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. 

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Somewhere along the line I slipped off track.  I’m caught moving one step up and two steps back.

                        Bruce Springsteen

The last week had been a roller coaster for my coach and I.  For each thrilling ride to the top there had been an abysmal descent.  It had been a frustrating time and for a while I felt like I was really undergoing a tremendous setback.

The swim had been been fine.  Why wouldn’t it?  I was still using the buoy and using my arms.  It was my foot that was the key piece and even in the swim I was still avoiding flip turns because I wasn’t sure how my toe joint would feel pushing off the wall.  The question would be coming back on the bike, and more importantly the run.

Summer in Bend is usually very pleasant.  Sunny and temperatures in the 80’s.  Every so often we’ll get some weather that is considered warmer than normal – in this case the mid 90’s.  For someone from Phoenix this would be a cool spell but in Bend, this would be 10 to 15 degrees above normal.  After two weeks in Montana and Eastern Oregon, with very limited training under my belt, I came back to a Bend that was baking under abnormally warm conditions.

The Tuesday after I returned I went for a bike ride.  The temperatures were warm and I was unaccustomed to the conditions.  While the ride went well my heart rate was erratic.  I was supposed to do interval drills but ended up not finishing my last interval because I couldn’t get my heart rate under control. I rode home on an easy spin and got in my shoes for a quick run.  The run was a disaster.  My legs felt like lead weights. 

Prior to this run Jaime and I had discussed changing shoes.  I had been running in Newtons and Jaime wanted me to look at running in Hokas, which were more forgiving and cushioned the foot better than the Newtons.  I went to FootZone in Bend and talked to Tonya Littlehales, a endurance race runner.  She ran in both Hokas as well as Newtons so I felt that the advice she was giving me was legit.  I chalked some of my running difficulty up to my shoes and tried to stem the confidence issues that were creeping into my brain.

Jaime, Riley, and I were supposed to go for a long ride on Wednesday.  Jaime couldn’t get out of family obligations and the ride was scheduled for the afternoon at a time when temperatures would be getting close to 100.  I really wanted to figure out if my heart fluctuations had more to do with temperature conditions so I begged off and went for an earlier ride.  The ride up to Bachelor felt good and I felt like I had turned the corner.

The following day I had a long run planned.  I had hoped to get out the door early but some family issues conspired to not allow me to get out the door until the temperatures were warming up.  My run was planned into and through Shevlin Park.  It’s a run that I thoroughly enjoy, even if it can be tough.  It involves several steep ascents and descents as you run into the park.  As I ran I didn’t feel any pain in my right foot but I couldn’t get my legs to fire.  I trudged through the run and became more and more depressed as my run continued.  I completed my run, chunked my shoes in the corner, vented my frustration to the world, and brooded.  I felt like the Hokas were heavy and I wasn’t sure if they would be a viable running option.  When Jaime and I went over everything he asked me about the run, I noted that on the good side I ran nine miles and my foot didn’t hurt, but on the bad side I had probably run at my slowest pace since George Washington was a schoolboy.  Jaime jumped on me and said, “so you ran nine miles and your foot doesn’t hurt?”  I realized that it was time to look at my glass as being half full rather than being half empty.

The weekend arrived at it involved both a long run and a long bike ride.  Both went off without a hitch.  No pain, and in the case of the run, I was able to run at a comfortable pace in my Hokas.  I completed almost ten miles.  My foot felt ok and I felt like my pace was coming back to me.  The legs definitely were firing, maybe not on all cylinders, but certainly better than two days previous.  On Sunday I biked 50 miles with Jaime and Riley and Jaime noted that my legs were back.  I felt a slight sense of satisfaction and hoped that things would continue to improve.

A week after my first bike venture I had an hour and half brick to complete.  A brick involves a bike ride followed immediately by a run.  It is one of the best ways to emulate a triathlon condition.  I went out under overcast skies and began my bike ride.  I didn’t look at the numbers and just rode.  I followed the route that riders in the final stage of the Cascade Cycling Classic rode two days earlier.  It felt good and the hill climbs felt particularly satisfying.  The pudding however would be proved in the run.

