futurehead

Mount Weather century ride from The Plains, VA

Photoblogging at 20 MPH

Went on a great century ride Sunday.  I brought my camera, and kept it strapped around my wrist for nearly the whole time.  Added a new element of novelty & fun to what was my 5th century ride in as many months (training for my May 1st Ironman). Click on photos to see full-sized shots.

We parked in the parking lot of this Post Office in The Plains, VA, about an hour from Arlington, and hit our saddles at about 7:10:

Barefoot Media Wave

So barefoot running is enjoying a bit of media wave at the moment. 

In fact, according to this New York Times blog post, barefoot running is actually now "trendy."  Or, at least, "as trendy as any millenia-old activity can be." 

Wow, how did I go from freakish to trendy practically overnight? 

Of course, the answer is Christopher McDougal's best-selling book Born to Run (a phrase I used myself a few years ago to close out an April 08 post here on one of what become the major theses of the book - that humans are evolved for endurance running).  The barefoot running idea has always percolated through the media - there have always been a slow trickle of stories on the subject since I've been barefooting - but now it's a flash flood. 

One of the best pieces I've seen is this other NYT blog piece with accompanying video, which gives McDougal a chance to really concisely lay out the rationale for running barefoot.  In McDougal, the barefoot running community has really gotten a top-flight spokesperson for the cause.

The only caveat I would add to that piece is, I hope nobody out there tries kicking off their shoes and just setting off on a 6-mile run like the NYT guy did – not sure how he got away with it but most people if they are even able to do so they WILL get blisters at a minimum as well as wicked calf soreness (which is usually felt some by first-time barefooters as the achilles is stretched out in absence of high-heeled shoes).

Other recent media include this so-so business story that actually ran in the printed NY Times, and this very good, widely reprinted story in the Baltimore Sun story. This is one of the few articles that fails to feature the obligatory quote from a podiatrist pulling some assertion out of thin air about the harm that barefooting will do. One thing I would correct is that running barefoot does not create calluses, just thick, soft but tough skin (like a dog’s paw).

McDougal's book, to which we owe all this fuss, is a hoot. It actually has very little directly and explicitly on barefoot running - rather it tells a story and sets a context within which barefooting looks not "quirky" (to quote NYT article) but a perfectly natural and sensible thing to do. It is part travelogue, part "great race" story and part meditation on the meaning of running. If you are a runner at all it will inspire you and if you're not it it probably will make you want to be one. At times I was conscious of being in the presence of a *storyteller* in the good and bad senses - not someone who makes things up but someone who definitely knows how to sharpen and highlight and dramatize reality in the stories he tells. I had McDougall pinned as a gregarious British reporter type in the tabloid tradition (I was wrong; he is American). But it is also a rip-roaring narrative, fueled by genuine passion and amazement - an amazement that many barefoot runners have experienced when they realized that they'd been lied to by our culture and just what their bodies are capable of.  Realizing you don't need shoes is kind of like realizing one day that you can fly.

Many people who read Born To Run will come away with a new appreciation for barefoot and minimal-footwear running. For me, a lot of the concepts in the book were familiar ground, and the main takeaway for me was to its theme that running should be approached with joy and abandon, and not like some grim discipline, eating our wheaties and grinding out miles on suburban sidewalks according to rigid formulaic "training plans."  After I read this book I starting doing more trail runs, and worrying less about my pace and my distance and just going out and running.  That message is a whole other form of liberation on top of the shoe-liberation, and for that I am grateful to McDougal. Trendy or not.

Of course, the trendiness declaration is probably premature. I have noticed, as I mentioned after the Savageman triathlon, that fewer people think I'm totally nuts when they see me running around barefoot. But, on the other hand, outside of a few New York Times readers and fitness enthusiasts who have noticed this coverage, I think most Americans still think it's pretty freakish.

But, eventually, in a few years when a third of everybody at every local race is barefoot, I expect I will feel like the guys who used to be fans of U2 when they were playing in small clubs, or something like that.  Glad that the world finally gets it, but missing the fun of being cutting edge and, to be honest, the charge that comes from feeling one is possession of an esoteric truth. 

Race report: Savageman Half '09

Deep Creek Lake, MD
Sept. 20, 2009

I was stressed about 3 major things on the Savageman Triathlon, the “world’s hardest half.”  First, would I be able to make it up the short but super-steep 31% grade “Westernport Wall” without unclipping or falling over (which is hard enough that succeeding earns you the privilege of getting your name engraved in a brick they put in the roadway), humilitating myself in front of the big crowd and getting an ignominious video of myself posted on YouTube?

Second, would I be able to handle the bike course -- 5,800 feet of climbing, most of it packed within 30 miles of the 56-mile course -- without my legs totally blowing up and leaving me walking my bike up every little riser and generally miserable as hell?  I jumped into this race somewhat casually, aware of “the wall” but not really aware of how difficult the *rest* of the race was.  A month before the race, I finally took a look at the course, freaked out a little (as someone who is not an especially strong hill climber) and peppered my biking group with a series of panicked e-mails.  

Third, would I be able to do the run, which was a little longer than I was conditioned for, without reinjuring my old stress fracture injury, when I thought (imagined?) that I was feeling some pain in that area after an 8.5 mile run two weeks before.  Worst case scenario: sharp shooting pains during the race, followed by a DNF and 6 weeks wearing a boot. 

Piled in the car on Saturday with my friends Will Colston and Dave Phillips for the drive to Deep Creek lake.  Driving toward the check-in, we saw a sign that said “Mile 35” and got excited to realize we were actually on the race course.  So when we came to the course turnoff, we followed it while Dave, who had pre-ridden the course several weeks earlier, narrated what it was like to ride it.  Basically, we drove straight up, and then straight down, and then straight up.  I took a few photos along the way.  It was good to get a realistic sense of what we’d be riding the next day. 

Dave and Will -- checking out Killer Miller the day before the race

After checking in and racking our bikes and attending the race meeting, we wandered off to our motel, had a nice pasta dinner and shared a pitcher of beer, and I had ice cream, then we crashed early.

We woke up at a civilized hour of 6:00 AM and had breakfast, not leaving the hotel until after 7:00. The race didn’t start until 8:30, because in prior years the start had been delayed by fog.  The temperature was in the mid 60s I think, with the water in the high 60s. An absolutely gorgeous day. Our wave was the last of 4 and didn’t go off until around 10 before nine. 

The gun went off and I started strong but as always concentrated on staying loose and relaxed at the start, when it is so easy to overdo it.  I felt good, though after a few minutes I felt my paucity of swim training over the previous summer (hadn’t done a single swim in 2 weeks).  On the first third of the swim it was impossible to sight because we were swimming straight into the sun, but I was surrounded by plenty of other swimmers so I didn’t sweat the navigation.  I noticed that a bunch of swimmers pulled ahead of me and then I felt I was swimming alone, until I started passing through the back of the prior wave. This made me feel I was swimming slowly.  Then a while after the first turnaround I found myself 25 yards to the left of the buoys and all the other swimmers and cursed the element of navigation, which always adds a wild card to swim times.  But, at least it kept me from swimming into the prior-wave swimmers.  Overall I felt good on the swim, relaxed and comfortable. My time was 30:56, which is actually a PR for me on a half ironman swim.  I think it was new wetsuit, which feels faster than my old one; it certainly wasn’t my swim training.  I ranked 39th of 219 male starters and 6th out of 48 men in my 40-44 age group.

I swam up the beach until my hand hit sand, stood, passed over the timing mat, and then did something I don’t think I’ve ever done in a triathlon:  I walked to transition. Unlike every other race I’ve done, except the Ironman, I made no effort to log quick transitions.  I sauntered over to my bike, pulled off the wetsuit, toweled myself off, put on a shirt (which I didn’t wear underneath my wetsuit as usual as I wanted to be dry on the bike), socks, bike shoes, jammed a pump and some food in my pockets, and headed out for the bike course.  Having been warned about how an 18-mile downhill ride at 9:20 in the morning wet from the swim could be very cold, I had thought about wearing arm warmers and a windbreaker.  Except, I forgot my windbreaker at home. But once in transition, as usually happens to me, I felt plenty warm and departed with just my wet tri shorts and my usual sleeveless tri shirt. T1 time: 3:32. Amazingly to me, despite all that leisure in T1, I still logged a faster time than all but 46 of the 219 men who started this race.

I barely got out of transition when I had my first hill experience.  I coulda sworn I’d put my bike in a low gear before parking it but as I mounted I had to grind to avoid falling over as it was already a bit of a pitch and I was in way too hard of a gear.  Recovered from that, rode up the hill to the main park road, and headed out for about a mile to the first steep hill – a nice little wakeup call maybe the equivalent of Tilden Road in DC.  Then it was 18 miles of flat and downhill (some of it dangerously steep and winding) on a beautiful road along the Savage River.  Then into a valley where we were met with what to me was the most dramatic sight of the day:  a gigantic paper factory, nestled among the beautiful hills, shooting great plumes of white smoke into the air.  I guess they do still make some things in America.

Then into the town of Westernport, where I could hear the noise of the crowd in the distance.  “Okay here goes” I said to myself as I made the turn and looked

straight up and the hill in front of me ribboning up into the sky.  I was expecting it to be bad, so it didn’t really freak me out.  I muscled up the first few hills; since I was uncertain exactly what I would be dealing with on the last, toughest block with the rough pavement (see here for a taste -- but the videos generally don’t capture just how steep the hill is) I took my time and did some zig-zagging to conserve my legs as much as possible. Then I got to the big block and concentrated on keeping my weight forward so my front wheel wouldn’t lift up but not so far forward that my rear wheel would spin out, and my chest down, and just motored straight up it, concentrating on the 4 feet of pavement in front of my bike and the

crowd around me was a blur, and just like that it was over.  “That wasn’t such a big deal” I said to myself.  Then I looked up and saw that after like a 5 yard pause the road continued up toward the sky at a pitch scarcely any shallower than the much-balleyhood wall and I knew I had 7 miles of steep climbing ahead of me.  Crazy. 

The next 30 miles was a blur of laboring up mountains and twisty, frightening, almost surrealistic plunges into hollows and valleys.  At one point there was a 3 mile climb (in Savage River state forest) averaging 4%, and that was my favorite, since that’s the kind of grade that’s close enough to flat that I can do well in, and I actually passed some people on that hill instead of being passed.  That hill led without a break straight into the 9% McAndews Hill, which was followed by some flat and then in short order by the 8% Otto Lane.  Meanwhile through all of this I knew that coming up was the formidable Killer Miller climb (1.3 mile, 8% average, 22% peak grade) that I had seen from the car the day before.  After a long, steep descent – too twisty and technical to really relax on –- I was there and I labored up it, proud to be passing a guy or two walking their bikes, though I did some more zig-zagging again on this hill.  Though I had seen it from the car, I was shocked just how long it was.  It just kept going and going and going.  Meanwhile, as on all the hills of this race, there were humorous teasing signs on the side of the road such as “How is that aero working for you now?”

If you were to think that was the top of the hill, you'd be wrong

Finally reached the top and stopped to refill my one water bottle at the aid station there.  Then back on the bike – straight up another hill.  The last 15 miles were flattER but not flat.  We still weren’t exactly in Kansas.  In some ways this was the hardest part of the ride, since the excitement was gone, and yet there were still lots of hills (even if not as crushing as what came before) and I was feeling very tired.  The fact that a group of 4-5 guys overtook me and drifted ahead was also kind of demoralizing – I wanted to feel that at least on this less hilly section I could make up some ground on the field (however, I did overtake these fellows on the last 2 miles or so when there was a lot of downhill and true flat). 

Such sympathy!

Climbing Big Savage Mountain I dropped my chain once, and I stopped at the aid stations on top of Big Savage Mountain and Killer Miller but otherwise never had to unclip.  It is nice to know I can survive this kind of a ride.  My 12/27 cassette and compact crank certainly helped -- and I did spend a huge amount of this day in my granny gear. Of course, part of the reason that it was so tough was not just the hills, but the fact that it was a race, with the time pressure that entails (no long chit-chats at the top of big hills as we are wont to do on our Sunday group rides), and also the fact that it was preceded by a refreshing but somewhat energy-draining swim, and followed by a half-marathon run.

Total bike time: 3:44:20.  That is roughly an hour slower than my other four half-irons, and only 1:45 faster than my bike split on my ironman race (and I spent a lot more time in anaerobic territory on this race than on the ironman).  For the bike split I ranked 100th of 219 men and 20/48 in my age group. 

The run.  Ouch.  I’ve done a fair number of triathlons in the past couple of years, including four prior half ironmans, but good god my legs were shot as I came into transition.  Again I took my time, unloading the 2 empty gel packs from my shirt, sitting down, taking off my socks, and putting on some shoes.  My plan was to run the first lap with shoes on, since according to the course description there were numerous gravel portions, and then hopefully, depending on what I observed, do the second lap barefoot.  I hadn’t run in shoes since my Ironman.  Unfortunately I was running late when I left my house for this race and I left a number of things behind, including my Puma H Street running flats, which I was planning to use here since they did not injure me for the Ironman.  So though I hated to do it, I ran in my absolute favorite shoes of all time, my Vivo Barefoot Aqua shoes.   They are actually great for running, it’s just that I like them so much, they are so much like going barefoot, and I can get away with wearing them to somewhat formal occasions, and expensive enough that I hate to wear them out by running with them.

Again I actually *walked* out of transition.  I was just so tired; my chest was sore from breathing so hard and so long on the bike, and my legs were pretty beat up.  But, I always force myself to run the first mile of a tri no matter how bad things are (since my desire to walk actually declines once my legs loosen up after the first couple of miles) so once I crossed the timing mats I reluctantly set into a jog.  I did so quite gingerly because I was still afraid of my old stress fracture which first hit me on my very first half iron race (which I ran in shoes BTW).  To my surprise, what hurt was my left knee.  But that didn’t worry me; a little tendon and ligament pain was something I could handle.  I figured I’d run the first 3 miles, which would bring me back by transition, see how my ankle felt, and make a decision at that point.  The knee pain probably came from the fact that I did the bike ride with my bike set to a brand new geometry (road instead of aero).  In any case it soon faded away (and I didn't feel it after the race).

The first 3 miles were just tough, tough, tough. I suffered through the first mile, and then the second, walking wherever there was a hill.  At mile 3 still no ankle pain so I kept slogging along.  Around this point I saw DC Mayor Adrien Fenty.  Last time I was in a race with him he passed me at mile 10 of the run, but this time he was already well ahead, probably 3 miles.  I gave him a cheer and he waved and cheered back.  Poor guy, I thought afterwards, he probably just wants to put his head down and suffer through the run like everybody else, but probably has to keep acknowledging jerks like me. 

The course looped through a campground, along a main park road, and then headed for an out-and-back up a very rocky and steep fire road for about a quarter mile.  Then back to the main road, and along some gravel roads back to transition.  I just walked up the fire road (“Swim, Bike, Hike!” I thought to myself) but enjoyed the run back down it.  By this time I realized my legs and the rest of me was feeling much better.  I still walked every hill, but felt stronger. 

On the loop at the campground and the fire road out & back I passed Will, who looked to be about a mile behind me.  He and I would probably have been running side by side if I didn’t have about 7 minutes on him on the swim.  About 3 miles in I was passed by a very strong and sprightly looking Dave, who was on his *second* lap.  Holy cow, amazing.

After passing by transition, and running through a short gravel road, I paused to take my shoes off and jam them in the back of my shorts and race belt.  Ah, liberation!  It felt great to feel the road again, and I tackled the task of getting this second loop done.  This also meant that the comments began – though since a widely read New York Times article on barefooting came out, I find fewer people think I’m plumb loco (though more might think I’m just some trendy guy responding to something I saw in the paper).  I was periodically bedevilled by cramping in my right hamstring – a cramp that had first emerged in the latter stages of the bike ride, and cropped up in the first loop of the run and the first part of the second.  Usually I find I am able to “think away” a cramp and for the most part that continued to work.  I also ate some salt tablets, but I don’t have much faith that they actually do anything so any placebo effect is lost on me, though it’s possible I would have been worse off without them.  In any case, with the amount of walking I was doing anyway, the cramps weren’t more than an annoyance. 

By this time I had settled into a tolerable steady state of low-level pain and just counted off the miles as I ran, seeing Will again twice at about the same spots as on the first loop.  I continued to walk the steep hills, and put my shoes on for the quarter-mile out and back up the fireroad. Despite some uncomfortable gravel at the end of the loop, I otherwise kept them off, and finished the run in 2:24:01, the slowest half iron run I’ve done (though only by 12 seconds, and it wasn’t nearly as painful overall as my worst run, when I persisted in thinking I should run the whole race without walking breaks).  My run time put me at 126th of 219 among men and 19th of 48 in my age group.  Amazingly within my age group I placed better in the run than on the bike, which has got to be a first for me and must reflect how bad I am at biking hills relative to flats.  My pace was just under 11:00 a mile – pretty bad but I’m still proud I did this run. 

Overall my time was 6:45:42, which put me in 94th place of 219 men and 16th of 48 in my age group.  Will was just a few minutes behind me, and Dave Phillips’ performance was amazing, finishing in 5:22 and winning his age group.  Although my time was 70 minutes slower than other half irons I’ve raced, I am more proud of completing this race than any of the others!

Overall, it was simply a wonderful race and I can’t wait to do it again next year!  The swim was great, the bike course was challenging and exciting and fun, the run was painful but perfectly nice, the venue was gorgeous, and the production of the race was flawless.  This was a race that clearly was not put on by any corporate machine –- it seemed to be a labor of love, the object of pride of a group of people that is genuinely passionate about this race.  The food was good, the logistics were relatively hassle-free, the volunteers were super, and a sense of fun and friendliness pervaded the event.  One thing I especially appreciated was that they had many many photographers stationed around the course, and promise to sell pictures for reasonable rates for once (when will the rest of the world figure out that photography, like everything that’s made of bits, has been devalued and is no longer worth what has traditionally been charged? But I digress...) 

After finishing, Will and I went for a swim in the 68-degree Deep Creek Lake, which felt so great I have no words for it.  We ate the wonderful french fries and BBQ they were serving, cheered for Dave as he collected his age group prize, and went home happy (Savage)men. 

Best Century Bike Rides in Washington DC & Arlington

UPDATE: This page has been updated (Sept/Oct 2009) to reflect addition of what I'm calling the Patuxent River century (#2, below) and improvements to the White's Ferry route.

In the course of training for my recent iron-distance triathlon (as well as an upcoming one in May 2010 in St. George Utah) I did a fair number of 100+ mile training rides -- around one a month starting roughly 7 or 8 months before my race (as well as a few before that).  Since a century ride takes a big enough chunk of time without an hour or more in the car on either end, I was determined to find good rides that started at my house.  One thing is that I really enjoy pouring over maps and satellite images trying to create exciting new rides through unknown territory.  Considering how close to the center of the metro area I live, I think I found some pretty decent rides. 

For the Common Good I list below some of the rides I've done, in rough descending order of quality.  Although these maps all show a starting location near Clarendon where I live, any can easily be modified for someone who lives in DC or, often, elsewhere in the greater metro area.  (Drop me a comment if you try any of these and like them.)

1. BYOB century.  This ride is awesome!  I've done it 4 times (report on the first) and loved it each time (and made improvements as well).  It starts with the well-known Rock Creek ride and then keeps going north up along a bike path through the creek watershed to Lake Needwood, north through Patuxent River State Park, westward across roads north of Damascus and Clarksburg, under Interstate  270, down to the Potomac river through the gorgeous roads near Poolesville, and back to DC through Potomac and MacArthur Blvd.  Warning; in some ways I did almost too good a job of finding a route  that avoids congested areas; the first real place to buy more drinks is at mile 60 (store on right along Route 355 before turn onto Old Hundred Rd).  The only other fault some people have found with the ride is that it has a 7-mile stretch on a beautiful but sometimes runner-packed bike path after Viers Mill park at mile 20. Personally I don't mind it.  Map of BYOB Century (note: this map shows a right turn on Avery road just after mile 25, but that is a narrow shoulderless road so if there is any traffic I recommend remaining on the bike path to Lake Needwood, as indicated on the BYOB version 1.0 map.  The maps also show alternate paths around mile 63.5; either Slidell Rd or remaining on Peach Tree is good).  103 miles (a few less from DC) BYOB Century cue sheet.

2. Patuxent River Area Century. Since the opening of the bike path along the Wilson Bridge between Alexandria and Maryland, I have explored a number of rides in Prince George's County with mixed results. With this ride (which actually extends south into Charles County) I finally found a  great route. Map of Patuxent River Century.   Cue sheet. This route travels through mile upon mile of remote country roads, extending south of Hughesville, MD (near a little-known Amish community that resides there).  Other than a few stretches of pavement that are a bit on the rough side, it is a really great ride, with the only busy portions being the first and last 5-10 miles from the starting point on the Maryland side of the Wilson bridge.  You will also need to get yourself to that point, and add that distance (and of course the return) to the 92-mile loop shown here.  (From Clarendon, it is exactly 10 miles, making it a 112 mile route for my group).  An alternate route is to go through Anacostia following the route shown on ride #5, below, which is fun but includes some very rough pavement.  This ride has numerous excellent shortcut options; simply pinch off the loop by following one of the many available roads.  To cut 12 miles from this route, for example, simply turn left on Charles St (Rt. 6) at mile 33 and rejoin the route by turning left on Keech Rd.  The ride has only one or two hills in the first 60 miles, then becomes rolling around mile 60.  Overall it may be the flattest century listed here.  For refueling I highly recommend a stop at the Ice Cream Factory and Cafe at the intersection of Brandywine and Route 5 - we happened upon this place and found a big menu of good food and ice cream, a charming store and a warm reception from the owner-operator.

3. White's Ferry and Point of Rocks Centuries.  When my riding group discovered that Old Dominion Road from Arlington to Great Falls is nearly deserted on Sunday Mornings, it was a revelation.  It opened up a precious new quality route out of the metro area for us (joining Rock Creek, MacArthur Blvd, and Mt. Vernon -- and now the Wilson Bridge).  This route uses Old Dominion to get to some nice roads in Great Falls, then through Sterling to the W&OD to Leesburg. From there you can take a trafficky but short route to White's Ferry.  There you take a barge across the Potomac ($1 fare for bicycles), stop at the store at the other side to fuel up if you wish, and then pedal through gorgeous, rolling roads around Sugarloaf Mountain (take a right on Sugarloaf Mountain Road at mile 65 if you want to go up to the top of the mountain, then follow Comus to rejoin the route), back to MacArthur Blvd and home.  If you are training the delays involved at the ferry (around 15-20 minutes max each time I've done it) might be a problem, though the ferry is great fun!  Map of White's Ferry century cue sheet.  This route can easily be shortened by taking a more direct route home after crossing the Potomac instead of going around Sugarloaf. About 107 miles.

Another version of this route is to cross the Potomac 10 miles to the north at the Point of Rocks bridge.  This ride follows the same route as the White's Ferry ride to Leesburg at mile 37.5 on the above map.  Eschewing the busy Route 15 in Leesburg, it follows a gorgeous inland route (same as the Reston Century route) to the bridge.  When I led a group on this ride I missed the left turn at Farmer's Mountain Rd just past mile 56 and we ended up doing a lot of time on Rt. 15 and extra miles.  I'm not certain that it isn't a dirt road.  You can try it, or to be safe turn left at mile 56 on Taylorstown Rd, and then Right on Lovettsville Rd to the Point of Rocks bridge.  Also, despite what this map shows I suggest doing this route clockwise so that you hit Old Dominion early when there is little traffic.  If you are doing it at a busier time, you can follow the route of the final part of the Bull Run Century, below.   Partial map of Point of Rocks Century.  Complete ride is an estimated 107 miles. 

4. Bull Run Century.  This is the only ride on this list that I did not draw up myself (credit belongs to  my riding buddy Rodolfo Luzio).  It features a lot of really gorgeous roads, especially between approx. miles 20-60.  It starts with a ride out to Mt. Vernon, briefly follows Route 1 through Fort Belvoir, then picks up some really sweet roads through the Occoquan river valley, cuts just north of Manassas, then runs north just west of Dulles Airport, and into Leesburg.  From there it is 10 miles along the W&OD trail, through Great Falls and McLean, and finishing up with the two humps of Military Road in Arlington.  Although I had to give a ranking, this route is pretty much the equal of the Point of Rocks loop and I actually prefer it because it features roads that are newer to me.  Map of Bull Run Century. 116 miles, a few more from DC. 

5. General Smallwood Century.  So-named because it brings you down to General Smallwood State Park (where there is a triathlon some friends have done), this ride features some very nice roads between approximately miles 20 and 80.  From the DC Mall, it heads south through Anacostia (a few busy roads and some patches of rough pavement but otherwise fine) to an ill-maintained bike path that leads to Oxon Hill Farm just north of the beltway.  When the bike path across the Wilson Bridge opens that will open an alternate route to this point.  Then this ride runs south towards Indian Head, past the Smallwood park, and then back north along other nice roads.  Partial map of Gen. Smallwood Century (Complete ride is ~110 miles; less from DC).  UPDATE: I recommend the superior Patuxent River Area century above over this ride.  However, the Anacostia route shown on this map offers a fun alternate route to the Wilson Bridge from DC/VA that can be used for either ride (and may be shorter if you're coming from DC).

By the time I finished doing these rides, I gained 1) an amazing view and knowledge of our metro area and its surrounding countryside and 2) a renewed appreciation for just how great DC is for biking.  Overall, there is nothing better than "fresh pavement," and if you are training for an ironman or just looking for lots of long rides, and live in DC/Arlington, you'll want to do all of these rides!

Race Report: Beach to Battleship Iron-Distance Triathlon

Sub-Optimal (in the best possible sense)
Beach to Battleship iron-distance triathlon
Wilmington, NC, November 1, 2008
My pre-race thoughts on this race

They say when doing a race – especially an ironman – you should never try, do, or use anything new on race day.  That concept, which in principle I agree is a good one, was pretty much shot for me from the outset, and flew even further out the window as events unfolded. 

Due to a variety of circumstances, I had just bought a new bike the weekend before the race – and had yet to ride it more than 5 miles at a stretch.  So that was one huge new factor.  I just installed my odometer on it the night before we left, and also a completely new rear water bottle holder which put the bottles behind my seat, after 3 years of storing them on my downtube.  I was also going to have to wear shoes while running for the first time in 20 months.  And, a classic Stanley screwup would bring even more novelty to my day.

Pre-race
I drove down to Wilmington, North Carolina on Friday with my friends Dave and Erik & Patricia.  We arrived at about 2:00, checked out the Battleship Park where the USS North Carolina, an imposing WW II era battleship, is moored, and where the finish line would be the next day, and which lent this race its somewhat militaristic name.

Then we went to packet pickup, I worked on my bike for a while trying to finish installing the bottle carrier which I hadn’t completely had time to finish installing after buying it the night before.  Then to listen to the race meeting, where among other things we were told that the currents were so strong in the swim that we could expect 10 minutes off our pool-swim time.  (My best 2.4 mile pool swim time is 1:03.)

