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.

Taking Stock of the Situation

“If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous he will not bite you. This is the principal difference between a dog and man.”
                                                            Mark Twain

“All right man. I’ve had enough. I’m turning around.”

It was the equivalent of a slap to the face followed by an ice cold bath. It got my attention. I had blown a gasket the size of Mt. St. Helen’s on steroids with a dramatic flourish usually only seen in a pack of middle school girls. I had yelled at my coach, my mentor, and most importantly my friend. How the heck had I gotten to the point where I had bit the hand that had fed and nourished me for that last year?

It had been boiling and brewing for a week. I was a mess of emotions that would have made Sybil proud. Angry, scared, hurt, confused, tired, pissed, frustrated, disappointed, embarrassed - you name it, it was bouncing around in my noggin.

I had gone out for a ride with Jaime, Riley, and Brad. Instead of just relaxing and enjoying the ride, I found my emotions spinning out of control and with it my cadence and my speed. I could feel myself pushing harder and harder as we began climbing up Bachelor. I passed all of them and then stupidly started beating myself up by trying to hammer it harder up the hill. I’m not sure if I was trying to just push myself so hard I would pass out or just make myself hurt by beating myself to a pulp. At some point I heard Jaime come up behind and say, “Well the boys have left and headed back to town. What is wrong?”

I really had no reason to be going through this as I look back. Yes, the race at Oregon Dunes the weekend before had been a mess. However, the silver lining in that mess had been an age group win - one that got me an invite to the USA Triathlon Age Group National Championships. Later in the week I received a note from USA Triathlon that an article I had submitted to them would be published in their weekly newsletter. My son’s robotics team had a stellar weekend at their underwater robotics competition. My wife had won her age group at the Chainbreaker mountain bike race, my daughter was headed to the coast in a couple of days for a science camp and was thrilled. Life was GREAT! So why was I pissing in the frosted flakes?

The Wednesday after the Oregon Dunes was a busy day at the pool. I found a lane and asked a lady if I could share. We decided to split the lane and I started my training program. I noticed the lane next to us was busy as well with a couple of swimmers that were warming up for water polo. About halfway through my routine my lane partner was coming at me swimming butterfly while in the next lane I had a high school kid who was swimming stroke for stroke with me. My partner accidentally hit me as she passed by and I felt myself dart into the lane divider and bump into the other swimmer’s foot. All of the sudden I felt my chest tighten and my mind swim. What the heck was happening? I stopped and discovered my heart was racing and I was breathing hard. Really? Yes, the swim at Oregon Dunes had been a bit unnerving, but worthy of a PTSD or flashbacks? While I stood there calming down I could feel an unwanted guest creeping into my mind. Doubt. All of the sudden I wasn’t sure how I was going to handle a much larger and more crowded open water swim at Boise. As every possible scenario started running through my head I began getting upset at myself for letting such thoughts become an issue. The rest of the week was a mental version of Jekyll-Hyde as I kept having doubts and then beating myself up for having doubts. My dreams of completing an Ironman, much less a half- Ironman were shattering like little daggers and then finding their way into my brain.

Jaime had every right to push me off the ledge I was teetering on, and he might have felt like simply pushing me over on my bike. Thankfully his threat to turn around and head home was the message I needed in order to come off the ledge. I snapped out of my myopic rant and realized very quickly just what a royal douche bag I’d been. We turned around rode down the mountain and along the way picked up the pieces of my training, my racing, my life, my dreams, and our friendship. We rode into town weaving through the streets and talked about what was going on and what I needed to do in order to come to terms with everything. He provided insight and wisdom but also gave me a gentle kick in the ass. We parted but beforehand I once again apologized and sincerely asked for forgiveness.

That night I sat down and took stock of the situation. I wasn’t going to set the world on fire as a triathlete, and for all intense purposes I was always going to be pushing myself against a younger and stronger group of athletes. I was reminded of the Serenity Prayer - grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time; Enjoying one moment at a time;
During the weeks leading up to the race at Oregon Dunes I had been consumed with the thought of trying to do my best. Wanting to beat certain times. Wanting to prove people wrong. The old word for tuberculosis was consumption. It was an appropriate word for the situation. Generally, the afflicted person would eventually become consumed by the disease, and eventually died. I realized that I would need to change a lot of things or I too would become consumed to the point where I would kill off some important relationships.

