Thursday night, I listened to the Zen and the Art of Triathlon podcast, an interview with Uberman race organizer Dan Bercu. Listening to Dan recount the 2016 race and share the challenges of all the competitors should have been a fun, enjoyable experience.
But it was wasn’t.
I felt a sense of incompletion. I felt angry. I felt regret.
Most of all, I felt disappointed that I was feeling this way because at that moment when I turned off the timer in Death Valley, I promised myself and my team that I wouldn’t feel this way.
The more I thought about that regret, the more that regret was directed to what could have been with the right planning.
Going into the race, I know I prepared the best I could, from training to diet to logistics, all while running a business and supporting my family. I sat on my living room floor every night pinning lacrosse balls into my back and shoulders. I woke at 4:30am for 7500- and 10,000-yard swims before breakfast. I tortured my lungs and muscles through Cross-Fit workouts. I found experts to help me prepare.
By all measures, I accomplished an enormous amount with the adventure. And still, I sat there on the couch, then in bed unable to go to sleep, then I laid awake at 3:38 AM because I let the missing parts of my Uberman experience override what I completed.
My mindset improved markedly on Saturday night, when Brett Blankner interviewed me for the podcast as well. We talked about the importance of starting versus finishing, and how to approach endurance athletics with the right perspective towards family and personal health.
This is the important moment to remember from Uberman.
If you’re wondering, the answer is still no. I’m not going for Uberman #2. It’s too much on my body and family. It’s never the same the second time, and if I did decide to give it a go, it would be for the wrong reasons – it would be against why I chose to stop and against the contentment with that decision. Uberman, and any form extreme event or life objective, should always be about the journey not the destination, no matter how trite that sounds. Brett and I talked about this at some length in our conversation.
Most of all, we’re talking about a silly endurance event. On the other side of the world right now, a seven-year-old with murdered parents is trudging these distances without a water bottle in flight from torture and death. For real.
In the mean time, while waiting for the podcast episode to publish, I wanted to share a few lessons for those thinking about Uberman or any massive personal effort of its kind, I hope you’ll learn from these mistakes so you don’t lay awake at 3:38am wondering “what if?”
1 – A plan that can’t be changed is a bad plan. Looking back on my race planning, I had absolutely no room for error. I didn’t have a backup plan for missing the targeted swim landing spot. I didn’t build in a rest day. I didn’t account for the probability of injury.
There was plenty of information I ignored – accounts from other Catalina swimmers that missed the Terranea landing spot, the rocks, experience with going longer on an event. Despite these data, I built an inflexible plan that prevented my race completion.
2 – My 4:00am swim start. Marathon swimmers tackling the Catalina Channel usually leave the island at midnight. We chose a 4am start because we wanted to avoid crossing the shipping lanes.Had I started at midnight and even with a 15-hour swim (I finished my crossing in 14:24), I would have hit land by 3:00pm on Wednesday, instead of 6:30pm. This would have meant:
Less time battling wind and current as the day wore on, reducing the physical toll of the swim on my body.
More time to recover from the swim before the bike start.
Time to comfortably return to Marina del Ray post-swim, then back to the bike start on Thursday morning.
Maybe I still would not have been ready to hit the bike, but the extra few hours of a midnight start would have increased my chances, say from 1% to 15-20%. A 1% chance is no chance, while 15-20% is something. As soon as I missed the first bike segment, I lost the opportunity to complete the whole course.
3 – No backup plan for pickup after the swim. From research about Catalina crossings that swimmers are regularly pushed down shore from the target landing spot at Terranea Beach. Even though I was only 1/4 mile off from my target, that 1/4 mile was a world away. Tbone (my sister and crew) awaited my landing with an RV where I planned to sleep for the night then hit the bike in the AM.
Missing the landing spot meant there was no way for her to meet me. Rocks jutted out from shore that prevented her from meeting me and there were no access points to the beach where I landed. This meant that post-crossing, I had to return back to the boat about 1/2 mile offshore and then was faced with a choice of either swimming back to shore again, in the dark, by myself. No thanks.
I didn’t give clear directions and while I was getting settled back o the boat, the rest of the crew was putting away the kayaks. No one was in charge of thinking through the scenario that could have had a kayaker ready to take me back to shore again. It was now past dusk and dark. No flashlights were ready. No glowsticks. No one ready to hop in the kayak to help me. That’s my fault for not taking command and thinking through this scenario before it happened. In my condition, it would have been exceedingly foolish to try to swim back to shore with the current and the conditions, so I was forced to opt out of meeting Tbone.
By the time the boat returned to Marina del Ray and we got back to the apartment, it was well past 10pm or later (I can’t even remember), making the trek back to the bike start 30 miles south at 5 or 6am was a world away.
4 – I thrashed my feet hitting land. Feet are pretty important to cycling and running. Duh. Again, I knew about the rocky beach and how many other swimmers had cut their feet reaching shore. I rushed my landing to clear the water and ended up with two deep cuts on the bottom of my right foot. This was stupid. I could have worked with Nicki (my super awesome kayaker) to find a clear spot to land. Taking an extra minute or two would have saved my a lot of pain down the road (no pun intended…).
5 – I didn’t expect my shoulder ailments post-swim. In July, I did an 11-mile Tahoe crossing. Afterwards, I felt very, very good and had no soreness whatsoever. I wrongly assumed that any additional soreness I’d feel after doubling that swim would be manageable, if not tolerable.
This was a mistake and I should have known better. Having completed 70.3 triathlons vs Ironmans, and half-marathons vs marathons, I should have known that the effort and physical toll to one’s body is three to four times what half of the same distance does. With under a 12-hour turnaround planned from swim finish to bike start, even if I would have hit my landing spot on shore, the chances of being ready for the AM bike start were almost nil.
6 – Omitting buffer times in my race plan. Seeing a trend here? I planned one day for the swim, two for the bike and two for the run – a five-day race plan to cover the entire course. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
Even adding a single “wildcard” rest day to my plan to use when needed would have given me a number of options:
A full rest day post-swim (which I took, forfeiting the first bike segment)
Three days on the bike: 3 x 133 miles vs 2 x 200 miles
Three days for the run
Pay me now or pay me later. I didn’t plan a rest day, and that cost me the opportunity to complete the course. The sole finisher (Giorgio) took eight days (191 hours). One rest day built in could have meant a finish, and probably a finish ahead of him.
7 – No way to extend my race plan. This is more of a constraint than a mistake. Lena and I had each taken an entire week from work already. The five-day race plan also meant that my crew commitments were over on Sunday night. T-bone had flight home from Sacramento on Monday night, and had already taken a week from work to crew. Tim had a job to get to Monday AM. I could have chosen to extend my race plan, and that would have left Lena, Benjamin and me flying solo in the desert with an overdue RV. No thanks.
8 – A big support team. Just like #7, this was a chosen constraint. I wanted and needed my family to be there with me. I wanted to share the journey, not just embark on some crazy odyssey then report back with pictures. I wanted all of us to see it and experience it together.
This decision meant committing to a large support crew and heavy logistics, everything from the RV to having Tbone and Tim meet us in California, to having my in-laws fly to LA to stay with Benjamin while Lena and I crossed Catalina. Each night, I couldn’t just crash in the RV. We had to think about getting food and checking into hotels. We had to think about bath time, finding a glass of milk and which books to read before bedtime.
Having Lena there along the way for emotional support was, without question, a critical component to every moment of the effort. I remember a walk we took after arriving to Catalina Island. I was scared. Very scared. Scared of the swim. Scared of what might happen out there. Scared of sharks. Scared of not finishing. Scared to start. She was there to tell me that everything would be okay.
At the end of my race, having Lena, Benjamin, Tbone and Tim there was an enormous sense of closure. It was a celebration of what we had accomplished as a team over the week, and over the past six months.
—-
So there you go… A few mistakes and a mini-therapy sessions for myself. I’m feeling much more at peace this morning than Thursday night and Friday, when for a period of about 36 hours, I was seriously considering taking another crack at this year’s race.
Nope. That’s okay. I’m good for now. I’m closing this door so another can open. I don’t know when, but another journey awaits, one more important and more impactful. I just wonder what it’ll be…
It’s event that will take 24 hours or more (hopefully less…) to complete. Ironman races take half that time, and even with Uberman where I was out there for multiple days, I had the chance to rest overnight before starting the next leg of the journey. The 24 hours of persistent movement. It’s just something I want to experience.
During Uberman, I watched the sun rise and set in the same day twice in three days – first over the Pacific Ocean then in the Mojave Desert. The experience brought a calm about the endeavor – that I travelled not across a distance, but through the day.
The day of this 100-miler, the sun will rise at 6:52am on race day and set at 7:16pm that evening. I’ll watch the sun begin the day just before we toe the line, then I’ll run all day, and if I’m on pace, I’ll watch it set right around the midway point. Then I’ll go all night and cross the finish line at sunrise on Saturday.
Three Ironman finishes are pretty satisfying and I’m happily done with those. It’s overwhelming to look over the bike transition area in the early morning hours – 3000 sparkling bikes lit up at 5:00am by flood lights, racked and awaiting the return of their owners, one-by-one, to enter the hamster wheel bike and run courses. The crowds, the congestion, the constant stress about transitions, the 30 pieces of gear – wetsuits, Body Glide, bike pumps, helmets… The cowbells. The music. There was a time all of this was magical for me. And even more, the training is more than I’m willing to bear. That’s why my end to Uberman was so emotional for me. I knew that was it. I was done.
I knocked out three huge swims since 2015 – Alcatraz (2.5 miles), a Tahoe crossing (11 miles) and the Catalina Channel (23.74 miles). I feel pretty damn good about that part of my endurance event portfolio, and I’ve got absolutely no desire to get back in the water. I was at the gym last month to cancel my membership and figured I’d fit in a quick workout. As I walked past the pool to the locker room, I watched a lap swimmer hit the wall and flip back for the next 25 yard length. Then I smelled the chlorine. I thought I was going to vomit. Yep, I think I’m good with swimming for now. (Another good reason to skip Ironman races…)
Cycling has never been my favorite. I like going all out on a flat. I like ascending a big hill even if I climb like an anvil. I like the shorter rides where I’m pushing out intervals and sucking hard for air, but my back always aches by the third hour of a long ride. The best part of a 50, 70, or 90-mile ride is when I hop out of the saddle knowing that I’m done for the day.
