well, I go back to that Hamish Carter quote. After a few training sessions of this quote on my mind, I realized that I could prepare perfectly, and something could still go awry. As is the nature of Triathlon. You’re trying to peak your best effort on race day, for three separate and totally unrelated sports. In short, the stars don’t line up very often. After I accepted that there was a good chance I could go in prepared, and not achieve the “desired result,” I felt a lot less pressure.

Anyway, we were the 4th wave to go off. Some dude grabbed my shoulder at the gun and pulled me under, and then another guy grabbed my ankle and pulled me backwards. Not cool. So after that, I basically swam as hard as I could to get away. I finally got clean water after the 1st bouy, and just started the 1-2-3-breathe stroke rhythmn. Almost got kicked a few times when we swam through swimmers from previous waves. My goggles fogged up after the last bouy. Good thing they have those gigantic escape capsules hanging over the water.
I forgot about the long first transition to the bikes. So I got out, and basically sprinted to my bike. Passed a ton of people doing that, and it apparently paid off for the overall race.
Right as I got to my bike, my dad yelled that my buddy Will was a minute up the road on me. Dude, I was pissed. I thought how did he outswim me so bad? He must be stealth training like mad. Anyway, I tore out of T1, and dropped the hammer on the bike immediately. It wasn't till about halfway down Garber Rd. that I realized Will started in the wave ahead of me. So he had a 4 min head start. The bike was good, and I really focused on all of the mental keys and visualization that I had been practicing. I think it really helped with keeping me on task. Once I took a right onto the road that takes you to the St. Martinsville highway, I saw JQ walking his bike back. He yelled at me to go for it, so I pushed the envelope a bit further. Another thing that was awesome about the bike ride was the millions of times I've ridden that course. I was able to bury my head in my hands (a la Landis/Levi) a few times because I knew the road so well. I was out front the whole ride, and had no idea where JJ or Brandon Guillory were. I knew that they could legally work together, and would pry reel me back in. So I just kept the mental side sharp, and told myself, "If you're gonna do it, you better do it on the bike." Another thing I think helped was the big gear work I've been doing for IMFL, as well as the longer tempo intervals. For the first time in a while, I was bummed that the bike ride was over. I felt better as it went longer, plus the dismount with people who haven’t practiced “the flying barefooted two-hander” ever and try it on race day makes me nervous. As fate would have it, one dude did endo right in front of me on the dismount.
Onto the run. Cotton States was fresh in my mind, coupled with the fact that Brandon Guillory was a track stud at LSU. Can you say "National Champs?" Plus, JJ has historically kicked me in the teeth on the run. But I didn't want to go out too hard on the run like I did at Cotton States. So I just let my mind go blank, and counted steps. I thought I was having a decent race, until I caught Norman Nolan. He had a 4min jump on me, and I knew that if I caught him, I must be going very well. This guy is top 10 in just about every sprint race he enters. I saw the studs going the other way (Johnny D, Neil Rowlland, KSP, etc.) right as I started to struggle/think I'm losing pace. Gave me a little motivation to crank it up as they didn't seem too far out from where I was. I got to the turnaround, and Brandon and JJ were MAYBE 15-20 sec down on me. As soon as I saw that, I knew it was now or never. I had to go right then. I just told myself to hammer till the top of the hill. As soon as I got to the hill, I saw a buddy of mine, and he told me I'd better go right now. So I went as hard as I could again. It was about then that the lack of oxygen to the brain forced a halucination/zen moment. I had a lead on JJ and Brandon. I was close to the overall. This was one of only 2 things I've ever wanted in triathlon. I needed to bury myself. Go to the pain cave, and stay down there. Have a sandwich, stay a while. I would listen to people who passed me. If they were wearing BR Tri stuff, I waited to hear how long after I passed them that they said, "Go Brandon." or from Lafayette people "Get em Jeremy." But I never heard anything. I was too scared to turn around, because I was afraid that they would be right on my hip, just waiting to nip me at the line. I finally got a glance back when I turned the corner to the finish. No one. Not even in sight. I quickly forgot about that and hammered it home. I went so hard on that run, I couldn't even wait for the girl to take off my timing chip. I had to lay down and get air. The last time I was content to lay on a dirty carpet square was kindergarten.

After the race, Jeremy said he and Brandon were going all out to reel me in. So when I went at the turnaround, I was able to gap them and hold it. Good info to know now, but racing up front is never fun. But it did help my mental game, and to stay focused. So much of this short course stuff is a gamble. If you'll have it on race day. If you're body does what you ask.