At the end of each school year I write out narratives on my students. They provide an overview of how a child is doing and is our school’s answer to report cards. They are time consuming but they are also worthwhile. Often I find myself writing down that I hope a child will dig deep into their heart, determine who they are, live their own defined journey, and not compare themselves to others. I realized that was exactly what I needed to do for myself. Determine what I wanted to be as a triathlete, define and determine my own journey, and stop trying to compare myself to the others around me in terms of times, training, and ability. I let go of a lot of anger. I let go of a lot of perceived slights. I took a lot of deep breaths, and I also told myself that I just needed to relax. I turned over a new leaf the size of one of the elephant ears that grow along the bayou in the town where my wife was born.

As embarrassed as I was for the blow up, I related to Jaime (after again expressing how mortified I was over my behavior) that it was probably what needed to happen. I needed to have the melt down and then reassemble the pieces in a better and more appropriate form. I went to Boise relaxed. I spent a lot of time almost meditating – simply trying to live one day at a time and be in and enjoy the moment. Yes, I was a bit nervous, but relaxed. I ended up having a great race. I have a race this weekend in Bozeman. I’ve been coming off a sinus infection. It’s not exactly how I’d like to approach a race, but it is what it is. I will find time for more meditating, more relaxation, more living in the moment, and spend a little bit of time taking stock of the situation. I’m ready to give it my best shot but I also want to make sure that I have fun. Accept the things I cannot change, courage to make those changes that I can, and then know the difference in the two.

Today I had lunch with Jaime to celebrate his upcoming birthday. As we talked about things he related that at one time about ten years he felt like he had to win every race and became consumed in the training to the point where it was, in his words, making him a raving lunatic. He too had a similar blow up and his wife provided a version of the cold water slap to the face similar to the one he had given me a month ago. He realized he needed to take stock of the situation and make some changes. I’m thankful for the changes he made and I’m thankful he was willing to let me know in no uncertain terms that I needed to do likewise. 

Boise 70.3

I was working my way into my wetsuit when I heard a commotion behind me. I turned around to see a strapping guy walk by with two very good-looking women on either elbow. Apollo Anton Ono waltzed by and made his way to the swim wave start, and was that Craig (CROWIE) Alexander I just saw? Yes, Dorothy we were no longer at a small town race. This was the big time.

The Monday after Leadman back in September, Jaime and I sat down to lunch to discuss the racing season and to talk about the coming year. We agreed that my first half-ironman would be at Boise. Even better, Jaime said he would join me.

It would take some doing. Eight months of training, a half-marathon, a sprint triathlon, an Olympic triathlon, and a thoughtful plan would prepare me for this race. I’d need to make some sacrifices. The race would be four days before the end of school so I would end up taking a day without pay so that I could head over to Boise on Friday.

Friday morning I woke up around 4:30, a couple of minutes before my alarm would go off. The sky was lightening up as I showered, ate a quick breakfast, grabbed my bags, put my bike on the rack. I discovered my front tire was flat. I had ridden that bike just two days earlier so I hoped that maybe it was a leaky valve. I pumped the tire up and watched it lose air. I needed to get on the road and I had an extra tube. I figured I’d need to get an extra tube when I reached Boise. I’d change the tire when we got there so I did one last check and texted Jaime that I was on my way. Our travel partner Wendy was waiting at his house. We got everything loaded and pointed the car toward the rising sun.

The drive across Eastern Oregon is a beautiful but lonely country. Towns are few and far between. We lost an hour as we moved into the Mountain Time zone and arrived in Boise after lunch. We drove to Julia Davis Park and got all of our registration materials. Originally we had hoped to be able to drive up to Lucky Reservoir and get some time in the water. Jaime had a new wetsuit and I knew he wanted to gauge the chilliness of the water (something that is discussed over and over by athletes who participate in Boise). Unfortunately we were not allowed to swim in the reservoir. We arrived at the lake. Jaime switched out the wheels on his bike to his race wheels and threw on his disc and we got a new tube into my front tire. The three of us rode our bikes to the T1 area and checked them in. My number was easy to remember, 222. For those of my generation, who grew up watching TV in the early 1970’s it reminded me of the show Room 222. I remember having a crush on Karen Valentine, one of the stars of the show. I decided my mantra for the weekend would be ‘Karen Valentine is my co-pilot’.