I’ve done a few century rides. They’ve taken me to places like Palm Desert, Sonoma and along the Pacific Coast Highway. I’ve biked the Sutter Buttes. While I see the camaraderie in big groups, I’m usually trying to separate from a pace group that seems to be bothering me. Doing the “Death Ride” isn’t on my bucket list. I’d rather Everest if I’m going to put myself through that.
So what’s left?
Running, with all it’s simplicity – lacing up my shoes and heading out for a run. It’s my default. Running is what I couldn’t do before or after knee surgery, and for a time, it’s what I thought would never return to me. It’s what I do when I need to de-stress – I can always run a lap or two around the neighborhood any time of day or night. I can walk out my front door at 5am, turn off my headlamp and run in total darkness along the olive grove with the stars. I can run down the middle of the road because it’s too early for cars. I can stop to watch the sky turn purple, then orange, then yellow with the sunrise over the Sierras.
On the trail, there’s total peace and quiet. No kicks to the face. No blinding white caps. No gear shifts clicking. No mid-pack Ironmanners passing me on mile 79 just because the want to reach the top of the roller first, only to pass them back on the downhill because I weigh more or have a better bike.*
Sure, there’s gear, electronics and nutrition. It’s just that running is the most basic of our human movements – using our legs to move from one place to the next.
During my Uberman training, I spoke with Max Wunderle. Max was the second-youngest person to ever swim around Manhattan Island (28.5 miles at the age of 17). In our conversation, Max asked me why I was doing Uberman, and I couldn’t answer the question. (Heck, I’m still not sure why and it’s been three months since I finished.)
Max told me this:
“You’re doing it because you don’t know if you can.”
Yep, that’s probably right. 100 miles is a long, long way. 24 hours is a long time to be be moving. I might get bored. might get injured. It’s hard damn work just getting to the starting line. It’s just something I need to do, to prove to myself that I’m willing to start… willing to try… willing to see if I can.
Go Farther.
* I’ve had phenomenal experiences at my Ironman races, and I wish EVERYONE well that makes an Ironman effort. I know exactly what it takes to get there –training, family, schedule. It’s just not my thing anymore…
I wrote about working in sprints earlier this week. I think the same goes with workouts in whatever training you’re pursuing. Whether you’re training for a 10k, half-marathon or 100-mile ultra, it’s all the same:
The Race = The “Project”
Weekly workout plan = “Weekly Workout Sprints” comprised of daily workouts.
Daily workouts = “Daily Sprint Sessions” or “Tasks.”
Each week, or my “Weekly Workout Sprints,” is different – they take on a personality and theme of its own.
Last week’s theme was “Do Miles.” I didn’t do any lifting or Cross-Fit except on Sunday morning. The rest of the week was focused on running and returning to an evening mobility routine. I did four runs of 9, 6, 5 and 13 miles to get myself above 30 miles in a week. I hadn’t done that many miles in a week in a while and the miles were mostly longer, slower miles.
The 9-mile run on Tuesday was very slow – running 9:00 (or slower miles). My 13-miler was with GVH so I ran 8:00/miles the whole way without intervals or pickups.
Only my 5-mile run on Friday when I went to the track was “hard” running where I did a ladder workout, going hard over increasing distances – 1/4 mile, 1/2 mile, 3/4 mile, 1 mile, then back down the ladder to 1/4 mile with easy 1/4 mile segments between each hard segment.
This week’s theme is “Strength & Conditioning + Harder Miles” – more difficult, faster running and more strength and conditioning (SC). I’ve got three (3) SC sessions with fewer, but harder, miles in the week.
Strength & Conditioning:
Sunday: Hanging shoulder presses, followed by a CF workout of 4 x (5 pull-ups, 25 kettle bell swings & 15 goblet squats), then 2 x (5 pull-ups, 50 sit-ups)
Tuesday: Deadlifts with 5 pull-ups between sets, followed by a CF workout: 4 sets of Russian twists and Burpee Boxjumps. (I was toasted after this one…)
Friday (planned): Hanging shoulder presses, then CF with kettle bell swings and a 10-minute hard run.
Running:
Monday & Tuesday: off-days to recover from Saturday’s long run and Sunday’s strength & conditioning work.
Wednesday: 7-mile run consisting of a 2-mile warm-up then 8 x (1/4 mile hard, 1/4 recovery) for the next four miles, then a 1-mile cool down.
Thursday: Track workout – 3 x 1-mile time trial (TT) runs with a 1/4 mile recovery in between, for a grand total of 4 miles. Eventually, I get that up to 5-7 mile TT runs, but for now, three miles was all I needed.
Friday (planned): Time permitting after the SC workout, I’ll add a few easy miles to experience running after a hard SC workout.
Saturday (planned): 13 miles with intervals scattered throughout. This is a group run with GVH so I’ll need to figure out who to do the intervals while sticking with the group.
Having a theme each week helps me justify whatever pain I might feel along the way with each workout. Each workout is just a “task” or “daily sprint session” in my “weekly project sprint,” and each workout, set or interval is just a “job” within the “task” or “daily sprint session.” When I’m doing 8 x (1/4 mile hard, 1/4 recovery), it’s hard and it’s painful, especially the early intervals when I’m still getting my body revved up. Keeping a mindset that each interval gets me closer to finishing the day’s workout helps me bear the discomfort of that particular rep or interval. In other words, mind games…
Using the 8 x (1/4 mile hard, 1/4 recovery) workout as an example, I’ll think to myself:
Rep #1: Okay, let’s just do the first one to get started. Once I get started, then I’m on the way.
Reps #2-3: We’re on our way. Get to the midway point of the workout, then I’m on the downside.
Rep #4: Woohoo! Halfway done!
Rep #5-6: On the downside, just a couple more after these.
Rep #7: Only one more after this one
Rep #8: Last one, then we can jog it home.
Same goes with Cross-Fit workouts where I’m doing 4-10 sets in a workout. I break down the thinking into individual goals I’m hitting along the way. For me, reaching the midway point is the tipping point for most workouts – once I’m halfway, I know I’ve got whatever workout I’m doing licked.
Finally, I apply the same breakdown strategy within sets. If I’m doing sets of 25, I think:
Reps 1-5: Getting started
Reps 6-10: Now I’m in this
Reps 11-15: Get to 15 and then I have 10 left, and I can do 10 of anything
Reps 16-20: Only 5 more after these
Reps 21-25: Last five
…then I’ll add 1-2 more reps as buffer for any bad reps in the set: I can do a couple more. The 1% rule…
For me, this process generates confidence at the end of long training cycle leading up to a race when, despite following whatever training program, however rigorous, when I’m feeling like I could have done more. If I’ve put in the time along the way and completed my “daily workout tasks” and “weekly workout sprints” then the completion of those tasks should yield a successful “Project”for me – a solid race with the opportunity to hit whatever time or completion goals I’ve set.
Looking back, I’ve almost always hit my time and races goals. Using my Ironman races as examples:
(Wait a minute… Maybe I should set more difficult race goals…? Oh no! Confidence crisis!)
If you’re struggling to keep motivated in a given day or week, try the mindset that each week and each workout is just another task or sprint along the way to a winning project.
We departed Marina del Rey late morning on Tuesday and arrived to Catalina in the early afternoon with the crew – Mike (boat captain), Nicki (my kayaker), Dan (Uberman race director), Lena (my wife) and Samson (kayaker for a second swimmer slated to leave Catalina that night on at 6pm with a different boat.)
The swim crew
Pulling into Two Harbors
The weather was GORGEOUS! We departed around 11am for a 2.5 hour boat ride to Catalina Island under beautiful blue skies and nearly perfect conditions. Despite some queasiness on the ride over, I arrived to Catalina in good shape and excited for what was ahead.
Quick tour of Two Harbors
Our plan was to hit the water at 4am on Wednesday, October 19th.
Sidenote… Most swimmers opt for either a night crossing, or to start at midnight to finish the swim by midday to avoid currents, wind and chop that arise each day. We instead opted for the 4am swim to avoid swimming across the shipping lanes at night.While the huge freighters are easy to spot, distance and speed can be difficult to tabulate at night. Additionally, while Mike was an experienced boat captain that guided paddle boarders across the Channel, he hadn’t guided a swimmer doing the crossing in a single effort. I had done a TON of research on this and discussed our start time in multiple conversations with Mike, Dan and Lena and all variables considered, we felt the 4am start time, despite setting ourselves up for a more difficult swim, was better for safety purposes.
Feeling Scared
We docked, then Lena and I enjoyed a hefty lunch of burgers and fries at an outdoor cafe at Two Harbors. After lunch, we walked to the other side of the island to check out the second harbor and on the way, I admitted to Lean that I was scared. Really scared. Before that, I had always hedged how I felt when asked about Uberman by saying – “I’m somewhere between excited and scared.” Now I was just plain scared.
Lena gave me some great advice – “Scared is just one emotion you’re feeling. You probably have others – excitement, anticipation.” Of course she was right, but scared was the 1000 lb gorilla in my mind right now.
Captain Mike determining our course for the morning
Around 4:30pm, we made our way back to the boat to prep nutrition and food before nightfall a couple hours later. I spent an hour in the galley mixing my various food and nutrition concoctions – labelling bottles and talking with Mike, Lena, Nicki and Dan about tomorrow’s safety procedures.
After that, there wasn’t much to do except rest, so around 7:30pm I retired to the master stateroom graciously offered to me hoping to get a solid seven hours of sleep. I slept pretty well. The quietness of the night and the subtle rocking of the boat offered some comfort. It was all happening now. Nothing more to do, nothing more the plan, no more logistics. It was time to just do.
