It being Labor Day weekend, Monday was another opportunity to get large volumes of training in. After yesterday’s relatively “easy” day, today would be tougher. I used to remember when days like Day 2 were the “hard” days, earning a recovery day afterwards. Training for Ironman has required a rethinking of the scale of hard. Now on this new “Ironman Scale of Hardness” (kind of like the Shore Durometer scale), yesterdays “hard days” are today’s “recovery days”. So after a double workout of a 3400 yard swim and 8 mile run as recovery, today was a tougher brick consisting of a sixty mile ride and 6.5 mile run.
After Day 1’s miserable journey across state lines, I simply opted to stay super local and just do several loops around Fermi-Lab. Loaded up the Ghetto Honda with water bottles, shoes, and bike, then parked at the local forest preserve/running path, which happened to be only minutes away. It felt so relieving to know that if I had another attack of the Zombie Syndrome today; I could simply be home in less than five minutes.
Fermi Lab is good for a loop or two during weekdays as its pretty much closed to car traffic and only has six stop signs on its 10 mile loop, most of which can be labeled as “optional”. The security force does frown on bicycle riders blowing the stop signs, and I do try mostly to be the law abiding citizen, recognizing that riding there is a privilege. Today Fermi Lab was absolutely vacant. Usually Fermi Lab is buzzing with cyclists on the weekend/holidays, but today I saw no one, not even the errant security personnel. It was hot as the sun out there today. Coach Jennifer would have said that this would be perfect Kona training, riding in full on heat and on a course that can be described as nothing but monotonous. It’s a great mental game, but I’ve already witnessed the torment that the fields of the “Lab” have given me before.
Several years ago, upon going down this particular stretch of road for the 8th time that day, hitting the same bump for the 8th time, and loosing the same rear mounted water bottle for the second time, I in a fit of fury, hammer threw my bike into the fields. Unfortunately, those fancy carbon fiber handle bars DO NOT LIKE to be thrown, nor do they like to land abruptly in the grass either. They snapped into two, with the wounded side remaining attached to the bike only by the shift and brake cables. It was a long 40 minute ride home, supporting myself with one arm, while the other carried the STI shifter, shifting only as necessary so that I may at least have some sort cadence on the way back.
After a rather hot, thirsty, uneventful bike in the Lab, I made my way back to the forest preserve to change into my run gear. I opened up the rear hatch of the Honda and was greeted by what can only be described as a blast furnace. The Honda has no tinted windows and will turn into the “Green House of Hell” if left in the sun. It had gotten so hot while I was gone, water bottles which can normally be described as “firm”, were so soft I could collapse them vertically in my hands. It was pretty bizarre. Even the duffle bags were too hot to touch. I was breaking into a full sweat just trying to find my shoes, and I had not even begun running yet.
After what seemed an eternal 8 minutes to get my bike off/shoes on, I hit the running path. Keeping in mind that I should be trying to pace everything for Ironman, I broke into a comfortable gait for the 6.5 mile loop. Compared to the transition by the Honda, running wasn’t too much more uncomfortable, and even seemed cooler. My HR was not in zone 1 as I had hoped. It quickly went into zone 2, then climbed into zone 3, and then threatened to enter zone 4. I tried to slow down, but anything else was not enough air flow, resulting in an immediate blanket of heat, and it felt better keeping the original gait. I did my simple loop of trails, knowing with every landmark I passed, that I would just be that much closer to getting this day, and this weekend done. It came quick enough, playing the game right, having the home field advantage. The only problem is that I came in at just over 42 minutes. It would be a death knell for any hope of a good marathon time if I were to do this in October.
I got back to the Honda, opened it up, and felt immediately as if I were to pass out. I remembered there was a water pump nearby, so I went over to it to see if I could get some cool water on myself. Except when I put my head near the water, it was too cold. Actually, I really didn’t feel that anymore. I went back to the Honda, and immediately got that heat stroke feeling again. Walked back to the pump, and it was cool. It was that damn Honda. I approached it carefully this time, feeling the heat absolutely radiating from it. I promise myself that I will get some window tinting, Limo Black, if they let me, and I take the hottest 5 minute drive back home.
I get back home only to see that Coach Jennifer has added a 2.5 hour run for me on Wednesday, then another 5 brick over the weekend. The Longest Weekend just might be the start of the Longest Week. My only hope is that Kona is 5 weeks away, so there is an end in sight.
