Ah... the memories...

I personally look forward to having a few physical memories of the race events I participate in, so I love that most events hire professional photographers that dot different parts of the course to catch each athlete in motion. At least I love the idea of it… don’t always like the results though, especially if those photographs come back making you look a little less like an athlete and more like a middle aged guy trying to be an athlete. Prime example… my recent race, the OC Int’l Tri... I still contend that these were just bad shots…

Here I am coming out of the water in full form… What I was hoping for was a dramatic photo of me in triumph getting ready to take on the bike… instead, a photo of me obviously trying to get some of the water I inhaled out through my nose… just not right…

Here’s another gem of me on my bike… it’s sort of an action shot, right?

I need to get a new helmet, because obviously this one is too big… makes my head look larger than it is. The lighting seems to be off too, because I know I don’t look that “sausage” like normally when wearing ultra tight spandex. And the photographer must have had a great motion capture lens or something, because they somehow captured me in mid-bike when I was screaming down the bike course… funny, because it almost looks like I’m barely moving…

Alright… run portion. Not horrible photos, but they somehow made me look like I’m sixty… and white!...

Oh wait!... I’m behind that guy! Yes ladies and gentlemen… a permanent record that shows me getting beat by a 60 year old… totally awesome.

But the the truth is this… when I go through the motions I really feel like I look like this…

But God is absolutely hilarious and gives me glimpses of reality that dig into my ego with shots like this…

Ah… lessons in humility with generous doses of reality...

But at the very least, I could say that I do share one thing with the elite triathlete or top age grouper… and that is the desire to push myself further and farther than I’ve ever thought possible… and that I do with the best of them...

By the way... occassionally I do get a photo I love... a memorable moment that I'm glad was captured... no matter how raw...

Me? Swim 1500 meters in open water?

It’s Monday, May 23^rd… which means May 22^nd weekend came and went without major incident mind you (all Armageddon jokes aside) and the date that loomed so heavily in my mental and emotional scope is now in my past. The fact that I’m writing this means I did not drown or get eaten by some freak monster fish while swimming in Mission Viejo Lake for my first real triathlon. Yes, I survived the 1500 meter open water swim… but not without a few hiccups…

 5:00am - I had terrible sleep the entire weekend, so my mind and body were not sharp when I woke up race morning… (note to self: do not allow a group of 10 year olds hopped up on soda and cup cakes to sleep over the weekend of a race). But I was still excited to get to the race, so I quickly got myself out of bed, grabbed my gear and headed out of the house with some uncertainty. I was anxious and nervous… my wife knowing this, she came out to the driveway just as I was about to leave with a hug, a kiss and a “you’ll do great!”… I loved the gesture and found myself smiling with a little more confidence driving away from the house.

 5:35am - I arrived at Mission Viejo Lake and the streets were already swarming with the energy of hundreds of athletes ready to take on the day… and I was one of them, just not as slim and athletic looking. After parking, I made my way to the body marking station and then to the bike transition area where I found very little space to set up my gear. After walking by bike after bike I squeezed my way in between two unattended bikes and set up my spot. I was anxious and nervous, so after placing my bike I kind of fumbled around my gear bag not entirely mindful of what I should have been doing. After a few deep breaths I tried to focus. I began to set up my area… helmet, bike shoes, glasses, race bib… all being set in order. After my transition was set I began soaking in the morning. “I’m here… I’m really doing this!” I thought to myself. I checked my watch and my 7am wave start was coming up, just like my breakfast… yes, I felt a little sick to my stomach. I kept having to take deep breaths to calm myself. My friend Brad was there, who I got into this mess with, but he seemed much less nervous than I was. So we chatted briefly… but I can’t remember anything we talked about, except that he pointed out we were the only ones that didn’t quite look like we belonged… made me feel awesome because sadly… he was right.

