triathlol

[triathlol]

Ego Man

More than a decade ago, my sister told me that she had just signed up to run in a marathon. Before she could get to any of the details, I reflexively and condescendingly asked: Why? She gave an answer that actually made a lot of sense to me at the time. “It’s about testing yourself against your competitors. It’s why you sacrifice time and energy to any athletic endeavor—so you can see how good you are.”

Now, in year six of competing in endurance events myself, I’m asking The Why Question a lot--to myself.

The question comes up over the course of triathlon training quite a bit. When, for example, you show up at the swimming pool at 8pm on a Friday to see an 8.5x11 white piece of paper on the door with “CLOSED – HVAC” in 72 point Calibri font. Or when you fall, slowly like a tree that’s just been cut down, off your bike attempting to pick up a water bottle that’s been recently ejected onto the road. Or when you’re on the checkout page for the race that costs over $400.

But nowhere does the question come up more often than during race a weekend. And on mile four of the run of the 2021 Ironman 70.3 Eagleman Triathlon, it is existential.

The heat of the late-morning sun is radiating from the jet-black asphalt, which is steadily calcifying the film covering my body that consists of Gatorade, water, and sweat. There are a half-dozen ice cubes stuffed into the torso of my triathlon suit, and another few melting between my head and the mesh of my hat. I’ve got a stinging cut on my right foot from the clumsy struggle to put on my wetsuit, now about four hours in the past. My stomach muscles are cramping. My sunburn is really starting to come along. My jaw is sore (why the hell is my jaw sore???). And now I’m light-headed after kneeling over to tie my shoe that has come undone. The sound of a burp, followed by a fart from a competitor punch the air in tandem. Discarded paper cups litter the path ahead, which extends another nine miles.  

Why in the fuck are you doing this? Let’s explore.

SWIM  

Time // 00:41:49

Rank // 649

Unfortunately, the off-land portion of the race was difficult to train for during a pandemic. I went for one swim in January of 2020, and didn’t make it back into the water until March of this year. Less than 20 swim sessions in 2021 were all I had to bring to this party, which is like bringing a mid-tier bottle of cab sav to a tailgate--not appropriate or adequate for the occasion.

The water was cloudy, salty, and crowded. I got kicked in the head twice and had more than a few other collisions. My goggles were opaque from fog about 300 meters in, so I stopped and applied some water—after which they were fine. There was moderate chop.

But otherwise the swim was fine. I’ve got no illusions about how shitty my swim is right now, which honestly helped me manage expectations and my body. I maintained a steady heart rate and felt relaxed. Do I know where my desired heart rate is? No. But it felt right.

BIKE

Time // 2:45:10

Rank // 511

Since my last triathlon, I have made some serious gains on the bike. How did I manage this feat? A new approach to cycling? Strength training? Core work? Pedal analysis? No, I just bought a better bike and rode the shit out of it during the pandemic. 

As anyone who has competed in one these races knows, they are crowded. Some drafting in the pack of athletes jockeying for position is unavoidable, making bike splits quick compared to a solo day in training. Compounding this bunching is the lack of any kind of elevation change that would normally break up the field by separating the stronger cyclists on climbs and descents.

All of this to say that unlike the swim leg, expectations for the bike were high. I chose this race for several reasons, but the easy bike course was chief among them. The last time I put my body through a half-iron meat grinder, I clocked 3:11 for the bike. And this time I managed 2:45. This improvement was expected, and necessary to achieve my lofty goal of a 5 hour race in 2021.  

Some highlights:

A beautiful course routed through marshland and wildlife reserves.

At mile 20, I opened up an energy bar with my teeth while riding. Part of the wrapper ripped away and then flew straight down my throat. What proceeded was a violent cough—kind of like when you smoke a cigarette for the first time. I think I expelled the wrapper bits but I can’t be sure.

Mile 31 marks the second aid station. After sticking to The Plan and skipping the first aid station, I refilled my hydration system without crashing the bike or getting myself covered in water. To celebrate this accomplishment, I thought it would be cool to toss my water bottle straight into the trash can, instead of one of the larger designated trash areas. Now, anyone who’s tried to throw anything out of a moving vehicle understands that it’s like trying to hit a bullet, with a smaller bullet, while wearing a blindfold, riding a horse. So my misguided, not quite empty, water bottle turned into a missile--one that struck some poor 12 year old volunteer square in the cargo shorts. I’m sure my apology as I rode away was no consolation for the young lad who probably got dragged into volunteer duty by a well-intentioned parent or guardian. Anyway, I felt bad. If you’re reading dude, I’m sorry.

Around mile 40, I was passed by the referee that assesses penalties for drafting and whatever (I don’t read the athlete guide so I don’t know all of the rules--it just makes me more nervous). At that moment, me and another racer were a little bunched up as we both passed a slower guy. I was probably violating the letter of the law, but certainly not the spirit. The referee and I locked eyes for two excruciating seconds before they drove away without giving me a penalty.

At the end of the ride, I managed to take my bike shoes off while riding and without crashing, but I definitely tweaked my back in the process. The pain of which is pretty clear here. 

RUN

Time // 1:58:13

Rank // 479

The run at Eagleman is notorious for two things: heat and exposure. Like the bike, what the run course lacks in elevation change it makes up for in heat-absorbent asphalt and humidity. Mid-day in the middle of June in the Mid-Atlantic is typically around the time that you don’t really want to be outside to do much—including a half marathon.  

But the run is my strongest discipline. I’ve put in plenty of miles this year, both fresh, and off the bike. I also had a strong Olympic distance run in May which ended in basically a dead sprint because I had so much left in the tank. Something around 1:45 certainly felt achievable, and there were more than a few times on the bike when I had visions of ripping up the course in a whirlwind of speed and glory.  

And my first few miles were actually great—timing wise!

But It didn’t take more than five minutes for that dream to wilt in the reality being beamed directly at me from the sun. Despite the good numbers, my stomach had already started to cramp and I was in full crisis management mode. The past performance data did not indicate future success. 

So I shifted the goal from glory to survival. As is typically the case in this distance for me, every aid station was life or death. Like Jim Belushi at the cafeteria in Animal House, I took a methodical approach to each one (there are about 10 or so at this distance--1 every mile) so that I didn’t miss any items up for grabs. My routine looked like this:

Water > Dumped on my head

Ice > Cubes dumped into the tri suit--front and back

Gatorade > Down the hatch

Gel > Sure, why not

Gatorade > Hit me

Ice > Cubes into my hat

Water > Dumped on my head

Other than the Gel, of which I only consumed two, this was how it went down every time. I also drank some red bull around mile 10 because fuck it, why not. All of this was done with the goal of not losing control of my body temperature. I knew that if I overheated, the cramping would become unmanageable. And if that happened, I wouldn’t be able to run at all. And THAT would mean being out on the course for up to three hours 

The nadir, outlined in the introduction, was bending over to tie my shoes at mile 4. The course at that point is basically an orange-cone maze in a parking lot with no spectators. Shout out to the volunteers throughout, they did a bang-up job keeping everyone alive, and hopeful that our struggle would someday end. They also peppered us with plenty of compliments (You guys are looking great! Keep it up you’re almost there!) Everyone knew they were telling lies. But that’s not the point.