BTW, on Tuesday, the newspapers stated that Monday had been the hottest day in Chicago for the past year. No wonder.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Day 2 of The Longest Weekend
Woke up at 10am. I had gone to bed at 9pm the night before in a fit of exhaustion, and slept all the way through for 13hrs. Felt tons better than yesterday, and even though I had gorged on an insane amount of pizza just the night before, the belly was now demanding blueberry pancakes, which I could not resist making.
Today was an open-water swim and a make-up run from yesterday. Liz planned on going downtown to the Nike Human 10K Race taking place at 7pm tonight, so my plan was to go down with her, swim at the lake, run at the lakefront, and then bike down to Soldier’s Field to catch her finish. With all the training, almost nothing around the house that fell into my department had been taken care of for almost a month now. Bike tires needed changing, tools put away, shift cables restrung, etc. I did as much as I could before our 3pm departure time for heading to Chicago. As a note: Even though we live in Chicagoland area, I compare going downtown to like crossing a state line. It’s not that easy to get down to and it is a completely different way of life.
The trip downtown was not grid-locked with traffic, meaning we covered the 30 miles of expressway driving in just over an hour. We made good time. Liz and I both brought our commuter bikes and I headed out north from Soldier Field to swim at Ohio Street Beach, about 4 miles away. This is when I experience my first ever, Urban Assault Paceline. It was amazing. The Lakefront Path was just packed with people, and I just so happened to be behind 3 riders, all on Huffy type bikes, all of who in a hurry, and just so happened to be the same direction I was going. Except, they need to get there NOW. I would have never expected these people to be as aggressive as they were, as usually that’s reserved for some dork wearing a TT helmet and in the aerobars on a multi-user path that’s only 6 feet wide. These were folks wearing fanny packs and gym shoes. The ride was a cacophony of them shouting “On your damn LEFT”, “Move it you stupid tourist”, and “Out of my Way”. They hammered through crowds, splintering families, breaking apart couples, and separating babies from their mothers. I sort of sat behind the UAP, just trying to look as casual as possible, but taking advantage of the blasted holes they made through the crowds. I do have to admit, I was a bit shaken at the carnage when I looked behind me.
The swim was a bit choppy, but since everyone had finished their training for the Chicago Triathlon, I pretty much had the entire stretch of Ohio beach for myself. Once the swim was over, I headed over to get my run gear on. I had failed to notice earlier that the bike racks were surrounded by sand, probably from wind/high tides earlier in the week. There was not one area not covered by sand for me to change without getting covered in sand, which would stick to me because I was still wet from the lake. I did a very sand-infused change into running gear and headed out for my run, with sand and grit everywhere.
Training for the Chicago Marathon is in full swing now, so there were lots runners out there. There was quite the variety of runners out there. Guys decked out in full UnderArmor outfits, beautiful bouncy girls in pink things, people wearing the tell-tale red shirt of the Nike Human Race as they jogged down to the start, and some guy who ran as far as I did in denim shorts, a white T shirt and Chuck Taylors. There was even a time where some guy blew past me at a 5min/mile clip, wearing headphones, and giving a drum solo with imaginary drum sticks.
With swim/run completed, I headed back to Liz just in time to see her come across the finish line. The Human Race had been 14,000 runners, and it was a pretty cool site to see a stream of red shirted athletes snake around the Soldier Field. Liz and I contemplated either going to the free Fall Out Boy concert taking place after the race at Soldier Field, or heading up to the Jazz Fest at Grant Park. Liz decided she wanted to check out the Jazz Fest first, as there was some time before the Fall Out Boy concert started. We took a very non-UAP ride up the Grant Park area, hit the vendors for Chicago style soul food, and walked around the Jazz Fest for a while. It was then decided that we should either stay, head to Fall Out Boy, or do something else. Liz looked over to Navy Pier, saw the lit ferris wheel on the horizon, and asked “Is that open?”