It's funny, but all I've been thinking about since the race is how long its taken to have this race. Its the biggest result I've ever had in triathlon. And it took many years of "waiting" for the perfect race to come together. Or as I told my dad, “I put in over 400 hours so far this year for a wooden plaque. I’d be filthy rich if I put in those hours at work!” I think I can still go faster, but that was a race where everything did just fall right into place. Overall, the coolest part of the race was all of the people telling me congratulations and genuinely happy for my good result, and my family and ENM able to be there for it. Hell, even my mentor KSP stayed around for my award (Really, I think he just wanted more free beer!) On our run today, I told him that the feeling of “team, community, and all of our training crew sharing the success” was what I wanted when I started road racing. That feeling of “my win is your win”, and “We train together, so when one of us does well, it is a victory for all of us” is something that I have really found in triathlon. All this positive energy has me excited about Florida. The race was a good injection of motivation that my training is moving me in the right direction. 2nd place is still one step off of my 1st ever triathlon goal. But if its all the same, I’ll enjoy my 4 aces, even if Mr. Rowlland’s Royal Flush won him the pot.

Thanks for reading....

Inspire

2007-09-06T08:07:00.001-07:00

Just a fun fact. The little prince makes his return to the ranch tomorrow. Mainly to terrorize swimmers, and tear up all the plants in my flower beds. I’m looking forward to it. I attached a picture. I think he looks very distinguished and well behaved. I have a feeling looks will be deceiving when he returns home from puppy college.

Anyway, this weekend a friend of mine got married, and I had to wear a tux. I felt much like a dog in a sweater. Ever seen a dog in a sweater? He’s not happy about wearing it, and I wasn’t too keen on wearing my tux either. Anyway, I ran into a kid I went to high school with. We visited, and his girlfriend walked up. He introduced me as “a guy I went to High School with. I took his sister to homecoming. He took me to pick out my first tie. I still have that tie.” Honestly, I had completely forgotten about that. But it was cool to be reminded that he kept that tie, and it was how I would be remembered in his mind. This little exchange got me thinking about inspiration. You would think being at a wedding would get me thinking about marriage. No dice. I can commit to Ironman training, but have little interest in life commitment. What does that mean? (Paging Dr. Freud…) Back to my thoughts on inspiration.
What is it like to inspire? Is it more inspirational to motivate people through speech, or to lead people through your actions? Is it inspirational if people live vicariously through you? How do you inspire people? Do you inspire people? I pondered this while cutting the grass. Thank goodness cutting the grass only takes an hour. I’d hate to see what I would think up if I had more time.
I came up with just living is to inspire. Live a life where you can wake up every morning, and look yourself in the eye with dignity, and tackle the day as it comes at you. Little snippets of goodness and inspiration will happen without you even knowing. The funny thing is, you probably don’t see yourself as inspirational. I don’t. But its true. If you’re reading this, chances are that you are some way tied to endurance sports (or you’re a stalker. And if you’re a hot lady stalker, I’ll warn you that my girl ENM can fight. But maybe we can make a Pay-Per-View out of it?) Anyway, my point is that the way you live life is inspiring. No need to be cheesy and get in peoples’ faces about motivation and “getting out there”. Just live. Exist. Pass a kind word every now and again. The smallest compiments you give could be the most inspiration someone has in a week. I know I was a bit down and doubtful this week about my condition for Cajunman, but I got a little boost when an elder statesman of triathlon around here (who looks eerily like Antonio Banderas), told me I was rockin’ my pool workout. He pry doesn’t remember saying anything, but it got me through my puke style swim set.
Before you run off to inspire the world, or blow this blog off as crap, just take a minute to reflect on the people you may have inspired. The people that have started exercise since meeting you, or asking about your races, training, or what is new on the horizon. Think about those people that you may have helped do their first 5k, triathlon, or even marathon. Think about the people you may have inspired to go back to school, pursue a dream, take on the world. There’s a lot of people in this world, and a lot of opportunity. Live, laugh, love. But most importantly, Carpe Diem.
As for Carpe Diem, congrats to my boy BTrumps. He mentored his friend through the Pocatello marathon in Idaho. Something about Idaho and picturesque doesn’t go together in my head, but I think the residents of Idaho do that on purpose so not everyone moves there. But every picture I’ve seen is awesome. Also on the theme of Carpe Diem, Cajunman is this weekend. 1st, 10th, or 40th overall. The result isn’t the victory, but me finally having the huevos to put out to the public that I’m going “All in” for this race. Win or Lose, go as fast as possible for the 800m/20mi/5k triathlon. Hopefully I turn up all Aces….

Thanks for reading.

Lane 4, until the run at least...