 6:35am - After fumbling to get my wet suit on, I made my way down to the swim start. My stomach turned with nervous anticipation at what I was about to take on. In a matter of minutes I would do something that just a few weeks earlier seemed a far off dream. “Oh man… why did I think this was a good idea?!” I thought to myself as my stomach tried to claw its way to my throat. I eventually made my way to the shoreline where hundreds of neoprene clad “triathletes” were all taking in the site of the water in the early morning gray. I stared out toward the first buoy and fear suddenly struck… “Holy crap… how am I going to do this!?” The first buoy marker seemed an impossible distance for me to swim. I looked around to see whether or not anyone else looked as scared as I felt… Nope, it was just me. So I said a quick prayer… and made my way in the water for a quick dip before the race started to help get me comfortable. I swam out about 100 meters and came back… I felt okay. It started to seem less impossible... after all, it's just swimming... right?

 7:00am - The call from the announcer, “Wave 1… All silver caps to the start area… 3…2…1…BBBAAAHHHH!”… Frantic rush to the water. The splash of 64 bodies simultaneously hitting the water made for confusion and chaos… but I was there in the thick of it, mindlessly rushing in. I began to stroke through the water to get some rhythm, but bodies were hitting me from all sides… I felt arms on my legs and legs on my arms… but I kept trying to press on. I started to go through everything I had read and everything I had been taught to try and ease my growing panic … “easy stroke, relaxed breathing, strong catch and sight”. After a few strokes I lifted my head to sight but took in water, Gag! Cough!... didn’t work… so I decided to follow the feet in front of me. I kept a steady even stroke and kept following my guide. After what seemed like eternity, which I’m sure was only 2 or 3 minutes, I decided to make another effort at sighting… this time perfect, eyes just above the water… “Wait! I’m going the wrong way!” I followed the wrong guy, because we both ended up what seemed like 100 meters off course. I was stricken by panic. I took a quick look back at shore and although it seemed like I was swimming for an eternity, I was only about 200 meters from where I started. Fear immediately began to creep in… in that moment I thought about giving up… I’m off course and I’ve barely made a dent in the swim. In that brief moment I began seriously doubting my ability to finish the swim… But then Phillipians 4:13 then crept into my fear stricken mind… “I can do all things through Him who strengthens me…” My doubt began to fade… and the thought of my wife and kids waiting at the finish line began to erase the fear… Determination began to take over. So I started swimming again. My stroke and catch began to take shape. I hit the first buoy and I was overjoyed… “I’m doing this!!!” I thought to myself in near disbelief. I felt great… I pressed on… I sighted the last buoy marker to the turn out and I smiled because in the weeks leading up to this, I thought, “if I could just finish the swim I’ll be able to finish the race…” and here I was, about to complete the swim.

 7:38am - I hit the shore after swimming for 38 minutes! Not fast by any means… in fact, I think you can consider that pretty slow, but I still felt great… Heck, I finished and I kept my dignity intact… can’t ask for much more.

I won’t bore you with any more details because the remainder of the day is not as important. It was just biking and running, both of which I love… but not worth giving a blow by blow. But the rest of the race flew by and I finished blissfully. In fact, I did it with all smiles and a few “wwwoooohhhoooo!!!” along the way. I rode and ran through the hills of Lake Forest and Mission Viejo feeling like I accomplished something on this Sunday morning… Oh wait! I did accomplish something dang it! I just finished my first Olympic distance triathlon and faced some fears along the way… so yeah, that explains why I was all smiles… Like so many things in life, starting something unfamiliar is always toughest in the beginning… and on this Sunday the last 31 miles of my day was not nearly as difficult as the first .93 miles…

Too Little... To Late...