Then we went over to the first transition area and finished preparing our bikes and checked them in.  Then out to a pretty nice Italian restaurant for dinner, then to our hotel where we finished our race preparations.  These were quite complicated.  Not only did I have to figure out where I would be getting my recommended 300 calories an hour for the estimated six hours of bike riding and six hours of running I’d be doing – I decided to mix up my two bottles with water, 1300 calories of carbo-pro (tasteless drink mix with 112 calories a scoop), and Trader Joe’s Lemonade – but I also had to pack six (6) bags in preparation for the race, including a pre-swim bag, a swim-to-bike transition bag, a bike special needs bag (which I could access halfway through the bike course, a bike-to-run transition bag, a run special needs bag (for mile 13) and a post-run bag with anything I might want after crossing the finish line, should I prove capable of doing so.

Finally to bed, then up at 4:20 to get ready for the race.  Gathered up my stuff, and joined Dave and Erik in grabbing a 5:20, 5:30 shuttle bus the mile or so to the T1 area. I checked in all my bags and then started walking towards my bike to put my bottles – OMG!  I’d left my carefully pre-mixed nutrition Trader Joe’s lemonade bottles in my hotel room fridge! 

Well, the shuttle only took about 5 minutes so I figured I’d just zip back to the hotel and get them; it was only 5:45. I left Dave & Erik and waited 10 minutes, no shuttle.  Clearly the service had ended.  Time to move to plan B: living off the land (“land” in this case being aid stations every 15 miles along the bike course, starting at mile 25).  Well, my bike was new and untested, what better to go with it than a completely new and untried nutrition strategy?  Why worry just because experienced iron-distance racers unanimously say that nutrition strategy is the most all-important factor in race performance, ahead of training. 

Well, I seem to have a strong stomach at least, I told myself.  Guess that would be put to the test this day.  I never did have much of a nutrition plan for the run anyway, so this just evened it out.  Would I hit a wall from lack of good nutrition?  Would I throw up from force-feeding on unaccustomed calories?  So many racers do one or the other.

I went back and retrieved my special needs bags and did some on-the-fly reshuffling of the various foodstuffs I’d put in the bags for each stage of the race in case I craved them, so that I would be carrying a lot more calories of solid food on the bike than I’d planned.  No sweat, all the advice for iron races also said you should expect something major to go wrong, you just have to roll with it. I tried to find some water to put in my front aero bottle (empty but already affixed to my bike) but no luck in the pre-dawn darkness and chaos of the transition area, so I gave up & hopped on a trolley which took me a couple miles out to the end of the promenade where the swim was to start, a finger of land that separated the channel where we would be swimming from the Atlantic Ocean.  On the way over I chatted with a nice guy who had done local swims, who tried to give me advice on where to swim to catch the best current (I was never very clear on what he was trying to explain).  Saw Erik and Dave when I got off, and went about putting on my wetsuit, applying body glide to prevent chafing, except on my neck, where my too-tight wetsuit had previously chafed me despite liberal applications of the stuff.  Instead, taking advice I found online, I applied strips of waterproof medical tape, which I figured would do a better job.  I guess that was another untried untested new race day strategy.  Meant to test that out in the pool, never got the chance.  Oh dear, I sure was doing a lot of improvising this day. 

Overall at this point I was very stressed out about this race; nervous about the unknowns in my bike ride, and terrified of the run for which I was massively undertrained .

Then it was time to move toward the start, and we walked the half mile or so out to the water’s edge in the pre-dawn darkness. Soon thereafter, I reluctantly stripped off my sweatsuit and relinquished my “pre-swim bag” in preparation for the beginning of the race.  It was cold – high 40s – to be standing around in a sleeveless wetsuit and contemplating jumping in the ocean and swimming 2.4 miles. 

The race was delayed about 15 minutes because it was too dark still.  Then they called “60 seconds.”  I wished Dave & Erik a good day and moved up near the front.  The horn blew and we charged into the water. 

Swim
I strode into the water until I was up to my waist or so and then dove in and as my face hit the water swallowed a big ol’ mouthful of brine.  Great start to my first ironman!  Then I started swimming and immediately felt more relaxed than I felt like I had in weeks. All the pre-race tension, stress over my job and trying to buy a new bike and get ready and juggle my overextended life disappeared as I settled into the oh-so-familiar rhythm of the swim.  It felt great!  Soon we hit the first turn bouoy, a 90-degree right turn a short distance away from the beach, and it was so crowded that a bunch of us piled on top of each other, and a number of us poked our head up and all just started laughing good-naturedly, because the course design made this pileup so inevitable.  Got through the turn and kept swimming.  Got socked, hard, in the cheekbone/goggles a few minutes later, but that didn’t stop me from continuing to soak in the relaxed feeling of a nicely paced swim – not too hard, not too soft, like a fast walk.  Actually I never really thought about my pace, slowing down or speeding up literally never occured to me.  I think I have done so much long swimming I may have a single rut of a pace.  Often people warn against single-speed training, and urge a variety of speeds lest you end up like the runner I saw quoted somewhere who said, “you could drop me out of an airplane and I would still move at 8:30 per mile.”

Anyway, I found a couple of good people to draft off of, and felt like my race was off to a good start.  Sometimes the water would suddenly feel colder, and I always liked that because I figured it meant I was moving into one of the main currents coming in from the sea and therefore moving even faster.

Halfway throught the swim I felt chafing on my neck. This is going to be bad, I told myself – in the past I’d had really bad chafing on swims half this length, in fresh water, despite never feeling a thing during the swim itself.  I think my tape came off.

Transition 1
Soon enough I came to the end of the swim, feeling good and relaxed, climbed a wooden ladder on the side of a dock, let the volunteer wetsuit strippers do their work, ran through the fresh water showers to get the salt water off, then starting the 300-yard jog to the transition tent, soaking wet and wearing nothing but my swim jammers in the morning cold (though, I wasn't really cold and the day was warming fast).  I looked at my watch to see my swim time and it said 00:000.  Oops, forgot to start it.  I asked a guy the time and he said we were about 54:00. 

In fact my precise swim time was 53:19, which put me in 56th place out of 337 men overall and 11th out of 54 in my 40-44 age group.

Grabbed my transition bag and went into the changing tent.  There I toweled off, changed into my biking shorts, selected upper-wear (decided to go with just a short-sleeved biking jersey), put on my glasses, helmet, shoes, and rifled through my bag selecting some food (a banana, cookies Meg made for me, a spare baggie of carbo-pro), a hand pump, and knit running gloves.  My hands were a little numb I realized which made it difficult to do all this.  At some point I glimpsed Erik enter the tent and sit down on the far side from me, I was glad to see he had a good swim.

I jammed my swim stuff into the bag and zipped out of the tent, got my bike, and headed for the exit.  Saw Patricia there cheering me on which was so nice.  Got on my bike and started off on my 112-mile ride.

Bike
As I took off on the bike, it felt great! I was no longer worried a bit about the unknowns.  I realized that a lot of my stress over the race was about optimizing my race, ensuring that all the details were correct, that I would have every advantage possible available to me and every contingency planned for.  I realized that by embracing the sub-optimal, the fact that everything wasn’t going to be perfect, that I would have to improvise, was tremendously relaxing, even liberating feeling for me. Perhaps embracing the sub-optimal is optimal.  And, plus, just getting going and actually doing the damned race instead of worrying about it.

So, I just settled into spinning my legs at a very relaxed pace, yet seemed to be zipping along.  This sensation maintained itself for 20 miles of the bike course.  I was passing a lot of people, including people on very expensive aero getups, which made me worry I was making the classic newbie error of going out too fast, but I did feel like I was very relaxed and hitting the right pace for a 100-mile ride so I kept going.  For one thing, on the gradual but real inclines along this part of the course, I probably had one of the lightest bicycles in the field at that time, unencumbered as I was by even a single drop of liquid (some guys, meanwhile, having paid $thousands for slightly lighter bikes than mine, were carrying 3 or 4 full water bottles – ha!).

At the 20-mile point, just when I was turning off a busier highway (Rt. 421) onto nice backwoods roads, one of my contact lenses came out.  In 3 years of riding I had only lost an extended wear contact lens once before while riding on a bike. Fortunately I was able to grab the lens from my cheek/eye socket before it was lost.  There was a minivan parked at the corner of this turn, with a woman and her children sitting in front.  I pulled up, asked if I could use their mirror, and tried to put it back in (which required cleaning the lens in my mouth, and then my hands, which from my knit gloves were covered in fibers which soon got on the lens).  Soon enough it was back in my eye on the first real try.  Total delay: probably 3 minutes. 

But not 10 minutes later, it happened again!  This time I tried to grab it but it was gone.  I did have some spares in my saddle bag, and contemplated stopping, but didn’t feel like pulling off the road again, rummaging through my bag, trying to put it in with no mirror – especially since I would inevitably lose it again, not only because some combination of temperature/humidity and eddies of air swirling around my glasses was clearly predisoposing them to pop out this day, but also since the lenses in my bag were the thinner daily disposables which *do* frequently fall out when I’m riding even on best of days.  So, I rode alone with one lens.  I could see the road right in front of me well enough and I could see further away very clearly (especially when I closed my right eye!).  And I stopped noticing it after a while – it was hardly worse than having smudgy glasses.

Shortly thereafter, I came upon a left turn.  I angled into the turn in my aero bars – and suddenly found myself going too fast, going wide, heading into the very sandy shoulder, with sand at least an inch deep.  I had no choice but to straighten up lest I slide over sideways, and plowed through the sand like a truck with no brakes on one of those emergency stop ramps.  Barely slowed, I then hurtled forward into some more firma terra and was able to get back on the road.  It was a close one, I very nearly spilled.  Note to self: depth perception a little lacking with one contact missing.

Well that all left my heart really pounding and I began to wonder if my day was going to be cursed by incidents and accidents.  But, I talked myself out of any negative thinking, focused on the fact that I was on a beautiful road on a beautiful day and feeling good and in the middle of my dream of a ironman race, and cruised along.  

Soon thereafter I hit the 25-mile aid station, where I pulled up, came to a full stop, and got my first drink since begging some water off Dave before the swim start (not counting the salt water *during* the swim).  Grabbed a bottle of the Heed sports drink they were giving out – in the past I had found it foul but today quite enjoyable – and poured a bottle of water in my front aero bottle.  Actually I usually go quite a while without drinking at the beginning of rides (against all advice, but it seems to work okay for me) and I wasn’t really that thirsty.  I’d held off eating anything without water, so once back on the road, I sipped water & Heed, ate a banana, and some chocolate cookies that Meg had made me.  Yum!  It all tasted great.  After that first aid station I abandoned the water and began pouring bottles of Heed into my front aero bottle whenever I ran low.  I never even used my new rear water carrier, which I had worked so hard to install at the last minute.  I think for the ride I probably drank 3 Heed bottles and the one water bottle. I did run out of liquid again at about mile 85 and I wasn’t sure if they would have the scheduled aid station at mile 95; fortunately they did as I was getting thirsty at that point and sipping futilely away at my aero straw, making noises like a kid in a restaurant with an empty coke.

Overall my lesson from this – reinforcing my experience from the Timberman Half I did in August – is that there is a lot of hooey out there about hydration, how you need to drink all these really large amounts of liquid really early.  My experience is that there is no harm in building up a bit of a thirst and then quenching it.  Of course, some say you can train your body to get by with less liquid and it’s possible that by being sloppy so often I have unconsciously done that.  Or maybe I would have done even better if I'd drunk more, but for now my takeaway is:  why lug your own drinks up hills on a race when you can just live off the land?  Why flush your system with excess fluids constantly and have to pee every hour (and possibly flirt with deadly hyponatremia) when you can just drink as you get thirsty?

As far as calorie intake, however, I took very seriously the widespread advice to maintain a high intake for better performance.  Not sure I hit the recommended 300-400 calories per hour, but I had grabbed a couple gels at that first aid station and took one at some point, and some peanut butter crackers.  By the time I tried to eat half a PB&J at about mile 70, food was no longer tasting very good and it was hard to eat.  I ate my second gel; usually I hate gels and haven’t ever used them for like 2 years, but this day they went down far easier than anything else except liquid and I continued to take them periodically throughout the run as well (though no more than 4-5 total for the day).

During much of the day for some reason I had the following song lines by the Doors running through my head.  Appropriate enough I think (even if I wasn't remembering the song perfectly):

Take it easy baby, take it as it comes
Don't move too fast
Specialize in having fun

At around mile 70 the course returned to the long, straight, somewhat busier Route 421 – 40 miles to home.  This stretch was my least happy part of the bike ride.  I think I was getting tired, felt myself slowing slightly, and every single time I looked up the road seemed to be on an upward sloping incline.  Also I was spending more and more time in my drop bars as my butt and shoulders were getting sore in my new bike’s aero position, which I had conditioned myself in for approximately zero hours.  Of course, you can spend 5 hours in a sofa chair and start to feel sore if you don’t change positions.

Finally I saw the spires of the Battleship looming to my left!  Hooray, I was done!  Um, except for just the little matter of running a marathon next.  It was about 1:30 in the afternoon at this point.

My bike split was 5:29:16 (average pace 20.4 MPH).  That put me in 32nd place out of 337 men overall, and 3rd place out of 54 in my age group.  I really loved my new bike; who knows how much it helped me but it sure felt great!

Transition 2
Rolling into transition, volunteers were there to take our bikes from us. Before giving mine up, I had to get a contact lens out of the saddle bag, which seemed to take forever as the zipper got caught and then I couldn’t find the lens, but eventually I got the bag unzipped and found the lens and re-zipped the bag and gave up my bike and headed into the changing tents.  With no mirror I was worried about putting in the lens but I was able to pop it right in on the first try.  Then I went about changing into running clothes – my tri shorts and a blue shirt – selecting some food to stick in my pockets (all I took were these caffeinated watermelon jelly beans, which I ate later and were great!), lubing up a little to prevent chafing, and repacking my bag.

Footwear: once again as in the Shamrock Marathon 20 months earlier I was in an awkward spot footwear-wise, having never run once with shoes in those 20 months, yet not having my soles conditioned for the marathon distance.  So, I decided to do what basically worked for me at Shamrock and wore my Puma H Street running flats, which are very very light sneakers, pretty close to bedroom slippers.  My plan was to run 5-10 miles barefoot on the second loop, and just stick my shoes in my waistband for that portion as I had at Shamrock.

Run lap #1
After I was done with everything, I sat in the tent for a moment trying to think of something else to do so I would have an excuse to not actually get up and hit the run course.  But, that’s what I did – and almost immediately realized I’d forgotten to use the port-a-potty.  I ran a stiff but not too painful 9:30 mile to the first aid station and used the one there.  It was the first time I’d peed all day (something that people who follow standard advice on how much to drink are aghast at).  However, I did notice my pee was like bright neon glow-in-the-dark yellow, so I figured I’d better start drinking more.  Thereafter I took cups of Heed and water at nearly every aid station, two for a while and then one.  (I think I peed 2, maybe 3 times during the rest of the race.) I ran the second mile, then walked, then ran.  I saw Patricia again at about mile 3, during a fun section of the course in a nice waterfront downtown area of Wilmington.

Soon I decided that I would run a full mile, then walk for 4:30, then run, then walk as a rest before running the next full mile.  Only this plan never really seemed to work out well because I never seemed to hit the mile posts when I was ready to run a full mile.  As a result, my real plan was more like: walk when you feel like it, but not too long.  I probably ran a full mile straight about 5 times, the rest of the miles were mixes of runs and walks.  I tried somewhat to keep to a pattern but also basically walked whenever I felt like it.  I calculate that I did my first 13.1 mile run lap in about 2:22 (about the same time as my revelatory Timberman walk-run). 

The first lap wasn’t that hard; my feet and legs began to get a bit sore, not having run that distance in a long time, but my cardio felt strong.  I took note of the running surfaces and decided I would run barefoot on the second lap around mile 17 when I hit these nice paths running through an extensive park.  I stayed focused on finishing that first lap, promising myself that when I finished it I would give myself a 5 minute rest.  Finally I crossed the bridge across the Cape Fear River and came upon the Mile 12 marker, and did a nice run back to the Battleship Park.  Patricia was there to cheer me on, chat a bit, and snap a photo.  I changed shirts, hit the port-a-potty, dug around my special needs bag to see if there was anything in there among all the food I’d packed that I wanted to eat (yuck no way!)

I paused and looked up the road leading out of the park.  Holy mother, I couldn’t *believe* that I now had to go and do another half-marathon loop.  Well, that’s just the way it is, I’ve gotta do it. 

Run lap #2
I started trooping down the road on my second loop, determined to once again run the whole first mile and not really thinking beyond that.  Did that, and then slid back into the same hodgepodge of running and walking.  On the second lap, I walked considerably more, not due to cardio or physical exhaustion but mainly because my legs were hurting: feet, shins, knees, quads – just about everywhere (though, importantly, not my old ankle injury!)  I started taking Coke at each aid station (it tasted heavenly; they say once you start taking Coke you should keep taking it the rest of the race and I had no problem with that!) 

When I got to the park I took off my shoes and had probably my easiest, nicest-feeling mile run since my legs first loosened up at mile 3 or so.  Unfortunately, my memory/observation of the trail was flawed, and the nice new tar trail I’d noted soon turned into old dry asphault, one of the worst surfaces there is to run on.  After it turned bad I was able to do okay running on grass and on the smooth gutter, but it was too much effort after a while so at about mile 19 I sat down on the curb for a second to slip my shoes back on (I wore no socks).  Just then my friend Erik, whom I’d been expecting to pass me ever since mile 1 of the run, finally caught up with me. Since I was just sitting he passed on by with a friendly word.  But, my stop being momentary (I don't tie my shoes I just slip them on), I was soon running behind him, and after a minute called to him, and we began running & walking together. I encouraged him to take off whenever he wanted but he hung with me and I with him for the next several miles.  It was a wonderful boost and blessed distraction to run with my buddy at this point in the race.

At mile 20, we realized that it was 5:45 PM.  That meant that we still had an hour and a half until the 12-hour anniversary of the race start at 7:15 AM that morning. If we could cover 6.2 miles in 90 minutes, we could break 12 hours!  That would require just 15-minute miles.  Holy cow, we could actually do that!!  From that point, that became the focus for both of us.  But, a lot of things can go wrong with your body at any moment after 11 hours of exertion, there was no guarantee.  As darkness fell, and prodded along by Erik to do a little less walking than I would have otherwise, we ran mostly 10-12 minute miles, building up a nice cushion against our goal.  At about mile 24.5, we had to climb up a ramp to cross a big bridge, and decided to walk it.  But, Erik decided to speed walk it, and my legs hurt too much so I told him to go ahead and meet me at the finish line.  He walked a bit ahead of me then took off.  It looked like I would meet my 12:00 goal, that was enough for me at that point.  So, I took a nice long walk across the bridge, until I hit the 25.1 mile point (which I recognized by the sign that said “12 miles” – do the math) so I could run the last 1.1 miles to the finish.  I guess I could have run the last 1.2 miles but I allowed myself the indulgence of walking that one last tenth of a mile. Such were the things I was negotiating with myself over at that time.

Heartened by the approaching finish line, I found that last mile wasn’t painful at all.  A half mile out or so, I turned onto the dark road into the park, where I ran along a narrow path marked by cones.  This was one of my most fondly remembered parts of the run:  dark and mostly deserted, the lights and the noise of the crowd looming in the distance at the end of the dark road, and every so often I’d pass a lone volunteer who would urge me on, “you’re almost there!” “you’ve done it!” “only a little further,” and the excitement of knowing that I was on the verge of reaching my goal of so long, and the running really not feeling bad at all, and the trail just going on and on, until finally it gradually emerged into the crowded, lit-up part of the park, and a volunteer shouted, “finishing or first lap?” and I was extremely, extremely glad to be able to respond, “finishing!” (Good god, I thought, there are poor souls still just finishing their first lap? There were).  She waved me down a path to the left, and I saw the turn to the final finishing chute, and I found I had the strength to pour on some speed, and there was a big crowd, and it really felt fantastic, and . . . I crossed the finish line!!!!!  I had done it!!! I couldn’t believe it!!! And someone put a medal around my neck, and took my timing chip off my ankle, and handed me a cup of recovery drink, and talked to me for a minute to make sure I was medically okay, and there were Erik and Patricia, and Erik pointed back at the clock and I saw it was just over 11:50, and half due to sheer bodily exhaustion and half perhaps in exultation at actually fulfilling this towering goal, I almost cried.

My run time was 5:08:55 (average pace 11:48 per mile).  That put me in 201st place out of 337 men overall, and 34th place out of 54 in my age group.  If my estimates are correct, my second lap was about 2:46, 24 minutes longer than my first. 

My overall time was 11:49:12, which put me in 120th place out of 337 men overall, and 21st place out of 54 in my age group.

After the race I stood around with Erik and Patricia and Dave and got a massage and just exulted in finishing.  I wasn’t woozy or out of it or anything as I had heard is common. I saw one woman cross the finish line whose legs were rubber, she could barely stand and had to be held up by several men.  (But, she was smiling!)

Then we packed up, did a lot of logistics, and drove home the next day. Overall it was a fantastic experience that I will always remember very fondly (thanks in part to this record I have set down which I thank you, indulgent dear reader, for plowing through!)

The race like most first-time events was not without its glitches but overall Setup did what seemed to me like an amazing job putting together an awesome logistical challenge, managing 1,000 athletes (500 iron distance racers and 500 half iron) and 1,000 volunteers spread out over 12 hours and beyond, and 140.6 miles of race course.  One think I really liked about this race was that both the swim and the bike were one loop - I think that's unusual in an ironman race.  It was great racing and training with Erik and Dave, and great having Patricia down there helping us out in too many ways to count.  And above all great having the support of my wife Meg in training for and doing this race!

One thing I am most pleased about is that (other than having the skin rubbed off the back of my neck by my wetsuit - I still have scabs a week later - and a little chafing on the tops of my feet from wearing shoes) I seem to have escaped from this event without injury, despite doing the marathon with very little proper training, and doing it in shoes.

Patricia has posted her excellent photo record of the event - the good, the bad, and the ugly.

I did it!

UPDATE: Dave has posted his race report.

Ironman expectations

Okay, so my first iron-distance race is only two days away, the Beach to Battleship race in Wilmington, NC.  Here are my pre-race thoughts and expectations:

SWIM:
This should be easy and fun. I am a pretty strong swimmer and have no problem knocking out a 2.4 mile swim.  In the pool I usually do that distance (which I swim about once a week) in between 63 and 68 minutes. The only unknown is the mass start -- instead of starting in waves by age group, each with a reasonable number of people in it, for some reason in an full ironman the tradition is for everyone -- in this case about 500 people -- to all start at the same time.  That many people going from vertical to horizontal at the same time can be really ugly and I've heard a lot of stories about how rough it can be.  I'm not too worried, I've experienced some of that in other races, I'll deal.  Another factor will be the cold, with the low temps for Friday/Saturday night forecast for the mid-40s, it should be quite cold.  Supposedly the water will be in the 60s, however.  Basically, I'll freeze on the beach once I shed my sweatshirt & pants, and until a few hundred yards into the swim.  Then, should be fine.  We are of course wearing wetsuits (though mine has no sleeves).  I am confident that whatever hits, I will beat 1:20, expect to beat 1:10, and -- just because there is supposedly a current that will push us along, perhaps dramatically -- I could even conceivably break 1:00.  My best guess with the current: 1:05.

TRANSITION:
This will be quite new to me.  Unlike the usual no-nonsense speedy transition, there will be showers, wetsuit strippers, possibly people getting my bike for me, changing tents, and all kinds of other novel factors.  I will spend a lot more time in transition than I am accustomed to.  In a 13-hour day, no sense cutting a few seconds, I'll be changing into comfy bike clothes.  Hopefully it all won't be too confusing and lead me to do something stupid and absent-minded as I am prone to do.  I hope the thing won't take too long but I'm not planning to rush it.  One guy whose account I read online said he went smoothly and reasonably rapidly in his transitions, and was surprised to find that it all took him a full 15 minutes.  So that may be the case. 

BIKE:
I think the bike will be enjoyable, at least the first half. Complicating things slightly is the fact that I just bought a new bike on Sunday -- a Cervelo Soloist Team -- and have never yet ridden it longer than 6 miles or so at a time, and probably less than 25 miles total.  But, I have it set up in time-trial position (it is kind of a hybrid time trial-road bike) and expect that the ride will be very enjoyable.  At least until the turnaround and the last 40-50 miles, which is supposedly quite boring and at which point I will probably be ready to get off the bike anyhow.  I'm thinking par for me will be about 6 hours; on my 4-5 half iron races my bike times have improved from about 2:55 to about 2:35, so I figure 6:00 is about right to double that distance if I am feeling good. 

RUN:
I expect the swim and bike to be fun, and the run to be -- not.  I have been so careful about not reinjuring myself that I have erred on the side of undertraining.  The longest run I've done in past 14 months was 11 miles (at Timberman) and I've done a few of 5-7 miles or so, and the rest were 1-3 mile runs.  They say pretty much no one actually does their first ironman run without doing some walking, so there's no shame in that.  My baseline goal is to run half of the 26.2 miles.  Once I reach that point, I figure I can probably run a number of other miles on top of that, but I'm keeping my expectations low and I'm going to try to pattern my run after the run I did in the Timberman triathlon -- slow, lots of walking, relaxed, pleasant -- and, in the end, hopefully as at Timberman, not actually much slower than much more painful runs I'd done previously.  Another complicating factor is my barefoot running.  I haven't run with shoes in a long time, yet my soles are clearly not conditioned to run a marathon at this point, so that's a bit of an awkward spot I find myself in.  My current plan is to do the first of the two run loops with my H-Street running flats, hope they don't mess me up, and then do the second 13.1 mile lap barefoot or mostly barefoot, perhaps with my H-Streets tucked in my waist band.

OVERALL:
So, I am very excited and nervous about this race. I am most nervous about the run. The run is always tough, and here because I am so undertrained it could be even tougher.  I may hold back on the swim and bike a little less than might normally be wise, since I plan to walk a lot of the run anyhow.  We'll have to see how I feel.

My main goals are as follows, in descending order of importance:

1. Finish the race (the cutoff is 17 hours, or midnight)
2. Have it be a happy experience, not one that is so painful and horrendous that it makes me feel nauseous whenever I think about it.
3. Break 13 hours.  With 90 minutes for the swim and two transitions, and 6 hours for the bike, that would give me 5:30 in which to complete the run.  For perspective, the two marathons I've run were in 4:18 and 4:02.  With a 7:00 a.m. gun time, that means I would cross the finish line around 8:00 p.m.

There are a lot of things that can go wrong on an ironman.  Will I finish the race? Will the swim be as easy as I expect?  Will my time match my pool times, or be faster - or slower? Will anything go wrong with my new, untested bike?  Will I fly through it, or have problems? What will my time be? How will I manage on the run.  Can I do it in 5:30? 

Stay tuned! The gun goes off Saturday Nov. 1, 2008, at 7:00 AM.

UPDATE: B2B ironman race report

Ironman rule against barefooting

So in the wake of my citation at the Timberman Ironman-branded half ironman Triathlon August 17 for running barefoot, I have been corresponding with the Ironman corporation (aka World Triathlon Corporation, which owns the trademarked brand name "Ironman").  Other barefooters who have written to the company complaining about the policy against running barefoot reported getting no response, and some barefooters even sent them a petition asking for the policy to be changed.  However, I did get a response last week with an explanation of their no-barefoot rule.  The bottom line: the rule is “for safety reasons" (actually that was not really the bottom line, it was pretty much the entire explanation).

