The Rev3 Triathlon

Revolution 3 Triathlon
Heading out to Connecticut last week for the inaugural Rev3 Tri, I was truly looking forward to the event. I had heard so much about the challenging terrain; I was anticipating a great battle with a world-class field; I was interested in seeing the cutting edge technology of the TRAKKERS devices; and, of course, I was anxious to reunite with Amanda!

My first few races this year have been solid, and my results have been good. However, each of them has had some sort of strange circumstance that somehow defines it as a less-than-ideal race situation. Just prior to California, I got a nasty stomach bug; three days before St. Croix, I had to build up a brand new bike; and I drove 1200 miles from Austin to Boulder in the days prior to Columbia. I don’t feel like the circumstances affected me too much for the worse, but I admit I was looking forward to a drama-free event.

But then again, does a drama-free event really exist?

My brilliant plan to connect with the wife in Charlotte, en route to Hartford, was foiled by a late departure out of Denver. Nonetheless, I found Amanda waiting for me in CT, eager to make the journey to our hotel; better late than never.

Day one in Connecticut was a bit dreary. The temps were low, the skies overcast. It seemed like the perfect day to rest up, while driving the bike and run courses. After covering two miles of the bike course, it became evident that Rev3 was going to be an honest test of strength and perseverance. There was not one single flat stretch of road on either discipline’s route.

By Saturday morning, the sun came out and the perfect June weather was in full effect. Amanda and I headed down to Quassy Amusement Park, the venue for Rev3. We took a dip in the Quassapaug Lake, and were pleasantly surprised to find the water clear and cool. Shortly after the practice swim, we handed out a few medals to some deserving participants of the Kids’ Race. Each youngster swam and ran a mini version of our race.

After a short jog and a spin on the bike, we headed down to the expo for the Press Conference and Pro Panel. A stellar panel was assembled for the talk, and we were lead through the paces of an entertaining yet informative chat. Looking at four past world champs on the ladies’ side, I figured Rev3 accomplished its goal of drawing one of triathlon’s most competitive fields. A few of our fellow hombres bailed out of the challenge ahead of time, and I can only suspect it was for fear of the wicked New England hills we were to face.

Race morning was clear and pleasant, a welcome contrast from Columbia, where we set up transition in the rain and cold. The wife and I were running a tad behind, so my planned swim warm up (of about 15 to 20 minutes) did not happen. As soon as I entered the water, I heard the call for swimmers to return to the beach. I got a couple strokes in, and turned to head back for the pre-race introductions and the Star Spangled Banner. I was a bit worried by having so little warm up, as there tends to be a pretty direct correlation between my swim performance in a race and the length of my warm up preceding it.

Once the gun went off, we sprinted out through the shallow water. Beach starts can be hectic, but this one was a bit mellower. We all plunged into the lake, and I positioned myself behind Richie Cunningham. I knew he would put himself in the right spot to have a good swim, and my plan was to stick with him. About four hundred meters into the swim, I found myself displaced from the main pack. I had a good group around me—Paul Amey, Leon Griffin, and the Rappstar—but I was no longer with the main contenders. I felt pretty comfortable with the pace, which was further confirmation I was losing ground to the leaders.

Exiting the water, I felt completely winded and whipped. I’m not sure how that came about, but perhaps it was due to overheating a tad in the water. Thankfully my swim cap flew off with a few hundred meters to go, and I did cool off a bit toward the finish. One of these days, I’m going to pull off a strong swim!

Out onto the bike course, I knew I had my work cut out for me. From the outset, I began applying a bit of pressure. I passed a handful of riders early in the game, one of whom was Luke Bell, who had evidently snapped a piece of his derailleur off his bike. Not good.

Nearing the 25-mile mark, and just about to make a move to catch the fifth place rider, I ran into a bit of a problem. I had just swept down a long, fast hill, turning left into a town. Within the small town, there were a few cars going about their Sunday business. The driver of one of those cars decided that the best time to make the hard right into the convenience store parking lot, presumably to pick up a pack of smokes, was just at the moment I was passing in front of the convenience store parking lot. Not good.

Being the defensive rider that I am, I had already come out of the aerobars, and was sitting up on the handlebars, brake levers in hand. And suddenly, with no signal, she turned. I hit the brakes and attempted to make the turn with her. Slam-o, wham-o, I hit the side of her car as hard as I could (actually, I probably could have hit it harder). Due to my partial turn, I managed to make contact with the side of her car, with the side of my bike/ body, instead of the far more painful alternative of slamming head first into her passenger side door.
I fell to the ground, managed to unclip the remaining clipped shoe, and bounced back up from the awkward “dead cockroach” position I had landed in. Amidst the driver’s screams of apology and shouts of innocence, I checked for damage to my bike and to my legs. (Yes, in that order.) Finding no broken parts, I jumped back on the Airfoil, and pedaled like hell to catch back up.

The rest of the ride was fairly uneventful, with the exception of the following activities: I rode up a long hill; I rode down a hill; I rode very hard up a hill; I rode down a hill; I rode very hard up another hill; I rode very hard down a big hill; I turned; I rode past two riders; I rode up more hills; I rode down more hills; and I rode hard again.

Arriving in T2, I was in fifth place. The Rappstar was close behind for much of the ride, but in the closing miles he had suffered a slow leak of the tire, and lost some ground. Despite my impression that I had finally dropped Richie, somehow—like a ghost—he magically appeared in transition in front of me. In front of me! How is that even possible? I figure he put at least 40 seconds on me, and by the time I hit the first 200 meters of the run, he must have put another 40 seconds on me. I was moving like hell to keep up, but the legs were telling me they had a different plan for me. Their plan, evidently, was to cruise along more comfortably until I got loosened up from the bike… and the bike crash.

Somewhere near the first turnaround, and after climbing what has to be one of the steepest run hills in all of triathlon, I found my stride. It’s not to say I was not running as hard as I could, or that my labored breathing couldn’t prove that, it’s just to say that I found a bit more of a natural run rhythm once I reached that five-mile mark. From then on, I continued to run hard up, up, up, and then harder down, down, down each and every hill I faced. I was feeling pretty strong, but the left side of my body was a bit tighter than it would have been, had I not tried to steamroll a Buick.

Finishing the torturous final loop of the run, which took us away from the finish line, I realized I was deadlocked in sixth place. I was happy to have pushed through the day, and even happier to have done so with zero broken bones, and very moderate bloodshed.

My goal of competing against some fast athletes on a challenging course was, of course, realized. In fact, the Rev3 tri was one of the most challenging half iron triathlons I have ever done. (And had it not been for the near perfect weather, it would have easily topped the all-time hard list.) My goal of experiencing TRAKKERS’ debut of their devices was thwarted by what can only be described as user error: I could not manage to switch the power on pre-race. And my dreams of a drama-free event will have to wait until next time!

Columbia Triathlon

Holding with my pattern of writing a race report for the last event, just before the next event, I thought I had better post a little something about Columbia.

