#it's exhausting being a 20 year-old for the past 30 years (hyperbole)

[gamebunny-advance]

Doodle of Desynchronized!White that I wanted to post.

I haven't been drawing as much as I'd like lately, but I've been thinking about Desynchronized a bit, and how I'd like to pull it back into being a light-hearted comedy. I think the first step towards that is making sure White doesn't turn into the worst guy ever, again.

But he can still be a little terrible. As a treat.

[shootfastrunfar]

My first taste of Failure

                   On Sunday, April 8th, I failed for the first time in my life.

               That statement is, to a degree, hyperbolic.  I’ve failed many times in my 22 (almost 23) years on this planet.  I’ve failed out of college due to laziness.  I’ve failed to bench press 225 for years.  I’ve failed to crank out 20 pullups on a PFT.  I’ve failed tests.  I’ve failed to make food properly.  I’ve failed to make good first impressions.  I’ve failed to talk to my grandfather for years before he died. But on April 8th, 2018, I failed in a way that I’ve never failed before, and it rocked me: I failed to do something that I set my mind to do.  In that way, I truly failed.

               My failure was, ultimately, my own doing.  I failed to properly prepare for something that I knew would be difficult, for a myriad of reasons; I was tired, I was busy, I had trained enough to get by, I was sore, or maybe I just said “Fuck it”. Ironically, that phrase has gotten me through some of the most physically and mentally demanding situations in my life. That phrase has also led me to this failure in the worst possible way.  It bred an attitude of complacency in me.  It bred cockiness.  It led me to believe that I could simply power through whatever challenge lay before me, through sheer guts, balls of steel, and a willingness to believe that I could do anything.  Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!  And then Ironman 70.3 Galveston grabbed me by the balls and Stone Cold Stunnered me back to earth.

               This story begins just over two years ago.  I had convinced my roommate to run the 2016 Marine Corps Marathon with me.  During that conversation, he brought up something called an Ironman.  Having never heard of such a thing, I asked him what it was.  What he described to me simultaneously scared and excited me.  A 2.4 mile swim, a 112 mile bike ride, and a full 26.2 mile marathon, all in 17 hours?! I suddenly had a sinking feeling.  I realized that simply running a marathon would no longer suffice for dick measuring contests.  If I were to ever have the largest genitalia in an argument, I realized I was going to have to step up my game.  

               First things first, however.  The marathon would be run first.  So with the Hanson’s running method under my belt, a brand new pair of Brooks Launchs, and a belly full of Gu, he and I began our training. Out of a 5 month program, we completed maybe 2/3 of the workouts.  And the last three weeks, we did 2.  Life started taking hold, and we both entered that race woefully unprepared.  But with a little bit of luck and a lot of motivation, we managed to stumble across the finish line before the cutoff time.  JUST before the cutoff times.  To say we “ran” the marathon was generous.  We jogged/walked/stumbled it.  But we finished it none the less, and I have the medal proudly sitting in a shadow box to prove it.  

               Fast forward 8 months.  The post marathon blues had destroyed my fitness.  I had stopped going to the gym for money and time reasons while training for the marathon, and it took me months to be able to start going again.  I was in the worst shape of my life.  I managed to somewhat get my shit together, just enough to convince myself I needed to make a big change.  So AT (Annual Training) 2017 came around, and I decided I was going to start my Ironman Journey.  The day before we went to the field, I signed up for my first Sprint Triathlon.  After returning, I forced myself to buy a cheap road bike and start training.  That first Tri came and went, and I was itching for another.  So I impulse signed up for Ironman 70.3 Galveston, bought a training plan, and once again gaffed off over half the training sessions, and did all of 2 in the final month.  Hell, I had done some of the longer rides and runs, so I knew I could just dig deep and power through, right?  I’m a goddamn US Marine (one weekend a month, anyway).  I could do a little fucking triathlon!  It’s not even a full Ironman! It’s the Triathlon equivalent of a half marathon! You just show up and crank it out! How hard could it be?

               The race started out well enough.  I actually crushed the swim, the area I was most concerned about.  Roka makes a damn fine wetsuit.  Their sleeved Maverick Elite II was well worth the money.  I had done no open water swims in my training, had briefly swam in the wetsuit ONCE for all of 3 minutes, and had never swam farther than 800 Meters. And I still crushed the swim in just under 45 minutes.  Not an amazing time, but I came out of the water barely winded and ready to make the rest of the race my bitch.  And then everything went to shit.