I completed the bike and ran into the garage to drop off the bike and grab my run stuff.  I had decided ahead of time that I’d be testing out the Newtons I had worn in Bozeman.  It would be the first time in almost a month that I’d be running in these shoes.  I strapped on the shoes and headed out to the trails.  The pace felt good and better yet, my foot didn’t hurt.  As with the bike I didn’t worry about the times, I just worried about running.  The minutes and distance ticked by and things felt good.  As I completed my run it started to rain.  It felt good on my body and I welcomed the cool water.  It felt almost a bit like a rebirth.  I’d been through a rough month and I felt like all of that had been washed away and it was time to start anew.  I felt like I was ready for my Olympic race on Saturday.  I resolved that I wouldn’t look at numbers, I’d just go out and have fun.  That’s really how it should be.  Truth be told, the numbers do sometimes get in the way. 

Jaime and I traded texts and I thanked him for his patience as I worked through my injury.  It had been a new experience.  With each of these events I experience something new, a bit of self-doubt, and a need for a certain amount of affirmation.  I asked him if as a triathlete the experience ever became old hat.  If things became rote and you pretty much went through every experience to the point where you never faced the unknown.  While I waited for his reply it gave me time to think about my question.  These new experiences can be frustrating.  These are the challenges that must be addressed as one works their way through this lifestyle.  At times you can feel like you’re taking a step forward, only to find that you are quickly taking two steps back.  Later I heard back from Jaime.  He noted that tri is never old hat because our bodies are constantly changing, as is our knowledge.  As soon as we figure one thing out, it changes.  In reality, I think part of the reason why I, and others choose to do triathlons is because it never becomes old hat.

The Three R's

Ok, time to put on the big boy pants!

It’s what Jaime had written in my Training Peaks log for my first week back in Bend.  It couldn’t have been more appropriate. 

It had been two weeks since my injury and I wasn’t handling the inactivity very well.  I was tired of feeling helpless, so to speak, in the recovery of my foot.  Jaime kept instilling in me that I needed to be patient, not to worry, rest, relax, recover – the three r’s.

 

The foot was slowly feeling better.  I was now able to put my full weight on the ball of my foot without pain.  The joint was still a bit puffed but not bothering me.  What was bothering me was the inactivity and lack of focused training.  As a person who was overweight at one time I kept thinking all the inactivity would cause me to be like that girl in Willy Wonka that blew up into an oversized beach ball and had to be rolled out of the movie by the Oompa Loompas. 

When I injured my foot I had one salvation and that was swimming.  Still, my swimming sessions were clunky at best.  No flip turns, couldn’t point my toes, all buoy.  Save for one nice pool in Whitefish, MT, my swimming options were pretty much catch as catch can.  The most memorable came at Fairmont Hot Springs where my swim workout became the talk of a drunken group of rednecks and a gaggle of middle school Lolitas.  Perhaps the sign on the pool reminding patrons that only one alcoholic drink could be consumed at a time while at the pool should have been a dead give away that I was no longer at Juniper Pool. 

The return to the bike was a bit smoother.  I purchased some clipless pedals so that I could ride my mountain bike with regular shoes.  The attempts at this went well.  I rode the forest service roads and climbed the hills around Georgetown Lake, Montana without discomfort.  It felt good and I could feel the bit in my mouth that I was chomping.  I was ready to charge out of the starting gate and make up for lost time.  My family and I were returning to Bend and I was already planning a ride out to Elk Lake to see how the foot was going to feel in clips. 

Our return coincided with some of the warmest weather Bend had seen in some time.  We got to the house and I flipped on the air conditioning.  I tried to remember the last time I had to use the air conditioner.  We unpacked and I set things out for my ride.  One would have thought after two weeks of sleeping in a various assortment of beds that my bed at home would be so comforting that I’d sleep sound and hard.  It didn’t happen.  I was warm and tossed and turned all night.  It was clear that our AC wasn’t a happy camper and with guests coming in a couple of days it was imperative that it be fixed quickly.  I called the repairman and resigned myself to the fact that the ride would have to wait. 

As I folded laundry I reflected, ok brooded, on how the events of the day had transpired against me and kept me off the road.  In reality it was probably divine intervention.  For my first ride back in clips I probably didn’t need to ride 60 miles and climb over 4000 feet in elevation.  Had I been able to ride out to Elk Lake I more than likely would have pushed it and potentially damaged my foot and set myself back further and possibly messed up my chances at racing at Lake Stevens.  As it stands now I’ll get back on track with a manageable training schedule that will allow me to gradually work back into the swim, bike, and run without taxing my system or potentially causing more damage to my foot.  Lake Stevens will still be the goal and we’ll see if I can fit a couple of other smaller races onto the docket depending upon how my foot feels.  My guess is that it will be a game day decision for a couple more weeks.