The ferris wheel at Navy Pier is a huge landmark that is hard to miss. It’s 150ft high and is basically the tallest thing on the waterfront. We bought our tickets, waiting in a fast line, and was immediately on our way up to a 150ft view of Chicago. It’s smooth like a slow moving elevator, so you don’t really realize you are moving, except everything on the ground gets smaller and smaller. You then realize that the only thing holding you from a 15 story plunge from your gondola is a thin plexiglass shield with “Romy Rulz” scrawled on it and a $5 handle holding closed. Once Liz had enough vertigo tainted joy, she decided we needed a drink to calm down. Thankfully Navy Pier has a cantina at almost every nook, and I got us a couple drinks that seem to be entirely composed of rum.
Then the fireworks show started. I’m not sure if it’s a weekend thing or a Labor Day only event, but there was a pretty good pyrotechnics display, worthy of our tourism dollars being spent there. It was a bigger show than what we have in Lisle on the 4th of July, and I just LOVE fireworks. So Liz and I sat there, drinking our cantina drinks, watching the show. I was starting to finally enjoy myself, having been soaked in lake water, coated in sand, sweat caked from a run, and now reeking of cheap rum. I also realized that I hadn’t had a bath since yesterday. I grabbed Liz and gave her a big hug.
Today was an open-water swim and a make-up run from yesterday. Liz planned on going downtown to the Nike Human 10K Race taking place at 7pm tonight, so my plan was to go down with her, swim at the lake, run at the lakefront, and then bike down to Soldier’s Field to catch her finish. With all the training, almost nothing around the house that fell into my department had been taken care of for almost a month now. Bike tires needed changing, tools put away, shift cables restrung, etc. I did as much as I could before our 3pm departure time for heading to Chicago. As a note: Even though we live in Chicagoland area, I compare going downtown to like crossing a state line. It’s not that easy to get down to and it is a completely different way of life.
The trip downtown was not grid-locked with traffic, meaning we covered the 30 miles of expressway driving in just over an hour. We made good time. Liz and I both brought our commuter bikes and I headed out north from Soldier Field to swim at Ohio Street Beach, about 4 miles away. This is when I experience my first ever, Urban Assault Paceline. It was amazing. The Lakefront Path was just packed with people, and I just so happened to be behind 3 riders, all on Huffy type bikes, all of who in a hurry, and just so happened to be the same direction I was going. Except, they need to get there NOW. I would have never expected these people to be as aggressive as they were, as usually that’s reserved for some dork wearing a TT helmet and in the aerobars on a multi-user path that’s only 6 feet wide. These were folks wearing fanny packs and gym shoes. The ride was a cacophony of them shouting “On your damn LEFT”, “Move it you stupid tourist”, and “Out of my Way”. They hammered through crowds, splintering families, breaking apart couples, and separating babies from their mothers. I sort of sat behind the UAP, just trying to look as casual as possible, but taking advantage of the blasted holes they made through the crowds. I do have to admit, I was a bit shaken at the carnage when I looked behind me.
The swim was a bit choppy, but since everyone had finished their training for the Chicago Triathlon, I pretty much had the entire stretch of Ohio beach for myself. Once the swim was over, I headed over to get my run gear on. I had failed to notice earlier that the bike racks were surrounded by sand, probably from wind/high tides earlier in the week. There was not one area not covered by sand for me to change without getting covered in sand, which would stick to me because I was still wet from the lake. I did a very sand-infused change into running gear and headed out for my run, with sand and grit everywhere.
Training for the Chicago Marathon is in full swing now, so there were lots runners out there. There was quite the variety of runners out there. Guys decked out in full UnderArmor outfits, beautiful bouncy girls in pink things, people wearing the tell-tale red shirt of the Nike Human Race as they jogged down to the start, and some guy who ran as far as I did in denim shorts, a white T shirt and Chuck Taylors. There was even a time where some guy blew past me at a 5min/mile clip, wearing headphones, and giving a drum solo with imaginary drum sticks.
With swim/run completed, I headed back to Liz just in time to see her come across the finish line. The Human Race had been 14,000 runners, and it was a pretty cool site to see a stream of red shirted athletes snake around the Soldier Field. Liz and I contemplated either going to the free Fall Out Boy concert taking place after the race at Soldier Field, or heading up to the Jazz Fest at Grant Park. Liz decided she wanted to check out the Jazz Fest first, as there was some time before the Fall Out Boy concert started. We took a very non-UAP ride up the Grant Park area, hit the vendors for Chicago style soul food, and walked around the Jazz Fest for a while. It was then decided that we should either stay, head to Fall Out Boy, or do something else. Liz looked over to Navy Pier, saw the lit ferris wheel on the horizon, and asked “Is that open?”