This was from the head referee at Ironman, Jimmy Riccitello.  That is who their communications person referred my question to, which surprised me since I think of a referee as someone who enforces rules, not someone who makes them.  But I figured, who knows how things work within WTC?  In the end, though, after I sketched out a few reasons why the rule should be reversed, the referee confirmed that he is “simply the messenger” on this.  Like everyone else, he seemed somewhat unsure about this rule, and said he would get back to me with more details.

From what I heard, I’m getting the idea that this is a rule that was, as some barefooters have speculated, thrown onto the books with little thought.  Certainly it is not anything that anybody I have corresponded with seems to have thought about any.  Perhaps that’s not surprising given the rarity of barefoot running.  But hopefully with a little persuasive education the company will respond and it can be yanked out of their books as casually as it appears to have been tossed in. 

The barefooting rule is misguided, but perhaps it sheds light on a bigger problem here, which is that Ironman is a de facto governing body of the sport, and yet as a corporation, it has few of the institutions and processes in place for governance.  I haven’t looked closely at USAT, but I presume they have some kind of mechanisms in place for triathlon community input, petition, appeal, etc.  The free market may provide some of that, but is a very imperfect and corruptible substitute for governance.

However, the Ironman employees with whom I corresponded have been responsive enough so far, though I have not really gotten a chance to have my points heard by any decisionmaker so far as I know, and have not received anything resembling a satisfying response to those points. 

Below is the essence of my e-mail exchange:

From: Jay Stanley
Sent: Tuesday, August 19, 2008 11:51 PM
To: Blair LaHaye [Ironman public relations director]
Cc: Keith Jordan [Timberman race director]
Subject: rule explanation

Dear Ms. LaHaye,

I am a blogger and triathlete.  I received a citation on Sunday in the Timberman 70.3 for running barefoot. 

Could you please explain to me the reasons for your company's rule against running without shoes, or forward my query to somebody who can do so, or let me know who I should contact directly?

Thank you,

Jay Stanley
Arlington, VA

<at this point, several followups by me over course of a week seeking a response>

From: Jimmy Riccitello
Sent: Wednesday, August 27, 2008 6:10 PM
To: Jay Stanley
Cc: 'Blair LaHaye'; Keith Jordan
Subject: bare feet at Timberman
Jay,

Ironman requires “covered feet” on the bike and run for safety reasons. 

What were the circumstances regarding your penalty?

Sincerely,
 
Jimmy Riccitello
Head Referee, Ironman

From: Jay Stanley
Sent: Thursday, August 28, 2008 10:27 AM
To: Jimmy Riccitello
Cc: 'Blair LaHaye'; Keith Jordan
Subject: RE: bare feet at Timberman

Thanks for getting back to me.  The circumstance was I was running along, and was stopped and given the yellow card.  When I talked to the head referee at the race about the rule, he suggested that I write to you. 

If you mean to ask how I came to be barefoot, then the answer is, I've done all my running barefoot for the past 3 years or so.  Not sure if you are aware of this, but there is a small but growing movement within the running world of people who have found that running barefoot (up to ultramarathon distances) is not only *not* a safety risk, but actually quite the opposite in that it reduces and prevents injuries.  In fact, there is a substantial body of scientific evidence to support the contention that it is actually shoes that are the cause of most running injuries (I would be happy to supply links if you are interested but a peer-reviewed article reviewing the research is at http://www.sportsci.org/jour/0103/mw.htm).  There are some podiatrists and trainers who disagree and urge everyone to wear shoes, but also many others who are supportive of this technique -- which is after all an ancient tradition that has been used by some of the world's best runners. 

In any case, Ironman does not need to take sides on this issue.  With your policy, Ironman is in effect saying "as experts who know a lot about triathlons, we do not believe it is safe to run without shoes and recommend that you wear them."  If liability is the issue, I would expect that as the science develops this would actually open you up to more liability than it protects you from.  (I know that if I were to try running any distance with shoes at this point, I would likely injure myself.)  I would submit that you are better off remaining neutral and letting runners experiment for themselves, and scientists debate, the best way to avoid injury.  From a P.R. perspective, this policy I believe will also increasingly risk leaving you looking behind the times and distinctly non-cutting edge as more people adopt this technique. (I would note that USAT does not have such a policy.)

How is policy made at Ironman? I would welcome an opportunity to make a fuller pitch to Ironman's policy-setting individual(s) to consider changing this policy, whether by e-mail, phone, or in-person presentation the next time I am in Florida.  In any case, I hope Ironman will seriously consider the points I've made here.

Thanks for your work in triathon!
 
Sincerely,
 
Jay Stanley
Arlington, VA

From: Jimmy Riccitello
Sent: Thursday, August 28, 2008 1:57 PM
To: Jay Stanley
Cc: Blair LaHaye; Keith Jordan
Subject: RE: bare feet at Timberman

Jay,

I believe this rule provision was meant to be Kona specific, as I've seen it
on the Kona requests for amendment. 

I know that safety is a primary concern in Kona, possibly due to the
surface, heat, etc.  I have no idea if liability was a factor in this rule.

As I'm simply the "messenger," I will make sure your email is heard by those
who determine policy.

I'll get back to you when I hear something.

Sincerely,

Jimmy Riccitello
Head Referee, Ironman

From: Jay Stanley
Sent: Thursday, August 28, 2008 3:27 PM
To: Jimmy Riccitello
Cc: Blair LaHaye; Keith Jordan
Subject: RE: bare feet at Timberman

Jimmy,

Much appreciated.  That would be great if you could share with me what you find out.

Best,

- Jay

A tool to help avoid running injuries

Okay, so believing that I have grasped the basic mechanism and dynamic behind repetitive-use injuries that strike runners and others, and having resumed running several months ago after recovering from my stress fracture, I now face a mystery that it is most urgent for me to solve, and which I have therefore been highly motivated to try to crack (so to speak): 

just how much running can I get away with, without reinjuring myself??

So just to review, here's what we know:

1. When you run or work out, you stress your muscles, tendons, ligaments, and bones
2. When you stress your tissues, they get injured in microscopic, sub-symptomatic ways
3. In repairing those injuries, your body makes those tissues stronger
4. Bones and ligaments can take many weeks to repair
5. If the stress you place upon your tissues outpaces your healing, you get an injury

There are no doubt other, more complicated things going on as well in an injury; for example some believe that fatigue in your muscles from a long run makes them lose their elasticity and function as a spring, which when strong protects your bones from shock.  Running form must be important; I continue to run barefoot in attempt to optimize that.  But let's put aside such complexities for the sake of clarity.

One of the things that I have done since I first began running & triathlons 3 years ago is keep meticulous workout logs.  So I have records of every run I have done, as well as records of the five times in that period when I felt compelled to take a break from running due to pain.  So the question is, how did my mileage correlate with those injuries? 

To look at that, I first created a graph of all my runs since April 2005, and marked on it the dates on which I got injured (red splotches).  The result looks like this (click images to view fullsize):

  

Well that's kind of interesting, clearly I got injured as I did more longer runs, but the injuries were still somewhat unpredictable.  And just how much running, and how much increase in running, is too much?

In an effort to shed more light on what happened, I got the idea to do a different analysis: I calculated, for each day since April 2005, how many miles I had run in the previous x days, where x was 30, 45, 60, 90, and 120 days. 

So for example, on August 16, 2007, the day I first felt my stress fracture, I had run 45 miles in the previous 30 days, and 122 miles in the previous 120 days.  How did that compare to the dates of my previous (less serious) injuries, and to other, normal days?  Did any of those date-ranges predict my injuries? 

I piled all those graphs on top of each other, and superimposed them over the above "spike" graph of my actual runs, and this was the result:

Looking at all the graphs, it seems to be the 60-day (blue) and 90-day (yellow) graphics that seems to correspond most closely to my injuries -- when that line spikes, I tended to get injured.  (The exception was the runup to my first marathon in October 2006 -- but I will note that, although I haven't marked the period as containing any injuries, in the months between that marathon and my second the following March, I consistently felt a lot of the bad kinds of soreness following most of my long runs). 

I therefore settled on the following graphic as best representing my ongoing tissue-injury state.  The Rolling Cumulative Run Record (which somebody has no doubt invented already but which until I hear otherwise I am going to name my "RCRR") is here shown as a rolling average of miles run per day, and the individual run distances (black spikes) are scaled such that 26.2 = 1.  That gives a nice clean visual demonstration of my running state:

One of the striking things about this chart is just how steeply the yellow line rises, even when I was just doing steady, short runs, thinking I was being super cautious and taking it super easy -- whether in the spring of 2005 when I first started, or in recent months as I have restarted running. 

Here are the questions that all this leaves in my mind:

Just how gradual a slope is safe?  Of course this naturally varies by runner -- doctors say healing times for bone fractures vary greatly by individual, and it must be no different with other tissues.  But I wonder if research would uncover a general guideline for runners. (Of course the visual steepness depends on the way you scale your graph, so it's hard to know how to interpret it.)

Is a plateau safe?  Is the right thing to do to reach a plateau, where your 90-day line is basically flat? If you can get there and stay for a while without injury, is that the way to avoid injury?  Just how many injuries are a result of a too-steep a line of increase?  I bet it's the vast majority.  If you run the same amount per week/30/60/90/120 period for years, with no increase and no injury, how likely are you to suddenly get injured? If you run the same number of miles each day your line would be perfectly flat; if you vary by day but run the same number each week, it would be somewhat wavier. Here for example is the graph of a person running one mile each Monday, 2 every Tuesdays, etc., up to 7 on Sundays:

The longer the period of your consistent run totals (ie you repeat the cycle every 2 weeks, every month, etc), the more wavy your RCRR line will be.

What is the best way to distribute one's miles?  Just how wavy a RCRR line can one have?  What is the relationship, injury-wise, between cumulative run totals and the lengths of individual runs?  In other words, to avoid injury are you better off doing the same run every day, or periodic, longer runs with long rests for healing in between?  For example, let's say I average one mile per day; is it better to run one mile per day, or 7 miles once a week?  What is the best balance between those extremes?  Clearly if you want to do a marathon, it won't do to average 26.2 miles per month by running 0.845 miles every day.  But there are also people who can run numerous marathons a year without injury -- and clearly they can't run a marathon every day.  So what is the best "rhythm" for incorporating long runs into one's overall mileage?   I think the standard advice is to go easy every 4th week or so; I wonder how accurate that is.

In my own injuries, only one (my stress fracture) was directly the result of a long run.  The other points I have marked, such as after my second marathon, were merely points where rising soreness prompted me to make the decision to take a break, following long periods of increasing but not catastrophic soreness.  But, they were periods where I was doing long runs interspersed with long breaks of only a few short runs.  I figured I was giving my body a good chance to heal between long runs by doing little volume in between.  Now I am experimenting with more frequent short runs. 

But, the biggest question in my mind as I try to become a healthy consistent runner is: Am I once again headed for an injury? 

I have been increasing my run so slowly -- from my first half-mile run at the beginning of March, I increased to no more than 5-mile runs by the end of July, 5 months later.  Since then I have done a 7-miler and a 10-miler, but my mileage remains extremely low and I am being so cautious.  Yet look at my yellow RCRR line, on the right edge of the above graph.  Its slope is definitely more gradual than those leading up to past injuries -- but still appears to be rising alarmingly.  I will certainly keep monitoring both versions of the above charts.  Time will tell.

FINALLY, for anyone that would like to track similar data for their own runs, here is a blank version of my spreadsheet for your logging convenience. (Also on there is form I use to log all my triathlon training.) Good luck! 

Download RCRR run injury prevention tool.xls

Race report: Timberman Half Ironman

Lake Winnipesaukee, NH, August 17, 2008

Drove to the race the day before with my friends Erik Van and his wife Patricia and their kids, and met our friends Dave Turvene and Will Colston at the site, where we checked in, racked our bikes, etc.

In the morning, we arrived and set up, and all went well. I got to the beach just as the 2nd or 3rd swim wave was going off, and saw Will’s wave depart.  Soon it was time for my wave, and then we were off, on a nice, rectangular clockwise course in the beautiful waters of Lake Winnipesaukee. 

Swim
I dug right in to my new swim stroke which I’ve been working on, and which by now is halfway to becoming habitual (I slip out of it when tired and not concentrating).  Fairly quickly I found a good pair of feet to draft off of – a guy who was actually going slightly faster than I probably would have gone, but, me not wanting to lose my draft, prompted me to push a little to stay with him.  At one point I suddenly brushed up against a buoy – on my left!  This guy was leading me inside the buoy – without a thought I stuck my head bolt upright and then quickly detoured back around the correct side of the buoy.  I regretted losing my draft, but consoled myself with the knowledge that I had stayed on the course and followed the rules and – I am unsure – maybe avoided the risk of a penalty.  On the second leg of the race I found another guy to draft off of, who also pushed me faster.  At the second turn, I turned toward shore to find a healthy chop in the water hitting me in the face; there was no risk of dehydration on this leg as I drank quite a bit of the lake water.  I also found myself swimming through a thick school of women in yellow caps (a previous wave).  Somewhere here I lost my draft again.  A hundred yards from shore or so some guy in a silver cap (my wave) came roaring up next to me, so I sped up to swim alongside him the rest of the way in.  Overall I felt good on the swim – the water was gorgeous and nothing really cropped up to bother me.  My time was 32:59.  That put me 186th out of 1,506 finishers, and 29th out of 219 finishers in my 40-44 age group.

Running into transition I had a new experience: wetsuit strippers.  Usually only reserved for Iron-distance races, I flopped down onto a mat in front of these great volunteers and they yanked my wetsuit off me – a big help in transition, and kinda fun. The rest of my transition I concentrated on being smooth and steady (I think of it as “slow/fast”). This race I decided not to wear my tri top under my wetsuit, because I noticed it sticking out on a previous race and worried that it was dragging down my swim time.  So I had to put that on, and stuck a bannana in the pocket for bike fuel.  Then as I ran out the bannana fell out after about 10 yards, some guy kindly called to me but I abandoned it.

As I left the park, I saw my mom, which was fun, since I wasn’t sure what time she would get to the race (she had arrived *just* in time to see me it turned out). 

Bike
A woman we saw the day before had warned against going too hard in the first 10-15 miles of the race, so I took the first couple miles easy, but by mile 10 I realized I was going pretty hard, and figured I had fallen into the trap she warned against. Not sure why but I often find I go faster than other people down hills, for whatever reason (I suspect I take it easier on the way up than most, and work harder on the way down – weight of myself and my bike might also have something to do with it), and once I get up that momentum, for some reason I find it easy to maintain it, and often pass people thereafter.  So passing people like that was kind of addictive, so that kept me going fast I think.  Which is not to say I wasn’t also getting passed – in some cases, *blown by* – by a fair number of riders, often on the $3,000 bikes with carbon wheels. 

After exiting transition, I rode for a while with my feet on top of my shoes.  I like to rubber-band my shoes to my bike, hop on, spin up, and then put my feet in my shoes, it has always worked well and it’s fun. For the first time, I had a little trouble getting my feet into my shoes; it actually slowed me down a bit.

I made a last-minute decision to go ahead and wear my new heart-rate monitor for the first time in a race.  I didn’t so much use it as check it, out of curiosity, and I found one interesting thing in the first 20 miles of the bike: every time I looked, whether I was on a flat, on a downhill, or on a steep or gradual ascent, my heart rate was always 147, 148, or 149.  That tells me that in 3 years of training by feel without a monitor, I’ve learned to become pretty consistent, partly because I do work at keeping my effort constant even when the terrain is not.

I enjoyed the outbound bike a lot, and the return trip, when the wind seemed harder and I was more tired, I enjoyed it less.  For a while after the turnaround it began to feel slog-like, and my effort level (and heart rate) lessened.  But then after a while I regained energy and gunned it up again.  After I turned onto the main lakeside highway, I thought I was like half a mile from the end – it turned out to be 3, and a lot was uphill.  That was one of the hardest parts of the bike. But overall the bike course despite the few steep hills was a good one for me since it had a lot of extended gradual hills which I do well on. And, I did push the bike; since I knew I was planning to walk a lot of the run anyway I figured I might as well.  On the bike my time was 2:44:20 – that was 283rd of 1,506 finishers, and 55/219 in my age group.

Back into transition, I also took this one steady, not gunning this time for a fantastic T-time as I have in past races for fun.  I changed shirts, took off & adjusted my race belt, etc.

Somewhere around this point, I noticed I was dying of thirst; during the bike, I had consumed my two (extra-large 30 oz) water bottles, but never stopped to take any additional liquids from the aid stations. So when I started the run I guzzled a couple cups of water at the exit aid station and felt better, and continued to drink steadily during first lap of the run (less so on the second but still some) and felt fine overall.  After the race, I realized I never peed once during the whole thing, and in fact not for an hour or two afterwards.  I probably was dehydrated.  Maybe I would have done better if I’d drunk more according to conventional wisdom, or maybe the wisdom is wrong and our bodies are more resilient than people think. In any case, it was not a strategy that would set me up well to go another 6 hours, as I will be in the full Iron distance race I’m planning to try November 1.

Run
Since I’m still working my distances back up in the wake of last year’s stress fracture, and since I’m focused on the Iron-distance race, I decided not to risk injury by running the whole 13.1 miles when I haven’t done any runs lately longer than 7 miles.  So, I went into this race planning to only run about 8-9 miles of the run.  Figuring each loop was 6.5 miles, I had this whole plan worked out to run the first 2 ¼ miles, walk to the turnaround and back to roughly the same point, and do the same thing on the second lap.  I ran the designated amount, and then started walking – but it was early in the run, and I was the only one walking, and after a minute or two I was dying to start running again.  I lasted 5 minutes and then started running again, and at that point the plan went out the window as I lost all track of my running vs. walking distances.  I did hit my watch each time I started or stopped, so I was able to figure out later that I walked for about 45 minutes, and ran for about 1 ½ hours.  So I did walk about one-third of the time, but that means I ran more than two-thirds of the distance since of course you travel slower when walking. If I walked 15-minute miles, I would have covered 3 miles, and run 10.1 at a pace of just under 9:00 per mile.  Here is a graphic showing the erratic nature of my run-walk pattern (remember this is by time not distance):

Yellow card
It was on my first walking session on my first lap that a lady pulled up to me on a bike and explained that actually, there was an Ironman race rule against running barefoot. 

Now, I was aware of this rule. It had been discussed on the barefoot running listserv a few years earlier, and many of us signed a petition asking to them to rescind it as pointless and silly and retrograde. We received no response from the company, and other runners reported getting no response from them when asking about it.  But, before the Timberman, seeing that it was affiliated with this corporation, and unsure if the rule was still in effect, I looked in vain for a reference to the rule on the race web site, and found none, even though they did list rules that differed from the standard USAT rules.  Also, no mention was made of this rule at the pre-race meeting where the head ref went over the key rules including those specific to Ironman Brand races – including the requirement that shirts be worn, which had apparently been instituted at the same time as the barefoot rule.

I pointed all this out to the official who stopped me on the run, said that I hadn't run with shoes in 3 years and would probably get injured if I tried, and noted that it was an ancient tradition practiced by some of the world's best runners.  The official was somewhat apologetic, and said that she and the other officials had had a long discussion the previous night about this "funny" rule, but nonetheless had no choice but to enforce it.

At this point I wondered if I would be pulled from the race, disqualified, or forced to don some kind of footwear.  I was relieved when she said that I would just get a “yellow card.”  If I got two more, I would be DQed – otherwise, there was no penalty.  The next thing I was worried about was that I would be given a yellow card every time an official saw me, so that they would quickly mount up. But, she said running the whole race barefoot would only cost me one yellow card, so I was okay.  The only cost to me was that a) if I had gotten 2 other yellow cards, I would be DQed, while another athlete would not, which is unfair, and b) my run time was slowed by this official, who interrupted my forward motion to take down my race number (I will admit, however, that at that time my forward motion was not very swift).

Afterwards I spoke to the head ref and told him that while I did not blame him or his staff for enforcing the rule, I thought the rule was bogus and that it looks very bad for the sport of triathlon for it to be so strongly dominated by a single corporation - unlike virtually every other sport - which issues capricious rules and is not responsive in explaining the reasons for them, and that this raises questions about whether they are making decisions based on profit-making ties with the shoe industry rather than the well-being of athletes (when I was on the Ironman mailing list all the e-mails I received from them consisted nearly exclusively of advertisements from equipment companies).

I told the ref I hoped he would convey my sentiments through whatever channels he might be connected to.  He told me to write to them directly.  I did so and now I’m corresponding with them trying to get an answer.  I look forward to hearing why they think they need this rule. 

Sore feet
In any case, as I mentioned I have not been doing 13-mile runs, so I expected my soles would get sore on the second lap, as they did.  This race having “special needs bags” (again usually something seen only on a full iron-distance race), I put some cheap $3 flip-flops in a bag and jammed them in the back of my shorts at the end of my first loop.  I wore them on some of my walking intervals on the outbound portion of the second lap, and actually tried running with them for about four and a half minutes on the return leg.  When I saw I was a mile and a half from home, I took off the flip-flops and ran the rest of the way in. Although my feet were VERY sore at first, by the home stretch they were feeling fine, and I ran strong and hard down the finishing chute. 

On the run I had no hope or thought of getting a decent time and wasn’t even thinking about it.  So, I was shocked at the 10-mile point when I did look & saw I was only 5:04 into the race – if I had run a regular 5k time at that point I would have easily beaten 5:30 – as it was I stuck to my discipline and walked a big chunk of the remaining 3 miles, and still beat my Half Iron PR by more than 5 minutes.  My run time was 2:15:09, which placed me 986/1,506 overall and 157/219 in my age group.

Conclusions
My overall time was 5:36:29, which put me at 528/1,506 overall and 105/219 in my age group.

Since I wore the monitor, I might as well record that my average heart rate during the swim was 143, during the bike, 147, and the run, 141.  My average heart rate when actually running was 147, and when walking, 134.  During the event overall it averaged 145.  Basically, in all segments except when walking, I always averaged within a percentage point or two of 80% of my estimated maximum heart rate of 180.  I have no idea if that’s something that experienced athletes would say is desireable or not, I’ve never done any heart rate training, maybe I’ll have to read up on that.  Interestingly, my lowest heart rate was during the swim; I wonder if that means I was just being smart – or can I get away with pushing harder?

My peak heart rate was 170, which I hit during my final run down the finishing chute.

Overall the race went well, I felt good, it was a great day out with my mom there and my friends.  And, I was surprised how well I did considering that I had mentally written off the run.  I am amazed when I remember how terrible I felt at the finish of the DDT and other prior races, compared to this one.  I thought I went pretty hard on the swim & especially the bike, and still felt good on the run.  Whether this was a benefit of the monthly 100-milers I’ve been riding in training for the Ironman, or whatever else, I don’t know.  Of course it’s easy to feel good when you walk – whenever I felt like it, I just did, with no guilt, and it had to have helped that I was super-relaxed.  But, my time was in line with my previous half-iron run times. 

The "after" shot: Dave, Erik, me and Will after race

The lesson I take from this:  it really can be counterproductive to push too hard on these races.  Also it makes me thing that for the Ironman, my run-walk strategy (realistically, virtually no one runs their whole marathon in their first Ironman) will not revolve around some kind of system, such as alternating runs and walks at set intervals, or what have you.  I may just walk whenever I feel like it, run when I feel like it.  (If I never feel like running – a real possibility – that is when I could start to fall back on the discipline of a system.)

I apologize to the patient and rare reader who has gotten this far into this race report, which contains so much more detail than the underlying events merit; please know that I feel very fortunate that I am physically able to participate in races such as this, keenly aware that such a blessing can be lost for good at any moment, and eager to record my memories of these races as much for myself as for anyone else.

Poetry vs. prose in athletics (and elsewhere)

I participate in some Internet forums on running, and sometimes there is debate there over proper running form, with some participants resorting to physics and mathematics in order to make their point about the best running form.  I find such analysis to be not helpful in the least.  What *is* helpful is a good mental image.  For example, “run as if you’re running on wet paint” (the point being not to push off the ground with your feet but simply to lift them).  When swimming, “imagine that you are strapped to a backboard as if you’ve been in a car accident” (to keep your body straight in the water).  I find this in many sports – that attempts to actually accurately describe the motions that your body parts should follow, are not nearly as much help in achieving the form that the instructor feels is best, as a good cartoonish mental image.  When it comes to athletics, poetry is better than prose. 

Maybe that’s true more broadly as well.  If we look at the physics of our existence, it looks pretty unglamorous; on a physical level we appear to be nothing more than complex chemical reactions that have come about through some weird mathematical quirk (circular self-sustaining) in the universe.  Take an old philosophical question such as: do we have free will?  If you look at it closely, it’s pretty hard to see how we could.  Everything that is, everything we do is the result of everything that has happened before, in an unbreakable chain of causation (quantum indeterminacy or not!).

We’d all like to believe that we are morally responsible for our actions, in control of our selves.  But how do you explain all the people out there who go insane because they have a screw loose?  Are they morally flawed?  Is schizophrenia the result of bad choices?  C’mon.  Why do people improve when given lithium?  Why do people act crazy when given other drugs, from alcohol to LSD?  If these people do things because of chemicals in their brain, why are the rest of us any different?  We tend to put the extreme examples in a separate category, but why wouldn’t subtler effects be just as chemical in origin?  Why are some people grumpy, and others sweet?  Couldn’t such everyday differences be as much a difference of variations in brain chemistry, as the difference between a schizophrenic and a “well-adjusted” person?  Is a well-adjusted person that way in much the same way my bicycle is well-adjusted?  There is just too much evidence that people are the way they are because of their brain chemistry. 

Sure, experience and environment play a big role in how people are (though much of that, in turn, is stuff that happens to people, rather than anything we could even begin to think people have control over or choices about or free will concerning).  And chemical brain states can reflect, rather than cause, mental states.  But if take a murderer, for example, and try to break down the factors that led to their terrible act, it’s hard to see where “free will” enters the equation.

But on the other hand, who cares?  Like the physics of swimming, the physics of our existence is, at the level at which we live our lives, unhelpful.  The prose, the physics, is philosophy.  But it is poetry – meant broadly – that is the stuff of life:  to be or not to be; the path not taken, how do I love thee?

The problem with poetry, of course, is that it is a lot harder than in physics, to find grounds upon which different people can agree what is good and what is bad, what is true and what is not (though even in physics that ain't so easy as most people think). That just means you have to create your own life, there's no formula.

I’m sure this is a really trite and well-trodden line of thinking, but hey, I’ve just reached it myself, and it's my blog.

Race Report: Eagleman Half Aqua-Velo

Last August I signed up for the Eagleman half-iron distance race with my friend Dave, but I'm still taking it easy on my running so I switched to the "Aqua-Velo" (no run) division of this race.  This was a bummer but the better part of discretion I felt.  I have also signed up for my first Iron-distance race, for November 1, 2008, and right now all my training is about the Ironman, everything else is secondary. So, I didn't take this race as seriously as a real half triathlon ("Aqua Velo" sounds more like a spa treatment than a difficult athletic test), but it was fun to be back in a race after more than a year.

I had a peaceful swim.  It was in the Choptank river in Cambridge, Maryland, a brackish offshoot of the Chesapeake, and it seems the jellyfish weren't biting on this day.  But, I never really felt like I got in a groove -- navigation was a pain for some reason -- and my time was slow for me, 34:39 (though later on I heard buzz that the swim times were slow, for pros and everyone, presumably due to the currents and tides -- a glance at the times from last year confirms this). I did like that it was a one-loop course rather than two loops (same with the bike).

