Road Weary

I’m typing this post in a hotel room, while spending yet another night away from home on yet another business trip, which is my third trip out of town in the last four weeks. You could say I’m a bit cranky.

Sure, I could just tell you where I am, but that would be too easy. And it would make this post extremely short. So I’ll give you some clues, and we’ll play a little game – let’s call it “Where in the World is Donald?” (This will be easy for a couple of you.) Ready? Here we go …

I’ve never been here before. So two nights ago, I went running to explore this city on foot. I figured it would be easy to find my way around, as the streets are a grid of perpendicular lines traveling for miles in each direction, with north-south streets numbered upwards from Central Avenue. Plus, the city is perfectly flat, without a hill to be found for miles. No rolling hills, no bridges or overpasses – just flat, flat, flat. I mean, if you were sitting down to design the most boring urban layout imaginable, you couldn’t do much better than this town did.

The downtown hotel I’m staying in is fairly plush, but the surroundings are overwhelmingly dreary. During the course of my 10-mile run, here is a partial list of what I encountered: heavily congested streets, construction projects, strip malls, abandoned buildings, trailer parks, liquor stores, pawn shops, vacant lots covered with piles of trash and broken glass, scores of homeless people, and one (suspected – I’m pretty certain) prostitute sighting.

In other words, it was very depressing. It’s not often that I finish a run in a worse mood than when I started, but that’s exactly what happened. The prospect of two more days here was appearing rather bleak.

So I did what any desperate runner (whoops – I mean triathlete. I still do that sometimes) would do: I sat down at the computer and Googled “trail running in (name of city)”. Most of the links directed me here:


It’s pretty much the only hill within the city limits, and the description of the trail sounded enticing. There was only one problem: the trailhead was almost eleven miles from my hotel.

I thought of getting transportation there, but decided against it for two reasons: 1) Riding a cab or bus somewhere in order to go running just seemed antithetical, and, more importantly, 2) I’m very cheap. There wasn’t any question in my mind that if I traveled to the hill, it should be on foot.

As much as I hate business travel, its sole redeeming trait is that it provides me several commitment-free hours per night to slog through long, crazy workouts. I figured that running to the hill would take me at least 80 minutes, and the trip back (slightly longer, from the trailhead on the opposite side of the peak) would be something like 12 miles, mostly in the dark. That would be more than 21 miles of running on pavement, in addition to the time and mileage I spent on the trail.

On the other hand, I’m here in a city where I don’t know anyone, where I’ve got nothing but time to kill. I mean … what else was I going to do? There’s only so many hours a guy can spend working on his blog template.

The next day, I blew off the “networking cocktail reception” after the conference, headed straight to my hotel, and laced up my shoes. With a Gu in my pocket and a Gatorade bottle from the lobby shop, I headed out into the desert evening. (Yes, I’m in the desert. You’ve guessed the city by now, right?).

The first 10 miles to the hill weren’t much better than the previous night’s run. But once I was in the shadow of the “mountain” (that’s what it’s named, although it only stands 2700 feet above sea level. Even Californians laugh at that kind of mountain.) and my feet transitioned to red dirt instead of pavement, a familiar peace came upon me. I was about to go exploring an unknown trail – and at that moment, there wasn’t anything else I would have rather been doing.


The run soon turned into little more than a power hike, as the trail is precipitously steep and rocky, so much that handrails are installed in several places, and forward motion became little more than climbing up rock faces in a crabwalk posture on my hands and feet. The 30-minute climb was worth it, though, as this was the sight that awaited me:


The Valley of the Sun lay before me like a city in miniature, with the downtown high rises reaching up to the setting sun in the distance. It was the first idyllic moment I had found since touching down in the city two days earlier.

I soaked in the scene for several minutes before heading down the back side of Camelback Mountain toward civilization. I’d like to say that while running back to the hotel, I had a new appreciation for the city around me. I’d like to … but I can’t.