2007-08-17T08:06:00.000-07:00

A buddy of mine and I have a saying we use when talking about workouts. His daughter is a superstar swimmer at a Div. I school, so he’s down with the swimmer lingo. So anytime he or I have a good workout or race, we say “I was in lane 4 today.” Which in swimmer talk is good, cause the fastest qualifier for the finals gets lane 4. So that explains the title a bit. Onto the race recap.
The return to short course racing was a fun, yet painful experience. We packed up the truck (literally, since my dad’s truck had a bunch of stuff in the bed, the jet fighter sat in my lap for an hour) and headed up to Lake Providence for the Cotton States race. We get there, and all is well and good. I was in the 2nd wave, and figured that the winner would come from the 1st wave, so I asked my dad to start his watch as soon as the first guy from that wave came in off the bike. I figured with the 5min gap, I could adjust as I needed to try and win the race. I had really kicked around the idea of going old school on this race, and rockin’ out the man bra (aka Manzierre) and a Speedo. At the end of the day, I chickened out and went with the Manzierre and some DeSoto shorts. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, as I would have been trumped. Some dude rolled up in a Speedo, compression Under armor long sleeve shirt tucked into the Speedo, and a snorkel for the swim. Really, I can’t make this up. Good thing that dude was in the 1st wave, because it gave me at least 4 minutes to laugh before having to start swimming. The swim was good, mainly because the bulk of my group started WAY to the left of me. The only thing I could figure is either someone behind me farted in the water and scared everyone away, or that group knew something I didn’t. Anyway, the gun goes off, and I start swimming typical me style, way too hard to start. When I get to the turn around, I thought we had to swim over a bit and then come back. Nope, out/back swim. So I played that off, and started back to shore. Now I’ll say with some certainty that this race was definitely the first race (and possibly the only race ever) where I led my wave out of the water. It was strange. Anyway, to the bike. The ladies’ who run the race set up a very cool transition area. It was ITU style, in that it was just a long line of bikes. It made me feel cool for .5 seconds as I pretended I was a pro. This was the first race on the jet fighter, as well as the first race with a new aero helmet I got. Wasn’t sure how it was all gonna go. After we got past the first 5 miles of pavement, which was about as smooth as an old farm road, wait it was an old farm road, everything smoothed out and I got somewhat of a rhythm. The disc sounded so cool, and that shark fin bottle was so sweet looking, that I didn’t think the shark fin doubled as a water bottle. Plus, somehow I convinced myself that 1:15:00 or so of all-out, on the rivet effort was short enough that I didn’t need any calories. I never claimed to be the smartest kid. Came in off the bike and felt great. My dad shouted, “3 and a half minutes!” Perfect, I thought. I’ve got a 1.5 minute cushion for the run. Maybe I should just run solid, and play it safe. Nope, not today. That voice in my head (who I’ve since fired for being stupid) somehow convinced me to try and catch that first guy, in the first wave. Yeah, you only need to make up 3.5 minutes….in 3.1 miles. “Hello, McFly?!!” So I tore out of transition on a blistering pace. My 1st mile was in the neighborhood of 5:30. Then the wheels on the bus came off. The rest of the run was, well let’s just say that it got about as ugly as Lindsay Lohan’s mug shot. In the end it all worked out, though. I finished up in 2nd place, about a minute off the winner. And I got a cool Cotton bale award, and all I really wanted was a big cotton bale. See Cotton States has some of the coolest trophies in the Triathlon world. Cotton Bales for awards. So cool. And why the “Dopers Suck” wristband in the picture, you ask? Well, I wore my shirt that matches the wristband before and after the race. Just my way of saying that I’m racing clean, and I think even age group guys who cheat should get kicked by a horse. Anyway, it was a great time and a fun race. I’ll be going back next year, as it is definitely a race worth doing. What did I learn from the wonderful world of super speed, super sprint triathlons? Well, since the race I’ve been working on pacing a bit more and drinking every time on the bike. Some rookies never learn….

Thanks for reading.

All dressed up...

