Running with the Ghouls

The pumpkins were carved. The fog machine and the graveyard were up and running. The candy bowl was out and ready for trick-or-treaters. It was time to go out and run with the ghouls. 

I strapped on the headlamp and backlight and headed out. Running in the dark presents it’s own set of challenges. Although a headlamp provides light it also changes the surroundings and adds an eerie sense to the landscape. How appropriate then that my first run in the dark since last spring would occur on Halloween. 

Because it was dark all my senses were heightened a bit. This heightened awareness only served to fill the void of darkness with all sorts of creepy and spooky scenarios. 

By day, Tetherow, the area where I would run, has sweeping vistas to the south and to the west. At night, however, it became a narrowly lit corridor where shadows crept by and hosted a wide variety of possible terrors. Running alone during the day provides a sense of freedom. At night however, there was a sense of vulnerability and an increasingly unnerving feeling of being exposed and all alone. The throaty howl of a coyote in the distance or the furious scuttling of a rodent in the nearby bushes beyond the dim light became more pronounced and my mind began to visualize all sorts of morbid and creepy possibilities. 

The bouncing light as I ran highlighted the crystal-like vapors exhaling from my mouth and added a mysterious gloom that felt clammy and death-like against my face. The headlights of a passing car threw creepy running shadows like a pack of zombies chasing me across an alien landscape. 

I reached the halfway point in my run and turned to head home. I always tend to run the second part of my run a bit faster, particularly if it’s an out and back type of run. Tonight, with all the thoughts of ghouls and goblins in my head perhaps I ran even quicker. I knew the shadows writhing around me weren’t really scary things, but a slight breeze moaned across the landscape and I decided it was best to not wait around and find out. 

I continued on my run and as I drew closer to town the imaginary shadows and frightful scenarios that I had imagined for my Halloween run began to dissipate. As I sprinted into my neighborhood I passed by spooky decorated homes and weaved through goblins and ghouls out trick-or-treating with their adult keepers.

I slowed to a walk and came up the cul-de-sac to my house. The lights were on, the graveyard, lit, and the fog machine was working overtime. What surprised me though was the fact that our front porch light was off. I walked up the path to my front door and paused at the stairs to stretch out my hips. I turned off my headlamp and slowly walked up the darkened stairs thinking about my nighttime run, knowing I would undertake so many more of these darkened runs in the coming months. I was lost in my thoughts when a figure rose in front of me and shrieked out a loud, “Boo!”, that gave me a momentary fright. It was my 

daughter all dressed up and lying in wait to scare the trick-or-treaters. After I regained my composure I laughed out loud and congratulated my daughter on her scare. For all of the scary things I could have imagined on that Halloween run, the one that truly frightened me came at my own front door.

Feeding the Spirit

I feel most spiritual when I’m out in the woods. I feel part of nature.

                                                                                                          Pete Seeger

Sunday morning I went to church for a little bit of spiritual renewal. It wasn’t enclosed and there weren’t any other parishioners, save for Riley, who I met at the trailhead. I was going to church in the forest and instead of my Sunday best I was sporting my thermal bib kit. After a week of running I was happy to be out on my mountain bike heading toward Phil’s Trail.

Years ago I gave up trying to find spiritual growth inside a building on a Sunday morn – turned off by the politics and the hypocracy of organized religion. I found my spiritual solace and affirmation in forays to the river to fish or to the trails where I could enjoy nature on my mountain bike as I rode through the forest. The sights and sounds of nature served to re-confirm my belief in a higher authority without the baggage.

The air was brisk with a hint of moisture. The unusual high winds from the previous day were long gone. A faint blanket of new snow graced the foothills above. The trails would be tacky – not too muddy, but enough moisture that the tires would hold through the turns. It was an absolutely perfect day to go out on the mountain bike for a fun and easy ride.

Jaime had emphasized that my rides needed to be easy. I followed the course and resolved that I would just enjoy the ride, not press things, and have a good time. Riley and I briefly discussed where we’d ride and then we set off into the sunlight. I could feel a slight drizzle hit me. Oregon is the only place I know where the sun can be shining, there isn’t a cloud in the sky, and yet you’re still getting rained upon. Weaving through the trails brought a sense of appreciation and a chance to reflect. We chatted a bit in areas where the trail opened up onto an old logging road, but for the most part we simply rode. Every so often I would catch a glimpse of a beautiful vista and would make a little mental thank you note for that visual opportunity. Up and down the hills we went, passing very few people. There were a couple of challenging traverses up rocky passages and also a few thrilling descents with technical drops but mostly it was just choice single-track weaving through Manzanita and Ponderosa Pine.

I ended my ride as I always try and do when I go to Phil’s with a ride through the rolling hills of Tetherow. The forest opens up into a rolling meadow, that offer vistas to the east of the Paulinas as well as Powell Butte, the Ochocos, and the Oregon Outback. It’s a nice transition from the trails of the forest, where you can easily get turned around, to the wide-open vistas just before you come back into town. Riley had a longer ride so we fist bumped, parted company, and I headed home. 

Even though it was an easy ride I flew home on my Niner, energized from a chance to be outside and enjoy the beauty of the world around me. I knew that I’d have a week full of runs but for the here and now I was thankful for the opportunity to get out in the forest, renew my spirit on the mountain bike, and appreciate the time I had enjoying life.

Pump Up the Volume

My coach Jaime deserves better. 

I’m sure he probably feels that way after the past two weeks.

We’ve begun training for my Ironman in earnest. I came off my last race feeling really good and champing at the bit to keep it going. Jaime has spent the better part of the past two weeks pulling back on the bridle and trying to keep me from blowing up. Much like a young colt, I have not responded well to the guidance and have kicked my back hooves a couple of time and put my ears
back. It’s taken me the better part of two weeks to finally understand what it all means.

It’s all about the volume, stupid.

Years and years ago I had another coach who, among other things, made the comment to the effect that I would never be an athlete and never amount to anything. It’s a comment that has haunted me for years. With my new found confidence I have perhaps developed a bit of a chip on my shoulder.

When Jaime would try to rein me in I would push back. When he’d try and explain that different athletes (including himself) needed different training I’d just see it as another example of me not being good enough. When I was relegated to runs while Jaime and other teammates swam and biked together I became resentful.

Like I said, he probably deserves better.