While I have a lot to say about how much great support we get from Vigo and George (the race directors); about how great it was to return to Columbia after twelve years; about how fun it was to race hard, in an attempt to get back some speeeeed; and about how much fun we had with all our Baltimore peeps, sadly, those details will have to wait.

For now, I must only post the photograph, to show the truly important piece of hardware we brought home. Witness our success:

St. Croix 70.3

How did I manage to wait this long to write the report?!? Not sure, but it must have had something to do with the long travel home from STX, the packing of the Austin apartment, the driving to Boulder, and the stops in Lubbock and Albuquerque along the way! Or I'm just slow.

On to the Islands!

Amanda and I have been going to St. Croix since 2000, and we have been staying with the same family since that first trip. We love the race, and we love spending time with our adopted family, the Isherwoods. It's hard to believe we've known them for this long!

The funny thing about STX and its triathlon is that we have a love/ hate relationship with one another. That does not, however, mean that I hate it; but rather that it hates me, despite the love I give it! My breakthrough day will happen some day, but in the meantime, I'll keep having fun with the event, while battling all my Vato Bad Luck in the Caribbean.

Where to begin? OK, let's just say that my pre-race plan did not involve swapping ALL the parts off my stunning orange Airfoil to my studly blue Airfoil only three days before the race. But plans are not always set in stone, and this one needed modification. Let's just say that I ended up with a broken frame, and my friend Steven at Kestrel kindly shipped a brand new one to my home stay, where I promptly unbuilt and built the bikes. Don't do anything new before the race, right? Don't make changes, right? Screw that.

I rode the bike twice to see that it worked as well as it should. Technically, I rode it three times, as the morning of the event, we pedaled five miles to the race venue. So I knew there would be no mechanicals this year. I just knew it.

Skipping back to the race report side of this blog, I'll say that my swim went very well for the first time in St. Croix. I got out fast, found a good spot, then lost the good spot. My decision not to jump the person in front of me, to make up for the fact that he (we) just got dropped from the main players, proved to be a bad call. I'll not do that again. My swimming is at a very high level right now, and it's time I put all that hard work to use on race day. That being said, this was definitely my best time relative to the others.

Exiting the water, I spotted TJ in T1, and figured he was going to be a good riding partner to bridge back up to the leaders. One place you don't want to be in this race is trailing off the pack. Drafting legally or drafting illegally, this race allows it all. If you are not in the pack, you are not in the hunt. And I wanted to be in the hunt. After coaxing TJ to ride with me, I chased as hard as I could. I would love to share the watts with you, heck, I would love to share the MPH with you, but I had nary a computing device on my bike. I figured I did not need it for this race, as the only feedback I needed was to catch, to drop, or to be dropped.

TJ did not have the legs that day, so I left him alone. Then we were both alone: not a good place to be. Nearing the most famous climb in all of triathlon, I was starting to realize I would not be catching the leaders. I had covered 20 miles, and it was time to back it off for a mile or two. This decision came just after the pothole I connected with caused my handlebars to plummet downward. In spite of carefully checking every bolt on Thursday, it turned out there was one or two that had rattled loose. It could have been the rough roads; it could have been my wrenching.

I rocked the bars back to their proper place, and I hoped they were still tight enough to hold. Next thing to happen was that I summited the Beast feeling strong, while putting the handlebar issue out of my head, for piece of mind. I recovered on the descent, before heading back to the chase. Chase, chase, chase.

With the hardest part of the bike ride being over the final 35 miles, I was in my element. It was windy, it was hilly, and I was riding strong. Again, no idea how fast, but trust me: it was fast. And strong.

Didn't I say I was going to have NO bad luck this year? Well, that went out the window with the handlebars, and it flew further away from the window at mile 43 (just passed the mile 42 aid station, for those who wonder how I knew where I was with no computer). It turns out that even after two test rides, and 43 miles of racing, a newly installed chain can settle. To settle is an odd thing... it could mean it gets loose, it could mean it gets tight. In my case, the pin must have settled in too tightly, causing the link to stiffen up BAD. After jumping off the bike to see if I could find the tight link--and after screaming a few obscenities--I determined that I was losing too much time, and jumped back on without fixing the soon-to-be annoying chain.

For 13 miles, the chain skipped severely every time it passed through the derailleur. As the Rastaman "Marshall" who rode his moto near me can attest: I expressed my anger and annoyance by yelling. Then I got over it.

Starting the run, I felt great. My run training in Austin was top-notch, in part due to the hard sessions I did in the heat (and humidity) with my training partners Derick and James. I was ready to roll, and my work was cut out for me.

Unfortunately for me and my goal of running my way to the top five, my tank was just a bit empty on that run course. I was moving very well on the down hills and flats, but just did not have my strength on the ups. My assessment was that I was bonking, as I find it's easier to push through a bonk on the downs, where the ups will show your weakness. Further clues that I was deficient were the fact that I had dropped my EFS Liquid Shot flask early in the bike ride, and I failed to consume enough "back-up" fuel, despite my better efforts.

Well, my engine burns hot, and calories burn out of me like that little piece of hamburger that falls between the cracks of your grill and sizzles and fries to a small, crispy, charred nugget. The 500 calories I took in on the bike were about 250-300 too few. And the too-little-too-late Liquid Shot I sucked down on the half marathon did not do its job until it was too late.

Nonetheless, I finished that race swearing that I'd return to someday redeem myself with a top finish. My poor home stay family is losing serious bragging rights, as "their" triathlete doesn't ever beat the other families' triathletes! I did manged to move up to eighth place, certainly not bad with the level of competition.

On the overwhelmingly positive side of things, I was ecstatic to see Amanda battling it out with a stellar women's field. She rode and ran to her potential, which is something she has not done in many, many races. I was very fired up to see her on the course, racing on Lisa B's shoulder. I could not be more proud of her, and can't wait to see her uncork on in Coeur d'Alene next month!

California 70.3

It's almost so late that it's irrelevant, but not quite. I figure I had better post a report prior to the next race, or it will be too late. Although I'm a big believer in the saying mas vale tarde que nunca!

California 70.3 has been the unofficial season opener for Team Lovato for several years now. I raced the Ironman back in '01, and we have ventured out for the half five or six times. The race has become a favorite of mine, in part due to its challenging bike course, and in part due to its competitive field.

My goals for the race were to blast out the cobwebs, as my last race was in October. The fitness had been coming up very nicely in March, and a few sessions on the bike and run indicated that I might be able to vie for a money spot out in Oceanside. About two weeks before the race, I was starting to believe I'd be ready to PR the course, and the first test of the year would be a fun one.

In addition to testing out the early-season fitness, I was eager to try out all my new equipment for the 2009 season. This was to be the maiden voyage for my Kestrel Airfoil SE, my HED3 wheels, Vision bars, Giro helmet, and Oakelys. It had been a long time since I swapped any sponsors, but the moves I have made this spring are all part of a plan to take it up a notch (with superior equipment), as I make an assault on this year's Ironman.