The 12-mile return through the darkness - dodging traffic on the flat, colorless streets, breathing exhaust fumes for 30 seconds at every major intersection, with my energy slowly wilting in the desert heat - pretty much sucked. When I finally returned to the hotel, I had been running for more than three hours, but the satisfactory afterglow I usually feel after such an effort was noticeably lacking.

So the run wasn’t exactly one for the ages. But the mountain hike was rewarding. And I guess when I look at the Camelback from my airplane widow tomorrow, that’s probably how I’ll remember it: as a brief respite from an otherwise unremarkable sojourn; the one memorable moment from a pair of workouts I’d rather forget. And if it weren’t for running, I wouldn’t have thought to look for a place like that.

I guess the trip isn’t a total loss. But it’s time for this California boy to get back home.

*
(Admin note: the last two photos above were taken from this guy's website.)

Read more...

Makeover

So, um ... notice any changes around here? I'm still tinkering with things until I settle on something I really like, so you might see a few more changes in the days to come.

I'm not going to go crazy with this template stuff, though ... because what you see here took me about 10 hours. I wish I were exaggerating.

Read more...

Reach, Glide, Pull

It’s been several years since I’ve been a dedicated swimmer. More importantly, it’s been far too long since I’ve had a swimmer’s mentality.

But this year, I’ve managed to swim somewhat consistently (at least once per week, frequently more often) for almost the entire winter. And it took a while, but I’ve rediscovered one crucial aspect of the swimmer’s mindset: the understanding that working harder isn’t always the best strategy.

Not only that – but I’ve found that this philosophy is applicable to other areas of my triathlon regimen as well.

For several months, I’ve spent countless workouts hanging on for dear life behind a group of masters swimmers - at first just trying to stay in contact for a portion of the main set, then straining to make common interval times, and finally working to keep pace through an entire workout.

During those intervals, there’s always a point where I find myself slowing down, and my first instinct is to increase my arm turnover in an effort to take faster, more frequent strokes. It’s the runner’s instinct: to gain speed, move your legs faster. Same with the bike: to gain speed, increase your pedal cadence. Makes sense, right?

Well, yes – but only on dry land. With swimming, stroke rate isn’t everything. It isn’t even an important thing. In the water, it’s more about the dynamics of your stroke, and how smoothly your body can glide through the water. To gain speed, you don’t need to move faster – just more efficiently. But when you’re a runner who’s been conditioned to move more rapidly by working harder, it’s hard to focus on stroke mechanics instead of effort level.

I’ve finally remembered that the most efficient stroke consists of a long reach, a glide phase, and a strong pull. If your reach isn’t fully extended, or if you don’t let your body glide through the water before pulling, you end up exerting more energy while moving more slowly.

I’ve realized that when I’m swimming the fastest, it feels like I’m exerting minimal effort. I’m reminding myself that the best way to get through a tough swim workout isn’t to strain to the point of bonking, but to keep focused on reaching, gliding, and pulling. And that’s where the lesson applies to my overall training plan.

With the Big Sur Marathon four weeks away, and Wildflower the following weekend, I’m at the point in my training regimen where my body tiptoes the narrow ledge between peak fitness and complete exhaustion. My workout times from week to week have become slightly slower as the overall volume of mileage and yardage has increased to a point that’s barely manageable.

When that happens, my usual tendency is to try and work harder with every workout, to assure myself that I’m still as fast as I want to be – which is my runner’s mentality stepping to the forefront. But recently, I’m remembering to adopt the swimmer’s mentality instead.

At this phase of my training, working harder isn’t always the best solution. When I’m in my best shape, the majority of my workouts feel very smooth, and I feel like I can maintain the effort indefinitely, but I don’t have that extra gear to shift into when I’m looking for more power. I’m not posting my fastest workout times right now, but at this point, I don’t really need to.

For the next couple of weeks, I’ll be easing into each workout as gently as stretching my hand into the water ahead. I’ll keep gliding through each session, before pulling myself smoothly toward the next one. I’ll finish the workouts, and keep finishing them, until it’s time to taper off. Then when race day comes, I’ll have confidence that I’m ready for the task.