Much like a horse that finally accepts the saddle and stops using up energy mindlessly bucking at unseen ghosts I finally came to terms with things. I realized I frankly needed to stop thinking, stop worrying, trust in the plan, and just take a long deep breath.

It didn’t come easily. After Jaime and I agreed on Ironman Coeur d’Alene the first task he had assigned me was to find a marathon. Once that was done the training began. I’m not sure what I thought would occur. Part of me knew I was training for a marathon but the other part of me was still focused in on Ironman and the swim and bike that would come with that. I kept watching my run volume numbers rise and my swim and bike volume numbers plummet. I’d spent all summer working on getting stronger on the bike that I wasn’t willing to watch it waste away. Jaime kept telling me that my bike would come back up after our camp in February and that I would come back stronger but I just had a hard time believing what he was saying.

I’m not sure when it finally began to make sense. Maybe something about volume – I remember back when my daughter was young she’d have a problem with pouring liquids into a cup. It took her awhile to understand that eventually the cup would completely fill, you couldn’t get anymore in, and it would start to overflow, run everywhere, and that everything would become one big mess.

As part of my training I was undertaking a marathon. Even though I had run

several half marathons I would need to bring up my running volume in order to be successful in completing a marathon and then transferring that run fitness to an Ironman. Between work, family, other commitments, and training, I only have a finite time within which to work in getting ready for the Ironman. Coeur d’Alene comes in late June so the majority of my training would take place in the late spring when I’d still be working full-time. Jaime said he’d get me to CDA but it would take some unorthodox means and it would mean making the most of the training I had. There was only so much volume I could undertake so it would be essential to get the biggest training bang for the buck so to speak. I remembered that Jaime had written back in a blog when he and his family went to Hawai’I in which he puzzled the benefits of focused training in one specific area. He told me over and again that we’d focus on the run,undertake a marathon, and then start bringing up the volume in the swim and the bike. As my volume would have to increase with the run it meant that either something else would have to be reduced or I’d more than likely blow up or become fatigued, injured, ill, or all of the above. Essentially, there was a point where I could no longer take the volume and if it went over I’d be reduced to one big mess.

It’s a tricky balancing act but for now I’ll have to trust in what Jaime has been telling me and understand that it’s all about volume. In the past my training has ranged from 10 to 18 hours a week. That will more than likely stay the same and will no doubt increase as I get nearer to racing at CDA. None of my runs will be under an hour and my long runs will increase in time, most going over two hours. There will be hill workouts and pyramids, but there will also be a lot of time spent simply building up the volume and putting in the hours.

I had conversation with Jaime today. I simply asked him about the bike and whether or not my fitness would return. He told me it would take awhile to come back but that it would come back stronger. As with weight lifters all the gains would come out of recovery and to have faith in my body. He noted that my fitness had allowed me to be able to ride and feel good these past few weeks but that I now needed to focus on the marathon. I needed to make each run the best it could be and understand that it was a big part of the preparation for CDA.

It’s all about the volume. I’m sure Jaime and I will have this chat again in March when my bike volume numbers start to increase. Like I said, he probably deserves better 

Vacation

I need a vacation, like nobody’s business.

                                                   Jim Wann

Two weeks ago I finished the Leadman, my last race of the year. Since then I

have kinda of been taking a vacation from training. Well, I guess I should say,

I’ve been taking a break from the monitoring of my training.

The Tuesday after the race Jaime and I met up to discuss the coming year. We

decided that October 6th would be my start date for Ironman Training.

Specifically, I’d be training for a marathon prior to working the bike and the swim

back into the equation on an equal rotation. He had told me to look for a

marathon earlier when I decided to go after the Ironman brass ring. The race

needed to be in January and I was able to locate one in Redding, California, just

under 5 hours away. It would be held over Martin Luther King weekend so I

wouldn’t need to take time off.

The A (or perhaps Super A) race for the year would be Ironman Coeur d’Alene. I

picked this race because it would occur in June. I knew that July would be taken

up with a trip to New Mexico for my folks 70th Wedding Anniversary. I knew that

this would prove challenging but I didn’t want to have to worry about a race while

I was in New Mexico (such as racing Whistler, another race I had eyed).

February would involve Jaime’s triathlon camp in Tucson and then March and

April would be where my bike training would dramatically increase. In the past I

had done the Beaver Freezer over in Corvallis the first weekend in April but

Jaime put the kibosh on a sprint race. My first race would be an Olympic

distance so I imagine I’ll look at the Oregon Dunes over in Florence. He talked

about wanting me to do the Boise 70.3 and using it as a training race. We’ll use

the time between Oregon Dunes and Boise to see how the body is feeling. My

focus will be Coeur d’Alene and once that is done we’ll regroup and look to finish

out the race year, more than likely with the 70.3 in Lake Stevens and then finish

up with Best in the West and hopefully with the Leadman.

My calendar set. It was time to have a little fun. Jaime had told me that my

workouts for the week after Leadman were optional. I tried my best to stay with

the workout though I made some adjustments. I decided that rather than worry

about pace or heart rate I would just go out and either ride or run. I’m not sure if

that was probably what Jaime had in mind but it was a nice bit of release. A

week following Leadman my wife and I met up with some fellow Bendites at the

north entrance to Crater Lake to ride the road around the lake. The following day

I met up with Jaime and Riley to ride the Twin Bridges route. It was a great

weekend and I found it to be thoroughly enjoyable. This past week was run

heavy but I did find some time to sneak off to the pool to swim in the

unseasonably warm weather. I capped off my vacation with a 30-mile mountain

bike ride with Jaime and Riley. I came away from my vacation refreshed,

recharged, and rebooted.

It’s time to get back in the saddle so to speak. I know the journey ahead will be

long, tough, and at times, lonely. For now it will be building up the volume to

successfully run a marathon. From there, the bike and swim will increase in

volume as well. I’m excited about the prospects. Whether or not I’ll be feeling

that way in May or June will remain to be seen. For now it’s the excitement in

going after something new and unknown. For many, the excitement is the build

up to the vacation. For me, it’s the buildup to the Ironman. Let the journey

begin.

Leadman

The bus rumbled up the hill past Bachelor as the sun began to streak across the

upper hillsides of patchy snow. Everything seemed so familiar, right down to my

partner needing to use the bathroom and squirming through the last couple of

miles of our journey to Cultus Lake.