Back to Oceanside we went. Due to some unfortunately timed viruses, Amanda and I lost a few valuable days of training to major weight loss/ liquid diets/ couch time. We had recovered, done our best to regain the weight, and were feeling rested and ready to rumble.

Amanda's showing at a local 10K had me believing I'd be tip-top come April 4th... and that was not far off the truth.

The race got underway with a swift swim start. My swimming was going extremely well in training, and I was anxious to test myself amongst the short-coursers, and 70.3 swim studs. I got out fast, held to Bjorn's feet for a while, then settled into a nice, slightly painful rhythm. Not long into the race, our pack strung out. It was near the 800-meter mark that I found myself getting separated from the wolf pack. I'm no stranger to finding the "wrong" feet, and this is exactly what I ended up doing... again! Damn it. My apologies to the Rappstar, as it turns out he was the one whose feet I rode to the boat ramp. We weren't far back, but the time gap was enough to lose the main group's momentum.

Hitting T1 I proved that I have lost all transitional mojo from my short course days. There was a time I could light up that parking-lot-sprint like nobody's business. I might need to work on that for St. Croix. I hit the bike, grabbed the warmers for my arms, and executed a flying mount. (I have not lost all my short-course tricks.)

The first few miles were a good indicator that I was free of the bug's sluggishness, and I was in for a decent ride. Could I bridge to the leaders was the only question. The only answer was NO.

I did ride through many of the front-running swimmers, and mixed it up with some of them through the first (flatter) parts of the ride. Going through the 40k mark, I began to reel in some of the guys who were getting spit out of the main pack. I had no clue how fast I was riding, as I somehow forgot to bring a computer magnet with me to California, so I was racing without a speedometer of any kind.

In the end, I rode well, and finished feeling strong and content to chase the group up ahead. My bike split reflected the calm conditions, and I notched my fastest bike time on the course. I attribute it all to the bike, wheels, helmet and glasses.

Hitting the run I was about 20 seconds behind Rutger Beke. I enjoy racing him, and I consider him to be one of the top bike-run athletes in the sport. He has done top-three finishes here in Oceanside in the past, but this is a new era, one where 70.3s seem to be dominated by the short-course athlete.

My 70.3 run PR is on this course, as twice I've run in 1:14.xx and once 1:15.low. I believe I even out split Potts on one occasion to take home fastest run honors. However, I knew I was not in that type of run shape just yet. My goal was to hit 1:16 or thereabouts, knowing it would take a strong first 10k to do so. Sadly there was no strong first 10k in my legs. The firepower seemed to be lacking, and I opted to hold steady for the first lap.

Once onto the second lap, I began to apply a bit of pressure to see if I could find that final money spot. Bjorn was occupying it at the time, and I was closing on him. Just as I prepared to pass the Swede, a young Brit came up on my shoulder. Damn those 23-year-old ITU guys, and their damn early-season foot speed. I countered the move for about 200 meters, during which I tried to get inside his young, inexperienced head by convincing him we had three laps to run. He seemed crestfallen, and I hoped that meant he would slow the pace.

My tactic blew up in my face, as he pulled away, and I immediately realized I could not sustain that rate of locomotion. I made my way back into ninth (passing Bjorn), and assessed the gap to my pursuers.

With about 3 miles to go, I painfully scanned the horizon for a porto-potty. I was realizing that there was NO chance I'd be able to finish the run without an emergency pit stop. How did I make this error?! It seems I was a bit too hopped up on caffeine, and my body was ready to make an evacuation.

Sparing all other details, I'll just make a public apology for (gently) throwing the spectator out of the way, as she blocked the entrance to the little blue box of wonder.

Back to the race course, I was able to more swiftly cover the final 2.5 miles of the run. I was light (once again), and I was happy (once again). It turns out my 1:16 goal was pretty well off; I ran a 1:18, just barely, but crossed the line in my best overall time for this course. Sadly, my time got better, but my placing got worse.

It's good to know that I can still knock off a solid race, even when I show up to a gun fight armed with a six shooter, while the others have AK-47s.

Until my next tardy report, thanks for reading.

Mounting the Comeback

I figured it would be appropriate to write a short blog update, as I'm trying to hold with the theme that short reports are better than no reports. Plus, as a reader pointed out, the tweets don't do it for everyone!

After returning from Solvang, where I was the guest coach for www.solvangtriathloncamps.com, I got into a nice rhythm of training. I had turned the corner, and was feeling very strong in my workouts. A few key sessions told me that I was going to be ready to mix it up at my first race of the year: California 70.3.

I was lucky enough to log a couple of fun workouts with some good training partners. Pushing myself to keep up with James Bonney in the water was a great way to ramp up the swimming; running fast with guys like Richie Cunningham, Derrick Williamson and Bernard (cousin of Gilbert Tuhabonye and whose last name I don't know) was a nice boost to the fitness and the confidence. And riding with the group here in town, as well as individual sessions with Todd "the Buffalo" Gerlach seemed to take the cycling up a notch as well. Suffice it to say I was rolling on a high.

Then I got hit with the BUG. Marking only the second time I've gotten sick in probably ten years, I had to log some serious couch time. Fortunately for me, Amanda was a few days ahead of me with the virus, and I was able to see what was coming down the pipelines at me. Also fortunate for me was that my sister, the Physician Assistant Extraordinaire, was able to prescribe the path to wellness. And finally, I was fortunate enough to only be on the couch-based liquid diet for two days. My body fought back, and I was able to get back out and about.

Returning to training, or to exercising, I should say, was pathetic. I had lost seven pounds overnight, and was struggling to keep moving. My hydration was excellent, and I was attempting to top off my electrolytes by downing Ultragen and EFS by the gallon. To add to the overall weakness, I went off the coffee. My poor, sensitive intestines were not capable of handling the good stuff, so I was buzz free for over five days!

Amanda bounced back from her bout with the bug, and the ensuing weakness of limb, just in time for the Capitol 10,000 yesterday. It was really cool for me to see her put up a good result. Her training has been incredible, and it's been far too long since she last raced anywhere near her potential. She's on track for a solid race in Oceanside this weekend.

And seeing Amanda back in the game gave me confidence that I will be able to toe the line this weekend with a full tank. I just returned from swim practice, and I was very encouraged to make it through the entire session. Now I'm fueling up for a little jaunt on the Kestrel.

Just a word to the wise: should you find yourself battling the "big D," head straight for liquid diet of Sprite, EFS or Gatorade, Jello, and Ginger Ale. Wait it out, and don't eat ANYTHING solid until you are symptom free!

It's Been a Long Time, I Shouldn't Have Left You...

Without a dope beat to step to.

There are some things I just can't change. I can't seem to stop referencing songs in my posts, tweets, or conversations. I love music, and sometimes I just have to quote a lyric or two. Another thing I can't seem to do: blog regularly. Admittedly, the whole Twitting project has been fun, will continue to be fun, and has taken a bit of my blog time. But I ain't gone yet!