My physical strategy was to stay as cool and hydrated as possible, but my mental one was to break up the run into three parts. After getting to mile 5 without slowing to a walk, the next goal was same but for 5 more miles. If I could make it there, I thought, I would be able to use the thought of finishing the god damn race to get me through the end. It kinda worked--my pace stayed steady and I was able to keep the cramps from getting out of control.

Around mile 10, I glanced at the total time on my watch. A goal for the day was a PR, which I thought was 5:35. At that time I knew that I was going to miss it by a few minutes because, like my first car that wasn’t capable of high-RPM’s, stomping the accelerator would 100% cause an engine failure. What I didn’t know until later was that my actual PR was 5:38:09--12 seconds ahead of my eventual finish time: 5:38:21. 😭😭😭 😭😭😭 😭😭😭 😭😭😭

Takeaways

After having a few days to recover physically (I literally fought back tears at the finish line--a first 🙃) and mentally process the race, I’ve got two things that feel true.

My race-day performance was an accurate representation of my overall fitness.

My overall fitness is nowhere close to where I thought it was or want it to be.

Yes, I basically ran the same time as my best race in peak fitness that happened four years ago, which is good. But I thought that I made serious gains on both the bike and run since—which turned out to be not as clear.  

Moving forward, I’m going to commit to an actual training plan for my next race, which is Oceanside at the end of October. Will I make changes to my diet? Get a trainer? Swim more than 3,000 yards per week? Do I even have a chance to go sub-5 this year--or ever? After Eagleman, I’m thinking about all of these and others. For right now though, I’m going to finish this beer and not think about any more questions. 

[triathlol]

Rumpus in Bumpass

After devoting wasting all of 2018 running two marathons, I’ve returned to triathlon with my first swim-bike-run since September 2017. For my 10th career tri, I picked the first open water swim of the season at the Rumpus in Bumpass race, located in a lovely part of Virginia only about 90 minutes from DC. 

That was an eventful 90 minutes. 

The Wawa cashier literally LOL’ing at me and asking “is that it?” when I bought a bottle of of advil at 7 in the morning, apparently looking hungover.

Lindsay using both of our phones as mobile hotspots while she tried to submit a story for work with no service to speak of.

Dave throwing up in the car. 

A 30 minute line to get into the parking lot of the damn race.

All of this led to a mad dash to get checked in, apply all of the various stickers, put on my wetsuit, stretch, and fret nervously through a porta-john line. Running a marathon is much more difficult and traumatic event, but getting ready for a tri is a lot more involved. Luckily, the only thing I forgot was 1 GU. I made it out of the transition area with about 4 minutes to spare.

Swim // 0.9 Miles // 33:40 // Strava File

Lindsay zipped me up, Dave (dog, pictured above) gave me a one last nervous stare, and I jumped into ~65 degree Lake Anna. This is the “warm side” of the lake because it receives warm water discharge from the attached nuclear power plant. I haven’t been able to make the case to anyone about how this is safe, but apparently it is.

The plan for the day was to take it slow. After being out of the triathlon game for 18 months, there was no tight range for what I would consider a “good” time. After running three consecutive running races where I was wishing for death at the finish line, I wanted to not do that this time. Finishing with a smile instead of looking like I’d just seen a Bird Box demon was worth a couple extra minutes. Here’s what mile 9 looked like at the Cherry Blossom 10 miler a few weeks ago.

Soooo I took it easy at the start. Wet suit and cold water kept this effort firmly in Z3. Probably too easy, but whatever. Trying to avoid Bird Boxing. Couple things to highlight here.

1. I am really bad at swimming in a straight line.

Exhibit A: The GPS data of my swimroute (red) overlaid on the satellite image of the course.

What the hell is that? It looks like a little kid trying to trace a rectangle with their non-dominant hand. This is more than just something to laugh at, swerving like a drunk driver added serious time to the swim. The course is measured at 1,500 meters, and I swam 1,679. 1,679! That’s almost 2 extra laps in an olympic sized pool. Fuck!

2. I got into a wrestling match with a buoy.

At the first hard right turn, I miscalculated and ended up swimming straight into the buoy, instead of around it like you’re supposed to. I then got stuck under that buoy, flailed around for a few seconds, and had to throw a fist at the big yellow plastic thing to continue moving forward. Coming to blows with an inanimate object--who said triathlons aren’t exciting.

3. Being heckled by a 10 year old girl.

As I got out of the water and made my way up to the dock, I was feeling pretty good, but not good enough to run through the knee deep water (this is ridiculously tiring for even short distances). The first thing I heard when I got out of the water was a little girl yell:

“HEY! Why are you WALKING?”

Gonna go ahead and assume she was confusing me for her Dad, but that just brings up whole other set of insecurities. Moving on.

Bike // 24 Miles // 1:24:31 // Strava File

Shaking off the haters and my wetsuit, I hopped onto the bike. Before this race, I had ridden my bike three times this year. Three times. Three. All year. 

That alarming level of abdication, combined with almost a year off of cycling, catches up with you (literally), it turns out.

But I knew this going in, and had accepted my fate of a relatively weak bike split. What I wasn’t prepared for were the several dozen people over the age of 40 that passed me. Men. Women. People in tennis shoes. Didn’t matter. Every time I heard an “on your left” followed by a cadre of what I would generously call veteran competitors, I felt a little piece of myself die. At one point I think I said “god dammit ryan, you might actually be in last.”

If nothing else, this stupid ride was a 1 hour and 24 minute reminder to spend some more time on the bike, which is something I write in every race blog, and even hear from my freaking followers on strava.

I tried not too push it too hard. My hamstrings (muscles that don’t really get used unless you ride your bike) felt not great, and the last thing I wanted was to have to hobble around for the run. I ate one GU at the halfway mark and drank almost both of my 20oz bottles of powerade.

Run // 6.2 Miles // 51:31 // Strava File

Going off in the first wave means that you’re gonna get passed, a lot, unless you are actually good at these races. That’s fine, but the run is something I should theoretically be better at. And it turns out that’s actually true! I wanted to run something under 50 minutes, and probably would have gotten there if it wasn’t for some truly fucked-up conditions.

Above is the graph of my pace on the run. You’ll notice two very steep declines, both of which happen in the same physical space (the course loops). This was in the part that was on what must usually be a trail, but on this day was a mud pit. At least I think it was mud. It felt like we were running through that pit from Return of the Jedi that ate Boba Fett.

This sucked, but it was the same for everyone, and there is nothing that gives me more joy in the world than experiencing a type-A triathlete freak out. You can set your watch to this shit: 

“WHY DIDN’T THEY DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS?”

“THERE GOES MY PR”

“I’M STUCK IN MUD. [EXPLETIVE].”

I got through the pit both times without falling, which is more than a lot of people could say. I saw folks with mud on there knees, hands, and everywhere else. Some poor woman had mud on her forehead. Think about that and try not to laugh. They don’t put in the promotional material, but they should. 

Aside from the pit, the run course was actually nothing to scoff at. There wasn’t much flat territory to speak of, and plenty of wet, slow grass to boot. I clocked a few mid-8 mile splits and I felt like I was flying. The good news was that I felt really good off the bike. My hamstrings were shifting their responsibilities elsewhere, and I was able to push the cardio to the max for the last 5K. Something I hand’t been able to do in a race for over a year. 

Grinning like an absolute moron, but not Bird Boxing! 

