Spring Thaw II

I had the night before the race off, which is as rare as it is nice. On the other hand, sleeping just one night, when I'm normally awake, didn't exactly make me fresh and ready to go. It was another day when Amanda had to encourage me to get up and on my way. We took our time in getting there, which really didn't matter today. The field was about half as big as last time. I set up my transition area, which looked like a good place to curl up and go to sleep.
Amanda and Mr. Nocturnal seeking shade on a hot spring day.

Unlike previous times, I started out aggressive, but my legs ran out of gas very quickly. The first lap revealed that I wasn't running all that well. I wasn't as tired as usual, but certainly wasn't feeling good. My plan was to duck out early into lap two when I got to the trees so nobody could see me. Instead, I ran to the bottom of the hill, but couldn't pull out in front of a volunteer. Lapped runners were everywhere and I was doomed to continue until the bike leg. Lap two and three were slower than lap one. I had been falling further behind the race leader, but holding strong to spot two with my training partner, Mike "the real" McCoy, hanging onto third with a good gap behind him. We've been working very hard at getting ready for Military Nationals, so it was great to see him doing well.

The leader was pretty much out of sight by the end of the third lap, but a pretty slow transition allowed me to catch up. My transition wasn't all that great, but it was in comparison. My run was 18:54.3 (5:43.73/mile), which is very disappointing and made me free game for any names I'd like to call myself for sucking when I'm supposed to be nearing my best. T1 was 39.6. It's more time than usual because I decided to ride with bike shoes instead of platforms and because slow is the name of the game for me today.

They say carbs will make me fat. Maybe they meant carbs will make you fast. Anyhow, should I, a military guy worry when a black SUV pulls up along side and has a passenger lean out the window to take a shot at me?

On the bike, I was able to get a split on the leader as he went through shadows in the distance. He was up about 36 seconds. My legs felt awful, but I was willing to push and see if I could make it interesting. I told myself that I could drop out if I caught him. That was a really poor plan. It wasn't until about 20 minutes in that I was able to close it to under 30 seconds. He must have run out of gas, because I made it all up by the turn at 28:37. I wish I had my front race wheel on to add a little speed. Those I'm racing are often struggling too, which is something I know deep down, but often need to remind my conscious of. I don't mean to diminish any one's experience, but my circumstances are rarely good this year and leave me with extra burden to bare.

Why can't the motorcycle ride a bit further back and to the right (where the wind was coming from)? It's a big gap to 2nd, but these rubber legs know it's far from over.

Anyhow, I prohibited myself from passing for seven minutes to rest up a bit and to avoid getting too aggressive from taking the lead. I needed to put time on this guy before the second run, but knew we had a couple hills and he was fading. As soon as I went, the gap was immediate and significant. I told myself that I could jog the entire second run if I could get there first, then Jessi ruined it for me. She comes by in a black SUV, hanging out the window and screaming encouraging words for me. It normally does little for me, but I got fired up, threw out my mock flexing pose as I rode myself back into motivation. The way out was probably head wind as I managed to negative split the way back with a 24:37. In all, my bike was a fair 53:14.6. That works out to 24.79 MPH for 22 miles, but Amanda said it was only 20.9, which would be 23.55 MPH and probably more correct. I don't like fake numbers no matter how good they look.
OK, so my mock flexing pose didn't quite turn out when leaning so far forward that I feel like I could fall over the front. I found some motivation though.

T2 was 49.4 seconds. The extra time was in putting on shoes where I didn't in T1. It was still not that great. Other than when experimenting, there are few excuses for a slow transition. Perhaps I'm just a bit mentally weak, but I'll fix that before May 31st. I was a bit confused as to the route to the run course because I was looking back to see the guy that outran me in run 1. He wasn't there and wouldn't be until after McCoy went through. I really wish I would have known he took over second because that would be great news to a struggling runner. That old familiar feeling of running on fumes and rubber legs came back and I was right where I needed to be. I had an open road ahead of me and a great chance to finish first. That first lap of run two was the slowest of the day for me, but I was cruising along at a continuously increasing speed. Each lap was faster than the last and I was never in danger of getting run down. My second run was 19:38.7 (5:57.18/mile). My overall time was 1:33:16.6. It's apparent that I wasn't pleased with my performance today. It doesn't matter if I'm first or last, but how hard I try.

Both feet on the ground at the same time ... not good at all.
That's more like it. Rounding the corner for home plate.