Final preparations
Hitting the water
Alarms beeped at 3am across the boat. The morning air was cool and peaceful. Just past a full moon, stars dotted the early morning sky. Sam and I did our final preparations, reviewed plans with everyone and headed to the Catalina shore. We docked a few hundred feet from the beach, so I hitched a ride from Nicki from the boat docked a couple hundred yards from shore. Why do any more swimming than absolutely necessary, right? 🙂
Hitching a ride on the kayak
Sam and I stood there on the beach, looked at each other, shook hands and wished each other luck. I yelled “Starting!” and off we went.
Sidenote…
As I mentioned, Sam was supposed to leave at 6pm the night before with another guide boat and athlete. But….they left without him. On purpose – because the captain of that boat decided having two swimmers and one boat through the night would be too much to handle. Perhaps true. And perhaps would have been nice to inform Sam and Samson about that before departing for Catalina rather than by phone to Dan twenty minutes after they left.
Sam had flown from Scotland to Los Angeles that day to do the swim, filling in for another athlete part of a relay team that withdrew at the last minute. Even better, Sam had just successfully crossed the English Channel five days before – the same distance and swim but in colder water on Saturday. Now, here he was halfway across the world to tackle the Catalina Channel. Amazing that he would even agree to this. Astonishing that the boat crew knowingly left without him.
In the Water: Hours 0-3
Much like my Tahoe swim earlier this summer, the first miles were flowing and smooth. (The Tahoe crossing was immensely valuable, and I don’t think I would have completed the swim without that open water experience.)
The water was calm and soft, and I focused on long, smooth, slow strokes. Every bit of energy and efficiency I could save would mean more in the tank later. We got out to Dinosaur Rock around the time for the first feed.
The “Feed Plan” was every 30 minutes. I alternated between real food – a watery mix of sour cream and avocado for fat and protein, and a nutrition drink mix called 3Fuel that dumps fat into my system to burn for energy instead of relying on short-term carbs. (More on this in my eventual nutrition post).
Nicki and I found a rhythm pretty quickly. She was great from the onset and very comforting throughout the day with her positive attitude and confidence. She maintained a steady pace between one-thirty and two o’clock on my right side so that I could sight on every right-side breath. (I breath bilaterally – right, left, right, breathe. Left, right, left, breathe.)
During these early miles, I felt tiny pin pricks across my face every 10-20 yards as I moved through water – either they were tiny jellyfish stinging my face or I was running into expunged stingers from larger jellyfish covering the water’s surface. Later in the morning as daylight broke, I could see larger jellyfish swimming around 10-20 feet below and around me.
Somewhere between the first and second hour, the boat pulled up and directed me to slow down. My stroke pace was 60-64/minute and I was pulling away from Sam. There too much distance between us this early in the swim. It was still dark and with only glow sticks and headlamps, and now three miles from shore, we needed to stay closer to each other. No worries. Firstly, even though I thought I was swimming at a slow pace, I was probably too amped up and couldn’t keep that stroke pace for the entire swim. Secondly, I knew that every ounce of energy I saved early would payoff later.
We slowed to about 52-56 strokes/minutes for the next hour, and we reached the end of our first three hour segment only to have the boat ask me to slow down again. Even Nicki voiced some frustration because she had my stroke count at 48. I kept the same attitude as before – slower is better. Less energy burned now means more later. This was surprising because he and I talked about our predicted swim times, and they were about the same – 13-14 hours for him and 14-15 hours for me. That said, the guy did just fly halfway across the world after swimming the English Channel a few days ago!
(About the only positive in my swim form is that I get a lot of each stroke. Random swimmers I’ve met at pools have told me how they admire my long strokes. That’s about the only compliment I ever get for my swim form.. :-).
Early morning after sunrise
Towards the end of the third hour, the sun rose over my right side. The course from Two Harbors to Rancho Palos Verdes runs south to north, so the sunrise in the east was exactly to my right side. The sky turned from black to blue to pale gray, and eventually yellow and gold. Only a few minutes after peeking the horizon, the sun came into full view. It then dawned on me (pun intended…) that I would be following the sun’s ascent on my right, then over my head, then down my left side to sunset throughout the day. With any luck, I’d finish right round sunset to avoid refitting the kayak and myself with another round of glow sticks. There was something peaceful about this. The sun was my timer and marked my progress. As it rose in the sky and eventually we hit midday, it was a a more amiable signal of my progress than any mileage count or time marker.
Hours 3-6: Past the Beginning & Just starting
This segment was just all about early progress. At the end of the third hour, we swapped nutrition bags. I had eight water bottles prepped at a time – two were freshwater and the remaining six were filled with nutrition mix and the sour cream/avocado mix. We also had cooked sweet potatoes and white rice in ziplock bags for me to eat throughout the day. With the 30-minute feed cycles, each batch lasted three hours.
Smooth as glass. Far from land.
The water remained incredibly blue and smooth – even softer and smoother than Lake Tahoe. I felt like I was gliding and after the six hour mark, we stopped for a feed and to swap out the nutrition bags again. Dan told me I was already six miles into the swim and making huge progress. “You’re a third of the way there!”
“Well, not quite,” I said in a way to reserve any excitement. I felt satisfied knowing that I “only” had 15 miles to go. This was my plan going into the swim – I didn’t want to know distance or mileage until I had 15-16 miles to go because from there, I could psychologically get myself to think that 15 miles wasn’t that far… But I knew I had 15 miles to go and while getting six miles from the start was a checkbox, the real swimming wouldn’t start for many miles ahead.
“Well, almost…” replied Dan.
I appreciated Dan’s demeanor even if I didn’t express it throughout the swim and the entire experience. He was positive and a constant cheerleader for me and everyone. I felt a little badly about dousing his enthusiasm. Sorry, Dan…
Seasickness hit Lean, and I needed Dan to fill in to complete the nutrition plan. While treading water six miles from shore, I was shouting directions to him on what to put in each of the eight water bottles then made him repeat it back to make sure he got it right. I’m a stickler for my plan on this and I didn’t want any surprises. The exchange was made and off Nicki and I went for the next three hours.
Now several hours into the swim and the day, while the sun rose into a perfectly clear and blue sky, the moon persisted above to my left. I could also still see the edge of Catalina Island to my left too. They were my last anchors to the swim start which I think helped me to avoid what otherwise could have been an overwhelming sense of “Oh shit, I’m in the middle of the fu*cking ocean.”
Hours 7-9: The Transition Zone
The anterior of my shoulders near my rotator cuff started to ache with every stroke.
The next distance update from the boated reported that we were nine miles into the swim. I rolled back my wetsuit sleeve to check my Garmin for the first time, and it corroborated that we were indeed nine miles into the swim, though for me, it didn’t matter that I swam one, ten or a hundred miles so far. All that mattered was how much I had left to get to shore. I was solely focused on how much I had left to finish, not how far I’d gone.
I call this “The Transition Zone” because I was moving from the first half to the second half of the swim. While the absolute miles from nice to ten, ten to eleven, eleven to twelve are the same as the first mile or from mile one to mile two, these middle miles felt longer because psychologically I wanted to get down to single digit miles to go so that I could take the swim one mile at a time to the finish.
Worse, the math of the course began to skew. While the swim course is 20.5 miles in a straight line, I knew that because of current, our actual course would be at least 1-2 miles more than the straight line despite our best efforts to course correct along the way. So even while nine miles was a big accomplishment, I also knew I had at least twelve to go, and probably more than that. This is a difficult hurdle to overcome mentally and why these are hard miles.
We went another couple of feeds when I learned that we had about 10.5 to go. I checked my Garmin and saw that I was at 10 ten miles swam so far. I didn’t have the display show decimals, so to see “9” at the last check then swim for an hour and a half and then see “10” the next time I checked was pretty tough. I knew I could have gone from 9.1 to 10.9 in that time, but it was hard to see the raw numbers. I decided that I wouldn’t check my Garmin again for a while. Even here behind me, I could still see the edges of Catalina behind me while starting to see land ahead of me where I would eventually land. When we got to 8 miles to go, I checked again and saw “14” on my Garmin – confirmation that we’d be swimming more than the 20.5 miles of a straight line course.
Somewhere out there, I heard squeaking noises when I dipped my head below the surface and thought they might be dolphins. During a feed, Lena called out from the boat – “There are dolphins EVERYWHERE are you swimming around! It’s so cool!” I only wished I could have seen them. Still a pretty cool experience that I’d read about in other swimmer posts.
“I’ve never seen this much traffic out here…” -Mike, Boat Captain
Now in the middle of the channel, we approached the shipping channels – large ships arriving from some or headed another to port on the other side of the world. These freighters were giants even from several miles away, and later I learned from Lena that Mike, the boat captain, commented – “I’ve never see this much freighter traffic out here…” A couple of months before the race, Lena asked me if they would shut down the shipping lanes for the race (no they can’t…) but right about now sure seemed like a good idea…
Fortunately the timing of the freighters crossing worked out and we pushed through the shippig lanes without incident, save for the 2-3 brown sludge pools left behind for me to swim through.
Somewhere around this point, I decided to drop from 30 minute to 20 minute feeds. The 30-minute intervals became too difficult to maintain, the time and distance was taking it’s toll on my psyche. In seeing land ahead of me, I was again glad for my Tahoe swim this summer – knowing that distances were deceiving in the water and to just focus on the next mile. Lena had recovered from her seasickness, and it was very, very motivating to see her standing on the boat watching me. She took video and asked me to say hello to Benjamin.
To pass the time, I tried counting strokes. Normally I just count – “One, two, three, breathe. One, two, three, breathe.” I read in Lynne Cox’s book “Swimming to Antartica” that she counted 1000 strokes at a time to pass the time and distance. I tried this approach for a couple of 20-minute segments, getting to 800-1000 in sets of 100 strokes. After 2-3 sets, I found it too difficult to think about so many strokes between feeds instead of focusing on each stoke presently. I dropped this approach and went back to “One, two, three, breathe.”
