More Sneaking around

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!!

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

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

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....

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

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!!!

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?....