Operation Iron Couple

3-month Update!

2011-07-07T16:08:00.000-07:00

When Jeff and I set out to accomplish our goal of becoming Ironmen, we decided we would create this blog to document our experiences, training, and racing. We did a decent job for a while too. Unfortunately the reality of training for an IM is that leisurely time to do the fun things like writing a blog post has become extremely sparse. So here's a quick update about the last few months of all things related to training and IM.

FnJ Join Durapulse

After struggling to organize and train for our last half IM, we decided to bite the bullet and hire a coach. As with anything Jeff and I do, we spent lots of time researching coaches and what we hoped to accomplish by having coached guidance. After a couple of interviews, we decided to go with Nick Goodman of Durapulse.

Our first meeting was to assess our current fitness levels through V02 testing. Although we felt kinda sluggish in the months after our half, the testing revealed both of us to be in fairly good shape. The heart rate training zones were determined from that test, defining the upper and lower limits of our aerobic training zone. The training plans are sent via email every three weeks. After each completed week of training, we send Nick a training log full of details related to each training session (having a Garmin really makes this process quite simple). Training is adjusted based on each week's performance. One of the great perks of hiring Durapulse is the access to the group training sessions. Two nights per week, Jeff and I attend a coached spin classes. This is no traditional spin class, however. We ride our bikes (placed on trainers) and work on specific skills, e.g., climbing hills, power, proper form, etc... Our monthly fee also includes 1 privately-coached session. This session can focus on whatever you choose. For example, last night Jeff and I met with the swim coach to work on form.

We started with Durapulse at the end of March. The first month was a rude awakening to what "proper" training was really like. For example, the first week of training included more distance and workouts than our "peak weeks" in the last month before our half IM. We are both seeing drastic improvements in our training and abilities as athletes. We are, admittedly, more exhausted than we've ever been but in a good way:) The most recent weeks of training have us working out 6 days/week, 2 times/day (4-5 days/week), and doing distances we never thought we would be doing so soon.

Initially Jeff and I basically planned on completing IM in November and then taking a break to do other things. Well....since joining Durapulse...we may have developed an addiction. So, the new plan is as follows:

Mountain Man Half Ironman - August 2011
Nathan Tempe Triathlon - September 2011
Ironman AZ - November 2011
PF Changs Rock and Roll Marathon - January 2012
Oceanside 70.3 Half Ironman - March 2012
Wildflower Half - May 2012
Dueceman Half - June 2012

The last three races listed are part of a challenge that was organized by our coach. It's called the Triple Crown Challenge, which involves participation in three half-ironman distance races in three months. This challenge comes perfectly timed to celebrate Jeff's 30th and the completion of my doctoral degree!

Tempe International Triathlon 2011

In May Jeff and I (once again) competed in the tri that began our love for this sport. The race was a quick sprint tri (400 m swim, 20k bike, 5k run). We both had a great race and performed really well compared to our last year's times. Details below:

Jeff - 2nd in AG - 1:11:04 (Last year - 1:20:50)
Farris - 4th in AG - 1:22:58 (Last year - 1:36:27)

Duece's Wild Triathlon Festival 2011 (Olympic tri)

This was our first olympic-distance triathlon. The race was held up north in Show Low, AZ. The olympic race is one of three available over the weekend. The distances included a 1,500m swim, 40k bike, and 10k run. I was really nervous for this race as many athletes had told us about the freezing water and painful effects of elevation. Adding to the stress, the weather forecast had predicted 30 mph winds for the entire weekend.

Many of our teammates from Durapulse were also competing, which was really nice especially on the course. The course had some decent hills, but the wind was really what made this race so difficult. Headwinds and side gusts definitely had their effects on most of the athletes. The run was hard but mostly because of the weather. I basically felt like I was running with a parachute the entire race.

Although the reports of freezing waters, intense elevation and crazy winds were true, we both had fun and pushed through one of the hardest races so far. I don't think I would've been able to finish this race last year. I was really proud of both of us. Jeff received an award for finishing 3rd in his AG. Results below:

Jeff - 3rd in AG - 2:45:45
Farris - 6th in AG - 3:22:54

The next few months will be spent training for our second half Ironman, the Mountain Man in Flagstaff, AZ. The good news is that we are finally working on speed work, which is actually pretty fun. The bad news, however, is Phoenix temperatures are consistently over 100 degrees and our distances are getting longer and longer. This means our new wake-up time for the weekend's long rides/runs is 4 AM. Oh joy.

The Buddy System

2011-05-23T09:35:00.000-07:00

Triathlon is not a team sport. Whether or not you pass that damned finish line is solely depenedent upon you and the work you've done up to that point. If your legs start to get tired there is no "pinch hitter" to finish the last few painful miles. It's just you. In fact, one of the reasons I love this sport so much is that training and racing is a constant test of your individual self-strength and motivation.

As it relates to training and racing, the above statment could not be more true. However, there is one aspect of triathlon that I would highly recommend the buddy system. On a recent tri clinic at Roosevelt lake, Jeff and I experienced an unfortunate occurance of UV exposure. The plan was simple. Practice open-water swimming in the lake, bike 40 miles, and run a quick 10k. Simple.

It's truly the transitions between each sport that can really make or break your race. During these transitions, several things must happen - 1) get all necessary equipment for the next sport, 2) nutrition, and 3) .....SUNSCREEN. It's always the darned transitions where everything can go horribly wrong. After our swim, Jeff and I returned to our car, changed into our bike gear, grabbed our gels and water, "splattered" sunscreen on our backs and legs (at least the areas we could reach), and off we went...

The pictures below are the results of a triathlete putting on their own sunscreen. And, just in time for swimsuit season...

Jeff is fortunate to have skin pigment that burns and returns to its original pastey-white color. I am not so lucky. Sunburns are like tatoos on me. So I will be sporting the "triathlon tramp-stamp" for the remainder of the summer. Remember kids: No one likes a sunburn, especially one that resembles a smile. My advice, employ a buddy system when applying sunscreen.

OneYear Anniversay

2011-04-26T14:28:00.000-07:00

Remembering important dates, like my wedding anniversary (sorry babe), have never been my strong suit. However, as I was organizing our 2011 race calendar I realized that one-year ago this month, Jeff and I set out on a journey to become triathletes. We bought bikes, heartrate monitors, and we were off...

Since neither Jeff nor I had ever swum a lap in our lives, we hired a swim coach and begun to learning to swim. Concurrently, we would occasionally go for a recreational rides trying to familiarize ourselves with our new intimidating tri-bikes. Jeff of course found his groove on the bike quicker than I did. It was April 2010 then. Our goal obviously was to complete a triathlon. So, without much thought, we signed up for the Tempe International Triathlon (sprint distance) which was only a short month away. Back then we weren't really following a training program. It was only a 400-meter swim, 20-k bike, and a 5-k run....who needs a training program for that??? Looking back now, I realize how incredibly unprepared we were. Even though we were taking swim lessons, we weren't really practicing in between lessons. I think we did one "long swim" of 700 meters and that was about it.

By the time the race rolled around, I was still terrified of my bike. I was barely shifting gears and there wasn't a chance in hell I was going to attempt riding in aero position. To make matters more silly, I was so timid on my bike that I wasn't able to reach down and grab my water bottle. I also remember trying to time the changing of street lights so that when red came up I could prepare myself (in advance) to unclip from my pedal and hopefully not fall down (again).

I think Jeff and I watched a few videos about organizing your transition area, but ultimately we really had no idea what to expect. When the race day arrived, I know I was absolutely terrified. I was NEVER an athlete growing up. I never really competed for anything. In my personal and academic life, I have always felt somewhat confident or at least practiced a "fake it till you make it" approach. Unfortunately there is no "faking it" in a triathlon. You must be prepared, and we weren't. The thought of competing in a triathlon scared the living shit out of me.

After a month of "training", it was middle May and time to take a stab at our first triathlon. Getting into Tempe Town Lake with 30 other women was probably the most insecure and confidence-lacking I've ever felt in my life. I was not a strong swimmer. I don't think I would've even called myself a swimmer at that time. I was mostly just trying to avoid a heart attack and/or drowning by frantically doggy paddling. I had read that if you were a newbie swimmer, you should head to the back of the pack. By the time I realized that I should start heading to the back of the pack, the whistle blew... Oh my fucking god... It was only 30 women, but it was like being tossed around in a blender. Woman with hulk-like arms were basically just tossing me out of their way like I was light as a feather. I didn't give up, but I was close. I remember getting kicked in the head. The thought of crying crossed my mind. That's right Bull-dog Farris was about to cry. My whole world was upside down. Even though it was terrifying, I did finish. My 100-m pace was about 2:50, which is hideously slow.

The transition was a complete disaster (surprise). I ran to the first bright yellow bike I saw and started putting on clothing. It didn't really occur to me that nothing was fitting right until I looked down and realized my bike shoes were three sizes too big. I was at the wrong transition area putting on someone else's gear. Luckily, I did eventually find my bike.

The bike, however, went okay. The bike course was a fast 12-mile ride. There were people blowing past me left and right, but it really didn't matter. I was too focused trying to figure out how to grab my water bottle without flipping off my bike. Alas! I was able to successfully grab my water without a crash! I think I remember feeling a tiny burst of confidence... I figured, what the hell, let's give these gears a try. I couldn't tell you if I was in my big or small ring, but I was definitely starting to experiment with my gears. I averaged 17 mph, which I was happy with considering the lack of bike-time accumulated.

The run was fine. I was slow, but it wasn't a complete disaster.

I know I've talked about this race before, but reminiscing about my first triathlon makes me realize how much I've accomplished in one year. My 100-meter swim pace has gone from 2:50 to sub-2:00 swimming at a moderate pace. What's more impressive, is that I can still feel my swim getting stronger each week. What used to be the most terrifying part of the triathlon is now the part I am excited for most.

Biking continues to be the most challenging sport for me, and the activity that I have the most room to improve. My legs are getting stronger, and I think over time (thanks to our coach) I will get faster. After my crash last October, I am more cautious about my riding environment and have become a bit of a scaredy cat. That is, if the outside conditions are not close to perfect and if the bike lane isn't huge, I will not ride. Cycling form (which is new to me) is another area I'm working on and slowly acclimating to. Two days per week Jeff and I participate in spinning classes with our coach. The class is held indoors with our own bikes on trainers. The classes are 1-hour long and usually focus on one cycling skill each class (e.g., speed, power, endurance, etc..). It wasn't until I began these classes that I realized how "out of shape" I truly was on the bike. I knew I was slow, but holy god am I weak on the bike. It's hard in this sport not to compare yourself to other people (and really ridiculous to), but occasionally I look around and am astonished at the strength of the other athletes. As stuck-up as it sounds, I'm just not used to being the "worst" or the "novice" at things. Previous to triathlons, I would never put myself in situations where I wasn't at least average :) Anyway, I just tell myself it's good to have goals in life that require you to start at the very bottom, slowly working your way to the top (or a very respectable middle).

Running remains the activity I enjoy the very least. It hurts. I don't care if I'm running 2 miles or 20 miles...it hurts. Both my coach and PT have been working with me on ways to make my running less painful and more efficient. Progress is slow, but I think I'll get there. Perfect practice makes perfect...

I am fairly excited that our first 2011 race is approaching. We are competing in the Tempe International Tri once again this May. We weren't quite sure if we would try a different distance than last year, but ultimately we decided to do the sprint so we could compare our results from last year. I'm ready!

Many people do this sport to compete against other athletes. I prefer to race against myself and see the improvements I make each year. If I happen to beat a few peeps in the process, that's just icing on the cake! Bring on the 2011 race season!

Operation "Sober Up and Slim Down" Has Begun

2011-04-01T11:07:00.000-07:00

I'm a visual person. I love plotting data and looking for different ways to see relationships. Sometimes, however, graphs do not show you what you want to see. Rather they show you the very honest truth. I have plotted my weight as a function of time since the purchase of my Garmin. As the first week of training has begun, I started entering the data again. I decided to look that the graph over the last year. The output was not pretty.

The starting date for this graph was back in April 2010. This was about the time Jeff and I were training for our first marathon in San Diego. During that time, my weight stayed pretty consistent (FYI - the interval spacing on the y-axis in in 2-lb intervals so please keep this in perspective).Once we began training for the half-IM, there was a precipitous decrease in weight . We were training about 10 -12 hours/ week at that time. As you can see, by race day in October, I was down to my "racing" weight and fit as could be.

We continued our training as I was hoped to run the PF Chang's marathon. Around December I definitely remember hitting a wall and not wanting to train. My knee was hurting and, frankly, I was damn tired. December - March is what I call my "couch potato" training. I was working out but no where near the distance and duration of the previous months. And so you see the part of the graph that shows a steady increase in weight.

Usually, we think of positive relationships resulting in something good. However, "positive" here just describes the relationship of the data during my couch-potato phase. There is obviously nothing positive about gaining back all the bulk I worked so hard to lose. It's also alarming to me that it took 7 long months to lose the weight but only 3 short months to pile it back on. So, as we begin our first week of training and in the words of one of my classmates, "it's time to sober up and slim down!"

And we're back..

2011-03-28T11:05:00.000-07:00

Well, its been quite some time since our last post. I would like to say that we've been training our butts-off, BUT....it was a very slow off-season. We weren't completely sedentary but our activity level was a fraction of the months leading to October. So, here's a quick recap of the last 5 months.

After our half-IM in October, Jeff and I decided to continue on with our running and compete in the PF Chang's Rock and Roll Marathon in January. We were well-trained to the half-marathon distance, so it wasn't a huge jump to begin training for the full. Following the half-IM I was having consistent pain in my right knee. The pain felt the way people describe arthritis with occasional sharp pains. I did a significant amount of research and decidedly self-diagnosed the source of my pain as chondromalacia or "runner's knee". The treatment suggested a consistent practice of R.I.C.E (Rest, Ice, Compression, and Elevation), which did seem to help. From November to January the pain began to increase as the miles leading to the full marathon increased. In January, I finally quit being a baby and went to see an orthopedic surgeon. I submitted to several bedside tests, x-rays, and an MRI. PF Chang's was only a month away, so I was really concerned what the diagnosis would be. You never want to train for something, especially a marathon, and then find out you shouldn't run. All I could think about was the wasted weekends of 20-mile runs.

Finally, I was given the results. Unfortunately, I was given quite the array of bad news. The sharp pain I was experiencing was due to a tear in the lateral meniscus. Concurrently, I was also experiencing arthritic-like pain due to a large amount of chondral and patellar fissuring. The fissuring was the result of poorly aligned patellas, that as I ran, were slowly grinding away and cracking both the patella and the cartilage. To make matters more awesome, the doc said I had "genetically thin" cartilage to begin with (thank you dad, who had both knees and shoulder replaced by 45). So the trauma of running was causing a more rapid degradation of the area.

The treatment for the chondromalacia was physical therapy combined with R.I.C.E. The meniscus was a completely different story. Since the tear was small and parallel to the meniscus, the hope was that the meniscus would heal itself if I stopped running and spent time resting. The potential for a meniscus to heal itself is completely dependent upon the tear location. That is, if it's in a vascular area it will likely heal. Conversely, if the tear is in an area that does not receive blood flow, the likelihood of it healing is pretty much zero and surgical intervention could be necessary.