10 days until my first real Triathlon! Swimming 1500 meters (.93 miles), biking 40k (24.85 miles), and closing with a 10k (6.2 miles) will be the culmination of very little work, very little discipline, and blind optimism… Simply put… I’m dead! “Too little, too late” will haunt me come May 22^nd. I may be the first swimmer to call for Lifeguards within the first 100 meters of the swim… If I make it out of the swim and manage to get on my bike, I’ll be the guy puking on the side of Santiago Canyon rd desperately calling for “momma”… and if I make it out of the bike, which would be a miraculous act of God, you may find me walking at the back of the pack calling for “time out!” every few steps. Just thinking about it is making me a little sick… ugh!

Over reacting? Maybe… I certainly trained harder and am much more disciplined than I’m leading on, but logic still tells me I’m under prepared. And I don't mean just a little unprepared... I really mean alot unprepared. Lesson here? Stick to your training program!

Example... A few weeks ago I signed up for an open water session. I went into the session with the afore mentioned blind optimism, thinking that I would be able to perform every drill with ease... after all, I had committed weeks upon weeks swimming lap after monotonous lap… How can I not get through a few drills and a 1200 meter swim? I stuck to my training almost... I almost felt okay in the swim... how can I not find success swimming in open water for the first time? (the following photo is proof of my naivety... note the look of promise and hope...) 

Well, shortly after drill number four I was done. Sprawled out on the sand... nauseous... dizzy... embarrassed. I no longer looked this at ease... I no longer had any confidence... in fact, that day may have started what I'm feeling now... nervous... uneasy... sick... Lesson here? So many lessons, but the big one... Stick to your training schedule!

I learn these lessons the hard way... I'm dumb... thick headed... I over estimate my fitness and underestimate the need for consistent training. Yes, I learn my lessons the hard way... but no lesson will be harder than the lesson waiting for me on May 22nd... Bring it!

Count down...

I’ve been sweating my upcoming triathlon. I haven’t been training well or consistently, so given I only have 3 weeks before race day, I know I’m racing against an unfriendly clock… it may be too little too late for me… but I will do it anyways. I’ve committed. If I’m last across the finish line, I’ll have to be okay with that… at this point, finishing within the time limit will be a win for me. And if I don’t finish? Well… I’ll live and learn and carry on to a new day… Theodore Roosevelt put it best;

It is not the critic who counts… not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who at best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement… and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat.

                                                                                               

So, I’ll keep going… swims… bikes… runs… all strung together like a beautiful symphony for the hard of hearing… because, what I do isn’t so beautiful… yet! But with each swim session… each bike… every step of my run, I’m getting better… and maybe my great enthusiasms and devotions will prove to be wonderfully beautiful in my minds eye...

Bad Funk...

I’ve been in a funk the past few weeks. Some people call it a mild case of depression, but I won't go that far... I may be a little more irritable than normal... a little less jovial... but depression?

It started with catching a bit of the crud the weekend I volunteered at the Oceanside Ironman 70.3. At least that’s when I think I caught. I went into the weekend a little run down and tired, but I made the commitment so I went. Great day despite being tired…  I got to amerce myself in the world of the Ironman series and see pros like Andy Potts, Michael Raelert, and Mirinda Carfrae finish. I was a finish line catcher and my primary job was to congratulate each athlete and make certain they were okay after their 70.3 mile ordeal. Suffice it to say, I had to carry a lot of people to the medical tents… sweaty, exhausted and smelly bodies… very literally a catcher. I spent close to 11 hours at the Ironman… 8 of those hours catching athletes (did I mention they were sweaty and smelly?), so I guess it wore on me. I came home that night feeling a little crappy. That was a little over a week ago.

This past week I somehow tweaked my back. I suspect I strained a muscle doing nothing out of the ordinary… nothing I can recall anyways. I’ve woken up the past few mornings with back stiffness and pain. Shooting pain that makes itself known when bending over to tie my shoes or breathing too deeply. I enjoy breathing, so I have to keep from enjoying it too much… so no deep breaths. Can I just say, back pain SUCKS! I’ve never had back issues… can’t explain why I would have issues now, although my wife has hinted that it could be related to age… “Hey old man, you’re not 18 anymore!” still painfully rings in my head.