It was the Leadman Tri and it was my last race of the season. Everything

pointed to perhaps it being the last Leadman to be held here in Bend. If that is

the case it will be a shame because it’s a great race in a beautiful setting. All

year long each race had been filled with the unknown. Even the Beaver Freezer

and Deschutes Dash had their new elements be it a different pool or a different

distance. The Leadman though was familiar like an old shoe.

We arrived at Cultus and Wendy, my companion scrambled for the exit much as

her roommate Justin had done the previous year. We unloaded and made our

way to the transition area. Last year it had been cold and wet and the chilliness

of the lake had actually been a welcome relief from the ambient air temperature.

This year it was clear though it was still chilly.

I got everything organized and got my wetsuit on and made my way to the boat

launch where the swimmers were gathering. It was disappointing to see a

smaller turnout than the previous year – at least that is how it seemed. As the

group before us went off my group began to make their way out to buoy to begin

the swim. It seemed further but the water also seemed warmer and clearer –

perhaps due to the sunlight.

The gun went off and I began to swim hard. Perhaps I went out a bit too hard as

I noted that things were tightening up a bit. I remembered that Jaime had written

in my notes of avoiding just such a thing and so I did a mental reboot and slowed

my pace. After going past a couple of buoys and got into a pace that would be

manageable throughout the rest of the race. I rounded the final buoy and

mentally reminded myself that I had the swim in the bag. I made my way back

toward the shore. The sun was now completely up and it made for some

interesting sighting issues as we were swimming directly into its glare. I turned

into the boat launch area and thought to myself that I could have kept going.

Perhaps I could have gone harder, but in a year when I finally became

comfortable with the open water swim I was willing to take this swim even if I

could have gone a bit faster.

I stripped out of my wetsuit and kept things to a minimum – just the racing suit,

socks, shoes, and helmet. Last year out of the water my fingers were numb and

I struggled to get things on. This year I would be able to get out of transition in

less than half the time it took me last year. I turned the bike onto the

campground road and made my way to the highway. It was time to grab a quick

gel for nutrition. I looked down at my bike frame and realized that it getting

everything that I had forgotten to attach the gels to my frame. It would be race

that I would rely on my bottles – one full of perpetuem and the other full of water.

No losing bottles on this race.

I settled into a comfortable pace and cadence and started picking off riders one

by one. Things felt good and I was hitting at just over 20 mph. I knew that

wouldn’t last when I hit the hills so I was making the most of this part of the race.

I came up to a familiar logo and started my best Right Said Fred imitation and

serenaded Wendy with “You’re too sexy for that bike” as I passed by her. The

first hour passed and I realized that I was a third through the bike portion of the

race. The Cascade Lakes passed by, first Crane Prairie, then Lava, then Elk,

then Devil’s, and finally Sparks. The turnoff to Sparks signaled that toughest part

of the race was ready to begin – the hill from Sparks Lake up to the foot of Mount

Bachelor. I geared down and mentally got ready for the challenge. Jaime and I

worked on this part of the race two weeks prior to the race and he told me to

really make a push up the hill. I charged past others struggling up the hill and

kept mentally picking off markers as I made my way up the hill. When I rode past

the turnoff to the Westside Village I knew it was in the bag. One short climb up to

the ODOT maintenance area and then it was all downhill into Bend.

I made my way in to the transition area and heard a cheer from my wife as well

as a couple of families from the school where I teach. I quickly made my way out

of transition, through a couple of confusing turns, and ran out onto the course.

Things were feeling good and I was going at a pretty good pace. I even saw

Wendy coming down the road so I was able to serenade her one more time (she

claimed she couldn’t get the song out of her head during the race). Down Mount

Washington I ran and I was going at a pretty nice pace. I enjoyed the shade and

made my way up the first hill. The shade gave way to a blazing sun. The

previous year temperatures were in the high 50’s when I ran and it was actually

rather pleasant. This year it was sunny and the temperature was in the mid 80’s.

As I made my way up the hill on Meeks Drive I could begin to feel the heat beat

on me. I knew during the next four miles I’d be exposed to the elements and

would need to push myself hard. I made my way up the last hill and took some

comfort in the fact that I was running faster than some bikers who were struggling

up the same hill. The sun and heat began to take their toll. At the aid station

between mile 5 and 6 I actually stopped for a moment in the shade of the tent the

volunteers were using to down a flat but chilly Coke. I was determined to finish

strong and gathered up all my energy for that final push to the finish line. As I

neared the finish line I heard my friend and teammate Riley yell encouragement.

I plugged away at it and crossed the finish line almost thirty minutes faster than I

had done the previous year. I was finished and I had fun in the process. My time

was good enough for a small buckle and I relished in the fact that I had finished

the race and felt good afterwards. I wasn't passed on either the bike or the run
by other racers so I felt good about what I had done.  It was a great race and a
great feeling of accomplishment.

That night my wife and I met some old college friends on their way through Bend

as they took their son to Corvallis to begin his first year at Oregon State. We met

at LaRosa and sat in the same booth where I had sat the previous year with

Jaime, Heather, Justin, and Celeste after finishing Leadman. When we got done,

said our goodbyes, and headed outside, my wife and I could hear the announcer

recognize some runners who were still trickling in from the longer race. It was all

so familiar.

The next morning I awoke to a text from Jaime that simply said, ‘Welcome to the

off-season!” My racing season was over. It had been a good one. There is an

old saying that claims that familiarity can breed contempt. However, in this case

I have to say that familiarity bred content. I look forward to what the next racing

season has in store for me.

Waiting to Bolt Out of the Gate

The last few days fall has definitely been in the air. The mornings have been crisp and cool. The sun is coming up later and going down earlier. Yellows and reds are mixed in among the green leaves. With the preview it definitely becomes official next week when the autumnal equinox occurs.

This weekend is my last race of the year. It’s fitting as summer is moving into fall. I’m excited for the race but the end of the season brings up the unknown of what comes next. Soon the darkness will outweigh the light. My training will move from race prep to maintaining and building up my base.

A friend of mind said of Bend. “It’s a winter town where summer is an added bonus.” My coach likes to say that the race is the icing on the cake, so I guess that race season is that ‘summer bonus’. Once it is done it’s like the day after New Year’s. The moment you put the messy platter that held the tasty birthday cake in the dishwasher. The morning after you’ve finished the big race. All the build up and energy is gone and you’re left feeling as if you’re in a bit of a vacuum.

Years ago as a child I hated January. Christmas was done and winter had dug in its heels. My folks didn’t ski so at that time winter consisted of sledding and only if there was snow. It was cold, dreary, and bare.