Long story short, I did not run the marathon at the recommendation of my surgeon. I was sad, but I reminded myself that the main goal was Ironman. The good news is that I got to be ground support for Jeff and my good friend from NM. I'll let Jeff write about the marathon 'cuz he did awesome and totally kicked its butt!

Fast-forward to today and I have chosen not to have surgery on the meniscus. According to my surgeon and other people, positive outcomes of the meniscal repair seem to be more correlated with people who are not actively pursuing an IM-distance race. I am, however, actively participating in physical therapy two times per week to help with the other issues. Although I have been a skeptic of the effectiveness of PT in the past, my current physical therapist is a life saver and I am now a believer! Okay...the real story is I've never been a very compliant patient, which is the true reason PT never worked for me :) Anyway, I go to a fabulous place called Endurance Rehab and my PT's name is Katie (just in case you need someone great). My PT sessions are mainly focused on strength training and treating pain but overall I feel my pain has decreased.

As the triathlon season approaches and training with the new coach begins, I just hope these "genetically poor joints" can hang in there and get me through a really long season.

Women's Half Marathon

2010-12-07T09:46:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I ran the inaugural Women's Half Marathon in Phoenix Arizona. There are so many reasons why I loved this race, but I have to start at the beginning to explain why this race was so wonderful.

In August, Jeff and I went home to visit our families and do some training in the beautiful Albuquerque summer weather. This visit home was especially nice because Jeff's mom, Nancy, was also training for an event. Back in May, Jeff's mom had decided to greet her 60th birthday with an enthusiastic middle finger (like mother, like son) by running her first half marathon. This race was perfect because it supported a great cause (Susan G. Koman) and was primarily for women.

During our visit, Jeff and I would wake up and head out the door to complete one of our training sessions. Nancy would join us. By August she was running a solid three miles at a fairly good pace and was feeling rather confident in her abilities as a newbie runner. Jeff and I were so impressed with her diligence and loved that she would call us to ask training tips. She even purchased a Garmin for training, which if you don't know is the life-line to any endurance-type training.

On one of our last days in NM, Jeff and I were finishing the last miles of one of our rides when we saw Jeff's mom driving. We waved in acknowledgment, but she looked somewhat troubled. When we returned to Jeff's parent's home, we were informed that Nancy had been called back to her doctor's office regarding her recent mammogram results. In my mind, I didn't think anything could be wrong and truly thought the results were likely a false positive. I mean the woman was sixty and running like she was a youthful athlete. There was no way she had cancer. A couple days later, a lumpectomy confirmed our fears. Nancy was diagnosed with Stage III breast cancer. Our entire world was turned upside down in just a couple of weeks, especially for Nancy. The time she had spent training for the race was now filled with doctor's appointments and horribly difficult decisions. Fast-forward to present time, Nancy is still fighting. She has endured several massive surgeries and is currently completing very stringent course of chemo therapy. She is still training for an endurance race, just not one that involves running.

The day before the race I went to the expo to pick up Nancy's and my race packets. As I drove over, I couldn't help but feel angry that cancer had stole my race partner. It felt (and feels) like such a violation of life. Why should I have to run this race without her? I immediately felt saddened as I looked at her race bib that read "Nancy". As I began to wonder around the expo my mood quickly changed. There were hundreds of women around me. Moms, daughters, best friends, etc... Everyone was so excited and ready to race! Many woman had their Honor Bibs on their backs to acknowledge the person or memory of the person they were running in honor of. I, too, purchased an Honor Bib.

When I got home, I was really excited for the race. To make the day even more special, Jeff had decided to run in his mom's place. Even though the race was intended for women, men could run as long as they were supporting another runner or running in honor of someone. I was so excited. I went to bed pretty early that evening. Jeff, however, spent the evening making a shirt to commemorate his mother and the cause.

That morning, Jeff and I woke up at the crack of dawn and headed into Tempe. Jeff was a really good sport. He was decked out in pink including pink feathers and the word "MOM" written on both arms. Several women acknowledged and gushed about "how cute he was".

Since this race was exactly two weeks after our half Ironman, I was feeling rather fit and ready to run. I was trying to decide which pace group to run with and decided I would just play it by ear once we arrived at the race. My last half marathon was last January. I finished that race in 2:20. I knew I was fitter than I had ever been, but I was still unsure which pace group to join. (2:15 or 2:00).

As Jeff and I walked to the corrals Jeff said I should shoot for the 2:00 finish time. He convinced me that I had nothing to lose and I should give it a try. Jeff obviously runs extremely faster than this pace, but graciously agreed to serve as my official race pacer. I was pretty nervous to attempt this pace. I knew I could run 9:40/min miles for about 10K, but running 9:15/min miles for 13.1 miles was definitely pushing it. Jeff kept telling me that I had just endured a 70.3-mile race and that this race was a piece of cake. I decided to give it a try.

As the race began, the crowd was extremely enthusiastic. Everyone was drenched in pink and ear-to-ear with smiles. We started running and I actually felt pretty good. My heart rate was higher than usual but still within a my aerobic zone. The miles started to go by rather quickly. Jeff received a lot of attention (which I'm sure he hated). Several women commented on how "cute" he looked. I agree. He did look very cute:)

As we approached the last miles, I was starting to feel a little uncomfortable. Jeff was very good to keep me focused and reminded me of proper form. He was a great help. The last mile was the hardest but was quickly eased as the crowd's cheers filled the air. Women with "survivor" on their shirts held signs reading "Thank you". Everyone was cheering with excitement.

The last .2 mile was fun! We were channeled through a crowd of people. We heard several people yelling, "Go Nancy!!" Jeff grabbed my hand and we crossed the finish line. I finished in 2:01:41 - a personal record!!

Prior to Nancy's diagnosis, we were just running this race because it sounded like fun and it was something we could do together. Yesterday I was running for a reason. It was one that had directly affected my family's life, and I truly couldn't think of a better cause. I was running with thousands of women who were not unlike us. It was so incredibly inspiring to see a group of people so dedicated to a cause and promoting it through fitness. Jeff and I ran for his mother and for all of those who couldn't.

Nancy, your strength and courage continues to inspire. We love you and look forward to running a half-marathon with you in the near future! Love, FnJ

2010 Pumpkinman Half Ironman!

2010-11-09T17:25:00.000-08:00

Friday, October 22nd - Our final battle for the 2010 race season was about to begin. We had researched, read, and contemplated to an obsessive extent. How should we be training? How can we tell if we’re really ready? What should our race-day strategy be? In less than 9 months we had learned to swim competitively, learned to cycle, and had spent sickening amounts of money on gear that would be ‘required’. For twenty grueling weeks we stuck to our plan. Train, work, train, and occasionally get a few hours of sleep. The time to prove ourselves had finally come, and despite the nerves it was actually a bit of a relief. Our training volume had grown to such a level that we were rapidly reaching burn-out. We needed a race to prove it had all been worthwhile.

As usual, the day before we left, we found ourselves in the pre-out-of-town-race scramble. The house stereo was cranked to an abnormally loud volume. Athletic gear began flying around the house. Checklists were strewn about tables to ensure we wouldn’t forget any essentials. Piles of gadgets, gels, and water bottles were methodically placed in designated areas of the floor. This wasn’t our first rodeo, but this was the biggest one to date. So we were determined to get this one right. Several hours later, we had managed to pack every gadget and over-priced piece of triathlon-related gear onto the back of our reliable little mule, the 2005 Corolla. It’s amazing what you can fit in the trunk of that car. It was filled to the brim with our bikes and related cycling equipment. Every vacant space was then filled with bags of gear. Then the back seat was filled with the rest. Suitcases, coolers, transition bags, and boxes full of bland race-food filled the back seat too. We said goodbye to our lazy little dog, who had clearly picked up on our pre-race nerves, and off we went. Destination - our first Half Ironman.

Welcome Truckers!

We arrived in Boulder City on Friday afternoon. Our first stop was La Hacienda Hotel & Casino, which was recommended by the race organizers due to its proximity to Lake Mead and Boulder City. It was an old hotel, certainly not lacking the character you would expect, and it was perched up on the hill between Boulder City and the Hoover Dam, overlooking Lake Mead in the distance. After checking ourselves in, we immediately began exploding our neatly packed gear into the usual pre-race scene of chaos. Areas of the room were designated for each of the three events for each of us. Neat little rows of gel packs, bags of crackers, and electrolyte pills were arranged next to race bibs, socks, shoes, etc. Garmins beeped as we clipped them into their chargers. In less than 24 hours, each of these little goodies would be paramount to achieving our goal.

We unpacked so far in advance because we wanted to be sure we hadn’t forgotten any essentials. It was still early afternoon and we would have time to make a trip to Vegas if it was absolutely necessary. We also wanted to be sure we had time to go register and take a quick drive through the bike course. The other reason for going through our pre-race routine so far ahead of schedule was that the Pumpkinman was a point-to-point race. We would start and finish at completely different locations. As a result, T1 and T2 were separated by about 15 miles. So we were required to drop off our T2 gear at registration a day ahead of the race. We packed our running shoes, socks, hats, and water bottles, hopped into the Corolla, and headed to T2.

Registration was fairly painless. There was a rather large turnout for the race, resulting in an intimidating line of hardened athletes that spanned about 100 yards. The race had actually sold out in the final few days before the event, meaning there were roughly twice as many athletes than in previous years. Fortunately things were pretty well organized, and the line moved quickly. The mix of athletes was interesting as well. There were significantly more young triathletes (under 25) than in any race we had been to in the past. The majority of them appeared to be from the Air Force Triathlon Club, or something along those lines, as they were all wearing the same sweatshirt adorned with a large “AF” across the front. The vast majority of the other athletes, especially those who would be joining us on the long course, looked to be in their late 30s and 40s. As usual, we represented the no-man’s-land of triathlons. Athletes in their twenties are the minority for whatever reason, and this race was no different.

There were three distances offered for the race - sprint, Olympic, and half iron-distance (long-course). Looking around, it was pretty easy to tell which people were there for the sprint/Olympic and which were there for the half IM. Most everyone was in incredibly good shape, but long-course athletes seem to have a unique appearance. They tend to be very thin, toned, and somewhat muscular with a half-starved appearance. You can see it in their face. The countless hours they have spent in their aerobic zone had slowly stripped away the majority of fat from their cheeks. The long-course challengers that had arrived for the Pumpkinman were no exception. We were no strangers to the typical triathlon crowd. After all this his was our third triathlon, but this was the first time that the majority of the athletes appeared to be of a higher caliber. At that point, while we were standing in line assessing the fellow athletes, we realized that this race was going to be different. It had brought out the cream of the crop. It would be harder than the average tri.

As we stood in line to register we noticed that several people had marked their running bags in T2 with some type of identifier. This was smart as all the bags were white and looked the same. Some people used chalk on the side walk. Others marked their bags with fluorescent tape, ribbons, or balloons. We both took a mental note for future races. This time we would simply resort to a Sharpie to mark our race number all over the bags.

After we registered, we decided to drive the bike course. We were both feeling a little unsure about what to expect. If you’ve ever driven through Boulder City, you can probably imagine the city up on the hill and Lake Mead in the distance at the bottom of a long, steadily descending hill. We knew in advance that would have to climb that hill as our final test in the bike leg, and we would unfortunately never get the benefit of riding down the same hill. On the course map we had noticed that it was 9 miles of 4-8% uphill torture, representing a total elevation change of about 1,400 ft over those final miles. At the top was the run course. It was a one way trip. In the weeks leading to the race, we had made several attempts to find similar inclines in Phoenix to practice climbing. We had tried one that had a long stretch of 4% incline, but it was only a taste of what was to come.

As we drove the course, we were both silent at first. As we climbed a few hills and had to down-shift in the car, we began to freak out a bit. Gasps and groans began to sneak out. Then as we rolled through more and more hilly terrain, we both realized this was going to be a serious challenge. It’s easy and helpful in an emotionally defensive sort of way to downplay how hard a series of hills will be, especially to a pair of inexperienced, newbie triathletes. Seeing them in person for the first time was a bit disheartening. The elevation charts provided on the race website had a smoothing effect that distracted our attention from the smaller details of the course, instead making us focus on the longer hills. The hills that looked like little bumps on the elevation maps were, once viewed in person, surprisingly long and steep. Hill after hill, climb after climb, we made it about half way to the turn-around and decided to call it a night. We had seen enough. The video below is from 2007, but it nicely demonstrates the beauty and difficulty of the race.

Farris: As we headed back to the hotel, Jeff did a good job of trying to keep me calm. As he talked I couldn't help but have flash backs to a video I had watched earlier this season about the Pumpkinman. The part that kept repeating in my mind is when current world champion, Chris McCorrmack, said, "the bike course is really tough". I tried to relax and just hope that I had done enough work to finish the race.

Jeff: What she means is, “Jeff did a good job at hiding his inner panic.” I was worried about the hills. No doubt about that. I just didn’t think it would be useful to either of us if Farris knew that. So I basically told her to suck it up and meet me at the finish line. It was an appropriate time for tough love, even if I was being a hypocrite.

Pre-Race Lasagna

Shortly after we got back to the hotel, Mandy, our extraordinary sister/sister-in-law, arrived to the hotel. This is the second time she has followed us across state lines to serve as our official cheering squad. It’s sometimes easy to overlook the importance of moral support throughout the race, and we were really glad she was there. Once she was settled in her room it was time for dinner, and we all headed down into Boulder City to eat. We had our sights set on pasta (carb-loading of course), and fortunately we were able to find a quaint little wine bar called Milo's. Dinner was good and it was nice to sit and chat to calm the nerves. Mandy did a great job of convincing us that we would both perform well, regardless of the bike challenge that was to come. We called it a night fairly early and headed back to the hotel.

The rest of the evening was spent further laying-out and organizing all of our equipment, again. We were both openly nervous, but for the most part that apprehension was overshadowed by the incredible feeling of excitement. After all, one race, no matter how difficult, was nothing compared to the 20-weeks of dedication it had taken to make it to this point. We both found a way to relax, and we settled in for a good night of sleep.

RACE DAY

The morning came very quickly. We awoke at 4:00AM and started dressing and eating. Neither of us felt overly nervous, but we both had trouble eating. Our stomachs just weren’t open to the idea of food, but we knew we needed to eat. We had researched and practiced our nutrition regimen in advance, and it was made abundantly clear to us through many previous mistakes that you simply cannot start an endurance race without a sufficient amount of starter-food in your gut. In this case it was especially important because we would have to swim 1.2-miles at a near-anaerobic level before we would have a chance to eat. So over the course of an hour or so, we nibbled on our ham and bagels and eventually got down a decent pre-race meal.We took a few minutes to write messages on each other’s arm. Every bit of motivation was welcome, and we would both be thinking about each other throughout the race. At about 5:30AM we racked our bikes and drove down to T1, which was about 5 minutes from the hotel. It was still very dark which made the lake barely visible. After pulling into the dirt parking lot, we got our bikes off of the car, checked our tire pressure, grabbed our transition bags, and headed to our transition areas. The weather was cool but very nice – low 60s. There was just enough light from the moon and the various flood-lights to get our bikes in the designated areas and set out our transition gear. As the sun began to rise, we began stuffing ourselves into our wetsuits.

You missed a spot.