It’s hard to sit back and rest, relax, and recoup while everyone else around you is training and racing.  It requires patience, maturity, and not looking for immediate gratification.  In essence, it requires growing up a bit.

Time to slip on those big boy pants.  Hopefully they will fit me.  It’s time to get back (albeit slowly and smartly) onto a regular and consistent training schedule.

Bozeman

You ran how many miles on that?

I looked a bit sheepishly at the doctor, with the slightest tinge of pride.  “Just under six and a half miles”, I said.  He looked at me, shook his head, and sighed.  Then he said as he started his exam, “Well, I hope it was worth it.”  Deep down, even though I was in a lot of pain, I knew that it had been exactly just that – it was truly worth it.

I signed up for the Bozeman Olympic Triathlon because we were going to be in the area.  It would give me an excuse to see some old Albuquerque and high school friends, and a chance to complete a race before my family met up with some other family members to begin a two-week vacation in Montana and Eastern Oregon.

I was three weeks coming off my race in Boise.  It had been an interesting three weeks.  The day of the race in Boise a major fire broke out to the west of Bend, only a few miles from our house.  I returned home to a level-two evacuation order and a request from my wife to get a bag packed in order to be able to sufficiently live for five days.  At most we’d probably have 30 minutes notice to get out of the house. 

During those three weeks I’d sweat out the evacuation order and fire, close the school year, write narratives on each of my thirty students, fight off allergies, and later determine that I had a sinus infection.  It wasn’t exactly how I’d planned on getting ready for Bozeman.  My training was at best one big hiccup due to the sinus infection.  Still I felt like I’d be ok going into the race.

My good friend Brian was kind enough to drop me off at the crack of dawn.  The sun had yet to rise over the Bridger Mountains.  Several days of rain had left things clammy and cold but there was promise of a clear day ahead.  I got marked and headed to the transition area.  I got everything arranged and walked around prior to the athlete’s meeting.  “Hey dog, are you from New Mexico?”  I looked over to see a woman in a kit with zia symbols talking to me.  I walked over and introduced myself.  The woman was Terry Moore, and she was in town for her sister’s wedding.  We talked about mutual friends and she told me that she knew my coach Jaime.  We wished each other luck and I went back to my area to start putting on my wetsuit. 

The swim was two loops so everyone would swim a circuit, run out and run back into the lake to complete a second loop.  As with Boise I chose to hold back a bit.  I still wasn’t ready to dive into the belly of the swarming beast so to speak.  The gun went off and we began.  I felt comfortable and even found myself passing other swimmers.  I sighted and passed each of the three buoys and found myself running up the beach and back into the water for my second round.  I felt confident and wasn’t tired.  As I passed the second of three buoys I began to slowly push harder.  I could hear Jaime telling me that I wasn’t going to be using my arms after the swim and I felt myself catching harder and faster with each stroke.  I swam around the last buoy and really began to push hard.  I passed by a couple of swimmers and glided toward the beach.  My fingers grazed the bottom so I felt it was safe to come out of the water and run up toward the beach.  With both my hands I pulled forward and brought my legs and feet forward.  My right foot came down hard and the ball of my foot slammed onto a rock as I brought my body up.  The pain was instantaneous and I stumbled and fell forward back into the water.  I quickly regained my composure and ran up the beach.  I ripped off my wetsuit and marveled at the fact that steam was coming off my body.  As wild as that was I knew I needed to get going.  I grabbed my bike and helmet and made my way out of the transition area.

The transition out of the bike area was a long narrow green carpet.  I ran with my bike along the path and made my way up to the road to begin the bike portion of the race.  I took off and started peddling hard.  Jaime had told me that this was a race to crush and to basically go balls to the wall.  He said he wanted to look hard at the data from the race and use this to calibrate my training for Lake Stevens.  I found a comfortable cadence and started picking off racers in front of me.  Save for one steep hill and a couple of rollers this was a relatively easy and flat course.  I had mixed up a nutrition drink of 2 scoops of perpetuem, ½ a serving of scratch, and water.  My front water bottle encouraged me to take sips throughout my ride.  Quicker than I had expected I was at the halfway point of the bike and it was time to head back.  I felt good and kept picking off riders.  This was going to be a good race in my mind.