Lately in Austin we've been signing a bit of Zeppelin or Stevie Ray Vaughn. Take your pick: "If it keeps on raining, the levee's going to break," OR, "It's floodin' down in Texas..." Either way you chose it, we've gotten a bit wet and cold. I'm not complaining though; it's been the only bad weather we've had all winter. No complaints.

However, one thing that always guarantees rainfall is a new bike. And I got one. New bike= wet and dirty roads, guaranteed. (There are no guarantees, I know.)

Why a new bike? Good question, astute reader. Javelin has been my steed of choice for four years. The company has been super supportive of my goals, my racing, my training, and everything. The bike is a great piece of equipment, and I rode it well. However, recent times have seen a bit of "disappearance" by Javelin from the Tri Scene. For good or for bad, the changes they are making have left me feeling like I wanted to be on board with a triathlon bike company that is going places.

Enter Kestrel.

Kestrel is, and always has been, an innovator in the triathlon world. They have been making cool, unique, and fast bikes for many years. And they have plans to return to the forefront of triathlon, and I plan to help them do so.

Below are some photos of my new ride, before its first trip outdoors. Zane at Jack and Adam's has been fitting me on bikes since, oh, about 1999. He knows me, and he has helped me evolve my fit over time. He's good, and he has me all set up! Thanks, bro, and thanks to Jack for everything, and to James for building up this bad boy.

Since I've gotten all thanky-thanky on this post, I'd like to send out a big, fat Gracias to Steven Harad for bringing me on the Kestrel team. We're going to have a great year!
No, my saddle is not too high, my leg is locked out on purpose.
just wait til start moving

close up!
Now I'm moving angry-style

One Sentence

I have recently signed up for Twitter. Actually, my in-touch wife has signed me up for Twitter. Since I obviously struggle to stay on top of the old blog, I am resorting to this method, as it only requires that I come up with one sentence at a time.

Should you be so inclined to follow my whereabouts (and my how abouts), please check out my twitting.

Life is Simple, Life is Good

I've been in Austin for seven days now, and Amanda's been here for about twelve. We've gotten settled in pretty well, and we're starting to fall into our routine, which is nice. One of the great things about our new place is that we do not have a fenced in backyard. We do have a little dog run behind our apartment, but it's not a proper yard like we have back in Boulder. The reason it's nice is that it gives us the opportunity to take the dogs for more walks around the neighborhood.

This morning, while the coffee was brewing and the day was just waking up, I took Luna and Blue to do their morning business. It was while I was on that walk that it occurred to me how good our life is, and how its simplicity has made it even better. We left a house full of stuff back in Colorado, and we now have a half-full 750 square foot apartment, two dogs, two bikes, a small kitchen full of food, and, of course, each other. And we could not be happier.

I'm posting a few photos of just how great the simple life can be. These first couple are from our drive down to Austin. The Subaru was packed full, but the dogs managed to stay comfortable. Blue even had his own bed in our Lubbock hotel room. Next up is a shot of my favorite cabinet: the First Endurance stash. And finally, we have a post-ride shot of Amanda and her dog pack. These three sure know how to relax. Special thanks to Saucony for outfitting us with the perfect futon cover.

We will probably end up getting cable TV this next week, so our life might have a few more distractions, but it will be every bit as simple... and great.

Heading South

After speaking to our good friend, Amanda C, I have decided to post a very quick, very concise blog. She pointed out that I tend to fall way off the wagon with blog posts; I agreed. Then I pointed out that my main problem with blogging is that I often wait for an earth-shatteringly important topic to hit my brainwaves before I write. This is what holds me up, as those subjects don't come around that often. We determined that I need to blog freely, openly and more often.

So here I go.

We are about to head down to Austin, and one of the reasons why is spelled out in this Weather Bug update for tonight in Boulder: Mostly cloudy with a 10 percent chance of snow. Very windy. Lows in the 20s to lower 30s. West winds increasing to 25 to 40 mph with gusts to 80 mph possible after midnight. This is actually what is happening outside right now. Thank goodness we put a new roof on this place, as the ninety-mph rating on our shingles is sounding pretty smart right about now.

The forecast for Austin is as follows: Sunny. Highs around 70. Southwest winds 10-15 mph.

Training Camp

This March I'll be heading out to California for a training camp, and I am taking this opportunity to invite you all to join me for a fun and challenging week.

Solvang is a popular training destination for many professional cycling teams, including Lance Armstrong's Astana team. Getting to the area is very easy, as it's only thirty minutes from Santa Barbara, and a mere two hours from Los Angeles.

If you are interested in escaping the cold--and possibly monotonous--training routine of your home town, and/ or if you are looking for a challenging and fun way to jump-start the triathlon season, I encourage you to attend this camp.

While the focus of our camp will be to log many miles on the bike, we'll have plenty of opportunity to keep the triathlon training alive, as swimming and run workouts are included in the program.

In addition to these great training opportunities, one of triathlon's most knowledgeable sports med doctors, Dr. P.Z. Pearce, will be on hand to dispense valuable advice.

My role at this camp will be to lead group rides, to offer instruction on riding technique, style, and form, and to offer my color commentary and story telling as a welcome diversion from the pain inflicted from the hilly riding. Additionally, I'll be offering advice on how to prepare for an Ironman race, on getting through the race, and on consequently celebrating completion of said race.

If my links have not directed you to sufficient information on the camp, please send me a comment, and I'll email you with answers to any and all questions you may have for me.

See you in March!

Sold

Thanks for all the comments, emails, and calls, but the bike has been sold!







The time has come for me to part ways with one of my triathlon bikes. Since I have two that are exactly the same, I feel that it is only fair to offer someone else the chance to own such a sweet ride. Please note that this bike is very fast, and only serious buyers should consider what I have to offer:

Frame: Javelin Lugano (Built in Italy, designed in USA)
Fork: True Temper Alpha Q Aero Carbon Fork
Campy Record 10 speed components; 11-23 cassette
FSA Neo Pro Crankset 175mm; 53-39 (or 55-42)
Profile Cobra Wing Base Bar
Profile T2+ Cobra Aerobars
Profile Hammer stem (multiple sizes available)
Fizik Arione Tri2 or Arione Road saddle
Rolf Prima Vigor Clincher wheelset

For more info and geometry: http://www.javbike.com/Geometry.html

This bike was brand new in July of 2007; I rode it until April of 2008, at which point I got a new one. It has been well cared for, and it is one VERY fast, comfortable, and good looking bike.

Retail is listed at $8600.00, my price is $2795.00.

Additionally, I am apt to throw in an extra or two with the purchase of this bike.

Do not delay, as I hope to list this on Craigslist and eBay very soon.

Tucson Half Marathon

Here are the videos from last weekend's race.