Jeff: The nerves hadn’t quite hit me yet. I was still so zoned out in verifying gear and nutritional logistics that I could barely think. I just wanted to make sure I had everything in order with enough time left to mentally prepare. I was also subconsciously avoiding confronting my nerves. I wanted this race to go well, and I didn’t want my brain to screw it up before the race began.

It took us about 10 minutes to get squeezed into our neoprene super-hero suits. Several sessions of practice swims and liberal amounts of Body Glide had allowed us to become somewhat efficient at this game. Mandy did a great job of photographing us throughout the humiliating process of inching rubber up our bodies. Slowly but surely we pulled the tight rubber into the right areas of our body to the point where we could zip each other up. Finally the suits were on and we were as ready as we would ever be.

Lake Mead at dawn. Great place for a swim.

By that time it was 6:45AM. In 15 minutes, we would begin the greatest athletic challenge we had ever attempted. We headed down to the beach where the scenery was absolutely breathtaking. Rolling hills that were partially covered with morning fog lined the outskirts of the enormous lake. The water was eerily calm, which was good news for us. Calm waters make breathing and sighting significantly easier. We could hardly believe we were about to start our first 70.3-mile race in such a setting. Aside from the beauty, however, there was an ominous appearance to the scenery. It was so much bigger and different than anything in which we had previously raced. So we couldn’t help but feel a bit intimidated.

There were two starts for the half Ironman participants: men at 7:00AM and woman at 7:05AM. As we stood on the shore, our nervousness peaked. We had nothing left to do but wait. Fortunately Mandy was there with us to keep us talking. At one point we looked next to us and saw a fellow triathlete friend of ours who was doing this as his second half IM in preparation for IMAZ in November. He was visibly nervous, which was not reassuring.

6:55AM – men are called into the water. We snuck one last good luck kiss to each other, and there was no turning back. The 5 minutes in the water took an eternity. Race directors were shouting instructions on how to follow the buoys. Elite athletes were elbowing their way to the front of the pack. Hurried, last-minute adjustments to goggles and suits were being performed by athletes up to their necks in lake water.

Jeff: As I waited in the water, I took a second to pull up the left sleeve of my suit and read the message I had written to myself with a Sharpie. It was short, but important. “Relax. Eat. Dig Deep.” I focused on the first word. Swimming is 90% form, and a relaxed state of mind is important to "feel" the water.

At 7:00am, after an enthusiastic 5-second count down from the crowd on shore, the horn blew, and the men were off.

SWIM PORTION

Jeff:

Triathlon swim starts are notoriously chaotic. The initial rush of adrenaline causes a frenzy of imperfect swim strokes. Arms and legs are crashing through the water, absent of the usual swimming grace we had all practiced in the pools. All that pent up nervousness and apprehension is released by the athletes at one time. Everybody starts the race completely anaerobic, faster than their goal pace as they try to gain control of their brain and settle into form while jockeying for position in the water. However in comparison to previous races, I was much more calm and prepared.

About a month earlier, we had competed in an open-water swim that was also 2,000m. I made plenty of mistakes throughout that race, but I had learned from each of them. I was pulling downward too much, making my shoulders tire early. That also led to an inefficient stroke, causing me to crash and burn, gasping to keep up my breathing rate. I adjusted my form in training sessions and honed in on my limits for distance-swimming. I was determined to relax and finish the swim comfortably. After all, it was only 1.2 miles in a 70.3-mile race. Over-exerting myself in the swim really only presented the possibility of shaving a few minutes off my time. Those minutes could more easily be accounted for in the bike and run. So the goal of the swim was simply to relax and focus on form.

It took me about 100 meters to get through the initial rush of the swim start. The hardest part was that the first 100 meters of water were extremely murky. It was thick with a black mud that had been up to our knees closer to shore. The hundred or so athletes that had stomped through to reach the starting line had stirred up the mud into a cloudy froth that made visibility extremely limited and coincidentally didn’t taste very good. However, once we reached the 100m buoy, the water got amazingly clear. In previous open-water swims, I had felt lucky if I could see a person that was within three feet of me. In Lake Mead, I suddenly found that I could see swimmers that were 30ft away. It was strangely calming. I didn’t feel as isolated and alone as I had in previous races, and I instantly fell into a groove. I sighted the buoys according to my plan, barely peeking my eyes up out of the water every 6 breaths or so. I was calm enough to focus on my stroke technique. In the weeks leading up to the race I had finally discovered the catch that kept my arms from tiring out, and I was determined to maintain that form throughout the race.

My memory of the swim from that point on is honestly a blur. I remember passing a lot of guys after the 1000m mark, which I figured would be the case. I had predicted that the over-swimmers would tire out after about 1,000m, much like I had done in my practice race, and if I had fuel left in my tank I could easily crank it up to pass them. That’s exactly what happened. I rounded the final turn-around buoy, and I began my surge. I began picking off swimmers, passing them as I focused on my catch. Throughout the second half of the swim I stayed in a pocket of five guys who were all keeping the same steady pace. We bumped each other occasionally and jockeyed a bit to maintain our space, but it was never malicious. We just kept swimming, peeking at each other during breaths and under the water to maintain position, and before I knew it I was rounding the last buoy. The swim back toward the shore, which was the last 200m or so, felt like it took forever. I started sighing twice as frequently as before. I could see the crowd as I approached, and I wanted nothing more than to get to them. But first I had to make my way back through the murky, muddy waters near the shore. Finally, after several accidental mouthfuls of muddy water, I took one final stroke and felt my hand brush the bottom. Shallow water! I plopped my feet down the trudged through the knee-deep mud and approached the tunnel of spectators that would lead me to T1.

Official swim time: 32:41

That breaks down into a 1:41 per 100m, which was 10 seconds faster per 100m than I had anticipated. In practice pool swims, I had been able to comfortably maintain a 1:45 split, but that was with the advantage of the surge off the wall every 25m. I never expected to match that, much less exceed it, in open water. I have two things to say about that. I love swimming in a wetsuit, and I KILLED THE SWIM!!! I had a plan. I stuck to it. It worked.

Farris:

After the men's wave began, the ladies started to file out to the start of the swim. I was pretty nervous at that point. It was comforting, however, to get into the water and sit for a minute. It's really nice to be able to get a little water into your wetsuit and get your wits about you. I tried to stay in the middle of the pack. I'm certainly not a front-line swimmer, so I tried to let the crazies get in front. I realized at some point that all the women started backing up...I guess none of us were really front-line swimmers.

At 7:05AM the horn sounded, and we were off!! I quickly found a nice pace and started to relax. I knew I was swimming a little faster than I usually did, but I felt good. Occasionally I would bump into a few swimmers but I was never trampled or punched, which was nice. The swim was really beautiful. The water was clear enough that you could see around you. The course was a simple swim out to the last orange bouye and back to the shore which made it really easy to sight and stay in line. On my way back I started to pass blue caps - this was good because these were the men who had started 5 mintues before us. I was passing them, and it felt GOOD. At the second to the last buoy, I noticed the sprint swimmers had started and were turning were I was just passing. These were the crazy front-line swimmers who like to kick and punch. I got bumped by a few guys so I decided to swim to the outside and let the crazies pass. Before I knew it, I was back at the shore and on my way to the bike. Official swim time: 1.2 miles in 37:24.

TRANSITION 1

Jeff:

The transition area was laid out in one long stretch of single rows of bike racks. It was organized so that sprint distances were toward the back, closest to the lake, Olympic distance bikes were in the middle, and long course bikes were all the way at the front. Since my number was 111 and a long course athlete, my gear was on the second to last rack in the area, which meant that after I climbed out of the mud and remembered how use my legs I had to run about 50 yards or so past the rest of the transitioning athletes to get to my gear. Part of the way through my journey up the sloping transition area, Mandy appeared next to me on the other side of the barriers, shouting and cheering me on the whole way. It was a welcome distraction. I knew the hardest part of the race was about to begin, and I knew Farris was worried about how I would perform on the swim. She knew about my tendency to come out of the gate too hard and bonk. So I told Mandy to relay a message to Farris. “Tell her I killed it. I PRed the swim,” I grunted. My heart was racing due to the exertion of the swim and the adrenaline rush of catching a glimpse the personal record time flashing on my watch. A part of me was actually sad the swim was over. It was the most beautiful, text-book swim I had ever raced, and I didn’t want to leave it behind for the torturous cycling that was to come. But all good things must come to an end.

I made it to the end of T1, found my bike, stripped off my wetsuit, stuffed it into someone else’s transition bag, luckily realized my mistake and stuffed it into my transition bag, slipped on some socks, strapped on my mike shoes, threw on my helmet and sunglasses, threw some gels, crackers and a Clif bar into my back jersey pocked, grabbed my bike, and took off. As I left the transition area and jumped on my bike, awkwardly as always, I remember Mandy shouting “That’s my brother!” at the top of her lungs. I’m not going to lie, I felt like a bad-ass. I was in the middle of my first half Ironman, and I was doing great.

Farris:

The run from the shore to my bike was really far. As I was running, Mandy jogged along side me and told me that Jeff said he "killed it", which made me happy and ready to ride! The good thing about my designated transition area was that it was located near the exit. I quickly tore off my wetsuit, put on my bike shoes and helmet, and took a few seconds to eat a powerbar. I grabbed my bike and started running to the mount area. My area was crowded with big men on their bikes, but I jumped on and started riding. Offical time: 00:04:11

Farris's reward for a stellar swim? A pile of sweaty biker men.

BIKE COURSE FROM HELL

Jeff:

Farris and I had determined before the race that nutrition was going to be the most crucial element to our ability to finish the race with a smile. Rule #2 I had written on my arm – “EAT”. With that in mind, I wanted to start eating as soon as I was comfortable on the bike. However in the mental chaos of finishing the swim and immediately jumping into a 3-4 hour bike race, I jumped the gun a bit. As soon as I was on the bike, I grabbed a Clif Bar out of my back pocket and tried to eat it. My heart was pounding from the swim exertion, and my stomach, as it always does when I go anaerobic, was not in the mood for food. I was able to chew up one or two nibbles of the bar, which was still cold and tough, and then I simply threw the rest on the side of the road. I realized I needed to get settled first.

The first mile of the course was up-hill. We had to climb up out of the cauldron and get to the main road that runs along the western side of Lake Mead before we could start racing to any effect. Once I reached the road I was already out of breath, but fortunately I saw a few miles of gently rolling hills and flat terrain ahead. I got comfortable in my seat, bent forward into aero position, looked at the silly picture of my Darling (take your pick), and said to myself, “You can complain about the hills tonight.” I finally chewed up a few Clif Shots (gummies), sipped some water and just peddled.

I could go on for days describing the beauty and misery that was brought to my courtesy of the Pumpkinman bike course. Hill after hill, turn after turn, mile after mile, it was the most sadistically entertaining bike course I had ever been on, but I paid for every inch. The scenery was absolutely incredible. Lake Mead was bouncing in and out of sight on my right as I climbed up and down every miserable hill. For the most part, my pace was about where I had planned, but the uphill segments were slowing me further than I thought. Mentally the hills seemed unfair, too. For the most part, every time I would climb one, eventually I would get the advantage of riding down the back side. The problem was that the respite of the decline took only half as long to travel compared to the ascent. I hill that took me 4 minutes to climb was only taking me 1 minute to glide down.

As I approached the turn-around at the northern end of Lake Mead, mile 24 or so, I came up to the first aid station. This was my first experience with water bottle exchanges during a long bike race. My bike was set up so that I have two water bottles tucked right behind my seat. I had just finished one of my bottles. So I pulled the empty one out, tossed it to the side of the aid station area, and rode up to the girl handing out fresh bottles. I slowed down, held out my hand, and grabbed for the bottle. It hit my had, which was traveling about 10mph, and it bounced right out and skidded across the ground. The girl shouted, “I’m sorry!”, as she chased after me. I glanced back and reassured her it was ok. I still had a full bottle on my bike.

After reaching the turn-around and back-tracking about two miles, I finally got the chance to see Farris. She looked great. She was cruising along a relatively flat section, and as we both whizzed by we shouted incoherent messages to each other. I heard her say something about hills, which was of course the only thing either of us had on our minds, and I just replied, “There’s some good downhill ahead.” That was unfortunately only partially true. Downhills were only granted after significant uphills, one of which she was rapidly approaching, but I hoped the promise of downhill riding would motivate her. I kept cruising along at a steady-ish pace, getting passed by the occasional 50+ year-old rider. That, by the way, is both humiliating and inspiring. Those guys were cutting up the hills like they had been riding for decades, which is probably not far from the truth. I passed a few men myself, but for the majority of miles 25-46 I was essentially alone. One man was behind me about 200 yards, and one was about the same distance ahead. So to battle my boredom, and because I was growing more and more tired and I figured Farris was feeling just as bad, I would look down at my handlebars, focus on the goofy picture of my wife, and utter something along the lines of, “Hang in there sweetie. You’ve got this.”

Miles 48-56 were the hardest thing I have ever endured. We had not trained on hills to any great extent. So the fact that I had made it as far as I did to that point was simply amazing to me. The bike course behind me had already served up the most challenging ride I had ever attempted. The final 8-mile stretch that awaited me was the area of the course map that had worried us the most. It was a steady uphill climb over the entire 8 miles without even the slightest semblance of downhill. It took an eternity. My pace was unbelievably slow. I could hardly stand it. I spent the majority of the climb in my lowest possible gear. I was doing my best to save some fuel in my legs for the half marathon ahead, but maintaining even enough speed to simply stay upright on my bike was brutally difficult. After about 30-minutes of battling the uphill, I eventually came to the final challenge. Two miles of 8% (STEEP for us flatlanders), slowly turning road were the last thing between me and T2. I looked down at my arms. On my right forearm was the message my darling wife had written me. I had snapped me out of my funk several times on the bike course, and I looked to it yet again. I also took another glance at my left forearm. This time I focused on the last statement. “Dig Deep.” I gritted my teeth and gave my pedals everything I had. My pace literally slowed to 6 mph, which was a far cry from the 17 I had hoped to average. Mustering every ounce of mental and physical strength I could, I eventually made it to the top. There was a course volunteer on the side of the road, and I shouted to him that whoever had designed that course was one sadistic bastard. He laughed and agreed, and as I rounded the corner T2 came into sight. I coasted down the tiny downhill reward, about a quarter of a mile, and I saw Mandy waiting in front of the dismount area. I threw up my hand and waived to her in a gesture of appreciation and utter relief. I had made it.

Official bike time: 3 hours and 43 minutes.

That’s an average pace of 15.1 mph, which was a little short of the 17 mph mental goal I had set, but I was extremely satisfied with it. As I dismounted I thought about Farris who was still fighting her way through the bike course of doom. I knew she had the guts to make it through, but after glancing at my watch I also knew she was going to have to push herself extremely hard to make the surprisingly short noon cutoff. It was roughly 11:15 and it had taken me a solid 40 minutes to make it through the last 8 miles. I blew one last kiss to her picture on my aero bars and rushed forward into the transition area.

One magical word that brought great relief to our asses

Farris:

Well, the bike course was no joke. As I started to ride away from the transition, I felt really strong and ready to go. I was pedaling away and trying to keep my heartrate down. As much as I tried, I could not get my heart rate below 170. It was then I looked at the course and realized I as already climbing a damned hill. The hills were INSANE. The first 10 miles had several 4-8% climbs. There was always a short relief coasting down the hills but it was short-lived because there was always another hill at the bottom. The other disadvantage of going down the hills was that the course had a turn around at mile 27. So, any hill you went down, you had to climb again.