Conclusions

After crossing the finish line with a decent kick and a huge smile on my face, I’m not gonna lie, I felt great. I said I would be happy with anything under 3 hours, and 2:55 put me comfortably there. 

Upon further endorphin-less reflection, however, I’m looking at these times and seeing some real decay. The competition at this race was probably stronger than most others that I’ve done, but I was in the bottom 25% in my age group, and in the bottom 50% of all the male athletes. Woof.

Compare that to my last olympic distance race which was 20 minutes faster than this, and that buzz transitions into a hangover. The opportunity cost of taking a year of triathlon to run marathons is a real thing, friends.

But I’m still happy with the way my return went. I treated this like a training day for my next race (I’ve got a Half Ironman in 3 weeks ::gulp::), and in that frame it was a wild success. If I had done any better, I probably would have crossed the dangerous threshold into overconfidence--something I’ve been burned on more than once.

[triathlol]

Agony in Akron

Introduction

On Memorial Day weekend, I went on a casual run with my younger sister, Erin, who had just recently returned to running.

ME: “Hey, I was thinking, what about a fall half marathon?”

ERIN: “Oh yeah that sounds good. But I was thinking a full.”

ME: “Okay, sure.”

That was it. Really. After blowing up at the Rock n Roll marathon in March, agonizing over the stupidity of the distance, writing about it, and telling everyone I knew that it was a worthless enterprise, I just signed up for another. No one begged me to do it. I wasn’t tricked into thinking that I needed another shot. I just forgot everything about the stupid sport and ran it back.

This is the story that marathon, the last of which I will ever run.

Preparation

I have never had a more consistent training block for any race I’ve ever entered.

Those incomprehensible moving dots are my strava training log from mid June up to the race. I missed only a few workouts, and averaged many more miles per week than I did in the last rodeo. I ran on vacation. I ran hungover. I ran fast. I ran slow. I cancelled plans to run. I made up plans to cancel other plans so I could run. After half-assing the marathon prep in March,I decided I would go all in on this one. There were no other races on the horizon for 2018, so this was it, baby.

Raceday

Erin with the patented nervous chewing of the fingernails

Your guide, Sister, and Mom. 

Fuck yeah let’s do this. After crushing the training, the taper, and enjoying some first class pre-race hospitality courtesy of my Mom, I was prepared. I was calm. There were some normal jitters, but otherwise I was completely ready for the race. I planned when I would take my GU’s. I even had Instagram captions on hand.

It was still dark when the gun went off at 7AM, and the temperature was in the 50s. Not much humidity, and not much sun. The weather was ideal for a career day.

And for a while, it felt like that was gonna be the way this all went down. The plan was to run with the 3:35 pacer (~8:10 per mile), but that dude vanished before we hit the 5K mark. He literally used the first set of porta-johns and broke up the group of 15 people running with him. RIP. Erin and I tried to stick to that pace, but we fucked it up.

That’s too fast, but we both felt good. You could tell I was feeling good because I wouldn’t shut up about the news, the weather, my dad’s aggressive spectating strategy, and every single dog we passed along the way. You could tell Erin was feeling good because she literally wasn’t sweating.

I sucked down GU number 2 at mile 10, and was drinking a cup of water plus dumping another one my head every chance I got. Miles 10, 11 and 12 were all the same story. I kept telling myself that this time would be different. Things had changed. I had trained so much harder for this. I was about to reap the benefits of an extended self-betrayal, just like all of those republicans who hate Trump but tolerate his authoritarian bullshit so that they can get their regressive legislative packages.

We crossed the halfway mark in 1:47, on pace for 3:34.

Then we went up one of the few, long climbs in the race. The pace slowed to about 8:45, which was completely normal for what felt like a steep grade. I still felt alright, but was definitely sucking some wind (Erin would later say that I was making some very interesting noises around this time).

And then, as we hit the aid station around mile 15, it all changed very quickly. My quads, the muscles that failed me in my March race, seized up. They were done. The pounding from the quick two hours of racing had completely annihilated them. Right after that, my stomach started cramping and I was shuffling. Erin ran off with the 3:35 pacer (who had now just caught up with us for the first time since mile 2), and I never saw her again.

“ Fuck. FUCK. Dude you have ELEVEN MORE MILES and you can barely run. Quick, do math, how long will that take to walk? OH GOD. This is SO BAD.”

Apparently, my dad was waiting around mile 16 but waited for a while and then left, assuming that he had missed me. A spectator asked if I was okay and I said, “I guess.”

I could hardly stand upright, let alone run. I would shuffle for a few minutes, and then be forced to walk. After about a half hour into this embarrassing dance, I had talked myself up to quitting at the next medical tent. I had nothing to prove, nothing to gain, and potentially some long term damage to do. For better or worse, I didn’t see a medical tent until mile 20. When I got there, I walked by the three very friendly looking medical professionals, begging them with my eyes to ask me if I was alright. They didn’t, and I chickened out and just kept walking.

“I guess I’m going to drag my corpse over the finish line then.”

The last 10K of the race, the leg that I had trained all summer for, the part where you get to actually run fast and test what you have in the tank, I spent feeling sorry for myself + questioning every training decision I had made since June. It was as miserable as it was anticlimactic.

It’s a good thing I ripped off a couple of 11 minute screamers at the end, because my sister nearly froze to death waiting for me at the finish line--a place that she beat me to by over a half hour.

The End // 4:11:47 // STRAVA

LOL. WHAT A DISASTER. 

Those stats speak for themselves and they are all hilarious. My family looked legitimately nervous about how I would react when I finally met them after finishing. 

So what the hell just happened?

I’ve thought about this, a lot. I had over two hours to wallow and over analyze everything during the race, and now have about two weeks to consider everything again while giving my muscles and ego time to recover.

Main thing had to be my very slow long runs. I never did more than 10 miles at marathon pace, and averaged well over 9 minutes per mile on everything longer than that. The summer was long and hot in DC, which didn’t really allow me to get close to the pace I was trying to run in Ohio at the end of September. If you’re thinking, “that seems like a pretty stupid thing to overlook in training,” you would be right. If we’ve learned anything, it’s that I am not very smart.

It wasn’t all bad though. Erin, who hadn’t run a marathon in five years, showed up and grinded out a 3:40, despite going out too fast and slowing down a lot during the final 5 miles. She tolerated my relentless dog chatter, fought back tears when she got dropped by the pacer at mile 19, and even beat me in the synchronized bathroom break we took at mile 8. On top of that, we got to spend the whole summer exchanging Gwen Jorgensen running vlogs and sweaty post-run selfies,which was also cool. 

To bring this post to its merciful conclusion, sometimes you work your ass off for something and don’t get anything close to the result that you want or deserve--that’s what makes it worthwhile! The threat of failure, no matter how hard you train, makes each success worth throwing a rager for yourself. Whether it’s running a 3 and half hour marathon, beating double dinner dan in a half-ironman, or finishing a 5K, it feels good to achieve a goal because there was always a chance of fucking it up. This was an epic fuck up, but that’s fine. That just means more beers in the fridge for the next one.

But that won’t be a marathon because I’m never running one again. Back to triathlons and more revealing outfits next year. ✌️

[triathlol]

I ran a marathon (so you don’t have to)

Introduction

At the end of each racing season, I like to conduct a thorough, scientific review of my performances. In 2017, I competed in two Olympic distance triathlons, a Half Ironman, and a ten mile run. These data points, plus a litany of training swims, runs, rides and authoritative-sounding articles on active.com inform my review. Here are the results:

Bruh, compared to everything else, you suck at bike riding

Like really–it’s bad.