McCoy was passed on the run, but held on for a 3rd overall finish, destroying the master's field and all but two others. I was lucky enough to win the drawing for a Louis Garneau Rocket Air helmet from Fitness Fanatics. It's pretty impressive how much is donated. Aside from the helmet, I picked up the $50 gift certificate too. On top of all that, there was apparently a series from the two Spring Thaw races, which I was overall winner of. Staying in bed would have been really nice today, but sometimes it pays to get out of bed. Lying also helps. If I hadn't lied to myself so many times, continuing on instead of pulling out, then it wouldn't have been nearly as rewarding.

Final bit of encouragement from little McCoy (Brandon).

To finish the day off, I did a 3800m swim with Amanda. I lied to myself a lot there too. It wasn't until I got to 3300m that I was finally telling myself that I'd finish the whole thing. The time was pretty poor for me at 1:00:43.2 (1:35.87/100m), but I was just cruising. I have no plans of pushing the swim or bike in Ironman, but I should be around 55 for the distance when pushing it. After surviving the day, a long nap was just what I needed. To top that off, I don't have to work until Tuesday :0).

A Real Ironman (? or !)

In 1999, I did my first and last Ironman. I had a sponsor that allowed me to train full time, so I did. What was supposed to be a 9:30 debut turned out to be a series of battles from being allowed to race to days after the race to be listed as an official finisher. It's an oft requested story. As a spin-up to Ironman #2 for me, I'll post the story in a few parts to entertain and motivate ... at least me. To be continued ...

Superman and Kryptonite

First of all, I’d like to thank, in no particular order, Jolene, Steve, Lorie, Jessie, Jay & Michelle and Tiffany. They’re always kind enough to leave a remark, which is always appreciated. Jolene is ADHD and I’m OCD, which is an odd combination, but an absolute blast due to her entertaining personality. Tiffany has the most entertaining stories of the group. Jay and Michelle are as nice a people can be. Lorie is always there seemingly more interested in healing the world than looking after her own needs (amazing). Steve is inspiring, at least to me, because of how hard he always works. Jessie is always good for a response every time to everyone (none better at that). Sheena's blog is a good read too. Of course, I can’t leave out Amanda. She helps me with everything, great and small, which allows me to keep pressing on when life is about as challenging as it can get. She helps keep my focus on helping others and thinking about our impact on the world with little things like recycling.

Following the Lincoln Marathon, I was getting around a lot like an old man without a much needed walker. My back had gotten so tight that it managed to strain everything around it, including my left hamstring. With a good amount of warming up, I was able to run, but it was so slow I had to draw a line in front of me to see if I were still moving. In the pool, it took one flip turn to realize I wasn’t going to be doing that for a while. A loud under-water yell let all my air out, leaving me desperate to get to the surface. Making things a bit more challenging, I’ve been released from my medical profile … at least temporarily. The illness I picked up while in India is still a mystery as tests have revealed very few clues. When I get well, I’m sure I’ll get fast again. Returning to full duty, I’m wearing the bullet proof vest, tactical vest, carrying around a weapon, radio, ammo and carrying a very heavy bag of battle gear. At least it was entertaining for the other troops to see me struggling to get around. I’m a glutton for punishment and would be racing on Saturday anyway, so I don’t expect much sympathy.

My Saturday race started on Friday. I work nights, but was called in early for a 1 PM meeting. For those with normal work hours, it would be like getting up at midnight in order to get to work by 1 AM. Dragging myself out of bed on four hours of sleep was nauseating. The meeting lasted long enough that I would have to choose between working out or getting a nap before work. I run every day (1593 days in a row on 11 May), so I chose to workout instead. Here’s where things got tricky for me. I work until 6 AM and the race was in Pasco at 8:30 AM. The only way to make it was to pack everything I’d need for the following day, put my race outfit on with my uniform over the top.

Work went by rather slowly as I hoped to be relieved of my post in time. We have to stay until we’re relieved, which can be early or really late. I’ve been relieved two hours late before, so I was a bit nervous. The latest I could leave and still have any chance of making it on time was 6:15 AM. Getting up so early made it pretty difficult to stay awake at night. We have the cool police light bar, roof mounted thermal imagers, night vision goggles, binoculars (not so useful at night), a PA system and a host of other things to entertain me while on duty. Yet, after a few years, these toys lose their entertainment value. Eventually morning came and I heard the magic words “Guard Mount Broke” at 5:43 AM. It would take me a total of 20 minutes to get relieved, turn in my gear and get in my car to start my trip. It was enough of a charge to liven things up for about a half hour before time caught back up to me. I was so tired by then that I was feeling terrible. As I approached the Sprague exit, I had to decide if I was going to continue on or turn around. Like an idiot, I decided that I would continue on despite feeling like Superman wearing a Kryptonite necklace (it’s an analogy, so don’t read too much into that).