Amanda at mile 2



Amanda at mile 4



Amanda's post-race interview

An Adventure in Eating, Training and Racing

With much sadness, Amanda and I departed from the Tucson International Airport yesterday, after spending five laughter-filled days at Casa Clam, nestled high in the foothills of Tucson's West Side.

Our visit began at the end of last week, after we happily escaped the freezing cold of Boulder. Boarding the plane on Friday (after a treacherous and icy drive to DIA), the temperature gauge on our iPhones read a whopping ONE degree. Deplaning in Arizona, we were greeted by sunny and blue skies, and an invitation to change into short pants. There really was a written invitation at baggage claim, imploring us to take off our long pants. We obliged.















We made our way to Cliff's and Sam's place, and were immediately greeted by a charming new addition to their household: Maximus Oscar de McEnglish, who had recently undergone an obligatory surgery, and was, therefore, required to wear a piece of compromising headgear. As true dog lovers, Amanda and I found Max to be adorable and, as mentioned above, charming.




The next order of business was to acquaint ourselves with Tucson and its training opportunities. We followed our directions across town to find the Catalina pool, one of Tucson's numerous outdoor pools. After a short dip in the water, we moved on to our next most important task of the visit: eating. The trip through Whole Foods proved to be a successful one, as we (naturally) purchased enough food to feed a small army. We returned to the West Side, rested ourselves, fed ourselves, and commenced laughter and story telling with our gracious hosts, Sam and Cliff.




The racing portion of our adventure got underway on Sunday. Part one began at approximately 5:30AM when we zoomed out of the driveway, and put pedal to metal en route to the northern-most part of town, which was to be the starting point of the Tucson Half Marathon. As I had long since chickened out of participation in the race, my sole duty became serving as sherpa for the day, and my primary task was to deliver Amanda to the start line on time. I take my speeding seriously, and I must proudly note that I won the race: we arrived promptly (not always a given when this vato is involved).

Amanda's race got underway at a brisk (but not cold!) 7:00AM. Video documentation of said race will soon make its way to this blog. Amanda raced a strong and smart race, and as her report gives in full detail, she won the mother scratcher.

Next up on our agenda was to continue our path of eating, training, eating, training, laughing, sleeping, drinking wine (and consequently, telling lies), eating, training, and eating. We enjoyed ourselves thoroughly, and evidence of this enjoyment presents itself here:

Our climb up Mt. Lemmon.

Mr Lovato finds his way to the front.


Athlete and Coach jockey for position.


Amanda places Cliff in a spot of bother.


This is what you see when you are in a spot of bother.


Another glimpse from the lenses of a bonk.



Amanda pushes past the saguaro to confidently take the lead.


Hallelujah, was this the stolen Bumble Bar at 6000Feet?


Just before Cliff set a punishing pace on the descent.




More food: dinner at El Charro

Doug Friman and Paul Thomas join us for a Feast.



About to have some full bellies.

We are pleased to report that we achieved all of our goals while in Arizona. We thoroughly enjoyed the fabulous training that Tucson had to offer; we ate more than our fair share of treats, Mexican food, and sushi; we loved getting to know Cliff and Sam; we became addicted to their potent and delicious home-brewed espresso; and we managed to warm our bones and gain inspiration during the final month of our down-time and holiday season.

Garage Sale

It's that time of year here at Casa Lovato. We're sifting through the garage to see where we can make room for incoming bikes, bike parts, and triathlon gear. As we do so, we find that certain items must make their way to the chopping block. Prior to posting these items on eBay, Craigslist, and Slowtwitch, we wanted to offer first dibs to our blogger faithful. Trust that everything we have for sale has been well cared for, is not overly used, and is super cool. For those of you who are interested in purchasing anything, please post a non-anonymous comment, and I'll email you back right away. And please note that this is only round one.

Let the games begin.

What we are viewing here:


Size 52 Trek 5500 (carbon Road Bike), Shimano Dura Ace 9speed components, Bontrager Race Lite clincher wheels, ITM stem, Easton carbon seatpost, Speedplay X2 pedals (can easily be converted to girl colors). Amanda rode this bike in 2003 and half of 2004. Prior to riding her Scott, this was her favorite bike ever. It has rested in our garage for the past four years, only having ventured out on two rides. :(

Size 54 Javelin Barolo (aluminum Triathlon/ TT bike), Campagnolo Chorus/ Record/ Veloce components, FSA crankset, Vision bars, brake levers, Rolf Prima Echelon clincher wheels, Fizik saddle (can easily be converted to boy colors). Amanda rode this bike in 2006 and two months of 2007. She rode it very, very fast, and prior to riding her Scott, this was probably the fastest bike she ever rode. Probably. It has rested in our garage for the past two years, having not ventured out at all. :( :(

The End of an Era

Yesterday afternoon Amanda and I attended our friend Simon's retirement party. A couple of things occurred to me while we were there.

First off, this was probably the one and only time I'd attend a retirement party for a guy who is only 37 years old. It's not too common to be retiring from a long career that early in life. The reality is that his retirement from professional racing does not mean he isn't capable of continuing as a triathlete; it just means he's no longer got the drive to train and race at the high level of competitiveness that he has for the past 23 years. 23 years?!? Amazing.

The next thing that occurred to me is that I'm losing one of the best training partners I've ever had. Throughout my journey as a triathlete, I have trained with a lot of great guys, nearly all of whom are still my good friends. Early on in my days, I was schooled by guys named Ivy Koger and Jon Hill. Later on I linked up with the legendary Todd Gerlach, a dominant figure in Austin, Texas' early nineties tri scene. After that I made my way to Boulder where a fellow named Cam Widoff showed me the ins and outs of Boulder and its surrounding mountains.

At the start of 2003, I was invited to join Simon and Dave Scott for ride out to Carter Lake. I had been swimming with Simon for a few weeks, along with Dave, Matt Reed, and Monica Byrn (then Caplan). I was the low man on the totem pole in the pool (I've since overtaken Dave), and I was a bit desperate to prove myself out on the bike ride. We went out at an easy pace, with Simon in front, and Dave and I bringing up the rear. I did not know anything about Simon's personality and certainly not his sense of humor.

He gave Dave a hard time about the condition of his bike (it was squeaky and dirty). And he gave me a hard time about sitting in for the first hour or so. I figured he was about to get a rude awakening, when I, the long course, non-drafting athlete put the hammer down and made the swimmer/ runner suffer. I figured he was a better swimmer and a faster runner than I, but I could not conceive that he could hang with me on the bike.

I dropped the hammer, made my move, and powered up the switchbacks to Carter Lake. Dave was long gone, Simon was not much ahead of him, and I was victorious in dropping the five-time (and the six-time) world champ. I waited up for Simon, as I caught my breath. I was waiting for him to submit to my dominance; to acknowledge that I was the superior rider; to compliment my awesome climbing prowess. He did no such thing. When Simon caught up to me, he did not say much as he blew by me on the flats. I was off to chase him.