We worked through the next couple of miles and got down to six miles to go. During a break, Mike commented – “You’ve covered a long way so far – really takes a lot of stamina to get this far.”
I replied – “We haven’t gotten to the part where stamina kicks in.”
I know that my retorts to encouragement make me seem awfully surly. I had to do this for myself to retain focus and the feeling that while I had made a significant effort to get to any one part of the course, that within my mind, I still had plenty in reserve left for the work that lay before me.
With six miles to go, the current and wind picked up noticeably. I could see the swells rising and falling each time I turned to breathe. I’d breath and see the horizon, and the next time on that side I’d see only the peak of a swell a hundred yards off. Ripples formed on the top of the water. I could begin to make out the lighthouse we were aiming for and the beach where we’d land. I also knew we still had a long way to go. In the sky, the sun had migrated from my right side to my left side and I begin to wonder if we’d have to reequip the kayak with glow sticks for me to finish.
Hours 10-11: Just. Keep. Swimming
I stopped along the way a few times here for a round of breathing exercises thatI picked up from Brian Mackenzie – three rounds of ten deep inhales and exhales, then a 20-second hold on inhale #10, then an exhale and a 20-second hold. Three rounds of this to oxygenate my body and reset my brain. (Check out more here at XPTLife.com)
As I got more tired, I started to wonder if I would make it and shared this with Nicki. She said – “You’re doing great. Trust your motor.” Trust my motor. Solid gold advice. She was right. I did an inventory and aside from my rotator cuffs, the rest of my body was fine. My posterior shoulders were strong and I relied on them to lift my arms out of the water. My legs felt great. My body temperature was warm and mental faculties felt sharp. Trust my motor.
Eventually we worked down to 5.5 miles, then to 4.9 miles. At this rate, I was swimming about mile every 40 minutes, or 1/2 mile for each 20-minute feed segment. While slower than the start of the swim, I was comfortable with this pace and progress and I found it was motivating to knock out a half a mile between each feed.
From 4.9, we got to 4.5 in 20 minutes. From 4.5 to 4.1 over the next 20 minutes. My pace was slowing because of the wind and current. My stroke count was consistent – we were simply facing Mother Nature.
The boat left us again at 4.1 miles to go back to check on Sam, and after two feeds, they returned. I was now down to 3.3 miles – still going 0.4 miles every 20 minutes, or 1.33 mph. Not great, but still okay.
The sun was gaining on the horizon to my left. The whiteness of the daytime sun was fading into a shade of yellow as it crept towards horizon. The blue sky behind it became darker as the afternoon wore on. I considered it a race to reach shore before sunset.
It was also around here that I began thinking about tomorrow’s bike segment, and how I might need to skip it entirely. My shoulders were aching and throbbing. I kept focus on where I hurt and it always came back to my shoulders. My mind felt sharp. From the water, I was lucid and felt like I was still in control. I tried to make a quick joke or conversation with Nicki during feeds, or make a decision to tell the boat to do this or that.
Hours 12-14:25: One Last Push
“3 miles to go!” called Lena. Getting close!
I yelled back – “That’s just a 5000 yard workout. Five by 1000s. I can do that.” On the boat, I saw Sam wrapped in a towel – he had dropped almost two miles behind me and was getting caught in the same current. He went from 4.1 miles to go to 4.8 miles to go. From here, I knew the boat and the day would now 100% focused on me and getting me across.
I slogged my way down 1.8 miles to go, and somewhere in here we dropped to 15-minute feed segments. I didn’t need the feeds so much as I just needed a break to hang on the kayak for a moment or two and reset for the next block.
The water temperature dropped as expected and it felt refreshing on my face and neck. I could see how this temperature drop could be troublesome on a swimmer without a wetsuit. Our pace continued to slow.
At 1.8 miles to go, the boat did a check on us then sped off towards shore. That was disconcerting.
“Where the f*ck are they going!?” I yelled to Nicki. “This is the most important part of the swim when I need them the most and they’re f*cking taking off and leaving us here. We have no radio and no way to communicate and they’re fucking leaving us. What the f*ck?!” yeah, I was losing it a little… Not my best moment.
From 1.8 miles to go, we got to 1.6 miles to go in 15 minutes, then to 1.4 miles to go over the next 15 minutes after that. My speed had dropped to 0.8 mph. A friend of mine did the English Channel a few years ago, and when his speed dropped to below 1.0 mph because of current, they considered pulling him from the water. I didn’t think I was in jeopardy of getting pulled because the crew was new for this swim crossing, so as long as I said I could keep going and stay warm, I knew I’d be able to stay in the water. It was just tedious to know I was swimming less than 1 mph.
My bigger concern was that the current would continue to increase to the point where I wouldn’t be able to make any progress at all. Low tide that day was 7:09pm, so not only was I fighting the current, but also the tidal flow out from the mainland.
Current direction in the Catalina Channel (October 19, 2016)
Low tide was 7:09pm on October 19, 2016
I understood now how a swimmer could reach this point only to be forced to call it quits. Land was getting closer. It changed from a haze ahead to where I could begin to make out individual rocks and trees.
Looking back up onto the boat, I noticed everyone outside watching me. From Lena’s body language, she was watching closely and getting concerned. Aside from my shoulders and the fatigue, I felt fine.
We got down to 1.2 miles – just a half-Ironman swim – and I still considered that I might not make it – that I could go all this way only to call off the swim because of conditions. I told myself that as long as we could keep getting closer to shore and that my faculties were in check, I would keep going. There was no clock. Even if I have to breaststroke or crawl my way there little by little, I was determined to get to shore.
Lena asked – “How are you doing?”
“I’m tired but I’m okay. The water’s much colder, but I’m warm and I feel good.”
By now, I switched to two stroke breathing, breathing only on my right side and relying on my right arms to do most of the swimming. I significantly increased my stroke count:
Stroke count calculation from my Garmin
My stroke count increase over the last 90 minutes
From 1.2 to 1.0. Then from 1.0 to 0.8. Still swimming at 0.8 mph, I was making progress, and digging hard. The water turned brown and murky.
Once we hit 0.8 miles to go, I knew that I would finish no matter what, even if it took me until midnight, but I received some interesting news here…
Lena yelled out to me – “When you hit shore, you have to swim back to the boat!”
Huh? That’s not right. The plan was to meet Tbone on shore with The Beast parked nearby. She’d tend to me, get me fed and ready for the bike segment tomorrow. While I had resigned to the fact I’d need to skip tomorrow’s bike, I just wanted to get to a place where I could crash and rest. Tbone could drive us back to Marina del Rey while I slept and we could figure out tomorrow in the morning. The boat ride back to the marina could take up to two hours with current and waves, and after 14+ hours, the last thing I wanted was to spend any more time in or near water.
I yelled back – “No – Tbone’s meeting me on the shore!”
“Change of plans! We got pushed south by the current to another part of the beach. TBone can’t get to you so you have to come back to the boat. After you hit land, you have to swim back to the boat!”
Why I had to swim back to the boat
Aerial view
“Nicki – There’s no f*cking way I can swim back to the boat – you’re gonna have to give me a ride.”
We dug in for another 15 minute segment, then she told me – “You’re only 0.2 miles!”
“How is that possible?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“We went from 0.8 to 0.2 miles in 15 minutes?” I was baffled. I didn’t realize it at the time, but natural land extensions just to the north blocked the current and made the last segment much easier. I didn’t think about it too long because ahead I could now make out individual rocks and plants on the shore. The finish was right there!
I dug in again – 100 strokes, then a crawled for 20-25. 100 more strokes, then crawled for 20-25.
“200 yards! You’re going to make it!”
Close to shore, I saw the Terranea rocks that many swimmers before me cursed. I climbed over and through a kelp bed closer to rocky shore, looking for a place to land. The waves pushed me into a wall of rocks where I tried to grab hold, then pulled me away again. The rocks were slippery and I couldn’t find a path to shore.
Up against the wall of rocks, I pulled myself over and dropped off into a small pool. I couldn’t touch anything below me – I was caught in a mixing bowl of seawater and foam.
The waves were hammering Nicki’s kayak against the rocks as she tried to stay close to me. The sun had set minutes again and it was dusk, almost dark. The air was brown and gray.
I finally found a pedestal of rocks to the left of me that would disappear and reappear with each wave. With the next wave set, I pulled myself up halfway to my waist, waited from the next wave set to cover and uncover them, then I hoisted my two feet atop the rock to clear the water, yelled “CLEAR!!” then jumped back into the mixing bowl. “Let’s get the f*ck out of here!”
The view from the boat the moment I cleared the water
“Absolutely!” yelled Nicki. I pulled myself out of the mixing bowl back into the water and told Nicki – “I can’t swim back to the boat – I’m done. You’re gonna have to pull me in.”
She maneuvered the kayak to head back out to sea and I grabbed onto the rear. “Let’s go!”
She paddled while I kicked. “You don’t need to kick.”
“The water temperature is cold and my body temperature is going to drop if I don’t keep moving.” I think this is the most I’ve ever kicked while swimming.
The boat was a good 1/4 mile or more from shore and to the east from our landing spot. “They’re gonna have to come over and meet us.” She pulled and pulled and then boat crawled slowly to meet us. Dan and Sam pulled me up by my arms and shoulders and got me aboard. Then Nicki.
We. Were. Done.
The Beast in waiting, which I never saw… Sorry Tbone!
Now my options were to either swim back to shore once we got a bit farther West to meet Tbone, or to simply go back to the Marina on a two-hour boat ride. There was no way I’d be able to swim, and the two-person kayak was stowed and was taking on water earlier in the day anyway. It was nighttime now and I could just imagine myself getting lost at sea because of fatigue and darkness. We bagged the meet up option to home and headed back to the Marina.
As I undressed, I discovered two large gashes on the bottom of my left foot. We wrapped them with paper towels, and I didn’t think much of them at the time.I couldn’t lift my arms above sternum height. My neck and shoulders were covered with deep abrasions from my wetsuit. Despite trying to keep the skin lubricated beneath the wetsuit, there was no solution for 14+ hours of the constant rubbing of 20,000 strokes and 40,000 yards.