The ferris wheel at Navy Pier is a huge landmark that is hard to miss. It’s 150ft high and is basically the tallest thing on the waterfront. We bought our tickets, waiting in a fast line, and was immediately on our way up to a 150ft view of Chicago. It’s smooth like a slow moving elevator, so you don’t really realize you are moving, except everything on the ground gets smaller and smaller. You then realize that the only thing holding you from a 15 story plunge from your gondola is a thin plexiglass shield with “Romy Rulz” scrawled on it and a $5 handle holding closed. Once Liz had enough vertigo tainted joy, she decided we needed a drink to calm down. Thankfully Navy Pier has a cantina at almost every nook, and I got us a couple drinks that seem to be entirely composed of rum.
Then the fireworks show started. I’m not sure if it’s a weekend thing or a Labor Day only event, but there was a pretty good pyrotechnics display, worthy of our tourism dollars being spent there. It was a bigger show than what we have in Lisle on the 4th of July, and I just LOVE fireworks. So Liz and I sat there, drinking our cantina drinks, watching the show. I was starting to finally enjoy myself, having been soaked in lake water, coated in sand, sweat caked from a run, and now reeking of cheap rum. I also realized that I hadn’t had a bath since yesterday. I grabbed Liz and gave her a big hug.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Day 1
Day 1 of 3. There is also a preface to this.
The caption under the day’s workout said “Hills today. Ride the IM Wisconsin course”. All I had seen of it was the part from Verona to Mt. Horeb, and I had never seen the second part of the loop back. I trusted in the rumors that the course would be marked with arrows on the ground, but I also did bring a map for insurance. Was on the road by 6am, but woke up with a splitting headache that I figured would go away once I started riding. I had also forgotten how far the course was, almost 2.5 hours away. It was going to be a long day as my schedule called for 5hrs of riding, 1 hr of running. That meant a 11 hour day for me.
With Wisconsin coming next week, a surprising amount of people were still riding the course. I can’t remember what a proper IM taper was, but I remember sitting on my ass a lot the week before the race. Things started off going well enough, passing a rider here and there, stopping to double check the map for turns, etc. I started getting out into the country and needed to take a break naturale, so I pulled over to the side of road to take care of business. A cyclist goes by, so I tuck it back in and wait. Whip it out again, and I hear the sound of another cyclist approaching. I wait. I try to start it up again and once again, I hear another cyclist coming again. I stop. This is the countryside. This is supposed to be easy! Once the rider goes by, I check both directions again (I was at a corner) and try to finally relieve myself. Almost on cue, another rider starts whizzing buy. F* it. I’m peeing now, and I don’t care who sees me. Thankfully it was not a family toting their Burley (this will come into play later). But it was hands down, the most difficult pee in a secluded spot, ever.
The arrows marking the course were painted at the start of the season, before the real training for the IM Wisconsin began. By this time of the year, anyone doing the IM Wisconsin knew the course by heart and no one really needed the arrows anymore. So by the time I did my first attempt at the course, the arrows were very worn out, and only parts of them, like the tail or parts of the head, remained. I had been sort of relying on people ahead of me to give me a clue where the course went, until somewhere I ended up not on the course. I knew this because I passed a family toting a Burley with kids. I thought that kind of odd. I blow by and ride out for a while. Road ends, and there’s no arrows. Map is useless. I turn around and pass the family with the Burley. I get back to my last turn, and the arrows point me back. Where are those damn riders now? Won’t let me take a piss in peace, but where are they now when I need them? Maybe I need to turn somewhere before where I turned around. Ride back out, passing the Burley, find a road and go down it. Ends abruptly. Not it. Maybe I should really take a turn at where I was last time. I turn around again, pass the Burley once more. I get to the original dead end, pick a direction, and it looks like I’m going nowhere. I break out into a tirade of F-bombs, S-words, and curses of Wisconsinites in general. As I’m doing this, the Burley riders go by, trying to avert their eyes from a very angry man cursing, waving his $6000 dollar bicycle in the air, and shouting epitaphs into the wind.
I eventually back track enough to find out that some other organized ride had put arrows on the IM course directing their riders to make a turn, when in reality I should have gone straight. I get back to the car, reload on water, gels, sunscreen, and head back out. My headache still was with me, but I figured I would just have to put up with it.
