Get Up And Do It Again, Amen...

(PROBABLY SOMEWHERE NEAR FIRST YELLOW MARKER BUOY, UPPER CENTER)

I received an e-mail (one of many from friends and family, wondering what the hell happened and whether I was all right) the day after IM Florida from a friend of mine, Mark Sortino. Mark's an experienced triathlete; he's finished multiple IM events & qualified for his first trip to Kona at IM Louisville last August. He's one of the smarter tri-geeks I've met in the past few years. He has never hesitated to provide advice, counsel, a pat on the back or a dusting off of the bike shorts to less-experienced wanna-be tri-geeks like me. He's a F.I.S.T.-certified fitter who does bike fitting on the weekends at the local running emporium; our initial 90-minute fit session turned into a two-plus-hour discussion on nutrition, technique & the mental side of triathlon.

Mark's blog is always insightful & a lot of fun to read, because he's not talking about the nuts & bolts of training & racing all the time. He likes to look at the lifestyle part of being a tri-geek, too. When I say lifestyle I mean the balance of work, family, training & competition. He's got it fairly down pat from what I can tell, & has no problem putting things into proper perspective. The video clips taken by his wife Andi after he finished Kona said much more than thousands of words of written commentary; the mix of joy in achieving something that very few people do (complete IM Hawaii) & disappointment in not being able to give the performance he really wanted to on the day (because you never know if you'll make it there again) was palpable.

So when Mark's e-mail came into my inbox I took the time to really read through it. Not only did he knock the dust off my bike shorts but provided a little nudge (in the direction of my swim gear, mind you!) to get back on the horse that threw me.

It's hard to think about the existential 'now what?' when you're five or six hours out from sitting on the tailgate of an EMS truck on the beach with a tech worrying over you with a heart rate monitor, pulse oximeter & stethoscope. The perspective doesn't exist there...add a few more hours of hearing Mike Reilly welcome someone else into the IM family as you're going to pick up your crap in transition. That's something which hurts like a punch in the ribs. Even then the perspective is still far down the road.

I stood out on the run course outside the Mellow Mushroom, after my beer & salad, watching the athletes come through on the first - some on their second - loop. I had the privilege to see my friend & (part-time) business/training partner come through the first loop:

Steve - 'What are you doing here? What happened?'

MB - 'Bad day, dude. Now, go finish this thing!'

The perspective usually comes as a result of the same cycle a'la Elisabeth Kubler-Ross' death/dying/grief cycle: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. Kubler-Ross' stages don't progress in any particular sequence, which is a good thing...'cause I think I shot right past Bargaining. IM doesn't allow you to bargain after you are on the shore, the side of the road, or in a medical tent/emergency room.

No. There is Bargaining: 'Get me out of this alive & I'll do it right next time.'

Denial: 'I cannot believe I busted my chops for all these months & still got my butt kicked.'

Anger: 'I hate myself for not putting in more open water time. I still can't swim!'

Depression: 'I don't want to be near anyone; I'm ashamed of my failure.'

Acceptance: 'IM is not easy. If it were everyone would do it. This year wasn't your time.'

The beginning of the closure from my bad day came as Steven finished. His family, my wife & I were standing at the beginning of the finish chute & cheered like crazy people. Hey, the company had a fifty-percent success rate on the day.

I had a brief thirty-minute temper tantrum the next morning as I saw all the finisher shirts/hats/acoutrement & thought to myself: 'dude, that should have been you.' But it was balanced with the ER physician's comment: 'you probably made the right decision today.'

Today. It all boils down to today. And today. And today. And today.

So, I feel much better today. I've got a few hundred more of those on the way to the next stop on the journey.

And maybe I'll have a better today in the Gulf of Mexico on a November morning two years from today.

Thanks, Mark. Thanks also to my long-suffering wife, Suzanne...you didn't panic or freak out through the whole ordeal. We'll do it right this next time.

...Months Which End In "R"

Steven and Beverly arrived yesterday afternoon and checked in to their condo...which is way down along the run course. For pre-athlete meeting dinner, we all decided to meet at a local oyster bar. I'm happy to say the oysters were delicious, even though I had only three...maybe four.

Naturally, there was nothing new in the athlete meeting a seasoned triathlete probably doesn't know...drafting rules, penalty tent locations, warnings against littering and public...well, let's just say I won't be trying to make a new meaning out of the old phrase void where prohibited by law. Good stuff to hear, if nothing else, to remind you what you're really here for.

Suzanne and I went for a very easy jog the other morning on the front three miles of the run course, which weaves (now there's an apt description!) through the rows of condos and through the residential neighborhoods along Front Beach. That sense of deja vu, all over again. The IM FL run does the Gulf Coast Half course twice, how nice. Of course, without about 10-to-15 degrees of excess temperature as compared to May.

Roch (Frey) and Heather (Fuhr) sighting on the road which goes northeast (the other side) of Signal Hill Golf Course. I kind of smiled and waved...and they did back...after which I told Suzanne, 'Roch and Heather...' Yeah, like she's going to know who the heck those folks were. Of course she would...she reads my magazines. She knows the guys in the goofy costumes.

But you still have to do the miles, no matter how nice the weather is.