I made my way back to the end of the road and dismounted.  It was time to retrace my route on the carpet back to the transition.  The big difference this time was that athletes competing in the sprint portion of the triathlon were just beginning the bike portion of the race.  Through this narrow path athletes were coming and going with their bikes running as quickly as their bike shoes would allow.  I noticed as I navigated along the path that my right foot felt a bit tender.  Quickly I ran into the transition area and got my things for the run.

My left shoe was on and I shoved my right shoe on ready to take off.  For some reason my foot wasn’t easily going into the shoe.  I grabbed the tongue, pulled hard, and stuffed my right foot into the shoe.  Strange, I didn’t remember it being this hard to get the shoe on.  Oh well, it was on.  I grabbed my hat and glasses and made my way out of the transition area, which had now become controlled chaos with bikers going in and out and now runners making their way out onto the course. 

My original goal was to start out at an 8:30 pace and work my way down each mile so I’d be running at a 7:15 pace by the end.  As with the bike Jaime had wanted me to run all out and crush it.  As I started I felt some discomfort in the ball of my right foot and I felt like something was pushing up against my big toe.  I ran out onto the course and tried to forget about the discomfort.  The first part of the course was on a twisting path through a meadow and then through a forest grove full of purple fireweed.  The beauty of the flowers momentarily took my mind off the pain.  The trail dumped into a residential area that ringed a golf course.  I was able to pick up my pace on the flat portion of the course.  The pain was dulled but was ever present.  Trying to pick up the pace too much intensified the pain in the bottom of my foot.  I was wavering around 8:30.  Anything quicker and my foot really began to hurt.  I realized that my original plan was not going to happen.  The pain was just too difficult to overcome.  I settled on a pace somewhere between 8:30 and 8:45.  That seemed to be a pace that I could maintain while mentally pushing through the pain.  The course was shaped like a large figure eight and would consist of two laps.  The bottom part of the figure eight went around the lake we had swum in just over an hour earlier.  As I ran around the lake a voice behind me shouted out, “Looking good and strong dog!”  As Terry shot by me towards the finish I veered to the left to begin my second lap.  I told myself I was halfway through and that I was going to get this done.  I knew though that the pain was increasing and it would be tough to maintain a consistent pace.  The climbing and descents of the hilly portion of the course were extremely painful and I felt my pace slow.  I decided that no matter how hard it was going to be that I had to shoot for an 8:45 pace for the remaining three miles even if it killed me.  Teeth gritted, I pushed forward and tried to block out the pain. I gave shout outs to those I passed and hoped the positive cajoling would give me a boost.  It took my mind off the pain and I felt a bit of euphoria when I crested the last hill and saw the lake before me.  As I rounded the lake and was hitting the homestretch I heard Terry and her friends cheer me on.  I came into the finish shoot and breathed a sigh of relief as I crossed the finish line.  I knew I had bettered my Olympic time and I was happy to be done.  I walked toward the relief table and felt the pain in my right foot increase with each step.  I ran into Terry and we congratulated each other on a well-run race.  Terry finished third overall and won the women’s division.  We wished each other well and I made my way back to my transition area.  My foot was in full throb mode so I figured that it was probably time to remove my shoe and check on the damage.  I removed my right sock and was greeted with a black and blue big toe.  I turned my foot over and noted that the ball of my right foot was bloodied and twice the size of the ball of my left foot. 

I quickly gathered up my things, grabbed my bike, and hobbled toward my wife and daughter.  My wife, who is a doctor, took one look at my right foot and said, “Hmm, looks like we need to go to urgent care.  Do you remember when you last had a tetanus shot?”

The visit to urgent care took about as long as the race itself.  The verdict?  More than likely I had either a hyper-extended or a hyper-flexed toe joint.  This probably happened when I fell back into the water.  The x-ray revealed what appeared to be a hairline fracture on the sesamoid bone.  This probably happened when I slammed the ball of my foot onto the rock.  Not exactly what I wanted to hear, but it certainly could have been worse.  Even with the slow pace of the run and the intense pain I bettered my Olympic course time by five minutes.  And yes, to answer the Doctor’s question, it was totally worth it.