Then it was onto the bike -- and it was my kind of ride: almost totally flat, with just a slight incline here & there.  First 10 miles I took it easy -- rest from the swim and warmup my legs. Second 10 miles I worked a little harder, but it was into the wind. Next 10 miles (20-30), I really kicked it up a gear. Next 10 miles I tried to keep it in that gear but started to flag around mile 35. I know it was then because 3 times I checked my odometer every 10 minutes (or so it felt) and I was still on mile 36 each time. 

One turn I took somewhat aggressively, but not hugely, and found myself headed straight for a big ol' patch of gravel while in a big lean. So I had to straighten up and go flying into a gravel parking lot. Slowed down, got back on the road and had to spin up again.  The cop standing at the intersection didn't say a word.  I'm guessing it was probably the 50th time he'd seen it.

It being such a big race (2000+), and me being in the final (13th!) wave, the roads were absolutely littered with dropped cycling equipment of all kinds.  It was actually somewhat hazardous, I had to really watch the road; almost hit a few water bottles.  If I had slowed down and scooped it all up, probably would have paid for the race.  Probably $200 worth of air cannisters alone.

Next 15 miles (miles 35-50) I kinda limped along a bit, getting tired, and there were some headwinds that came & went as we made various turns. Mile 50 I decided to try going into overdrive again, to see how it felt, and managed to stay there until the finish at mile 56. Because I was the last wave in a very large race I spent the whole race passing the trailing ends of the preceding waves. I must have passed several hundred riders.  Maybe I should have left my handy-dandy bell on, but I wanted to be aero as possible. I was flabbergasted at how many people, including none-too-lean young ladies and lads, moving down the highway at not exactly a streaking pace -- were nonetheless riding $4,000 machines with Zipp wheels (around $1,000-$3,000 per wheel) and all the rest.  Kind of disgusting -- excessive, decadent maybe.  Also I'd be embarrassed to ride a machine like that, I don't feel worthy.  In any case there is something satisfying about blowing by someone riding equipment that would feed an African village for 18 months.  I got passed early on by 3 people, all aqua-velos -- a woman of around 50, a guy wearing a bike uniform, and a guy pedaling with his legs stuck out and wearing all black (crazy in that heat). By mile 40 I had re-passed the bike shirt and the bow-legged ninja, but no sign of the lady. At mile 45 one guy passed me for good. At mile 53, I finally caught the lady.  That told me that, although she and I had nearly the same times, I paced myself better than she did.

For the whole 56 miles I had a song going through my head: "Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps" by Doris Day -- except I was signing "Relax, Relax, Relax."  I'm a big believer that eliminating any tension not actually needed to propel yourself is key to good performance.  And when you're in pain, you tend to tense up even more than usual.

Speaking of pain, the last 3 miles or so I could see part of the run course along the road as I came in, and it was brutally hot and there wasn't a stitch of shade and no trees and the runners all looked miserable. What had been a letdown, having to skip the run, became a cause of celebration.  Plus I had not been saving anything for a run and the idea of doing the half-marathon at that moment turned my stomach. 

On triathlons I always enjoyed the bike leg and found the run to be more or less painful.  But doing the aqua velo, I found the last portion of the bike was pretty grueling.  I remember thinking,"this feels just like the run usually does."  Makes me realize it's not just the fact that it's specifically running that makes it tough -- it's that it's the last hour or so of the race, and you're nearing your limit.  Here, since I didn't have to run, I was pushing myself and nearing my limit on the bike.

After I passed the mats and came into the transition area, my race was unceremoniously over.  Some guy wandering around the transition took my chip and gave me a medal.  Then it was time to drink, eat, swim in the river to cool off, generally chill, and watch the runners come in, including my friend Dave, who had a far tougher day than I did but did very well.

My bike time was 2:37:22, average speed for the 56 miles was 21.5 MPH.  My overall time was 3:14:34, good enough for 4th place out of 47 men.  (Also I actually won my age group for the aqua-velo -- but even though it was the fullest age group, there were still only 14 guys in it. Still it's good to be king of something for once, no matter how small the kingdom).

Temperature regulation

I've never been one to force my kids to wear coats when they don't want to (though I sometimes force them to bring a coat when I suspect they're going to need it).  It bugs me when teachers or others with temporary responsibility for my kids force them to wear more clothes than they want to.  First of all, there is no reason to engage in power struggles with kids when they are perfectly capable of regulating their own temperatures.

More significantly, however, adults could actually be doing children harm by forcing them to wear more clothes than they want.  Here's why:

1. Children are more tolerant of the cold.

In my observation, many children are naturally more tolerant of cold temperatures than adults.  This despite the fact that their smaller size should render them more susceptible to the cold (because they have a much higher ratio of surface area to volume). 

2. Human beings actually adapt and adjust to different temperatures

First, I have also heard a lot of anecdotal evidence from people moving to colder or hotter climes that they get used to it after a year or two. 

But also, a renowned scientist named Laurence Irving did body temperature regulation experiments at the University of Alaska in the 1960s.  According to this article, Irving

noticed with great curiosity two UAF [University of Alaska Fairbanks] students who walked around campus barefoot, even in winter. In accordance with their religious beliefs, the students wore only light clothing and wore no shoes or socks....

Irving convinced the students to sit for him in a room cooled to about 32 degrees. The students were allowed to wear light clothing, and Irving measured the temperatures of their fingers, toes and chest as they sat for an hour and studied.

For comparison, Irving recruited a "vigorous young airman" to undergo the same test. After 30 minutes, "the airman's toes became so painful and he began to shiver so violently that I caused him to terminate the test lest he shake himself apart," Irving wrote.

The students who walked barefoot on snow every day didn't begin shivering until after almost 50 minutes in the room....  The study was an illustration of how humans can acclimate their bodies to cold weather and eventually feel little pain while walking barefoot in the snow, Irving wrote.

I came across this account through my interest in barefooting, the astute reader will gather, but it has wider implications (according to this article barefooting in Alaska winters is still going on -- though it can't be too common or it wouldn't merit a newspaper article!)

This New York Times article says that people can also adjust to hotter temperatures:

The process is called heat acclimation and is routinely seen in athletes training in hot weather. At first their internal temperatures climb, they sweat profusely, lose large quantities of salt in their sweat and feel miserable. But as the days pass they sweat even more, their salt loss diminishes, both skin and internal temperatures drop, and their endurance improves. . . .

And it took only a week or so for the research subjects in the California desert to develop high sweat rates, low pulse rates and low rectal temperatures. They could work more comfortably, with greatly improved well-being.

3. As a result of these two facts, two conclusions follow:

1. One person's judgment of how cold it is, is not necessarily accurate for another, especially for children.
2. Making kids wear unnecesary layers will just ruin their adaptation to the cold. Aside from being inconvenient, and seeming generally a pity, this could potentially add to a child's risk of obesity since the metabolic changes necessary to tolerate more cold presumably use up more calories.

I say, let children regulate their own temperature! 

All this could also have implications for adults as well: I once heard of a couple who swore that they were able to stay thin by sleeping with only a sheet, never using a blanket. Maybe there was something to that.

Jay's tips for safe city cycling

In theory bike riders are subject to all the same rules of the road as cars.  But the fact is, bike riders regularly break rules of the road, just like cars regularly break the speed limit. They replace the blanket rule that is designed to insure that everyone is safe in all imaginable circumstances, with their own judgment for what is safe in a particular situation.  I've read that in some Scandanavian countries, people will wait on the sidewalk at a "Do Not Walk" sign, even at 3:00 in the morning when there isn't a car anywhere in sight.  The rule is a good one in general for staying safe, but it is clearly unnecessary under those circumstances.  In the United States, for better or worse, our culture tends to be a little more (take your pick of term) individualistic/freewheeling/lawless.

As someone who commutes to work in downtown Washington DC, I of course follow every rule, law, regulation, guideline, and moral precept unvaryingly and to the letter.  But even so there are always risks, and I see a lot of traffic and a lot of bikers, few of whom stop fully at every stop sign and dismount at every "dismount" sign.  These are the mental rules I have developed (in some cases extrapolated from mistakes I've caught myself making in times far past).  There's lots of bike safety lists out there with rules that experienced cyclists will know ("make eye contact with drivers" etc) -- this is addressed more to the psychological dimension.

• Expect to run into yourself. When you ride, don't just look for cars, but also ask yourself, "If I were to encounter another cyclist behaving exactly like me right now, would I be safe?" (Not a bad rule when driving either -- actually many of these apply to cars.)
• Think statistically. When crossing a certain intersection or dangerous spot, ask yourself, "If I were to repeat this maneuver every day for the next 20 years, am I likely to have a single accident in that time?"  If you're not confident you can get away with it day in and day out, better back off. 
• Don't get your heart set. Sometimes when I need to merge into a certain road or what have you, there's a big gap in the traffic and I need hardly slow down.  But then, the next day, I look hopefully for the same conditions. The danger comes with the burst of pleasure people get from winning this traffic "roulette." In many ways it has the same dangerous psychological structure as gambling -- intermittent, unpredictable positive reinforcement -- and as a result can have the same addictive quality.  Then, when you encounter a marginal case, you run into trouble.  As you approach an intersection, perhaps, it looks like you're going sail through again.  Cool!  But then you see some cars.  But you can't let go of the dream, so that part of your brain that wants to sail through becomes willful and overpowers the other parts of your brain (like the parts that want to see your children graduate high school).
• Overrule the lazy part of your brain. When you're biking it takes work to build up speed. And so you're naturally loathe to apply your brakes.  So the lazy part of your brain is going to try to goad you into taking risks so you don't lose your momentum and then have to pedal back up again.  You need to be conscious of this dynamic and make sure you don't take risks out of laziness.
  
• Note danger spots. Since I bike the same route often, I make note of what I think of as certain "danger spots."  I don't mean places of obvious danger, like a busy highway that needs to be crossed -- I'm talking about places where I have to constantly remind myself to be vigilant, because they are quiet and hardly ever have any cars.  People sometimes get in the habit of sailing through such spots, unconsciously forgetting about the danger.  But it is that one day, once in a blue moon, when some crazy driver shows up at just the wrong moment that it could all end for you. 
• Light yourself up like a Christmas tree.  If you ride at night at all, or dusk or dawn or even dark cloudy days, why not maximize your chances of survival?  Today's LEDs are cheap, bright, and can be bought to attach to virtually any part of your body and bike.  For same reason, I try to wear the brightest clothing possible (someone told me they were in the Bay Area recently and it seemed to be hip to cycle in all black -- all I can say is: wow).  Also buy everything possible in red or bright yellow (helmet, bike tire, frame, etc). BUT -- once you're lit up, don't get all confident because of it; assume you are still invisible to the cars because to some idiot who could kill you, you will be.
  

To put this in perspective, here are some government statistics I found recently:

• 776 cyclists killed in U.S. in 2006 = approx 2 a day (versus 116 per day in cars -- a helluva lot more people die in cars, but Americans probably spend far more time in cars, so hour-by-hour, biking may be as or more dangerous)
• 36,000 cyclists injured in 2006
• In 1996 average age of a cycling fatality was 31, now it’s 41. (Perhaps a reflection of more adults using their bikes more, which would be a good thing.)
• In 2006, 7 of the cycling fatalities were over 85 years of age.  What a great way to go!

Stay safe out there!

 

Update:  How not to ride your bike, a hypnotic YouTube video.

The 4 Great Pleasures of Life

I have always thought of there being three great pleasures in life.  But since I started doing triathlons I have added a fourth. In no particular order:

• Food
• Sex
• Music
• Exercise

Of course there are other pleasures in life, which can far exceed any of these -- such as love, parenthood, family, fellowship, problem solving, game playing, creativity, and the pleasure of intellectual discovery and debate.  I'm talking here just about the sensory pleasures.

A couple of other points about exercise:

• Exercise is definitely a little more subtle pleasure in some ways, in that it can actually be painful -- at least at first -- but you do find that your body craves it and that you look back on excellent runs and rides and so forth with a strongly pleasurable feeling. As they say, there's a fine line between pleasure and pain -- after all, eating spicy food can be painful too, yet I have found myself addicted to fresh habanero & jalapeno peppers (once you begin eating them you find yourself adding them to nearly everything).

• Anyway, I'm not talking about "runner's high."  I often feel totally exuberant upon finding myself alive, out on a beautiful strip of pavement or a nice running trail on a beautiful morning, with good company, starting out on a long ride or run. But that's usually at the start of the run/ride.  I don't think I've ever really felt high, in the way some people describe.  It's more of a softer, subtler pleasure, the kind that you hardly notice at the time, but which suffuses your memory of the outing and keeps you wanting to go back from more.  Right now, recovering from an injury, I miss my long runs very badly.
  

• For me the pleasure of exercise is not just the kind of brain-chemical good feeling, either.  When you have been injured, or when you think about how many people there are out there with disabilities, there is a joy that comes just in feeling your own movement, your own strength, the elegance of your body's coordination, working like a well-oiled machine (this is on a good day; other times you feel like you're 95 years old).  When you think about the number of things that can go wrong in the human body it just feels great to know that, for the moment (until inevitably, one way or another, sooner or later, you fall apart) your body is capable of such motion.
  

• The sensation applies to swimming and biking, but running brings it out most strongly.  I wonder if that has something to do with the theory that humans actually evolved as distance runners.

• It seems as though the pleasures can augment one another.  For example, exercise makes you enjoy food more, while music can make you enjoy running more (I'll leave it to you the reader to complete this train of thought).

LOOKING at my list, I realize it covers 4 of the five senses: smell, taste, touch, and hearing.  That leaves sight.  So, some might argue that I've left out art, visual art.  I appreciate a pretty or interesting image. but it just does not seem to rank as highly when it comes to purely sensory, animal, bodily pleasures. Maybe if I were more interested in art or artistically inclined I would disagree; maybe I'm really missing a whole dimension of human experience.  But that's how it seems to me.  Except insofar as sight is connected to sex, as in appreciation of a beautiful woman, it's just more of a practical sense, for me at least.

I just thought of something -- check out this album cover, it manages to hit 3 of the pleasures in one blow:

IF only she was on a treadmill or something, it would cover all 4.  (Or maybe it does -- do you think she's doing squats?  Maybe yoga.)  I remember looking at this cover when I was a kid (and listening to it; the best track on the album is "Bittersweet Samba" IMHO).  Probably had some profound effect on my psycho-sexual development.  Or maybe it's just been lying dormant all these years deep in my brain waiting to come out in the form of some crackpot blog entry about food sex and music. 

You can outrun most animals

You may think that as a human being you're a poor runner compared to most animals, but it turns out that we are actually some of the best runners in the animal kingdom.  You can outrun most animals -- as long as the distance is long enough.  We suck as sprinters, losing out to every squirrel and rodent -- but, according to this fascinating and persuasive (at least to this layman) article in Nature, "Endurance running and the evolution of Homo" (pdf), "humans perform remarkably well at endurance running," and running "may have been instrumental in the evolution of the human body form."

Sometimes non-triathlete friends make cracks about how my "extreme" training is sick and contrary to nature.  But if this article is to be believed, it's actually entirely "natural" for humans to run very long distances.  The authors, biologists Dennis M. Bramble and Daniel E. Lieberman, cite a variety of arguments, including a bunch of physiological and anthropological gibberish I can't follow but also these facts:

• Humans are the only primate that is capable of endurance running (ER).
• Actually few animals can even do endurance running, except for social carnivores like dogs and "migratory ungulates" like horses. (By the way, as carnivores, you have to wonder how dogs do well in endurance running without a lot of carbs?  More evidence that you don't need a high-carb diet to perform). 
• Speed: "Sustainable ER speeds of humans are surprisingly comparable to specialized mammalian cursors [ie runners] such as dogs and horses....  When galloping, species with high sustainable speeds such as dogs or horses can usually outrun humans....  However, human ER speeds are quite comparable to the preferred galloping speeds that cursors use over longer distances and times."
• Despite our primate ancestry, we somehow evolved to run distances roughly comparable to the longest distances dogs and horses can run. 
• Compared to apes, human legs contain many long, spring-like tendons that function as economical springs for storing and releasing energy as we run (but do not help much in walking). One of the most significant is the Achilles tendon.
• "Another well-developed set of springs important to human running is the longitudinal arch of the foot....  during running, the elastic structures of the plantar arch function as a spring, returning approximately 17% of the energy generated during each stance phase."  (Pity all those people who run in shoes, huh?  They're really losing out!)
• Humans have long legs relative to our body mass compared to many other animals, and it seems to many of our evolutionary ancestors.
• Since our legs are pendulums, the lighter the lower ends of our feet are, the less energy it takes to swing them.  Compared to other primates and to our fossilized ancestors, our feet are a lower proportion of total leg mass (again shoes have got to hurt here), and we resemble dogs and horses in having compact feet and short toes.
• Compared to our fossilized ancestors, humans have large surface areas in their lower (but not upper) joints, which dissipates skeletal impact forces from running.
• Compared to other primates, humans have a "greatly enlarged" gluteus maximus (aka, butt).  "The latter muscle, whose increased size is among the most distinctive of all human features, is strongly recruited in running at all speeds but not in walking."
• We also have overgrown "spinal extensor muscles that contract strongly to stabilize the trunk in running but not walking; and an elongate, narrow waist in combination with a low, wide, decoupled shoulder girdle that have an essential stabilizing function only in running."
• The "elevated shoulders and strong muscular connections to the head and neck" shared by other primates and our own evolutionary ancestors are "functionally advantageous for climbing" and don't hinder walking, but interfere with the body stabilization necessary to run on two feet.
• "The wide shoulders characteristic of Homo act to increase the counterbalancing moments generated by arm-swinging, while also permitting energy-saving reductions in forearm mass." The human forearm is 50% smaller relative to total body mass in humans than chimpanzees, which makes it a lot easier to swing our arms while running.  You'd think the stronger arms would be an evolutionary advantage for our ancestors.
• Heat dissipation: "elaboration and multiplication" of sweat glands, and reduced body hair.
• "The tendency for mouth breathing (but not panting) during strenuous activity."  Apes are typically nasal breathers.

The authors conclude with some interesting speculations on why humans may have evolved as runners, such as persistence hunting -- ie, running your prey into the ground.  (Kind of like what some of my friends do to me when we run together.)  Some native peoples like the Tarahumara of Mexico still do this.

I may still say to myself near the end of a hard run or triathlon, "what the hell are you doing this for?"  But at least I won't have to wonder whether I'm doing something freakish and unnatural.  Born to run, baby!

How to Lose Weight

Here is a distillation of my own experience & observations on how to drop pounds.  I make no more claims than that this has generally worked for me.

• Get over the hump on exercise.  When you haven't been exercising, it's painful and hateful and heinous.  But, after you do it steadily for awhile (a week or two perhaps) you "get over the hump" and suddenly one day you find that if you skip your workout, you miss it and crave it.  That starts off a virtuous circle whereby you enjoy exercise and therefore do it regularly and therefore enjoy it, etc.
  
• Figure out an exercise routine that is convenient.  The key is for it to be convenient enough that you'll actually do it regularly so that you *do* get over that hump.  If it's too sporadic, it will remain unpleasant.  By far the easiest thing to do is open your front door and go running out it, turn around however many miles later, and run back home.  Or bike to work, or find a pool or gym that's convenient enough that you can actually fit it into your daily routine.  But the more logistical baloney you have to go through to get going (getting in car, driving to gym, etc), the less you'll do it, especially in the period before you get over the hump. 
• Find a rich source of exercise.  Don't let it just be exercise alone for no other purpose but exercise.  Make it a social occasion, or a beautiful run in the outdoors that you find renewing and enjoyable, or something competitive that inspires you -- figure out something that has multiple positive dimensions that make it a rich and enjoyable part of your life and not a joyless chore. 
• Exercise without expectations.  Once you begin exercising regularly, you may well find to your amazement that despite all your hard work you do *not* automatically start shedding pounds.  Don't be discouraged or surprised; you are in this for the long haul and you should begin your new exercise habit without expectations.  The point now is to learn to enjoy the exercise and get good at it (and of course, you will be doing yourself a lot of good that isn't reflected by the reading on the scale yet).
• Eat low carbs for a few weeks.   After you've been exercising for a while, try cutting out most carbs from your diet for a couple weeks.  Personally I don't usually go much longer than that, but when I do it typically bumps my weight down by 5-8 pounds -- and then, thanks to my continuing exercise, it usually stays there. There's big debate over the low-carb approach but the anecdotal evidence for its effectiveness is overwhelming, and my own experience backs that up.  By cutting carbs and getting your calories from fat instead you can lose more pounds with less suffering than you might expect. 
  
  • The secret is that fat calories make you feel much fuller than the same amount of carb calories, which actually make you feel *more* hungry often for reasons that some theorize have to do with insulin cycles and the like. 
  • Kind of like with exercise, once you get over an initial "hump" of unpleasantness you will be amazed how you cease to crave a lot of foods. 
• Keep food out of your visual field.  Eating is an animal function and we are of course at root animals.  I find that when food enters my visual field, I (pretty much automatically and unstoppably) eat it.  So, when I get to work I put my apple behind my monitor until lunch so it doesn't call out to me constantly as I work.

Now that I've expanded my writing into the diet field, I may have to tackle romance novels next. . .

A Theory of Sports Injuries

What I learned from my stress fracture: Five Lessons

I've had a hard time with my recovery from my Fibular stress fracture & I feel I've learned some lessons the hard way.  I am finally back running again approximately 7 months after my injury. For the possible benefit of others, here is a distillation of what I have taken away from the experience:

1. Take it seriously. The same day I got my hairline crack in my bone that didn't even shoe up on an x-ray, a friend had a bike accident and had to undergo surgery for a broken hip that included implantation of a steel bar in his leg. He was back on the bike before I was -- largely because neither I nor my stupid doctor took the injury seriously enough and I reinjured it, probably a number of times. Ironically, if I had had a catastrophic fracture and been put in a cast I'd have almost certainly healed much faster. If you get a fracture, do yourself a favor and push for a cast or a boot.
2. Pain is a poor guide. Some activities feel fine while you're doing them but nevertheless prolong healing. For me, those included cycling and swimming. A good guide: if you can't do it without pain the day you're injured, don't do it until you're healed.
3. An injury can be a blessing.  You might be cursing your sore knee for sidelining you, but it could be saving you from a far worse injury (see below for fuller explanation).
4. Increase your running VERY gradually. As I've written before, the 10% rule is too fast, especially once you get beyond a few miles.  Think in terms of several years to build up to marathon distance.  That's because while the muscle soreness you feel goes away in 3 days, tendons and ligaments and bones are on a minimum 6-8 week healing cycle.
5. Building endurance requires walking a fine line. If you want to increase your ability to do long runs or other activities, you must of necessity strike a delicate balance between stressing your tissues enough so that they get stronger, and stressing them so much that they get injured.  I wrote about this before, but I have since refined my mental picture of how this works.  Here is a graphic showing how I think about it (click for full-resolution).

Here's my explanation of what this means: When you do a run (any workout but let's use running since it's the most stressful on bones & tendons) of a distance that is the green zone, a particular tissue -- your patellar tendon, let's say -- can withstand it without injury; it is adapted to that distance.  But if you don't do any longer runs, it will never get stronger.  When you do a longer run that stresses it (distances in the blue zone), you damage that tissue slightly, though not enough to disable you or even to notice.  If given the chance, the tendon will heal, toughening in the process, and it and all the other tissues you stress will then be stronger (your green zone will grow).

But, if you keep doing long runs before your green zone has time to expand and/or without enough healing rest time and/or without increasing your distances gradually enough, the condition of your patellar tendon (represented by the black line) will continue to get more ragged until one day boom! you've got an injury. You're in the red zone. 

The above chart just shows one tissue.  Really of course there are hundreds of tissues stressed when you run (or maybe thousands -- check with your favorite anatomist).  Let us imagine that we were able to chart the condition of a bunch of them; you'd get a mess that might look something like this:

What this tries to convey is, if you've been running a lot, you're likely stressing a whole bunch of tissues beyond their capacity.  However, it only takes one to break through into the red zone to put you on the couch.  The result is that all those other tissues (which you are probably not aware are nearing injury) then have time to heal.  That is what I mean when I say an injury can be a blessing -- a bout of tendonosis may seem like a curse but by taking you off your feet it may be giving your bones and other tendons a chance to heal, and possibly saving you from a far more serious red zone incident.  If you're lucky, that tissue that first registers its complaint -- the canary in the coal mine -- will be something that heals relatively quickly and easily rather than, just to pick a random example, something like a fibular bone fracture that will sideline you for 7 months!

Maybe some doctor would like to take issue with minor or major details of this view, and I'm all ears, but until I'm persuaded otherwise this is my own working theory for How Things Work that will guide my future training.

How to avoid injuries in running

Okay so you're a new triathlete or runner and you say you want my advice about that little ache and pain you're having?

After 2 1/2 years of doing triathlons,  and after suffering through several injuries, and after doing extensive research after each of those injuries, I feel like I might have reached a basic understanding of how things work when it comes endurance/overuse injuries, which are a huge issue for everyone who does this. That understanding goes like this:

Basically, because you haven't run much before now, your muscles and tendons and ligaments and bones are not quite strong enough for running. When you work out, you will strain each of those, and they will break down a little bit microscopically, and then rebuild themselves, stronger than before.  You feel that in your muscles most of all, especially at the beginning; when you work them very hard, they are pleasantly sore the next day.  That is because your muscle fibers have undergone microscopic tears due to the strain you placed on them.  After a few days those tears repair themselves and your muscles feel better and presto! they are now stronger. 

But the key is that the same thing happens with your tendons and ligaments and even your bones.  And the hard truth is that the rebuilding process is a LOT slower for tendons and ligaments and bones.  In fact, I see all kinds of figures but the healing cycle for tendons seems to be something like 6-12 weeks, and for bones, at least as long.

If I am right that means the first time you take a run longer than you are accustomed to, even a short one, you are stressing your muscles, tendons and bones, and the tendons and bones thereafter begin a weeks-long process of rebuilding.  During those weeks, however, you, as an excited new triathlete or runner, are doing more runs, adding more damage to the repair pipeline.   

As often as not, you can sprint ahead quite a while before any of this catches up to you. You can probably work up to considerable distances, a full marathon even, but by then you will be living deep in a "healing deficit."  After you finish the race, if you're not injured during it, you probably cut back sharply on your running.  Then you try to run another, and perhaps it all catches up with you at that point if it hasn't yet. 

The way I think about it, that all looks something like this:
 
In this picture, the gap between the blue and red lines would be your "healing deficit" and the peak of the blue graph might be the point you realize you're "injured" and then are forced to rest, at which point the healing finally catches up to the damage and you become strong enough to consistently perform at that new level where the two lines meet.

A few people work their way up, either without injury through luck or through persistence, to the point where they can consistently run marathons or whatever other distance makes them happy, without a healing deficit.  But I bet most people overdo it on the way up – and of course since our tissue strength is constantly sinking without constant renewal, we have to work our way up repeatedly, like after every break from training.  The longer you hold a high level of training, probably the higher your tolerance for lapses in training is.

So the bottom line is that you really have to increase your activity level very, very gradually (probably a lot more gradually than the 10% increase in mileage per week that is the standard recommended cap).  Like everything, just how gradually probably depends on a million factors, such as your inborn genetic strength and speed of healing, your athletic history, your form and how much strain it imposes on your tissues, etc.