GPS helped me drive directly to the race, which is a good thing. I had no idea where I was going other than the intersection of two streets. It took a little searching the map as I drove, but I found them. I arrived on scene at about 8:10. Showing up wearing my uniform gets me a hero’s welcome of sorts. It makes me feel good, but at the same time, I’m not any more a hero than the next guy. I spend most of my “around others time” at Fairchild. We all wear the same uniform, so it’s not a big deal to be seen wearing my uniform. If not for my tight schedule, I would have stopped at home to change. Anyhow, I got my number and found a great transition spot. OK, so being the last one to show up puts me in the worst spot, but races are rarely determined by the few seconds of transition. I’m usually the last one to be dismissing any time loss, but in my situation, I find comfort in knowing what to expect. I made a quick trip to my car, stripped down to my race suit, like Superman in a phone booth and was on my way.

The race had a couple of the fast Tri-Cities guys in Schur and Brown. The latter has been working a lot on his biking this year, which is bad news for the rest of us. He’s already a great biker and I’m not. The course was a 5K cross country run, 30K road bike and another 5K CC run. The race started and I felt like pulling out as about a dozen runners began pulling away from me. My legs were quick to remind me that I was six days off a marathon and my back and hamstring were happy to chime in too. This course was a lot more difficult than I thought it would be. We ran in sand, heavy lawn clippings, thick layers of hay and hay bales, dirt, gravel and various combinations of these surfaces. The hay bales actually clamed a couple victims. After about a third of a mile, Brown was still leading. He’s a much faster biker, so I cannot let him finish anywhere near me. Getting outrun means game over.

(This was just after I made my break in the thick lawn clippings ... smells great!)

It was time to get tough, so I picked up the pace and really began to suffer. Racing on no sleep the night before and very little sleep the night before that takes the fun out of racing, but I’m addicted. My feet were digging in about as deep as I was, so I felt like I was running with a ball and chain. As I approached the mile mark, I was barely able to keep from crashing on the soft and rapidly changing steep terrain. The constant changes in surface, combined with losing so much power as I sank in more as I pushed harder left me with little power to climb and descend the steep hills with even softer soft terrain. I was just too tired and decided it was time to give up. I did the hardest part by showing up and starting, but I was just too tired. My expectation was to look back and see that I was pulling a dozen people around the course, but there was nobody there! I had a good gap, so I decided to go to mile two before quitting. Unfortunately, one thing I’m really bad at is quitting. I lie to myself all the time. As I rounded the corner to head into the final run mile, I got a much needed distraction. A very inattentive team biker was wandering across the run path and completely oblivious. It’s hard to miss a guy in a bright blue and white Air Force triathlon suit in the middle of a green and brown field, but she managed to do just that. I tried to go around her, but she saw me at last minute and tried to get out of my way. It’s always best to hold your position when someone is coming at you because they’re going to go around if they’re not playing football. Unfortunately, I had to plow her over as she dodged the same direction I did twice. She fell into a grassy area as I continued to run, but I figured she wasn't hurt as I heard her apologize. The curse of the race leader is often to pass through an area before volunteers are ready for you or are aware you're there. It can result in missed help at aid stations, directions at a key turn, someone standing oblivious on the course, etc. After finishing the 5K in 17:52.8 (pretty darn good for that course), I zipped through T1 before anyone else was able to get there.

(This is the turn where I realize I have a good lead, just before the steep climb to mile 1)

At this point, I was thoroughly awake, but working that hard only makes things worse. I called myself all sorts of mean names. Why do I do this to myself? I knew Brown would be coming after me, so I biked as hard as I could. After not biking for about 10 days, what little edge I had was gone, so it would be an all guts race. My goal was to make it 20 minutes before getting caught. I run better in comparison to the other runners on the second run than the first, so leading almost halfway on the bike would be enough. So here I am powering up the hills and riding in the middle of nowhere and hoping I don’t get lost since they didn’t have a lead car. I take a quick look at the watch and I’m 10:45 into the race. At that very moment, Brown goes flying past me so fast and unexpectedly that I was startled into a yelp. It got a laugh out of him, but I couldn’t hear it as he managed to pull away too quickly. I tried to keep it close, but didn’t have enough to make it interesting. In all, he outsplit me by 3:31!