After the first 10 miles, I was able to get into a groove and keep my heart rate relatively low. My main goals for the entire ride were to EAT, EAT, EAT, and DRINK, DRINK, DRINK. My nutrition plan was as follows: Every 45 mintues, or sooner if I was hungry, I would take a swig of my gel flask or eat a cracker. Fifteen mintues later, I would take an Endurolyte pill followed by lots of water. I really felt good in terms of nutrition.

Although hills were incredibly rough, it did make for some incredible scenery. It was so beautiful. Lake Mead was spectacularly blue and the mountains were breathtaking. Thanks to the scenery, miles 1 - 20 went by rather quickly. A few people passed me but overall I was keeping my pace. Around mile 15 I passed a gentleman in his late 40s, and he joked that if I was going to pass him I could at least look out-of-breath while doing so. I passed him climbing the hills, but anytime we would coast down he would pass me. His name was Harley. It was actually really nice to have someone to talk to and joke with. He kept me company for over 30 miles.

Earlier in the morning, Jeff had written a message on my arm that read: "You are amazing. Hammer hard! I love you!" I had also taken the time to put pictures of Jeff and our dog to remind me that I had something good waiting at the end.

Did she say "Jeff and our dog"? I only see Maddox!

I have to say I was feeling really good considering the amount of climbing and lack of experience doing so. My biggest complaint was that I really had to use the bathroom the entire ride. Around mile 20 my bladder was entirely full. I knew I had over 35 miles left so I had no choice but to continue drinking water. The course had three water exchanges at miles 20, 35, and 50. I just kept hoping that one of the exchanges would have a porto potty. As mile 47 approached, I knew I was about to endure the toughest part of the ride. The last 10 miles were a steep climb, up to 8% into T2. It's hard to explain how truly difficult this climb was. All I can say is that as we began to climb my friend Harley dropped far behind me and my MPH was down to 6. To add to the difficulty, there was a headwind of about 5-10 MPH trying to keep me from moving. From miles 47 - 52, I put my head down and just focused on pedalling. I was definitely starting to get tired. I knew what I was doing was really hard because I passed a guy who had chosen to get off his bike and walk it up the hill. I was also still miserable because I needed to use the restroom.

At one point our course took us to a parking lot. I noticed there was a building with a restroom. I jumped off my bike and ran to the door. Locked. I was so fucking pissed. I decided that I had 4 very tough miles left and if I was going to do it, I had to pee. So, I risked the public urination ticket and went behind the building. There really wasn't a "behind" the building, so I apologize to any rider that had to witness my lawlessness. Anyway, I immediately started riding again and although I felt better, the climb only got harder. It was only in the last two miles that I really wasn't sure if I was going to make it. My average MPH had dropped from 15.1 to 13.4 just in the last 6 miles. My legs were burning and my head was hurting. To make matters more craptastic, I geared down, and somehow my chain derailed from the cog. Since I was climbing the steepest hill on the course at a snail's pace, this action resulted in me falling over. I tried to unclip in time, but I didn't. I was only moving 4 MPH so there was no injury other than my pride. I jumped off, fixed my chain and started back into the climb. PS - it's also really difficult to get going on an 8% incline.

Finally, at the top of the hill I could see a race official. As I approached him, he told me that T2 was just around the corner. I road as fast as I could. At the finish line a race official greeted me and said the words I did not want to hear. "Technically you did not make the bike cutoff, but if you can finish the run in less than 2:46 you’ll make the official race cutoff of 8 hours. Can you finish the run in 2:46??"

Official Bike Time: 4:26:26.

TRANSITION 2

Jeff:

My legs and mind were mush. In general I felt good, but I was admittedly tired from the 56 miles I had just painstakingly dissected. The most distinct memory I have is the feeling in my legs and feet. Touching down after dismounting the bike felt a bit awkward. My leg muscles had become accustomed to pedaling in a circular motion for the past 3.75 hours, and the sensation of trying to run in cycling shoes was strange to say the least. I reached the bike rack where I had left my run bag the day before. I hooked the bike seat over the bar, and stripped off my helmet and bike shoes. As I opened my run bag and began putting on my shoes Mandy appeared on the other side of the fence. I don’t remember exactly what we talked about, but it was extremely comforting to have her there. I asked her if she knew anything about Farris’s whereabouts. She didn’t, but that was no surprise. After spending the last 4 hours with no company other than my own thoughts, I was just happy to tell Mandy how miserable the bike course was. As usual, she was incredibly motivating. She snapped a few pictures, and off I went. I can distinctly remember the first 50 yards as I ran toward the T2 exit. In comparison to my carbon-fiber-bottomed cycling shoes, my Newtons felt especially squishy, and I loved it. Thanks to the many brick training sessions we had endured in the months leading up to the race, my legs transitioned quickly into running form. Two events down, one to go.

Farris:

With my bike, I ran as fast as I could to my transition area. I launched my bike on to the rack, put my shoes and hat on, and just started running. My head was spinning because I wasn't sure how fast I was going to be able to run after what I had just put my legs through.

HALF MARATHON

Jeff:

As I settled into a comfortable pace for the run, I kept in mind that my only goal for this race was to have fun and finish with a smile. My past three races had all ended with me being utterly exhausted and feeling defeated despite decent performances. I had been so tired and worn down at the end of those races that I didn’t fully enjoy the experience of finishing. This time I just wanted to cross the line and have the energy to celebrate. My previous best ½ marathon time was 1:46, a time of which I had no delusions on this day. That pace represented a 8:00/mile split, and I decided as I ran the first mile of this race that I was simply going to try to maintain a 10:00/mile pace. That was much slower than I ever ran in training, and it was certainly not up to par with my past race performances. But I knew that I was not in the running for any course records or even placing very high in my division. So I convinced myself to simply take it easy and enjoy the next 2 hours. There would be other races in which to improve.

The run course was also relatively hilly. There were ample aid stations along the route, about one every mile. So I took every opportunity to grab some pretzels to avoid cramping, a cookie or a gel from time to time to avoid bonking, and a decent amount of water.
As I neared the turnaround at mile 6.5 of the run, I finally got a chance to see Farris. I can’t put into words how happy I was to see her. She was just starting her run, and she was 6 miles behind me, but she looked great. She muttered in a very serious tone that she wasn’t sure if she could make the run cutoff. I reassured her that the run course was a walk in the park compared to what she had just endured, and I told her to dig deep. I later saw her at the outer edge of the course. She had finished 4 miles and I was somewhere around 9, and we exchanged a quick “I love you” as we passed.

The last four miles of my run were not stellar by any means. I was fighting the sensation of cramps-at-any-moment in my calves, but I was able to stave them off. I walked numerous times throughout those last few miles. I was losing my mental battle to keep running, and again I knew I had done a great job throughout the race. I just wanted to finish in high spirits, and as a result I had no drive to put in a last kick in this race. So I slowed a bit and made my way through those last few miles. As I round the final turn, Farris passed my one final time. I did a quick mental calculation of the time and realized that she was turning out a great run time. So I told her to keep it up. She told me to suck it up and push through the final stretch, and on I went. At the top of the final hill, as the finish line popped into view, I saw Mandy yet again. She was simultaneously cheering and snapping photos. She was absolutely stellar that day. I gave her a great big smile as I passed. The next thing I knew, I was running through the giant inflatable finish tunnel. I clenched my fist and let out a couple of very enthusiastic battle cries. I had done it. I had finished my first half iron-distance race, and it felt incredible. Official run time: 2:15, which was significantly slower that past runs, but I couldn’t have cared less.

Overall race time: 6:32:39.

Farris:

As I was running out of T2, I saw Mandy. She was cheering me on and I told her that I only had 2:46 to run 13.1 miles and that I wasn't sure if I was going to make it. She yelled, "YOU GOT THIS", and I started running. The run course was in 3 mile sections (3miles uphill, 3 miles downhill, etc...) that were run back and forth. As I started my first mile, Jeff ran passed me as he was completing his 6th mile. I was totally in tears and said, "I don't think I'm going to make it". He, of course, said, "You can do it, babe".

As I completed my first 3 mile section, I started to calm down. A few woman in their 40s passed me on their way to the finish and said, “cheer up, you're gonna be great in your 30s”, which made me smile. I looked down at my Garmin and began to calculate the pace I needed to run to finish in time. I remebered that I completed my first half marathon in 2:45. I knew that I had to run less than 12:40 min/miles to finish. I had just run my first three in less than 11min/mile. I finally got my shit together and realized that I actually felt pretty goood. My legs weren't hurting and I was running at a faster pace than I had planned for this portion of the race. I decided to maintain that pace for the next 3 miles. As I approached mile 6 I saw Mandy again who assurred me I could do it. I also saw Jeff as he was completing his last mile. It was at this point that I knew I could make it. I was drinking lots of water and eating a gel every mile but I felt good. I was even passing people who had passed me earlier on the bike. As I began my last three miles, I was with the final runners of the race. Everyone in front and behind me was incredibly supportive. Anytime someone passed in either direction, they would say "good job" or "keep it up". It was really great.

In my last mile, I could see the turn before the finish line. I pretty much lost it at that point. I made the turn and saw Mandy and Jeff cheering for me. Jeff ran toward me yelling, "I can't believe you just did that! You are amazing!" I ran my final 0.1 miles crying like a baby, but I finished!! I am a freakin' half Ironman!!!

Official Run Time: 2:28:33

Total Race Time: 7:36:33

WRAP-UP

I think we both left a part of ourselves on that course that day, and we were both filled to the brim with pride. The Pumpkinman was without a doubt the hardest thing we have ever endured. It offered a surreal combination of challenges and beauty. It forced us both to dig deeper within our inner-motivation than we knew possible. Our reason for setting our sights on Ironman and this race as a stepping stone to that ultimate goal was to see how far we could push ourselves. Within that context, this day did not disappoint.

Farris:

In the beginning I wasn't really sure I could do this. And now...I know I can. I'm really excited to start training for the ultimate goal, Ironman Arizona 2011.

A few thanks are in order. Jeff, my lovely husband. I can't thank you enough for encouraging and guiding me trough the last 20 weeks. You inspire me to work hard, be strong, and never give up. I love training with you and look forward to the next year of craziness. Arizona Ironman 2011, here we come! Mandy, I can't begin to thank you enough for all the cheers of excitement and endless support. This was such an important day for Jeff and me. I'm so happy you were able to share it with us. Not only do we have wonderful memories to remind us of this day, we also have the incredible photos you captured to commemorate this experience for the rest of our lives. Thank you, sis.

Jeff:

Right back at you my love. It’s astonishing to think what you and I have accomplished over the past 8 months. We went from barely being able to swim 100m and certainly not having the cycling skills to even unclip before falling over to a set of quasi-hardened long-course triathletes. Without your constant companionship and motivation I never would have made it through training. I can only begin to imagine how our lives will change when we step it up to the final round, after a much-deserved break. We truly are an Iron Couple. I love you!

Mandy – you were incredibly important that entire weekend. It means so much to me that you drove up to Nevada to join Farris and me on our turbulent journey. I couldn’t have made it through that day without your calming, motivating spirit. You are one amazing sister. THANK YOU!!

Champagne!

Cheers!

You Might be a Triathlete

2010-10-13T15:48:00.000-07:00

If your coworkers think your crazy becuase you spend an unusual amount of time shaking your head at weird angles to get the water out of your ears...you might be a triathlete.

If your kitchen floor is continuously cluttered with workout gear and looks more like a transition area than a room in your house...you might be a triathlete.

If instead of jars of flour, sugar, etc your kitchen counter is riddled with containers of electrolyte supplements, gels and protein powders...you might be a triathlete.

If there's a digital scale in your hallway that for some reason when you walk by you just have to jump on, even if it has only been 30 minutes...you might be an obsessive compulsive triathlete.

If you haven't seen or spoken to you friends in several months because they don't live along any of your usual training routes or haven't bothered to say "Hello!" by way of a poster as you whiz by...ymbat.

If the question you ask at lunch time is not "What's for lunch?" but is instead "How far do I have to swim/bike/run at lunch today?"...ymbat.

If you have studied and retained an abnormal awareness of the exact sunrise and sunset times during the upcoming weeks...ymbat (or a vampire).

If connect.garmin.com is always the first suggested web address that pops up in your browser...ymbat.

If you're always yelling at the driver in front of you because they were careless enough to veer into the bike lane for a fraction of a second...ymbat.

If you are able to recite without hesitation the conversion factors for miles/yards/meters...ymbat.

If you get an unprovoked, disapproving glare from cyclists as you pass them...ymbat (take that, roadies!)

If your idea of a "successful swim" is one in which you didn't lose any teeth...ymbat.

If your daily calendar is filled with strange coded messages such as "(CLR14)" or "(BRW8)"...ymbat.

If you could actually make sense of that last statement...ymbat.

Thoughts of a Triathlete/Psychoacoustician

2010-10-06T17:16:00.000-07:00

This last Sunday we rode our final long ride (over 53 miles). This time I planned our nutritional intake more carefully. I made Jeff purchase gel flasks which contain the equivalent of about 6 gel packets. The gel flask is nice as it is often problematic to open gels while riding and attempting to pay attention to the road. Hammer Nutrition makes a gel called Hammer Gel, which is sold in bulk so it's also a little cheaper compared to purchasing individual gels. In addition to the flask we also experimented with saltine crackers (an attempt to satisfy my need for something salty and much more compact than a ham and pickle sandwich).

We were very good to focus on eating and drinking ample amounts of water this time. I think we pushed it a little to hard without water last week, which was another reason we bonked so hard. Ultimately, the ride was good. We both felt strong and relaxed considering the length of time in the saddle (over 3:30 minutes).

The only part that I will likely never overcome is the unbelievable amount of boredom that accompanies long rides. Because of this I often attempt to keep myself busy and start to do one of two things: 1) sing songs loudly, or 2) think of experiments or how I would plot a graph to depict what I'm feeling. For example, I started thinking about the pain-function of riding 50 miles and how it is similar to the input-output (I/0) function of the basilar membrane in the cochlea. WARNING: The nerd-talk is about to get extremely intense.

Figure A

The curved line on the graph shows the compressive nature or non-linear function of the basilar membrane to different input levels. We will call this graph Figure A. You can see that at relatively low and high input levels the response is roughly linear (i.e. what you put into the system, you get out of the system). However, over the middle range of inputs, you can see the function is compressive (i.e. the response does not grow proportionally with the magnitude of the input). This function not only serves as one of the explanations for the reasons humans having such a huge dynamic range of hearing and superior frequency selectivity, the shape of the function can also be applied to the pain response of riding over 50 miles. The fantastically, brilliant Brian C.J. Moore provided the scientific image above.

For a description of how Dr. Moore's image applies to the pain experienced on long rides I would like to direct your attention to the image provided below (Figure B). This function was created by the equally fantastic, but not-AS-brilliant, soon-to-be Dr. Walling.