So there you have it: the swimmer’s approach to triathlon training. And to think – while doing all those laps during the winter, I thought I was merely a runner working to improve his stroke mechanics.

Sometimes, these lessons just sneak up on you.

Read more...

More Than Meets the Eye

"Come on, vamanos - everybody let's go -
Come on let's get to it - I know that we can do it!"

-Travel Song (From Dora the Explorer)

*
With Wildflower just over six weeks away, I’ve been spending as much time on the bike as possible. Note that I said “as much as possible”, which is entirely different than “as much as I’d like to”, but nevertheless – I’m hoping to log a lot of hours in the saddle between now and May.

I also mentioned that I’ve been bike shopping, to replace the almost 25-year-old modified steel frame road bike that I’ve raced on for almost 10 years. Retiring my old-school bike will certainly be a watershed moment in my triathlon career, and will probably command its own post in the very near future.

Anyway, after countless hours of Internet shopping, reading hundreds of bike reviews, comparing spec sheets, and seeking advice from several bike dealers, you could say that I’ve got a bad case of bikes on the brain (I’d call it a bike jones, but then I’d have to write to Michelle and explain what a jones is. This way I save myself a few minutes. I’m cutting corners anywhere I can lately.) This mindset has become so prevalent, that last week at the playground, I even started casting an analytical eye on the Dora the Explorer ride belonging to my 3-year-old daughter:


To the casual observer, it’s a basic-looking toddler bike. But after you’ve done the kind of research I’ve done recently, things aren’t as simple as they appear. In fact, I’ve concluded that she may be riding a more technologically advanced machine than the one I used in my last half-Ironman.

Here’s a breakdown of the Dora bike, starting with the frame:


First, note the shape of the downtube (diagonal bar): wide and elliptical, just like aerodynamic time trial frames. In fact, compare that shape with the $5000 carbon fiber Cervelo that’s featured on the cover of this month’s Triathlete Magazine alongside … um … something else. I think it’s some girl or something. I can’t really remember.

At any rate – nowadays, round skinny frame tubes are for chumps. Wide and aero is where the action is. And in that regard, Dora’s got exactly the right profile.

Note one more thing about the downtube: there are no shifter or brake cables running down the side of the frame. Today’s high-end tri bikes have internal housing for the cables, meaning they run inside the tube to decrease drag. OK, sure - in Dora’s case, the cables are missing because it’s a one-speed bike with a coaster brake. But there’s no arguing the aerodynamics; Dora’s clearly built for speed.

Now look at the seat tube on Dora’s ride – there’s a seat post cutout! This is a feature possessed by only the most aggressive tri-bikes. It’s the exact same concept displayed on this Kestrel Airfoil that Chris McCormack rode to 2nd place at the Ironman World Championships last October. As far as frame geometry goes, Dora’s in the same category as the best riders in the world.

Alas, there’s a reason the Dora bike retails for $39.99 instead of $3999. The designers neglected some easy adjustments that could further decrease the bike’s profile. It’s like halfway through the design process, they suddenly remembered they were making a children’s bike. But there aren’t any omissions that can’t be properly addressed with a little tinkering.

For example, let’s take a look at the cockpit:


That’s Backpack riding on the front handlebar, with Map tucked inside of it. They’re both friends of Dora and her monkey, Boots. Backpack carries things Dora needs, and Map helps her figure out where she’s going. Unfortunately, these two accessories are a bit dated, and could easily be swapped out for more aggressive components.

Backpack could be replaced by a smaller, sleeker equipment pack, mounted under the saddle at the back of the bike. This leaves room at the front of the bike for an aerodynamic fluid canister and straw setup like on this Kuota bike that Norman Stadler rode on his way to victory at Kona last year. My girl loves drinking from a straw – and if there’s any way to put a berry smoothie in that aero container, I think she could ride all day long.