Things were going well on the second loop. I knew the course now and I knew that I should avoid the Burley people at all costs. Then a yawn. Kept riding, got another yawn, along with a flash of a bigger headache than I had before. Things started not going well. I was fine from a physical standpoint, ie my legs were not done, but I just wanted to sleep and that headache had become pain number 1, surpassing Mr Swollen Toe and Crabby Butt. Might as well quit complaining and hurry back to the car.
Every year I suffer at least one bee sting. It’s sometimes under the helmet (I did destroy a pair of Rudy Projects trying to get the helmet off while I was still moving, dropping the glasses right between the rear wheel and the frame and watch them get ground to pieces), but most of the time it’s when the little booger gets into my open jersey and gets trapped, stinging me. As I’m riding, trying to nurse the increasing headache and fighting off the now ever present yawn, I see this yellow missile spiral directly into my chest. It got me right in that small opening at the collar, which was only open an inch. It was a bee. Of all the places to hit me, the bee hits me in the only place that’s 1x1 inch that it can get trapped in. I can feel it crawling around inside my jersey.
Knowing better (I seriously have had about a dozen stings so far, and thankfully I’m not allergic), I just gently slow down and get off the bike (no freaking out). I slowly unzip my jersey and take it off, shaking it before dropping it on the ground. I then see the bee go under my bib strap. I unbuckle the heart rate monitor strap and gently ease off the bib straps off my shoulders, only to see the bee travel under the line of the straps to my butt crack. OK. Definitely not going to let a bee sting me between the ass cheeks, so I slowly start unrolling off the backside of my shorts, trying give the bee every chance to escape. Just then, another crowd of cyclists go whizzing by. I had just given them a strip show. Fantastic.
Once I figure the bee is definitely not in my shorts, I kit up everything I had tossed onto the ground and start staggering back to the car. I get about 10 miles away from the end and I just can’t take it anymore. I’m weaving like a drunk cyclist because I’m yawning so much. I just need a minute to close my eyes. I find a farm with an orchard by the side of the road whose trees have a lot of shade. I purposely lean my bike against a tree (so other people don’t think I crashed and lying there injured. I DO NOT want them to disturb me) flop down, and pass out. Wasn’t there for too long because whizzing bicycle tires kept on going by. Plus the ants whose hill I chose to sleep on were not too pleased. I figure that some rest is better than none, and finish my Zombie Ride back to the car.
I somehow get back to the car, and I was in poor shape. Time for that run. But first, I needed (which is more than just wanted) a cool drink of water. Unfortunately, the ghetto Honda is a sun house in the summer and all the water bottles in the car contained water hot enough for making tea. Scalding hot. This was not going to cure any headache or zombie-like exhaustion I was having right now. I threw the bike against the car and found that the pavement under the car was actually quite cool. I crawled under the car and I let myself pass out once again. I was definitely out for a while. It was bad enough where I was woken by own snoring and discovered I had drooled all over my helmet. Thirsty. I went back into the car, looking to get a cool drink. Only scalding hot water in the bottles. Oh, yeah. Forgot about that.
I was now in the proverbial hurt bag. I could run, which would be nothing more than a stumble for one really long, hot, thirsty, hour or I could be a quitter and not do what it takes. I made the phone call to Liz, I quit. I so F*’in quit. Screw this Ironman stuff. I’m so quitting Ironman today.
I don’t really know why I called. Maybe I think it’s because I needed permission from someone to fail. I probably would have gone down the phone list calling people to find someone else to tell to quit if Liz hadn’t done so. Plus, I truly think that if I had gone further today, I would have had to find a Motel 6 to spend the night at. I left the parking lot, believing that I should have sucked it up and done the run, but I knew that I physically couldn’t do it today. I just had done too much for the past few weeks and not enough sleep. Jennifer called me up with some direction from Liz and she told me to go eat a big cheesy deep dish pizza. I had for almost the entire year, been eating very healthy with salads, oatmeal, fruits, and fish. No wonder I had started shutting down. I had been eating like a normal person and not like someone who’s burning through 7000 calories a day.