Figure B

As you can see, the shape of the function is very similar to the image above. Now, if you'll please refer to the axes you'll notice they are different. Pain is plotted on the y-axis as a function of miles traveled, which is plotted on the x-axis. Of particular importance is the scale of pain depicted by a range of images. The angry cup of coffee symbolizes that you likely just awoke (crazy-ass early) from perfectly good sleep, did not get enough coffee, and now you are riding your not-so-comfy bike and your heart rate is starting rise which is annoying but not painful. The smiley face symbolizes a level of contentedness. At the very top of the axis we have the dreaded "bike bonk". This symbolizes extreme pain and once you've reached this point you are, well, as the French say "fooked".

Dr. Walling's function simply demonstrates that during the first couple miles traveled the pain response is basically linear and equally annoying (but not painful) while warming up. However, after the warm-up, your body and overall state is rather comfortable, i.e., there is a non-linear growth of pain over a wide range of miles (about 30 - 35 miles) ridden. But, inevitably that non-linear function becomes linear and that means for every mile traveled beyond 40 miles, there is a proportional (and painful) response for each mile. Got it??

I think that's enough psychophysics banter for one blog post. If I made absolutely no sense, at the very least I think I provided a glimpse into the wondering mind of a triathlete/psychoacoustician. Just wait until I start training for Ironman and have to keep myself busy for twice the distance.

Pre-Race Blues

2010-10-02T15:55:00.000-07:00

I looked at my calendar this morning and realized how incredibly close our race is. The Pumpkinman Half Ironman is less than three weeks away. Three weeks. That’s it. Another reminder that our race is nearing quickly is that this week we start our last full week of training before our two-week taper begins. Thinking about all of this, I am definitely starting to panic a little.

Jeff and I have trained our asses off (literally), and yet I still feel slightly unprepared. I certainly know I can swim 2,000m, bike 56 miles, and run a half marathon - I’ve accomplished these distances several times as independent events or as brick workouts. However, I have yet to combine all of these distances into one event.

My most recent concerns have been regarding my nutritional needs during the race. Last Sunday Jeff and I completed our longest ride (3:30 minutes), riding over 50 miles. During that ride I knew I needed to be eating more, but I just couldn't. It was so incredibly hot and the last thing I wanted was a gooey gel or gummy chew. In fact, I think I told Jeff that all I could think of was eating a ham and pickle sandwich (which I've never eaten before, it just sounded salty and good). Consequently, the lack of caloric intake ultimately lead to the dreaded "bike bonk". I did make it through the ride (barely) but I was completely out of commission afterwards, i.e., there was NO way I would've been able to run a half marathon.

I did some research over the week and realized that during my ride my body was telling me something. YOU NEED SALT. I know that salt replacement is essential during any endurance race, but the combined elements of 100 degree weather and severe head winds basically made me just want to get home and worry about it later. Stupid, I know.

Since then, I've been waking up in the middle of the night trying to calculate the proper amount of calories to consume, when to consume, and what to consume during the race. It's funny to me that I am so focused on the nutritional aspects of the race vs. the miles, but it's truly the piece of the puzzle that is still in question.

I imagine that everyone starts to second guess the amount of work they've done prior to a race. I suppose I just need to remind myself that I have done the work and that I did train really hard. My goal for training this week is to really focus on nutrition, especially during the bike. Stay tuned...

F*** You and Your Yuppie Health Drink

2010-09-27T15:45:00.000-07:00

After leaving the gym today I was headed back to the office to eat my lunch and get back to saving the world one transmission line at a time. On the way I stopped by the gas station, 7-Eleven to be exact, to grab a drink to go with the lunch I had waiting for me in the break room fridge. I had been drinking water all morning, and I needed something with a little more flair. So I went inside and began browsing the wall of refrigerated drinks.

At the same time a man who looked like he was in his 40s walked through the doors. He was slightly overweight and had a sort of run-down, unkept appearance. He came in, walked straight to the fountain soda area, grabbed a 42oz cup, put it under the Cherry Slurpee machine, and cranked the nozzle to full blast. In the back of my mind I was thinking about how funny it was that this grown man was filling up a Slurpee the size of my head. If he had been a 12-year-old it probably wouldn't have phased me, ignoring for one second the fact that it is completely unnecessary for anyone to have that much Slurpee in one sitting, but this guy caught me especially by surprise. I had a brief, inner chuckle, and then I thought, "Whatever. Who am I to judge?". I opened the door to the cooler, grabbed myself a lemon Propel, and headed for the counter.

As I was paying, the same man walked up to the clerk next to me. When he reached the counter, he glanced down at my Propel, plopped down his giant Slurpee with a kind of arrogant force, looked up at me, and gave me an expression that I could only interpret as, "Fuck YOU and your yuppie health drink."

I barely held back my smirk, grabbed my drink, and headed out the door. I couldn't help it. I thought my brief interaction with this stranger was hilarious, and it reminded me of just how different my life must be from other people. Don't get me wrong. I fall off the health food wagon relatively frequently, but when I do it is short-lived and counter-balanced by my usual training regimen. This guy, and I could be way off base here, did not appear to be stickler for a healthy lifestyle of any kind, and judging from his familiarity with the Slurpie area I think it's safe to assume this frothy treat was not his first in any period of time. He didn't appear to be one to hit the gym, nor did he look like he had any intention of exercising more than what it would take him to get back into what I can only assume was his over-sized, lifted Ford F350 out front.

Admittedly I'm not sure what relevance this story has to any part of Operation Iron Couple. It was just another one of the the all-too-frequent reminders that society provides me of why we do what we do and why we love it so much. What would be the exception in most people's lives, or perhaps a brief 30-day health stint, has become our "norm". Day in and day out our focus is on training and eating as healthily (is that a word?) as possible. If we go more than a day without training or exercising, we feel dirty. If we happen to eat horribly during that lapse, our shame consumes us.

I can't help but feel incredibly lucky that I am in a marriage where we are both focused on the same thing: optimal health. We both have outside aspirations, hobbies and what-not, but the one constant we share is our dedication to being fit and healthy. There's no resentment from the other half. There's no "You eat your burrito and I'll just have steamed vegetables". It's just the two of us doing our crazy daily routine and somehow coming out of each week stronger, faster, and healthier than the last. In a world of so many downward-sloping health levels caused by people's unhealthy vices, it feels incredibly good to know that the "thing" we just can't seem to quit is exercising. Cheers to us.

Heat, Heat, Heat, and Stink

2010-09-26T20:23:00.000-07:00

Training throughout the misery and inferno of the Phoenix summer has really taken a toll on us. It's been hot. Miserably hot. Relentlessly and unyielding hot. For those of you who have experienced a summer in Phoenix you know that the notion of doing anything outside, venturing from the protective bubble of your home's air conditioning unit when it is 110+ for the majority of the daylight hours, is just downright unappealing.

Of course in the usual Phoenix fashion a few weeks ago we had a glimmer of hope. We had a week where the temperature appeard to be dropping. Cool nights, double-digit days, every indication that fall had arrived switched my brain into fall mode. Then as it always does the Phoenix inferno kicked it back up a few notches, and we've been back training in 100+ degree temperatures ever since.

What makes things even worse and what has made the past few weeks especially unenjoyable for our training is the fact that when it remains that hot throughout the day every concrete or asphalt surface in the city stores the radiant heat. Why does that matter? Because it means that our little oasis in the arid desert is really nothing other than a giant battery of misery. It collects and stores torturous heat. During the day, anything with a pulse gets cooked from the top down by the scorching sun. If we are ever brave and/or stupid enough to try to run or ride during the day, we come home with heat stroke and top-side sun burns. At night, on the other hand, we suddenly feel as if we are being cooked in a convection oven from the bottom up. Morning is horrible. Evening is horrible. Training at 2:00am is just not feasible. But the lesser of the evils given traffic and light conditions appears to be the early morning.

What all this really means is that outside of swimming in the confines of an indoor pool our realistic window for survivable training is limited to a few incredibly early and only relatively "cool" hours in the morning. Compounding that difficulty is our aversion to riding without at least a bit of sunlight. We have to ride early in the morning for various reasons, but we like to wait for the sun to come up if at all possible. As summer progresses the exact time of sunrise creeps later and later into the morning. So if we maintain our normal and unfortunately mandatory work schedules, our comfortable window for cycling in the morning is getting smaller and smaller. Further compounding our frustration is the fact that as our training continues and we inch closer and closer to this year’s ultimate 70.3-mile test our training sessions must also grow in duration. So not only is our window of available time shrinking, our required training to fit into that window is growing at a steady rate. From a scheduling standpoint, training for a long-course triathlon is, as we had been warned many times before, extremely difficult for normal, everyday "age-groupers" who have careers and lives outside of the sport.

It is exactly as it appears.
Phoenix is literally being consumed by flames.

Let's not stop the tirade there, however. I'm getting a sick sort of therapeutic enjoyment out of my rant (I’m a narcissist. I love the sound of my own voice). To further compound the difficulty of our summer death march is Phoenix's monsoon season, which of course coincides perfectly with the extreme temperatures. In terms of total rainfall, our monsoon season is probably a bit of a joke. There are usually a few weeks every year where we get an unusually large (for a desert) amount of rain in a very small segment of time. The key to this problem is the fact that our city relies on retention basins just alongside the streets to collect the water and slowly allow it to soak back into the water table below the city. It sounds great in practice, but what ultimately happens is this.

The water comes pouring down. It floods the streets, washes months of gunk and grim off of buildings, sidewalks and streets and carries it into the retention basins. Since the ground has been 100% devoid of moisture for the better part of the year its ability to soak up the newly created sea of water is less than ideal immediately following the storm. So for days on end the inches and sometimes feet of water that collected in the basins sit stagnant, growing ever more putrid with every hour of 115-degree daylight to which it is exposed. Warm, murky, stagnant water, dead animals, rotting vegetation, trash from the streets - you name it. It has all gathered together in a little man-made pond. It's like the Woodstock of stink. All of the unappealing side effects of the bustling metropolis get mixed together into a festering witch's brew of urban potpourri.

Now picture the healthy, well-intended Iron-Couple-to-Be heading down the street on one of their daily training rides or runs. Their bodies are tired and their breathing rate is high. They've just gotten accustomed to the added effort of gasping super-heated air in an attempt to just keep moving and finish this session. Suddenly they find themselves next to several acres on half-completed residential development, one of the many trophy lots left over from the ruptured real estate bubble. Fortunately one of the first things completed were the retention ponds for that area of development. Unfortunately those basins are not being maintained and were never landscaped. No houses, no trees, no streets, just ready-made ponds. So even before the rain comes these basins are filled with weeds, trash, animals, all the good stuff that the rain also helps to wash into the basins.

Bog of Eternal Stench. "Shmells Baaaad!"
(Labyrinth reference, check)

So now that the rain has finally come, these particular retention basins have brewed up a double batch of junk juice, and with this ultra-concentrated formula comes a smell I just can’t seem to put into words. Picture again those tired lungs gasping hot air, and then picture us suddenly crossing the stink threshold. It’s invisible, but it’s there. It's like hitting a brick wall. The warm air is joined by a moist, putrid smell that would churn even the strongest of stomachs. Worse than a skunk, worse than the smell of sewage, worse than the smell of the trash bag you left sitting along the back wall for two weeks (busted). Picture those things all blended together, ladled into a brandy snifter, stick your nose in, and you're off to a good start.

To top off the clearly very complicated and multi-layered misery that is training in the summer here in the Valley of the Sun there is one creature on earth that LOVES stagnant water: Mosquitoes. During monsoon season the mosquito population explodes. Suddenly stepping outside with any amount of exposed flesh is met with a notable fog of mosquitoes that somehow managed to hatch overnight. In the small amount of time that it takes Farris and I to check our bikes, pump up the tires, and get moving on a morning ride we both manage to get at least a half dozen mosquito bites. Once we're moving we're far better off, but if we hit a red light or dare to get a flat tire along the way, the swarm finds us.

Do you get the picture? The act of exercising and training day in and day out is downright enjoyable to us. The timing of our endeavors through the worst months of life in Phoenix, on the other hand, is truly unfortunate. We both can't wait to see how well our bodies perform once this misery is carried away by the long-overdue, downward-trending temperatures of fall. Our motto right now is "cooler temperatures bring lower heart rates", or something along those lines.

Still Alive!

2010-09-25T09:12:00.000-07:00

Although it may appear we are doing our best to the contrary, we are in fact still alive. It's been 1.5 months of training since our last post. To all of our adoring fans, which may still only be our mothers at this point, we promise to get back to writing. What can we say? It's been unbelievably hectic over the past 6 weeks. Here are the highlights, and for each of these we will be adding a post within the next week. We promise. As a teaser, here's what you have to look forward to:

Monsoon showers turn Chandler into a stinky sespool
Eat, eat, eat, and still shrink
The great wetsuit-buying adventure
San Diego Surft Town Sprint Tri (ever tried swimming in a storm level rip current?)
Open Water Swim - Saguaro Lake 2,000m Race (Farris beats Jeff)
Cycling is an ongoing logistical nightmare (equipment problems and crashes)
Training in Albuquerque is different and wonderful
Sickness and injury damper training progress, and now there are only 4 weeks until 70.3 miles!
Ironman AZ 2010 volunteer positions are set. We're sweaty athlete "catchers".

Sounds great, right?!? It truly has been an event-filled summer, and we'll get details posted soon. Stay tuned!!

I said, "Buy us a Bike Stand", and this is is what you did?!?

2010-08-13T13:59:00.000-07:00

Some things about a person, no matter how quirky or embarrassing, just cannot be changed. They are deeply seeded in every part of their being, and no matter how hard they try to suppress the inner demons it is inevitably a losing battle. Case and point: I am an engineer. My constant desire to be doing, improving, or building something will from time to time manifest itself as the need to pour creativity and innovation into what should in reality be a simple task. Let me elaborate.

A few weeks ago I decided it would be nice to have some sort of stand for our bikes to help with the routine maintenance. It can be a bit awkward to try to clean and lube your chains while your bike is leaned up against the front tire of some unnamed person's half-completed hot rod in the garage (I plead the 5th). I knew there must be some sort of collapsible tripod type of stand available the would allow us to more easily maintain our bikes.

There are two primary types of bike stands. The most commonly available are just a simple fold out stand about 18 inches high that you simply put one of your tires into and it keeps your bike upright. These are cheap, and you can even find them at the big chain sports stores (pshaw...we're far to refined for such places). However the problem is that all they do is keep the bike from falling over. Sometimes it would be really nice to be able to spin the wheels or crank the chain the right direction to check the performance of your derailleurs (shifting mechanisms). So for me, these were not a good option.

On to option two. These stands are more of a tripod type of set up that clamps onto the bike frame, holds it just high enough to spin the wheels, and allows for much more comprehensive maintenance. This is exactly what I wanted, but then I saw the price tag. At a "bargain price" of $165, I just could not bring myself to bite the bullet and spend that kind of money on a bike stand.

Side note: When you're deeply ingrained in the triathlon lifestyle, you begin to compare prices of every day items to tri gear that could be bought with the same money. I COULD pay my water bill, but I really, really, really want one of the new Louis Garneau Elite Tri Suits. I really SHOULD go grocery shopping, but those pesky nutritional needs of mine are really coming between me and my much needed new pair of Newtons. Did Craig Alexander waste his time with frivolous bills and obligations when he began his journey toward numerous Ironman World Championship titles? NO!! (Disclaimer: I have not verified this claim with Mr. Alexander, and neither should you.) It's a give and take world, and tri-gear-addiction is a greedy little monster.