As an adult I now see that month after the holidays as a time to regroup, redefine, reflect, recharge, and regenerate. It’s a time to plan for the upcoming year. In the next couple of weeks I hope to sit down with my coach and go through the past year and plan for the coming year. Chief among our planning concerns will be to prepare and develop a training plan for my first full Ironman next June in Coeur d’Alene.

For now though I still get to enjoy the last race of the season. This time last year I was simply trying to finish the race. Now I’m making a concerted effort to have nothing left in the tank when I cross the finish line. I’m approaching this race with confidence and excitement. I liken it to the first few seconds of a horse race where the horses and riders are loaded and everyone is waiting for the bell to ring and gates to fly open. I have all this pent up excitement and energy just waiting to get left on the course.

It’s a fitting end to what has been an eventful and interesting season. What began back in January with a foggy half-marathon in Salem will end with a long course race in September less than a mile from my home. Just like a kid running down the stairs on Christmas morning to rip open the biggest present I can’t wait to rip this race a new one. 

In Search of the PR

Sometimes it's just about throwing PR's aside and finishing a race out of commitment to the sport, or teammates or yourself. Huge pat on the back to you. For going in knowing that this would be a tough race and doing it anyway! Many others would not have shown up to the starting line!

                                                                        Sue Talent Alschuler

In triathlon circles you hear the term PR thrown around with wild abandon.  PR, or Personal Record, even becomes part of the whole race goal.  I will be the first to admit that I fell into that trap.  My goal for the Lake Stevens 70.3 was to better my time from Boise.  As my earlier blog noted, events conspired to render that goal moot.  I came away disappointed.  I felt like I’d let down myself and let down my coach.  I completely ignored the fact that I’d done the race just over a week after having a bike accident and sustaining a major injury.  But I’d also ignored something else – that each race is different.

When I got back from Seattle I went over to Jaime’s house to help him paint his basement.  Before we got started he pulled me into his office and had me look at a print out of the race I’d run in Lake Stevens.  He had crunched the numbers and the data and compared it to my race in Boise.  He went over it with me and shared some thoughts that I had maybe not considered. 

Two things he shared with me gave me cause to be upbeat about the race.  He noted that my Normalized Power for the race at Lake Stevens had been 210.  Normalized power basically takes into account everything on the racecourse, hills, descents, and flat segments and comes up with a power average.  Basically, this is the amount of power you’d be able to constantly maintain over the course of a workout (or in this case, a race).  Earlier in the year when I raced Boise Jaime had me shoot for a constant power level of around 170.  It may be hard to understand but I will train at a certain power level but then race at a certain heart rate.  This is to keep me from essentially using up all my energy and ‘bonking’.  At Lake Stevens my Normalized Power was a 210.  Mentally this was a big boost as I remember training sessions during the winter where intervals at that level of power would cause my legs to liquefy after three or four sets.  He also noted that my VI, or Variability Index was a 1.21.  The Variability Index is essentially Normalized Power divided by Average Power and basically gives an indication of the smoothness of the ride (not the road, the rider).  You’re trying to get as close to 1.0 as possible.  Hilly courses make for a higher number.  The hills along with some places where I was essentially trapped behind slow moving cars waiting to pass around a slow going rider up a hill made for a potentially high number.  Jaime was pleased with the number and noted that most athletes, let along an average age-grouper such as myself would be happy with that number.

Once we went over the numbers he referenced back to a major variable that differentiated the two races.  In Boise, there had been 1800 feet of elevation gain on the bike course, the majority of the climbing came within the first five miles of the race.  All of the major climbing was done prior to the turn around.  At Lake Stevens there was 2800 feet of elevation gain, the majority of which came in the last 20 miles of the race.  Most of Lake Stevens bike course was what could be considered ‘rollers’ – lots of up, followed by equal down.  Interestingly enough there were a lot of corners in Lake Stevens – 90 degree turns where you would have to slow down – usually on a descent, make the turn, and then immediately start climbing again.  This was vastly different from Boise, where the turns were fewer and flatter.  Most of the race in Boise had roads blocked off so there was little if any traffic with which to contend.  Lake Stevens on the other hand was an open course and there were several instances on some of the hills where I was basically trying to stay upright as I stayed on the bumper of a slow moving vehicle that was waiting to pass an equally slow bike.  All in all, a slower bike time of 5 minutes wasn’t that much to be disappointed about given the data or the conditions.

The run in Boise looped along the DesBois River trail and had an elevation gain 69 feet.  In Lake Stevens the run also looped but there was an elevation gain of 724 feet.  One hill at Lake Stevens in particularly was long and gradual and occurred right before the turn around.  Jaime himself admitted that he seriously questioned his sanity when he knew he’d have to run up that hill again.  Psychologically, the hill took it’s toll on many of the runners and I lost count of how many racers I saw walking up that hill as I made my way back down to the finish.  Given the elevation change, in addition to my left hip and my right foot hurting, a slower time of six minutes wasn’t something to be ashamed of by any means.

Interestingly enough, although my power numbers in Lake Stevens were higher my average heart rate was actually lower, by three beats per minute.  One thing that Jaime has tried to drill into my head is that my heart rate zone numbers will remain the same.  Where I will see the change is in increased power at the same heart rate.  As I noted, earlier in the year, I struggled to maintain a power level of 210 for any extended amount of time.  The fact that my Normalized Power was at 120 for the race showed me that I was improving even if my time didn’t necessarily say so to the rest of the world.

Once we concluded looking at the numbers Jaime noted something that I had failed to consider in my quest for a PR.  He told me that each race is different and it’s impossible to compare one to another.  Each course is different as well, as was noted in the almost 1700 feet of elevation gain from Lake Stevens to Boise.  Races are run at different altitudes.  Coming from 4000 feet at Bend to almost sea level at Lake Stevens was a bonus, which wasn’t as noticeable at Boise, which sits at 2,700 feet above sea level.  Even if a race is run over the same course from year to year it doesn’t mean you’ll have the same conditions.  Two years ago in Boise it was snowing and this year the temperature was in the mid-80’s.  You may go into a race feeling differently.  In Boise I was pretty close to 100 percent.  At Lake Stevens I was working my way through an injury that was just over a week old.  Coupled with all of this is the ‘shit happens’ factor, be it a wrong turn, a flat tire, or a broken derailleur.  All can contribute to a busted PR and all can happen without warning.

