Taper Goblin

Taper is here. And so begins the anxiety, anticipation, endless mind games of "am I fit enough?, am I putting on unneeded weight? and on and on...", phantom aches and pains...The psychosymatisism of taper gets me every time... funny, when I Googled the term a picture of a dirty little troll came up.

BIG

Lots of BIG going on...

• BIG week - the last one
• BIG ride - 120 miles here to Horsetooth Rez and back
• BIG swim - 2.4 miles at the Boulder Rez
• BIG day - turned the "BIG 4-0"
• Another BIG day - IM Canada and Kentucky for close friends...a first Ironman and the culmination of a year's hard work chasing a dream of the BIG island.
• And a really BIG chair...somewhere outside of Loveland, on our BIG ride. Geez this Ironman training stuff has really made us smaller!


• 2 weeks until the BIG day!

"You are ready"

With the biggest training weeks and workouts in the rear view, only one more breakthrough workout left! 120 or so miles this Friday!

Last week we logged a 5,000 meter swim and a 70/17 brick on back to back days. 3.1 miles in the pool and just shy of 7 hours on the brick. Some lows, some highs...one step closer to IM.

Last night my lovely wife sent me an Ironman Ode...compliments of Bob Mina, who wrote it as he prepared for IM Canada a few years back. It says everything that needs to be said. Perfectly. For everyone that has worked so hard and sacrificed to become an Ironman, this is for you. For us.

I'll tell you what she told me. Have KLEENEX handy.

"
Right now you've all entered the taper. Perhaps you've been at this a few months, perhaps you've been at this a few years. For some of you this is your first IM, for others, a long-overdue welcome back to a race that few can match. You've been following your schedule to the letter. You've been piling on the mileage, piling up the laundry, and getting a set of tan lines that will take until next year to erase. Long rides were followed by long runs, which both were preceded by long swims, all of which were followed by recovery naps that were longer than you slept for any given night during college.

You ran in the snow. You rode in the rain. You ran in the heat. You ran in the cold.

You went out when others stayed home. You rode the trainer when others pulled the covers over their heads.

You have survived the Darwinian progression that is an Ironman summer, and now the hardest days are behind you. Like a climber in the Tour de France coming over the summit of the penultimate climb on an alpine stage, you've already covered so much ground...there's just one more climb to go. You shift up, you take a drink, you zip up the jersey; the descent lies before you...and it will be a fast one. Time that used to be filled with never-ending work will now be filling with silent muscles, taking their final, well-earned rest.

While this taper is something your body desperately needs, your mind cast off to the background for so very long, will start to speak to you. It won't be pretty. It will bring up thoughts of doubt, pain, hunger, thirst, failure, and loss. It will give you reasons why you aren't ready. It will try and make one last stand to stop you, because your brain doesn't know what the body already does.

Your body knows the truth: You are ready.

Your brain won't believe it. It will use the taper to convince you that this is foolish - that there is too much that can go wrong.

You are ready.

Finishing an Ironman is never an accident. It's the result of dedication, focus, hard work, and belief that all the long runs in January, long rides in April, and long swims every damn weekend will be worth it. It comes from getting on the bike, day in, day out. It comes from long, solo runs. From that first long run where you wondered, "How will I ever be ready?" to the last long run where you smiled to yourself with one mile to go...knowing that you'd found the answer. It is worth it. Now that you're at the taper, you know it will be worth it. The workload becomes less. The body winds up and prepares, and you just need to quiet your worried mind. Not easy, but you can do it.

You are ready.

You will walk into the water with 2000 other wide-open sets of eyes. You will look upon the sea of humanity, and know that you belong. You'll feel the chill of the water crawl into your wetsuit, and shiver like everyone else, but smile because the day you have waited for so VERY long is finally here. You will tear up in your goggles. Everyone does. The helicopters will roar overhead The splashing will surround you. You'll stop thinking about Ironman, because you're now racing one. The swim will be long - it's long for everyone, but you'll make it. You'll watch as the shoreline grows and grows, and soon you'll hear the end. You'll come up the beach and head for the wetsuit strippers. Three people will get that sucker off before you know what happening, then you’ll head for the bike.

The voices, the cowbells, and the curb-to-curb chalk giving you a hero's sendoff can't wipe the smile off your face. You'll settle down to your race. The crowds will spread out on the road. You'll soon be on your bike, eating your food on your schedule, controlling your Ironman. You'll start to feel that morning sun turn to afternoon sun. It's warmer now. Maybe it's hot. Maybe you're not feeling so good now. You'll keep riding. You'll keep drinking. You'll keep moving. After all, this is just a long training day with valet parking and catering, right?