Back to my point, in a world where tri tops and shorts cost $80-$100 each I refuse to drop $160 on a bike stand. So this is where my unfortunate (but awesome!) engineering brain kicked in. I've fabricated far more complicated things in my day. Yeah that's right. I chopped the front end of a car in half and welded a new, different front clip back on. I can build a bike stand in my sleep.

So I headed down to Home Depot to get some supplies. I had a few good options planned out in my head as I strolled the isles, but for some reason I wasn't satisfied. All of the components I was finding were too heavy, too bulky, and still too expensive. Then the creative side of my brain kicked in and I realized what the bike stands reminded me of (kind of). A kid's scooter. Now my cheap-ass, do-it-yourself brain kicked into high gear and dragged me to a Goodwill store that was just up the street. What did I find there? A collapsible scooter for $10. Ok, ok. I didn't actually just walk in and find it. I actually saw a little boy, probably four or five years old, riding it around the store while his dad shopped for who-knows-what. I could tell by the dad's reaction that he had no intent of buying the scooter for his son. So I of course patiently spied on them both until the dad made his son put the scooter away, and I swooped in and snagged it.

20 minutes later I was home. 1 hour after that, with the little help from my friend the chop saw and some spare metal I had lying around, I modified this $10 treasure into a fully functioning bike stand. Total investment: $20. Best of all, it folds up really small so I can stash it in the garage. Behold!

Beauty is of course in the eye of the beholder. At the time I could hardly contain my pride in this ridiculous creation. Who turns a $10 scooter into a functioning bike maintenance stand? I do. However I realize you are all no doubt thinking the same thing, at least all you simple-minded, visionless peons out there. So it should come as no surprise that Farris was, well, less than enthused about my mechanical endeavors. I can't remember exactly how she put it, but it was something along the lines of, "I can understand the enginuity that went into something like that, but really Babe?".

Sigh...in hindsight I admit my bike stand is a little stupid. I like to blame it on my boredom on a Saturday night that was fuelled by perhaps one too many Kiltlifters (beer) in the fridge. This is what happens when Farris leaves me home alone with nothing but my mind to keep me occupied. I will have all you doubters know, however, that I have used my stand three times already. Indeed it serves it's purpose, but I probably got what I paid for. Perhaps more appropriately - I didn't get what I didn't pay for.

I'm sorry Darling. I'll buy us a proper stand ASAP. What's that? The light in the laundry room is out? Let me get the welder.

Change of Plans...

2010-08-13T12:24:00.000-07:00

It's official. The City of Tempe will not have the lake refilled until November 1. That means the two races we were planning on participating in will be cancelled or will become a different race format. The organizer of our races, Red Rock, released a statement that both the Olympic and Half Ironman-distance races would become duathlons. The duathlon, for example, would implement a run-bike-run format. The format change caused quit an uproar on the company’s forum. Initially the company was only going to offer a 50% credit towards next year’s races; however, I think they received lots of angry emails and have since decided to provide a 100% credit toward next year’s races. I appreciate that Red Rock did the best they could with a situation that was out of their control, but the swim portion is absolutely necessary for Jeff and I as novice triathletes.

Boulder Beach at Lake Mead

As luck would have it, there is a race the same weekend in Nevada just outside of Vegas (only 5 hours from Phoneix). The race is called the Land Rover Pumpkinman Triathlon in Boulder City, NV. The swim portion will take place in the beautiful Lake Mead while the run/bike portions will take place along HWY 93 and the River Mountain's Trail in Boulder City. While traveling for our first half Ironman is not ideal, we are just happy that there is a suitable substitute. The race looks like it is a little more difficult than the Tempe race as it has more hills and participants. That said, I am pretty excited to race a different terrain and can't wait to spend a few days in Las Vegas to celebrate our accomplishment.

We'll post further details about the Pumpkinman race, as it has the potential of being a significantly more challenging course. But we'll be ready. That's what we've been training for, right?

So if you happen to be in the Vegas area in October, come cheer us on!

Gösta Holmér - R.I.P. (You Miserable Bastard)

2010-07-25T11:37:00.000-07:00

Not that I probably need to tell you this, but Gösta Holmér created Fartlek interval training. And as you can see, his sex appeal is timeless.

Back in his day Holmér was a successful endurance athlete. He competed and won the bronze medal in the decathlon in the 1912 Olympics. A little further down the road (1930s) he became head coach of the Swedish cross country team, which was struggling to find success at the time. As a result Holmér developed what he called Fartlek training. Fartlek, by the way, is Swedish for "speed play". In essence Fartlek training adds variety to otherwise continuous/monotonous aerobic workouts. The basic training session is still aerobic in nature, but Holmer believed that brief intervals of anaerobic exertion would help to further stress the body, without overstressing, to aid in the development of strength and recovery ability.

Innovation and effectiveness aside, I like to think of Mr. Holmér as the grand daddy of grief, the bringer of the burn, the attractor of agony, the sultan of sadism, the heralder of heart attacks, the maestro of misery, the dealer of despondency, or perhaps the purveyor of pain. Sure you may argue that he was simply creating a style of training that he felt would best improve an athlete's endurance, and what a great guise that was. Deep down I think the truth of the matter is that he enjoyed torturing his athletes, and coincidentally he was credited with the development of a now widely adopted training philosophy.

Ok, ok. I'm really exaggerating the misery, but I just had an abundance of alliterated adjectives to get off my chest (ha! I did it again!). The bottom line is that my muscles hurt after our past two weeks of training, and I attribute the majority of that soreness to the constant battery of my body as a result of speed work such as Fartlek training.

I will admit, however, that Farris and I both have begun to notice a newfound strength in all three sports. Obviously time spent in each sport has resulted in technique improvements, but I think we both agree that the speed work has also begun to pay off in terms of overall strength. Our muscles are toning up, at least those that aren't withering away, and our speed during sprints and intervals has begun to improve. Fartlek training has even paid off in the pool. Aside from improving our ability to vary our speed in the water, speed sets in the pool have really forced us to learn how to quickly relax and recover our normal breathing rate while still continuing to swim.

Anyway cheers to Gösta Holmér. We curse him and love him...

WTF Do You Mean There's No Lake?!?

2010-07-25T11:27:00.000-07:00

Before the Break

If you live in the Phoenix area you probably heard that our man-made lake known as Tempe Town Lake is, well, gone. The lake served as a recreational park for rowers, triathletes, and other sports. In fact the city of Tempe had made the Beach Park the focus of the city hosting several festivals and concerts. The lake was essentially a short section of the Salt River that was dammed at both ends by concrete pillars holding up giant rubber bladders that served as adjustable boarders to increase and lower the water level.

As luck would have it, coming up on our race season where we had planned to compete in at least two triathlons hosted at the lake, the dam broke around 9:45 p.m. Tuesday and sent thousands of gallons of water rushing downstream into the normally dry Salt River.
Jeff called me early Wednesday morning and reported the news to which I responded, “WTF do mean there’s no lake?!?”

After the Break

Normally I would probably just laugh at the idiots running our city and blow it off. However I am trying very hard to become a triathlete and ALL of my upcoming races were scheduled to start in Tempe Town Lake. This serves as a pretty big problem considering swimming almost always requires of body of water in which to swim. No need to state the obvious, but seriously…WTF!! I am training DAMN hard (pun intended) to become an Ironman, and in order to complete this task I need a GD lake!

All joking aside, I am very thankful that no was killed as a result of the negligence of the City of Tempe. They have known about the deterioration and general ill condition of the rubber bladders for several years. Surprise, surprise, rubber does not stand up well to the level of heat and UV that Arizona presents. That deterioration was supposed to be combated by a sprinkler system that was installed to keep the dam wet at all times. As it turns out, the City had not been using the sprinklers for the past year.

The most recent reports estimate the completion of repairs by October and the lake to be refilled by November. The City of Tempe recognizes the economic importance of the Ironman race in November, and the majority of their statements have included comments about their commitment to ensuring Ironman can take place as scheduled.

That's great for the Ironman, but our Half Ironman (Soma 70.3) was scheduled for the end of October. We had also planned to race in an Olympic distance triathlon in September. The organizer of our races has yet to comment whether the races will be cancelled or rescheduled. At the very least I’m hoping to receive a credit for our race fees.

Luckily there are a few races in California and Nevada about the same time Soma was scheduled. For now, fingers crossed.

I've always wondered what was lurking at the bottom...

Training Diary: Week 5 - 90 miles!!!

2010-07-13T14:50:00.000-07:00

Total Training Time: 10 hours
Total Training Distance: 90.35 miles (Running: 18.91 miles, Cycling: 67.7 miles, Swimming: 6,025 meters)

(click to enlarge)

At long last Week 5 brought period of training that went according to plan. Week 4's "rest period" gave us a chance to recover a bit and to get organized in our new rediculously busy lifestyle. Fortunately our new resolve held strong, and in this past week we were able to complete all workouts as scheduled without sacrificing our general living sanity. Week 5 also introduced some new variety to our training, which not only helped keep things interesting but also challenged us both to push our muscles harder than normal. Cycling now includes short hill training and longer duration sprints. Running also now includes sprints and other speed work, and even swimming has begun to include speed intervals.

I was initially unsure of how to receive the addition of speed work to our training. The prospects of speed work, especially in the pool, were a little unsettling to us both at first. As it turns out we both thoroughly enjoy speed work so far. It really helps to break the monotony of endurance training, and it has added a slightly differently feeling of exhaustion to our muscles. As gluttons for punishment, we both enjoy the post workout soreness to some extent. It feels like progress, which is all we're looking for at this point.

As an example we've recently started including Fartlek intervals in our swim workouts. Here’s a breakdown of this week’s Thursday swim:

300m warm-up
6x50m (25-50m intervals of mixed form drills with 10sec rest)
8x100m (25m easy / 25m hard - moderate intensity w/15 sec rests)
8x25m (25m intervals kicking only w/ 15 rest periods)
300m cool-down
Total Distance = 1,900m

The middle section of easy/hard intervals really adds a different level of exertion to the workouts. Our heart rates vary, and the portions where we're pushing up into our VO2 max zone (hard effort) really make our muscles burn. The method behind the madness is that the speed work puts a little extra stress on our systems, eventually leading to faster speeds and improving our anaerobic threshold. Only time will tell if our newly added intervals will amount to speed gains, but in the mean time we feel like we're continually challenging ourselves. We're anxious to see what Week 6 has in store!

As a closing note, I would like to say how proud I am of our efforts this week. We completed over 90 miles of training!!! We have just begun to scratch the surface of our training for Soma, but we are both beginning to feel like we're in better shape than we've ever been. We both get a twisted sort of obsessive pleasure staring at our calendars on the Garmin website (see the above snapshot). Seeing our weeks packed to the brim with training done as a team makes us both extremely proud and appreciative of each other. Free time may be a thing of the past, but we're in this together and loving the journey so far!

Training Diary: Week 4

2010-07-05T16:05:00.000-07:00

Total Training Time: 8 hours
Total Distance: 77.27 miles (Running: 8.5 miles, Cycling: 65 miles, Swimming: 4,600 meters)

As this past Sunday came to a close, so did our 4th week of training for the Half Ironman. Weeks 2-3 were admittedly a bit rough at times. Early mornings, late nights, equipment problems, poor planning and general tiredness plagued much of that time, making it very difficult to lead normal lives. We made it through the workouts just fine, but in general it felt a bit frantic. As a result those weeks were primarily spent tweaking our schedule and getting accustomed to our new lifestyle, which now revolves 100% around the world of triathlons (look for an upcoming post on the Triathlete Lifestyle). In fact I would venture that there is rarely a moment in either of our days that we aren’t in some way thinking about training or racing. As crazy as that may sound, it feels really good.

Our training program is built on a repeating pattern – 3 weeks of increasing intensity and distance followed by a recovery week. Week 4 was our first recovery week, and the slightly reduced intensity that it brought us was an extremely welcome opportunity. With a few weeks of experience (and mistakes) under our belt it was the first week where I think we both felt like we could really focus on the workouts instead of dealing with the associated logistics.

It was a particularly good week for swimming. Coming off our Week 3 long-swim, which was 2,100 meters, we were both finally able to settle into a groove in the pool, finding our natural rhythm and managing to be more at ease with the water. Finding that fluidity has been an interesting journey. The coaches and guidebooks all say the same thing. "It just takes time in the water." What I was expecting was that there would be a slow, gradual ascent to swimming comfort as I tallied up my hours spent in the water. However, and I am only speaking of my own personal experience here, it was instead an extended period of trudging in which I would only experience short-lived moments of grace. Occasionally I would feel great and relaxed in the water, and after I finished that lap I would always try to make mental note of anything I had done differently that could have caused my brief improvement. More often than not, I would try to repeat that same technique and subsequently prove my mental note wrong.

However it all seemed to come together in Week 4. Through the long process of trial and error, I was able to determine minute tweaks to my technique that drastically improved my ability to glide through the water. At long our swim workouts feel less frantic, and I can honestly say that I look forward to our swimming sessions. I do however still have to consciously remind myself of those techniques, but at least now I know what to do. I also still have problems with keeping a relaxed breathing rate while swimming. I tend to not exhale enough, and the build-up of CO2 takes a toll on my technique.

A few little things that helped our swimming:

We bought a dry erase board. Unlike running and cycling, our swim sessions typically include a number of different categories of drills, sets, and distance intervals. It's a lot to keep track of in our heads while swimming. So we've started writing it all on the board and propping that up at the end of the lane. It just makes things a bit easier to track. We even break out our long-swims into 300m intervals that we can check off on the board so we don't lose track of laps.
We started utilizing our Garmins during swimming. The heart rate monitors do not transmit well under water and the distance logging isn't accurate due to the lack of satellite reception. However we learned to use the lap counting functionality, and that has made the mental stress of counting to 2,100m in 25m increments a lot easier. We now just hit lap every 100m, and aside from having a foolproof lap counter, we now have a great way to track our speed throughout our workouts.
Relax, relax, relax. Swimming has taken a big adjustment, especially for me. In running and cycling you can make up for a lot by simply powering through a workout. Swimming does not work that way. There is definitely a point of negative return. As you try to force your way through the water, you are unknowingly creating drag and draining oxygen from your lungs. For me, this is especially apparent when I begin to kick too hard. This ultimately causes me to break my 6-beat stroke ryhthm which causes my legs to sort of churn water out of sync with my upper-torso. When I stop and think about it, I can really feel the difference.

Cycling has also improved and become much more enjoyable. Throughout our first few weeks of cycling, we seemed to have several days where our workouts would be delayed or cancelled altogether due to poor planning on our part. We would often wait until the morning of our rides to assess the condition of our tires and other equipment. Several times we paid the price for our procrastination and wound up missing our workout, mainly due to our lack of practice in changing the tire tubes. In Week 4 we were finally prepared. We would check our bikes the night before, and we both now know how to change the tubes if necessary, albeit rather slowly. In fact I finally got hit with my first mid-ride flat, which was a great learning experience. Believe it or not, there is a right way and a wrong way to change a tire on the side of the road. On that day I did both, but at least now I know the difference.

