Dealing with Taper Madness

I saw this post on beginnertriathlete.com. It's one of the best posts I've read:

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.

You are ready.

A little something for those doing CDA in a couple of weeks

Public Service Announcement

Since I'm not updating my blog very often these days, subscribe at http://reader.google.com, so you'll instantly know the next time I add any witty and enthralling entries....

Live with purpose....enjoy the adventure....

1st Tri of the New Year

Significantly different from last year, which started off with a 70.3, this years first race was a sprint.

Doing a sprint after an ironman is like doing a 5k after a marathon. You know it's going to hurt, and otherwise don't really give it too much thought.

True to the spirit of the sprint, I went hard and just held on.

I had one of my better swims, and for the first time didn't look up to see myself 50 yds off course. I came out of the water in 9:19, which is about right for me, even if it is ridiculously slow in comparison.

The bike was a 10.5 mile out and back loop, with the wind blowing straight at us for the first part. I kept my heart rate right at the edge of zone 5, not wanting to go too hard and having a complete melt down on the run. The return trip was fun with the wind at our backs - it's nice being able to go 24-25 without too much effort.

After a quick transition, I started at a reasonable pace on the run, planning on a slight negative split. Since I haven't been running much lately, I didn't want to go too overboard. With a 1/4 mile to go I was running at a pretty fast pace - at least for me - just under 8 minute miles, when someone from my age group passed me.

OK - the race is on :)

I stayed right on his heels until a couple hundred yard to go. He was a faster runner than me, so I had one chance to beat him to the line - mentally.

I sprinted out in front of him as hard as I could go, at a pace I could only keep up for a little bit, and it was just enough - I heard a sigh of resignation behind me - I held that pace just long enough to give me a gap, and crossed the line a few second ahead of him.

I don't have the athletic talent to be competitive in my age group, especially at shorter races, so I'll enjoy the little victories instead.

Live with purpose....Enjoy the adventure....

How Oprah Ruined the Marathon??

I've recently seen a couple of articles about how slower people are ruining the marathon. There's constant whining on slowtwitch.com about the back of the pack ironman finishers.

The issue people are attempting to make of slower people ruining the marathon is actually pretty simple: Many people derive a lot of their significance from racing in endurance sports.

I’m generalizing here…..

Those complaining about the slower folks feel much less significant about themselves when the walkers at the end of the marathon or triathlon cross the finish line, because they’re forced to face the fact that anyone can do it.

It’s not the exclusive, elite athlete only, life achievement they made it out to be. They’re forced to face the fact that it really doesn’t take a lifetime of dedication – only a few months of consistently following a plan.

They can no longer brag to anyone who will listen about the immense amount of dedication it took, or the endless hours of running 8 days a week, or what an elite club they just joined, since the non-athletic, non-running, not-in-shape person who followed a canned, off-the-shelf training plan just finished the same race they did, especially when they had a coach, personal trainer, nutritionist, and the finest shoes, bike and racing gear.

They’re suddenly afraid that people won’t respect their accomplishment as much because a walker at the back accomplished the same thing they did: finished the race.

As a gross generalization, they’re looking at completing a marathon or ironman to externally provide a source of feeling special or significant, since they’re lacking it internally. As soon as they realize that someone with no athletic backround can finish the marathon they trained years for, with about 20 weeks of training, bye bye feeling significant about what they just accomplished.

Put simply, they lost their feeling of being special when they discovered that anyone can do what they just did.

Live with purpose....Enjoy the adventure

T-Shirt Etiquette

I recently saw this, and want to do my part to help pass the word. Enjoy.

In the running and triathlon community the wearing of race T-Shirts has become a sign of accomplishment and fashion. Choosing just the right T-Shirt for that special occasion can be a daunting and difficult task. The following guidelines have been compiled (in fun) to help the responsible T-shirt wearer avoid potential embarrassment and/or elevate their status.