And also kinda swimming (wetsuits are your crutch)

Yeah heat is a death sentence

Running pretty okay

Action items:

Spend more time on da bike

Build lower body strength through lifting, spinning, and #1

Increase volume in swims, diversity in runs.

Sweet jesus do something about your flexibility

So what did I do? I SIGNED UP FOR A MARATHON. LOL. LETS DO THIS.

Training

A major part of signing up for this trot through hell was to see how my majority ice cream body would respond to running gallons of miles. Before starting this quest for early arthritis, I had never run more than a half marathon. If I was going to spend some hard-earned Chipotle money on a marathon, then I was going to fucking commit to some BADASS training plan that I could PUT ON THE FRIDGE to IMPRESS MY FRIENDS.

I would describe my effort as disjointed but admirable. I loosely followed Hal’s Intermediate 2 plan. In this case, loose can be equated to the Trump Administration’s attitude towards executive privilege: connected merely in name. I took non-trivial breaks for Christmas, and two ski trips in December/February. Putting my body through alcohol and altitude is something I’ve been training for my whole life but, unfortunately, it paid no dividends for this race.

I made sure I hit the 20 mile mark in training, was running about 3 times per week, and doing lots of cross training. In retrospect, I didn’t quite lean in to this race as maybe I should have. Despite all that, I showed up to the starting line with more irrational confidence than I could carry and a race goal of averaging 8:00 per/mile, and finishing under 3:30. What information did I use to come to this lofty, arbitrary goal? IDK, but if there are dudes out there #Breaking2, I should be able to break three and a half.

the path to insta glory and also a shorter life

This epic, like any good one, had three acts. It will go down like the plot of Interstellar: you really wanted it to be great, it was full of ambition and maybe even some promise, but when you REALLY think about it, it’s just long and stupid.  

FOR THOSE WHO DONT LIKE WORDS--HERE’S A GRAPHICAL REPRESENTATION OF THE RACE

race analysis: real talk edition

Act 1: 🤘

After posing for my photo shoot and also warming up, I made my way up to corral #1, and found the pacers for 3:30. For those who don’t know, many running races have dudes who run the pace required to finish at a certain time. This allows runners to not have to worry about their own pace, and instead just follow these sign-holding bros.

I had never used a pacer before, and found the experience to be transcendent. 

These guys tell me when there are hills coming up, help me get GU’s, do their fucking jobs, and are humble about the whole thing? Whoa, if only there were some way to alter the time-space continuum and make pacers triathlon feasible. Also can we be friends and hang out and stuff?

After feeling nervous about my plan to stick to this pace before the race, I couldn’t have felt any better about it during the first 8 miles. We had that shit in cruise. Calvert Hill, which feels like Everest every time I run it during training, was a speedbump. I felt like a god. The sun was shining and there were insta likes were imminent. WCGW?

oh he scared

Act 2: 🤔

As we rolled through AdMo and Columbia Heights, I could feel mortality creeping in. We went up and down some kind hills and never went slower than 7:50 per mile. The pacers were crushing it, but our group suffered a few casualties. My ego absorbed these poor mortals and used them for fuel like that evil thing in Fifth Element. As for more tangible nutrition, I ate a GU around mile 9 (I also had one before the race, plus 3 cups of coffee, a banana, and cereal for you nutrition stalkers) which seemed to help.

yeah lady and I can’t dance whats your point

A word on the “Rock N Roll” angle of this race. I mean, if y’all aren’t gonna book people who can sing better than me, maybe just shelf the musicians and think about a rebrand. Seriously, they had me thinking about how much those poor bastards didn’t get paid to stand in the back of a pickup truck for three hours and freeze as a disengaged and pissed off audience cycles through. 

ROCK N ROLL MARATHON SERIES: MUSICAL ACTS SO BAD THEY MAKE YOU FEEL GUILTY FOR RUNNING. 

Fuck. Honestly–drop this crap and invest in some more portajohns. The standout performance was, without question, the Howard U drumline. I really hope they got paid.

“Ha-ha-ha-helllllp”

Act 3: 😭

Around mile 15, as our group passed Nationals Stadium, I was still deliriously thinking I was going to finish at this pace. I was getting tired, but the body was holding up, and if I could hang on until the last series of hills (around mile 22), I would be able to will myself to the finish line. YOU TRAINED FOR THIS BRO. LFG.

Coming down the bridge off on the South-East end of the Potomac, I could feel my left quad starting to tighten up. I kept cracking away as the pain started to escalate through miles 16, 17, and 18, until my other quad got in on the action, and I was forced to slow down. I was dropped like a bad habit from the pace group between miles 19 and 20.

Seeing the pacing team disappear into a future of internet glory was a gut punch, but the next hour was a demoralizing, soul crushing, march of death. Every step was like getting dead-legged. And then getting your dead-leg re-dead-legged. I was undead, and then forced to back to life, only to be killed again, thousands of times. It was a dumpster fire visible from space. If there were medical professionals around, it would have been malpractice to let me continue. 

This is what “the wall” feels like in a marathon, I guess. Whoever advertised it as such wasn’t doing anyone any favors by masking the truth. If anyone knows who came up with this term, leave their contact info in the comments. Thx.

Conclusion

“find your next race…” fuk off 

In other hilarious and also sad news, I took a wrong turn at the finish line and crossed with all of the fine folks who ran the HALF marathon. These people, which I of course tore down in my mind for being weak, are obviously much smarter than me, and also much more plentiful. Literally no one was crossing the marathon finish line when I was, while there were hundreds of half-ers cracking the line. Maybe I thought one of them would carry me? The reasoning remains unclear, but unfortunately this meant that my insta-boyfriend, who had suffered through 4 months of training and a long, cold morning in March, didn’t get to see me finish. I feel legitimately sorry that this happened. Sorry Lindsay–you came ready to play, I did not.

lol kill me

Will I do another one? Jesus Christ now I know how Elizabeth Warren feels talking about a 2020 POTUS run. I don’t know. Probably not. Sure, I’d like to get another crack at finishing the race without melting down, but the sacrifices of training are so, so real. The distance is as arbitrarily long as it is stupid. What’s the point? I didn’t exactly blow the doors off of anyone, so the small chance that this might be “my best distance” would be hard to justify. There’s probably just as much glory and social media fame to be had from crushing olympic tri’s and shorter running races. In the end, that’s all that really matters, so why put my body through this meat grinder again?

SO I CAN FEAST.

the clear plastic bottle with the blue top is tums so nbd. my body remains my temple.

And also because it was kind of fun? I set a very ambitious goal time for my first marathon, and failed to achieve it, but am nonetheless happy that I tried. It’s better to fuck up trying to be a hero than to succeed at being a coward–and in that warped reality I can PR every time. But it might take some serious coercing to get me back at the starting line for a 26.2.

Next race is the Cherry Blossom 10 Miler on 09 April. Me and Double Dinner Dan Paltiel are on #Mission69, which is of course a goal time of under 70 minutes, not whatever you were thinking.

[triathlol]

Half Iron, Full Moron

INTRODUCTION

The time for humble bragging has come and gone, fam--we just fucked up a half Ironman!