In fact the process of building strength  is somewhat of a delicate balancing act.  On the one hand, if you overdo it, you will get injured.  On the other hand, if you don't train enough, you will grow weak – and then once again get injured.  With all our tissues, it's use it or lose it.  Take our bones, for example.  Interestingly, they are not dead mineral with a living marrow, as I always kind of imagined, but are "dynamic biological tissue."  They are constantly being reabsorbed or eaten away by our body, and only the constant stresses gravity and normal living places on the bones, with the resultant stress-and-rebuilding process, prevent them from being eroded into nothing.  Astronauts in zero gravity lose a lot of bone; studies have found highly variable levels of bone loss, but one Soyuz 9 astronaut was found to experience an 8-10% decrease in bone density after just 18 days in space.  Overall, the rate of erosion in zero-G is estimated to be about 1-2% per month.  Use it or lose it.  Runner's bones are stronger than other people's – but the process of getting them that way (and the accompanying tendons and ligaments) involves stressing them and runs the constant risk of overdoing it.  Bone scans of athletes suspected of stress fractures often show damage to bones all over the place where no symptoms are felt.

There is no silver bullet to overcome this problem. Some techniques, such as barefoot running, may help avoid other problems but nothing offers a shortcut around the need to very gradually build tissue strength. Like all wisdom this is out there and frequently heard but even more frequently ignored.  And very seldom truly digested and understood.

That is my current understanding of the way things work, painfully acquired. This is a hard truth, because excited athletes, feeling good, eager to take on new challenges, always want to overdo it, and don't want to hear about this.  It's a drag.  I wish someone had laid this out for me like this when I started this sport.  Good chance someone did but I didn't want to hear it.  But I hope this can help you, newbie athlete.

UPDATE: I have posted a refined version of the above graph.

More on running injuries, with and without shoes

I have been shocked to learn that some people have read my explanation for why I do not think my stress fracture was caused by my barefoot running, and yet are not convinced!  Apparently I'm not as persuasive as I thought I was.  Also, I don't think most readers actually took a look at any of the studies that I linked to, which back up the barefooting approach pretty solidly.

In any case, time will tell.  And miles.

Meanwhile, here's an excellent piece written last year by an orthopedic surgeon summing up the subject.  See especially his part 2. 

Injury! Mystery!

I got a bad injury recently. After a 16-mile run that I ran a few weeks ago in preparation for the NYC Marathon, I got a stress fracture in my fibula (the smaller bone between the knee and the ankle - not the shinbone, but the bone that runs up from the anklebone on the outside of the leg – see my nuclear bone scan image below, showing bright spot above my left ankle).

The obvious question that a lot of people have been asking me is, don't you think the fact that you're running BAREFOOT might have something to do with this??  Is this barefoot business perhaps just a lot of Internet-fed foolishness after all?

The answer is, could be. But, at this point I still don't believe it is. Here's why:

First, stress fractures are an extremely common injury (among top five) among runners, affecting 5-30% of runners annually. If barefooting was the cause of my injury, then what is causing all those OTHER injuries out there among runners with shoes that have become far more well-cushioned in the past 10 years than shoes have ever been cushioned before in history of the species? Is it more likely that whatever caused those injuries also caused mine, or that it was the barefooting?

Second, I had a less severe version of this same injury last year after running my first Half Ironman race – in shoes. (It went away after about two weeks on its own that time, and never got this severe.)

Third, I had a very bad ankle twist in 2001, which some tell me can permanently stretch out your tendons (which supposedly are like rubber bands that help your joints spring back into position & unlike muscles which you don't want stretched). Being stretched out can create additional stresses on the bone.

Fourth, studies have found that actual measurements of impact on runners' legs are actually no greater when barefoot, because, the theory goes, people use what they feel with their feet (our soles having more nerve endings per inch than any other parts of our bodies other than our hands and our sex organs, a doctor friend tells me) to adjust how they run, with the result that greater cushioning just leads people to land harder, and also with the result that running injuries have not declined in recent years even as cushioning as greatly increased.  Evidence for the benefits of cushioning in preventing injuries is apparently "missing" and despite conventional wisdom injury rates are unrelated to training surface.  These things are rarely conclusive and could all be wrong, but put it all together and it's pretty persuasive.

Fifth, it didn't happen on a 3-mile run, or even a 13-miler – it was a 16-miler, and in running it, I violated a cardinal rule among runners, which is never increase your mileage by more than 10% a week. This was my third marathon and I figured I didn't need to worry about that so much any more.  Whether I ramped up too fast based on my previous running experience, I have no idea (I keep logs of my runs and here is a graphic showing all my runs since I started doing them, if anyone should have any opinions on the matter). I do know no doctors batted an eye to hear I got a stress fracture after a 16-miler, even not yet knowing about the barefooting.  Apparently, for me, at least, it was too much.

So for now my operative assumption is that I just need to build up more gradually and strengthen my bones. Our bones, I have learned, are just like our tendons and muscles: when stressed, they break down, and then rebuild themselves stronger. But if you keep stressing them the damage can outrun the healing and eventually you get a fracture (or tendinosis, in the case of tendons).  Runners have stronger bones than non-runners, exactly because of the additional stress placed upon them.

I'll tell you one thing, though:  if I do conclude the barefooting caused this, I'll put shoes back on faster than you can say "the natural is not always better than the artificial."

Finding the smooth path

I have a really stiff aluminum frame on my bike, so when I go over bumps its really uncomfortable.  Much more than the old flexible steel-framed bikes, or the newfangled expensive carbon-fiber frames.  So I’m always looking for smooth paths – especially on my way to work & back, where there is a lot of poorly maintained pavement. 

There’s one spot along the route (the Route 50 service road in Arlington) where the pavement is especially bad. This winter, I started riding home after dark, and riding through this patch, when I couldn’t actually see the pavement clearly*, I discovered that by curving off to the right through this patch, I got a much smoother ride.  I discovered this in the dark, when I couldn’t actually see the pavement; in the daylight, the whole width of the road looks equally horrendous, and if I wasn’t riding in the dark, I never would have discovered that there was actually a path through the road that, while it looked just as cracked and torn up as the rest, was actually far smoother on the tires.  Ironically, by being in a sense blinded, I actually discovered far more about the road.

This is a perfect metaphor for some really deep things in life.  (Of course you can work out what they are on your own, what fun would it be for me to spell them out?)

(*BTW when I ride at night I use lights – a lot of them, I’m lit up like a Christmas tree actually – but mostly to be seen; this spot is nearly the only one on my route where surrounding streetlights don’t provide enough light for me to see the road clearly).

The culture of shoes & politics of bare feet

What do shoes really protect us from?

Since I started running barefoot two years ago, I’ve really enjoyed it and find myself more and more reluctant to put on shoes, and itching to kick them off when I am wearing them.  This has led me to do some thinking about why we wear shoes.  Plainly, if I can run miles (16 is what I've worked up to so far) on asphault in bare feet with nary a blister, as I do regularly (and many others regularly run marathons), then, in the vast majority of situations, I don’t really need to wear shoes for safety reasons in the course of daily life, except for cold weather & a few other special situations, just as I don’t need gloves most of the time.

The real thing that forces me to wear shoes most of the time of course is social pressure and conformity.  It seems clearer than ever to me that shoes are for the most part nothing more than a fashion item, required by custom not nature.  Fashion is of course by its very nature utterly irrational and tribalistic, and has at best a distant relationship to practical functionality. 

Once you realize this about shoes, and begin to discover how enjoyable it is to go without them, they begin to annoy you a lot more than they ever did before. 

The fact is, our Western society, despite its supposed rationality and scientific enlightenment, has a lot of arbitrary, tribal rules that are not really questioned by most people.  For example, when engaged in many activities you must display a phallic strip of cloth hanging from your neck as a sign of respect if you are male.  To get into some restaurants, or attend other formal occasions, you have to wear a coat, or a suit or other clothing that was well adapted to northern Europe in the 17th century -- even when you're in, say, Miami in the 21st century.

Shoes, it seems clear, have a specially enduring social function of demonstrating social rank, and more specifically an absence of poverty. Shoes demonstrate that you are not among the poorest group in society.  Even though that group (which was once a majority) barely exists any more, this became deeply ingrained in European culture over the course of recent centuries, and although we are barely conscious of it, this cultural bias has come down to us, and that is the reason that it remains embarrassing for most of us to appear in all but the most casual situations without footwear. 

Of course, people often suffer greatly to show their superiority.  I came across a good example of this kind of irrationality:  the British planters who lived in Jamaica, Barbados and other Caribbean islands during the 1600s.  They

tried their best to transfer English modes of diet, dress, and housing to the tropics.  Scorning to imitate the Spaniards, the Indians, or the Negroes, who were all experienced at living in hot countries, they clung determinedly to their own North European styles and standards.  (Richard S. Dunn, Sugar and Slaves [1972], p. 263)

The English wore linen when they could afford it, but “much of their clothing was woolen and worsted.”  For military infantry drills, for example, the white men of the islands were issued red coats and black hats.   

What idiots!  Parading around in the Barbados in woolen coats, just because that was what people were wearing up in London and Amsterdam?

Dunn explains,

The Caribbean planters, like all Europeans in the seventeenth century, conceived of food and clothing in hierarchical terms.  Each rank in the social order, from aristocrats at the top to beggars at the bottom, had its own distinct style of dress, diet, and habitation.  (p. 263)

When it came to clothes in particular,

The clothes a man wore in the status-conscious seventeenth century identified his social position more readily than the food he ate.  Every occupation had its own designated wardrobe.  The rich took care to dress richly, and the poor were expected to dress poorly. (p. 282)

According to Dunn:  “very rarely did field Negroes wear hats or shoes” (and overall “wore little clothing”) while the next people up the ladder, white servants, “generally used shoes and stockings.”  (pp. 283-84) In fact,

Unencumbered by layers of sweat-drenched clothing, the slaves probably kept cleaner than the white servants, and since they liked to wash more than Englishmen thought necessary in the seventeenth century, they very likely kept cleaner than their white masters.  Dr. Sloane remarked on their odd habit of bathing “in fair water every day.” (p. 284)

It’s easy to laugh at these rigid Brits walking around in wool coats in Barbados and Jamaica, trying to maintain the standards and propriety of a culture and couture that was adapted to foggy London town.  But face it:  we’re just as stupid today, walking around in suits in Washington, DC in August, and wearing shoes all the time, turning our feet unnaturally white, soft and flabby even as we pad around carpeted office buildings, mostly clean smooth streets and other environments that, I can tell you from personal experience, are much easier on the feet than any stick-strewn forest, pebbly field or other “natural” surface. 

Unlike many fashion impositions that are just burdensome and annoying, shoes are probably actively unhealthy (most foot problems are caused by shoes, experts say).

An irrational custom that is annoying, uncomfortable and unhealthy is bad enough.  It's worse when it's a way to say, “I’m better than you” (or maybe “I’m no worse than you”).  Let's face it, a suit and tie certainly serves no other purpose.  Although shoes have become standard enough now that they alone do not denote status, their absence still screams, “I’m poor and desperate!”

Check out this passage from Adam Smith in his 1776 Wealth of Nations.  In making a distinction between necessities and luxuries, he writes that

By necessaries I understand not only the commodities which are indispensably necessary for the support of life, but whatever the custom of the country renders it indecent for creditable people, even of the lowest order, to be without. A linen shirt, for example, is, strictly speaking, not a necessary of life. The Greeks and Romans lived, I suppose, very comfortably though they had no linen. But in the present times, through the greater part of Europe, a creditable day-labourer would be ashamed to appear in public without a linen shirt, the want of which would be supposed to denote that disgraceful degree of poverty which, it is presumed, nobody can well fall into without extreme bad conduct. Custom, in the same manner, has rendered leather shoes a necessary of life in England. The poorest creditable person of either sex would be ashamed to appear in public without them. In Scotland, custom has rendered them a necessary of life to the lowest order of men; but not to the same order of women, who may, without any discredit, walk about barefooted. In France they are necessaries neither to men nor to women, the lowest rank of both sexes appearing there publicly, without any discredit, sometimes in wooden shoes, and sometimes barefooted. Under necessaries, therefore, I comprehend not only those things which nature, but those things which the established rules of decency have rendered necessary to the lowest rank of people. All other things I call luxuries, without meaning by this appellation to throw the smallest degree of reproach upon the temperate use of them. Beer and ale, for example, in Great Britain, and wine, even in the wine countries, I call luxuries. A man of any rank may, without any reproach, abstain totally from tasting such liquors. Nature does not render them necessary for the support of life, and custom nowhere renders it indecent to live without them.  [Book five, Chapter II, Part 2, Article IV]

This offhand cultural report from his day sheds a lot of light on the origins of our attitude towards shoes today:

• Notice Smith’s report that in the 18th century, it was common for the "lowest rank" in France (and in 18th century France, that was a big group) to “walk about barefooted.” 
• Notice how Smith, who probably lived among a lot more barefoot people than anyone today, puts shoes squarely in the category of custom.  He makes no suggestion that they might actually be necessary –- instead, with no discussion of the matter, as though none of his contemporary readers would disagree, he groups them with the fashions of clothing, and specifically NOT in the category of things that nature renders “necessary for the support of life.”
• Smith says that the lack of shoes in England denotes “that disgraceful degree of poverty which, it is presumed, nobody can well fall into without extreme bad conduct.”  Here Smith is reflecting the old view that financial success was a mirror of moral rectitude – that good morals would lead to financial success, and that poverty was an indicator of poor character.  This view was held through the 19th century (and perhaps continues to hold some sway in some circles today).   If you're barefoot, you're not only poor, but you're of low character and morals too (or why else would you be poor?)  It’s important to keep this view in mind in order to recover the full extent of the disgraceful cultural associations that bare feet carry, which have come down to us to this day.
  

Perhaps at some point in the future we will outgrow this obsession with unnecessary footwear, and most people will begin going barefoot most of the time.  I have a vision of people in the future watching our science fiction movies of today, and laughing because in our portrayals of the future, we quaintly show everyone wearing shoes.  (As if Thomas Jefferson had made a movie about the 20th century, and showed everyone wearing powdered wigs.  Or like 1950s science fiction, where the characters are jetting around on spaceships, flying between the stars at the speed of light – and then when it’s time to do some calculations they whip out their slide rules.)

Well a guy can dream can't he?

Why "Proper Form" is Elusive

As a triathlete, I’m always reading about how important it is to use proper form in running, swimming and biking.  And of course similar advice is routinely handed out in every other sport as well.  But all this advice needs to be taken with a big ol’ grain of salt (see previous post on same theme).  Here’s why:

In mathematics there’s something called the “traveling salesman problem,” which is really very simple.  Imagine 4 cities spread out on a map, various distances away from each other.  The question is, what route should you take so that you visit each of those cities, yet travel the least distance possible?   

When there are only four cities, it’s easy to solve.  But once you start to expand the number of cities, it quickly gets very difficult – with only 25 cities, there are so many possible routes that a computer measuring one million per second would still take 9.8 billion years to search through them all. (I get this from Peter Coveney and Roger Highfield, Frontiers of Complexity [1995], a thrilling and mind-blowing book that I highly recommend to anyone interested in such things).

Mathmaticians call this kind of problem an NP Problem – one that is not solveable in “polynomial time.”  There are a number of real world and mathematical problems that manifest this quality of seeming relatively simple to solve, yet which quickly spiral into unmanageable dimensions as you add more factors.  (Among them is the problem of factoring very large numbers, which is what modern encryption is based on and why it is currently unbreakable through brute force mathematical attacks.  It’s easy to multiply a bunch of prime numbers together and get the product, but it turns out it’s next to impossible to reverse the process.)

Anyway, I think about this whenever someone starts lecturing about “proper form.”  Imagine that you are engineer trying to figure out the most efficient way to move human limbs through water for swimming, or across the ground for running, or through space for kicking, batting, throwing, or whacking golf balls.  You have to take into account the particularities of the specific human body you are looking at:

• The size (and possibly strength, flexibility and density) of each bone that is involved in that movement (for many movements, that would be every major bone in the body)
• The strength, flexibility and elasticity of each muscle involved. 
• You may also need to factor in differences in muscle composition, such as the proportion of fast twitch and slow twitch muscle fibers
• Perhaps other more diffuse differences in metabolism, which could also affect what is the optimum way for a particular person to perform an activity.

I bet that finding the optimum form for a particular person would be an NP problem – a problem with so many variables that no computer could find the best form for you in your lifetime – let alone a single solution that fits everbody (every body).

The way we each tackle this problem seems to be through an approach of evolutionary learning – we flail around more or less randomly (as babies), and eventually through trial and error and the feedback of getting what we want (grabbing a toy when we’re young, getting the ball through the hoop, say, when we’re older), we hone our movements into more and more efficient forms. One way we do this is by trying something, and then adjusting it in different directions to see if our results improve. 

But another thing that Coveney and Highfield talk about is that you can picture the set of all possible solutions to an NP Problem as a topographical landscape.  As you try moving in different directions – adjusting things – you see if you move up hill (toward better solutions) rather than downhill (toward worse ones).  Then, you keep making adjustments until you have gone as high as you can.  The problem is that you might reach the top of a local peak, while there is a much higher peak – a more efficient solution for you – that lies somewhere else in the “solution space.”  And to take advantage of that you'd have to radically restructure and rebuild your stroke from the ground up.  (One person who made the leap and did exactly that is Tiger Woods - an amazing thing.)

So all that is why talk about “proper form” should be taken skeptically.  For your own biomechanics (and biochemistry), there may be one or many completely different forms that will work better than what you are now doing.  That coach who’s yelling at you to change the way you’re doing things is basing that on (best case) nothing more than an approximation of what has been found to be more or less effective by a lot of other people, or (worst case) the current fashion for how things should be done, perhaps based on what has worked for a few elite (and not necessarily typical) athletes.

Of course, there are some basic parameters of physics in every activity.  Also, if you’re a total newbie at something, you’re probably best off listening to a coach to provide some structure to your early flailing.  If you’re reasonably accomplished, the coach will probably just be helping you to try different adjustments in what you’re already doing to see if you can eke out some improvements.

The difficult case would come if you are accomplished at something, self-taught, or a “natural,” and some coach tells you that you’re doing it “all wrong” and tries to get you to completely restructure your form.  Then you have to decide whether to stick with your own body’s evolved solution, or leave that mountaintop and try to find another, higher peak through the textbook solution.  You just can't be sure the peak really is higher.

If you look at successful runners or other athletes or others like pianists, you’ll see a tremendous variety of forms.  There would probably be even more if various trends and fashions didn’t regularly sweep through instruction, standardizing the way people are trained.

World's oldest endurance beverage

A while back, during my first half iron race, I found that (as many athletes have reported) after several hours of effort my sense of taste became exaggerated and I totally lost my stomach for food and sweet drink. At the same time, in an endurance event of that length, they say you have to take in 300-350 calories an hour or you'll bonk (on this one, I choose to believe them rather than test it out for myself).  It can be really hard to consume that much and a lot of athletes run out of energy because they can't.

So -- in contradistinction to virtually everyone else in the entire world -- I began looking for drinks that had tons of calories but little flavor. What could I drink that would supply me with a constant stream of carbs, maybe a little protein, but wouldn't taste sickly sweet after a few hours of biking, swimming and running?  Late last year I realized there's an obvious candidate that fulfills these requirements perfectly, and in fact it has been used as a performance beverage for many years.  Beer.

However, it would be less than ideal to become intoxicated during a 21 MPH, 56-mile bike ride, and everything I read indicated that alcohol is quite the opposite of a performance-enhancer, and besides alcohol is banned by triathlon rules, so it would have to be the alcohol-free kind.

A quick look at some labels indicated that 12 oz of original Gatorade has 75 calories, 14 grams of carbs, and 0 grams of protein.  O'Douls NA beer has 70 calories, 15 grams of carbs -- and 1 gram of protein to boot!  I found a brand of beer, Clausthaler, that had even more calories (90), and tasted better too.  Not a bad comparison, and if you actually drink more because it's not sickly sweet, you could actually take in more per hour in a long event!

I did a quick Google search to see if I could find anything on line about anyone trying this, and came up completely empty, which I figured meant it was either a really stupid idea or a stroke of genius.  The only flaws I could see in the idea were 1) the carbonation, or 2) the alcohol. It turns out that even alcohol-free beer contains a little alcohol, around 0.4%.  That would mean you would have to drink 8-10 12-ounce servings to get the alcohol from one can of your average beer.  But, I figured that might be just enough to take a little pain away without actually inhibiting performance.  On the carbonation, I figured that the solution to this was to either a) try it out on long training rides and see if it was a problem for me, or b) drink flat, alcohol-free beer (i know, it's sounding less attractive by the minute).  Just like they serve flat coke sometimes in aid stations.  I figured the other potential flaw might be just that when I actually tried this it would be heinous and nasty and horrid.

Well so I tried it, and on several rides found that the beer, even in somewhat flat, warm, non-alcoholic condition, tasted really good! The carbonation (there was still some when I drank it) was not a problem (on the other hand I have a quite strong stomach) and I didn't get even the slightest buzz. 

My experimentation with beer as a performance beverage caused quite a lot of merriment among my friends; for example when I led a 100-mile bike ride they dubbed it the "BYOB Century."

Eventually the charms of beer began to wear off; in practice rides I generally just never got to the point where watered-down Gatorade tasted that bad, plus I discovered a powdered drink, Carbo-Pro, which is a white powder of complex sugars that has 112 calories a scoop -- and is totally tasteless.

But, I found beer to be a viable option, and it is still in my bag of tricks.  I'm definitely planning to put some in my special needs bag if I ever do a full Ironman race.

Ride report: BYOB Century

After months of trying to organize my first-ever 100-mile bike ride, a few friends and I were finally able to pull it off on Sunday.  It was great!  We followed this route:

http://www.mapmytri.com/ride/united-states/va/arlington/washington/491183464

I plotted it out ahead of time on internet maps, but you just never know what it's going to be like until you're on the ground -- and in fact in almost all cases it lived up to its promise.  A few roads I was afraid might be a little too busy (ie Damascus Road) turned out to be quite deserted pavement through nice forests and farmland. The ride was hilly but not overly so, with rolling hills for much of it. After our usual ride up Rock Creek to Garrett Park Rd, we hit a very nice, winding, almost completely wooded trail for the next 5-6 miles up to Lake Needwood.  (The only flaw here was that, especially in the second half of the trail, we had to pass a number of packs of runners-in-training.  But we weren't trying to break any speed records anyhow.)  Then we burst out of the trees and after a beautiful downhill ride through Lake Needwood state park, we followed a busy road (115) for two miles or so, and then it was into the farmland of Northern Montgomery County.  One of our turns was unmarked and we missed it, so we stopped to munch snacks and regroup.  Then we hit a fairly big hill, and then a nice shady road at the northern peak of the loop. 

Then we started heading, broadly speaking, back south: a busy road, more shady roads, and then it was time to cut through Little Bennett Regional Park on what looked on the map to be beautiful secluded roads.  I was out of water, so when we saw a golf driving range a quarter-mile into the park, we stopped there for 10-15 minutes and all refilled our waters. Then we got back on the road.  It was, in fact scenic.  Very scenic. But when the road turned to gravel, that was a bit of a problem and several of those present began to think about certain famous past instances that I had led people astray.  But when the road was blocked by the gate to a mysterious house, surrounded by barbed wire fence, we knew it was time to really backtrack (debate continues: drug dealer or Cheney's undisclosed location?).  So we improvised a path around the park and quickly got back on track, crossed under Route 270 on the appropriately named "Old Hundred Road" and then proceed to roll through 16 of the nicest roads to be found anywhere, from 270 all the way down to River Road.  Then a few uphill miles along River/Seneca Road (this was kind of the low point for me physically -- I noticed at this point that we were at about the 80-mile mark, and I can tell you, the idea of conquering the huge second BRE hill at that point on our upcoming ride seemed pretty inconceivable to me).

Then saw Berrysville Road enter on our left, and then it was the same route home from there some of us have done before, with a nice long stop at a Deli (on Glen Rd & Travilah; I had a nice 32-ounce fountain coke -- something I would never ordinarily buy, but which really hit the spot, a much needed infusion of corn syrup with caffeine to boot, and an ice cream sandwhich. I was in or near virgin territory here in terms of length of endurance so whatever my body screamed for I let it have).  Then home via Persimmon Tree Road and MacArthur, with several stops on that home stretch for cramps, for drinks again at a gas station, and finally, for me to fix my rear tire which was flat from an ugly slash in it (fortunately my friend Bill Murray had brought a spare tire with him -- a very nice one actually -- which he graciously sold to me on the spot).

All in all, it was an excellent ride!  Good roads, good scenery, good company, good weather (more or less -- it did top out at 92 and humid, but I didn't really notice until the very end).  Here were the stats as reported by my friend and GPS owner Will Colston: 

We rolled almost 110 miles and 5,783 vertical feet of ascent... Our moving average speed was somewhere between 16.1 (cycling computer) to 16.4 (GPS) with a moving time of 6 hours and 51 minutes and a stopped time of 1 hour 29 minutes.

Why was it called the BYOB Century? That's a story for another day . . . [Addendum: the story]

Race Report: Lake Montclair Olympic Triathlon

Lake Montclair Olympic Distance Triathlon
June 24, 2007

The Lake Montclair Olympic Triathlon was about 45 minutes south of DC.  Got up at 4:00 a.m. to meet Will Colston, Bill Murray and Dave Turvene (see Dave's race report) at Dave’s house to rack the bikes on Dave’s minivan and hit the road by 5:00 for the 7:00 gun time.  After an uneventful drive, we parked, took down the bikes, grabbed our gear bags and rode the mile or so to the transition area with plenty of time to spare.  We got word that the water was supposedly below 79 degrees, so wetsuits would be legal (to my disappointment as a strong swimmer, and nearly everyone else’s relief).  Dave, Bill and I were assigned to adjacent racks so it was fun chatting while we set up our transitions.  Will was a little further down.  Here we were in the "before" shot:

We went down to the water for a warmup swim but they were clearing the water and beach of people just as we got there so we lost out.  There were a few blessedly brief announcements from the race director and the designated-charity spokespeople, and the national anthem, and then it was time for the first wave to go, of which I was part (assignments were based on the estimated swim time you had given them at signup).  We waded in for the water start as the race director yelled “30 seconds” – she didn’t waste any time – and then we were off! 

I actually didn’t feel too great at the beginning of the swim.  My wetsuit is just a little too tight and maybe my breathing felt constricted, and my arms felt a little sore (I had done a hard swim on Thursday three days earlier, perhaps that was a mistake).  There was a little jostling at the start but it quickly settled down.  I actually drafted off some people for a bit, but soon lost them. 

The 1-mile swim course followed the thin pond, dogged left around a point, around a buoy there, and back.  On the way out, I drifted left of the main pack, and as a result cut the corner much closer than most, meaning I swam a shorter distance than most.  The pack seemed to hug the buoys as if they were staying on the right side of a road – instinct perhaps but not smart.  On the way home, I again found myself swimming kind of alone – but I didn’t worry about it, since as I learned on the way out, leaving the pack can be the smart move.  Except here it wasn’t.  At some point I realized I’d drifted quite a bit off course to the left, and was just circling wide and wasting time.  So much for my eschew-the-pack smugness. My lesson for future swims: spend less energy doing quick-glimpse, in-stroke sighting, and take the time a little more often to stop, do a few breast strokes, and really get a good read of the situation.  I was loathe to spend the time do to that, and to break up my swimming rhythm.  But a few seconds spent really looking around can save a whole lot of seconds on solo tours of the less-traveled corners of a lake. 