(I've already been passed and am trying to hang onto second)

Coming into T2 so far back was really embarrassing while wearing the Air Force racing outfit. That’s not how I like to represent. I racked my bike, threw on the shoes and took off like I was only running a mile. I know I can handle running that hard, but it basically amounts to torture. This was my self-inflicted punishment for getting beat so badly, regardless of the reason. Every open area was a chance to scan the horizon for the leader, but he wasn’t there. Mile one was around six, but with the terrain, I was powerless to get much more out of my legs on this course. Mile two was the same, but at least I didn’t have to plow over anyone. The leader was still out of sight. It was all I could do to keep the torture lever on high as I hoped to catch someone who was long gone after starting the 5K with a 3:05 lead. When it was finally over, I learned that I got a big-time whooping to the tune of + 1:51 after taking 1:14 back on run #2. I made sure to congratulate Mr. Brown for annihilating me with a bike split that few in the country could match. I always make a point of finding satisfaction in how hard I try instead of how fast I go or how high I placed. No other race this year was so challenging to simply toe the line. I didn't have any more to give this race, but I find that I’m truly disheartened this time. It will serve as motivation in the weeks and months to come. I can’t remember the last time I had a goal race around here, which allows me to taper and race much faster. One of these days I’ll get fed up with pushing myself like this only to get crushed in the name of training for an "A race." When that time comes, I hope that ALL the fast guys are there. That will be a fun and interesting competition where I'll be looking for some sweet revenge.

(It looks like Schur and I are punching Brown after destroying us ... we were gracious in defeat)

Something to Be Proud Of

Races used to be little more than crossing the line first. Hundreds of races later, I still try to win, but there’s a lot more to it than that. The 2008 Lincoln National Guard Marathon had me running down memory lane before the race started and long after it finished. We came as strangers from every state and territory, but it felt more like a family reunion. On the surface, we had two things in common: being a member of the National Guard and being runners. Those common ties were enough to drop the barriers and see that our annual meeting was more than just a marathon. We talked about fallen soldiers and airman, lost loved ones, stories of success and so much more that this marathon was, in a lot of ways, insignificant.

I arrived in Omaha, Nebraska on Friday and waited to meet my Washington team mate for the first time. With a small number of athletes from each state/territory, I suppose it was much the same for a lot of us. We had a little over an hour to talk on the way to Lincoln. This was my fifth trip and his first, so I was glad to be able to answer his questions. All guard members were staying in the Embassy Suites, which is also the host site for the expo. I’m so grateful that they allow the troops to stay at the government rate, which is far less than what they usually charge. This is a high end place that takes excellent care of its guests. Our check-in requires a bit of a military processing line, which is necessary since we’re on orders to be there.

The atmosphere was comfortable and easy. Wearing team apparel or anything indicating I was military was enough to get a warm greeting from anyone else. Usually it was military, but the town is very supportive of the troops. It definitely makes one proud to serve. The connection with other athletes was unbelievable. It didn’t matter if we knew each other or not, we were brothers and sisters. A few I have raced with previously as an All Guard Marathon Team member, which is the top 40 men and top 15 women. Others were triathletes whom I’ve raced with and against in civilian and military races. We came as a host of teams, but it was apparent that the only time that would matter was when they added up the times of the athletes to determine the top five.

The first night there, I volunteered for the beginner’s recruiting and retention class. We get our funding to serve as recruiter’s aids, rather than just as a military sponsored team. In that sense, we have to earn our keep. We have a booth in the expos for the races we attend in order to provide information about the National Guard and our team. As an athlete, you probably know just how awkward it sounds to have someone who doesn’t even know how to pronounce triathlete try to talk to you about your sport. Having an athlete to connect with makes the conversation a lot more productive. After the class, we nearly took over the Spaghetti Works restaurant for dinner as we got to know each other.

The next day, I got up early to help out with another class for a while before cutting out early to solve my missing race entry problem. My name wasn’t on the list and the race was full. As it turns out, the race director had been informed through the guard coordinator that I wasn’t on their list. I was fully prepared to explain my situation in detail. I went to the information booth, they asked me my name and I suddenly felt like a big deal among 6,000 runners. They ushered me to the head of the packet line, handed me a packet they had already prepared, refused to take any money and were prepared to continue helping me in whatever way they could. It made me feel pretty good. They did that because they genuinely care, because it’s clear from my results that I’m not even close to being a contender in this race. After working the expo booth and doing some shopping, I went to hear Dean Karnazes speak. It’s truly fascinating to hear about something so extreme in such down-to-earth terms. Most have heard about his adventures in ultra running, but if you haven’t, then I encourage you to do so. It’s a good read.