2007-08-10T06:39:00.000-07:00

With somewhere to go, apparently. I spent most of last night putting the Jet fighter together for my first race since Couer d' Alene. Should be interesting, but I'm pretty sure its gonna be painful. Cotton States, in picturesque Lake Providence is where I'm headed. Someone said I was looking all over the state to find races I could do well at. Truthfully, I knew my girlfriend would be moving her stuff this weekend, so I scheduled this race as far away as possible so I didn't have to help. Shady, I know. Anyway, I'm actually excited to get back out there and race. It's nice to break up the monotony of training with a race or two. Plus, it will be a good rehersal for Cajunman. They say racing is a test of will. I agree, and its a good time to see if all that money you spent on aero trinkets was really worth it. Now that the Jet fighter is all dressed up and ready for Prom, I lay awake at night debating between the Manzierre (man bra tri top) and shorts (Just like Faris), or bringing back the onesy, aka Sausage suit. Decisions, decisions... I was hoping Lake Providence would have a little temperature break, but it seems like the weather there is hotter than it is here. Shame on me for using logic to think the further away from the equator I was, the cooler it would be. Best case senario is that I'll do really well at the race, and my mom will cook an awesome meal for me at their lake house. Worst case senario is that I'll get my teeth kicked in at the race, and my mom will cook an awesome meal for me at their lake house. Sounds like a win, win to me too. I'll be back next week with all of the gory details of my race. But before I leave, I'll share a quick glimpse into my life. A guy emailed me with some training questions. Pretty standard. But what wasn't standard was the domain name of this guy's email address. It was (your name)@justice.com How cool is that? Justice. What do you do for a living, sir? I work for Justice. Personally, I think the guy is a superhero in disguise. Not only does he work for justice, but he wears a suit to work, just like Clark Kent... My only question is, "Does the Justice.com company have any openings?"

Thanks for reading....

Belief, with a dash of Hope (for flavor)

2007-07-27T11:58:00.000-07:00

I go back to a little scene that I saw on a run one day. Three kids were playing in a ditch (imagine that, kids playing in a ditch in South Louisiana) filled with water. Each kid took a turn going to the edge of the road, building up their courage, and trying to run as fast as they could and jump over the water-filled ditch. What’s so special about that, you ask? Well, before each of the ankle biters tried this daredevil feat, they screamed, “I believe I can fly!” And the funny thing is that I could tell that each of them genuinely believed if they just ran fast enough, and things fell just right, human flight was well within reach.
Why do I tell you this story? Because I want to know at what age did we have to trade in our superhero’s costume (mine was Batman) for a pair of khaki’s and a polo, and trade in our dreams of extraordinary for the plight of mediocrity? Why can’t we as adults dream the impossible dream? When was that fateful day that I screamed, “I believe I can fly!” and one of my friends/associates looked at me and replied, “Get off the crack, dude. No one can fly.” Or was it a self-realization that I need to give up the dream, as the disappointment of possible failure could be too much for me to bear? And once that first dream is shattered, what happens to the rest of our dreams? Do we suppress them in the backs of our minds, as the sting of failure is too fresh and too painful to relive. And then after a while, we give up and don’t have any more new dreams. We just accept the defeat, and slip into the ever-growing line of lost and timid souls who settle for mediocrity. And I’m not referring to the lucky, or gifted few that we always hear “realized their dream” or made it through repeated hardship. I’m just talking about enabling ourselves to go back to the playground, back to the field, back to the ditch, and stick to the convictions of our dreams. To chase something, anything, with the same passion and vigor that once dominated our young lives. To embrace the ideal that we, no matter what the odds or consequences we faced, with whatever gifts and talents we’ve been given, could do something extraordinary. To accept the knowledge that deep inside every person lies an extraordinary dream; a passion that wants to explode out into the world, and excommunicate any ideas of conformity or acceptance of mediocrity.
As I sit here, and think about the belief of those little kids, and seeing a good friend realize his dream of going to Ironman Hawaii, I think about hope. Hope is a powerful emotion, and is almost inseparable from belief. Maybe the worst case scenario is that you don’t realize your dream. Its bases loaded, 2 outs, game is tied, and you strike out. You go all in with a flush, and the house has 4 aces. You take your shot at extraordinary and miss. But what about the hope that you’ve given others through your fight? What about other people who you’ve met and interacted with throughout your years of dream chasing, whom you’ve inspired to chase their dream. Maybe it’s like a domino effect. Maybe that person you’ve inspired inspires 2 more people. And maybe, if it all goes on long enough, we’ll have a world of inspired people that go out and go for it, chase the impossible dream, believe again that they are capable of great and mighty things. And if we’re lucky, we’ll find ourselves back at the ditch, believing that we too can fly….

Thanks for reading.

You'll never lose that one in the Transition rack!

2007-07-27T07:57:00.000-07:00

All this bad boy needs now is some spinners....