A few things we've learned about cycling:

Practice changing a flat. It's not hard to do, unless you've got ridiculously tight tires like Farris, but it does take practice. We are still not speedy in the process by any means, but we can at least get through it if necessary.
Utilize the full range of motion in your pedaling. All the books talk about 'mashing', which is the improper cycling technique of only stomping down on your pedals. The much more efficient technique is to take advantage of the fact that your feet are clipped into the pedals and to apply force throughout the entire rotation. As one leg powers toward the ground, the other should be pulling up and around on the other side. It makes for a smoother and more efficient ride, and it allows you to go much faster with less effort.
The less obvious part of cycling technique for me was the flexation of my ankles and calves. As a beginner I had been keeping my foot pointed somewhat downward during my stroke, not fully utilizing my calf muscles. As a result, my feet were constantly crunched up at the front of my shoes. Over time my toes would begin to go numb. In Week 4, after reading an article on Active.com on foot numbness while cycling, I focused on increasing the range of motion in my ankles, which helped avoid crunching my toes up and ultimately eliminated my foot numbness.
Farris got an Aero Drink water bottle that fits between her aero bars and allows her to sip from a straw while in aero position. She had been struggling to reach down and grab her frame-mounted bottle in mid-ride, and this new bottle alleviates that issue all together. I will likely be getting one as well.

One final thing worth mentioning about this past week of workouts is the importance of rest days. This week, for some reason, we decided to go to kickboxing on our night off (Monday). It was a great workout, but the lingering muscle soreness and lack of opportunity to heal from our previous training sessions really took a toll on us by the end of the week. As a result we slept through our Friday run. Farris and I both agreed that it was a good lesson learned. Rest days are for rest, nothing else, and they are extremely important to the succuss of our upcoming workouts.

A Few Important Questions

2010-07-04T18:58:00.000-07:00

The other day Farris spent some time reading through the official Ironman Race Rules. Most of them are what you would expect - equipment requirements, drafting rules, no outside assistance, etc. However one in particular stands out above the rest. Running Rule #1 states:

"No form of locomotion other than running, walking, or crawling is allowed."

For obvious reasons, this rule elicits a variety of emotions, ranging from horror to amusement. Crawling is apparently a common-enough occurence that it is listed as an approved form of locomotion. Upon reading Rule #1, my mind went into a bit of a tailspin. I began pondering the many aspects of Ironman triathlons that are entirely likely yet unfortunately absent in rule books and training guides. Below is just a few of the not-so-frequently asked questions that have bubbled up in my head over the past few hours that, for the sake of my confidence and comfort on race day, will need to be answered over the next year.

Is there an official definition of crawling?
I would really hate to be disqualified for illegal crawling. So I'd just like to be clear about this. Also is there a proper or "best" form of crawling? You know - is there a technique that should be employed should I find myself down at ground level trying to drag myself across the finish line? I would really hate to be the guy that all the spectators whisper about. "Did you see the way that guys was crawling? Why was he doing it like that? Has he never crawled a marathon before?!?" If there is a good way to crawl, I'd like to know now so that I can throw it into the middle of some of my training runs. I might as well build up those calluses now. You can never be too prepared. Below is a video of Sian Welch and Wendy Ingraham battling for 4th place in the Kona World Championship...on their hands and knees. Amazing.

Is there a proper way to vomit while swimming?
The combination of heightened nervousness, full-body exertion, and less-than-pottable lake water is going to do funny things to our stomachs. Throw in a rush of adrenaline, and you've got a recipe for an akward moment. Do I stop swimming and put my head above water? Do I simply continue swimming, turning my head nonchalantly to the side to just sneak it out? Is there some sort of hand or foot signal I can give to the poor bastards behind me that are about to torpedo through my breakfast? That one is especially pertinent because I would like to be able to give the signal as well as recognize it in front of me.
What about peeing in a wet suit?
Before you close your browser in disgust, bear with me for a second. You have somewhere around 2:20 to finish the 2.4 mile swim. I'm not saying that it is an expected occurrence, but there is a reasonably good chance I might have to tinkle somewhere along the way. Believe me, I dont want to nor do I plan to. The question of whether or not too pee is probably moot, or at least far less interesting. The real meat of this question lies with what to do when you reach the transition area. Ironman races have designated wetsuit "peelers" that help you shed your neoprene skin. Are they aware of the risks of what might come flying out of some people's wetsuits? Do I owe them common courtesy of warning them? "Hey man, just so you know, I peed."

These are important questions, you have to admit. I'm sure I'll come up with more as the months progress...

Fountain Hills Ride

2010-06-30T10:57:00.000-07:00

I just thought I would post a couple of pictures from our long ride on Saturday.

Farris:

My lab-mate, Kate (rhyming unintended :) ), introduced us to this route, and let me tell you, it's beautiful. The route is perfect for several reasons. First, the bike lane is huge and full of cyclists. I feel extremely safe knowing there are bikers all around me making us very visible to on-coming and passing traffic. Secondly, there are over 30 miles (round trip) of killer hills.

Now, if you're an avid rider, you probably don't think the hills are hard, but I am new and they kick my butt every time. In fact, I learned a very important lesson on my first Fountain Hills ride. The first mile is a steep downhill decline, and it's fun. I didn't even need to pedal down the hill and I hit speeds of 29 mph. Therein lies the lesson. If you go down fast, you are coming up slow. For me, 29 mph downhill = 9 mph uphill with pain. Lots of pain. Finally, as I mentioned earlier, the scenery is just breathtaking.

Jeff:

I'll throw my two cents in here too. The Fountain Hills ride is fantastic. This route starts on the edge of Fountain Hills and heads down the hills to the north toward Rio Verde. The first 6 miles or so are out in the desert landscape with huge, flowering saguaro catcus around every bend. Then as the route turns and heads to the east for a short time, you are riding next to a series of orchards.

After a few miles of orchards, the route turns back to the north and winds through Rio Verde, which is a neat little community to ride through. Outside of Rio Verde we ride an additional 3 miles through the rolling hills and beautiful scenery. As the road nears the river, the vegetation changes and the temperature gets noticably cooler as we ride through a brief canopy of trees before the paved road ends. We're constantly amazed that this ride is hidden in the desert of the Phoenix area. It's just such a great variety of scenery in such a short ride.

Aside from the especially beautiful scenery, it just feels good to get out away from the bustling city. So much of our every day training has to take place in and among the miserable, terrible Phonix drivers. On this ride there's very little traffic to be stressed about, and there plenty of other cyclists out riding with us. I highly recommend it to anyone looking for a reasonably close yet surprisingly foreign ride.

Farris's Marathon Experience

2010-06-28T13:10:00.000-07:00

My marathon experience was fairly similar to that of Jeff’s. I can name about 10 things I would do differently next race, but overall, I was pretty happy with the results. As Jeff mentioned, my sister-in-law and her friend followed us to San Diego to serve as the official FNJ Cheering Squad. I have to say that I would’ve been a wreck if I hadn’t seen their adorable signs and smiling faces. Thank you ladies!

Lesson Learned: Cheerleaders are a must. Especially in the later miles.

I too had a few blunders during the race. The main issue for me was related to nutrition. At some point around mile 12 I unknowingly dropped two of my gels. This meant I was without food for the next 14 miles. I of course did not figure this out until mile 16 when I began to feel a little hunger pain. Throughout my training and in accordance with Matt Fittzgerlad’s Complete Triathlon Book, I have followed his suggestions to consume 1 gel/45 minutes. For me, that amounts to 1 gel ever four miles or so. Over the past year I have really become accustomed to eating brunch on the run, i.e., eating gels for long runs.

According to my Garmin, I burned over 2,300 calories during the marathon (SD = ±100). Thanks to my fumble-fingers, I was only able to eat 3 gels over the duration of the race, and most of those were packed into the early miles. So my total consumption of calories during the race was 600 calories (1 gel = 200 cal).

At mile 16 I was still feeling good so I thought I would be fine for the remainder of the race. WRONG. I was able to hold it together until mile 22. I think the combinations of extreme heat/humidity, less than perfect pre-race dieting, and lack of gels really took its toll. In hopes of saving you the gory details, I’ll just say I found a porta-potty and everything was okay. Kind of.

Lesson Learned: Pack extra gels/gummies in more than one place on your body or in your pack.

Now for the inspirational/lovey dovey part. This race really moved me. I’ve experienced these feelings at other races, but I think since this was my first marathon, it was special. I can’t tell you how much I enjoy seeing runners of all ages taking part in what I consider an extreme fitness challenge. It makes me unbelievably proud to be standing with athletes that decided for whatever personal reason to take time from their busy lives and complete a damn-hard goal.

Toward the end of the race (I think around mile 23-ish), an older gentleman in his 70s passed me. LOTS of people passed me, but this one got me. One can imagine there are several aspects of having an elderly person pass you that could damage your young, 27-year-old ego; however, this man was absolutely remarkable. His jersey indicated that he had run over 50 marathons, and to make his passing me more impressive, he had left-side paresis likely from a previous stroke. His stride was extremely labored and uneven, but he was certainly clipping along. As he ran next to me, I think he could see the pain in my face. Then, as he was passing me, he reached down and grabbed my hand and said “you can do it kid, you’re almost there!” When I think about it now, it chokes me up a little. The pain I was feeling at that point was immediately put into perspective, and it DID help me get through the last painful miles.

Lesson Learned: I am SO lucky to be a young, able-bodied person – The pain is temporary. SUCK IT UP KID!

Crap. One more gooey love moment. I would like to say how much I enjoyed training with my best friend - my incredible husband. I certainly would not have considered tackling any of these crazy goals without him. Every time (which was often) I started to fall apart during marathon training he was there to support, encourage, and motivate me. I am a very lucky lady, love you babe!

Lesson Learned: Train with a friend. Although Jeff and I would start our runs at the same time, our pace was so different that we never actually ran together. However, just knowing he was out there going through the same thing made all the difference in the world on tuff days.

Overall I have to say my marathon experience was a good one. I look forward to implementing what I learned in San Diego and can’t wait to run my second marathon January 2011!

Jeff's Marathon Recap

2010-06-24T20:00:00.000-07:00

(Warning - This post is long, but we worked hard to earn an experience worthy of so many words. Read it, and like it!)

The official kickoff of Operation Iron Couple was marked by our first true endurance race, the 2010 San Diego Rock and Roll Marathon. Without getting back into the reasoning for "starting" training with a full marathon, let's just say we felt it was important to have a full marathon under our belts before attempting iron-distance triathlons. The marathon was a truly unforgettable experience, and I can't believe how lucky we both are to have been able prepare for and partake in an experience such as this with the complete support and commiseration of our other half. (I am very optimistically putting words in my wife's mouth, and no I will not edit this post if she disagrees). There was good, there was bad, and best of all there were many lessons learned. I'll do my best to recap my experiences throughout the race, and hopefully Farris can give us some insight into her race one of these days as well. In general it seems like we had very similar experiences, and we both can't wait to do it again.

We arrived in San Diego two days prior to the race. Our hope was that we could have sufficient time to acclimate to whatever climate would be there, familiarize ourselves with the race course and city in general, and most of all just relax for a solid day before the race. A few comments about this. If you ever run a marathon or half-marathon and you're not one of the freakish few that have cast iron stomachs, the things you eat in the day(s) leading up to the race are unbelievably important. Being in San Diego for two days before the race made it very difficult to eat as healthy as we would have liked. Downtown was full of tourist trap restaurants that tout healthy alternatives and then serve you the usual crap with slightly less sauce. So it took a lot of work to find something moderately acceptable, but we were able to pretty well, all things considered. The other thing that presented difficulty was the fact that our guesthouse was located in what I like to consider a parking void in the universe. After way too much searching, we found a parking spot and were pretty much terrified to move our car from that point on. What this meant is that we spent more time than we should have walking around and fetching cabs - not the type of thing you want to do on the eve of your first marathon. However all in all, we were able to have a quasi-relaxing 36 hours before the race.

Minor annoyances aside, race day rolled around and we felt ready. Due to the number of participants in this year's marathon, the starting gun was to go off at 6:15am, which meant that our race morning rituals had to start bright and early at 3:30am! We had prepared the night before by finding a whole foods and getting some good, bland, carb-heavy bagels and bananas for our breakfast. The reason we picked our bed and breakfast (The Keating House), regardless of its parking challenges, was that it was less than a quarter mile from the start line. This offered two gigantic advantages. First and most obvious was the fact that we didn't have to drive our car or ride a shuttle to get the start. With all the things we had running through our heads that day, it was a relief to know that we could simply walk to the race without any concern of getting stuck in traffic. The other major advantage our guesthouse brought was slightly more obscure, taboo to some, but in reality one of the most important occurrences of the marathon experience - The Pre-Race Poo.

That's right - we're going there. If you've run a marathon, you'll understand immediately. If you haven't, soak this in because it's not a lesson you want to learn the hard way. The pre-race poo is paramount to your success and overall comfort level while racing. Let me be emphatically clear about this. Other than your pre race breakfast and the water you drank to hydrate, you want nothing in your body that could cause intestinal issues during the race. 26.2 miles of running has a funny way of reducing blood flow to your stomach and intestines, causing cramps among other, more serious problems. Believe me. I have personal experience with this one.

Why am I telling you this? Because this is clearly a common yet under-discussed pre-race problem, and it brings out the most primal behavior I have ever seen, prompting people to wait in 50-yard long lines before the race to squeeze that last one out in fear of it coming along for the 26.2 mile ride. You can see it in their face, "Why oh why did I eat six servings of pasta last night?". Unfortunately the wait isn't even the bad part. What's worse is what apparently happens once the nervous athletes enter the porta-potty. I'll spare the descriptive details, but runners lose all concept of common courtesy and, well, aim. I wouldn't wish the pre-race porta-potty on my worst enemies. It's just not right.

I digress. The main point here is that having a private bathroom within such close proximity to the start line was a huge perk, and I cannot underemphasize how wonderful it was to arrive at the start line worry free.

Race morning was surprisingly foggy and humid. The temperature was wonderful, but I had a sneaking feeling that the humidity was going to present some interesting challenges by the end of the race. My corral was #7, and Farris's was a few more back. So we arrived at the race, took a few minutes to soak in the atmosphere, checked in our bag, wished each other luck with a smooch, and headed for our corrals.

It was time to prove that our training and long runs over the past months had paid off. The starting gun fired, and the corrals slowly worked their way to the line. After a few minutes of shuffling my time came, and we were off! I had obsessively strategized in the week leading up to the race. I had located the significant hills in the course map, figured out where my heart rate had been most effective during training, and calculated my target pace for each and every one of the 26.2 miles to come, slowing down or speeding up depending on the hill in front of me.

I knew I had to pace myself, sticking to the plan, which was to average an 8:30 min/mile pace throughout most of the run. The first few miles were easy to maintain pace. Adrenaline was asking me to run faster, but the hoard of runners around me was forcing me to maintain my target pace. About mile three I was finally able to settle into my own space. That's when the numerous downhill sections through Balbo Park arrived. The decline gave me a heightened sense of confidence in my pace. I had to slow myself down to avoid dipping below an 8:00 pace. My research into race strategies had driven home the notion that shaved seconds in the beginning of an endurance race could cost your dearly at the end. Then came another significant confidence booster - my sister, Mandy, and her friend, Shauna, on the side of the course, waving signs and cheering as I approached. They had made the trek from Phoneix for no other reason to cheer us on at our first marathon. It's amazing to have great support! After a quick high five, I continued on my way.

