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. 

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.