You'll put on your game face, fighting the urge to feel down as you ride for what seems like hours. You reach special needs, fuel up, and head out. By now it'll be hot. You'll be tired. Doubts will fight for your focus. Everyone struggles here. You've been on that bike for a few hours, and stopping would be nice, but you won't - not here. Not today. You'll grind the false flats to the climb. You'll know you're almost there. You'll fight for every inch of road. The crowd will come back to you here. Let their energy push you. Let them see your eyes. Smile when they cheer for you - your body will get just that little bit lighter.

Grind.
Fight.
Suffer.
Persevere.

You'll plunge down the road, swooping from corner to corner, chaining together the turns, tucking on the straights, letting your legs recover for the run to come - soon! You'll roll back - you'll see people running out. You'll think to yourself, "Wasn't I just here?"

The noise will grow. The chalk dust will hang in the air - you're back, with only 26.2 miles to go. You'll relax a little bit, knowing that even if you get a flat tire or something breaks here, you can run the damn bike into T2. You'll roll into transition. 100 volunteers will fight for your bike. You'll give it up and not look back. You'll have your bag handed to you, and into the tent you'll go. You'll change. You'll load up your pockets, and open the door to the last long run of your Ironman summer - the one that counts.

You'll take that first step of a thousand...and you'll smile. You'll know that the bike won't let you down now - the race is down to your own two feet. The same crowd that cheered for you in the shadows of the morning will cheer for you in the brilliant sunshine of a summer Sunday. High-five people on the way out. Smile. Enjoy it. This is what you've worked for all year long.

That first mile will feel great. So will the second. By mile 3, you probably won't feel so good. That's okay. You knew it couldn't all be that easy. You'll settle down just like you did on the bike, and get down to your pace. You'll see the leaders coming back the other way. Some will look great - some won't. You might feel great, you might not. No matter how you feel, don't panic - this is the part of the day where whatever you're feeling, you can be sure it won't last. You'll keep moving. You'll keep drinking. You'll keep eating.

Maybe you'll be right on plan - maybe you won't. If you're ahead of schedule, don't worry - believe. If you're behind, don't panic - roll with it. Everyone comes up with a brilliant race plan for Ironman, and then everyone has to deal with the reality that planning for something like Ironman is like trying to land a man on the moon. By remote control. Blindfolded. How you react to the changes in your plan will dictate your day. Don't waste energy worrying about things - just do what you have to when you have to, and keep moving. Keep eating. Keep drinking. Just don't sit down - don't EVER sit down. You'll make it to the halfway point. You'll load up on special needs. Some of what you packed will look good, some won't. Eat what looks good, toss the rest.

Keep moving. Start looking for people you know. Cheer for people you don't. You're headed in - they're not. They want to be where you are, just like you wanted to be when you saw all those fast people headed into town. Share some energy - you'll get it right back. Run if you can. Walk if you have to. Just keep moving. The miles will drag on. The brilliant sunshine will yawn. You'll be coming up to those aid stations fully alive with people, music, and chicken soup. TAKE THE SOUP.

Keep moving. You'll soon only have a few miles to go. You'll start to believe that you're going to make it. You'll start to imagine how good it's going to feel when you get there. Let those feelings drive you on.

When your legs just don't want to move anymore, think about what it's going to be like when someone catches you…and puts a medal over your head... all you have to do is get there. You'll start to hear the people in town. People you can't see in the twilight will cheer for you. They'll call out your name. Smile and thank them. They were there when you left on the bike, and when you came back, and when you left on the run, and now when you've come back. You'll enter town.

You'll start to realize that the day is almost over. You'll be exhausted, wiped out, barely able to run a 10-minute mile (if you're lucky), but you'll ask yourself, "Where did the whole day go?" You'll be standing on the edge of two feelings - the desire to finally stop, and the desire to take these last moments and make them last as long as possible.

You'll hit mile 25. Your Ironman will have 1.2 miles - just 2KM left in it.

You'll run.
You'll find your legs.
You'll fly.

You won't know how, but you will run. The lights will grow brighter, brighter, and brighter. Soon you'll be able to hear the music again. This time, it'll be for keeps. Soon they'll see you. Soon, everyone will see you. You'll run towards the lights, between the fences, and into the night sun made just for you. They'll say your name.