               Now, I’m not the strongest cyclist.  Most of it is me, obviously.  The bike is only as good as its engine, and I’m not exactly a V8. More like a V4 Ecoboost.  Without the eco boost.  My main enemy is wind resistance and hills.  Riding a fairly heavy road bike, and being a fairly heavy guy for my height (triathlon wise anyway), and being about as aerodynamic as a full bred Russian Boar makes those things a nightmare for me.  That’s no excuse, but it did make things a lot harder. And it REALLY made my lack of training shine.  Clydesdale after Clydesdale passed me, and I realized that my gear wasn’t the problem, I was.  However, I managed to cruise at 16.5 MPH regardless.  Not a great time, but hell, I had a headwind, and I would make cutoff. And then I hit the turnaround, and things got bad fast.

               After taking a quick pit stop and grabbing some Cliff Shots, I attempted to mount my bike.  And for the first time ever, I fell over while clipping in.  I had managed to avoid it for nearly a year, and was proud to say I had never fallen over.  That ended quickly.  I managed to get up and get going after a few seconds of cussing and swearing vengeance against the trickster god who was clearly fucking with me.  I immediately noticed something was wrong.  Why was it so hard to get back up to speed, and what was that squeaking?  Marvelous, my brake hood was cocked inwards, and my front disk brake was slightly engaged. Not enough to stop me, but enough to stop the wheel from spinning freely.  No matter, I’ll power on.  I had enough of a buffer that 2 MPH slower wasn’t going to DNF me.  And then I realized that the headwind I felt going out was not, in fact, a headwind.  It was a slightly to the side tailwind. >OhNo.jpeg. NOW I was riding into the headwind.  And it was going to work me for all I was worth. I had to switch into the small gear for the first time in my life.  I was struggling to maintain 11.5MPH.  No matter, I thought, this is gonna suck, but I have enough of a lead that I’ll make cutoff. And then I slowed to 10.  Then 9.  The squeaking was getting worse, so I scavenged a full water bottle that someone had sent flying.  I desperately tried squirting water on the front brake to maybe give it slightly better lubrication.  Surprisingly, it worked.  Until shit went tits up, literally.

               While doing this particular stunt one time, I managed to lean too far forward, get hit by a particularly nasty gust, AND avoid a water bottle on the path all at the same time.  I then had the pleasure of experiencing my first bike crash! This race was full of first experiences! About 1.5 seconds later, I was on my back, seeing starts, knee gashed, other knee starting to swell, arm and shoulder throbbing, and worst of all, I’m pretty sure I scuffed my new saddle JUST enough to render it unreturnable.  So there goes that fit guarantee!  After a few minutes of bitching and swearing to the Old Gods and the New that I would smite whomever was responsible for that water bottle in the road, I managed to mount my trusty, broke steed for another 10 miles.  And as I approached the final aid station, and glanced at the time, I realized my lack of training was coming for its due.  Despite the bad weather, despite all my gear failures, and despite my all around shitty luck, I could have finished.  I missed cutoff by 4 minutes.  4 minutes of a 3:30 hour ride.  4 minutes of a 40 minuet swim.  4 minutes of extra effort.  Gone.

               I’m a “Balling on a Budget” triathlete.  While not the poorest in this sport, I definitely don’t have money to waste.  And $500 on registration, lodging, and gas is a HUGE hit to me.  Enough that I can really only do 1 Ironman branded event per year. Hell, on my motivation board, I have “YOU PAID $2600 TO BECOME AND IRONMAN SO FAR.  DON’T LET THAT MONEY GO TO WASTE!”  This sport has claimed almost all of my disposable income the past year, plus some. The financial burden of this failure was almost worse than anything else.  And the realization that I let all that time and money go to waste was crushing. While being driven back to the transition area, I strongly considered selling all my gear and getting out of the sport.  Cutting my losses and paying off some debt.  Putting this whole thing behind me.  It would allow me to focus on my PFT, powerlifting, and bodybuilding.  The types of physical activity I prefer. Lord knows it would greatly increase my ammo budget.  That would be the smart thing to do, right?  Accept the fact I’m not cut out for the dedication this sport takes, and move on with my life.

               Well, in case you didn’t read the first paragraph, I’m not a smart man.  I joined the Marine Corps and failed college.  So clearly I’m a bit of dumbass.  

               Failure will not be my legacy with this sport. This was a wakeup call.  If I want the title of Ironman, I’m going to have to work for it, and work harder at it than anything else in my life.  My plan has not changed: Ironman Texas 2019.  I will NOT back away from that.  But I need to evaluate my discipline, my work ethic, and my training.  From here on, I must make EVERY workout be as intense as possible.  I must fall into bed EVERY NIGHT exhausted from training and work, and rise every morning with wrath in my heart and bloodlust in my soul. I must look at the weakness in my and kill it, because if I fail to do so, it will kill me.  I must forge on ahead, ready for the hardest 12 months of training in my life.  My lofty goal of qualifying for Kona in 2020 seems all the further away, but luckily I have one simple phrase to get me through:

                                                      “Fuck it.”

And so we go.