We headed back into town to attend the athlete meeting and drove by the T2 area on the campus of Boise State University. The meeting was held and questions were answered. It was time to head to the hotel, but first we made a

quick stop for some food at Whole Foods. Jaime had recommended a couple of things and I wanted to try them out and see how my stomach would react with plenty of time prior to the race. Wendy was staying at a different hotel so we dropped her off at her hotel, made arrangements to pick her up for dinner and made our way to where Jaime and I would be staying. We got checked in, found our room, and started to get things laid out and prepped for the race. Jaime gave me an extra tube so I was set in case I got a flat during the race.
It was dinnertime and we decided that Italian would fit the bill. We picked up Wendy and made our way to the appointed restaurant where we met up with Brad and David, two other athletes from Bend. We enjoyed a great meal and Jaime was even kind enough to order spumoni as a belated birthday treat (my birthday was the day before). It was time to head back to the hotel. Say goodnight to the family, and get a good night’s sleep.

7:00 came – probably the latest I’ve ever woken up for a race. Most races start early, usually somewhere between 6:00 and 8:00 am, but in Boise a cannon would fire off at noon in order to start the first wave. I woke up refreshed and ready to go. Jaime and I made our way down to the lobby to grab a bite to eat. We talked to a couple of other athletes and all of them commented about the late start and how it felt a little bit off. It was nice to be able to order up an omlet and hashbrowns and read the Idaho Statesman. We had plenty of time to eat, get things organized, check out, and make our way over to Wendy’s motel. We headed to the park, eventually found a parking spot, dropped our bags off in T2 and boarded the school buses that would take us out to Lucky Reservoir. I utilized the time to center myself, relax, and visualize how the race would go. All too soon we were off the bus and making our way to T1.

Suited up, I had my brush with Apollo, got a good luck fist bump from Jaime, and headed to meet up with the others in my swim wave. After my issues at Oregon Dunes, I purposely held back and chose to enter in the back. I turned to the ladies behind me and said, “all right girls, no laughing when you swim by me”. This got a chuckle and it helped me lessen my nerves. I slowly made my way and got accustomed to the cold water. The earplugs and neoprene cap made things bearable. I kept telling myself that all would be good. The horn went off and we were off. The course was laid out in a clockwise triangle with the first leg being the longest. I felt good in the swim. There were a couple of ladies from the wave before me that caught up and passed me, but I also passed folks from the wave before me. I experience choppiness for the first time. Thankfully it didn’t seem to concern me and I didn’t get nauseous. I rounded the final corner, sped up my swim stroke, and felt strong as I made my way to the swim exit. I ran up the hill and was greeted by a stripper. Quickly I was on the ground, the suit ripped off my legs, helped back to my feet, suit pushed into my gut, and I was off to the bike.

The whole plan with the bike was to maintain a certain heart rate throughout the race. I slipped into a good cadence, checked my heart rate and headed out.
The steepest hill came at the beginning of the race. There would be more hills along the route but this one would set the pace. I made it up the hill and was thankful for all the time I had spent climbing the hills around Bend. Miles ticked by and I was surprised at how quickly things were going. My nutrition was working and I even became comfortable grabbing the bottle behind my seat while riding. The turn around came and I knew that I had it in the bag. I fought off the wind, which whistled across the flatter portions of the race. My white sleeves were keeping me comfortable and things were feeling good. At mile 35 I heard a familiar voice behind me. It was Jaime, who had gone off twenty minutes behind me. He pulled up along side, told me I was having the race of my life, and noted that it might be good to remove my earplug from my left ear. I had taken my right earplug but failed to get the other and didn’t even realize it was still in. He told me to remember the plan, I wished him luck, and he was off. I made my way into Boise and continued to monitor my heart rate. Things were feeling good. I was familiar with the area around Boise State so I was excited when the old train station came into view. I knew it was a quick downhill into T2.