You'll keep running. Nothing will hurt. The moment will be yours - for one moment, the entire world will be looking at you and only you. You'll break the tape at the finish line, 140.6 miles after starting your journey. The flash will go off. You'll stop. You'll finally stop. Your legs will wobble their last, and suddenly...be capable of nothing more. Someone will catch you. You'll lean into them. It will suddenly hit you.
YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!

You are ready."

Makin' Hay...

One week closer...the barn is getting full.

Last week was one of the biggest volume weeks to date. Coming off of the Long Course made it interesting. I have a soleus muscle that has been talking to me for a few weeks now, but to this point a steady regimen of ice, heat, stretching and massage have seemed to keep it at bay.

Key workouts for the week included a 20.5 mile run...3 x 10k+ loops while boiling the frog with a warm up/cool down. A negative split on #3 loop was the goal which happened. (1:02:40; 1:03:31; 1:02:19) The 4,750 meter swim was long, as was the 112 mile bike, both were solid but not what I would hope to do at IM. Our remaining breakthrough workouts - this week, swim (5,000 m) and brick (70/17) and next week, bike (135 miles).

Each workout represents a bail of hay, more or less. These key peak workouts are like 10 bails of hay. Once logged, I'll stack them away in the barn to draw from on September 13t both mentally & physically.

27 days.

Cool Shades...

In an age when good customer service is all but extinct, I am happy to report there are still a few shining stars in a sea o darkness.

Being a strict regimentarian unable to deviate from the habit and protocol which I call life, I was in a mild panic to find that my race shades of choice, the Zeal Maestros had broken at the temple just days before the Long Course. Knowing that Zeal was a race sponsor, I had hoped that they would be at the expo and furthermore that they may be able to help an OCD triathlete in need.

I dropped them off with the rep who said he would try to repair them while I took my pre-race dip in the Rez. When I returned he advised me that in his opinion, in order for me to perform at the t of my game on race day, he felt that I would need a new pair of Maestros; to which I graciously agreed.

My shades of choice for racing (Maestro) and chilling (Flyers - which are so pimp!)

Great product! Great customer service!Great company! I am a Zealot fo' shiz!

The last Long Course...

Yesterday's Long Course was one I will not soon forget...

Course records for both male and female pros which given the heat was a bit of a surprise. There was a huge pro field with a cameo "Crowie" appearance on Hwy 36, almost managing to keep pace with passing cyclist.

Many first timers who got to experience it before the changing of the guard. A fond farewell to 5430 Sports, a Boulder triathlon tradition. Thank you to Barry and Jodee Siff. I hope the WTC can keep it as real as they did.

Many PR's yesterday, and for those who didn't there was still the reward of being able, of crossing the finish line after a hard days work. There were highs & lows. Smiles and tears. Earning the right to cross the finish line is part of why we do this.

Make no mistake...this is a deceptively hard course...the bike lures you in to hammering, sometimes harder than you should only to pay it back two-fold on the run. It is a perfect example of learning self-control; managing output and, in turn, expectations.

Also, an incredible performance from my friend & coach, Craig Howie...who will now be among the pros. A true testament to perseverance and hard work paying off. As an athlete, he embodies what all champions should. As a coach, he's made a lot of us better triathletes.

This year I PR'd by 13 minutes over last year...49 minutes faster than my first long course.

Swim: 40:22
T1: 1:55
Bike: 2:41:52 (20.8 mph)
T2: 1:13
Run: 2:00:32 (9:13/mi)
Total: 5:25:53
Rank: 347 of 1134

There's still a bigger fish to fry...I almost crapped when someone today said "35 days until IM".

Now to figure out how I am going to get in a 4,750 meter swim, a 20 mile run and a 105 mile bike...

Fit like a glove

You can spend a ton of money on a bike, but if it doesn't fit...it doesn't matter how much you spend, riding it WILL suck. End of story.

Fit is, as, or even more important than the bike you are riding. Kudos and thanks to Jason Amrich at Boulder Center for Sports Medicine for never being satisfied until the fit is perfect. Between the last minute addition of the purple cleat shims and Specialized Alias, vis a vie the ass-o-meter, not to mention the eyeball inclinometer yielding a 4 degree seat angle, I feel pretty damn good in the saddle.

The true test - the 135 mile breakthrough ride in a few weeks.