Descending from Carter Lake, Simon managed to put more time on me. I told myself he was just a better bike handler than me because he trained for ten years on the twisty mountain roads of Southern France. I would catch him on the flats. Dave was nowhere to be seen.

We hit the flats, and Simon waited up for me. I rode up, he asked me what the hell I was trying to pull on the previous climb, and I told him I was just riding moderately... no big deal. I mentioned that I thought he wanted me to take a pull. How was I to know that he would get dropped. Little did I know that while climbing those switchbacks, I had sealed my own fate. Simon applied the pressure. And I was in trouble.

The bonk had set in, and I was not even aware of how bad off I was. This early season three-hour ride was taking its toll on me. Maybe I should not have been so confident (but he did call me out!).

I got dropped again.

Then Dave caught me. Then Dave dropped me.

I was in big trouble. I started counting calories, and I realized I was way deficient. I started counting miles back to my house, and I realized I might not make it. So much for showing Simon how strong I was on the bike.

When Dave and Simon both had to wait for me to catch back up, I knew I was in serious trouble. I asked, pleaded, and finally TOLD them to leave me. I told them I was hungry, and that I did not want to slow them down. And leave me, they did.

After a somewhat unpleasant beginning, the training partnership we formed became very strong. It turned out we were very compatible riding partners that first year. Simon was racing only short course events, while I was doing Half and full Ironmans. We rode four of five times a week together, and along the way we helped one another get faster and fitter.

And we had a lot of laughs.

The next year, Simon decided to test himself at the long-distance events. We began doing our long runs together, and I ventured out with him on his first ride over three hours since the mid-nineties. Those rides and runs got me fitter than I had ever been, and they gave Simon the confidence he needed in order to tackle is first Ironman, which he did in record setting fashion.

A funny thing happened that year, as folks began referring to me as Simon Lessing's training partner. I had found my stock rising, by merely linking myself up with a highly respected athlete like him. I even found myself sitting for an interview in Germany, and having the reporter ask me what it was like to train with Simon. I was an Ironman champion, and the top American hopeful at that event, and all they wanted to know was what it was like to train with Simon.

In fact, I gained a healthy dose of respect from my competitors when a reporter at the press conference asked me if I was able to keep up with Simon. In true Lessing fashion, I quipped that he was only sometimes able to keep up with me.

In this day and age, where every athlete has a coach, a plan, a power meter, and a schedule, it's very rare to find someone who is willing and able to push you in your training. In this triathlon mecca of Boulder, Colorado, most folks are too unwilling to be flexible, and to change up their programs in order to train with his competitors.

With Simon I found that athlete. He was strong enough to swim, ride, and run in front of, next to, or behind me. We covered a lot of miles together, and we bettered ourselves by bettering one another.

I am happy that Simon has found comfort in moving on with his life. I know he'll still be involved in the sport, and I know he may still join me for swims and bikes and runs; however, I am also aware that with the retirement of the British South African American athlete, I am losing a highly compatible, very entertaining, and extremely punctual training partner.

And hopefully by posting these embarrassing photos, I won't be losing him as my friend.

Ironman Hawaii Race Report

Post-Underpants Run, I was feeling relaxed and ready to rumble. I had confidence in my build-up, and I knew I was ready to improve upon my 2007 Ironman. I had decided to implement a few new nutritional tricks to my routine, based on my, um, evacuation problems in the last three Ironmans I have done. This time around, my goal was to minimize time lost to porto-stops and poopy pants.

My nerves woke me up at 10:30PM, 1:30AM, 2:30AM, and finally at 3:30AM. Other than those brief and expected interruptions, my sleep was sound and restful. There are certainly some advantages to being part bear.

The best way for me to start my Ironman day is by doing a light jog in the pre-dawn dark and calm of Ali'i Drive. I don't go far, and I don't go fast, but I love to get out there and soak up the final calm energy before a very energized day. I felt particularly spunky on this year's pre-race trot.

After the run, I positioned myself for a nice breakie: coffee, Justin's Almond Butter, some Monkey Brains, toast, and a banana. For those who are interested, I do not refrain from drinking coffee in the weeks leading up to the race. I don't believe the drastic shock of reintroducing caffeine to the system is a sound practice. Why shock the body on race day?

Amanda and I arrived at body marking at about 5:00AM. There really is not a lot to do race morning, but I like to have everything done by about 5:25 or 5:30. This gives me time to hang out in Kris' room (my massage therapist) for the hour or so before I jump in the water. It's a good way for me to save up all my energy, and to apply my Vaseline, Body Glide, and sunscreen.

During the swim warm up, I found Paula, who was to be leading the swimmers on her paddle board. She gave me a quick embrace or sorts, and told me to have my day. She refrains from the typical "good luck" or "have fun" well-wishing, as she feels that it's not really that fun out there.

My race began better than it has in each of my nine times racing Hawaii. I found open water immediately, and I swam very aggressively. In past years I have made the mistake of picking one guy to swim with; this has left me dropped from the main group each time. This time around I was taking control of my own destiny. I put myself in position to have a great swim.

200 or 300 meters into the race, I found myself in perfect spot: I was behind two swimmers who were side-by-side. The draft was huge, and I felt very comfortable with the pace. I knew (not sure how) I was in the front group this time.

All the way out to the boat, and making the turn back to the pier, I felt that the pace was very moderate. I was focused on not losing the feet in front of me, and I knew there was a swimmer or two behind me, which is a comforting feeling. Near the Coast Guard buoy (about a mile to go) the group made a surge. It was a noticeable change in pace, but I felt prepared to handle it; however, about 250 to 300 meters later, I lost contact with my group. The fellow behind me had already come through and displaced me to the position of caboose. I feel that every train needs a caboose, but I was gradually coming detached from my train. Damn. Double damn.

Getting dropped was not fun, but for the first time that I can remember, I managed to keep swimming strong on my own. I did not ever blow up, I just lost contact. I gradually lost a bit of time over the final kilometer or so. Fortunately for me, I was not swallowed up by the chase pack, and I exited the water in my best ever position or time for Kona.

Onto the bike I was about a minute back of the group, and in around twenty-fifth place. I made a gradual push to catch the leaders, not knowing they were out of my reach. Seeing them on the first out-and-back gave me good feedback: many of the main players were in the group, but I was close.

Behind me I saw stormin' Normann coming on strong. I figured I would use him to tow me up a bit further. I gave him about twenty meters, as I was not about to risk a drafting penalty. He pulled away, and I fell back... no, I did not "let him go." He went.

Looking behind me, I saw a small group of four coming up on me. Within the group were my back-up plan riders, Rutger Beke and Marino Van Hoenacker, as well as Maik Tweselik (the young German who won IM Wisconsin last year). I integrated myself into the group, and proceeded to watch the dynamics of a group of strong cyclists.

I should note that my cycling has come up a notch this year (over the past three months), and I was confident that my ride would put me in position to use my run weapon, as I have grown accustomed to doing in past races. I was riding strong, and I was prepared to notch my best ride to date. And I truly believed I was capable of coming off the bike within striking distance of the top five.