As for Map … well … the notion of navigational devices made of paper is very 20th Century. With only a minor weight increase, Map can be replaced by a wireless cyclocomputer system with GPS capability. My daughter will not only know where she is, but how fast she got there, and the net climbing and descent she has traversed. When she gets home, she can download the information onto our PC, which will help her develop computer skills that she’ll need for something important (for instance, blogging about her oddball father) someday.

Finally, two very obvious adjustments: 1) Those wide handlebars aren’t necessarily a dealbreaker, but this Dora bike really needs a good set of aerobars. If I slap a pair of Profiles on the front end, her wind resistance is cut in half – just like that. And 2) The training wheels on the back add extraneous weight, and they limit the bike’s cornering ability. So as soon as she gets her balance down, the training wheels come off, the aero bars go on, and my girl starts pulling 20mph into a headwind.

OK, so I’m kidding with most of this. Or maybe half-kidding. I’m at least one-quarter kidding. I guess I’m most amazed at how the trickle-down phenomena of cutting-edge bike technology can impact even the most basic recreational riders. When 3-year-olds are riding on bikes inspired by wind-tunnel engineers, you can’t help but be impressed.

And then there’s this: part of the fun of bike shopping is imagining the possibilities that are available to any of us. We picture ourselves riding the same bikes the pros ride, and suddenly our athletic potential seems limitless. That’s been my mindset for the past several days.

It’s the exact same sentiment I have in raising a 3-year-old girl: the possibilities in her life right now are innumerable, and her potential is infinite. Best of all, this kind of fantastic feeling is one that will remain long after I’ve purchased my new bike.

Read more...

The Lazy Snail?

Training twice a day for most of the last several weeks has been a very effective way for me to get in shape. I gain more confidence in this fact with each passing day - as my workout times get faster, or my distances stretch longer, or my strokes and strides become more efficient. It's definitely happening - I'm certain of it.

The trouble is, if you were a casual observer, you'd have absolutely no idea.

I tend to keep my athletic exploits very low-profile amongst co-workers or in the general public. A few of my professional acquaintances are aware that I do some type of exercise program, but they don't have any concept of the magnitude of my compulsion. Others may suspect that my lifestyle is different somehow, but they don't know the exact nature of it, and they've seemingly decided against asking any specific questions, in case the answers make them uncomfortable. (In other words, I'm the triathlete version of Ryan Seacrest.)

So while I'm working my body into the best shape possible, the rest of the world is mostly oblivious. And I thought I was OK with that, until a conversation with my 5-year-old daughter unexpectedly struck a nerve.

We were looking at our tropical fish, observing the ivory-shelled snail who is the latest addition to our tank. Then we had the following conversation:

*
Daughter: I like our snail. None of my friends have a pet snail.

Me: I like him, too. He's like Spongebob's pet, Gary.

Daughter: I named him “Lazy.”

Me: What? Why’d you pick that?

Daughter: Because he moves really slow all the time.

Me: Sure, but that doesn’t mean he’s lazy. Remember, he’s carrying that big shell around all the time. Being a snail might be hard work. Or maybe he’s already taken a long walk around the tank this morning, and now he’s resting.

Daughter: Hmm …

Me: Plus, we have no idea how he compares to other snails. For all we know, he may be a very athletic snail. He might be way more active than we think.

Daughter. Oh.

*
From there, I tried a transition to some kind of lesson about not being able to judge someone’s ability by his appearance, but I was only a few seconds into my spiel before my 3-year-old came over and distracted all of us (as is her gift). Before I knew it, they dashed off to the craft table together, and the moment was gone.

As usual, it was an opportunity for quality parenting that fell by the wayside on my watch. And remember what I said in my last post about how my training makes me irrational about things? Let’s call this little story Exhibit B.

When you start sympathizing with snails, you know your life has taken a strange turn.

Read more...

Tunnel Vision

Note: this is the same thing I posted yesterday. The only update is a link to the Cervelo site for non-tri readers out there.