Warriors and cowards

2007-07-24T13:18:00.000-07:00

I'll only spend a minute on the cowards. Vino, Rasmussen, you are ruining pro cycling. Newsflash, Vino. The country of Kazakhstan sponsors you. For Pete's sake, your team kit's colors are the national colors, as well as the country's symbol proudly displayed on the front of your shirt. Do you think you'll ever be able to go home again? You were a national hero, a hard-nosed, everyman of cycling. I sure hope that this is all a big misunderstanding, or that the stitches in both knees somehow messed with the blood test. Or maybe you did need a transfusion with all the blood you lost. Let's not forget also that this is the same lab that screwed up Landis' results (read the book, I won't explain). Anyway, I want to believe you, but if you did do this, shame on you. You've set fire to your own house. As one of the Patron's in the peloton, you have now marked this beautiful sport for extinction. And it is a shame, as there was not a cooler story than a country backing their son for glory of professional bike racing, and for Kazakhstan. As for Rasmussen, you sir are a turd. I never liked you since the first time I heard about your antics with making mechanics' shave .4 grams off of your bike. Now you're a smuggler, too? In America, we call smugglers' Pirates. Or if you are in Italy, Il Pirata. You remember the last Pirate of the Peloton? Yeah, he's dead. Keep messing with blood boosting agents, and "conveniently" getting lost in Mexico. You are a theif, as you shouldn't have been allowed to start the tour, and are stealing it from Contador, Evans, Sastre and Leipheimer. I hope Denmark not only kicks you off of the National team, but also revokes your citizenship. Ride for the Mexican national team, then we'll see how talented you really are.

Ok, onto warriors. KSP, Ken St. Pe' for those watching at home, qualified for Ironman Hawaii this weekend. In short, I'm proud of that kid. Maybe he needs a Fulltriathlonracing kit to wear in Kona. For real, if you see him around, be sure to congratulate him. It's not just the race, its this guy's continued pursuit of excellence, and his constant focus on making himself and others better. By my count, the last male from Lafayette to get his ticket to Kona stamped? 1999, Charles Brenke. (Yes, I know 2 VERY talented young ladies went to Kona recently. I am not snubbing them). So KSP, it is a special moment indeed. I want my KSP autograph to read, "Thanks for letting me beat the crap out of you every Gurzi session, and every bike ride." And kids, if you want to know the secret of KSP's success, ask him about his patented "St. Pe' Superbrick." It's the magic bullet.

And yes, rumor mills are swirling. My ride, as Xhibit would say, has officially been "Pimped." Gaudy paint, 27" black and silver rims, this baby has it all. Pics to come later. So if you are interested in my BBQ pit (aka 2005 Cervelo P3SL, size 55), drop me a line. She could be up for sale.

Hopefully there is some dignity left in the Tour, and we see some beautiful Spanish trouncing tomorrow when Rasmussen is destroyed by Contador (or anyone, for that matter). I'll watch with baited breath, and an unwavering hope like a kid that refuses to give up on Santa Claus that some rider's in this Tour are still racing on courage and effort, with no artificial colors or flavors.

Thanks for reading....

Simplicity (or Race Cars and Candy Bars if that's cooler)

2007-07-12T13:16:00.000-07:00

Forgive me if I jump around. I’ve been writing this Blog entry in my head since we got in the RV for the trip back to Louisiana. I think it was during my fifth different article in Triathlete magazine telling me the perfect race taper, or how I should schedule my long course nutrition, that this Blog entry started to manifest itself in the ole’ noggin of mine. It’s about simplicity. It was re-emphasized when I met with a friend of mine to help him with a training plan for an upcoming Half Ironman. We visited for about an hour, and I just kinda downloaded my thoughts, ideas, and biases for success at that distance. At the end of the meeting, he was appreciative, but I think he was waiting for more information. Like a workout that would give him an advantage, or something I did that was completely revolutionary or unorthodox, and produced results. How do I know? Because at the end of the meeting, he said, “So, that’s it?” Yep, that’s it. And basically, what I told him is what I follow, “Beat yourself up, rest, and repeat.” About as technical as it gets is the Power meter, and that’s only a basis from day to day so I can see if I am shelled or not. My favorite answer of the day was to the question, “How hard do I go on the bike?” I simply said, “Go as hard as you need to so that your vision starts to get blotchy.” Simple enough, I guess. But not so simple to implement, as I have a tendency to shy away from working myself so hard that stuff goes on the fritz. I’d love to know how swimmers do it daily.
I’ve tried to extend this simplicity theory in everything that I do. Take only what I need to work, and the camp, without hauling around 15 things “Just in case”. Simple nutrition, and trying to follow the JQ diet of “If God didn’t make it, I don’t eat it.” Once again, easy to understand, but hard to implement. Why? Because I, like most people, crave complexity. We love the technical aspect of things, and we equate hard to understand with cutting edge, and ultimately complexity is immediately associated with better. I’ve followed Gordo Byrn (www.gordoworld.com) and his blog for quite some time. I would always laugh when reading about his training because his advice was so vanilla. I thought it was too easy, too straightforward. He had to be keeping something a secret. Good thing I’ve saved most of the blogs on my computer, as I’ve gone back and re-read them. It’s as if I’m reading these things with the super-cool 3D glasses this time. More stuff makes sense, or maybe it makes more sense because I’m not trying to muddy things up with complexity. Go hard, go easy. And if all else fails, just get out the door and go.
Keeping with the theme of simple and complex, I read Floyd Landis’ book, Positively False. I say simple, because Floyd is a simple dude, and this book is very simple to read. The complexity comes in with his positive test for the Testerone/Epitest ratio during Stage 17 of last year’s tour. Whether you think he is guilty or innocent, you owe it to yourself to read the book. I have always felt that cyclists’ are misrepresented with anti-doping measures, and the UCI prosecutes riders even before they have a chance for a trial in the court of public opinion. Even if Floyd loses his arbitration case, hopefully the rights of professional cyclists’ changes for the better. These guys work too hard, and sacrifice too much to be just tossed aside in the name of being politically correct. Now granted, I do understand that this is Floyd’s side of the story, so some stuff will be biased and slanted toward his point of view, but there is some pretty good evidence that points to his innocence. Especially the difference in what constitutes a positive test in different countries. Ok, I’ve said too much. Go read the book. And if you want to reach further into the conspiracy bag, watch the movie, “V for Vendetta” before you read the book. A great movie, and appropriate for the time and state that our world is in right now. Some of the parallels are a bit scary.
Next on the read list is “Walden”. I might need some strong coffee to get through this one though, from what I’m told.