I came into the T2 feeling pretty good. As a triathlete being on a bike for an extended time can lead to some interesting hygiene issues. I had been struggling with allergies a couple of days prior to the race and throughout the bike I was blowing my nose. No Kleenex, just gravity, and lot of wiping. I ripped off the sleeves, blew my nose into each sleeve, jammed them into my bag. Shoes were thrown on along with my hat and it was time for that final leg of the race. The run would be two loops along a paved path along either side of the Boise River. Though it was late afternoon, most of the run would thankfully occur under a canopy of large cottonwoods. As I made my way across the bridge I felt a slight cramp on the lower left side of my abdomen. I made a decision that I’d need to slightly alter my plan. I knew that there would be aid stations each mile so I’d try to keep the cramps at bay by staying cool and hydrated. At each aid station I grabbed a cup of water, took a sip, grabbed a cup of ice, through a piece in my mouth, and then dump the rest down the back of my trisuit. I’m sure from the rear I probably looked to someone like Nicki Minaj had taken up triathlons. I didn’t care. The ice kept my core temperature down, and more importantly, it kept me from cramping up. Each aid station was full of happy and enthusiastic volunteers. It kept me going and the miles ticked by. As I made my way under Capitol Boulevard for the last time I saw a familiar face heading my way. I high fived Jaime as he made the final push to the finish and I picked up my pace, knowing that the end was in sight. Even though I know I lost some time stopping at each station by doing so I was able to maintain a sub 8:30 pace while I was running and was able to keep my pace below 9:00 for each mile.

The last mile flew by. I ran past a nice crowd gathered at the final turn before the last straightaway. I made sure to grin broadly at the cute sorority girl holding the sign that said ‘smile if you’re not wearing any underwear’. I caught her eye, she

giggled, and she let out a big whoop! There was no one ahead of me or behind me as I made my way to the finish. I heard the announcer say my name, I raised my hands as I crossed the finish line, and kicked my heels in the air. The crowed roared and the announcer yelled out, “I give that an 8.5!” Boise was in the books. I made my way through the chute and was greeted with a big grin by Jaime. Eight months of work was a success. I finished in 5:48:00, which bettered my goal by 12 minutes. We waited for Wendy to cross the line. We gathered up all our stuff and headed back to Bend. Fueled by Dutch Bros., with some help from the Grateful Dead and Billy Joel we made it back by 1:30 a.m. I dropped Wendy and Jaime off, headed home, showered, and hit the rack. Sleep came quickly.
I’m quick to thank Jaime for my success due to his coaching. His plans have allowed me to be successful. The true success of the program he developed for me was truly apparent though on the following day. I woke up feeling great. No stiffness or soreness. My wife and I even went for a mountain bike ride together in the early afternoon. That’s base fitness and it gives me confidence that I’ll be ready for the next race.

My doctor, who is also a triathlete, told me to make sure I enjoyed this race since it was my first 70.3. Boise was a blast and I look forward to not only doing it again, but improve on the benchmark I set for that race. I know I backed off a bit on my training and in the final plan. Jaime noted on our way back from Boise, that sometimes it’s better to back off a bit and have a balance between life and training. He noted that sometimes racers sacrifice it all for the race and then the pressure is too intense. If they fail, which he noted that 90% do, then they are left with nothing. My goal is to remain in the 10%, continue to strike a balance, have fun. Lake Stevens is in two months and I can’t wait. 

Oregon Dunes

Left to themselves, things tend to go from bad to worse.

                                               Murphy’s Law (one of many)

It was a podium moment, albeit a podium of sand. It was highly unlikely that I

should be standing above the handwritten ‘1’ in the sand, but there I was. The

journey to this moment was anything but normal. It was a race that Murphy

would have relished with wild abandon.

The original plan was for me to drive to Florence after work on Friday. I would

race the Oregon Dunes Olympic Tri on Saturday, return to Bend after the race,

and get home late Saturday afternoon. About three weeks before the race my

son’s high school robotics team decided to participate in an underwater

competition in Lincoln City. Though this was 1.5 hours north of Florence I agreed

that I could be a driver for my son’s team. I would drive part of the team over, get

up early and drive down to Florence, and return to Lincoln City after the race.

My reasoning for doing Oregon Dunes was twofold. First, it was an opportunity

to participate in an Olympic distance race. Second, it would allow me the chance

to swim in the open water. Since my half-ironman in Boise would be a month

later this would be a good confidence boost as I began my last month of training.

Bags were packed, packing list was double and triple checked, bike was loaded.

My son and I swung by his high school to pick up a couple of his buddies. A

quick stop at Dutch Bros., a good luck text from Jaime, and we were off to the

coast. We crossed over Santiam Pass and the clouds grew dense and snow

began to fall. As we dropped down into the valley this became a steady and

constant downpour. We stopped briefly in Salem for dinner and the sun made an

appearance. We reached the coast in time for a beautiful sunset and got our

room assignments at the beach house where we were staying. I knew it would

be an early morning so I turned in not long after our arrival.

I was surprised by my alarm. Surprised mainly because I slept good and hard.