My Garmin recording of the swim
I had somehow remembered to stop by Garmin at the landing spot to record the time. 23.76 miles in 14:24 – more than 2.5 extra miles compared to the straight line route.
Back on the boat – safe, dry & happy
The ride home was peaceful and quiet. Almost eerie. As we pulled away from Rancho Palos Verdes, a long white wake formed behind the boat pointed back to our landing spot. Lena and I sat in the stern of the boat, looking back to RPV slowing moving farther and farther from view.
We watched the landing pattern of airplanes at LAX. We looked at stars. Aside from the boat engines, it was very, very quiet. I wanted to talk about the swim and take pictures, but I didn’t know what to do or what to say. I know Lena was tired and ready to go home, and ready to just enjoy being on the boat. The stars and moon were out again – the same sky that I saw 15 hours ago from Catalina Island.
Somewhere in this ride, I decided once and for all that I’d need to skip tomorrow’s bike segment. I needed to rest, and more so, I wanted to take the day to celebrate with everyone in Venice what we just accomplished. Right then, in that moment, I felt an enormous sense of accomplishment – that even if my injuries would prevent me from going any farther on the race course, I was happy and content. If I could go farther, every mile from here would be gravy…
COMING SOON: See if I made it onto the bike after all…
This is the moment that I decided it was time to finish my Uberman experience and attempt to complete “The World’s Toughest Triathlon” – 84 hours from the time I slipped into the water at Catalina Island and swam nearly 24 miles to shore, after 140 miles of desert terrain on my bike, then persisting nearly 38 miles on foot from Badwater Basin along CA-160 towards Mt. Whitney – captured on video, and I’m delighted to share this moment with you:
I’ve chronicled each segment of my Uberman experience in detailed posts here:
I’ve thought about the experience many times since this moment captured above – from the decision on April 1 to start my training to this finish. Looking back, the seven months flew by, yet I know that each training day and week seemed endless at times. I wanted to see how far I could push myself and to know what enough felt like. And I found it, right there, in the middle of Death Valley with my closest friends and family at mile 37.72 of the run.
People have already asked me – “Will you do it again next year?” If I could hop into a time machine and be magically transported to the starting line, then yes. I love personal challenge. I just can’t do the training anymore – scheduling every moment of every day, negotiating time with myself and my family, finding good calories to consume six… seven… eight times a day, waking up at 5:00am to swim 5000 yards or do sets of deadlifts.
I’ll continue to do events – ultra-marathons seem most appealing because of the relatively low training burden and enjoyment of trail running.
Here’s what I’m most proud of accomplishing over these past seven months:
1 – Successful completing the Catalina Channel swim with the best time of any competitor.
This swim was beyond any single endurance event I’ve ever attempted, This include my three Ironman races. In those races, I knew that barring the catastrophe of a bike crash or some kind of freak injury, I would finish the event within the prescribed 17-hour time limit. The same with the 50-mile ultra-marathon I ran last year – I knew I’d finish, it was just a matter of what my finishing time would be.
For the Catalina Channel swim, my finishing time of 14 hours 25 minutes was exactly in the 14-15 hour range I predicted, and was the best of the competitors that attempted it. So technically, I was leading the race after the swim… 🙂
More so, that meant my training and personal expectations were exactly correct.
The Catalina Channel is one of the three marathon swims comprising the Triple Crown of Marathon Swimming. (The English Channel and circumnavigating Manhattan Island are the other two.)
For the Catalina Channel swim, I was very, veryscared – scared of the distance, scared of the currents and tides, scared of getting lost at sea, scared of sharks and scared of being ill-prepared because of my training program choices. (More on this later.)
I was scared of not finishing – approaching shore only to get pulled because of body temperature or conditions. I’d read enough blog posts from experienced marathon swimmers who got as close as a mile did not complete the swim. These fears were very real and very true.
We could have packed up here and I would have been happy and excited with my accomplishment. Everything past the swim was just gravy for me.
A number of variables affected the probability of completing the swim:
The 4:00am start time. Most swimmers begin at midnight from Catalina to avoid typical late afternoon winds that create chop and a headwind. While I hit headwinds and current as expected, I was very lucky to have had an remarkably smooth first 15-16 miles for the swim. As I saw and felt conditions change with about six miles to go and the final 3-4 miles were extremely tough. [More details here in the Swim Segment chronicle.]
Currents. The swim route from Two Harbors to Rancho Palos Verdes is essentially south to north. The currents that day would be moving in a southeasterly direction, meaning that as the current and wind picked up later in the day, I would be swimming “uphill” into a current to reach our planned end point of Terranea Beach. Many swimmers report getting pushed south towards San Pedro because of these currents, forcing them to swim 3-4 miles longer than planned. We chose a straight line route with course corrections throughout the day to swim the shortest possible distance. Even taking this approach, the 21-mile course took me 23.76 miles to complete.
Current direction day of the swim. Source: http://www.sccoos.org/data/hfrnet/
Timing of low and high tides that day. On the day of the swim (October 19th), low tides were in the early morning as we started, high tides just past 12noon, and the next low tides again just past 7:00pm. This meant that I’d be reaching the midpoint at high tide and fighting the low tide waters getting shore at my expected finishing time.
Tide variance the day of the swim. Source: https://tidesandcurrents.noaa.gov/noaatidepredictions/NOAATidesFacade.jsp?Stationid=9410079&bmon=10&bday=18&byear=2016&edate=&timelength=daily
Tidal flow relative to the moon phases, which affect the severity of the tide. Because we started just past a full moon phase, the tide heights relative to baseline range were high as two meters. Here’s a graph of the variance that day from NOAA:
2 – Being physically & mentally ready. Accomplishing any one of these endurance events on their own – the Catalina Channel swim, a 140+ mile bike ride or a 38-miles desert run – would be a huge personal accomplishment. I did each these in four days’ time and felt muscularly and mentally ready for each day. I owe that all to my programming, training and diet. The only adverse effect I experienced was the thrashing of my rotator cuffs, and I’m not sure any amount of training could have prevented this.
I not only trained very hard, I had the RIGHT training program. (Thanks to my awesome wife and Brian MacKenzie.)
I eschewed the typical long, slow distance (LSD) training (more on this in a later post…). Any one of these three segments – the swim, bike or run – would reasonably take six months of dedicated LSD training just to complete that one event. I was training to compete in all three in five days’ time, so LSD simply would not be feasible even if I training as a full-time athlete and had no job or family. More so, I believe that LSD without building muscle tissue strength and tolerance to the extreme physical tests would not have been enough.
After hitting a peak of LSD training in late July to build my endurance engine, I consciously switched to higher intensity, CrossFit-infused training for a month on my own, then followed a training program set up after spending a day training with Brian at my wife’s suggestion.
For context, just 15 months ago, I swam 2.5 miles roundtrip from Aquatic Park to Alcatraz and back. My Catalina swim was 23.76 miles – nearly ten times the distance, and across a challenging body of water and more than doubled my longest distance swim of 10.5 miles across Lake Tahoe.
Then completing the 144 mile bike ride, and then 13.5 hours later starting on the Badwater run mentally ready and excited to claim as much of the 135 miles course as possible. I sincerely felt that I was physically able to complete the entire run course, however long it might take me. To reach that mental and physical state is incredibly satisfying.
The 144 miles on the bike is 30 miles longer than any ride I’ve ever done. I hit the 37.72 mile mark on the run with PLENTY in the tank before stopping.
3 – Making good, rational decisions throughout Uberman to return home safely.
I need to give a huge amount of credit to my wife, Lena. Throughout the event, she allowed me to make decisions on my own even though after making these decisions, she was happy and relieved that I made them. A few examples:
Skipping Day 1 of the bike. Because of my physical condition coming out of the swim (shoulders and feet injuries), it would have been unsafe to spend 14-16 hours covering 200 miles on a bike. Not only that, it would not have been fun or joyful.
Ending the Day 2 bike segment at 144 miles instead of going the full 200 miles. We reached the peak at Town Pass well past sunset. Navigating the 10 mile descent would have been treacherous and irresponsible from a safety standpoint. While I felt strong and able to cover the last 56 miles, finishing when we did and giving myself an opportunity to start the run the next day relatively fresh was absolutely the right decision.
Riding on Pedro (my road bike) for a large chunk of the ride because of road conditions and descents, and because I felt far less strain and pain in my shoulders vs my TT bike (a.k.a. “George”).
Doing weigh-ins & doing urine checks during the run. While the heat wasn’t overbearing, I had a hard time forcing myself to eat and consume calories on the run. We did a couple of weigh-ins to make sure I was maintaining my weight. Tim to monitored my urine – color and frequency – to make sure that my mind’s desire to keep going was overriding my body’s operating system.
Finishing Uberman at mile 37.72 of the run. I felt completely satisfied and a sense of “enough” for perhaps the first time in my life.
There were a hundred ways to get hurt out there, or even encounter life-threatening situations. We minimized the risk at every turn with planning and discussion and decision-making.
4 – That my son stayed happy and safe. The kid is a trooper. Even his low points with patience and frustration barely scraped typical low points we might hit on any day of any given week. He found entertainment in counting cacti and determining which was the pointiest, throwing dirt on to the highway at rest stops, hiking and looking for rocks, sitting in The Beast and waving to me through the windows. Everyone stayed focused on him throughout the journey and his presence there gave me a sense of calm and perspective.
Even the on the long drive home from Panamint Springs to Davos on Sunday, he chilled in The Beast with me for nine hours, never complaining or whining or going stir crazy.
I could have done this race alone with Lena and asked my family to stay back in Davis with Benjamin while I was out there. I wanted him there to see the desert and to make this a family adventure, not some crazy thing Scott does on the side.
5 – My team. (I’m saving the best for last here…)
From beginning to end, never did the team hit a point of outward frustration towards each other, the race, the demands of the expedition or me.
