1000 Christmas K's - WTF?!

You've probably seen some banter on twitter and Facebook about 1,000 Christmas K's. What is it, you ask? Well, it's a really stupid (and by stupid I mean creative) idea to ride 1,000 km's (622 miles for you liberal arts majors) between Christmas holiday and the new year. Since my company was gracious enough to give us off December 23rd AND 26th for the holiday, I figured this was as good a year as any to give it a go. How did I dream up this feat of ridiculousness? Well, I didn't. Inspiration struck last year around this time while reading a blog from a Rapha product designer (they make cycling clothes) Graeme Raeburn tried the exact same thing. And since I've been struggling a bit (read, a lot) with motivation and packing on my fare share of the holiday pounds, I thought this would also be a "brilliant" way to spark some big miles in the teeth of winter. So why am I writing about this? Well, I just think this is a really fun idea to see what it's like to ride a weekly mileage of a pro. And just so I remember that I love being a desk jockey, I'm going to journal the entire series of rides on the blog. One, so I can see pictures of all the cool stuff you see while winter riding. And two, to remind myself what it actually felt like to do all these miles. The good, the bad, and the frozen. So enjoy the shennanigans that are about to unfold.

The Kona Diatribe

“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

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!

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

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!

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

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.