I asked a number of people if they’d like to walk across the street to see the movie Ironman. Rather than getting a bunch of excuses as to why they couldn’t, if they weren’t working during the show time, they said they would love to and proceeded to rope some more people in coming along too. Everyone of us said we liked the movie, which is a good marathoner endorsement. We had lunch at Subway and headed back to our rooms. There was just enough time to get my daily run, so I headed for the treadmill in order to save my legs from a little road pounding. Some guy was trying to change the channel on the TV, which only works from remote. I searched around until I found the remote and delivered it to him. To my surprise, it was Dean Karnazes that turned around to thank me for the help. So, it’s just Dean and I working out in the exercise room and chatting about sports. He’s really quite nice and easy to talk to. Like most people, he respects the talents that are different from his. While he respects the speed of others, his endurance gets a big dose of respect in return. His plan was to run around 3:30. He clearly has nothing to prove.

At our annual team gathering, we had some guest speakers, including a rather unexpected showing of a Miss USA finalist, Miss Utah. She just happens to be a member of the Utah National Guard. It was amusing to hear a soldier talk about the transition from soldier to pageant contestant. We also had Dean there to speak more in depth about his story, which was really entertaining. My favorite part of the night, which is probably the same for most, is the role call of the states. Each state will get up and deliver some sort of poem, tidbits, cheer, or whatever desired. This is usually very creative and highly entertaining. Rather than heading back to our rooms to get some sleep for the “national championship,” we hung out and talked a bit too late.

I woke the next morning with a sore right quad and foot. There was nothing I could do about it, so I just went on with my morning and rehearsed my plan. It was really simple. I’d keep my GPS average around 6:04 to 6:08 for the first 20 miles, then push for a 36 flat closing 10K. After a light breakfast and a short nap, I headed out the door to head to the race. I ate a pack of shot blocks and got a drink of water shortly before the start, then worked my way toward the line at the last minute. I didn’t make it there, but it didn’t matter. We had plenty of time and lots of open road to work my way to where I should be. With the half and full starting at the same time, I wouldn’t know where I ranked anyway. It took me five seconds to get to the line from the start. I went at a very easy effort for the first quarter. Going easy is about the only way to start a race at goal pace instead of way too fast. A quick check after about a minute and I was running right around 6:05. It’s only the start of a race that this actually feels somewhat slow. After a while, the body will catch up with my mind and let me know just what I’m doing to myself.

It usually takes about two miles to see those who went out faster than they’re able to sustain. Every aid station I’d take water and every fourth mile a vanilla Power Gel. At 10K, my pace was just under 6:05/mile and comfortably hard. Although I was halfway across the country, I thought it would be interesting to get my 12K time since it was Bloomsday. I came across at 45:05, but my best 12K within the race was 45:01. According to GPS, the miles started getting further away after the 10K mark. I’m not sure what happened, but I figured it would work it’s way back since the course is usually accurate. The half marathon mark ended up .11 miles long, but I can’t use that as an excuse. My time was 1:20:36, which was :37 slow. The next 6.9 miles would be a gradual climb; therefore, it would be a bit slower. I pushed the pace a bit more and averaged 6:11 to mile 20. It would be easy enough to get time back on the way back down, so I wasn’t worried about adding a little time. Unfortunately, my back seized up on me at mile 19. I was too close to ease up before the next timing mat, so I pushed through the pain as best I could. My 20-mile time was 2:03:17. It was 1:14 behind, but figured I had paced myself just right with the light downhill grade to the finish. Unfortunately, my back was so tight that I not only couldn’t open it up, but had to ease up. Rather than closing with a 36:00 10K, I finished with a 40:10, which was long according to GPS. My official time was 2:43:27 (6:14.05/mile). If the course was long by about a quarter mile, then it would have been a little better average. Bottom line, I missed my goal by quite a bit. On the bright side, my slowest mile according to GPS was 6:24, which is a personal best for slowest mile in a marathon.