After years of telling anyone who would listen that anything longer than an olympic distance race was crazy, probably unhealthy, and a complete waste of time, I was successfully peer-pressured into eating my words and signing up for an Ironman 70.3.

This is not be confused with a full Ironman, as some have done. That I will NEVER DO. READ: NEVER. Spending $850 to run 26 miles after riding over a hundred is just flat out psychotic and there aren’t enough insta ❤️’s in the world to make it worth it. If you ever see me tweet about signing up for one, or thinking about it, just find me and kill me. You have my permission.

PREPARATION

It’s the same damn thing, just more of it. 

SWIM

1.2 Miles // 39:53 // Strava File

The water temp for the opening act of this destruction derby was about 75 degrees, which made it wetsuit legal. That, combined with the salt water, no current, and just a few, friendly waves, made for a very easy swim.

Because of an epic line at the start, I waited for nearly 40 minutes after putting my wetsuit on before I got into the water (shouts to the guy with the big bottle of “titos” aka water in the starting corral), so I was relieved when I finally hit the water at about 7:30AM.

The plan for the whole day was to be very conservative. 40 minutes was where I “seeded” myself but I would have taken anything under 45 as long as I felt good coming out of the water. The highlight of the swim was my first ever pee-in-the-wetsuit maneuver at around the 1500 meter mark. I’d like to use this platform to officially apologize to the dude who took my wetsuit off for me. The look on your face said that you knew, and I hope that mine said I’m sorry.

BIKE

56 Miles // 3:00:13 // Strava File

First, a few words about bikes at Ironman.

Holy shit guys--can any of you afford to eat? Seriously, the money spent on one leg of this race is completely out of control. For context, I have a nice set of wheels that I purchased in 2015 for a little over a grand--that put me in the bottom 10% of EBV (estimated bike value) at this race. Cruising through transition you would have thought that spending 5K on a bike was literally the only way to compete at this distance.

Anyway, I’m an average cyclist and that showed on this flat and fast track.

The plan was to settle into a pace around 18MPH and NOT to push it. At mile 5, 10, and 15 I was cracking along around 19-20. My legs felt a little tight, but I still didn’t feel like I was really putting out any cardio worth writing home about, so I kept at it.

Other than trying to chill, my other primary goal of the bike leg was to stay hydrated and consume a truckload of calories. Again, my body had never been run through this 70.3 mile ringer, and I wanted to do everything I could to avoid an epic collapse during the run. On this ride I had two gatorades, a bottle of water, 3 GU’s and a whole banana.

On the first lap, I got my first glance of tri-bro “Double Dinner” Dan Paltiel, who scooted past me so fast he didn’t even see me. Grats to that guy by the way for totally owning his first half Ironman. He didn’t have cycling shoes until last May and he pulled 22MPH+. Must be the body-type.

The ride was long, but thank god it was uneventful. There were plenty of poor saps on the side of the road, cursing at their tubes that they had no experience replacing. I didn’t join them, and rolled into T2 at about 3 hours even. My legs didn’t feel like concrete blocks, my back wasn’t completely wrecked, and I really had to pee (hydration--check). The bike was a success.

RUN

13.1 Miles // 1:52:33 // Strava File

And now shit gets real. Any hack can flap around in a $500 wetsuit for a mile and then cruise around on a flat track for a few hours--but following that up with a half marathon is what made this whole thing so terrifying. I’ve gone back and forth on whether this is totally normal, or completely insane, but this would not only be my first half ironman, but also my first 13 mile run. Every single kind of failure was on the table.

For this reason, the run had been put on a pedestal. Dan and I spoke about it in mythical terms.

Totally insane. Freaking suicidal. Probably unrealistic. Absolutely bananas. LOL WHAT THE HELL?

All of that buildup to say that I am as surprised as I am stoked that it went so well.

Every aid-station was like life or death. I filled my hands up with water, ice, gatorade, and GU every single time--this was the elixir of survival. I even chugged some awful salt drink that I was convinced was vodka (it tasted like it). Keeping my body temperature down in the sun was mission critical--I must have put 5 pounds of ice into my hat during the run.

Other than staying cool, staying patient was the other priority. Finishing the race with negative splits was a pipedream, but avoiding a blowup wasn’t (expectations game shoutout). About halfway through the run, I came to grips with the fact that my corpse wasn’t going to end up in some Atlantic City dumpster, and that I might actually have enough in the tank to keep this respectable.

This is corny, but I was literally reciting this line in my head for the last few miles. Every muscle in my legs wanted to cramp. I had absolutely no kick whatsoever, but I was less than a half hour from the end of the season and I didn’t want to be one of the chumps walking in in. Nah, fuck that.

I kept it together and put my fastest mile in on number 13. No blow up, no problem.

CONCLUSION

I don’t think I could be much happier with this result. I followed my “chill on the swim and bike” strategy, and It paid off with my best half marathon ever (ha). But if we’re being sober about this assessment, this was about as easy of a half ironman as you could ask for. Good (although not ideal) weather, a completely flat course, saltwater/wetsuit legal swim, and A+ support along the way made this the ideal gateway drug into long course racing.

Which is exactly why we picked this race (also flag: Atlantic City is a shithole and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise). Take out any of these elements and it becomes much, much more difficult. That’s the cold water for this several thousand word circle-jerk, but I’ll leave it there.

For now, I’m going to be engaging in some active recovery (read: boozing) for the next few months. I’ll probably get kind of fat, and then come back and read this, get self-unconscious, and start planning for 2018. I’m equally excited for each part.

[triathlol]

Owning Noobs at Nation’s

INTRODUCTION

Two years ago, after coming to the conclusion that I was truly empty inside, I decided to sign up for my first triathlon. I had been a bike owner for about two and a half weeks, had three whole running races under my belt, no social life to speak of, and had seen people swim on tv before. 

That doesn’t look hard. I’m in fucking amazing shape. This will be fine.

So I signed up for the local race, Nation’s Triathlon, and and two years later, well, you’re reading my blog

Things to know about the course: it’s flat, fast, and close to home–there is no reason not to sign up. Except one:

That’s right, the capital city of the richest, most powerful country in the world can’t even get its literal shit together for a one-mile swim in its famous river. Three out of the last four years, this has been Nation’s Duathlon. Last year, after getting burned by the ecoli gods, I vowed never to give them my money again.

Which is a vow I kept. Two weeks ago, however, I was offered a free bib (read: sponsor’s exemption) and jumped at the opportunity to massage my fragile ego after its destruction in the Shenandoahs last month.

PREPARATION

SWIM  1500 Meters // 27:53 // Strava File

As the strava file notes, wetsuits are indeed good. The plan was to lay up during the swim in an attempt to not sabotage the entire race in the first half hour, which pretty much worked. Turns out that treating an endurance event as such has some benefits.

This swim went smoothly, but was not without its share of crippling fear of cramps. Other highlights include touching the bottom of the Potomac upon jumping off the dock (I would describe the bottom as both hard and soft; both dead and alive), and passing lots, and lots of people. No river rats or Hillary Clinton assassination victims to speak of.

BIKE 25 Miles // 1:14:37 // Strava File

This course is as fast as it is confusing to look at. After taking a few eons in T1, I hit the bike and put it in cruise for the next hour and change. The two-lap setup means you get passed by all the real cyclists on the first go round, and then return the favor to the plebs on round two. This is series of events is great for the ego, because you feel like a god between miles 10-20, the dog days of olympic distance triathlon racing.