I rode along as the middle part of a Belgian Waffle (with Rutger and Marino). The German was hanging on the back, and we picked up the Swiss athlete who finished fourth. Nearing the forty-mile marker, Rutger stopped for a penalty, and we picked up Andy Potts and Luke McKenzie, both of whom had just finished serving their penalties. This meant we were four minutes back to the lead group, and it meant our group was picking up its casualties. We were growing in size, so I made a move for the front. I figured it was time for me to lead the charge for a spell, and I did not want to risk being in the middle of a larger group.

From mile 37 to 42, we had some tough headwinds, a welcome blast-from-the-past, in my mind. My speed dropped from 26-28mph to 19mph in a matter of seconds. My normal tendencies are to thrive in headwinds, as others suffer more than I on the mental side. I enjoyed this section of feeling controlled and in control. However, feeling strong for these first two hours somehow caused me to lose track of my nutritional plans.

Climbing up to Hawi was when I first started to notice something was not right. I got passed by one guy in the group... then another... then another. I was steadily moving backwards, but I attributed it to the fact that I typically allow more room between myself and the rider in front of me, while many others like to keep it a bit tighter. I figured it just meant that the others were not comfortable giving that much space; that they wanted closer contact.

The 17 miles of climbing from Kawaihae to Hawi are normally one of my best stretches. I tend to pass those around me, and drop those behind me. It's early in the ride (mile 43 to mile 60), and it's when I make a bit of a move. This year was completely different. I was getting dropped, and my legs would not respond. They felt weak and powerless. I pushed and pushed, but did not gain ground.

Facing the final 7-mile stretch of up hill headwind is normally a highlight of the race for me. This year I found myself down shifting and slowing down: not good!

I took inventory of my situation: I calculated what I had consumed; I looked at my pace; and I assessed how to get myself back on track. But I came up with no clear answers.

Making the turn and beginning my decent, I got one final slap-in-the-face reminder that I was off my game: Rutger and Ain-Alar Johannsen went screaming by me, and I had ZERO ability to latch on to their momentum. I was dropped faster than they had caught me.

During the descent, I finally determined what I was lacking. I had shoveled in a bit more food on the climb, and it did not seem to kick in. Like a light bulb clicking on, I realized I was getting dehydrated. More appropriately: I was dehydrated! I looked like a margarita; I was hot; and I was, very prematurely, out of steam.

As my emotional side began to wonder how long it would take me to walk the marathon, I formed a bail-out plan. I would cut back on calories (knowing gastric emptying slows with dehydration, and not wanting a bloated belly to boot); I would suck down as much water as I could; and I would dig myself out the best I could.

My lull lasted from mile 51 until mile 88 or 89. During that time I was slow (for me), I was weak, and I could not stay with anyone who passed me.... and believe me, I tried!

Somehow I managed to get enough fluids in me, and I began to regain my power. I picked up a few athletes who were spit out of the group. And I began to think I might be able to run the marathon after all. The six-hour walk was not appealing to me one bit.

I entered T2 feeling rough, but by the time I got up from the change tent, my legs were there. I climbed the mini hill on Palani 10:30 down from tenth place. I have faced worse deficits, but this ranks right up there with the worst of them!

My first mile felt smooth, but my goal was to shorten the stride, to minimize energy output, and to save up for the Queen K. The temptation was there to blow through the first ten miles in an hour, eating up the time immediately, and placing myself closer to the contenders. However, I have seen the carnage that results from giving too much too soon, and I stuck to my conservative run plan. I wanted to run a strong marathon, and I could not afford to blow up.

By mile six I was still well back of tenth. I felt a bit of pressure building, but was able to immediately duck into a porto-potty. The mile split was 6:50 with the stop--a bit off pace--but I was feeling clean and empty and ready to roll. Marino Vanhoenacker passed me while delivering the quote of the day: "Michael, did you have a nice poop?" (Read with a strong Belgian accent.) Hilarious. Naturally, I let him know that I did, and that I felt much better.

My gradual pace continued along Ali'i and up Palani. They call it Pay and Save hill, as there used to be a store there with that name. Pay now or Save for later is the current meaning of the name.

I chose to save, and I followed my pre-race plan to open it up at mile 11. Mile 11 comes just at the base of the Dave and Mark hill (later on that is mile 24). It signifies to me that it's time to race. With a conservative opening stretch, I allowed my stride to open up and go. I went for it, and I went hard. The splits were changing in my favor, as I was catching tenth.

Into the Energy Lab I really began to open it up. I could now see the leaders, and I could now begin to see the ones I had in my reach: Marino, Normann, Faris, Andy, and Matias. They were the ones I could see fading before my eyes. I pushed hard.

Back on the highway with seven miles to go, I really began to dig. I was gaining on the temporary duo of Faris and Normann. Passing them would give me tenth. At some point, Faris dropped Normann, and I was left to pass them both individually, which was actually quite satisfying. I knew they had both really gone for it on the bike, and early in the run. They were in damage control mode, a place I had been for quite some time during my ride. Hawaii was doing its thing.

Once in tenth, I took a deep breath, and sighed with relief. I had overcome a large deficit, and was in the safe zone. But I wanted more.

Up ahead was the duo of Potts and Switzerland's Hecht. I wanted badly to catch them both, and the encouragement I was receiving from Amanda, Stephanie, Cassie, and Robin Ficker (aka Mr Fuzzy Duds) was amazing. I was going to catch them.

Taking the turn at the top of Palani, I made my push for the catch. I bombed the down hill like I have never done, and I was grimacing in pain. Breathing hard and grunting, I passed the throngs of screaming spectators, and only one face did I recognize: that of Simon Lessing. He yelled for me to go for it, and so I added to my list of motivating reasons the idea of gaining redemption for the whipping that Potts had given me and Simon at Timberman in August. I would catch them.

Rounding the turn onto Kuakini, I could see that Potts had dropped Hecht. They were only about twenty and twenty two seconds ahead of me. I was gaining, and I was the stronger athlete (I told myself this over and over).

With barely a mile to go, I had the stride opened up to rival that of Carl Lewis. I was in a big-time sprint for the finish. And then my left hamstring cramped up so bad I had to limp to a quick stop.

Not now! Not now!

I chuckled to the crowd my rhetorical question: "how can I cramp now, after all these miles? Why now?!" Touching the toes once seemed to work... briefly, and I cramped again. I touched them again, stretched those hamstrings out, and began my jog to the finish.

I could not switch off my competitive drive, and my desire to be top American made me sprint again. This time I was rewarded with a calf cramp on my right leg. OK, I got it. I chose to hold my tenth spot, and to stop risking the kind of continued cramps that would leave me walking (and getting caught by my pursuers!).

I soaked up my finish, waved my American flag, and cramped one final time as I walked across the line. I was ecstatic.

What a day I had, and what a battle I fought! I was very proud of my efforts; I was happy to notch another top-ten finish; and was pleased to learn, once again, a new lesson in racing Ironman Hawaii.