A shirt cannot be worn unless the wearer has participated in the event. (crew, significant others and volunteers are exempt)

Any race, less than a marathon distance, shouldn't be worn to an ultra event. It simply doesn't represent a high cool factor and sends a red flag regarding your rookiness. If you set a PR at Pikes Peak Marathon, definitely wear that shirt whenever possible.

When returning to a race in which you previously finished, then wear the shirt from the first year you completed the race. Don't short change yourself by wearing the shirt from the year before. It doesn't adequately display the feat of accomplishment or the consummate veteran status that you are due.

Never wear a race shirt from the race you are about to run. It displays a lack of running integrity and might put the mojo on you.

Wearing a T-shirt of the race, while currently running said race, is discouraged. It's like being at work and constantly announcing "I'm at work". Besides, you wont have the correct post race shirt then.

Never wear a shirt from a run that you did not finish. To wear it is to say I finished it.

A DNF'er may wear a race shirt if... the letters DNF are boldly written on the shirt in question.

During a race the wearing of shirt from a previously completed year is acceptable. Wear the oldest T-shirt you have (see guideline #3). This is probably a good practice because you now have no excuse to drop out since you've done it before.

Runners should buy all crew members and, as appropriate, significant others (they let you run the race in the first place) T-shirts which can be worn without regard to running the race. (see guide #1)

Volunteers have full T-shirt rights and all privileges pertaining thereto.

No souvenir shirts therefore friends or anyone else not associated with the race may not wear a race shirt. If mom thinks that the Leadville shirt is lovely, tell he to send in her application early for next year so she can earn her own.

Wear the race shirt of your last race at the current race pre race briefing. The more recent the race the better. This is a good conversation starter. However avoid the tendency to explain how that it was a training run for this, and this is just a training run for the next, etc. It just sounds like your rationalizing mediocre performances. Sometimes it's best to live in the here and now. ("I've never been more prepared for a race! this is the big one!)

It must be clean (dried blood stains are okay)

If you've finished Hardrock 100 then wear it as often as possible, since the race is so damn hard.

Never wear a T-shirt that vastly out classes the event you're running (exception: see guideline #14) Example: Never wear a Western States 100 T-shirt at, say, Cool Canyon. Too many roadies will feel put down. It's okay to wear a WS100 or Leadville or Wasatch T-shirt at ultrarunner cult events such as Gibson Ranch or Jim Skophammer 24. It's probably not okay to wear your Trans-America footrace T-Shirt to your local around-the-lake Fat Ass 50k unless you want to psyche out the competition.

A corollary: never wear a blatantly prestigious T-shirt downtown. People will just think you have a big head, which you do.

If you don't know what things like DNF, WS100 or Crew are then you shouldn't wear any race shirt until you know what they mean.

T-shirts must be used sensitively. Worn responsibly, they can help expand one's consciousness and immerse you in a great conversation with your ultra brethren. Worn stupidly, they can cause blisters, vacant stares, sprained ankles, and cause social anxiety.

NOTE: Publicly these guidelines will be denied and possibly ridiculed by ultra runners, but privately and when discussed confidentially, they sing a different tune.

In a strange twist of fate....

.....I finished and posted my dreamboard just last week. One of the things I put on it was a round at the masters, something I've wanted to do for at least 20 years.

Tickets to the masters are one of the most difficult in all of sports, if not the most difficult.

And late Wednesday afternoon I received a call from a friend of mine telling me that his client cancelled at the last minute and asking me if I wanted to go.

Hmmmm....let me think about it for a minute.......

So, I got to spend yesterday at

THE

OPENING

ROUND

AT

THE

MASTERS



WOW.....I've never seen anything like it.

There's not so much as a blade of grass out of place. There's a calmness and a beauty about Augusta National that is impossible to put into words, much less capture on TV or in a picture

Proof that what we focus on expands

Live with Purpose...Enjoy the Adventure