(What I’m really waiting for is the day when I can affix a little GPS receiver between my shoulder blades and get an LCD readout on the inside of my goggles telling me my location on the course in relation to all buoys, my current heading, my pace, heart rate, expected finish time.  Maybe I could check my e-mail too, in case I get bored on a long swim.)

Anyways, about 100 feet from shore, when I didn’t think there was anyone very close to me, someone suddenly grabbed my ankle.  That was a first for me.  I was so shocked, I stopped swimming and looked back momentarily.  Figuring they feared I was about to kick them in the face or something, I shrugged off my annoyance & swam on.  Still not sure what that was about, whether it was an aggressive move or what.

My swim time was 28:02.  I had swum it in 25:30 in the pool, and though my race times usually lag my pool times (despite the wetsuit which is supposed to speed you up), I was hoping for a 27-minute swim or even faster.  I blame it on going off course.  But, my swim time put me 33rd in the overall field of 393, and 5th out of 42 in my 40-44 age group. (I’m 39 but you’re categorized by your age at end of calendar year).

Ran up the beach; too winded at first, I just ran in my full wetsuit for a bit, then reached back and tugged off the top of my wetsuit to my waist.  Into transition, tried to take it off standing but got all tangled, so I sat down and pulled it off each leg.  On with helmet, bike off rack, and out onto the street to begin the bike leg.  Though I wasn’t especially gunning for glory on the T1 time (see T2, below), my T1 time was 1:25, the 10th fastest overall. I credit that to keeping my transitions as simple and clutter-free as possible: I clip my shoes into my pedals ahead of time, don’t fiddle with gloves or glasses or anything like that – and today, for the first time in a tri, I wore my shirt under my wetsuit so I didn’t have to fight into that.  It was just take off wetsuit, put on helmet, grab bike, run for the exit.

A bit of a steep climb to get out of the park, but no problem for my super-duper triple chain ring.  I took it easy, telling myself, “easy, easy, start slow, rest up a little, relax” as I’d planned to do for the beginning of the bike ride. 

The bike course once we left the park was 4 laps of a 6-mile loop – almost like a large criterium.  I was a little concerned because it was said to be hilly, though it didn’t look too bad on the elevation charts I saw online.  As I rode around on my first loop, I saw that in fact it was an excellent course for me – lots of long, slightly sloping uphills, straightaways, and downhills, all of which are my strength.  As opposed to real hills, which I just don’t seem to have the right kind of muscles for (or waistline perhaps).  In the pleasant first loop, I was pleased to pass more people than passed me (in fact I hardly remember anyone passing me on that first loop).  The course, which was one automobile lane wide, did get more and more crowded as all 568 participants crowded onto it, making it difficult at times, as when trying to pass someone who was themselves trying to pass someone.  It sucks to have to apply your brakes in a race, when not cornering, but that happened a few times.

The only negative on the bike was that my front derailleur was a little out of tune; I’d fiddled with it the day before but hadn’t quite gotten it fixed in the time I had.  If anything it seemed to get worse on this race.  When I tried to go from my outer chain ring to my middle one, it would go straight down to my small chain ring.  I was really afraid of losing the chain throughout the race – I almost did one time, preventing it only by putting my finger on the chain to press it against the gear until I could back up my pedals to get it fully back onto the gear.  The result was I spent more time in my large chain ring that I probably would have otherwise.

Each loop, I would pass people on the straightaway and especially on the down hills, and then on the one area where the grade became too much for my legs, a bunch of people would pass me.  Then I would re-pass them on the downhill more often than not, and the straightaway.  I went fairly hard on the bike, but did pace myself.  As I flowed into the fourth and final lap, my thoughts began to turn to the run.

Took my feet out of my bike shoes while coasting down the quarter-mile hill back into the transition area, and hopped off at the dismount line.  My bike time was 1:07:26, 41st overall and 7/42 in my age group.  I averaged 21.4 mph. 

I sped to my rack, took off my helmet, grabbed my hat, and ran out of transition.  Total time: 28 seconds. 

Since I didn’t need to put shoes on for the run, I was gunning for the top T2 time.  However some 19 year old young buck seems to have somehow gone through in 26 seconds, besting me by 2 seconds – and that included, I presume, putting on shoes.  This guy I noticed also did his 10k run in 39 minutes, so I reckon that's his secret – just sprint like hell through the transition at maximum speed. Coincidentally, in the overall rankings, this guy finished just one slot above me. He beat me by 3 seconds, so at least his T2 wasn't the margin :) 

The only problem with being a T-artist is that you have no time to switch gears in your head before you’re into the next event.  The first 50 feet of the run was along a serious gravel trail – we’re talking big, plum-sized rocks.  So I just walked it.  It was a good chance to rest for a minute, picking my way through the rocks, and switch gears in my mind.  Here I got my first of many comments on my bare feet, from the volunteers at the transition exit.  “Where are your shoes!?”  I answered with a smile, “don’t like ‘em, don’t need em.”  I paused and looked down.  “Well, except maybe along here” I laughed.  My little rocky stroll was over too quickly, leading into a nice comfortable leaf-strewn path through the woods, and it was time to get my brick legs moving and get this 10k done with.

The first two miles were unpleasant.  The course was a spaghetti tangle.  Usually I memorize my race courses, and know exactly where I am at all times during the race.  But after checking it out a few weeks earlier I’d forgotten to circle back and memorize it.  I quickly got totally disoriented.  The result was that I felt like I was in some kind of existentialist hell – running along quiet, mostly deserted curving suburban streets, following the random instructions of volunteers – “turn here,” “straight here,” “turn here” with no sense of how far I’d gone or how far I had to go.  Compounding the problem, there didn’t appear to be mile markers on the course, and I’d forgotten to mark a lap counter on my watch upon starting the run.  Finally I saw a marking for “two mile point” and set my watch to that.  Also my legs were stiff as usual and also my diaphragm was sore, my chest felt tight, my ribs just slightly crampy, as if I had stitches in my sides.  (I figured I was breathing harder for the previous 90 minutes than I’m used to breathing for that length of time.)  So I soldiered on.  Lot of people complained about the hills but I’d heard it was hilly and I just took it one step at a time and they didn’t seem too bad to me.  I guess I was sort of resigned to the unpleasantness.

Over the course of the race, I did start feeling better.  According to my watch, I did miles 3 & 4 in 7:18 each, mile 5 in 7:50, and mile 6 in 6:31.  The course was quite hilly but I also think the accuracy of the mile markers was suspect (the fastest mile I’ve ever done was a 6:00 at a track, and it almost killed me, and nothing I did on this course approached that level of intensity.)

Along the way, I got the usual comments about my bare feet.  “There’s the barefoot guy again!” “Go barefoot guy!” “Where are your shoes?” “Are you running the WHOLE race like that?”  A cop giving me a friendly “are you crazy” look.  I also got a few comments about my hat – I wore a broad-brimmed Australian-style hat I picked up at REI.  Everyone wears baseball-style hats, and anyways why shouldn’t I bring as much shade with me as I can?  The hat’s maybe a bit heavier but it’s pretty light and breathable and keeps the sun off my neck, ears and face, not just my forehead.  I don't love the look but give me functionality any day.

Finally, saw the 6-mile marker, and really began to speed up for the final 0.2 mile.  It always feels good when you have juice in the tank to finish strong.  As I crossed the dam back toward the finish, I eased up past a guy who was running along.  Then he pulled back even with me.  I turned to him with a smile and said, “you're not going to let me BEAT you are you?”  And we both sped up even more.  He pulled ahead of  me.  I pulled even with him.  By now we were in the chute, and it seemed like tons of people were screaming at us as we came in neck and neck.  And then I pulled ahead of him, and crossed the finish line with no one visible in front of me – yes! 

Then it was into the finishing area, got a medal, gave back my chip, had a friendly word with the guy I raced through the chute, and sat on a perfect grassy shady bank and watched my friends come in.  Will, who had started 6:00 after me two waves back, came in 5:30 after me by my watch, so it looked like he’d beaten me and I ruefully congratulated him.  But I realized I messed up my timing at the finish and it turned out that actually I beat him, by just 39 seconds.

My run time for the 10k was 48:59, or 7:54 per mile average pace.  123/393 overall, 26/42 in age group. As usual, the run was my worst leg.

Overall my time was 2:26:22.  I was 40th of 393 overall, and 6th of 42 in my age group.

Overall it was a really fun race that had a good spirit and atmosphere on a beautiful day (sunny & 69 at the start with little wind & low humidity) with good friends.  I also enjoyed the olympic distance – this was my first full olympic race.  It is not as painful as a sprint and not as draining as a half ironman.

 

Addendum: they posted a race "highlights video" that includes brief shots of me emerging from the wooded trail at the beginning of the run and at the finish line: http://www.beexpressive.com/montclair07.htm.

Triathlons: or, nobody knows nothin'

I've been doing triathlons for two years now, and in that time I've done a lot of reading about the best way to do things. What is the best workout strategy to build up your ability, to get faster, to go longer?  What are the best things to eat and drink?  How much rest should you take to be maximally ready for a race?  I've taken a crash course in sports medicine. 

My conclusion: nobody knows nothin'. Everyone's got a theory, most of them stated with utter confidence as God's truth, but few of them backed up with anything close to rigid science.  Even where there is a study behind a recommendation, it's usually only one, and that's just not enough.  Even in physics -- in theory the most "mathematical" of the sciences -- finding's aren't accepted until they are repeated many times.  When it comes to anything involving human beings, where there will always be a zillion variables (from the length of your femur to what you had for breakfast 2 days earlier) and an inability to treat people enough like lab rats to eliminate them all, there's just no way that you can be sure that anyone's theory about how to approach sports is right for you.

To take just one example, everyone who does triathlons and other endurance sports hears about how lactic acid buildup is what makes your muscles burn and get tired, and that you have to do workouts based on your "lactic threshold" and so on.  But then I open up my New York Times one day to read that that's all wrong.

My advice is to:

1. Read up on all the theories (for every theory there's usually an equal and opposite theory), and file them away. If you come across any studies, great, weigh those more but not too much.
2. Pay a lot of attention to anecdotal reports of what real human beings tell you has worked for them.  But these are only data points -- people's own conclusions about what works for them can themselves be way off because -- again -- there are always too many variables, and people tend to lock in on certain perceived patterns way prematurely, with way too small a sample size of their own experiences.  (This is why science is based on studies, not anecdotes.)
3. Don't take all the science too seriously, generally you won't find useful answers there.  That's not to say it can't be useful, of course. For example, to get back to the "lactic threshold," even if that theory is completely wrong in describing what goes on in your muscles, that might not matter a bit if the workouts you design based on that wrong theory are ones that work.  Philosophers of science debate the merits of what are called the "Realist" and "Anti-Realist" positions, with the former claiming that (say) electrons are real entities, while the anti-realists say we have no idea if they're real, but it doesn't matter what's really going on in there as long as our concept produces useful descriptions and predictions of our observations.  To take another examples, Chinese acupuncturists talk about manipulating the Qi or Chi, some invisible "life force" supposedly flows through our bodies.  I'm sure there is no such thing, but if it serves as a heuristic device that accurately guides the relief of pain, then who cares?
   
4. Above all, try to figure out what works for you.

It is possible, that if I were to really study academic sports medicine, I would realize that that I'm being a know-nothing, there is a lot more certain knowledge than I realize, and that my impression is due to the fact that I've done most of my research on the Internet.  I'm open to that but it sure doesn't look that way from here.  (I guess I'm kinda applying my theory to itself here -- my theory about not trusting theories should itself not be trusted. Go snack on that one :)

In general, it consistently amazes me how bursting with confidence people are when they proclaim theories they should be a lot more circumspect about.  That applies not just in sports but in all areas of life to everyone from doctors and other experts to taxi drivers.  But I guess that's an observation as old as Plato...

DC area hills

In preparation for a certain 100-mile bike ride I and some of my friends have signed up for called the Blue Ridge Extreme (BRE), I made the following chart of some DC-area hills that we like to ride on:

                                                                      Vertical     Horiz     Avg
Hill                                                                Climb (ft) dist (mi)  grade
Great Falls, bottom to MacArthur Blvd                   201        1.2         3.2%
Conn Ave to Wisconsin on Newark St.                   157        0.8         3.8%
Rock creek “mountain,” outbound                        160        0.8         3.8%
Lee Hwy, N. Oak to top of little Veitch hill             161        0.7         4.5%
Military Rd, 1st hill southbound + 2nd northbd       105        0.4         4.6%
Military, 2nd hill southbound                                  83        0.3         5.4%
Fort Myer, gate to top just before pool                 112        0.4         5.4%
Tilden, Rock Creek to where it levels off               162        0.4         8.3%
BRE, big hill #1                                                 1,584        3.2         9.4% (map)
Chain bridge                                                        150        0.2       15.8%

Download dc_hill_data.xls

These calculations were made using Google map sites; I did my best but I can't say how precise they are.

I must say, I'm really wondering what the hell I've gotten myself into on this one.  I'm no good at doing hills, and it was pointed out after I signed up that this race is in August in Virginia.  Oh well, I've always wanted to ride along the Blue Ridge; this may cure me of it.

(this chart has been updated since I first posted it)

Casket on Commute

I have the best commute in the world.  I get on my bicycle, and ride 6 miles, passing across the Memorial Bridge, directly in front of the Lincoln Memorial, along the reflecting pool, past the WW II memorial, and through what is now a pedestrian plaza behind the White House. 

Many days I also go through Arlington Cemetery.  I mean, right through it. It is the most peaceful and serene 60 seconds of my day, coasting down a largely deserted road, the pavement smooth as silk on my tires, winding through the trees, with rows upon rows of white grave markers peeking through them. 

Even on an ordinary day this scene prompts reflections on the quick and the dead, but today at the Cemetery entrance, a marine band had assembled, and as I went by there was a carriage with a coffin on it, covered by an American flag.  Seeing the coffin (it was resting off to the side, as if it were not the center of the ceremony, but an accidental bystander, like me) I had complicated feelings.

I felt bad riding by this scene, as if I had disturbed something sacred -- and would have gone another way if I had realized sooner what was going on.  I thought I heard someone crying -- in any case, I imagined so -- and it broke my heart.  What if that was one of my children under that flag? (In just 10 years, it could be.)

I do not particularly like the military or its values -- order, obedience, conformity, rigidity, tradition, a boyish, simplistic conception of manhood and toughness and sacrifice.  That said, I think that the decision to commit to putting oneself and one's well-being at the disposal of whatever our democratically elected political leaders decide is in the best interests of the nation, is an extremely noble and honorable thing. 

It's just a pity when those political leaders take that commitment, which should be a sacred trust, and misuse it and waste it so badly.  Thirty seconds after leaving this scene, I passed Robert E. Lee's house.  Ten minutes later I rode by the White House.  Grotesque.

Race Report: Kinetic 2007

Kinetic Half Ironman Triathlon
Lake Anna, Virginia
April 21, 2007

Going into this race, I should have been confident, since it was my third Half (and second time doing the Kinetic), but I wasn't.  For one thing, I had totally crashed & burned on the run in my previous Half, the 2006 Delaware Diamondman Triathlon (DDT).  For another thing, my knee had been hurting me since the Shamrock Marathon in March, so I hadn't been biking much and hadn't been running at all.  And finally, the water was COLD -- 53 degrees, and we were all kind of freaked out about that.  They had actually shortened the swim by 500 yards from 1.2 miles to 0.9 miles.

On Friday, I drove down to the race with my friends Bill Murray, Dave Turvene, and Will Colston.  Erik VandeMeulebrouecke also came along, not to race (though he was probably quite capable of smoking us all if he had) but to support us and to videotape us for fun. 

We got down to the Lake Anna shoreline in time for a pre-race talk, anxious about the hypothermia-inducing swim.  Our internet searches on cold water swims produced phrases like

"I didn't regain feeling in my feet until after the bike ride..."

"Pulmonary oedema induced by cold water swimming..."

"Cold water swimming-induced antinociception..."

"Few people can swim a mile in fifty-degree water"

"Cold water robs the body's heat 52 times faster than air."

The race leader guy strongly suggested we get in the water before the beginning of the race so that our body could experience its shock *before* the start of the race.  He said otherwise it was likely we would see a number of people turning right around and getting out.  We walked down to the water's edge and waded in -- and my ankles throbbed so badly from the cold that I couldn't stand to be in for more than a minute at any one time. Yikes.

That evening over our pasta dinner at a nearby restaurant there was much discussion of the cold water.  When morning came, we arrived at the starting area, which was throbbing with excitement and anticipation.  Thanks to Erik's help we unracked our four bikes from the back of Erik's minivan and went to set up our transitions.  Got body marked, and then I realized there was no more escaping the giant ice-water lake.  So we went down and dove in.  It did take my breath away and make me lose my kinesthetic sense (sense of body location), but I realized that this race was going to be doable.  The wetsuit kept my ankles from throbbing, and the rest of it was not so bad.  I, however, had a sleeveless "farmer john" wetsuit (better for keeping the arms free) so my arms were very cold.  I kept getting in and out, and each time it was easier to get in.  Then there was a delay because the local ambulance hadn't shown up, and I began really shivering - not only unpleasant, but a terrible waste of energy as my body tried to warm itself up.  Energy that I would need this day.  Someone handed out space blankets so that helped -- first time I've seen those used at the *start* of a race!  Then they said they were going to start the race, so I put my neoprene cap back on and dipped back into the water one more time.  I got out and stood there waiting for the first wave to start -- and realized I didn't have my goggles.  I frantically looked all over the ground, but didn't see them "My goggles! Anyone see any goggles!" I shouted, but all the racers just stood there, no one saw anything.  So I ran all the way back up to the transition area, where I (fortunately!) had stowed an extra pair in my sports bag.  I ran back to the beach and took my place back at the front of the pack at the water's edge just in time to see the first wave -- about 12 "elite" category guys -- go off, which gave me I think 3 minutes until my own wave.  I turned and a tall guy I recognized was standing next to me -- it was Adrian Fenty, the mayor of Washington.  "Good luck" I said to him, and he gave me an easygoing high handshake and likewise wished me luck and we exchanged a few words about the cold swim.  From what I'd seen of his times in other races (his racing was the subject of a feature article or two in the press), it looked like Fenty and I would be roughtly matched, and one of my goals was to beat him.  As it turned out, we would meet again, in a manner of speaking, before the day was done. 

And then we were off. 

Yep, the water was cold.  I ran in a little ways and then started swimming -- and then realized somethign was wrong: I didn't have my goggles on.  So I stood back up and put them on, then dove back in and started to swim.  The strange thing was that I could not tell how hard I was swimming.  Was I going too slow and easy?  Was I sprinting all out?  Because the water took my breath away, and my arms were numb, I honestly could not tell, all my normal bodily cues and signals that tell me how hard I am pushing it were all messed up.  It was the strangest sensation.  The first leg to the first buoy was quite rough, with a fair amount of collisions with other swimmers, but nothing too violent or painful (or maybe I was just too numb to mind).  By the second leg, I was fine, and after that it really wasn't bad.  My only regret is that I wasn't more relaxed on the swim -- I kept trying to find someone to draft behind, and in retrospect I tried too hard and got tense over it.  I never did really find a satisfying draftee.  Out of the water at the end of the first lap, jog across the beach, hear Erik cheering me on, slow to a walk, almost a standstill for a few seconds to catch my breath from the upright jogging, then back into the water for an uneventful second lap. 

Then it was out of the water again, and a quick jog up the beach to the transition area.  Last year in this race I did the swim in 32:30.  At a reasonable but relaxed pace I do a 500 in about 7:30, so I had guessed that the swim here (which was 500 yards shorter than last year) would take me about 25:00.  In fact, my time was 24:59.

My plan for T1 was to take it easy, get myself warm for the bike.  Being worried about freezing on the bike after the cold-water swim, I had planned to sacrifice T1 speed in favor of comfort.  When I got to my bike I toweled off, which was the first part of that plan -- but then realized that a) it was quite warm out already, and b) *I* was quite warm.  So I made an executive decision, abandoned my plan to bike with my yellow shell, and instead just wear my regular sleeveless tri shirt.  I emptied everything out of my shell pocket (bannanas, gels) and put it in my shirt. I didn't put on gloves. I got all stuck trying to put on my tight shirt, and then put on my helmet.  All this was very difficult because my hands were actually quite numb and I couldn't really grasp things well.  All in all, my T1 took 3:46, slow but not too bad (the average that day was 4:44 and some of my friends were up in the 6-8 minute range). 

Then it was up on my bike and I felt great.  The sun was shining, the day was gorgeous, I was feeling good.  I consciously stopped myself from going too fast all through the climb out of the park.  Just where we exited the park, I was still going easy but nonetheless on a slight downhill found myself rocketing by a couple guys.  This gave me a boost of confidence and I sailed along for the next 45 minutes or so, feeling strong and passing a lot more people than I usually do in these races, and hardly being passed.  Eventually I began to get passed a little more, but still felt pretty good the first loop.  By the second loop I was considerably more tired, and really began to feel my lack of bike training during the cold winter that set in in January and February, and in the build up and recovery from the March marathon.  In retrospect I should have been a tad less exuberant in the first half of the first lap.

My bannanas, which were perfectly ripe when I left home, had turned to mush.  That was a big disappointment.  But I still had my trusty Carbo-Pro drink.  3/4 through the first lap, Erik drove by, video camera in hand, and whooped at me.  Then I passed him parked by the side of the road, that was a lot of fun!  I saw Fenty's security guys -- the burly guys standing by the black vehicles dressed for church -- looking expectantly down the road so I figured I was still ahead of the mayor.  One time I asked a guy, "so am I ahead of the mayor?" He laughed and said "no" -- but I wasn't sure whether to believe him, it seemed like I was (I was). 

By the second half of the second loop I was definitely feeling like I was more tired than I wanted to be.  This was partly subjective, partly result of my evaluations of who was passing me -- more people than I wanted (and I was also passing some too, but not enough).  I was hesitant to push too hard, mindful of the run and what happened to me at the DDT. 

Back into the park at last, I removed my feet from my shoes - liberation! - and pedaled along with my feet on top of my shoes.  I also removed my socks (which I had put on out of my fear of being cold on the bike - in fact my feet were quite numb for about half a lap) from my feet and stuck them in my pocket in case I needed them on the run. I hopped off the bike at the dismount line, jogged the bike to my transition spot, parked it, grabbed a bottle of carbo-pro out of my bag, and grabbed my hat (into which I'd put everything I wanted on the run: race belt, gels, bandaids in case of foot pain) and sped out of transition. Not needing to put on shoes, I expected to have a top T2 time; in fact this all took me 57 seconds, which was the 5th fastest in the race (and the #1 fastest in my age group, the first time I have ever had a "1" next to my name in any results! I'll take what I can get). T2 is definitely my best event.

I had been a little worried about doing the run barefoot. When I took my shoes off at mile 17 of the Shamrock Marathon, I decided I would never run in shoes again, and intended to stick to that.  But, I hadn't run *since* the Shamrock due to my knee pain, and I was worried my feet might be a little tender, even though I had run up to 15 miles barefoot (actually in socks since it was winter) on asphault.  But, I wasn't worried enough to stick my thin, light water shoes in my wasteband as I thought about doing.  In fact, I quickly regretted this.  My feet *were* tender, and the pavement wasn't very smooth, and it was also hot, which I wasn't used to after training all winter.  So my feet were uncomfortable from about mile 2 or 3 through the rest of the race.  At mile 5 or so I stopped, put two large bandages on the balls of my feet (for cushioning) and my socks.  At mile 9 or so I stopped and added two more bandages in case the first had worn off (they hadn't, just felt like it).  My feet were uncomfortable the whole run, and I spent much of it running along the smoother center yellow line when I could (occasional cars made this difficult at times).  I was sure my feet would be bloody blistery pulps by the time I finished this race. 

The other problem was the heat.  As cold as it was in the morning, it had gotten quite hot by the run.  And this was really the first day I'd felt heat in many months, after the fall and then the cold winter that finally set in and never quite seemed to go away.  I began to do some short walks.  Though, they weren't always so short.  I would count backward from 20, intending to begin running again when I got to zero.  And then start the count again.  I don't know how much I ended up walking -- but I wasn't so distressed by it as I was at the DDT.  I guess my expectations were lower.  Overall this run took me 2:14:05, only about 3 minutes slower than last year, despite all my walking (I must have run a lot faster when I was running - not sure if that is a sign of progress, or a mistake!) It was also about 10 minutes faster than my DDT time.

Late in the race, I took some Coke from the aid stations -- and everything they say is true, for some reason, nothing tastes better than Coca-Cola in the late stages of an endurance race.  At just about mile 10, Adrian Fenty passed me.  Damn, only 3 miles left in the race and he passes me.

Finally, the unpleasant run came to an end, and it was across the finish line, get my medal, see Erik, get some water, and stand around waiting to cheer in my friends as they came in. 

My total time was 5:34:23.  Adjusting by 7:30 for the shortened swim and my year's worth of training got me almost exactly one minute off my time a year earlier.

Fortunately, other than maybe two small, very slight blisters, my feet were fine despite the 13.1 miles of
hot asphault -- I guess the discomfort was just part of the surface, and not actually ruining my feet!

Overall, it was a fun day, especially the swim and bike, and satisfying to know I've gotten to the point where I can do a half ironman and it's not a huge deal.  I would have liked to have gone faster, but I know that I was somewhat out of training due to my injury, the cold winter, and the taper and recovery from the Marathon. 

I had a funny realization after this race.  When I started triathlons, I always enjoyed the swim, being origianlly a swimmer, and I quickly grew to love the bike, but I always hated the runs.  Now I realize that ironically, my two favorite most enjoyable events that I've done are the two marathons.  The sport of running is really fun and enjoyable for me now.  But the sport of triathlon runs is painful and not much fun at all.

Also, after my bad run at the DDT, I took the lesson that I really needed to concentrate on my running and improve that.  No doubt that was partly true, and I did tackle that, and do two marathons, and I'm sure it helped.  But out there on the hot course at this race, I realized that being a good runner isn't what you need.  Otherwise my friends Dave and Will would be doing 1:35 run times in this race. What you need is to be a good endurance athlete.  It's just that the run is when your long-run endurance training is really put to the test, and if you don't have it, you suffer.  Right now I would be ecstatic to do the run in 1:55 in a Half Ironman -- but I've done that time, and could probably do it faster if I ever actually raced one.  So it's not that I need to run faster, I just need better endurance so my triathlon run time is closer to my fresh run time.

UPDATE: My co-racer and good friend Dave Turvene has posted his entertaining report on this race at http://www.dahetral.com/public-blog/categories/triathlon

Race Report: Marathon #2: Shamrock 2007

Shamrock Marathon
Virginia Beach, Virginia
March 18, 2007

I was really worried about this marathon.  It was only my second, after the Marine Corps Marathon in October, and I had not been feeling great on my long runs – hip pain and, more lately, post-run knee pain. I was also in an awkward spot in terms of footwear.  My barefoot running was coming along great – my longest barefoot run was over 15 miles – but I was not ready to run a full marathon barefoot yet.  And at the same time I hadn’t worn my regular sneakers since the MCM.  When not barefoot I wore my H Streets – super-lightweight shoes that are kind of like bedroom slippers – but I’d never gone very far in them either.  So I was sort of caught in transition between two different approaches and was really nervous about how that was going to play out.  I’ve also noticed what I’ve called my “second event curse” – every time I do a certain distance for the second time, I have a bad experience. Probably a function of complacency or something.  So I was fully prepared not to finish this race.  Fortunately it was a figure-8 kind of loop so bailing out at the halfway point if I wasn’t feeling good was a definite option.  I ran the MCM in 4:18, and beating that time was not at all my goal; for now I just wanted to complete another marathon, and have it be a relatively good experience. 