So why does this all matter? From being sick to back pain now? Why the funk? Because I haven’t been able to train in the past 2 weeks. I’ve not gotten a decent swim, bike or run in that means anything. In the meantime, May 22^nd is quickly approaching… an Olympic Distance Triathlon that I am not ready for… at this rate, I have very little hope of posting a half decent finish time. In fact, at this rate I may not even be able to finish. But that doesn’t bother me as much as not being able to get out and grind out miles. I haven’t sweat in weeks… no sunlight on my skin… no endorphins… I’m in bad shape… yes, I call this a funk.

So hopefully the weekend comes and my back pain subsides… swim, bike, or run… I’ve got to nail a session down. Maybe a run Saturday morning… an open water swim on Sunday…  maybe… hopefully… prayerfully… all I know is I've got to get out of this funk... and a little sweating should do the trick...

LA Marathon (the worst day ever?)

Running my first marathon was more than I expected, not in a good way. I expected to be slow, but not this slow. I expected it to be difficult, but not this difficult. I also expected it to be uncomfortable, but I certainly didn’t expect the torrential downpour I had to run in for most of the 26.2 miles. I also didn’t expect the 50 degree temps coupled with 20 mile per hour winds. In fact it was so cold and wet and uncomfortable that at mile 15 I declared this run to be the worst ever. I can’t think of worse conditions… Suffice it to say, I was beyond miserable… but I pressed on.

The course itself was difficult. Steady hill climbs at mile 16, 20, and then 22 made me question my sanity… each climb I thought to myself… “I paid to do this?” The streets turned rivers didn’t help either… but I guess it was a blessing that my shoes were soaked through as my feet were so cold, I couldn’t feel the blisters that had formed and then popped on my feet during my run. I’m certain everyone had the same sentiment about the day… going through the same pain. I heard more than a few people cursing the day. At mile 22 on the dreaded climb uphill, people did more than curse in fact… they grunted in agony and a few actually wept in misery. The streets were littered with people in fierce battles with themselves… mind versus body… and I was one of them. Limping in sheer pain like so many of my fellow runners… grimacing with every step. I had to walk mile 22… I had nothing left like so many around me. It was then the noise from the crowd started kicking in… the screams of “You can do it!”… The crowd of people braving the same elements we were, calling people’s names… “Go John!” Total strangers would call, kindly offering their encouragement… so I started to jog at mile 23… that jog turned into a steady yet painful run. In pain, I focused on the ground in front of me and said a prayer asking for a little strength. My slow jog then turned into quicker steps and soon I was running again. Mile marker 24 came and went, and my body was growing more and more unhappy, but I kept going… mile marker 25 brought more cheers from the crowds with a few hi-fives. “One more mile!” the crowd shouted… so I pressed on. The last mile seemed to last for eternity... running toward the finish felt like the longest mile of my life... but I finished… I ran 26.2 miles. Wet,cold, in pain, tired... but oddly satisfied and happy. I can't wait for the next one!

(By the way, to give you an idea of how cold and miserable it was… one of the guys I carpooled with was taken to the hospital having suffered from hypothermia… that’s right! Hypothermia! Sadly, there were quite a few people in the hospital being treated for the same thing…)

Hardware

My wife bought me a display for my medals and racing bibs. I have them all proudly displayed in the loft against an empty wall. I like looking at them. They are physical reminders of what is possible through commitment, determination, hard work, focus, and maybe a little bit of crazy. They are finishers medals… given to anyone that finishes an event. As long as you walk across that finish line before the cut off time, you’re assured one. The fact that all finishers receive one doesn’t make it any less valuable to me though. From the fourteen year old sharing a moment alongside mom and dad, to the 75 year old grandmother celebrating life… every finisher gets one… and I like that. After all, to be a finisher not only means I started… but I persevered to the end. Yeah… I like my medals.