*
Before we get to today’s post, I’ve got a brief administrative update …

I’m going to shift gears somewhat with the formats of my posts for the next few weeks. Life’s moving pretty fast right now: I’m making several out-of-town business trips this month, spending a lot of weekend time on a remodeling project, and trying to help manage the kids at home without falling asleep on the living room floor. Plus – and I may have mentioned this already – I’ve got a couple of races on the horizon that I’m training like crazy for.

In light of all that, the only options I see for updating this blog are by writing posts that are 1) shorter, 2) less frequent, or 3) both. I’ll get around to longer posts when I can, but for now I’m taking a “less is more” approach. With that in mind …

***

Occasionally I suspect that all of this training makes me a little bit irrational. Then I’ll have a brief interaction with someone who quickly confirms it.

Case in point: I recently subscribed to Triathlete Magazine. (Also, I’ve let my Runners’ World subscription expire. I could make a whole post out of this, but I’ll spare you my RW rant for now. As for the symbolism of switching my loyalties - this isn’t quite up there with Anakin Skywalker strapping on the breathing mask after falling in the lava pit, but it seems fairly significant nonetheless.) And here is the first issue that arrived at my house this week:


Pretty easy on the eyes, don’t you think? I thought so, too. But here’s the irrational part …

I looked at the cover, quickly said “Whoa!” under my breath, and set it down on the counter. A few minutes later, my wife walked by, picked up the magazine, and we had the following exchange:

Her: You’ve got to be kidding.

Me: What?

Her: Nice cover.

Me: I know … isn’t that a totally hot bike?

The sad part is, I wasn’t joking. The first thing my eyes were drawn to was the bike. That’s what the endless miles and laps have done to me: I’ve become more focused on training and tri-gear than I am on a beautiful woman (who also happens to be a world-class triathlete, by the way) wearing nothing but a bikini and, um … actually, now that I study it, those glasses and shoes are pretty hot, too.

I keep telling myself that this tunnel vision is a temporary development, that will subside once my races pass and my training tapers back down again. Because otherwise … on second thought, I’d better not speculate any further. There are just some roads that I’d rather not travel.

Finally, on a related note, I’ve been shopping for Cervelos lately. That’s another topic that deserves it’s own post – and I’ll be sure to tell that story as events warrant.

Read more...

How Lucky I Am!

Two quick observations before today’s post …

* Remember one year ago, when I wrote about the miserable weather conditions at the Napa Valley Marathon, and how I might have run a sub-three-hour marathon if not for the fierce headwinds and freezing rain? Well, at last Sunday’s Napa Marathon, conditions were absolutely ideal: sunny, calm, temps in the high 40s to low 50s in the morning. I just thought that warranted mentioning.

* Also, I know I’m a week behind on this one, but how do you like Kellie Pickler’s great new pair of … shoes? I understand her decision to play coy about the whole matter – but didn’t she realize that hundreds of websites would immediately do this kind of comparative research in hopes of blowing her story to shreds? I mean … Kellie does know about the Internet, right? Um … right?

At any rate, I think my feelings about attractive breasts have been fairly well-documented in the past - but in this case, Kellie’s new look kind of gives me the creeps. She had such a natural, wholesome image working very well for her, and now she’s transforming herself into some kind of younger, ditzier Dolly Parton. I’ll just never understand what Hollywood does to people.

OK, enough for now. On with the post …

***

Last weekend, my wife and I took our two oldest kids to a local theater company presentation of Seussical, the Musical, based on the collective works of Dr Seuss. The plot is an amalgamation of several stories, starring Horton the Elephant, the Cat in the Hat, Gertrude McFuzz (who was certainly much cuter than I remember from the book), and the residents of Whoville.

The tales are intertwined and told concurrently (or as my perplexed 5-year-old daughter told me halfway through the first act, “They’re mixing up all the stories!”), and reach a dramatic crescendo just before the close of Act 1, when almost every terrible thing imaginable starts happening to Horton.