Usually before a race I have trouble sleeping. Perhaps I should have taken this

as an omen. I showered, loaded everything up, and was out of the door and on

the road by 5 a.m. A couple of Cliff bars and a stop at Dutch Bros. in Newport

and I was heading down the coast through an intermittent rain. The drive was

beautiful, peaceful, and got me in the right mind frame for the race. I arrived at

the transition area just after registration opened and got my packet. I went back

to the car and swapped out the wheels on my bike. I put on my timing chip and

slapped the race numbers on my bike and helmet. I gathered up everything I

needed and made my way to the athlete’s entrance.

While I was waiting in line to get marked I heard my number called and was

asked to report to the registration table. I walked up to the table, bike and gear in

hand and was told that I’d been given the wrong chip. A lady came around the

table and took the chip off my ankle while the other handed me my correct chip.

My hands were full so I jammed the chip in my sweats and walked back to the

entrance where the line had grown considerably. I waited patiently until it was

my turn to get marked. I made my normal smart ass remark to the lady about

enjoying the fact that she gets to tell all the guys to take off their shirt and drop

their pants. I got the obligatory blush and chuckle and got cleared to head into

the transition area.

Some races have specific areas for your stuff based on your number. Others are

a catch as catch can. This race had the latter type of transition area so I tried to

find a place where it would be easy to spot my bike as I was coming out of the

water. I found a good spot and started laying things out. I got everything just so

and then pulled my wetsuit out of the transition bag. Now the fun would begin. I

stripped down to just my racing suit and threw my sweatshirt and sweats into my

transition bag. As I was ready to start wiggling my way into my wetsuit a squall

came through and with it a deluge of rain. It’s interesting enough when you’re

dry and try to work your way into a wetsuit. It’s even more comical when you’re

watching a group of soaking wet athletes try and pull on their wetsuits. Let’s just

say that Miley Cyrus could have learned a thing or two about twerking had she

been in that transition area.

Finally encased like a sausage, I made my way to Woahink Lake. It had been

almost eight months since I had swam in a lake. In that time I had forgotten just

how cold lakes in Oregon could get. This one was around 55 degrees. Yes, it

was downright frigid. I started slowly plunging my face into the water to get

adjusted to the temperature so my chest wouldn’t tense up. Blair, the race

director mentioned something about timing chips and my stomach immediately

sank. I pictured the timing chip, still in the pocket of my sweats - the sweats that

were in the bottom of my transition bag. I immediately pushed my goggles up,

ran up the ramp, and headed as fast as I could to the transition area. Apparently

I wasn’t the only one as there were two other people hot on my tail. I ran into the

transition area, found my bag and ripped it open. I located my sweats and dug

into the front pocket. No chip. Damn! Thankfully when I jammed my hand into

the other pocket I found the chip. I slipped it around my ankle and stuffed

everything back into my transition bag.

As I ran out of the transition area I grabbed my goggles and pulled them down

over my eyes. As I went to let go I felt the goggles separate at the bridge of the

nose. Are you kidding me?! Frantically I ran over to the registration tent. I knew

I had another pair of goggles in my bag but I wasn’t sure how long it would take

me to dig them out of the bottom of the bag. At the registration desk I found a

straight pin and pinned my goggles together. I pulled them over my eyes and

tested them – they seemed to hold. I heard the race director begin the

countdown. There was no time to waste. I dashed back to the boat ramp.

Originally I envisioned spending time in the water before the race. I would

visualize the race. Visualizing myself using cam and steady strokes. I would say

a little prayer and think of my friends and love ones no longer with me. I would

ask for their strength and guidance during the race. I would remind myself to not

only survive the swim but to thrive in the swim.

As I sprinted back to the lake I realized that none of my plan was going to

materialize. I began to wonder if I would even be able to complete the race. I

had no time to test my goggles and since I wear contacts, just going without

goggles was not an option. Adrenaline was ramping up at a time when I wished I

could be centered and calm. I rounded the corner and headed down the ramp, 5,

4, 3, 2, 1, the crowd roared and a gun went off. I hit the water and dove right into

the middle of the melee.

I have related before that the start of an open water swim is not for the faint of

heart. It’s messy. Arms and legs are flailing about. It’s a writhing mass of black

neoprene coming at you from all angles.