At the end of the ride, I was greeted by some tough love from Nation’s Tri Volunteer/DMV Triahtlon Legend/Vietnamese Royalty, Tuan Nguyen. I dunno who gave this dude the power to run the bike dismount line, but he took his job, very, very seriously. Upon on a casual dismount:

WHAT ARE YOU DOING? THIS IS A RACE! THE CLOCK DIDN’T STOP, SO WHY DID YOU? LET’S GO GO GO!

I’m paraphrasing in an attempt to keep this family friendly. What a guy. Not only does he hook me and fellow tri-bro Dan up with free entries, he gives us motivation along the way. Who needs to throw down all that money for a fancy coach or a pay-walled training plan when you’ve got profanity laced mid-race tirades? Not me–thanks again Tuan. 

Feeling somewhat energized, but mostly afraid, I hauled ass into transition. 

definitely, 100% not drafting

RUN 6.2 Miles // 46:01 // Strava File

Two legs into this race for great insta pics, I was coming to grips with possibly the worst decision I made all day–not pooping in the morning. This may sound like another pathetic series of jokes, but in fact, it was a critical error. By the time I started the run, I was being chased by the gingerbread man. I said as much to my insta boyfriend/real life girlfriend Lindsay–all the photo cred goes to her btw, who seemed extremely confused.

hi there and i really need to shit

They say don’t trust a fart after twenty miles in a marathon, but what’s the triathlon equivalent? Does this apply to the swim, too? Is swooping really in play? Can you get penalized for this?

The only answer I had was to finish as quickly as possible. Which, fortunately, I did. The cool weather and flat track really made this one easy. I clocked my fastest run split ever and finished with some gas in the tank. The Luray stomach-cramp demons had been vanquished.

CONCLUSION

As long as you don’t look at those criminal transition times (I need to practice taking off my wetsuit, and also putting on socks?), this is pretty fucking good for me. My goal for the entire year, which I considered genuinely lofty at the time, was to finish in the top 30% of my age group in an olympic distance race. That goal was achieved today, and with it a sense that I had not wasted the hundreds of hours training. Phew–I can put off knitting for another year.

That is unless I die during my upcoming Half Ironman. Stay tuned, folks, that one is coming up next.

[triathlol]

Lost in Luray

INTRODUCTION

When I started this stupid blog, it was to serve a few, key purposes. Some were tertiary: spending more time writing, making the race memories last, amassing twitter followers, etc. But the primary, unflagging motivation for spending hours searching for perfect GIF’s and crafting grammatical incorrect sentences was straightforward: elaborate humble bragging.

Two races in, this plan was unfolding like the plot of Ocean’s 11. I exceeded expectations in the first half of 2017, and got to come here and act like it was NBD.

But in real life, it turns out, sometimes you do short it. If Yen hadn’t made that jump, he would have set off the alarms, gotten arrested, and foiled the entire operation. That was this race. 

If you are one of the people that hate-reads this blog, hoping that cosmic justice would ensure an epic face-plant, well, are you comfortable? Do you have something to drink? You’re gonna want to savor this.

And for those of you who don’t feel like sticking around for ten more minutes of insecurity peddled as self-deprecating humor--here are the highlights of the three hour and six minute tire-fire that was my 2017 Luray International Triathlon.

PROS

Pain tolerance gains

Some hilarious photos

Five-star rating on my Turo

Cool t-shirt

CONS

Everything else

I had talked to some fellow tri-bros about how this was my “check-in” race before the half-ironman next month. “This will be a good test--it’ll be great to see how much progress I’ve made this Summer after crushing both races this Spring,” I said. Welp...

My goal for the race was something in the 2:45-2:50 range. Last year, on the same course, in similar conditions, I clocked in at a respectable 3:01. Surely a year of grinding and progress in all three disciplines would be enough to scratch ten measly minutes off of the previous total. Instead, I fucking collapsed. My body showed signs of rebellion in the water, brought nothing to bike, and then completely melted down during the run. What follows are the juicy deets.

SWIM

1500 Meters // 31:22 // Strava File

Oh shit.

That face right there sums up my overall mental demeanor during this race: no bueno. Still not really sure whether this was the result, or the cause of the physical issues that I was having throughout the day, but it sucked dick. Before the sirens officially started blaring a half mile into the run, there were plenty of smaller, less threatening canaries dying in the coal mine. The steady level of panic in an open water swim is normal for me in any race, but on this day it was unhinged.

“Why is there no one around me? Am I going too fast? Should I speed up? Are my abs cramping? Is my form shitty? OH FUCK MAN BREATHE. How long have I been swimming? Did I lock the keys in the car?”

This, my friends, is [spoiler alert] the recipe for failure. In what seems like another life, I played golf at a semi-competitive level, and you could always draw a straight line between where my head was and how many birdies I made. I don’t think triathlons are much different.

All of that being said, the swim time was fine. Maybe this was because I was going too hard (which could explain the cascading trainwrecks in the next two legs), but I doubt it. 31 minutes in a non-wetsuit race (the water was a balmy 82 degrees) is totally within the acceptable range for my training. If only the race ended there.

BIKE

26 Miles // 1:30:35 // Strava File

The most important piece of information you can get from the assault on your eyes that is this “course map” above are the green mountains on the logo. At ~1,700 ft of climbing, it’s more of a roller coaster than a venue for a nice morning ride. I made it around the 41K loop in 90 minutes in change--about 2 minutes SLOWER than my split last year. If anything, I have made huge gains on the bike, so WTF? 

Who knows, but the parade of folks in their 40 or 50s passing me was horrifying (for those who don’t know, every athlete gets “body-marked” with their age on one of their calves--this means that when someone scoots by you, you see their age). The echo chamber of negativity between my ears was churning much quicker than my legs. I thought “there has to be something wrong with my bike.” Turns out, however, that it was my body that needed a tune up.

The top of the steepest climb in the race is a particularly cruel place to take a photo

RUN**

10K // 60:46 // Strava File

I would do the zooming thing again but it’s the same face--except maybe with less profanity and more despair. 

**This is a very loose definition of the term.

After scarfing down a couple shot-blocks in transition, I started the 6 mile death-march. At this point, I knew I wasn’t going to go out there and light it up, but was still holding out hope of something respectable. The run is my strongest leg--maybe I would actually get to pass some people!

“You just forgot how tough this course was. Of course you’re going to be hurting. PMA MAN. JESUS CHRIST LETS GO.”

No amount of positive self talk was going to put out this rolling dumpster fire. 

About a half mile into the run, the entire right-side of my stomach cramped up. A few hundred yards later, the left-side also got in on the action. The feeling of knowing that you are going to be massively disappointed with the result of the race, and also knowing you’ll be dealing with hot knives in your gut for the next hour, is, demoralizing. I immediately thought about the fastest way to get to the car and the hell out of Luray. 

But rage + self-pity subsided, and I just did my best to keep moving. The goal, at this point, was to finish at least half of the run course and then re-asses. I walked the aid stations, dumping all of the water I could get my hands down my neck in a desperate attempt to keep my body from literally exploding. The cramping never went away, but it didn’t get worse, either. I kept trotting for the rest of the race, finishing probably a minute or two before my left quad got FOMO and cramped up, too.