Thanks for reading…

CdA Race Report

2007-06-27T06:25:00.000-07:00

“America is all about speed. Hot, nasty, bad ass speed.” – Eleanor Roosevelt

I thought I would start off my Coeur d’Alene race report with the opening quote from Talladega Nights. It has nothing to do with my report, but I just always associate that quote with my thoughts of going faster in triathlon. Just a quick blurb about the following story. If you are looking for analytical dirt, my specific preparation for this race, or blow by blow from the technical aspect of this race, shoot me an email and I’ll give that to you. Otherwise, I’ll assume that everyone is not having trouble sleeping at night, and does not want to read that. Chances are that it would put most everyone to sleep. What I’ll share is the human account of someone who continues to chase the Ironman dream even after the passion and allure of the first Ironman is gone. Anyway, on with the show.

“And coming down the chute, from Scott, Louisiana. Here he is, 63^rd overall in a time of 10:15, John Fell!!!” Mike Reilly’s words just resonated in my head. It just all felt so surreal, so wonderful. I threw my hat into the crowd, and pumped my fist to celebrate my best race performance to date. It was just such a relief to cross that line and be able to lift off of the accelerator. I was holding back tears of pain and leg cramps for the last 4 miles, while trying to claw my way as high as I could, digging deeper mentally and physically than I ever had before. Months of flawless preparation, uninterrupted, and fighting off urges to sacrifice key training weekends just to “test my fitness” and race some shorter stuff. Just for a little confidence booster. Just to know that I was making improvements. The sacrifices for the past 5 months, for this one moment. It was all worth it, to sacrifice other races so I could see how fast I could go at Ironman Coeur d’Alene. “What a success today has been”, I told myself. Who would have ever known that 6 months earlier, I almost quit this sport altogether?

It’s still in my log book, and I remember it like it was yesterday. January 21^st. It was my breaking point. I was still struggling with the disappointment of my 2006 season, and how poorly I raced Ironman Wisconsin. 2006 was my “Kona or Bust” year. 3 races on a national stage, and 3 chances to qualify for Ironman Hawaii. In the end, all 3 races were a bust. I had high hopes, but grossly underperformed at all 3 venues. But I stuffed those feelings of the disappointing season aside, and kept trudging on through training. I wondered through workouts, and bike rides with really no structure or desire. The only workout that I ever looked forward to was the Friday Gurzi swim, as that crazy Canuck always makes me laugh at 5:30am. Not too many people are funny at 5:30am. That was, until January 21^st. It was my weekend long ride, and I begrudgingly put my bike in the back of my truck to make the trip to Red’s. When I got there, I got the bike ready, put on my shoes and kit, set up my SRM, and clipped in to go. I rode to the end of the parking lot and just turned around. I told myself, “That’s it. I’m done. I’ve had it. I need a break.” I’m not riding this bike until I have a wicked desire to, and I’m not structuring my workouts. I’ll run when I want, and swim with Gurzi’s crew. That’s it. Until I can give a genuine commitment to training, and putting in the work, I will not waste my time or anyone else’s time.