The Olympic start had all the racers beginning at once so it was a large group

that started. Because of the layout of the course, the beginning chute was

narrow and forced all of the swimmers into a very small space. When I hit the

water I was in the middle of a racing frenzy. Immediately I had arms and legs

coming at me from all sides. I struggled to get my bearings in all the splashing

and air bubbles. As I raised my head to sight the buoy I took a hard ankle to my

left temple. All of the sudden colors were swirling and I was seeing stars. I

stopped swimming though my head was doing a bang up job of the Australian

crawl. As I struggled to mentally right myself I felt a heavy weight on my

backside. I felt myself violently pushed to the bottom of the lake. I tried to get

my head back up to the surface but felt myself pushed down by another swimmer

coming over the top of me. All thoughts of the race vanished as I began to panic

and swallow water. The fight or flight syndrome took over and I started punching

and thrashing wildly. I didn’t care whom I hit or hurt, I needed to get my head

above the surface and breathe some air. I dug my feet into the mud and rose up

to the surface. My head was spinning and I was choking and sputtering water.

As swimmers bumped by me I coughed up some water and was thankful I didn’t

puke. I let a few swimmers pass me and then I started the swim stroke again. It

took me awhile to get comfortable and even then I still had to stop, center myself,

relax, and then start up again. The swim was two laps and required us to swim a

lap, run out of the lake, round a pylon, and then run back into the water and

complete the second lap. I would have loved to see my splits between the laps

as I felt my second lap was so much faster and comfortable than my initial lap.

During the swim it had rained off and on so I discovered when I emerged from

the water and ran into transition that all my things – gloves, socks, windbreaker,

were soaked to the gills. I made the decision to go minimal and just threw on my

socks and gloves and hopped on the bike. I raced out of the transition area and

made my way out onto the racecourse. I decided to get a quick drink from my

nutrition bottle. Refreshed, it was time to start hammering at the ride. I reached

down to put the nutrition bottle back into the bottle cage. As I made a connection

with the cage I felt the water bottle (which was also wet) slip through my already

wet gloves. Before I could grab it tight it fell out onto the road and rolled down a

steep ravine. Every mental explicative went through my head at the moment.

No use crying over spilled nutrition. There was nothing I could do now. I knew

that there would be a feed station at mile 18 so it was time to just put the head

down and ride. Hills came and went, as did other riders. I rode a tightrope

between riding too hard and not riding hard enough. I was a bit unclear on how

the lack of nutrition would affect my race so I probably played things a bit too

conservatively. Mile 18 came at the highest point in the race. I grabbed a bottle

of Heed and headed back downhill toward the transition area. I felt comfortable

and finally felt confident enough to air things out a bit and push myself on the last

bit of the bike. I came into the bike transition feeling pretty good about things. I’d

passed quite a few riders and felt like I still had enough gas in the tank to put

forth a pretty good run.

I slipped on my wet running shoes and sloshed out onto the trail. The run

consisted of two loops along a trail system that threaded through some dense

forest areas. It was a mix of rolling hills with a steep portion over the highway. It

was fun to run through a canopy of trees and bushes. I found a good rhythm and

started slowly pushing the pace. I passed a couple of runners and completed my

two laps. From there the final portion of the run weaved along an inlet and came

out onto the dunes for the final literal and figurative push. The last bit of the

triathlon involved running up a steep dune to the finish line. Talk about a final

push! Given everything I had gone through that steep climb to the end seemed

pretty appropriate.

The race was done. I made my way down the steep dune and worked my way

over to the feed tent. It was great to get some food into my belly. What made it

even better was the fact that it was fresh Oregon clam chowder. I chatted with a

couple of athletes from the Oregon State triathlon club and then walked over to

check my results. I didn’t have any preconceived notions and after all that had

happened I was happy just to have finished. I scrolled down the list and was

pleased to discover that I didn’t have to scan too far. More surprising I

discovered that I actually won my age group! I was thrilled that I got a chance to

podium – and in the true dunes fashion it meant one final climb up the dunes to a

‘podium’ constructed on the side of the dune. As I shook the hand of the third

place finisher I thought about what an odd race I had completed. It was

frustrating. It was thrilling. It was also downright scary. The photographer asked

us to pose with our arms raised. The gentleman that finished second was not

present so there was an opening on our podium. I thought that more than likely a

certain Murphy was raising his imaginary hands there along with us. He had

definitely been quite present throughout the race and had been an ever-present

partner. I was just glad that I had finished slightly ahead of him!