Overall, I was 14th place. The top guard guy was 3rd, but only 2 seconds out of second and is getting a lot faster every year. I ended up finishing 4th for the guard. I was glad that I kept taking it one mile at a time. It’s tough when things go awry, but easy to give up, so I’m proud to have gutted it out. If my back hadn’t seized up on me, then I would have likely broken 2:40, but would have been 11th, which is just out of the money. On the bright side, the slower finish allowed me to escape with less recovery time, unless you consider my aching back. It hurts so badly that I have trouble walking, but I’ve been there before. We had a nice post race pasta lunch and awards ceremony for the open race. Later the guard had its own awards ceremony. Our top male and female both placed 3rd overall, but less than a minute and just over a minute respectively from the overall winner. Washington State only sent two runners, so we weren’t able to be ranked among the team competition. On the other hand, our neighbors to the south, Oregon, won the overall team competition.

Following the race, several of us went to eat at the Red Lobster and talk about our races and the weekend overall. The triathletes among us noted how different the atmosphere was in comparison to how triathlon has become. It seems that this marathon weekend was more like how I envisioned triathlon sixteen years ago. We were different people from all around the country, but didn’t draw any lines between us. It wasn’t a popularity contest or a competition to see who we would eat, train or hang out with. In contrast, here at home, I’ve hosted swimming and brick workouts at my house fifteen times. It’s one of the very best places to train with a lake that doesn’t allow motor boats, plenty of great roads to bike on with little traffic and several great races to run. Yet of all those times, I found it was just Marathon John and the Real McCoys that would come over. Others would rather drive past my house to and from Waterfront, leave things unattended on the beach, swim almost to my dock, then head back for a ride and/or run. We’d pass in the middle of the lake and that’s about all there usually is to it. Sports evolve and people change, but I had always hoped it would be triathlon that would set the example. It’s not about who likes me, is willing to train with me or one’s preference of training location. It’s the underpinnings of these behaviors that I’m pointing out. People are always going to be part of different groups, but sharing that common interest shouldn’t be a barrier that separates people and changes how we treat one another. My observations aren’t anything new. People talk about it more and more every year. It just took something great to really understand the big picture. Most aren’t willing to concede this is the case when they’re on the inside looking out. Perhaps it’s just the psychologist in me, but it’s something to take a good look at. For now, I’ll just keep putting one foot in front of the other and try to change the sport from within. I'm pretty sure it won't require everyone joining the National Guard to find the same thing.

What was I thinking?

With the Ironman Approaching, I have this sense of impending doom. Although the race is after my goal race, it's only a week later. Training for an ITU Olympic is a lot different from training for an Ironman. Amanda was visiting her dad in Arizona, so I figured more training would occupy my time. After a hard ride with mediocre results and a couple hard runs on Thursday and Friday, Saturday finally brought about a good result in a 1500m swim. Since I wasn't doing much more than a brisk training swim, I was surprised to drop below 21:30. Maybe a sub 20:00 is possible for me this year, but not before Armed Forces Nationals. A strong swim will alleviate the pressure I normally have on the run, which is usually about going so hard that I qualify for worlds or blow up trying.

I had been considering doing the Lilac Century ride on Saturday, a much enjoyed day off work. I wasn't sold on the idea of my longest ride since 1999, so I went to bed early and decided that if I woke up in time to make the ride, I'd decide then. Unexpectedly, I woke at 6:29 and decided to give it a try. There's a big difference between speed and endurance, but I ignored that discouraging detail as I rushed to get myself going. I didn't have a plan, nothing was packed, my bike wasn't ready and would still have to register and get ready to ride after the drive to Spokane. There was no time for breakfast, so I grabbed a handful of Power Gels and Shot Blocks and headed to the store. I ordered a couple breakfast biscuits and ran down the aisle for a couple energy drinks ... whatever I found first, which ended up being PowerAde.

I made it on the road at 7:01. My back hatch was open because I didn't want to waste any time removing the wheel and putting it back on (I had allen skewers instead of quick release and no time to change them). To my surprise, I made it to SFCC before everyone left, ran with my cash to register and get my number. As if I thought I'd actually run when done, I put my shoes and hat in the transition area and ran back to my car. This whole process was like a race to avoid being left behind. It didn't work. The ride was started as I stood by my car getting ready to ride. About 3 to 5 minutes from shoes to goos, I was loaded up and on my way.