I give all of the credit to the team – Lena, Tbone, my in-laws (Nina & Paul), Tim and Benjamin for staying patient and accepting the challenge of supporting me not just on the course, but 24 x 7 throughout the entire event.
The end of each day was always the most trying. Being out on the course is work, but you’re in the moment and thinking about what needs to happen next – when is the next feed, how many miles to go, where should we meet you next, what does Scott need at the next rest stop. These activities kept the crew focused on a task.
But… at the end of each day, there was a huge transaction cost going from the finishing point to the next morning:
Packing up The Beast and getting to the next hotel
Finding a place to park The Beast
Cleaning The Beast from the day and prepping for the next day
Checking into the hotel
Finding a place to eat
Tending for my injuries
Making sure our son is fed, bathed and comfortably to bed each night
Deciding who’s sleeping in the hotel and who’s sleeping in the camper
Building a plan the next day’s segment – who is getting up early with me to push me on to the course
… just to name a few…
I got a sense of what it might be like to be a professional athlete – a team of people that care for every aspect of your self and body. You saw me breakdown in the finishing video because at the end of the run, I felt the overwhelming love and support of everyone that helped me reach this point – from training to planning to executing Uberman. I felt, and always will feel, forever grateful for everyone that helped me along to way to take part in this endeavor.
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If you want to read the details from each segment – the swim, bike, and run – I’ve chronicled each in detail here:
I hope you’ll read them, and understand if you don’t. Most of all, if you found this post or anyone of the posts I’ve done related to Uberman, please share them with a friend.
While I write these posts as much for myself to document and remember the adventure, I’m hopeful that somehow these posts will be useful to someone else considering the same type of adventure, or that they will motivate someone to take the next step towards their own adventure.
I’ll be posting over the coming weeks and months beyond these race reports – sharing a few ideas and experiences around:
Nutrition and diet plans during training and Uberman
I started left-handed swimming yesterday. When I changed my swimming form for the better this summer (thanks to Total Immersion), the externality was a further etching of my right-arm dominant swimming stroke. Even before my near debacle during the Alcatraz swim two weeks ago, I knew I need to switch up my breathing and stroke pattern, so September will be that month to undo more than five years of my right-arm swimming addiction.
Rumor has it that even Aquaman had to overcome a right-handed swimming addiction.
I started this week with two 2500 yards swims already, almost entirely left-side breathing with some trilateral breathing. The first 1500 yards of the first workout were brutally bad – it felt as comfortable as brushing my teething or throwing a football left-handed The last 1000 yards got a little better, so I left encouraged. The second workout was less bad, so all is trending in the right direction. I’m planning on three swim workouts a week this month, all of them left-handed.
Once October rolls around, I’ll move to trilateral breathing permanently. I’m hoping to find some long distance open water swims throughout the Fall and Winter, even I have to travel to places like Florida, Hawaii, or the Carribbean. Suggestions welcome.
I got back into running mode with 19 miles last week and I’m on track for 20+ miles this week. That’ll ramp up over the next few weeks to the 30 mile/week range, and I’m planning a 20 mile/30k trail run sometime in late October/early November as a precursor to the 50-miler in December. Suggestions welcome here too.
Once I bag the 50-miler, I’ll get to work on running back-to-back 50 milers by early Spring as training for The California Challenge.
Swim: 18/127 Overall, 2/22 AG
Bike: 47/127 Overall, 13/22 AG
Run: 19/127 Overall, 4/22 AG
WHY THIS RACE?
It’s been nearly a year since my knee surgery in September. For a couple of months following surgery, I didn’t think I’d ever return to race form. When my friend Kim (more on her below) registered for the race as her first triathlon, I felt compelled to do the race with her. Of course I couldn’t just do the Olympic distance race. I had to push myself to the Half-Ironman distance because, well, why not? I knew the elevation changes and altitude would be a big challenge and my training would require some rigor and discipline. When I registered back in March, it had been nearly two years since my last triathlon (Ironman Asia Pacific) and it was time for me to get back to it.
THE VENUE & RACE COURSE
For all of the years I’ve been in Northern California and all of the times I’ve been to the Lake Tahoe area, I never spent a moment at Donner Lake. The race is long storied in the area as a wonderful race, well-organized, and a big challenge for any triathlete. Couple that with a reason to head to Tahoe for a weekend with the family, and it all came together as the decision to make.
RACE GOALS
This was undoubtedly by “A” race of the year. I’ve consistently finished under six hours for 1/2 Ironman distances, ranging from 5:20 on an easier course and 5:50 on more difficult courses. With this my first long distance triathlon in more than two years and considering the difficulty of the course, I had these time goals:
Sub-6:00 – Minimum goal. Anything over six hours would have felt slow regardless of the course.
Sub 5:45 – Push goal. I thought with three good segments I could get there.
Sub 5:30 – Stretch goal. This would be close a hitting my 5:20 PR which would be ridiculous considering the altitude, course, and training. But heh, why not?
* Note: The run course was posted as 13.63 miles, a 1/2 mile longer than the standard 13.1 mile course.
Now on to the race report…
SWIM
Glorious. I took time on Saturday to swim a couple hundred yards to feel the water and temperature. The water was downright perfect – just a little chilly in the middle of the day on Saturday. On Sunday morning with the air temperature in the high 40s/low 50s, the 65 degree lake water felt like a warm bath.
There were several race start waves, and I was in the first group. The course was a simple triangle. Swim out to the right, make a left turn, swim to the next buoy across the lake, turn left again and then back to the beach. I picked a rock face way above the first buoy to use for sighting, the race started and I was off.
At the Tri for Real about two months ago, I started way to quickly and I had just introduced a new swimming stroke at the time which led to a frustrating swim time. Today, my big focus was to begin with long, slow, smooth strokes and I succeeded. There were about 50 competitors in my wave start so there was plenty of space to spread out, though somehow I found myself tucked between two other racers after a few minutes. This seemed a little ridiculous to me so I pulled up my stroke, let them move forward, then guided myself to the left and found open space.
After the first buoy, I pulled up again to sight for the next buoy and took a few breast strokes. It was a good way to stretch out my chest, gain my breath and think about swimming strong the rest of the way.
I found a really nice rhythm between the first and second buoy, and focused on rotating my body and alternating my swim stroke pushes. I let my right arm lead for a while, then switched to my left. It felt like I had the entire lake to myself. I saw orange caps ahead and behind me and the ones behind me seem to be falling back further and further. I felt strong, hit the second buoy and headed for shore.
The finishing gate looked close, almost like I could touch it. I kept with my pace and continued stroking until my knuckles dragged on the bottom then headed to T1.
Swim time: 32:08
Swim-to-Bike Transition (T1):
It’s always a welcome site to see lots and lots of bikes in transition. A fellow that racked near me who was racing the Olympic Distance was still in transition. He even said – “Good job, mate. Solid swim.” Made me feel good.
Meh. Again I was a little slow, taking more than three minutes when I should have taken less than two. I dallied a little and also knew that I wanted to get everything right before heading out for a 3+ hour march on the bike through the hills. I loaded up and out I went.
T1 Time: 3:14
BIKE
I thought of the 56 mile bike course in six segments –
The climb from Donner Lake to Donner Summit (3.8 miles)
Donner Summit to the first turnaround at Cisco Grove (12 miles)
Cisco Grove up to second turnaround at Sugar Bowl (12 miles)
Back down to Cisco Grove (12 miles)
Cisco Grove back up again to Sugar Bowl and Donner Summit (12 miles)
Donner Summit back to the transition area (3.8 miles)
T1 to Donner Summit: I didn’t find this climb bad at all. It was long and persistent but I found it very consistent in terms of grade. I just kept spinning along and monitoring my heart rate. I knew exactly where I was on the climb because it was the first 3.8 miles of the course so I could knock off a mile here, reach a visual milestone there, and in about 25 minutes, I was at the top and ready for a long rapid descent down to the first turnaround near Cisco Grove.
Donner Summit to Cisco Grove turnaround #1: The grade was steeper than I expected and all was great when I looked down at one point and saw I was speeding at 43 mph and going faster. Even the level parts and small rises were nice to ride through to stretch out my legs.
Cisco Grove to Sugar Bowl (turnaround #2): The first 4-5 miles were a distinct incline, but I was still able to stay down in an aero position from time to time, and when I hit a steeper hill and I just locked in and spun.
That all changed on the climb out in the section from Kingvale exit to the turnaround point at Sugar Bowl. I felt like this is where the journey began for me. I fond the this section to be somewhere between brutal and soul-crushing. After a long slow climb from Kingvale to the Soda Springs exit, I felt like I was nearly to the turnaround point, even though I knew I still had three miles to go. It didn’t seem that hilly on the way down or even on Saturday’s drive, yet every turn introduced another hill and another small climb ahead. Probably 5-6 in all. This was mentally rough. I hit the turnaround hoping for an aide station and there wasn’t one there. Bummer. Good news was that I only had 25 minutes back down to the next turnaround and access to an aide station 4 miles after that. Bad news was that was still 45 minutes from now. I had drink mix but no water.
At the turnaround, I pulled over to pee in the parking lot. That would have been a good spot for a port-a-john. I just didn’t feel like dealing with it while descending and also felt like I could use a little break. It cost me a minute or two, but I also think it saved me mentally a little bit.
Sugar Bowl to Cisco Grove (turnaround #3): I just focused on resting my legs and getting ready to head back up the climb in about 20-25 minutes. One more climb and I was done. Knowing what was ahead of me for the final climb sucked most of the fun out of the descent, but not all, because hey, I hit 40-45 again and you have to try pretty hard to not have fun with that.
Cisco Grove (turnaround #4) to Donner Summit: Now that I knew what was ahead, I focused on milestones – getting from Cisco Grove back to the crossover under the freeway – from the freeway to the Kingvale exit – from Kingvale to Soda Springs exit – from the Soda Springs exit to Donner Summit.