I set out for Virginia Beach on Saturday about noon with Sean Libberton & Will Colston.  Just outside Williamsburg, Sean’s car broke down (transmission problem) – fortunately Dave Turvene was just leaving Williamsburg & was able to double back to get us and once we had Sean’s car towed and parked at a garage, we were on our way without too much trouble.  We went to the expo, got our race packets, did a little shopping, then checked in to the hotel & had a pasta dinner at a restaurant called The Jewish Mother (the sandwiches looked a lot better than the all-you-can-eat pasta we all ate, but we resisted temptation not wanting to try running the next morning with a big lump of corned beef or what have you in our stomachs).

The next morning Dave & I, who were sharing a room, got up in time to see Sean & Will off (they were running the half marathon, which started at 7:00, an hour earlier than the full).  I was feeling the heavy hand of doom on my shoulder. . .

Dave & I cabbed down to the starting area, hit the porta-potties, and walked around for 30 minutes or so.  It was freezing cold and windy.  Finally when we couldn’t delay it any further, I reluctantly stripped off my sweats and super-warm Patagonia fleece and we checked our bags.  Then we shivered to down behind the starting line and to the back of the shockingly (compared to MCM) small crowd lined up to start.

Off went the gun, and off went Dave & I.  Right from the start I was feeling various aches and pains, but nothing too bad & overall it felt good to be moving (and warmer!  The second we started to move, even in the few minutes before we crossed the starting line, I felt warmer.)  We settled into a nice slow rhythm – Dave was sticking with me partly as a strategy to keep himself from going out too fast as he did at the MCM.  I decided to hit my watch each time we passed a mile marker and for the first 6 miles we averaged 9:25.

In the next 7 miles I continued to feel pretty good.  My hip was definitely a wee bit sore, and usually I didn’t feel that until 13 miles into a run or so, so that was definitely a worry – but for now I kept chugging along.  The first half of the race took us through the main drag of Virginia Beach, over a bridge, down a pleasant kind of parkway road, through Camp Pendleton, a kind of grim-looking military base that seemed deserted, except for one squad of head-shaven grunts who were chanting something in unison at us as we passed, which I think was meant to be encouraging.  All I could see was a bunch of kids who were destined for the meatgrinder of Iraq.  The course brought us back up along the boardwalk, which was really nice (though windy).  We saw Will there (who had finished his half in an impressive 1:35) at about mile 12, which was fun. 

Overall I felt good for the first half, and didn’t think of stopping as we passed the 13.1 mile timing mats. Around that time, however, I began to get a little weary of the whole, you know, running thing. And that’s when we found ourselves on a loooong straightaway that just seemed to go on forever.  This stretch, which I now see is about 4 miles, was arrow-straight, boring, and felt like increasing drudgery – and by the end of it (I was all to aware) we still had 10 miles to go.  My hip was definitely sore, but the good news was that it didn’t seem to be getting any worse. 

Somewhere along here I popped two 8-hour tylenol I’d been carrying in my water belt.  I was wearing that because ever since my bad experience on the Diamondman triathlon run, I like to have control over my drinking and not be dependent on the aid stations. I had each of the six 7-ounce flasks filled with Gatorade fortified with a 112-calorie scoop of Carbo-Pro, a tasteless white malodextrin powder.  So each of my flasks tasted like regular Gatorade but packed around 160 calories, the equivalent of one and a half gels.  I took roughly two of those an hour plus took in a mix of water and endurance formula (extra salt) Gatorade at the stations.

Once we rounded off Atlantic avenue and onto nice verdant Shore Drive, I immediately felt better.  I was still with Dave, though he was tugging ahead a little and was often 10 feet ahead of me or so, I was surprised to be with him still.  I definitely felt that he was unconsciously making me run a little faster than I might have otherwise, and began to worry that this would come back to haunt me in the last 6 miles, when inexperienced marathon runners like me PAY for their hubris when they run too fast in the first 20. 

In all my long training runs, I had always run partway with my H Streets, and then removed my shoes.  My intention was to do the same here, and all along the race I had been mulling over when to take them off.  I was thinking mile 16, maybe 18.  Finally I decided to split the difference and take them off at the 17-mile point.  So at the 17-mile marker, I stopped and quickly stepped out of my H Streets, continuing along in my tube socks, then sped up a little to catch back up with Dave.  We ran along together for about another 2-3 miles and then somewhere in there he eased off ahead.  It was great running with Dave, it made it feel like a regular Sunday training run, and I think really kept me relaxed, which I’ve always thought is key to a good performance since you can waste so much energy tensing unnecessary muscles.  But now I was on my own, surrounded by a bunch of strangers and facing the trial of my final 6.2 miles. 

At that point it really began to become a slog.  Taking off my shoes gave me a sense of liberation and a boost in energy as always, but this asphalt was turning out to be old, cracked and rough, and by mile 21 the effect had worn off.  I was really tiring, and also putting a lot of focus into trying to find smooth parts of the road to run on – the painted line here (always more comfortable), a sidewalk here, a little grass or sand on the side of the road there.  Here I am around that time running in front of the Cape Henry lighthouse, which marks the southern boundary of the entrance to the Chesapeake Bay:

At mile 20 I noticed that my stopwatch said 3:03. I realized that if I could just manage six 10-minute miles, I’d actually break 4:00, which was something I’d kinda hoped would happen on the MCM, but wasn’t thinking about this time.  But I was too tired to do anything except run the best I could.  Either I would make it or I wouldn’t.

Around mile 22, I did a spot of running on some grass beside the road, and got a bunch of prickers caught between my socks and my skin.  So I stopped to take off my socks, and as I lifted my foot, my entire right hamstring ripped into a rock-solid cramp.  I flashed on limping home the final four miles at a walk, but figured I could run it off as I had on previous runs I’d done.  I gave it a quick massage & stretch until the pain was gone then resumed running, somewhat stiff-legged at first. 

Now fully barefoot, I attracted quite a lot of attention running through the water station at the junction of Atlantic & Shore Drive around mile 22.5.  I tossed my socks aside (I leave socks on when cold is an issue as the cold makes the feet extra-tender, but now I found they were perfectly warm).

Around this time, I had a new dawning:  hey, here I am past the 22-mile point, none of my worries have panned out, I’m feeling pretty good, and you know what?  I’m passing a lot of people, and no one is really passing me.  Hell I must be going kind of fast!  Look at all these people around me who are walking.  And I might even break four hours!  My feet are feeling free – slightly sore from this rough pavement, but 5 more miles will be no problem.  And I actually have the energy to speed it up a little!  This is great! Woo-hoo!

What a great feeling! Around mile 24, I did the math and realized that there was no way I was going to break four hours – I would come close, but it was actually 3 minutes past the three-hour point when I passed the 20-mile marker, plus there was that pesky two-tenths of a mile at the end to take into account.  So I set myself a goal of beating 4:04 to keep myself motivated and kept running hard. 

I rounded the corner onto the final stretch of the boardwalk, and saw that the finish line (marked by a giant statue of Poseidon) was distressingly far in the distance, but it was nice to be on smooth concrete and I kept chugging away.  There was a big crowd at the finish – and a lot of people shouted comments about my bare feet (I actually felt like a bit of a phony since I hadn’t run the whole race barefooted).  There were no runners visible in front of me as I approached the finish, which was kind of fun, so all eyes were on me as I came across.  I saw Will just before or after the finish, I don’t remember, and then it was over!  Yay, I did it! And without setting out to do so, shattered my MCM time by over 15 minutes. 

Here I am in the final stretch just before the finish line:

My final time was 4:02:16.  My average pace was 9:15 per mile.  In this race I was in the top half among men (593/1219) and just below the top half among men ages 35-39 (113/217).  When I looked at my watch after the race and graphed my mile splits, I saw that the times did correspond with my subjective memory of how the race went.  Here’s the graph with my Shamrock splits (in pink) and my MCM splits (in blue) for comparison:

The 3 spikes at miles 7, 16, & 23 are where I took pit-stops (two for quick trips into the bushes and one for the socks removal/cramp).  Discounting for those, I was much more consistent than in the Marine Corps.  As in the MCM, I started to flag at the end – but this time, I rallied again.  I also maintained my pace much better after mile 13.  Here is the “after” photo of us outside the finish tent (where they served beer and yummy Irish stew):

Overall, it was a very satisfying experience, even though my legs are VERY sore afterwards.  Right now I’m thinking my goal on my next marathon will be to try to further smooth out my pace and do consistent 9:15 or maybe slightly faster miles for the first 20+ miles, and then hopefully have some juice left over at the end again to bring me under four hours.  Also, to dispense with the shoes altogether.

Jingle All the Way 10k

Washington, DC
Dec. 10, 2006

This was my first barefoot race (and only the second running road race I had ever done - the first being the Marine Corps Marathon of all things).  I had been concentrating on my running a lot, including my barefoot running, and wanted to try this out just for fun.  The only other time I'd been timed at this distance was in the Sea Colony olympic-distance triathlon, when it had taken me 51:18.  It was very cold at the start, and I had to wear socks on my feet, but did run it shoeless (and with Santa hat).  I paced behind my friend Dave, who is a faster runner than me, until the turnaround, when he drifted off ahead, but I was still quite surprised at how well I did at this event and pleased as pudding: 44:09, or 7:07 per mile for the 6.2 mile course. 

Although I had run this distance several times before barefoot, I did get a blister on one toe in this race, whether because of the cold and consequent numbness on my feet, the intensity of the race experience, or the fact that I was going faster than usual and pushing off too much, I don't know. 

Race Report: my first marathon attempt

Marine Corps Marathon
October 29, 2006

The start was very crowded and (from where I started anyway) very full of slow people. I spent most of the first 3 miles concentrating on figuring out how to get around people. It was great to see Meg and my family (and Susan) at Spout Run. Despite my own advice to Ron & Dave that when in doubt I never regret wearing less adn always regred wearing more, I was so cold at the start that I left on my long sleeve shirt. Before the gun went off for my wave (20 mintes late) it was already clear that was a mistake. I tossed it to Meg at mile 2.5. I peed in the woods running down spout run, and glad I did since my bladder was bothering me from the (much delayed) start and it never bothered me again.

Except for the first 3, I ran the first 14 miles in about 9:15. Then my hip (IT band) and feet and ankles really started to hurt -- something that hadn't happened on my recent 14 or 21 mile trainers. Actually they were starting to get uncomfortable even earlier, like mile 10, and my run was a story of steadily, gradually increasing pain after that. I felt okay cardio-wise but it definitely saps your will when every step brings pain. Not sure what the problem was there. The last time I had this kind of IT pain was on my first 1/2 marathon run the previous March. Maybe I trained too little, or too much. (Actually, it's probably just a result of wearing shoes :)

In Hains Point around mile 17 is when I first saw people starting to lose it -- a woman puking, later a guy, and tons of people whose legs were seizing up beneath them around me, and off on the sides trying to stretch them out. I felt a little like a guy running up Omaha beach on D-Day, people falling all around me, no choice but to keep pressing on and hope I didn't get struck.

On the 14th Street Bridge, I did get struck as my left hamstring totally locked up. I limped a little ways and then thought to myself "NO WAY am I letting this happen to me! Begone, cramp!" And lo and behold it dissipated. This is the same thing that happend to me on the DDT triathlon. Not sure if it's mind over matter or I'm just lucky (though I do think you can think away things). Five minutes later still on the bridge the same thing happened to the other hamstring but I banished that/was lucky there too.

Overall, I was definitely hurting in Hains Point and on the bridge. Around mile 19 we passed a medic tent in Hains Point and I stopped and asked the guy, "do you have any painkillers?" and they gave me 2 tylenol or something. My foot & hip pain did dull somewhat several miles after that, but by then I was in a different kind of pain altogether, something I will call for lack of a better term "mile 23 pain."

After mile 14 I fell from a pace of 9:00-9:15 to around 9:45. Starting with the last mile in Hains Point, mile 19, I fell further to around 10:45-11:00, and basically stayed there the rest of the race.

On the bridge I was suffering and two perky girls eased past me, chatting as happily and calmly as if they were sitting on a Metro or something. Given how I was feeling, I couldn't believe it. I decided I would try to follow them and stuck behind them the rest of the way across the bridge trying to suck up some of their relaxed, not-in-the-slightest-pain vibe. It at least helped me focus and keep me from slowing down too much for a mile or two. For the rest of the race I continued to try latching onto just-slightly-faster-than-me people to keep me going.

The highlight was seeing my family at the Crystal City Spectacular, which was really cool and festive. I was really looking forward to that from when I first started to go downhill at mile 14. At the mile 23.5 aid station I walked for the first and only time, for about 60 seconds. That was enough to get me home.

The low point was the long stretch of Washington Blvd where it runs alongside the West (?) side of the Pentagon -- it was a depressingly long, ugly, straight stretch of road at a time when I was really ready to be done with this marathon. I was very glad to curl down to 110 -- even though there was still a while to go, it meant the end was really in sight.

Several people recommended that I write my name on my shirt and I felt really funny about doing that but by the time the 5th or 6th person recommended it, I decided to do it, and I also put a peace sign on there to counterbalance the militaristic side of the event a little and also make my statement about the state of the world. I'm so glad I did! It really made the race super-enjoyable. There were so many great, spirited spectators who filled me with good cheer all along the route, calling (or in some cases entire groups chanting) my name and yelling peace! and things like that, that it really made it super fun!

The only negativity in the whole experience was after the race was finished, when the poor setup and crowd control made for a very lengthy and frustrating time getting my bag and getting out of there.

Overall, it was a race of gradually increasing pain -- I could tell early on that no matter how slow I went this would not be one of those days where I had a little juice left over at the end, but a slog to the finish. But, it never got nearly as bad as my DDT triathlon run. (I like to imagine that that experience helped toughen me up mentally for situations like this -- but I'm not sure I'm really tough, perhaps just at the point where I'm resigned to being miserable sometimes (then again maybe there's no difference)). And no matter how miserable I was, the crowds always helped me take my mind off it.

Here is a graph showing my mile splits:

I would say it was tougher than my first 1/2 Ironman, but easier than the second.

I got a time of 4:18:50, and I am satisfied with that -- it is probably about what I would have placed money on getting. For what it's worth, my placement was as follows:

Overall: 6,983 out of 20,855 finishers
Men : 5,138/12,757
Men age 35-39: 1,047/2,395 (note that this category constitutes more than 10% of all the finishers!)

Generally, I was near the bottom of the top half of the field.

Race Report: Me versus the Lizard

Delaware Diamondman Triathlon
Sept. 10, 2006

People who have handicaps have to try harder, and one of my handicaps is absent-mindedness, so I stood in the transition area and stared down at my bike and towel for a really long time trying to figure out what I was forgetting.  Nothing. . . so, I was ready to head over to the mandatory pre-race meeting that was about to happen, after which we’d walk down the four-tenths of a mile path to the swim start.  All I had to do was put on my wetsuit and grab my swim cap and . . . goggles! Oops, back out to the parking lot to fetch them out of my backpack.  Did that, put on my wetsuit, and went over to listen to the meeting.  Then down through the woods to the waters of Lums Pond, which is actually despite the name quite sizeable.  I was part of the second wave (white caps).  Off went the reds, and then we piled in for our in-water start.  The slope was very gradual, and the bottom was very mucky and muddly.  We lined up between the two kayaks that were serving as our starting line and go!  It was off! 

I was surprised to see out of the corner of my eye that some of the guys were actually running in the water, which was at least knee-high despite the fact that we were some ways from shore, instead of swimming – looked to me like a really tiring way to start off a half iron man.  Anyway after colliding with a few swimmers in the first 30 seconds or so (and swallowing a mouthful of pond water – yum), I settled into a good rhythm and was off to the first buoy, which was to the right of our start on the counterclockwise course.  Went tightly around it (90-degree turn) for the long stretch to the turnaround, and noticed that most of the swimmers were quite far off to my right.  Seemed like they were taking it kind of wide – probably all following the same strong but slightly off-course leader.  I doubled checked my sighting & headed for the next buoy.  I looked around a lot trying to find someone to draft off of, since they say that really helps, but no one was nearby except red-cap back-of-the-packers – the whites were all way off to the right.  So I just swam.  The turnaround buoy was quite a distance away, and it took awhile. Part of the way through my throat got really dry so – what the hell – I sipped some pond water (I already had some in my stomach already, I figured). 

I figured that when I rounded the buoy people would bunch up and I’d find someone to draft off of – but no luck.  There was a bit of a clutch there, and someone right behind me, but the only people I saw were way ahead of me or red caps I was passing.  Coming around that buoy, I rammed into a guy who was swimming the wrong direction – I wonder what was up with that?  Anyway, I never did find anyone to draft off of.  But, my swim felt strong and consistent, and I felt good coming out of the water.  I buzzed past the rows of shoes people had left for themselves (the second time in my triathlon career that my barefoot running has helped me) and up that path back into the triathlon area.  (On the path I passed one woman; I remember she was wearing flip-flops.)  I kept looking for the timing mats but there were a lot of mats put down for runners’ comfort and I couldn’t tell where the timing mat was, and whether the long run from the water back to the bikes would be part of my T1 or my swim time.  As I ran into the bike area, people were standing around cheering us as we went by, and someone yelled to me, “white cap – good job!”  I was heartened to hear that confirmation that I was ahead of the bulk of the white caps. 

(I later learned that my swim time was 34:31, and my transition 1:15, making it clear that the mats were at the end of the run – and that I was probably a little faster on the swim that in my swim at the Kinetic of about 32:30.  Probably at least a good minute faster if the run was really 4/10 of a mile, but it didn’t seem that long).

Off with wetsuit – took longer than I’d like – on with shirt, pockets stuffed with 2 bananas, a bunch of gels and my bike gloves – on with helmet, and I wheeled my bike toward the bike-exit.  Jumped on in my bare feet and pedaled up to speed.  I was really glad to see that unlike most, this bike course did not begin with an uphill ride; it was a nice easy downward slope it seemed, which made for a relaxed start as I slid my feet into my shoes, tightened up the straps, took a good drink, got down into aero and settled in for the 56 mile ride.  Here’s a picture of me shortly after getting on the bike:

I felt good on the bike at first.  I tried to tell myself not to take it too hard, despite the stray people who were passing me, some at an alarming clip.  Remember, I reminded myself, constant effort feels too easy at first.  This was a good bike course for me – fairly flat with lots of nice, gradual hills and nothing too steep.  I like not being in the first wave, I decided, because instead of only being passed, I get to do some passing as well – it’s just better for morale.  It was a gorgeous, perfect day for a bike ride. 

Almost perfect, anyway.  As I rounded a corner and headed East in the direction of Delaware Bay, I got smacked right in the face with a Hains Point-level wind.  Tucked down tighter and kept on pedaling – and reminded myself that I’d have that wind at my back on the way home.  Throughout the rest of the jigsaw-shaped course, there were regularly times when a headwind was definitely a factor.  Somehow, I never really was able to appreciate the wind when it was at my back, I only noticed it when it was in my face.  (Perhaps we’re all Republicans at heart when it comes to biking – we’re super-conscious of every obstacle, but take our advantages for granted.  I sure noticed every time the wind slowed me down, but if I was going 40 km an hour on an uphill grade with barely a rise in my heart rate – well, that was just my God-given natural strength asserting itself.)

Here is a picture of the bike course (Lums Pond, antler-shaped, is visible top left – we started west, did a loop, then headed east on an out-and-back):

The only real hill was this giant bridge.  The web materials said something about a one-mile climb to get to the top of it – and it turns out they weren’t kidding.  Once I reached the top, heading south, there was a beautiful view of the Delaware bay off to my left – and a giant nuclear power plant with an enormous white plume of steam dominating the horizon straight ahead, which kind of killed the pastoral buzz.  From the bridge to the turnaround point (about the 30th to the 50th km in the 90 km course) I fell into kind of  a niche in the field, with no one passing me and not passing anyone – I began to feel almost alone out there.  At the water station I ditched my CVS tupperware water bottle I bought the evening before (complete with straw – my water bottle being another thing I forgot for the race). 

At some point the leader passed me going the other direction, and then a few minutes later, another, and then another.  I was heartened that I was only an estimated 2 km away from the turnaround and had only seen 4 guys pass me the other way (though there were a whole lot more in those 2 km).  When I hit the turnaround point, and saw the large numbers of bikers behind me, it knocked me out of my feeling of isolation by making me realize just how many people were back there, with nothing on their minds (or so I imagined) except passing me.

By the turnaround point I still felt quite strong – but I also felt quite uncomfortable.  For some reason, my butt was really hurting me (never usually a problem on long rides).  I realized that another thing I forgot before the race was to readjust my seat forward (it always slips back over time).  Plus I was wearing a new pair of tri shorts, maybe that was the problem.  Or, maybe I just hadn’t spent enough time training in prolonged aero position.  My feet and knees were also hurting some.  By the last quarter my shoulders were starting to hurt, and my back a little too.  So in the last 40 km of the ride I was kind of actually looking forward to getting off the bike & doing some running (ha! rueful laughter).  I remember feeling not so much tired as uncomfortable in the final half, quarter of the bike.  I certainly did not feel the pervasive weakness and burning in my thighs setting in that I felt on the more hilly Kinetic Half the previous April.  I kept it steady, probably was slowed down a little, but also did nothing like a burst of speed to the finish or anything like that. 

As I came into the transition area, I pulled my feet out of my shoes and did a moving hop from the bike straight into a jog without ever coming to a full stop – lots of fun!  I had also rubber-banded my shoes on the way out so I wouldn’t have to put them on.  Hardly necessary in a 5.5 to 6-hour race, but I figured it’s good practice and good not to get my cleats muddy (esp. on the way out), and again, just kind of fun.

Here is a picture of me at just about that point:

I actually forgot to look at my watch at this point, so I never had a precise knowledge of my performance at the time, but I had a general sense that I was doing quite well.  I later saw online that my time on the bike was 2:40:20, which I am pleased with.  My baseline was always to keep my speed above 30 km per hour in the 90 km race, which of course would mean a 3:00 time.  Here I averaged 33.5 km/h (almost 21mph), so I was happy with that.  It was a mostly flat course, of course, but I elevated my relative standing (always a rough measure but the only one I have) from 107 out of 204 in the Kinetic to 82nd out of 360.  (On the swim I’d gone from 41/204 to 47/360).

At this point in the race (exiting T2), later analysis reveals, I had a time of 3:14:51 and I was in 63rd place out of 270 male finishers.  If I could just equal my run from the Kinetic of 2:11, I’d finish with a very strong time of around 5:25.

Into transition, off with helmet.  Used gel packets out of right pocket.  Gloves out of right pocket (where I’d stuck them 5 minutes before end of bike).  On with socks.  On with shoes.  On with race belt.  Quickly search my duffel bag for my baseball cap;  I was kind of irked because online somewhere it said the run course was shady, but in the pre-race meeting – the one right before the swim after I’d already set up – he told us that it was totally exposed.  No luck in the duffel – I had left my baseball cap and broad-brimmed hat in the car.  Damn! I said.  I did grab these really cheap goofy-looking (but not in any Jackie-O kind of way) sunglasses I’d thrown in there almost as an afterthought. 

Out the gate I went, with my usual dread reluctance to get moving again after T2, and around the long curving road around the park camping area out to the main road.  After about 30 seconds I’d realized I forgot to take my one uneaten banana out of my left pocket (and my one used banana peel).  Damn! I said.   Then, before I even got to the exit of the park, alarm bells went off when I felt my right hamstring tightening up – CRAMP!!

Here is a picture of me probably shortly before that moment:

Damn! I said.  This was a first for me in a race, and something that has only hit me once, maybe twice in training.  I wondered if I was dehydrated (on the bike I had drunk one 32-oz bottle and 2 probably 24 or 28 oz bottles, was that enough? ) or needed salt or something.  It got tighter and tighter, and I started to flash on visions of DNFing.  By the time I crossed the highway to follow the road down to the canal, I was seriously limping.  I massaged my thigh as I ran, and ran without bending my right knee, and tried to will the cramp out of existence and run through it.  To my great relief, it started to fade and after another minute or so was gone, at least for now.  Fortunately I am forgetful – did I mention that – and forgot all about it and didn’t worry about it any more for the race and in fact it was not a factor after that. 

But, aside from the burdensome banana in my side and the fleeting leg cramp, I could tell this was not going to be a strong run.  I was feeling as poor in the first 30 minutes of this run as I had in the last 30 minutes of the runs that I considered my bad runs in training.  I started to get flashes on walking – the lower, ancient, reptilian parts of my brain were trying to order my higher (stupider?) lobes to come to a halt. When I start getting those signals, I know I’m in trouble. I think in the first aid station – which seemed to take *forever* to arrive – I may have actually stopped running ever so briefly to down water, something I never did once in the Kinetic (I also ditched the banana there).  I ran for 30 minutes, and I was really feeling oppressed psychologically by the sun bearing down on me, plodding along this miserable path alongside this miserable canal.  And I hadn’t put on sunscreen, which I heard inhibits sweating & thus cooling.  (Though the sad thing is that it was not really that hot, probably just a few degrees above 80).  Suddenly I looked up and the path split, and we were supposed to run up this really steep hill. And I saw this manly looking guy ahead of me, and he was walking up it.  And my reptilian brain ordered me to follow suit and my human brain allowed that if the other guy could walk then I suppose I could walk too, and I was always terrible at hills so that would be inefficient anyway I should save my energy for this flatter parts of this long run wouldn’t that be better in the end anyhow and there I was, I had lost my walking virginity. 

I walked up to the top, where there was an aid station, and walked through the aid station sucking in more water, and then started running again alongside my fellow walker, and tried to get in a conversation with him as a way of forgetting my pain, which worked quite well at the Kinetic, and that worked for a few minutes but this guy didn’t seem to want a running buddy, so I left him at the next aid station, where I again walked.  For the next seven miles or so it was a running battle between the Reptile and my Ego over whether to walk or run, and I ended up mostly running, except for 2:00 or 3:00 breaks at aid stations, or when there was a big hill, or when I got really tired.  Mostly I made it from aid station to aid station managing 10-minute runs or so, to the turnaround point and several miles back.  I drank a lot more than I did on the Kinetic.  At each aid station I took 2 waters and drank one and poured the other down my chest and back.  At one point I peed in my pants while I was walking – pouring so much water on myself it was barely noticeable I’m pretty confident (nontriathletes reading this – hard to imagine, but just in case – this is something that is done in long triathlons, not a sign of bodily collapse or anything).  Around the 8 or 9 mile point I took a gel.  Then I started to take some longer rests, like 4:00, in the hopes of restoring my strength for a good push home.  As it turned out I was mostly restoring my strength for new 10-minute runs. 

At the turnaround point, I turned around and got hit in the face with a nice stiff blast of wind – and it felt really good, cooled me right down.  I’ve never been demoralized by wind, it’s the sun that gets me down.