In a strange reversal of fortune upon me getting home, Liz was there waiting for me, willing to go out for pizza on my behalf. She was taking one for the team, as she is not a fan of pizza (or many of the culinary fare I enjoy such as sushi, burgers, brats, pork). I ordered the biggest pizza they made and ate half of it. It never felt so good and I haven’t felt so much better after one sitting of something, and I’m no longer feeling like a zombie. I can dare say that pizza saved my life.
The caption under the day’s workout said “Hills today. Ride the IM Wisconsin course”. All I had seen of it was the part from Verona to Mt. Horeb, and I had never seen the second part of the loop back. I trusted in the rumors that the course would be marked with arrows on the ground, but I also did bring a map for insurance. Was on the road by 6am, but woke up with a splitting headache that I figured would go away once I started riding. I had also forgotten how far the course was, almost 2.5 hours away. It was going to be a long day as my schedule called for 5hrs of riding, 1 hr of running. That meant a 11 hour day for me.
With Wisconsin coming next week, a surprising amount of people were still riding the course. I can’t remember what a proper IM taper was, but I remember sitting on my ass a lot the week before the race. Things started off going well enough, passing a rider here and there, stopping to double check the map for turns, etc. I started getting out into the country and needed to take a break naturale, so I pulled over to the side of road to take care of business. A cyclist goes by, so I tuck it back in and wait. Whip it out again, and I hear the sound of another cyclist approaching. I wait. I try to start it up again and once again, I hear another cyclist coming again. I stop. This is the countryside. This is supposed to be easy! Once the rider goes by, I check both directions again (I was at a corner) and try to finally relieve myself. Almost on cue, another rider starts whizzing buy. F* it. I’m peeing now, and I don’t care who sees me. Thankfully it was not a family toting their Burley (this will come into play later). But it was hands down, the most difficult pee in a secluded spot, ever.
The arrows marking the course were painted at the start of the season, before the real training for the IM Wisconsin began. By this time of the year, anyone doing the IM Wisconsin knew the course by heart and no one really needed the arrows anymore. So by the time I did my first attempt at the course, the arrows were very worn out, and only parts of them, like the tail or parts of the head, remained. I had been sort of relying on people ahead of me to give me a clue where the course went, until somewhere I ended up not on the course. I knew this because I passed a family toting a Burley with kids. I thought that kind of odd. I blow by and ride out for a while. Road ends, and there’s no arrows. Map is useless. I turn around and pass the family with the Burley. I get back to my last turn, and the arrows point me back. Where are those damn riders now? Won’t let me take a piss in peace, but where are they now when I need them? Maybe I need to turn somewhere before where I turned around. Ride back out, passing the Burley, find a road and go down it. Ends abruptly. Not it. Maybe I should really take a turn at where I was last time. I turn around again, pass the Burley once more. I get to the original dead end, pick a direction, and it looks like I’m going nowhere. I break out into a tirade of F-bombs, S-words, and curses of Wisconsinites in general. As I’m doing this, the Burley riders go by, trying to avert their eyes from a very angry man cursing, waving his $6000 dollar bicycle in the air, and shouting epitaphs into the wind.
I eventually back track enough to find out that some other organized ride had put arrows on the IM course directing their riders to make a turn, when in reality I should have gone straight. I get back to the car, reload on water, gels, sunscreen, and head back out. My headache still was with me, but I figured I would just have to put up with it.
Things were going well on the second loop. I knew the course now and I knew that I should avoid the Burley people at all costs. Then a yawn. Kept riding, got another yawn, along with a flash of a bigger headache than I had before. Things started not going well. I was fine from a physical standpoint, ie my legs were not done, but I just wanted to sleep and that headache had become pain number 1, surpassing Mr Swollen Toe and Crabby Butt. Might as well quit complaining and hurry back to the car.
Every year I suffer at least one bee sting. It’s sometimes under the helmet (I did destroy a pair of Rudy Projects trying to get the helmet off while I was still moving, dropping the glasses right between the rear wheel and the frame and watch them get ground to pieces), but most of the time it’s when the little booger gets into my open jersey and gets trapped, stinging me. As I’m riding, trying to nurse the increasing headache and fighting off the now ever present yawn, I see this yellow missile spiral directly into my chest. It got me right in that small opening at the collar, which was only open an inch. It was a bee. Of all the places to hit me, the bee hits me in the only place that’s 1x1 inch that it can get trapped in. I can feel it crawling around inside my jersey.