CONCLUSION

Tragic, yes. But one bad race because of cramps is a blip on the radar--everybody has bad days; I’m not immune. 

What’s truly terrifying about this result is that it has happened before (last Summer at another Olympic distance event in Columbus, Ohio). With this half-ironman less than a month away, I’m going to be having nightmares about a repeat on what’s going to be at least a five hour day in Atlantic City.

So between now and then I’ll just be spending my time doing brick workouts, hydrating, and doing planks. If I stick to that plan, then maybe, for everyone’s sake, I won’t have to re-up this sob story in September.  

[triathlol]

I'll Make a (Peasant)Man Out of You

You must be swift as a coursing river With all the force of a great typhoon With all the strength of a raging fire Mysterious as the dark side of the moon

INTRODUCTION

Welcome to the 2017 Peasantman Race Report. This annual test of endurance pits newbie triathletes and veteran scrubs alike against the ferocious tides and epic cliffs of Lake Anna State Park in Northern Virginia. Known for its relaxed atmosphere and totally NSFW official race emails, this is truly a can’t miss race for anyone looking to get their season (or career) off on the right foot. If the Cherry Blossom 10 Miler’s trademark is “The Runners Rite of Spring”, Peasantman is the “Wannabe-Triathlete’s Gauntlet of Forever.” Come for the race, stay for the cupcake buffet.

My goal for the race was the elusive and arbitrary, 2 hours and 30 minutes mark. This would be a 13 minute improvement on the same race last year, and a rather epic PR, but hey, I didn’t wake up in the dark in January to lay-up in May. Let’s get to it.  

PREP WEEK

Gonna keep this part short because of how god damn embarrassing it is. 

If I told you that my week of prep not only violated the ice cream rule, but also involved copious amounts Mexican food, and 4 nights of boozing, you would probably be disappointed, but not surprised. The finishing touches of which were applied at renowned super-foods distributor, Taco Bell, the Saturday before the race.

Seriously, what the hell?

PRE-RACE

WAHOOOOOOOO-----OHHH MAN

Let me first introduce you to “The Monster” (the vanity plate’s literal translation from Al-Wa7sh). As you can tell, this thing does not play games. I mean look at it. Reaaaaaalllly look at it. We didn’t have to worry about leaving our bikes in the bed unattended because human beings aren’t tall enough to see what’s inside.

And then there was our lodging. This quaint horse farm was as romantic as The Monster was masculine. The night before the race, we ate a few metric tons of pasta, had a marine make us a fire, and tricked some horses into thinking we had food so that we could pet them. 

Normally, my editors would force me to omit trivial details of the race report like “mode of transportation” or “lodging,” but I insisted for obvious reasons. (Editors’ note, the fact that the above verbal flab made it into the final version of this report proves that I don’t exist)

Morning of, we hopped in our mini Grave Digger and didn’t stop pumping the tunes until last possible second. For the fellow race-goers who haven’t figured it out by now--we were the assholes blasting the Disney playlist in the parking lot while we changed. Thats right--Mulan, Little Mermaid, Aladdin, all of it was coming from the freaking monster truck. We received one positive comment, which only reinforced this ridiculous behavior. 

To everyone else who cursed to themselves as we disrupted their world record attempt preparation--sorry we’re not sorry.

SWIM:  0.9 MILES  // 32:29 // Strava file

One of the cool things about PMan is that cheating isn’t frowned upon, in fact it’s encouraged! This leaves plenty of room for debate when it comes to navigating the buoys on the swim course under normal circumstances, but the extra wrinkle on this day was one of the buoys getting unhooked and going completely rouge. That made navigation kind of hard, but also kind of hilarious. 

After surviving the standard washing machine melee in the first 100 meters, it was a lonely, choppy two-lap slog around Lake Anna. The current, wind, and the waves slowed everybody down, but the biggest hurdle for me was the wetsuit removal process.

After triumphantly completing my swim, I heard someone yell “USE THE WETSUIT STRIPPERS” (volunteers who take off your wetsuit for you) who, I thought, were the people standing right in front of me at the time. They weren’t, and when I stared at them like an idiot, they just stared right back. 

This lasted for probably about 20 seconds, and then I realized that I was in fact the idiot (most often the case, in any situation), and ran off the beach to the people who were actually assigned with this task. 

Dan -- “Ahem yes, I’d like to phone a friend”

BIKE: 22 Miles //  1:11:27  // Strava file

If you look closely, you can see the The Monster in the background, talking shit to other cars.

Once I got my wetsuit off, T1 was a wild success. I hadn’t put my cycling shoes on while riding the bike since last September, but I somehow managed to check this box without crashing the damn thing (expectations game folks, remember?). 

I took this momentum with me throughout the bike course. That, combined with a Spring of training with dudes who made a habit of leaving me in the dust, made for a five minute improvement on the leg from last year. The grand plan was to chill on the first loop, and hammer on the second. In the end, however, my laps ended up being within 30 seconds of each other. Whatever. My plan probably didn’t make sense anyway. 

Every time I passed Dan going the other way I yelled ARF, an obscenity, or a flywheel line. We keep each other grounded--that’s why it works. I had 3/4th of a gel at the halfway point of the ride, and my handlebars had the rest. Not sure if Double Stuffed (my bike’s birth name) benefited from the sodium and caffeine, but I didn’t have time to think about it. 

def getting a long look from the lady in blue

RUN: 6.2 MILES // 47:29 // Strava file

Hopping off the bike and starting to run in every triathlon usually goes something like....

“Heh, well, this feels awful.  This run is going to be awful.  Why do I even do this stupid shit?  What other hobbies should I be googling?”

BUT NOT TODAY. I think my eyes were wide open when, to my disbelief, I felt good as I gracefully tossed my bike back into transition. I grabbed a couple of shot blocks, donned my Picky Bars lid, and set off to rectify this good feeling.

That didn’t take long. The run course is two laps, the first half of each being basically all up hill--so I was back into “questioning-life-decisions” mode before I even ticked off a fucking mile. Smooth dude. Somewhere in that transition, I checked my total time and realized that I had no chance to break 2:30. The swim was way too slow, and I hadn’t really made up that time on the bike, either. Oh well. Let’s find another goal.

Coming back down the hill I caught up with another olympic distance competitor, Ben, who was trotting along at about the same pace. We ended up chatting for a while, until he left me in the dust on a downhill and I returned the favor during the second lap.

Triathlons, while on the one hand a masochistic undertaking that is littered with type A personalities, seem to promote quite the camaraderie among “competitors.” I never really get that feeling during a running race, but in a tri, it kind of feels like everyone is in it together. Who cares if you pass a few more people at the end of the race? “Triathlete” goes in your twitter bio no matter where you finish.

Laughing at my own jokes that I’ll use for this post later, probably.

The goal for the run was 47 minutes, which I ended up missing by about 30 seconds. This was still my best run in a tri by far, on a hilly course nonetheless. When I crossed the finish line I was hauling ass, and crucially, not dry heaving.

CONCLUSION

2016 TIMES

2017 TIMES

Things that got better:

T1 Bike T2 Run

Things that didnt:

Swim

Overall, about the best I could’ve done for my level of fitness going into the race. A PR by eons, driven by huge payoffs on the bike and the run. Take out the tsunami swim conditions, and this race would have been almost perfect. On top of that, I finished fifth(!) overall, and almost certainly first in the ice cream & beer division. 