Around the 10-mile point, I saw it was about 5:08, and I realized that if I did a really strong final 5k I could come in not much past 5:30 and be very happy with the day despite my pathetic un-manly run. Around that point, I finally felt the resurgence of strength and inspiration I was waiting for, and I had a good run for 15 minutes or so.  But, my lizard brain had other ideas, and I soon lapsed back into my walk-run-walks, with my runs getting significantly shorter now, like every 3-4 minutes.  At one point I did a walk and started to run, only to come around a corner 60 seconds later and see a big hill, and so I walked again.  No pride left whatsoever. At this point the Lizard was not just demanding that I stop running and walk, but that I lie down in the bushes on the side of the path and curl up into the fetal position.  I gave up on the goal of a good time, and then fell back on the goal of beating my time from the Kinetic, which was 5:42:50.  As time went on and the Lizard kept making me walk, I began to increasingly worry I was going to miss even that.

All throughout the run, vast swarms of racers sped past me.  Though I did vaguely recall seeing a lot of people running the other direction for quite some time after the turnaround – by the end, I doubted that there was anyone who was going to finish thsi race behind me.  All I could think was, I swam so well!  I biked so well! And now look at all these people – young, old, men, women – people who swam & bike way slower than me – speeding past me with such ease! What a waste!  There were 4-5 guys who were kind of in my boat, at least.  I kept passing them as they walked, & they me as I walked.  I grew to hate each of them.  In fact, I hated pretty much anything that came into my visual field at this point. 

I was so pathetic that even after I saw the 12-mile marker, I still took a walk.  Finally, when I saw runners ahead of me crossing the road ahead, from the right side of the road where we were running, across to the entrance to the park, I decided enough was enough and I was going to run until the end if it killed me, and besides I had to beat my Kinetic time.  So I “sped” off and quickly entered the park onto the campground road, and quickly got a reminder of just how damned *long* that road was.  It was the longest 7:33 of the day from that last walk to the finish line, and I think the Lizard would have won out and I probably would have walked even there if my higher brain was not so conscious of all the people along the road cheering me on and how really, really pathetic it would be to start walking so near the finish line.

So it actually did just about kill me it felt like but made it across the finish line, and steadied myself against a railing while they clipped off my timing chip and gave me the finisher’s medal, and then I let the Lizard have his way and I hobbled over to a shady tree and lie down flat on my back spread-eagled on the grass for a good long time. 

Here is a picture of me at the finish line:

I saw from my watch that I did beat my Kinetic time, preserving some semblance of a moral victory, with an overall time of 5:41:34 – admittedly only 1:16 quicker, but quicker nonetheless. 

The big question for me was just how bad was my run.  Looking at my chrono splits (one thing I was good at was hitting the button almost every time I stopped or started running), I see I walked for a total of about 29:00.  With the splits finally out now on Tuesday, I see my run time was an execrable 2:23:49, or nearly 11:00 per mile. 

On the other hand, for all the walking I did I was only 14 minutes slower than my Kinetic run, where I never walked.  Then again, 14 minutes is a lot of time in a race.

I finished 136th out of 270 male finishers, and 35/63 in the 35-39 age group.  That means I had been passed by 73 men on the run -- more than all those ahead of me before the run.

It’s not clear what the problem was.  The possibilities include:

• Not enough tapering (did a hard ride and a long run and a solid swim the weekend before). 
• Not enough brick workouts or workouts longer than about 2 or 3 hours. 
• Went too hard on the bike. 
• Didn’t drink and/or eat enough, and got dehydrated or low on sugar. 
• Poorly acclimated or trained for runs in the sun. 
• Not mentally tough enough and allowed myself that initial walk which let the lazy Lizard establish dominance.

Now, Tuesday, my legs are very sore – good sore (muscles building), not bad sore (joints or ligaments), if that’s any clue.  The good news was that during the run, leg soreness was never a problem for me, as it has been in the past on long runs; I think I’ve trained my way past that problem for runs under 14 miles.  My problem was cardio tiredness. 

I lean toward the explanation fof needing more tapering, and possibly dehydration/lack of sugar, since I didn’t feel like I spent myself on the bike and looking back at my Kinetic race report I’m not sure I ate enough this time.  I also really wished I had my big hat. 

In any case, I know I need to do more bricks, a little more taper perhaps, and keep working on that run.  After lying on my back under a tree for a while, the desire for food finally overcame the desire not to move (all decisions were entirely up to my reptilian brain at this point) and I helped myself to the yummy grinders, potato chips and tangerines, packed up my bike & transition stuff, changed my clothes, & hopped in the minivan to drive home.

I didn’t feel great about the race when I finished, my feelings being dominated by that ugly run, but I’m feeling better and better about it as I get a little more distance and perspective.  I did what I had to do to get through it and I beat my Kinetic time and I made the top half of the field, and if I can improve my run without sacrificing my bike, I’ll be in pretty respectable shape.

Full results at
http://www.piranha-sports.com/images/OVERALLRESULTSFINALforDT2006.pdf 

A navigable Google map of the bike course is at
http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/?r=383178

Bath County Triathlon 2006

On June 24, 2006, we (me and my friends Dave, Erik and Ron) did the Bath County sprint triathlon for the second year in a row.  It was fun to see how I would do as a comparison to my very first triathlon -- and it was not great.  I went into this thinking it would be a cakewalk after having done a half iron race in the intervening year.  Wrong! A sprint is a totally different beast, and training in extended endurance does not necessarily translate into performance at the higher-heart rate sprint distance. I did shave a few minutes off my time, but I was hoping to improve on all three events, yet my swim was actually slower and my run just about the same. 

Swim: 13:26
T1: 0:36 (2nd fastest overall! starting barefoot on the bike and wearing no wetsuit really helped here)
Bike: 38:10
T2: 0:32
Run: 25:32 (last year's was 26:11 but that included T2)
Total: 1:18:14
38/138 finishers
7/24 in 35-39 age group

Actually, looking at these numbers I guess I did better than I felt like I had at the time. . .

Race report: Aluminum Man

Kinetic Lake Anna Half Ironman
April 22, 2006

Our (my friend Dave & my) main questions heading down to the race were #1, would the race be cancelled because of the thunderstorms that were forecast for Saturday, and #2, what kinds of times would we be able to do.  Never having done a half Ironman before we were really unsure what to expect on that -- I knew I could do the 1.2 mile swim in a pool in 31 minutes, but the bike & run were unknowns.  In the few 50+ mile training rides we'd done, it had taken us around 4 hours - and when we were done, I can tell you, we were in no mood to run 13.1 miles.  In the one half marathon distance training run we did, it took us 2 hours flat.   But that was fresh.  Six hours for the whole race looked like a daunting time -- looking at the times for last year's race, we realized that the kinds of times we were looking at would put us in about the 80th percentile or lower, quite a difference from the races we did last year , the sprint and olympic distance tri's , where we came in the top third or half or so without too much effort.  But looking at the times for the Half, we realized that this was a much more serious group of people.  But we didn't really care about that so much as whether we could a) finish it and b)  as a secondary goal, do so in under 6 hours.  That would require a bike of about 3 hours, a run of about 2 hours, a solid swim of about 35 minutes, and 25 minutes leeway to play with (and for the 2 transitions).

Race morning we got up at 5:15 for our high-carb breakfast, and headed over to Lake Anna State Park.  It was cloudy but no rain and the streets were actually mostly dry despite the rain most of Friday.  We got to the setup area, checked out the layout, dipped our toes into the lake (not as cold as we had feared) got our packets and timing chips, got body-marked, and began setting up.  I pumped up my tires and had a problem with the valve on my front tire and got a little frustrated and tense.  Then the setup got really frantic for me -- as I was wheeling my bike to the transition area, the back tire blew (it's possible that I overinflated it accidentally due to my frustration with the front tire, or the new tube I'd just put in may have been defective).  So then I had to change the rear tube, which took a while, and then I was running late, and then I realized I'd left my race packet in Dave's van that had my race number and safety pins and swim cap in it, and then a referee told me I couldn't race because I was missing a plug for one of my handelbars, so I had to go over to the bicycle support guy, and then rush down to the beach for the final announcements from the race director.  I saw Dave, said good luck, and barely had time to rip the tag off my wetsuit (a rental that, as it happened, was brand new) before the horn blew and the race was on.   By this point, I felt like I'd already run a race, of some kind.  But all I can say is thank god the tube had the good grace to blow BEFORE the race. 

The water felt surprisingly warm when we dipped our toes in earlier, but diving in all the way, even in the wetsuit (mine was sleeveles) took my breath away.  I plowed on and the feeling passed, and I bumped and jostled a few other swimmers but it wasn't bad, and settled into a pretty good rhythm, neither super aggressive for a 1.2 mile distance nor relaxed.  I found a good pair of feet to draft behind for a good half of the first loop.  Then it was out of the water, up on the beach, around the pylon, and back in the water for the second time around the bouys.  Coming into the water, I was quite winded -- my heart rate mst have skyrocketed in the effort of getting in and out of the beach.  Ideally that is something that I would have practiced -- the fastest way to get out of the water on a gradual beach; when to stand, when to keep swimming, when to porpoise dive, etc, and most importantly how to do it all without it feeling like a little wind sprint.  But soon I settled back down to my normal rhythm.  Going past one of the faraway buoys I did a 90 degree turn only to plow into a guy who was going straight; I looked up and realized this wasn't the buoy I was supposed to turn at -- sorry dude whoever you were.  I found another swimmer I also drafted behind for much of the second half of that lap. Soon enough I was at the beach again and the race was over.  Overall I felt quite good about the swim.  I was in my usual swimming rhythm, felt comfortable except for my wetsuit was too tight (should have tried it on when I picked it up at Bonzai but was in a hurry) which constricted my breathing a little, but not cold or tired.

Up the beach again, this time into the transition area at an easy trot, and over to my towel.  Definitely took the transition a little slower than I usually do knowing that this was going to be, if I was lucky, a 6-hour race, and because I hadn't had time to make sure things were organized as well as I would have liked.   On with my shirt, and then jammed a bunch of food in the back (too much, in retrospect). I forgot to set my split timer on my watch as I ran across the timing mat, but I looked at it at some point in the middle of the transition and saw it was at 33:00 something, which meant I had come at least within the neighborhood of my best time for the distance in the pool, 31:18.  Later I found out my swim split was 32:30 which I was happy with.  Even though I was wearing a wetsuit which is supposed to speed you up, I also had to deal with naviating, jostling other swimmers, the short beach run between laps, and most of all the less-than-straight line I know I followed throughout the course. (Not doing flip turns and getting the push off a wall is an unknown quantity to me; in theory it speeds you up but it may also tire you out on a long swim and I get my best times on 50-meter pools where you do only half as many turns). 

Except for the first half hour or so, the bike ride was fine.  The first 20 minutes or so of the bike was mostly uphill, and it made me realize that in training I usually get a bit more of a breather after my swims before biking, and that makes a difference.  Then of course there were the guys steadily streaming past me.   The number of people who are faster swimmers than me but slower bikers is just about zero, but the converse is much more common and they all passed me.  I was thinking before hand of having a t-shirt made that said on the back in big letters: "Caution: Swimmer - pass with care" The rate of people passing me slowed down but there was a big burst at first, and it can be a little demoralizing even for those who have no ambition of competing with the guys on the $5,000 bikes (I have a bike that I'm very pleased with, would probably retail for $1,300 or something new, someone told me, but at this event I felt like I was riding a Huffy . There was a lot of really really nice equipment on display). Also I was drinking my Accelerade -- it was 55 minutes into the race and I knew I needed the liquid and the carbs -- but it was tasting really nasty, and I tried to eat half a Cliff bar and, though I usually like them, I could barely get it down.  After that I stuck to bannanas and gels (which I don't usually like very much on training rides & runs) both of which went down really easily.   

Another lesson: I vowed to get a racing belt next time, because my number, which was pinned to my shirt, was filling up like a sail.  Who knows how much it slowed me down but it had a psychological effect.   Plus I started to realize a lot of the bikers weren't even wearing their numbers, making me realize it was only really required for the run - damn. 

Did I mention that it finally started to rain about 9 minutes into the bike? It continued to do so for about the next 2 hours ranging from steady rain to drizzle, but it was warm enough out and didn't really pose a problem.  I barely noticed when it stopped; I was just glad there was no thunderstorm. 

The first loop through beautiful Virginia farmland went quickly, and the second was more work.  The riders of course stretched out; there was about a 20-minute period at one point where I couldn't see any bikers in front of or behind me.  I  had the hopeful thought that maybe I had been passed by my last biker.   But then a wave of super-duper athletes on their super-duper bikes went raging by me.  I noticed the "Q" marked on their calves and realized these guys were doing the Quarter IM, which started 30 minutes behind us, and were leading the pack. 

In the second half of the second bike loop, which felt, at least, to be mostly uphill, I was getting pretty tired, and I could feel the lactic acid buildup in my muscles as they got tireder and tireder  and weaker and weaker on the hills. 

Did I mention that there was a 12-year-old kid doing the Half?  Did I mention that he passed me on the bike about 10 minutes before the finish of the bike (never to be seen again by me). It's definitely important in races to stay focused on one's OWN performance and not get enticed into going too fast and tiring oneself out.  In my own terms, I was very happy to see that my average speed, which I had been keeping an eye on throughout, remained above 30 km per hour, which meant that I would break my goal of 3 hours for the approximately 90 km of the bike leg.   My bike split turned out to be 2:55:03, which I was very happy with considering my earlier doubts about being able to break 3 hours.   

A nice final downhill ride back through Lake Anna State park, dodging the numerous people who were already on the run (many of whom, at least I could remind myself, were doing the quarter), and then back into the transition area, where I finally figured out where my bike tool kit and my bodyglide were when I tried to put on my running shoes (I'd forgotten, I stuck them inside).  Good thing I didn't need the tool kit!  I emptied out the garbage from the pocket in the back of my jersey (empty gel packs, bananna peel, water bottle tops, etc.), changed shoes, and it was off to the half marathon! 

Wow did my legs hurt!  When we first started doing this I remember being shocked at the feeling you get in your legs when you try to run after a hard bike.  But I had long since gotten past that on my training bike/runs, even the short 5k's Dave & I did after some of our 50+ mile rides.  But after 2:55 riding hard at race pace, the brick legs were back with a vengeance!  I must have looked like the most pathetic, decrepid nanogenarian as I left the transition area (didn't help that the path included a steep grass embarkment).  But I shuffled along, comforted by the knowledge that it usually gets better after a few miles -- which it did, after about a mile or two.  Of course, people were regularly streaming by me.  There was one guy I noticed after a while who was ahead of me -- and for some reason actually not pulling further ahead.  I ran behind him for about 2 miles and then when he slowed down at an aid station to drink I was next to him and we began chatting, and I ran next to him (Tim from MD) for the rest of the race, which helped to make the miles go by faster as we did some chatting and also gave me someone to suffer with ("my god, we've come around this corner and the turnaround point is STILL not in sight?!!!").  Tim was also a swimmer - a damned good one actually -- which explained why he was running at my pace. 

After the second turnaround on the Y-shaped course (which we ran 2 loops of, or 6 out-and-backs), I saw Dave go by in the other direction which was also fun.  I was suprised how close behind me he was considering that Dave was in the second wave to go into the water 5 minuts after mine, and I realized he was also running a pretty good race -- and in fact was sure to pass me on the run, he being a much stronger runner than I am.  But as the run progressed I realized he was further back than I thought though he did do the run like 8 minutes faster than me.

Tim and I settled into a tolerable platueau of suffering and got through the first loop and the next 4 miles pretty well, but the last stretch seemed to go on forever and I began to seriously ask myself what in the HELL I was doing out there and how pointless it all was (and Triathlons ARE completely pointless - just like music and art and life itself I guess).  But I never stopped running, not even in the aid stations where it was hard to drink from their cups without walking, because my personal experience in training is that once I stop deep into a long run all kinds of pain comes to the fore and then doesn't go away once I start running again.  I took 3 gels during the run with no stomach discomfort or nausea at all -- they were quite enjoyable actually. 

Finally we got into the home stretch, still running alongside Tim even though both of us had given up on conversation several miles back.  We went down a steep hill into the finishing funnel, and I sped up letting gravity pull me as I always like to do running down hills, and then I saw a guy running slowly ahead of us and was inspired to speed up even more to pass him and then found that I coulud sustain the sprint-to-the-finish even though it turned out to be the longest finishing funnel I'd ever seen, going on and on through all kinds of twists and turns, I kept pouring on the speed and it felt great (even though I felt kinda bad that Tim might think I was just sprinting to get ahead of him which was not what I set out to do).

Then, across the finish line (the announcer misread my name as I came across "from Arlington, Virginia, JAN Stanley" -- oh well).  As soon as I stopped running, I instantly felt like I could barely move or walk, but I forced myself to pace around for a few minutes until Dave came across, and cheered him on, and then gave him a hearty slap on the back -- we had done it!  Less than 6 hours!! We were half-ironmen!!    (Let's see, the element iron has the atomic number 26, and half of 26 is 13, so, according to the periodic table, we are, yes,  ladies and gentlemen . . . Aluminum Men!!)

My run time was 2:10:56, which I was pleased enough with, considering that I ran it in 2:00 flat starting fresh. That was a pace of just about 10:00 per mile, quite a bit slower than my usual relaxed training pace of 9:00 - 9:30 but good enough to let me make my 6:00 goal with time to spare.  My final time was 5 hours, 42 minutes, 50 seconds.  Out of the 204 people who finished the race, that put me in 108th place, or just above the 50th percentile mark, which I feel content with.  But mostly I felt a deep satisfaction that I had set such a goal for myself and actually done it - corny but true.

Race report: Sea Colony Olympic Triathlon 2005

2005 Sea Colony Make-A-Wish Triathlon (International distance)
Sept. 24, 2005

I left our rental condo in Sea Colony’s tennis community at 5:40 AM to meet my friend Ron in the parking lot to ride our bikes down to the race.  When I opened the front door, I got hit in the face by an enormous blast of warm air.  It was windy.  Very windy.  My first thought was that the bike ride was going to be very challenging.  My second thought was that the surf was going to a lot higher than it was the day before, when it was almost lake-like in its calmness. 

We rode down to the race area, which was behind the large oceanside Sea Colony towers, did our bike inspections, racked our bikes in the transition area, and started to set up our stuff.  I realized I forgot my water bottles, so I rode back to our place to get those, then set out my towel and began arranging my equipment on it.  Meanwhile Ron was talking about how intense the wind was between the condo towers.  Then, we started to hear rumors that the swim would be cancelled.  “No way! That’s the only event I’m any good at!”  That was something I’d heard of happening at triathlons, but it hadn’t occurred to me things were that bad.  I decided to walk up to the beach to take a look for myself.  As I was walking up, a guy with a bullhorn was walking beside me, obviously a race volunteer, saying something about the surf.  “They CAN’T cancel the swim,” I said, “it’s just a few waves.” We got to the end of the boardwalk where a small gaggle of people were gathered.  The guy with the bullhorn looked out at the enormous sea of very large, very white breakers and declared, “the swim is cancelled.”  Turns out he was the race director, and he had just made the call.  A bunch of volunteers began barking into their walkie-talkies.  He then explained apologetically to me and the handful of others standing there, that the coast guard was not going out, they couldn’t get the kayakers out past the surf to oversee the swim, the buoys had been washed away over night, there were 40mph gusts of wind and an 8-foot surf, quite likely some powerful rip currents, and “this is a charity event, not the Hawaii Ironman.”  He also said his operating assumption was that most people are amateurs at open swims, and that it was not worth it to have one person drown.  I was very, very disappointed.  But I had to admit he was right, it was the only call to make.  The surf was VERY rough, the result of a tropical storm called Philippe that hardly anyone was aware of because of all the attention paid to Hurricane Rita hitting the gulf coast.  It would have been an exciting challenge for me but this guy was in charge of a race with 1,000 people ages 16 into their 70s.  As he said, “someone is going to drown.” Later, the race director explained all this to the assembled racers, and that in lieux of the swim we would be doing a half-mile beach run.  So, it was to be a duathlon, run-bike-run.  Not good for me, considering running is my weakest event.  All the training I’d done!  I was disappointed and cursing the bad luck – good weather on Friday, good weather on Sunday, on race day a tropical storm – but there was nothing to be done but race it. 

All 1,000 racers walked down the beach to the starting line.  Then, with the wind whipping through our hair, the skies threatening rain, and the enormous surf roaring to our left, we lined up to race.  My friend Ron and I were in the 3rd wave, and our friend Dave was in the 5th wave.  Each wave started 5 minutes apart.  If you’ve ever tried running in sand, it is incredibly tiring.  On the beach, you’re much better off running right along the surf, where the sand is wet and hard.  So it seemed like a no-brainer to me.  But, surprisingly, only a few of us ran along the water; most of the runners ran higher up on the beach.  It turned out there was a very good reason for this. 

I had been trying to work on my running for the past several months, and in particular trying to figure out how to run long distances without knee pain.  There’s a whole school of thought on the internet that the best way to do that is to throw away your running shoes and run barefoot (for a taste see www.runningbarefoot.org).  Who knows if these guys are nuts or brilliant mavericks who have seen the light.  You quickly learn when researching sports medicine that the first rule is that nobody knows nothin’.  For every authoritative opinion, there is an equally authoritiative opinion holding the opposite.  For the most part, actual scientific studies are few and far between, especially studies that have been repeatedly confirmed.  Plus, everyone’s body is different.  You have to use your own judgment as a filter, be experimentalist and trust your own experience.  But I found many of the arguments of the barefoot runners persuasive (just to be clear: these guys run marathons, on city streets, barefoot) so I had been working on learning to run barefoot. 

It turns out the hardest part of running barefoot is not toughening up the soles of your feet, it’s strengthening your foot muscles and tendons and ligaments, their having atrophied and weakened inside the unnaturally confined space of shoes (so these guys say).  I was nowhere ready to run 10k barefoot, but I was able to run half that on a soft track, and shorter distances on asphault.

   
People who hear about barefoot running think it’s sounds nutty (which makes it even more fun as far as I’m concerned).  But when they announced the beach run, there was no question how I’d be running it.  I was delighted to put my training into practice.  That allowed me to run along the edge of the surf without worry about getting my shoes soaking wet like most of the competitors.  The result was I did much better than I ordinarily would in a running contest.  In fact, I finished in front of my friends Ron and Dave, who are ordinarily faster runners than me.  The only problem was that there was a sand shelf at the edge of the surf and two or three times when a strong wave hit I found myself in water up to my knees – but that passed in a few seconds and meanwhile I was able to stream along the hard, smooth sand.  At the end I had to cross the deep dry stuff to leave the beach and it was much harder work.  We ran up some ramps, between the towers, down some ramps, across the parking lot, and into the transition area, where I quickly brushed some of the sand off my feet, put on my socks, biking shoes, and helmet, and it was off to the 36k (22 mile) bike leg.

The bike was a straight out-and-back affair on Route 1 along the shore, North from Rehobath to Dewey and back.  On the way up, I was feeling really good, maintaining a decent 34 km per hour pace without too much strain.  Then I remembered that I’d had this feeling before . . . . In my training at Hains Point in Washington I sometimes felt myself going really well, only to hit the turnaround and bam! run into a terrific headwind that unbeknownst to me had been speeding me along until that point.  So I was worried about the ride home on this very windy, gusty day.  My friend Ron didn’t catch up to me until the bridge about halfway to the turnaround, which gladdened my heart (who else could I compare myself to? It sure wasn’t the pro guys up front on their $8,000 bikes. . .)  Due to construction there was a strict no-passing-on-the-bridge policy in effect, and just as Ron reached me we got stuck behind a slow guy on a mountain bike, so we had a chance to chat and rest for a few minutes, and then we got off the bridge and Ron was off – but I actually managed to stay right behind him (though not drafting of course) the rest of the way to the turnaround, which also gladdened my heart.  At the turnaround I slowed down to eat a sugar gel, and Ron accelerated out of my view.  But it turned out that the ride back was even easier than the way out – the wind must have been mostly from the side, angled slightly south.  Much of the ride I was going 43 km/hr or even more, a speed I normally hit only on hills.  Overall, the bike ride was enjoyable and I was very happy with my time of 1:01:54 (average speed: just under 36km/hour, or 22mph). 

One other factor that made it nice was the fact that I actually passed a fair number of people rather than being purely a pass-ee like at my first triathlon at Bath County, which was demoralizing.  That was because I wasn’t in the first wave as I was at Bath County, and because there was no swim that put me ahead of a lot of people who were must better cyclists than me.

The second transition went smoothly – off with my biking shoes and helmet, on with my running shoes.  I had purchased some “running flats” – shoes that provide all the cushioning and support of bedroom slippers, favored by the barefoot running crowd – but had decided my feet were not ready to run that distance in those yet.  So I put on my cushion-y regular running shoes and it was off for the 10k run (6.2 miles) and the most painful part of the event.  As I started, I saw Meg and the kids, and they cheered me on, which was a delight (my friends Tim and Koraly who have a house at Bethany had also graciously shown up to cheer me on, but I missed them in the blur of the crowd).  The first mile was the worst, but after about 10 minutes I began to settle into a better pace, and while not exactly enjoyable, the next 3 miles or so weren’t too bad.  A couple of minutes before the turnaround, it was nice to see another friendly face as I passed Ron who was on his way back home.  By the last two miles, I was really ready for this race to end.  The most demoralizing thing was to look up and see this tall building way, way in the distance and realize that was where the finish line was. (Now I know why I always run staring at the ground in front of me, despite all the advice from the (supposed) experts to keep one’s head up . . . ).  Then it was across the finish line, past a blur of faces and into the crowd to find my friends and family and hit the delicious food at the post-race picnic.  I was quite pleased with my run time of 51:18, considering I’d never run a full 10k before, even fresh or in practice.  Still, among the 98 guys in my age bracket (35-39), I placed only 52nd in the run, while I came in 24th in the bike and 14th in the beach run.  Overall, I came in 34th place among the 98, and 132nd out of the 505 finishers with a total time of just under two hours (1:58:43). 

The next morning, the weather was much nicer, and Ron and Dave and I went down to the beach and did an ocean swim.  The surf was still somewhat high – enough to remind me just how tough it would have been to try swimming the morning before.  It was bad luck that the storm came through on race day, and a bitter disappointment not to do my best event and a real triathlon, but it was still a lot of fun and I was pleased with my times. 

Race report: Bath County '05

The first real triathlon I ever did was the Bath County Triathlon in southwestern Virginia in June of 2005.  I never wrote up a race report but it was a thrilling introduction to the sport that I now enjoy so much.

Ron, Dave, me & and Erik; me on bike.

I came in 56 out of 126 male finishers, 14/27 in my 35-39 age group. 

Swim (750 meters): 13:09
T1: 1:08
Bike (20 km): 40:47
Run (5k) + T2: 26:11
Total time: 1:21:13

I really had a good time, my family & friends told me I was smiling the whole time (as above)!

Race reports

Just for fun and to provide some initial content for this blog I've decided to stick my race reports on here as kind of a record of the races I've done.

The first triathlon-like event I ever did was called the "Manassas Mini-tri."  My friend Dave Turvene & I did it nearly two years ago on May 15, 2005.  It was kind of a joke -- the swim was just 250 yards for example -- but it was a good way to do a trial run of a triathlon and see how they work, with the paraphenalia, transitions, etc. I was already by that point really enthused about our upcoming first "real" triathlon, the Bath County the next month, but Dave had been tentative.  The Mannassas Mini-Tri was enough to get him hooked.

Swim (250 yards) 3:15
Bike (3 miles + T1 & T2)      13:42
Run (1.1 mile)        11:00 (!)