After my conversation with Jaime I realized that I need to rethink how I approach each race.  This year I’ll be doing the Leadman for the second time, and sure, I hope to lower my race time from last year.  However, as Sue noted so eloquently, sometimes you race out of commitment to the sport, your teammates, and perhaps, most importantly to race out of commitment to oneself and to the time put into training for that race.  If I come out of a race knowing that I gave the best effort I could at that point in time and in that situation then I shouldn’t worry about whether or not I accomplished a PR.  I should be happy in the fact that I am able to compete and push myself to give my best effort.

Lake Stevens 70.3

Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward.

                                             Kurt Vonnegut

My eyes opened to darkness.  To the left of me I could hear deep breathing and light snoring.  Jaime and Riley were sleeping well.  I on the other hand was not.  Once again, I was the third wheel and the odd man out.  I had wrestled with the questions that were going to come to fruition in a couple of hours.  While my teammates were at the top of their game and had formed a close bond I had struggled to keep my head above water.  Self-doubt was doing it’s best to drown me hours before my ‘A’ race. 

I had thought I had gotten over the injury hump with the Deschutes Dash.  It was a good race and I had done well.  However, family commitments had cut into some valuable learning time with my Jaime and Riley and worse still, just over a week before the race I had laid the bike down hard on a ride coming down off of Bachelor.  The bike had come out of the incident with barely a scratch but my left hip had taken the brunt of the fall.  In the week following the event a massive hematoma, the size of a large softball had appeared on my hip.  No amount of icing or ointment could reduce the swelling. 

The week before the event I had attempted to run.  The swelling made for a tight and painful run.  Rather than risk further injury I simply stopped running the week prior to the race.  I concentrated on trying to rest and reduce the swelling in my hip.  A long drive to Seattle didn’t necessarily help things but it didn’t seem to make things worse.  There was a lot of unknown happening as the race was quickly approaching.

The night before the race Jaime, Riley, and I all met up at a hotel near the race.  As the evening unfolded I felt and became more solitary as I tried to wrestle with the questions that were running through my head.  To quit in my mind was not an option, but at the same time I was not sure how my body was going to respond to a half-ironman.  I had gone into Boise relaxed and confident.  Lake Stevens was a different story.  Try as I might I could not relax.  The night before the race I did not sleep well.  I woke up long before the alarm and I struggled to make sense of what I was going to do. 

We readied everything and drove out to Lake Stevens.  We took the bus from the high school down to the cove where the race would start.  There was not much talking on board the bus and it was not packed as rides to Leadman and Boise had been.  I was lost in my thoughts and I knew the clock was ticking down.  I found my bike in the transition area and started laying things out.  The two gentlemen next to me were new to half-ironman.  I tried to put them at ease.  Because my heat was one of the last going off I had plenty of time to think about what was going to happen.  The promise of a sunny day was delayed.  Overcast skies and fog held tight to the lake.

Riley and Jaime were long gone with their early race heats and I knew more than likely they would finish pretty close to one another and finish long before myself.  I was alone and bided my time staring into the lake as wave upon wave of athletes made their way onto the deck to begin their race.  As my wave got closer to the dock the fog became thicker and began to obscure the buoys out on the lake.  It seemed to mimic the uncertainty and sense of loneliness that I was feeling.  I was frustrated and upset.  I took a deep breath, called upon the spirits of friends and family, closed my eyes and tried to visualize the race ahead.  Somewhere in the lonely darkness a moment of clarity took hold.

I realized that I was not going to set the world on fire.  I was not going to make a name for my coach as a prize pupil, and I knew I was more than likely not going to have a PR from the race.  I could either laugh or I could cry.  I chose the former. 

I jumped into the water, relaxed, and waited for the horn to sound.  For the first time I was not nervous about the open water swim.  I told myself I would use that time during the swim to work on my catch, my pull, and to work on my streamline.  The horn went off and I surprised myself in my level of comfort.  The fog made sighting the buoys difficult but I realized that there was a line used for sculling races that would lead me out and back.  I relaxed, worked on my stroke, and found myself in the thick of my age group swim.

I came out of the water with a sense of purpose.  If this was not going to be a PR race well then I might as well have a bit of fun.  As I began the course a younger guy passed me and asked me how things were going and I said that they were going to be just fine.  The first twenty miles were pretty benign.  It was a beautiful course and made even more so with the light wisps of fog.  I passed a lot of riders.  I would give them a verbal high five when I went by.  My hip was tight but not painful.  To take my mind off it I started playing a little game.  If I passed a woman in her 40’s or 50’s I’d make a remark about how the marker had gotten their age wrong on their leg.  Some of the riders would remain stoic but the majority of the ladies would bust out laughing and we’d quickly wish each other a great race.  On a particularly tough hill at mile 38 I passed many people pushing their bikes up the steep incline and trying to dig down deep to keep going.  Motivation was at a low point and I sensed it was time to let it all hang out.  I yelled out, “Hey everyone, it’s time to find your inner Diana Ross!”  I then started singing Ain’t No Mountain High Enough at the top of my lungs.  I picked up my cadence and pushed up the hill.  Once I reached the top and picked my way through the tired riders I tried to lift spirits by yelling out, “We came, we saw, we kicked it’s ass.”  That elicited a couple of chuckles from the riders around me and my spirits were lifted for the remainder of the bike ride.

I came into the transition area and readied for my run.  I knew that this would be the telling moment in the race.  The first mile went by without much fanfare.  There was a short and steady hill but things seemed ok.  I came into the first run aid station feeling good and confident and I had a good pace going.  Another mile went by and things were good.  If I passed someone I would urge them on and let them know that they were doing a great job.  If someone passed me I would do likewise and give them a verbal fist bump.  The third mile featured a short, but steep hill and that’s where my hip began to make its presence known.  My left hip began to tighten up and each step began to hurt just a little bit more.  The trail turned and ran along the lake.  During this point the run went up a long and extended hill.  As I struggled to make my way up the hill I caught sight of Riley gingerly coming down the hill.  He was running at a great pace but I could see he was in pain.  I yelled out encouragement to him and kept plugging up the hill.  A couple of minutes later I met Jaime coming down the hill.  I urged him on as well, crested the hill, turned around, and began the run back to town.  I ran past the halfway point, told myself that I was going to finish, gritted my teeth, and resolved to gut things out.  My urgings to others became less frequent and I began to concentrate on simply finishing.  The sun was high, the air warm and thick, and with each aid station I would grab a cup of ice, pop one cube in my mouth, and pour the rest down my backside.  As I came to the big hill for the second time I realized that I was no longer in race mode but on survival mode.  My hip was throbbing, as were my feet.  I hit the turnaround, felt a slight surge of energy and made my way back to town.  I rounded the corner, heard the announcer call my name, and crossed the finish line.  My wife and kids were cheering me on from one side of the finish line and Jaime and Riley were cheering me on from the other side.  I felt a sense of relief and began to walk around to keep myself from throwing up.