I felt like the second time up the hill from Cisco Grove was easier mentally. Might be that I knew the course now or that I knew this was my last climb and it would all be over in under an hour. Hitting Kingvale and knowing the climb ahead to Soda Springs, I spotted a small landmark like a sign or a bend and then counted pedal strokes in groups of one hundred – “one, two, three…” When I reached “100,” I let myself look up and find the next marker. Sometimes I got to 60 or 80 and looked. This gave me sometime to focus on other than the hill and the climb.
Donner Summit to T2: A 1100’ descent in less than four miles. Mostly I covered my brakes on the hairpin turns and just relaxed. I didn’t want to think about making up time as much as resting my legs and getting to the bottom of the mountain without flying off the edge of the cliff. Definitely the most scenic descent I’ve ever done.
I did my full stop-foot down-tap the box and then headed over to transition. I heard Benjamin yell – “Daddy!” and saw Lena and Benjamin sitting on the ground waiting for me. That was very energizing to see them combined with knowing the bike course was behind me.
Bike Time: 3:25:08
Bike-to-Run Transition (T2):
This was a combination of elation and a quick reality check of how I felt physically. While my legs felt tired, I was excited to get to the run course, especially for the first three miles to set a solid pace that would dictate the rest of the race. I did a pit stop, made sure I had everything – race bib, nutrition, sun screen applied, take salt pills, adjust race bib with running belt, then I headed out. Again my transition time was slow and I wasted a minute or two more, but again I needed to make sure I was all there before heading out for the last segment.
T2 Time: 3:54
RUN
Coming out of transition, I saw Lena and Benjamin again, gave them both a kiss and off I went.
I wanted to start strong and set a good pace, knowing that the first mile was critical to how I would fare the rest of the run. I was expecting at least an 8:30 pace for the entirety of the run course, and with the first three miles being flat, I knew I needed to put some time in the bank. After I got a rhythm going, I looked down and saw I was at 0.40 miles and running a 7:52 pace. Perfect, if not even a little fast. This was my steady state, so I pulled back just a little but definitely kept at a 8:00 pace or just under.
I rode the run course on Friday afternoon, and after the first three miles, the course meandered through campgrounds, boat launch area, and then to the other side of Donner Lake. The first hill greeted me around mile 4. It was the biggest hill on the course and I’m glad that I took time to scope it out on Friday. I all but decided that I would walk the hill, and I stuck to that plan as soon as it started to incline – a fast walk with arms swinging, and again counting steps – “One, two, three…” I got to about 150 when I hit the first peak and then I jogged a few steps before the second rise to get up and over. I walked again, then found the aide station, caught my breathe and started chugging along again. I took a couple of salt pills and then definitely helped me with some lift.
The rest of the run course was a series of smaller hills and undulations. Up and down without any flat sections for the next 2-3 miles until reaching finishing area. I spotted the ropes that lead back through the transition area and right past the finishing gate to begin the second lap around the lake. Lena, Benjamin, Kim and Josh were all there waiting for me. I gave them all high-fives awhile keeping stride and glanced to my left to see the race clock. 4:59:20. I was at exactly five hours with about 6.5 miles to go on the run.
This was the first time I saw a race clock and I started doing the math, using 7 miles as my baseline. At a 9:00 mile, I’d be just over six hours, and an 8 minute mile, I’d be just under. At an 8:30 mile, I’d be right on six hours. While I knew I could push hard for the last 1-2 miles with a strong finish, I also knew that my legs were tired and my quads were burning. An 8:30 mile might be a lot to ask if I burned out, so I treated the second lap like the first – get in a good first three miles, bank some time for the back side of the course where I knew I’d need to walk a hill or two.
I hit my stride again and saw I was running roughly an 8:00 to 8:12 pace, so if I could hold this through the first three miles, that would afford me a 9:00 pace for the final 3-4 miles in the worst case.
I hit the three mile mark and headed through the trail, through the campgrounds and boat docks, up a small rise and to the big hill. I tried to eat a few bites of a Clif Bar and couldn’t get myself to swallow. I spit it out and just focused on my liquid nutrition.
That segment of the course felt like the transition from “the run” to “the final stretch.” Once over the big hill, I knew I was home free – just focus on a steady pace and then push hard for the last mile and I could finish under six hours. I made sure to run the tangents, and it always baffles me why more competitors fail to do this. In fact my final run distance displayed as 13.3 miles on my Garmin, instead of the 13.6 advertised.
I pushed within reason, rounded the final bend, saw the ropes, and crossed the finished line just after the clock flipped to 5:55:00. Done.
Final Time: 5:55:02
SUMMARY:
What I did well:
Swim – I relaxed and found a rhythm and my time showed it. I had the 4th-best swim time in my Age Group (AG).
Bike – I stayed patient and while I knew I was getting passed (again and again and again…). I stayed within myself instead of trying to “race” other competitors.
Run – This was rock solid. I had the 2nd-best run time in my age group (2/22), which is damn good.
Nutrition – I’m very happy with my nutrition plan and execution throughout the day. I was plenty fueled for the ride and used my salt pills consistently. I had my running belt for the run, which I was VERY happy to have for the calories vs what was available in the aide stations.
I hit my race time goal of sub-6:00.
What I’d do differently:
More hills in training. I focused on base miles and consistency in March, April, and May. It wasn’t until June that I started hitting any hills of significance for training, and even then they were modest as compared to the race course. More repeats on Cardiac and a few more sessions on Mix Canyon.
Road bike vs Tri Bike – I’m still undecided on this one. I chose to ride George (my Tri Bike) instead of Pedro (my road bike) because it handles better on turns and downhills, and achieves more speed on the flats and downhills. Though I do wonder the trade-off between having a road bike for the climbs, and if I could have shaved a few minutes off my bike time. I ultimately made the decision to ride George because I felt more confident ride George than Pedro, and that’s a big thing mentally in any race.
Practice my transition – My transitions just plain suck. I’m slow because I like to collect myself and make sure I have everything. The latter is the problem. I need to get to a point that I’m not thinking at all. The transition should be mechanical.
GRATITUDE
To Lena, my darling wife – That you for your support on my endurance endeavors. We decided on this race way back in March, knowing that the timing was just a month away from your deadlines at school. It wasn’t just the weekend away, it was all of your support on Saturday and Sunday mornings so I could work in my swims, rides, and runs to prepare for race day. A thousand thank yous to you my love.
To Benjamin – You are a champ. You were great all weekend and I was so happy to have time with you on Saturday as we drive the bike course together. Throwing rocks in the river and wading knee deep in the cold water is my favorite.
To Kim B. – Choosing Donner as your first triathlon is crazy and awesome. By registering, you got me motivated to take on this race challenge and I appreciate the kick in the tail.
To the race organizers – Solid job guys. From the registration process through to the finish, you had your stuff together. I’m sure no one appreciates the work and logistics that go into organizing these events, and I’m particularly grateful that you pushed the race distance to include a 70.3 distance this year. This was a true challenge and I’m grateful that I had the opportunity to compete in such an event.
To the random people along the bike course. It was lonely out there on the bike course, and seeing the same people in the same places down and up and down and up the mountain was very calming. Thanks for spending your day watching everyone and cheering us on.
DEAR RACE ORGANIZERS
What was great:
Plenty of support pre-race from the check-in to transition set up on race day.
The swim course took you out to the right so that the sun was never in your face. Very smart.
The markings on the downhill portions of the bike course. I could see the orange paint well and it was appreciated to avoid a spill.
Run aide stations. They were numerous and always ready with water.
How to improve:
Port-a-john at the turnarounds, or at least at the Sugar Bowl turnaround for the half-iron competitors.
Place an aide station at the Sugar Bowl turnaround, even if it’s just water bottles. The most recent aide station towards the bottom of the hill was 45-60 minutes ago for most competitors, then there’s another 20-30 minutes of downhill and a turnaround and another 4 miles back up the hill before you hit the aide station again. That’s a long time to go without a chance to refill your water bottle.
Run aide stations: You promised cola at the run aide stations and there wasn’t any. I was depending on the cola pop for the second lap and you let me done. Ultimately, this was a good lesson in deepening on yourself and only yourself for nutrition.
A bag drop-off area would be nice.
Have a race clock visible coming out of the water and in the transition area. My first view of the race clock was after my first run lap. Just would be good to know where you are in parts of the race as you go in and out of transition.
Yesterday was my first triathlon since Ironman-Melbourne in March 2013 – more than two years. The “Tri for Real” is organized by TBF Racing. These guys have been organizing races for almost 25 years and they are the best local races I’ve experienced. Major kudos to the team there.
My objectives for the race:
1. See how fit I really am (as to compared to how fit I think I am). I’ve been training since March for the Donner Half Iron race, upcoming at the end of July, and with about seven weeks of training to go, this race was perfect timing for a status check.
2. Be fast. I’ve been pushing hard in training rides and swims, and I wanted to see if the training is paying off in terms of speed and endurance. How hard could I push in the swim and have a very good bike? How hard could I push on the bike and have a very good run? How hard could I push on the run without cramping or blowing up?
3. Find a spot on the podium. I’ve aged up to the 40-44 age group (AG) since last competing, and in my last shorter triathlon three years ago (sprint distance), I was third in my AG and fifth overall in the race. I felt that if #1 and #2 were true, then I should hit the podium.
Planning & Pre-Race
On Saturday night, I reviewed last year’s AG times and comparing the results and my perceived fitness, I put time ranges around each part of the race for myself:
Swim: <25 minutes would be an excellent swim, and achievable considering wet suits, drafting, and recent improvements on my form. I’d consider 26-27 minutes to be good. 28-30 minutes would be disappointing.
Bike: Maintain a 21 mph average speed, considering I averaged 19.1 mph on my long ride on Monday that included 1500’ of climbing. This race course is mostly small rollers – no real flat arounds and no climbs. 22mph would be achievable under the right conditions.
Run: 7:30 pace. I’ve been running very well lately and even with my elevation training mask, I ran 7:30s in Monday’s training session, so I figured on a race after a very hard swim and bike, 7:30 would be my minimum standard.