It was a cold morning, but I knew it would warm up. This meant I'd have to do a little suffering early on. My fingers were frozen, but other than that I was doing fine. My only real goal is the same as always, which is that I have to ride over 20 MPH. It was easy at first, so I kept it under control and thought about what I had gotten myself into as I began to pass part of the large field of riders. After working my way through the first 10 to 20 miles, we came upon a hill I think is called Big Sandy. There weren't too many riders in sight up to that point, but when I came around the corner, it seemed like the whole field was right there struggling up the beast. I dropped into my lowest gear only to find that I had one lower that my bike didn't want to go into. I took a very consistent approach to the hill and cruised to the top. It was tough, but not as bad as I feared. The real question was how much I'd pay at the end of the ride.

The Scates express pace line went flying by for the second time a little while later. It was tempting to jump on, but at the end of the day, I needed to know that I could do this on my own. On occasion I'd be asked to do a pace line, but I was only willing to pull. When they were rested up enough or tired of my pace, they'd roll by and I would have to drop back. I have no idea what body of water we passed, but shortly after that we went through some volcanic looking landscape. It was great scenery. We also had another good hill to tackle, so I worked my way past some more riders. Around 33 miles in, I remember thinking I was an idiot. It was already a long ride for me and I was only 1/3 of the way through. My legs were feeling the previous days and the effects of today's efforts, but I pressed on.

I'm pretty sure it wasn't a 20-mile hill, but it seemed like that on my way into Reardon. I'd catch a rider every several miles, which left me out there riding aero and enjoying the whir of my disc cutting the silence. Speaking of my disc, in my rush this morning, I put it on slightly off center, so it rubbed on the break pad when I was cranking up the hills. That was fun. My ride is also very creaky from the changes in lowering the front end. I made it into Reardon just after the lead pack. As my clock ran and the average dropped, I made a quick restroom break, downed a few cookies and guzzled a bottle of water and I was off in chase of the lead pack again. They were going way under 20 MPH, so I had to move ahead.

I made it to mile 75 before they caught me again. My legs were shot. Other than the cookies and water, I'd only downed about 16 oz. during the ride along with one gel and one pack of Shot Blocks. I held on as well as I could, but at mile 90, there just wasn't much left. I was still holding over 20, but wanted to little more than throw my bike in the river and curl up in a warm bed. I gutted it out though and finally made my way to the finish. After a couple wrong turns, I finished with 102.0 miles at 4:59:09 (including my stop time). That's really good for me, a lot of fun and I'm glad I did it. With a better plan for eating and hydrating and excluding a stop, I think I could have gone 105 miles in under 5 hours. Coulda, woulda, shoulda, but I didn't do that.

Afterwards, I went for the 5K run. My goal was 6:40 pace, but the first mile was so hard to get my legs moving that I almost walked back. It took another tough mile for me to settle in and I was running well, but was only able to get my average down to 6:41. The incredible difficulty on the run and the amount of miles makes me want to rethink my Ironman run goal, but for me to do that would be surrender. It's one thing to adjust during a race, but before it is something I just don't do.

Lincoln Marathon

As a member of the National Guard, I am eligible to represent my state in the National Guard (Army and Air) Championships in Lincoln Nebraska on Bloomsday. It seems a bit ironic to refer to the first Sunday of May by the name of a road race, but Bloomsday is that big. It's also ironic that I travel somewhere else for a race on the same day as one of the biggest races in the world held where I live. As long as all goes as planned, then I'll be finishing up the Lincoln Marathon about an hour before the start of Bloomsday. On paper, I can run this in under 2:37:00, but they tell me I need to run it on the road. My goal is to go sub 2:40:00. I had to put that down to prevent me from making excuses during the race and putting a different spin on it. One of my AF Triathlon team mates, Chris Larson (Hawaii), won't be racing this year. It absolutely blows my mind that he can run a marathon so fast. He's about 6'4" and is built more like a professional wrestler. He's a 2:30:00 guy!

Pride Run

This year’s Pride Run ended with me having a comfortable margin at the end. Though this year’s race was not significant, it’s an annual reminder of the most significant moment of my athletic career.

Before you read this, I’d like you to imagine for a moment. Instead of waking this morning, getting up and beginning your day, imagine that you can barely move your legs. There’s a mix of pain and numbness and no matter how hard you try, there’s a disconnect between your brain and legs. They just don’t work. You see yourself as an athlete, but the doctors tell you that you’re going to be lucky to walk normally and to forget about ever doing anything beyond that.