Next up, a summer of hell in preparation for Luray in August, and a half ironman distance event in September. Until then, cheers folks. 🥂

[triathlol]

RACE REPORT -- “THE DREAM” -- 2017 cherry blossom 10 miler

THE INTRO if you don’t want to read the whole thing, at least like the post

After a few years of reading mostly garbage race reports — and telling myself that i should add my own garbage voice to this concert of narcissism —  I’ve decided to finally get in on the action. Yes, try to remain excited. Getting mad about the clickbait that got you here is, at this point, just sour grapes. You’ve already committed. There is no going back.

We all know that my parents, plus the three or four friends I claim to have, really haven’t heard about this race enough, and i’ll be damned if i don’t give the consumers what they want. After all, the “invisible hand” and “market driven forces” are what’s truly behind these words you’re currently reading. I feel compelled to provide this report--no big government takeover necessary.

you dont need a PHD in econ to know that people like writing about themselves more than they like reading about others.

Okay, lets get on with it.

THE PREP an approach based loosely on science

My body is my temple, except that it runs on mostly chipotle, ice cream, and “what IPA’s do you have on draft?” In complete and total acceptance of this fact, my goal for the week leading up to the race was to cut back on the frozen, sugar-infused, dairy-heavy pillar of my diet. This was a wild success (I have literally never been able to pull this off despite trying at least 3 times).

there is no shame in my game. 

The other two pillars continued to bare the weight (shouts to you guys) like champions. By race morning, i was about 3 pounds under my normal training weight, which to me made sense bc that is how much ice cream I eat every week. Confidence from said prep (plus a successful light week of training — 2 swims, a chill AF 4 mile run) was sky-high. Whatever happened during the disaster that was the second half of my brick last Sunday was a distant memory.

THE PREGAME “you wanted to do this, remember?!”

Alarm went off at 0530. At this time, I was reminded, the sun hasn’t even considered coming up yet. Pre-race fuel consisted of a banana, a cookie-dough flavored picky bar, 1 cup of rocket-fuel-strength-coffee, and 2 aleve.

After paying an embarrassing amount of $ for an uber to the race (thanks, WMATA, for continuing to suck to the point where you can no longer open early for this race), i found myself texting fellow competitor “double dinner” Dan Paltiel with basically frozen fingers.

context: we make jokes about things that flywheel instructors yell. basic formula = white girl name + motivational/aggressive line

Not joking--the concrete around the Washington monument had transformed into something resembling dry ice. Also the sun was still not out.

Once Triple-D rolled out of bed and got to the race, we dropped our gear and immediately proceeded to sidestep the 45 minute bathroom line (he deserves all the cred here) for the lawless, clusterfuck that was the area between the two rows of porta-johns. Big government had no effect in this space, and we found a line with literally 2 people. We then found a large tree to block the wind, made a couple more flywheel jokes (so many basic girl names in this race--we couldn’t help ourselves), and then packed in among the “sheeple” in our designated wave.

THE ACTUAL F’ING RACE probably the least interesting portion (which is saying something)

I don’t participate in Black Friday shopping, but I can only imagine that the first few miles of every CU Cherry Blossom 10-Miler has some similar characteristics. It’s a crowded fucking nightmare where everyone is really pissed off and cranky. Like, running in a phone booth-level tight. I was cut off more than a few times, and am sure I was guilty of doing the same. Every year, these guys oversell the concert, and the patrons suffer. But it’s a deal we all make for sweet instagram pics and race times that make us feel like we are real runners. There is no such thing as a free lunch (or a free like).

too slow in the first mile, maybe too fast after.

My self-proclaimed “dream” race was 1:15 (7:30 minutes per mile pace). I had a back and forth with myself (the sign of a true narcissist--cataloging discussions with yourself) as to whether this was realistic, but decided that it wasn’t totally out of the picture. DDD and I weaved our way around traffic to keep up with the 8:00 minute pacers through the memorial bridge, and for the north turn up rock creek parkway, but once we made the turn back south and caught the gale at our backs, the governor came off and I started relatively hauling some ass.

That was the last I saw of Dan until after the race. Nice try, brah (seriously though if he beat me at my own game after hardly training, retirement wasn’t out of the question). Also, worth noting that he ran 1:16 which is fast as shit and I would’ve totally been happy with that number, too. 

The next mile was straight down gale and I rode it--hard (don’t!). The increased pace kind of just stuck from there on out. Miles 4-8 (mentally, what I would consider to be the most challenging) were about 75% downwind. I almost didn’t believe my watch (”oh shiiiii....”) when the splits started coming in under 7:10. While I felt pretty good, I have literally only run 10 miles one other time in my life, so the last few miles were quite opposite of a guarantee. Shot block went down at mile 6, along with some gatorade--the only things that went into my body during the run other than insecurity + self doubt.

“50% chance this is really happening/50% chance im gon’ die”

Speaking of the Hains Point--god daaaaaamn am I sick of this piece of property. I mean, I get why they included it, but riding in DC for a couple years has got me to the point where I know not only every pothole like the back of my hand, but also all of the golf holes at East Potomac Golf Course like the back of my hand. I’m pretty sure I could mock up a decent yardage book for the holes along the road, none of which I’ve ever played.

not even these abrasive watermarks will force me to buy this photo. no shame, remember?

Major props to the fans, volunteers, and musicians all along the course, but especially to those who were out at HP. I’m not sure if that DJ who was off by herself was officially sanctioned, underground, or what, but she was great. Also the drummers around mile 9--you guys continue to crush.

Miles 9 and 10 were a serious slog. The wind was back at us, and everyone was obviously hurting from the last 60 minutes of running. My mile 9 split was surprisingly at pace, but I burned a lot more matches to keep that up. We were in the “audibly moaning” portion of the program by the 15K mark, and pure misery by the small (although it feels like K2 by the time you get there) hill that’s a quarter mile from the finish. Although I was pretty wasted by this point, I told myself that even if I completely crashed I could drag myself the rest of the way while still beating expectations and, crucially, Dan.

Well, thankfully that didn’t happen--I crossed the finish line at 1:14:01. Immediately, in what I can only assume was a last form of protest, my body engaged in a couple very serious dry heaves . There was definitely an “oh shit, im gonna be THAT guy” moment, but it it passed, and I made the next slog (another half mile(!) walk) to the guys with the water. Done.

yo those 8 dudes need to srsly chill. 

THE TAKEAWAYS you made it this far--don’t quit now!

This course couldn’t be any faster, and the weather was what an old coach of mine would describe as “dome like conditions.” Light winds, no humidity, temperatures in the 50s and sunny--literally “no excuse” weather. The chances I get that same gift for any of my triathlons this year is obviously not that great. That all being said, I am super stoked about my first race of the year, and what I can potentially achieve in 2017.

not pictured: jennifer--who’s name is on my bib. thanks jms! 

It’s clear that spending the winter/early spring doing a lot more training on hills, and mixing in some weights has really helped catalzye my improvement without totally overloading my schedule. I’m going to need to continue all of this plus some additional swims/rides for my first tri of the year which is now only 5 weeks away. If I don’t break break 7:30 m/pm on the run there, then I will blame this stupid turbo-charged race for destroying my expectations game. Which, at the end of the day, is the only one worth playing.

your moment of zen courtesy of HANNAH F’ING TRUSLOW. thanks for reading--more to come soon -R