So it stood like that for quite a while. I questioned everything, my protocol, my bike position, and even my running shoe choice. Then I ran into a simple quote in an old article I had from Mark Allen which read, “Advise the athlete to look within, to really examine the aspects of ourselves that might be holding us back.” Whoa, you mean it’s me that’s holding me back from my greatest race performance? No way. It’s gotta be the shoes. It’s gotta be the bike. No way it could be me. Ok, it is me. I choose this. Ironman and triathlon in general is a lifestyle and a choice. We choose this, daily. For me to do my best, I need to choose this. To “back it up” daily with solid workouts, solid nutrition, and solid focus. Do I choose this? Do I really want this, or do I just say it because it sounds cool? Nope, I really want this. I will back up my workouts daily, and be genuinely committed to going as fast as I can.

After that, training was flawless. Between JQ and KSP (Jared Quoyeser and Ken St. Pe’), they beat me up thoroughly on my long bike rides. I fell in love with running again, and every Friday was still a Gurzi party. I was more pleasant to be around when I wasn’t training because I finally realized that the ability to train for Ironman was a gift, and if it was so terrible, I could quit anytime I wanted to. It was my goal to arrive at the beach of Lake Coeur d’ Alene healthy, fit, and ready to race.

So there we were on the beach start to Ironman, and Tim Thomas looks at me with a concerned look. “What’s it gonna be like out there?” I told him, “There’s about to be a fight, and a swim will break out.” Right after I said that, the cannon went off. I took off so hard that I’m pretty sure the first 200 meters of that swim would have got me a spot at the Olympic swim trials. To say I was swimming scared was an understatement. Switching to the new 2XU wetsuit was a great move, and made swimming like a frightened otter much easier. (Thanks Gayla! www.tri-zone.com check ‘em out!) I guess everyone had the same idea as I did though, because the thrashing, bumping and pulling commenced as soon as I found any semblance of a swimming rhythm. Speaking of the swim, Ironman gave the option for people to not do the swim because the water was a bit white capped. Sorry, but this was the only disappointment of my entire experience. It’s Ironman. 2.4 mile swim, 112 bike, 26.2 run. It’s not easy. Swim is too rough? It’s your responsibility as a business (Hear that Graham Fraser?) to either screen athletes before they enter to insure their safety, or pick a venue with a body of water that won’t be rough. Or maybe don’t cram 2200 people in a venue that should really only hold 1500. Ok, I’m off my soapbox. In short, this is what I learned about the swim: the water is cold, people can’t swim too straight and swimming with the current is way more fun than swimming against it.

I tried to be fast in transition, but it just feels so good to sit down! So I got all my gear, ran to my favorite bike painted like a BBQ pit, and took off down the road. The first hour of the bike was just chaos! The one cool thing about the whole race was that I out swam a pro. Granted, he passed me on the bike like I had my brake on, but it was still cool nonetheless. Who’d thought I’d ever out swim people? Back to the race, everyone around me was riding like it was the bike leg of Cajunman. The first 20-25 miles of the bike leg is through the city, and flat. With the stiff wind at our backs, we were flying. To say the bike course was scenic is an understatement. Yes, it was harder than Wisconsin’s bike course (The super-geeky SRM download told me that), but the road surfaces were all perfect, and almost every road was surrounded by trees. The bike course really showcased the town’s love affair with this race. There were very few spots on the bike course that were desolate. Just amazing crowd support, especially through town. I hit a bad patch on the bike about mile 90, and my inability to sweat gave me a bit of difficulty. Let’s just say that I now know the precise effort that I can put out right before my legs will cramp up. As I was rolling into town, I wasn’t dreading the marathon like in year’s past, but I was wondering if I was going to be able to uncork the run I’ve been training all year.

Out of the tent and onto the run is always a weird feeling, no matter how many races you’ve done. I have read many places that you should arrive off the bike fresh for the marathon. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing fresh about doing an hour swim, then a 112 mile bike ride. How about changing it to “arrive at the marathon with the ability to aerobically run?” Or “Arrive at the run not wanting sit on the transition chair and skim through War and Peace?” That’s more like it. Anyway, the marathon was mostly a blur, as my focus was to stay positive mentally, and commit to a pace. That pace was 7:45’s, and it was going well for a while. The run course is much like the bike course, in that it is pristine pavement, beautiful scenery, and packed with spectators. I can’t emphasize enough how much this town really loves their race. As the miles clicked off, focus began to fade, and so did my pace. I went back to my commitment, and all the hard days that made this race possible. No way I was gonna bag or slow down after coming this far. I’ll save the drama of the pain, tears, digging deep, and the cramps. But as I came down that finishing chute, it was still as magical as the first time in ’04.