In a fitting end to the race my wife and son had brought at my request a cooler full of ice cubes.  I took the cooler, filled it with water from Lake Stevens, and promptly took the ALS ice water challenge.  I dedicated the challenge to Loren Dils, a friend and former tennis coach at the University of New Mexico.  The water felt good and I reflected on how lucky I was in being able to complete my race.  The ravages of ALS had taken a healthy and athletic body such as Loren’s and reduced it to the status of an invalid.  Any issues I had during the race paled in comparison with what Lauren had gone and was continuing to go through on a daily basis.  I was thankful that I was able to celebrate my accomplishment with my family and my teammates.

It wasn’t the race I had hoped to complete.  Other than a good swim, no PR’s occurred.  In the whole scheme of things that was ok.  Sue, a woman I met at Jaime’s triathlon camp in Tucson said it best.  “Sometimes it's just about throwing PR's aside and finishing a race out of commitment to the sport, or teammates or yourself.”  While it was not my best race, it was a gut check.  It was a race where the mind won out over the body.  It gave me confidence to face other races and told me that I could dig down deep and laugh at the frustrations of injuries, interrupted training time, and a race that didn’t meet up to initial expectations.

Reflecting Back

Saturday night. Not a care in the world. My wife and I sat outside by our firepit and enjoyed the perfect Central Oregon summer evening. It was our first free weekend in almost two months. It was relaxing and it felt good. Friday we’d be heading north to Seattle. I’d meet up with Jaime and Riley on Saturday and we’d head to Lake Stevens together bright and early Sunday morning to race the Ironman 70.3. Tonight though, it was all about kicking back.

I scrolled through my email and then logged on to Facebook. There was mention of the Socorro Chile Harvest Triathlon as well as the Leadville 100 among posts from my friends. I was reminded of a time 10 years ago when I tried to get started as a triathlete and the interesting turn of events that happened on that day in August.

My good friend Matt Perini was one of the organizers of the Chile Harvest Triathlon. I had known Matt since junior high. I knew he and his brother (who I knew as a swimmer at UNM) had gotten into triathlons. Maybe it was that connection that emboldened me. I’m not sure what caused me to take the bait but in May of 2004 I decided to print out a 10-week program in order to train for a Sprint Triathlon and I signed up for my first triathlon.

As I look back I blush a bit at my naivete. I was five years into my new career as a stay at home Dad. I had a six year old son and a soon to be four year old daughter. My training happened when my wife came home from work if it happened at all. I'd squeeze an early morning swim (if one could call it that) at the Y, or hop on the bike, or throw on the shoes and head out into the heat of the early evening between playdates and trips to the zoo or the park.  Still, I remember throwing my bike into the back of my truck on a very early August morning and heading south to Socorro. The plan was to race, drive back to Albuquerque, and then head up to Breckenridge, CO where my wife would be attending a conference.

I drove south as the sun rose over the Sandias and cast a bright hue on Landron Peak. I was excited and a bit nervous, as I wasn’t sure what to expect. I don’t think I had even thought about transition. As I approached the exit for Belen my truck lurched, I heard a massive thump, and I began to lose power in my truck. I pulled off the interstate and saw that my transmission light had come on. I stopped and called my wife to let her know what had happened. The truck was driveable but just barely. I limped back to Albuquerque on back roads with my hazard lights blinking. A neighbor, who was a mechanic, recommended a transmission place fairly close to our house. After what seemed like a nervous eternity I pulled into the transmission place, met my wife, and we headed home to pack up the car and head north. I called Matt to tell him what happened. My current coach Jaime (who I didn't know at the time) was in that race that day and completed it in just over an hour.

Our drive north to Breckenridge was pretty uneventful. We decided to stop in Leadville for an early dinner and came into town just as the first racers were completing the Leadville 100. It was exciting to see these guys finish and the atmosphere was festive and electric. We had an enjoyable dinner and it was interesting to see some of the finishers make their way into the Golden Burro, chat them up, and hear them recount their adventures. It was a fun evening and we lingered as long as we could before making our final push into Breckenridge.

A year passed and once again I set my sights on the Chile Harvest Tri. I trained a little better, and even convinced my friend Jim to join me in the race. Heck, we even drove down to Socorro and biked and ran the route in 100 degree heat the weekend before the race. The Tuesday before the race I received word that my aunt had died. The funeral would be held that weekend in Farmington and I was asked to be a pallbearer. Once again, my thoughts of completing a tri were dashed.

It wouldn’t be until 2006 that I would finally be able to complete a triathlon. That year my friend Jim and I would register for the Jay Benson Tri in Albuquerque. I remember seeing and talking to Matt as he was one of the course officials. Jaime was there too, though I didn’t really know him at the time. We had met previously the year before at a holiday party we hosted (his wife had been hired as a hospitalist by my wife) but it was just that one social occasion. Maybe we nodded or yelled encouragement to one another as we passed one another on the out and back run course that began the race. All I remember is chatting with Jim while we ran, doing the bike portion on my old steel frame mountain bike, and slogging my way through the pool portion of the race. It was fun and I finished 30 minutes behind Jaime, who no doubt had probably already headed home to celebrate Mother’s Day with his wife and daughter.

The following year I had signed up for the Jay Benson but came down with strep throat the morning of the race. That was the last attempt at racing a triathlon until I moved to Bend.  I put the thought out of my mind, became a teacher once again, juggled parenthood, and got fat.  It wasn't until I turned 50 and took a look in the mirror that thoughts of doing a triathlon returned.  It wasn't until I met back up with Jaime that I got serious about doing something about it and resolved to become a triathlete.