On February 17th, 1997, that scenario was real for me. I had goals that seemed lost forever along with a major part of my identity. I despised myself for being so lazy. In my mind, I was a 49 second quarter miler and average triathlete, but in reality I was a guy who couldn’t walk. Oddly enough, as an athlete, this was probably the best thing to ever happen to me. I realized that dreams aren’t worth having if I wasn’t willing to chase them. At that time, more than ever, I realized how badly I wanted that chase. Refusing to accept my fate, I went to therapy three times a week for six weeks just to learn how to walk again.

Walking turned to jogging and eventually running. I began riding again too, which was tough, especially when aero. This eventually led me to the Softride to alleviate my pain. Every day was a battle that I won simply by refusing to surrender. About a year after I started running again, I signed up for the Pride Run at FAFB. It was a celebration of a solid year I could be proud of. It turned out to be the defining point in my life as an athlete.

I ran to an early lead until a much fitter, but slower starting runner began closing in on my lead. I wanted my celebration to end with a win, so I picked it up. He sped up and continued to close. I picked it up some more, but so did he. I ran every tangent and pushed the corners, but he continued to close. I put in a surge to make him surrender, but he was unwilling. I bluffed by running a pace faster than my legs could handle, but he continued to eat away at the lead. He was catching me faster than I was catching the finish line. Somehow, I was able to pick it up some more while darkness closed in and suffocated the life from my legs. This was coming down to timing and my mathematical brain calculated that there was too much road between me and the finish. This was unacceptable.

Thinking about February 17th gave me some strength to dig deeper than I thought was possible and held him off for another block. We had one more corner, so I ran just fast enough to make him run wide. The little extra he ran gave me a sliver of hope as we headed toward the finish chute. As a college sprinter, I’ve always had enough speed to out sprint everyone in a road race, but this was different. I had been running so hard for so long that my soul was about to evaporate! My fear was that I’d punch the accelerator and have nothing left or have my legs buckle and send me crashing to the ground. I drafted about one meter back and timed my attack for a full on burst of speed.

My brain was making calculations at a rate too fast to process, but like a drag racer I went when the numerical equivalent of a green light flashed. As a sprinter, my strength was in my top speed, so I hit the afterburners with an angry rage planning to turn this guy to ashes. At precisely the same time, this guy hit the nitro and the race was on! Oddly, the race seemed like it was in slow motion. My focus was on my speed vs. his vs. time to the line. Like me, this guy had never been out kicked in the final 50 meters. I was slowly closing the gap, but knew it wasn’t fast enough. I can still see and feel that beautifully awful moment as we approached the finish line. Although I knew it was over, I was going to see this one all the way through. We both knew he had me and so did everyone else.

Just short of the finish line, he let up slightly when raising his arms in victory. His slight deceleration was just enough to pull almost even. The sprinter in me leaned further than my body could handle, but it was enough to beat the guy by a couple inches! My legs were so fried that I was out of control like a runaway train; no steering and no breaks. The long finish chute tapered slightly inward. My hip began to brush against the flags as I was on a crash course with the metal standard. Volunteers did their best to catch me, but I ended up crashing and taking a couple of them down with me. I was not injured, but had pushed so hard that I literally thought I was going to die. Lying on my back, I struggled mightily, gasping for air as the sky spun so violently that I felt like I was on a carnival ride. The moment took its sweet time to pass. Few would see this as a way to celebrate, but for a guy who should feel lucky to walk, it felt like I just stormed the gates of Hell and retrieved my legs from the Devil. It’s not the most appropriate analogy for a Christian, but it certainly paints the picture. For me, it was my “one moment in time.”

Before February 17th, 1997, I wasn’t committed to my goals. During my struggles in 1997, I made a promise that if I were able to regain the use of my legs; I’d make sure I’d never have to live with that regret again. I still struggle with my back and legs, but manage to cope. Since that unfortunate day, I’ve run 20 marathons (winning six). I survived the ultimate bad day to complete an Ironman (with 9 minutes to spare). Three times I qualified (barely) for the Military Team USA and raced ITU against pro triathletes in militaries from around the world. I’ve accomplished my big dream of a USAT Sprint Nationals victory, as long as you throw in an asterisk. I beat the race leader to the line, but we had both been directed off course, allowing another guy to win. The following year, I was the top American, but 2nd overall again. My next two tries were top ten, so I’ll keep on trying to lose the asterisk. Ironically, none of this would have been likely if not for my troubles in 1997. My goal isn’t to boast, but rather to reflect on how a tragedy reshaped me. I’ll never be among the best in this sport, which is OK as long as I know I’ve done my best. We all have dreams, but it’s how we pursue them that matters. My hope is that others don’t need a February 17th to find their Pride Run.