He’s lost the clover he protecting (where all of the Whos live) after it was stolen by a group of vigilante monkeys and flown 1000 miles away by a black-bottomed eagle. He’s stuck on a nest in a tree - first through ice storms then through searing heat - waiting for the return of the deadbeat Mayzie bird who tricked him into hatching her egg. He’s about to be captured by hunters and sold to the circus. Saddest of all, he is oblivious to the affections of Gertrude, who undergoes a Kellie Pickler-like tail augmentation procedure just to gain his attention.

Of course, in the second act, everything works out just fine (it is Dr Seuss, after all): the Whos are saved, Horton and Gertrude find happiness, and children are encouraged to think whatever kinds of wonderful thinks they can imagine.

Overall, the musical was exactly what you expect from small-town theater productions: big on charm, shallow on talent, but a nice enough way to spend an afternoon. Our family went home happy, and I didn’t give the story much thought for the next few days.

Then on Tuesday I started exchanging e-mails with a training partner of mine. He was forced to sit out a 10K last weekend due to injury, and he told me he was going to take a few days off to recover.

The first e-mail exchange went like this:

Me: How are you feeling? Still injured?

Him: Still injured. Very very depressed. Angry.

And after I read his reply, a funny thing happened: I immediately thought of the Cat in the Hat.

Just prior to the close of Act 1 in Seussical, as all of those awful things are happening to Horton, the Cat in the Hat starts singing a tune called “Think of How Lucky You Are!”:

*
When the news is all bad,
When you're sour and blue,
When you start to get mad
You should do what I do-

Tell yourself
How lucky you are!

When your life's going wrong
When the fates are unkind
When you're limping along
And get kicked from behind
Tell yourself how lucky you are...

Why decry a cloudy sky
An empty purse
A crazy universe?
My philosophy is simply
Things could be worse!

So be happy you're here.
Think of life as a thrill
And if worse comes to worse
(As we all know it will)
Thank your lucky star
You've gotten this far...

How lucky you are!
How lucky, how lucky you are!

*
So I copied and pasted the lyrics into an e-mail, and sent it off to him. I also wrote: This song probably doesn’t help, but your depression reminded me of it. Hope you’re feeling better soon.

Right around that time, it also occurred to me that it might behoove me to take my own advice every now and then. I need to remember how lucky I am.

I’ve spent the past few posts around here acting like Hamlet over a situation that countless people would love to have as their primary problem in life: the difficulty of doing back to back races. More accurately, fantastic back to back races. In the grand scheme of things, my dilemma is about as significant as a speck of dust on a clover in a field of clovers 100 miles wide. But because it’s my problem, (and for that matter, my blog), I’ve managed to make it sound like a two-act tragedy in the making.

Until now, that is.

I’m reminding myself of how fortunate I am simply for the ability to participate in endurance sports, let alone to enter and travel to big races. I’m thankful that my job hasn’t consumed my time and energy for training (at least, not yet). I’m lucky that my family tolerates me running and riding to the far reaches of Monterey County when I could be spending my time more productively at home.

And I’m grateful for everyday I get to spend in the beautiful area I live, doing the things I love, with the people I adore.

Yes, some things will continue to be difficult, and tough times of one sort or another certainly lie ahead. But sometimes we need a reminder of how much we have in relation to how much we lack. And if that lesson has to be delivered by a 6-foot cat with a striped top hat for me to understand, so be it.

On the athletic front, my friend is still out of commission for a while – perhaps including the Big Sur Marathon. I guess it takes more than a cute little song to fix a serious injury. He’s still depressed, but we’re optimistic that he’ll bounce back soon.

As for me, I’m going head first into the grinder. The workouts for the next several weeks get gradually tougher as my body gets progressively more weary. I’ll continue to stress out about completing all the training I’d like to without going over the edge and injuring myself in the process. Just because your mindset is changed, that doesn’t mean the sport gets any easier.

It just means I’m through griping about it.

Read more...