The miles continued as we ran past the baseball stadium and down the hill to through downtown. I was feeling great for the most part, but I was already sweating more than usual. My strategizing brain started to worry. The humidity was definitley a lot higher than I was used to, but I wasn't feeling tired. So I took a quick status check and looked at my Garmin to see how my heart was handling everything. 182bmp, which was higher than my target rate, but given the fact that race day HR is typically higher I wasn't too concerned. I could balance the sweating. I made a conscious effort to drink a lot of water.

As we rounded 8 or so, we began to head back up hill through downtown. This was the hill that had slightly worried me, not because it was steep but because it was a gradual climb over 3.5 miles. This is the point where I started feeling like a well-tuned machine. As if I had timed it perfectly, my playlist kicked on some much-needed techno, The Prodigy to be exact. I shortened my stride, quickened my steps, and drove through the hill. My plan was to maintain a slightly slower pace through the hill to save my strength. Well I did slow a bit, settling at 8:35 or so, but that was still quite a bit faster that I had planned. I felt strong though, and I didn't think I was pushing too hard. So I continued on and made it through the hill with ease.

The next section of the race is one about which I had read many complaints in forums. There were two or three miles that were on HWY 163, which to its detriment was very sloped to one side. This section of the race was brutal on my ankles. Adjusting my stride for the uneven camber of the course was difficult at this point in the race. This was also a section of the race that was shared with the half marathon course, which meant there was now at least double the amount of people on the course. So in addition to feeling like one leg was longer than the other, I was now having to weave in and out of other runners that had just joined the fun. Another memorable part of this section was the fact that I was next to a few U.S. Marines that were carying an American flag on a pole for the entire race. The added drag that flag added must have been difficult to overcome, not to mention the fact that their arm was consequently stuck in the same position for the duration of the race. Anyway I eventually made it through this partially-miserable section and began the second half of my race.

Miles 13 through 19 are honestly a blur. The only memorable thing about this section of the course was that it was routed through what I will forever remember as Mexican Food Alley. There was a three mile stretch where all I could smell was the stench of fried Mexican food. Normally I would be tempted, but that day nothing could have been farther from appetizing than a fatty mess of fried food. The tail end of this section of the course, as we wound our way closer to the ocean, was marked in my mind by several short hills that felt incredibly steep at that point in the race. They hadn't really shown up on the route map, but they did a number on my legs.

Up to that point I had done a good job of staying hydrated. I was running with a hand-held water bottle that I would fill up every few miles. I was also adding electrolyte tabs on occasion. Even still, the sun was now out in full force, and the unyielding humidity had already caused me to sweat far more than I was accustomed to. Somewhere around mile 20 this became a big problem. I remember at one point as I rounded the corner to head south along mission bay I began to feel a twinge in my right calf. "That's not normal", I thought. Within a few minutes, I had my first full-on muscle cramp. My calf locked up tight. I hobbled along momentarily until I could loosen in up, eventually finding my stride again...sort of.

Queue the wall. Sigh...the much feared wall had found me. I was bonking, as they call it in triathlons. Suddenly my ability to move forward at my previous pace was fading. I knew from my past experience in shorter races that the wall was primarily mental, and you just have to dig deep get through it. I dug deep, but every time I would convince myself of my mental toughness, another leg cramp would suddenly cripple me. However now they had worsened. Without any warning, both my hamstring and my quadricep would lock up in unison. I would stop, massage them, stretch them, and do what I could to get the pain to subside. After a minute or so they would relax, and I would be on my way.

As it turns out, this was about the same time my sister found me again on the course. I was so mentally focused on getting through the cramps that I didn't even see her. Regardless I knew they were probably somewhere in the area, and I so appreciated that they were there. They mentioned later that they had seen me at mile 21, and that it was pretty apparent that I was far less comfortable than when they saw me at mile 4.

Miles 21 through 25 are unfortunately clear in my memory. This is where the course took us on a long 4.5-mile loop around Fiesta Island. Prior to the race I had looked forward to this stretch as a scenic, beach-front section that would distract my mind. As it turns out, Fiesta Island is baron and endless. It was exposed to the seaside winds, causing my sunglasses to fog over with a film of salt-mist. As I alternated half mile stretches with leg cramp recovery breaks, every corner I would come around would simply present the sight of hundreds of runners ahead of and behind me, all looking a little shell shocked from the humidity. I would be ok if I never stepped foot on that island again.

Finally at about mile 24, while still on Misery Island, I came across a spectator that offered me a salt pack. Clearly he had seen my legs locking up in mid stride, stopping me dead in my tracks every half mile. This is a sadistically humorous memory for me. He offered me a little white packet of salt like you get at fast food restaurants. I opened it, and it was empty. He gave me another. It was empty. Third one's a charm, right? Empty. I was waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out of the ocean the tell me I was being Punked. Finally the 4th or 5th salt pack he gave me actually had some salt inside. I sprinkled some on my hand, licked it off, and got moving again. It was amazing how quickly the salt helped my muscles, and this is one of those lessons I wish I didn't have to learn the hard way. I was well hydrated, buy I hadn't been taking in enough salt to balance what I lost from my profuse sweating. Over the next half mile, my cramps began to subside.

Finally after my salt dose kicked in, I found a new sense of strength. I have no doubt that it was probably a placebo effect, but whatever. I was feeling better. I once again picked up my pace around mile 24.5. I was finally rounding the corner that would take me off that damned island. Again Mandy and Shauna had found me, this time at mile 25, and this time I saw them. It gave me a much needed rush of adrenaline that would help to carry me through the final mile. Later they said that I indeed looked much better than I did the last time they saw me.

The final mile is a bit of a blur, I dug down deep and ran as hard as my tattered body would allow me at that point. Throughout miles 1-16 I averaged somewhere around my goal pace of 8:30. By the time the cramps were in full effect, around miles 21-25, I had slowed to a solid two minutes per mile slower than that. Mile 26 was somewhere in the middle, and in the last quarter mile my Garmin tells me I reach a blistering pace of 5:17 for a short distance. That doesn't surprise me. I have never sprinted so hard in my life. The last mile was just a tunnel of spectators, waiting for their friend of family member and cheering on the other runners as they assed. In the distance I could see the balloons and structures around the finish line.

I could taste it. I used every last ounce of energy to run as fast as I could, grimacing with every step. I had envisioned a casual finish, smiling and posing for the cameras, but that would have to wait for another day. This time I was TIRED and still somehow running. Note the look on my face. Pure exhaustion mixed with a little disbelief from what the last few miles had served me. I was determined to finish strong though.

As I neared the finish line, I could hear the announcers calling out the names of athletes as they finished. I never heard mine, but I remember hearing the guy say, "Whoah. Look at this guy!", as I hurled my body across the finish line. I sensed in his tone that he was kind of mocking me. I didn't care. I also didn't see his lazy ass finishing a marathon. I was no doubt an interesting sight. I threw my hands up for a brief second, made it about 20 feet, and then hunched over with my hands on my knees and gasped for a few breaths to recover. I looked down at my watch. 4:01:04.

I was, and still am, immensely happy with that time. Before I started I had a personal goal of finishing in under 4 hours. My usual pace would have made that easy, but there were other challenges that day. Regardless, my time put me in the top 16% of all finishers that day. Considering I do not come from a running background and this was my first marathon, I have no complaints.

Best of all, there is little mystery in why the race turned out the way it did. I made a few rookie mistakes that in hindsight probably cost me 5-10 minutes. Fortunately with those mistakes in hand I came away from the race with a level of experience you can only gain by trying. I now have several things I can improve, and that gives me great excitement about the next race.

Step One: Prove that you're capable of running a full marathon. Check!

Motivation in Absurdity

2010-06-22T17:00:00.000-07:00

The question often comes up. Why in the world would someone want to put themselves through that kind of punishment? In the wording of such question you can typically separate the people that can understand from those who probably just won't get it. Some would say it is absurd or superfluous. Others, like us, see it as a life-changing challenge. There's a sort of primal emotion behind the desire to push yourself this hard. I'm never really able to explain it, but it's videos like this that portray it very well. I've probably watched this video a dozen times, and I get chills every time.

It is undoubtedly form combination of insanity that has brought us to this challenge. I frequently dream about Ironman. I daydream at work, thinking about how my next training session will prepare me. During my especially long workouts, sometimes the only way I can hold off hitting the wall is to imagine what it will be like to cross the finish line at my first Ironman. What condition will I be in? What face will I make? Will I even have the mental capacity to control my face? Will the sun still be up? Will I stand still and strike a pose? Will I collapse to the ground and kiss it? Will I let out a battle cry and then immediately break down into uncontrollable sobbing? The latter is very likely.

If you've got some free time, watch the full coverage of the 2009 Ironman World Championships. If you watch it on YouTube, there are 10 parts. Watch them all. These videos make me uncomfortable in my own skin because I want so badly to just throw away every mandatory distraction in life and focus on this endeavor.

Step 1: Run a Marathon

2010-06-07T20:00:00.000-07:00

"Are you out of your f#*king mind?!?”

That’s what I imagine myself uttering under my breath at first glance of such a title. Let there be no doubt about the fact that in the realm of first steps running a marathon is not likely to appear in many how-to or self-help books. Although just picture for a moment the sinking feeling that would swell through your stomach as you open “Running for Dummies” and on page one it simply states,

“Stand up, shake out your legs, and walk out the front door. Run 26.2 miles with 10,000 complete strangers. Once completed, begin chapter 2.”

That’s a rather large checkbox, and frankly most people don’t carry a big enough sharpie to do it justice.

Now is a good time to insert a disclaimer. Running a marathon is by no means the first step in our journey. It is instead the first discernable step toward our latest endeavor that will be narrated throughout this blog. Instead of looking back and attempting to chronicle our training and lessons learned so far, we've instead decided to start fresh. Operation Iron Couple begins now, which as it turns out is the day after we ran our first full marathon. It has been a long road so far, and I apologize for not having the foresight or available time and willpower to record the details until now. (Rest easy though. You'll still have ample opportunity to grow tired of me.)

My wife and I have been what I would consider to be very fit for several years now. The majority of that time was spent focused on kickboxing aerobics. I know what you’re thinking, and I agree. However let me assure you that what seemed like a moderately silly endeavor at the time wound up being, arguably, one of the best fitness decisions we have ever made. After much grumbling on my part, my wife convinced me to try out a few kickboxing classes at a local Taekwondo school. My wife had a natural grace and coordination from the start. I, on the other hand, needed some work, which became the subject of frequent mockery and correction at my expense, graciously issued by my ever-loving other half.

“Pull your shoulders back! You look like a hunchback!!” (Usually accompanied by a spot-on physical imitation and slightly exaggerated facial expressions)

Despite my tattered self esteem, I eventually improved. Over the course of the next two years we realized that we had discovered the key to our fitness success – working out together and integrating into our lives as a regular event. We bordered on obsessive about attending kickboxing class. The results were showing up on our bodies, and we loved that we were achieving our fitness goals together. Eventually we even began teaching kickboxing classes once or twice a week. Finally our minds were programmed to dislike inactivity. Our restless bodies just didn’t know what to do if we went more than one day without exercise of some kind.

Over time, however, the monotony of 60-minute aerobic classes began to take its toll. I guess I shouldn't say it was monotonous, but it had just gotten to the point where our minds were wandering and we were wanting something different. So we decided it was time for other ventures. We took up running small distance races, charity runs, and obstacle courses at first. The fun-runs were indeed fun, but they didn’t really mandate the kind of structured training that would challenge us. Soon our focus wandered yet again, and we set our eyes on longer distances. It’s not that we really enjoyed running to any great extent at the time, but we both have an inherent competitive side that drives us to constantly one-up ourselves.

So naturally the next progression in our quest for challenges brought us to the doormat of marathon running. Throughout the next 16 weeks we got our bodies used to the idea of running a half marathon. Admittedly we ran a lot of junk miles. We didn’t know anything about heart-rate training. We didn’t have any gadgets to help us fine-tune our runs. Yet still, race day rolled around, and we both put in respectable performances. From that point on we were hooked. Long-distance running had introduced us to an athletic world that we had desired all along. It required discipline, frequent workouts, and nutritional focus. More importantly it partially satisfied our competitive spirits.

After completing the half marathon, we still wanted more. We had finally gotten ourselves to the edge of the unavoidable precipice. We knew without a doubt the next logical step was to run a full marathon. I can’t speak for my wife, but for me there was always something unsatisfying about the usual question.

“Did you run the half or the full?”

“Oh, we just ran the half.”

I know, I know. To the majority of the world, there’s no such thing as “just running a half”, but I couldn’t help but feel unsatisfied.

Let me take a step back for a second. I was and forever will be immensely proud of our efforts to run the half marathon. At the time it was a big accomplishment. But as is the case with so many of the things we strive to do, it quickly became little more than a stepping stone to greater things. It doesn’t mean I’ve dismissed it or diminished its value. It simply means that it helped me realize that we’re capable of so much more.

So to make an exceedingly long story short, it would be untrue to claim that we simply decided that the first logical step toward completing an Ironman would be to run a full marathon. In fact we decided to run a marathon before we ever considered the Ironman. The reality is that it has taken us more than a year to simply warm up to competitive running. A marathon is a reasonable goal within that context, but as we’re all aware, it is now only a piece of the bigger picture. So at what point did “we want to run a marathon” turn into “we want to compete in an Ironman”?

Even to me the exact turning point is unclear. However I can tell you that there was a moment early in our marathon training where things suddenly went from crazy to ridiculous, and our admirable quest for 26.2 instantly became dwarfed by an additional, more extreme, long-term goal. To say the least, it’s complicated. Hell – if you haven’t figured it out already, we’re complicated. To the best of my remembrance, it was a half-serious challenge to ourselves that quickly flashed up and sent us tumbling down a road that will undoubtedly change our lives.

I do remember being home for Christmas last year. Coincidentally the coverage of the 2009 Kona Ironman World Championship was one TV. We both sat in front of the screen, taking in the footage with cautious awe. On one hand we frequently joked about the sheer ridiculousness of the event. People were wobbling across the finish line, exhausted, dehydrated, and utterly beat down to the point where they were merely shells of previous athletes that had somehow dragged themselves through the last few miles. Even still, those people were extremely inspiring. To know what it feels like to push your body to that extreme, to actually find the physical limits of your body's capabilities, what an experience that must be.

On the other hand, for every person that barely finished the race with their consciousness, there were a hundred others that strutted across the line, their faces beaming with a display of emotion that we had never seen. We were both absolutely captivated by the pride and determination seen on the face of all the finishers. I think that was clearly a turning point. We had visual proof that the race could in fact be completed with a smile on your face. Yes, it would take an unyielding dedication to the sport, but we had already made fitness an integral part of our daily lives. This indeed could be our cup of tea.

That was it. From that point on we were hooked. We decided that we would continue training for the marathon, treating it as a significant milestone that would help to diminish the shock of committing so much of our lives to three disciplines. While running, our side goal would be to become as educated in the world of triathlons as possible. Having a marathon under our belts would be the buffer we needed to ease the intimidation of our ultimate goal, while undertaking two completely new sports, both of which were as foreign to us as cricket, would provide us with the challenge we so frequently desire.

Fast-forward 6 months or so, and you find us here. Step one freshly complete.