Actual race times:
Swim: 26:27. 10th AG, 36th overall
Bike: 1:10:07 (21.7mph). 7th AG, 29th overall
Run: 45:22 (7:17 pace), 6th AG, 25th overall
Final: 2:21:56, 25th overall
Race Details:
Swim: My swim was sloppy. I went out too hard, trying to stay with the lead pack so I could draft, and when I found myself spiking on heart rate and breathing, I scaled back and struggled to find a good rhythm. I felt like I was swimming erratically and couldn’t get the hip propulsion that I’ve been working on in recent swim training sessions.
I hit the first buoy and relaxed a bit on the backstretch. There, I found a bit of a rhythm from time to time, then it would escape me and I felt that I was swimming in a meandering path again, pulling myself constantly to the left. My right arm was doing way too much work and I found it all very frustrating. When I hit the far buoy and headed for shore, I was more relieved than anything. The final leg of the swim was probably the best overall in terms of rhythm and form, and I was just happy to get out of the water and start on the bike.
T1: Not bad, not good. No mistakes, just took longer than I should have. I took a minute to reset myself, but generally felt that I was an acceptable transition. In set up, I had my cycling shoes mostly pre-fastened so i could slip them on quickly. The air was warm and so I didn’t need to spend much time drying, figuring the air would do the job for me. I should have grabbed a Clif Bar to eat on the bike.
Bike: As usual, I had a couple of competitors pass me early on the course. These are usually much stronger cyclists that I simply out-swam. I’ve come to expect and accept this. The first 2.5 miles of the course leads through Rancho Seco Park to the main highway for most of the out and back course.
At least one of the racers that passed me was in my age group and I pretty much knew by mile one of the bike that I would be tough to podium given my swim and how early it was in the bike to get passed by an age group competitor.
Once I hit the highway, I started pushing and kept pushing the entire way. I felt like I was hammering pretty hard, and with the out course a slight rise, I was able to maintain a 22 mph average throughout. Counting the racers coming back before the turn, I figured I was in about 20th-25th place overall. Not bad, but a bad place to be for any chance at an AG podium. I thought that maybe I could eek out a fifth if I could find one or two AGers on the back of the course and a very good run.
While the back bike course was generally downhill, there was a steady headwind that made it a little tough. My legs were tired and I keep thinking about the interval training I’d been doing, and that I needed to keep pushing through to keep my time and pace targets.
After I hit the turn, I picked off a couple of racers. One was in my AG which made me happy to get a spot back, and the others were good mentally to know I took back a few overall spots. As I turned back into Rancho Seco park, I started thinking about the run and in a short rise into the park, I looked back and saw two cyclists gaining ground. It really didn’t matter if they passed me back, but mentally I wanted to keep them behind me because of the work I put into passing them. These last two miles are place on the course where it’s easy let down your guard and struggle into transition. It’s slightly uphill and mentally you think – “I’m done with the bike,” even though there are 2.5 miles to go.
T2: Very, very good. Racked my bike, slipped on my shoes and off I went. Ander a minute on T2. Very happy here.
Run: Keeping the 7:30 pace in mind, I wanted to start fast so my legs would just think – “Okay, so this is how fast we need to run.” The first half mile is flat, then there are a couple of rollers before the first aide station. I was passed pretty quickly by the cyclists that were just behind me coming into transition. One of them was a 58-year old that ended up finished 8th overall. Ahead of me I had one racer that I thought I might be able to pick off over time.
I was running a 7:15-7:20 pace which made me very happy knowing that my legs would smooth out after the first mile off the bike. The run course is a challenging one. The first 2.5 miles are rollers on a fire trail, then it flattens out for from 2.5-3.5 miles. The last 2.7 miles are a combination of an open trail run and returning to the finish line on the fire trails.
I kept my pace the first 2.5 miles and was thankful for the flat part of the course to make up some ground and to give my legs a break. The same racer ahead of me kept the same distance. I couldn’t close on him. We hit the open trails and while I continued to keep him in sight, as much for pacing than anything. Behind me, there were two more racers that were about 50-100 yards and I definitely wanted to hold them off as much as I wanted to try to grab a spot ahead. At mile four, a racer came out of no where and blew by all of us. He was pushing hard and I thought maybe I could use him as a pacer, that maybe my 7:20 pace could be faster with someone to run with. I tried to keep up for about 50 yards and found that to be completely futile. My left quad was burning and feeling like it could cramp up at anytime, so I settled back into my rhythm and just thought about getting off the open trail and back to the fire trail for the last mile.
I hit the final aid station and still had the same racer ahead of me. There were 2-3 more rollers and I started pushing harder with 1/2 mile to go and just couldn’t close enough – too much gap to close. About 1/4 mile to go I looked behind me and no one was there. My age group spot was locked at this point, and my overall place could be improved because of the wave start, so I kept pushing to carve as many seconds as I could from the final time. I hit the finish, and that was that.
Summary:
I thought going into the race that I could vie for an AG spot and instead I finished 10th. I wasn’t disappointed, just surprised. With my final time, I would have placed 2nd in the 35-39 AG, so apparently I’m not the only one getting faster as he gets older. My hat off to everyone that competed, and especially to those that finished ahead of me.
Positive Focus:
1. Looking at the final results, I was under five minutes from a 3rd place AG spot, and I know where I can find those five minutes:
Two minutes on the swim with more form work and practice in the open water.
One minute on T1.
Two minutes on the bike upping to a 22.5 mph average
(I can’t see getting down to a 7:00 mile on the run quite yet. That will take some significant work for a one minute payoff so my focus right now is a more relaxed swim and continuing to improve on the bike.)
2. I had exactly the race I thought I could have – 26-27 minutes swim, 21-22 mph bike and <7:30 run.
3. Consistency across all three sports – 10th/7th/6th in my AG and 36th/29th/25th overall on the swim/bike/run. The bike is especially encouraging because this has been my weakest area in the past. The swim placement is a huge chance to improve.
4. Pre-race planning and set up. I was very relaxed and organized, and even got to the water in time to warm up and feel like I was ready to start the race. When I last raced these shorter distances three years ago, I was running to the swim start and jumping into the water with about 30 seconds to spare.
5. My transitions are improving. I’m super happy with my bike-to-run (T2) and I can see how to continue improving my swim-to-bike transition (T!).
6. My bike strength is improving. The interval training is working and so more of that please.
7. My run is really strong. Running 7:17 on that course is very good for me, especially considering I couldn’t run at at all fewer than six months ago following knee surgery.
8. My knee held up under pressure. Never felt a twinge or a blip and didn’t even think about it during the race, save one or twice where I thought – “This is awesome! I’m not even thinking about my knee!”
9. I scoped out the race and absolutely know this is family event for us, even with the early morning race start.
10. I woke up this morning barely sore, a great indication of my fitness.
What’s next?
I’m going to register for the Tri for Real II in late June/early July to compete again. I need to see how much of those five minutes I can shave, and as an outside goal, see if I can I get down to a sub-2:15. That’s seven minutes off my final time – i.e. three on the swim, three on the bike, and one on T1.
I’ll be ready for the Donner Half in July. Yesterday’s race gives me the confidence that with 6-7 more weeks of training, I’ll be good to go even with the elevation and course difficulty.
Lena and Benjamin are joining me at the next race. So many families out there and I felt a little lonely all by myself at the finish line.
I turned 41 this week. I told my parents on the phone – “I’m getting faster.” They thought that I meant that time is getting faster, expiring more quickly. I corrected them – “I meant was that I was getting faster – faster swimming, on the bike, and running. I’m 41 and still getting faster and until I start to slow down, I don’t consider myself to be aging.”
In January, I thought I’d never heal. On Monday (my birthday), I woke up to do 51 mile ride and 5.1 mile run, and learned that I am indeed faster and fitter than any time in the past two years. On Tuesday, I took a cross-country flight to NYC and found myself at the hotel gym at 1:00am working out and feeling good doing it. This weekend, on Sunday, I’m racing an Olympic distance triathlon, and I fully expect to win my age group.
Whether I win or not is irrelevant – it’s that I know going into this race that I am physically and mentally ready to compete and be fast. I don’t feel pressure to do well, I just know that if I am mentally ready and have a bit of luck, I’ll be fast and I’ll feel great, burning on the edge of what I know I can endure. I am happy and grateful that I’ve reached this point.
Lena’s been leading the massive effort to declutter our lives and she’s scary good at it. First working through clothes and now books, and eventually the remaining random items that take up space in the house. The criteria for keeping vs tossing an item is simple:
“Does this object bring me joy?”
If the answer is “no,” then out it goes.
It’s a good rule for life. I’ve started asking myself before any activity – “Will this bring me joy?” If it doesn’t, then why do it? Of course, there’s always some “work work” that needs to done and those tasks aren’t always joyful. But in thinking about my life, there’s nothing more important than experiencing joy everyday in everything I do. This is the path that Lena and I are finding for ourselves, and the path that I want Benjamin to take his for his life. Most things I thought I “had” to do aren’t important at all.
Much of life is a facade, an imagined wall, that’s constructed through expectations and social norms. I’m learning that once I start hammering away, the wall is brittle and hollow. It cracks when I take a focused swing at it, and that can even be a little scary. Debris flies everywhere and I feel like everyone around me is watching and wondering what they heck I’m doing. I have to tell myself that no one is watching me, that everyone is just staring at their own wall.
I believe that if I persist, the wall will crumble into a pile of dust and I learn there was never any wall at all, just a personal barrier of fear – fear that I won’t be “successful.” Fear that I won’t be able to provide for myself and my family. Fear that failure matters to anyone.
There are days where the sun streams through the cracks of my wall, and it’s beautiful and glorious. There are days when I go back to my wall and find that the very same places I’ve demolished the day before are rebuilt and reinforced. When I pick up my hammer and swing again, there’s nothing there – it was just my fear.
So today, right now, this morning, I’ve got my hammer in hand and I’m about to take a few massive swings. I see a crack. I see a hole. I see parts of the wall about to crumble. Soon the wall will be gone.