As I looked back at some of those results and thought about that time 10 years I was amazed at the changes that occurred and a little bit of the kismit that had taken hold. This year I completed a sprint tri (with a longer swim than the Jay Benson) in a time that was 28 minutes faster than my first effort. The person that I nodded to, and knew only briefly in a social setting is now my coach and a good friend. He and I have done a half ironman and a long course race together and we’ll do another one this weekend. I hope either next year or the year after next to attempt and complete my first Ironman and hopefully he and my family will be there to witness the moment.

It’s been an interesting turn of events and it was fun to reflect back on those memories. My children are now older and more self-sufficient, one is in high school and the other is finishing up middle school. My wife is now carving out her own niche in racing mountain bikes when she’s not working. And as for myself, this guy who struggled to show up and just complete his first tri has adopted the triathlete lifestyle and is looking forward to his next half ironman. Life is good. 

Priorities

I learned that we can do anything, but we can’t do everything...at least not at the same time. So think of your priorities not in terms of what activities you do, but when you do them. Timing is everything.
                                       Dan Millman

I typed out the text, sent it to Jaime, and let out a long and pronounced sigh. I got up and started to pack for my long seven-hour journey to the Wallowas to pick up my daughter at music camp. Originally my wife was supposed to drive to Wallowa to pick up my daughter Kiley. I knew that my wife really wanted to do a mountain bike race over in Oakridge – a three-hour drive away. The race was the same day that my daughter would have her end of camp concert in Joseph. I decided to be the good soldier and told her that I’d pick up Kiley so she could do the race.

I was originally supposed to ride with Jaime and Riley on Friday. It was going to be the epic over Bachelor to Sparks Lake ride and back. It would challenge me and get me ready for Lake Stevens. We would leave at 10:30 a.m. and the ride would probably take 3 and a half hours. I would be lucky to leave Bend for Wallowa by 2:30 or 3:00. This would get me into Wallowa around 10 if everything went perfectly. It would also not account for me being tired after a ride that would involve 60 miles of riding and 4000 feet of climbing. Somewhere along the way common sense kicked in. I realized if I wanted to get to Wallowa in one piece I needed to prioritize things, even if I wasn’t happy with the results. I texted Jaime and told him I wouldn’t be riding, packed up my bag, got my bike on the rack (I would at least do some training) and began the trek to the far reaches of Northeastern Oregon.

I arrived in Wallowa in time to get in a good afternoon ride. Before I left I saw that Jaime and Riley had noted on social media just how epic a ride it had been. I threw on my kit, drove out to Joseph, and prepared for a long ride alone. It was gorgeous scenery. The Wallowas are known as Oregon’s Alps and I could understand why the Nez Perce had fought so valiantly for the right to remain in this area. The miles flew by but my mind wandered. I couldn’t put my finger on why I was in such a funk over a ride. I finished up, changed into street clothes and set out to explore Joseph. Much like my ride I felt like I was going through the motions, in the same old funk.

When I get like this I have to start figuring out why and then I have to figure a way out of it. I’m sure it drives my friends crazy and I’m sure it does my coach as well. It took some contemplation during dinner to put my finger on things. I was reminded of something Jaime told me about a bike camp he had gone to in Moab. Joe Friel, of Training Peaks, and countless books that triathletes and bike enthusiasts swear by showed up as a surprise guest of the camp. Jaime said he spent the whole camp attached to Friel, riding with him, asking questions, listening to what he had to say. Hanging on his every word. He gained a lot of insight and knowledge during his time with Friel and he expressed surprise that others at the camp weren’t doing likewise.

As I thought about this story I realized that some of what Jaime saw in Joe Friel I myself saw in Jaime. When we ride Jaime tends to talk about things, share insight and wisdom, and relate things that he normally doesn’t do off the bike.  He notices things in your own cycling skills and offers suggestions. Most importantly he pushes you ever so slightly to go a little bit harder and just a little bit faster. I noticed how Riley had benefited from his time during the spring when they’d ride together. I was perhaps envious of the benefits he was gleaning from those rides. During the school year I rarely if ever got a chance to do a hard ride with him. I hoped the summer would give me a chance to ride with Jaime and learn from him but life as a Dad and a husband, along with an injury had seemed to have gotten in the way of these rides. Here I was yet again wondering about the whys, the what ifs, and the what becomes, and wondering if I’d ever get to benefit from the intrinsic things that only occurred on the bike.

While I may have determined the cause of my funk I still needed to figure a way out of it. That night I briefly talked to my wife and wished her luck in her race. I went to bed a bit depressed and awoke the same. I didn’t feel like doing anything. I needed to drive down to Wallowa Lake and meet my daughter Kiley at 11. It would give me plenty of time to get a training set in but I just couldn’t bring myself to do so. I’m not sure why. I just wasn’t feeling it. I drove into Joseph, got breakfast, and walked around – still the same mental zombie as the night before. I drove down to Wallowa Lake to the camp where my daughter had been staying for the past week. She was excited to see me and related what a wonderful time camp had been and how much fun she had while she was there. We talked over lunch and then she told me she wanted to play some of the music she had learned for the afternoon’s concert for me. We finished up our lunch and walked up to her cabin. She got out her saxophone and her sheet music and set up a music stand outside. I sat on the steps of her cabin and I began to listen to her play. I was surprised at how well she had progressed during the week. She played with feeling and passion. As I watched her play under the towering pines I realized that this was my priority at this place in time. Sure things would be different if I was single or had a job that allowed me to train basically any day or any time of the week, but that just wasn’t the case. I realized that with what I had going on in my life that sometimes what I wanted wasn’t necessarily going to be the highest priority in my life at that point in time.

I went to the concert and marveled at how my daughter, who was one of the youngest musicians at camp was holding her own with other students who had been play two to three times longer than she had. I texted Jaime a note that basically said I had made the right decision and he texted the word 'priorities' back to me. I knew I’d miss another ride on Sunday with him – the concert wouldn’t be done until after 4 so it only made sense to stay another night. I’d miss another chance to learn, to talk, to share, and to be challenged. I was ok with the decision. I knew right now that where I needed to be was with my daughter, even if it did foul up training for Lake Stevens.