Knowing better (I seriously have had about a dozen stings so far, and thankfully I’m not allergic), I just gently slow down and get off the bike (no freaking out). I slowly unzip my jersey and take it off, shaking it before dropping it on the ground. I then see the bee go under my bib strap. I unbuckle the heart rate monitor strap and gently ease off the bib straps off my shoulders, only to see the bee travel under the line of the straps to my butt crack. OK. Definitely not going to let a bee sting me between the ass cheeks, so I slowly start unrolling off the backside of my shorts, trying give the bee every chance to escape. Just then, another crowd of cyclists go whizzing by. I had just given them a strip show. Fantastic.
Once I figure the bee is definitely not in my shorts, I kit up everything I had tossed onto the ground and start staggering back to the car. I get about 10 miles away from the end and I just can’t take it anymore. I’m weaving like a drunk cyclist because I’m yawning so much. I just need a minute to close my eyes. I find a farm with an orchard by the side of the road whose trees have a lot of shade. I purposely lean my bike against a tree (so other people don’t think I crashed and lying there injured. I DO NOT want them to disturb me) flop down, and pass out. Wasn’t there for too long because whizzing bicycle tires kept on going by. Plus the ants whose hill I chose to sleep on were not too pleased. I figure that some rest is better than none, and finish my Zombie Ride back to the car.
I somehow get back to the car, and I was in poor shape. Time for that run. But first, I needed (which is more than just wanted) a cool drink of water. Unfortunately, the ghetto Honda is a sun house in the summer and all the water bottles in the car contained water hot enough for making tea. Scalding hot. This was not going to cure any headache or zombie-like exhaustion I was having right now. I threw the bike against the car and found that the pavement under the car was actually quite cool. I crawled under the car and I let myself pass out once again. I was definitely out for a while. It was bad enough where I was woken by own snoring and discovered I had drooled all over my helmet. Thirsty. I went back into the car, looking to get a cool drink. Only scalding hot water in the bottles. Oh, yeah. Forgot about that.
I was now in the proverbial hurt bag. I could run, which would be nothing more than a stumble for one really long, hot, thirsty, hour or I could be a quitter and not do what it takes. I made the phone call to Liz, I quit. I so F*’in quit. Screw this Ironman stuff. I’m so quitting Ironman today.
I don’t really know why I called. Maybe I think it’s because I needed permission from someone to fail. I probably would have gone down the phone list calling people to find someone else to tell to quit if Liz hadn’t done so. Plus, I truly think that if I had gone further today, I would have had to find a Motel 6 to spend the night at. I left the parking lot, believing that I should have sucked it up and done the run, but I knew that I physically couldn’t do it today. I just had done too much for the past few weeks and not enough sleep. Jennifer called me up with some direction from Liz and she told me to go eat a big cheesy deep dish pizza. I had for almost the entire year, been eating very healthy with salads, oatmeal, fruits, and fish. No wonder I had started shutting down. I had been eating like a normal person and not like someone who’s burning through 7000 calories a day.
In a strange reversal of fortune upon me getting home, Liz was there waiting for me, willing to go out for pizza on my behalf. She was taking one for the team, as she is not a fan of pizza (or many of the culinary fare I enjoy such as sushi, burgers, brats, pork). I ordered the biggest pizza they made and ate half of it. It never felt so good and I haven’t felt so much better after one sitting of something, and I’m no longer feeling like a zombie. I can dare say that pizza saved my life.
The Longest Weekend
As the Labor Day weekend approached, my coach Jennifer, asked if I was excited about all the hard work I had to do. Yes, there is sort of a sordid pleasure with the idea of doing a crazy amount of mileage in a sport that you love doing. To a point. It’s like taking a sexual fetish a little too far, or a little too rough, too hard; and you end up with a permanent scar or a visit to the ER with a crazy excuse why the zucchini is where it is.
Training for the Ironman the second time has not been all gravy and potatoes. It’s been a lot of work. Now that I know what to expect, especially knowing the weaknesses that come out at the limits, I tend to push a little harder at the workouts. It’s not fun. Last year, I trained with Liz who gave me company through everything. The effort back then was to “survive” the 7hr ride or the 3hr run, and whatever pace at the end was secondary. The plan for me this year is to set a realistic goal pace and then do all the work to ensure that I will arrive in Kona with the proper training for that pace. Holding my goal paces has just been more of monitoring the computers than by just “pushing”, but in the end, it is still solid work.