Not long after the race, the fifth-place finisher was disqualified for not serving a penalty, and I was moved to ninth place. I have now notched three ninth places in Hawaii.... and I'm ready to cut that number in half next year... or maybe even in thirds!


**Photo courtesy of Dirk Friel

The Underpants Run

Why the Underpants Run? Why a report on the Underpants Run? Why not talk about the race first? Well, to me, the race really starts to place its pressure on folks 'round about Thursday of race week. It's an impressive phenomenon, the Hawaii Ironman pressure cooker.

Different folks face, and therefore handle, the pressure in different ways. Some take a running leap-off-the-cliff start, by preparing, preparing, and over-preparing in the several weeks pre-race. They tackle more than they think their competitors are tackling, and they flog, flog, and flog themselves until they are injured or sick, and cannot even get to the line ready to rumble.

Others will prepare their best, only to arrive in Hawaii and succumb to the internal or external expectations they see as the latest obstacle. They make silly mistakes, often based on irrational judgment. Perhaps they train too hard race week; perhaps they eat rotten food; or maybe they tell others they are only there to "participate" or "have fun". Either way, it's self sabotage at its finest.

And still others will nervously avoid any and all contact with humans, dogs, fish, turtles and other germ vehicles. They feel they are too vulnerable to risk it.

And naturally, there are those who see the other athletes doing sprints on Ali'i Drive, power sets in the pool, and motor pacing on the Queen K. They second guess and question everything in their personal routine. They doubt, and consequently, they modify.

Then there are the dreaded taper doldrums. The finely tuned, finely trained power pistons we have for legs start to ache and throb. They go numb while climbing stairs (so we take elevators). They hurt on inclines in the road, mistaking them for long, above-category climbs. They trick us into thinking we are unfit. They do their best to steer us off course, and to tamper with our sensitive emotions. "What if I feel this way on race day?!"

Not entirely immune to each of the above pitfalls, challenges, and quirks, there have been times in the past where I have wandered astray, wondering if I would win or walk on race day. Normally I consider it a strength of mine to stay calm and focused. I tend toward the mellow side of the stress-out scale, and I am generally good at keeping it real in my lead-up.

A big part of how I try to keep control of my perspective is to jump into the World Renowned Kona Underpants Run. Strategically scheduled two days before the Big Day, it falls on what is typically a day off for me. And by day off, I mean that I only swim easy for 10-15 minutes. My day is spent conserving energy, and saving up strength for the Ironman. This holds true for pretty much any IM I race.

However, in Kona it's different.

We all assembled at Pacific Vibrations for our little race. I was there with my tube socks, my flashy Splish, and my hot wife (in her tube socks with flashy Splish). Here is my twist on the popular adage: the couple that Underpantses together, stays together.

Before I run the risk of writing more on the UP Run than my Ironman, I had better get to wrapping this up. After my 12-minute swim (in my super fast blueseventy pointzero3 and Aquaman-themed Splish), I ambled down to the race start. Amanda and I posed for photos, we snapped some photos, and we lined up next to my sister and brother-in-law for our favorite event. And we ran SLOW!

In conclusion (learned that one in sixth grade grammar class), my participation of the Underpants Run is my way of reminding myself that germaphobic turtles in compression socks, sprinting down Alii behind motorized scooters--with aching legs and a slight tickle in the throat--are not something I do not allow to affect my experience at the Hawaii Ironman.

Anyone looking for a little fun, a lot of self-expression, and a good fund raiser, head on down to your next neighborhood Underpants Run.


**Thanks to Karen Frank for providing the fun photo.

The Death of an iPhone

This is not the update I was planning to post on Monday morning, but has to be done. Last night, while experiencing the strangest, and possibly most memorable, awards banquet in the RAIN, my phone drowned. I say this so that all my friends know that I am not ignoring your calls. I can answer the phone... sometimes, but cannot hear voicemail, and cannot even text. Bummer. I am planning to replace/ repair the phone tomorrow, so it will be game on soon.

In the meantime, to all my callers, to all my blog comment-makers, and to all the e-mailers I've not replied to yet: thanks so much for all your support, love and encouragement.

More news at 11:00.

Aloha

In an unprecedented move, I thought I'd post a super-quick race report, only... 28 hours after the fact.  My intent is to post the full blow-by-blow in a day or two, after letting all the ins and outs sort themselves out in my post-race brain.

Yesterday was my ninth Hawaii Ironman, I started with race number nine, and holding with the theme, I finished ninth.  For those of you who followed online, you may have noticed that I crossed the line in tenth place, but due to a disqualification of one of the fellows ahead of me, I got bumped up a notch to hold my niners intact.  

Later on, I'll let my gory ups and downs more thoroughly paint the picture, but in the meantime allow me to summarize as follows:

My swim was the best I've ever done in Hawaii.  I swam aggressively enough to be in the group for about a mile and a half at which time I was dumped off, and left to swim the final mile alone.  

For fifty miles of the bike, I was in position to run my way to a top five finish.  My legs were very strong, very fresh, and very patient (due to my brain convincing them to bide their time). From mile 51 to approximately 85, I suffered more than I've ever suffered here.  My goal became finishing the race at (hopefully) a jogging/ walking pace.   

Finishing the ride strong (for the final 22 miles), I regained the confidence that I could still pull off a strong marathon.

My run was better executed than any previous IM marathon.  I patiently ran my way back into contention, with only a set of gnarly cramps slowing my charge to gain the top American slot.   

I am very satisfied with my placing, my effort, and my determination to turn things around.   

And I thank each and every one of my family members, friends, and fans, for cheering and supporting me every step of the way.

Please tune in for a three-day crescendo of a race report... where I'll share the whole nitty and the gritty.

Aloha

Kona Update #2

I almost let an entire week go by without an update... almost!

This time around I'm going to blame my lack of updates on the fact that Amanda and I have unreliable internet access.  Never mind that I am a lazy blogger, or that Amanda has that same patchy internet access, and she has managed to post.  Hmm.   Maybe I just lack things to say.

This past week has been really fun.  We are very well settled into our routines here, and we've been really enjoying our days and nights.  The training has been going very well, and just about each session has felt very good.  

My sister, Stephanie, and brother-in-law, Huggy Bear Hays, arrived last night.  We all four gathered down at Lava Java for a really nice dinner.  Three out of four of us had the fish tacos, and the fourth person at a grilled fish salad.  Whoa.  They have some seriously fresh and delicious fish over here.  I love it.

Tonight I'm laying low in the condo, as Amanda is out enjoying a VIP booze cruise on the Body Glove boat.  I wish I had gone with her, but at the scheduled departure time I was feeling more like lounging around on the couch, so here I sit, conserving energy... and blogging away.   

It's becoming more and more evident that my lack of posting is more likely due to my lack of interesting topics of discussion.  So on that note, I'm signing off until I find something really juicy to share.

Thanks for checking in!