That night she and I enjoyed a great dinner together at a tavern the innkeeper had recommended. It was in a tiny town called Lostine. We had time to talk and share and tell each other about things that normally got trampled at home by living our lives. We headed back to the inn and I decided to take a walk around town to the let the food settle. I walked along the deserted storefronts and thought of my priorities in the coming weeks – getting ready for Lake Stevens, finishing up the round of various appointments for the kids, getting ready for the school year, and hopefully getting in a swim or two and a couple of bike rides with Jaime (he tends to chat during our breaks in between laps, and it’s amazing how much you can learn). I could feel the wind pick up and it looked like a storm was coming in. I decided to head back to the room.  Before I reached the room I got a text from my wife. Earlier in the day she had texted me that she had won the Master’s Division of her race. I congratulated her and let her know how happy and proud I was of her. We had gone back and forth and finally I jokingly asked her if she had gotten anything for her winnings. She noted the only thing she got was the knowledge that she could accomplish and finish the race (a very difficult one I might add) and in that was her personal victory. I smiled knowing that even though at the time I might have thought the opposite that I clearly had gotten my priorities straight. I also realized that with each passing day I would need to constantly review, reset the table, and hope in the end that I’d gotten my priorities straight. 

Deschutes Dash

The sun was bright and shimmering on the cold river water. I was knee deep in the water waiting for the signal to begin. I’d done my rituals that my bud Justin had shown me almost a year ago to the day. Jaime and I exchanged a fist bump and wished each other the best before we waded into the water. Another race, everything was pretty much the same except in a way it wasn’t. I was racing without a plan.

I guess in some ways there was a plan but it was different from my other races. The lead up to race had been interesting. I was coming off an injury and the training had been full of hiccups. Jaime hadn’t talked to me about the race and hadn’t giving me any instructions. I wasn’t sure how my foot was going to react and had thought about pulling out of the race. Jaime reminded me that we needed to support the local events or they wouldn’t exist. With that in mind I decided to simply race for fun and not worry about the numbers. I’d have my watch for data purposes but I wasn’t going to look at it during the race. I’d just need to remember to hit the lap button to advance the multi-sport function.

A year ago I had focused my energy on completing the sprint portion of the Deschutes Dash triathlon. It was my original reason for beginning to train. Since that time things had changed and now what had been a primary focus was now just a training session for a bigger and longer race. Today I was going to do the Olympic, almost a year to the day since my first Olympic Tri.

The signal went off and we were into the water. The Dash is unique in the fact that the open water swim occurs in the Deschutes River and goes downriver from point to point. You can really get going if you get into the current, but that also provides an interesting challenge. Sighting sometimes involves trying to determine the riffles as well as figuring out whether or not the swimmers on either side are zooming ahead without much effort. Part of the race had us sighting directly into the rising sun so it was a bit of lucky guessing and hard effort. In the middle of the mayhem I realized I’d forgotten to do the only thing I needed to worry about – start the watch! I paused as bodies thrashed all around me and got my watch started and began again to swim. We swam under three bridges, each full of cheering fans. The feeling of going underneath the bridges and into darkness only added to the unique nature of this portion of the race. I felt good during the swim portion and was happy with the effort. My attitude this year was to get over the fear of the open swim. I really felt that this race, coupled with Boise and Bozeman finally got me to that point. I came out of the water ready to get on the bike and head up the hill.

The bike portion of the race would take me up towards Mount Bachelor with a turn around at the Virginia Meisner Snowpark. Half the race was uphill with the other half being the opposite. It was a route I had taken so often with Jaime and Riley and I was confident in my abilities. I had already decided that I’d attack the hill, work hard, and use the downhill to regain my strength for the run. Last year I remember how hard I felt the bike portion was and how long it took to reach the turnaround. This year I found myself surprised when I reached that same turnaround. I couldn’t believe how easy it felt and I was ready to hit the real climbing that I’d encounter for the remainder of the Olympic route. I played tag with another rider and picked off riders as the elevation increased. I felt good and was confident as I continued up the hill. On the final climb I began to see the leaders zipping back into town on their descent. Our red short-sleeved Laughing Dog kits made it easy to spot my teammates and I yelled encouragement to Riley and Jaime as I made my final push. Once I turned around the fun began. My speed picked up and I began passing other riders at will. Going quickly down a hill can be a thrill but with aero tires it can also get interesting because you really feel the air pushing against your bike and it can make things sometimes feel a little squirrely. It was best that I didn’t realize until later that I hit 48 miles an hour coming down the hill. I rode my way back into town and maneuvered through the two roundabouts before heading down the last hill to the transition area.

I rode into the transition area and grabbed my things for the run. In the back of my mind I was a bit worried. How would my foot feel on the run? I had run in my Newtons without issue but this was different. This was a race. I began running downriver along the trail. As I rounded the corner I was greeted by cheers from a couple of cute ladies, one of which I realized was Jaime’s wife Heather. I felt energized and felt my pace pick up. I saw Jaime running across the river and yelled encouragement to him. Things felt good I enjoyed running the trail. I crossed the river and mentally began crossing off the race distance. I do this to kind of spur me to keep going and tell myself that I have things in the bag. I made my way up the river trail and from the brick path onto the dirt. I was used to this trail but usually I would run it in the reverse distance. I did know from experience though that a nasty hill would be coming up soon. I got one more glimpse of Jaime across the river, gave him a whoop, and mentally turned my cap around and prepared myself to tackle the hill. It did not disappoint and as I tried to push myself up the hill I told myself that this would be my last challenge of the race. Along the way I met up with plenty of pedestrians out for morning walks. With each hello I’d give I got more energy. The big hill was done and the bridge was crossed. Now it was only a matter of picking up the pace and running back to the finish. I passed a couple of runners and ran under the Healy Bridge. Only a quarter mile or so to go before I was done. I saw two runners in front of me and I made it my goal to catch and pass them before I reached the finish line. As I passed them and ran back onto the brick pathway I saw Jaime and Riley ahead of me encouraging me and cajoling me to kick into high gear for the last little bit. I went all out and crossed the finish line knowing two things – that I’d run a good race, and that I needed to puke.

It wouldn’t be until later that I’d determine that I’d run my best race in terms of pace, and that my bike had been literally another best. I bettered my Olympic time by 20 minutes – a bit misleading due to the downriver swim (although I did have a friend remind me that the river wasn’t necessarily worth a 20 minute advantage). I also finished second in my age group, which made me feel good about how things went. I celebrated with Jaime and Riley, my wife Angie, as well as Kevin and John a couple of other tri buddies who had been very supportive through my journey. It was nice to be able to share the feeling with others you would train with at the pool, on the road, or on the trail. I felt great and was confident that I could now look forward to Lake Stevens. It wasn’t exactly planned but things had gone well and it was nice to share it with friends and family.