The hard part of all this is the wear and tear of everything. And by this, I mean EVERYTHING you can imagine. The toes are constantly in a state of blister/calluses. I’ve already lost one toenail, pretty sure I’m going to lose another one and the both big toes are threatening to go on strike if I shove them into my bike shoes for another 5hr ride (which is coming up next weekend). I’ve got chafe marks/scabs on my neck, arms and back from wearing wetsuits/speed suits in long open water swims. I even have little scars on my rib cage from wearing the heart rate monitor so much. Don’t even talk about saddle sores. All that’s saving me right now are life saving applications of Body Glide and Assos chamois cream. My left hamstring might have developed tendoniopathy or maybe it’s just gotten lazy and doesn’t like to work hard.
I’ve gotten to the point where I just keep all my gear in my car. Instead of taking my clothes, socks and towels to put away in my closet, I just directly deposit them into the back of my car. I’ve got everything sorted into three bags, swim, bike, run. All are stocked with the necessary tools of the trade. I just found it was just easier to dump everything there instead of running back and forth from the house each day, fighting Boss’s attempt at a jail break every time I open the door. Plus, everything smells awful. Imagine all the funk that builds up accessories like the hats, heart rate monitor straps, Fuel Belts and then combine that funk with more funk that transfered from tossing sweaty lycra into duffel bags on the way from the gym/swim/bike/run. Toss in some nice warm days in the sun, and all this turns into an odor that permeates anything and everything.
This weekend has been the longest so far. My life has been pretty busy, leaving the house at 6:30am and often not getting back until 9pm, sometimes later. This has been going on for a couple weeks now. I’ve basically been living on PowerBars and coffee. Everything had been manageable until I found myself stuck in the Longest Weekend.
I decided to break up the weekend into three separate sections.
Training for the Ironman the second time has not been all gravy and potatoes. It’s been a lot of work. Now that I know what to expect, especially knowing the weaknesses that come out at the limits, I tend to push a little harder at the workouts. It’s not fun. Last year, I trained with Liz who gave me company through everything. The effort back then was to “survive” the 7hr ride or the 3hr run, and whatever pace at the end was secondary. The plan for me this year is to set a realistic goal pace and then do all the work to ensure that I will arrive in Kona with the proper training for that pace. Holding my goal paces has just been more of monitoring the computers than by just “pushing”, but in the end, it is still solid work.
The hard part of all this is the wear and tear of everything. And by this, I mean EVERYTHING you can imagine. The toes are constantly in a state of blister/calluses. I’ve already lost one toenail, pretty sure I’m going to lose another one and the both big toes are threatening to go on strike if I shove them into my bike shoes for another 5hr ride (which is coming up next weekend). I’ve got chafe marks/scabs on my neck, arms and back from wearing wetsuits/speed suits in long open water swims. I even have little scars on my rib cage from wearing the heart rate monitor so much. Don’t even talk about saddle sores. All that’s saving me right now are life saving applications of Body Glide and Assos chamois cream. My left hamstring might have developed tendoniopathy or maybe it’s just gotten lazy and doesn’t like to work hard.
I’ve gotten to the point where I just keep all my gear in my car. Instead of taking my clothes, socks and towels to put away in my closet, I just directly deposit them into the back of my car. I’ve got everything sorted into three bags, swim, bike, run. All are stocked with the necessary tools of the trade. I just found it was just easier to dump everything there instead of running back and forth from the house each day, fighting Boss’s attempt at a jail break every time I open the door. Plus, everything smells awful. Imagine all the funk that builds up accessories like the hats, heart rate monitor straps, Fuel Belts and then combine that funk with more funk that transfered from tossing sweaty lycra into duffel bags on the way from the gym/swim/bike/run. Toss in some nice warm days in the sun, and all this turns into an odor that permeates anything and everything.
This weekend has been the longest so far. My life has been pretty busy, leaving the house at 6:30am and often not getting back until 9pm, sometimes later. This has been going on for a couple weeks now. I’ve basically been living on PowerBars and coffee. Everything had been manageable until I found myself stuck in the Longest Weekend.
I decided to break up the weekend into three separate sections.
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