It’s more than Mike Reilly saying your name, or the people chocked full in the stands. It’s the commitment you made to seeing this race through, and pushing yourself further than you ever thought possible. It’s learning the difference between real commitment, and just running your mouth about commitment, then backing down whenever things get tough. It’s about the people who help you along your journey, and ask nothing in return. It’s learning about yourself, and who you are as a person. It’s about your unconditional support network, and them sharing in your success, as they’ve been as much a part of the day as you have. It’s these wonderful people, the knowledge you gain, and the experiences along the way that make this such a grand adventure.

My heartfelt thanks goes out to everyone who made this journey possible. Mom, Dad, and Kell. It’s us 4. Always has been. Thanks for letting a 27 year old kid still chase dreams. ENM, you are my rock. It would take me years to tell you thank you as much as you deserve. KSP, its your turn now. Your subtle humor, and laughing at my run mileage really made a huge difference. The suffering is always a tad easier when you’ve got someone on the side of you. JQ, thanks for the mentoring, and making the first hour of every ride like motor pacing. You are right, there are big things on the horizon. Dr. Joe, Kris, and Jason, thanks for keeping me put together and injury free. To my second family, thanks for letting me eat all your food, and not minding if I fell asleep on the kitchen table. And thanks to everyone who supported me, cheered for me, and kept me going in the right direction.

So what does all this babble mean? Well, its quite simple really. Success is in the eyes of the beholder. I still don’t have my ticket to Kona, but I’ve gone faster than I’ve ever went. And that’s a victory for me. Once I removed attaching satisfaction to results, and started attaching satisfaction to the process, I realized how much success I’ve really achieved. And commitment to the work and lifestyle for future events will be a little easier, and definitely more enjoyable. Speaking of the future, I’m already looking forward training again with my crew, swimming with my crazy dog, and watching the sunrise while running down Camellia Boulevard. What did I learn in all this? I’ll use the cheesy posters that you see at football and basketball games spelling out ESPN, or CBS to express what Ironman now means to me:

Improving

Relative to

ONe’s self, while collecting

Memories,

Adventures, and

New experiences along the way.

Cheesy? Maybe. Memorable? Absolutely.

Thanks for reading….

Shackin' up in the CdA

2007-06-22T12:44:00.000-07:00

So here I am, in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. What a beautiful place! Who knew that I shouldn't have formed my opinion of Idaho by watching Napoleon Dynamite? Anyhow, the ceremonial pre-race activities have commenced around here. People wearing their gang colors (Tri club gear) from head to toe, or every piece of Ironman finisher gear they own, even if they have to layer to get it all on. And of course, people training as if they get enough training hours in the week before, they get a secret code that unlocks the special, uberfast and easy Ironman CdA course. All in good fun, and all adding to the atmosphere that is Ironman. So how did I get here? Well, that's an interesting story.....

It all started in Broussard, LA. We loaded up Tim's RV, and headed out west. WAY out west. Somehow from point A to Couer d'Alene, we went places that had no cell phone reception. For hours on end. I never understood all those horror movies where someone's car breaks down in the middle of Arizona, and they die out there. Now I understand. Some of the places we saw, and trained in were Gallop, New Mexico (elev. 6000ft). It was here that I set the town record for most nose bleeds in an hour, (4 for those counting at home). Wanna know what elevation feels like? Take a freezer size ziploc bag, put it over your nose and mouth. Now go ride. Then we saw Route 66, Lake Powell, Arizona. And of course, no trip would be complete without Salt Lake City. I never understood why Utah got the winter olympics. I get it now. That city rocks. Oh, and we liked Montana so much, we drove through it twice. What do I mean, you ask? Remember "Dumb and Dumber", where Lloyd and Harry are driving to Aspen. When Lloyd falls asleep, Harry takes a wrong turn, and they end up in Nebraska? Yeah, it happened. Ask Tim, he'll fill you in. Too funny.

Fast forward to today, I'm just sitting and waiting for the inevitable. Sunday and the race to come. Just stay healthy and focused till then. I'm sure I'll have some more interesting stories before the race and road trip are done. Thanks for reading...

Phoenix

2007-06-22T12:40:00.000-07:00

Not the city, the mythological rebirth of your favorite website, Fulltriathlonracing.com I figured since all I really do anyway is write articles that are basically blogs, then I should just switch over to the blog function/page. And, its free. Never a bad thing. So here come all the fun times and thoughts of my crazy mind. Livin' the dream in the world of triathlon.