...Of Course, There Was A Line

Brief observations from yesterday's arrival & check-in:

1. Never, ever trust an elderly gentleman who says he's never been to a particular place in the world. Odds are very good he's pulling your leg. I had the supreme good fortune to have my check-in nerves soothed by a couple of Johns. Really, both of these gentlemen were named John. After signing my life away to WTC and promising I would never even think of the phrase lawsuit at the same time as I participate in IM FL, I sat down with these two gentlemen to receive my numbers, my chip, my cap and all the other good stuff. John asked where I was from, to which I replied: 'Pensacola, just up the way.'

"Never heard of it."

"You're kidding," I said. As I began to mention the relative distance from PCB, Destin, FWB & other locations on Planet Earth, I saw the slightest twinkle come to the eyes of both Johns. At that moment, I laughed and said, 'ah, so THAT'S why I feel that tugging sensation at my ankle...pull my leg, will ya?' We had a great conversation which lasted probably about ten minutes after that, got the necessary business completed, and went on my merry way.

2. Wal-Mart is the same no matter where you go, except for the layout. After a late luncheon at Pineapple Willy's we made the command decision to acquire some light snacks, social beverages and ibuprofen, and quickly. A four-buck Abita Amber will do that to you every time. Fortunately for us, there's a Wal-Mart approximately a stones' throw from the hotel.

Nothing changes from store location to store location. Trust me on this one. Go to the web site People of Wal-Mart.com and you'll understand what I mean. I swear I've seen each of those people in each location I've ever visited. Well, it was a little different for this trip, as you had pre-race triathletes going through the grocery and personal care sections, too.

The dichotomy was pretty funny. There was a lean, hawk-faced, serious-looking gentleman in front of Suzanne and me (was in the 10 items or less line) with six bottles of PowerAde, two packages of lettuce hearts, two packages of tomatoes, a package of frozen chicken filets, two sweet potatoes, and a few other salad makings here and there. There we were with a box of ibuprofen, a box of Clif Bars and a 12-pack of Corona. The Brasilians behind us, I think, were somewhere in between the two extremes, well, at least they were smiling. Suzanne asked if they were here for Ironman...of course, they spoke little English. I held up my wristband and smiled. They held up theirs. Suzanne wished them luck...which they didn't catch. I told them Bom Suerte, pidgin bastardized Spanish/Portuguese for good luck, to which they smiled.

"...every body every where smiles in the same language..." - Wooden Ships (Jefferson Airplane)

...Making A List, Checking It Twice

Today is the first day of "IM week" for me. While the goal event (in this case, IM Florida) is Saturday morning, the gear and the bike need to be in transition by mid-afternoon on Friday. Oh, yeah, there's also an athlete meeting on Thursday afternoon.

Kind of funny the way the IM series works, at least the IM part...the event is on one day, with the award ceremony the following day...well, makes perfect sense when the last official finishers will hit the line at midnight. That means taking several days in succession for travel, getting comfortable with the area, and getting one's collective stuff together. There might need to be a day or two afterward for recovery, too, but that's a topic for another time...perhaps in a few days. I remember seeing rentals for the week of Gulf Coast and IM FL as a five-day minimum...and thought "are you out of your mind!?" Then, when I saw the agenda for IM week I realized why. Sounded like some sort of evil agreement between the local CVB and the race promotion company, though.

The long-distance triathlon has the marathon beat when it comes to necessary preparation...to the power of three. Perfect for the anal-retentive.

Those Days Which Are All Too Few

This morning's perusal of Facebook led me to know several of my friends' bib numbers for next week's 140.6-palooza. Regrettably, I can't get to the website to find out my number, because the computer fascists have seen fit to limit my access to http://www.ironmanflorida.com/. Oh, yeah, I can get onto Facebook to waste time, but looking for triathlon information is out of the question. No sense whatsoever. Therefore, my buds & bud-ettes will have to wait a few more hours to know whether I have an auspicious number. By the way, what is an auspicious number? I remember in August 1988 when Chinese parents were having births induced; seems the number "8" sounds a lot like the word for good fortune or something like that. Last year, they began the Olympic Summer Games on August 8 at 8:08 a.m. for the very same reason. Must have worked well (enough!) for Michael Phelps, who earned eight gold medals.
Steven and I were looking at matching triathlon tops for the run portion of the event the other week. We both have identical bike jerseys (yellow, with a black panel down the side), so we wanted to match up on the run. Steve found a great-looking Louis Garneau Shark Tri Tank through an on-line retailer...black...my favorite color (I know, Lisa. Black isn't a color, but the absence of it!) for just about anything. He originally ordered a small top and found it to be much too small for comfort. I thought to myself, 'self...if a small is too small for Steven, then a medium might just do the trick, as Steven is a little more broad in the upper torso than I.' Ordered two tops, which arrived yesterday afternoon. Tried one on. The good news is it fits like a glove; the bad news is that it fits like a very tight one. No worries about material flapping in the breeze with this thing. Steven tried the other one on last night for a lark; seems as though he called the customer service folks when he returned the first top to try and get the sizing correct. Watching him put the top on looked like something you'd see in a Monty Python or Benny Hill episode.
Since there were very few Funistas running last night (most were more concerned with their Hallowe'en costume than their training) we ended up with a small cadre going out from the Sound to do the old Pensacola Beach Triathlon run course. It's not all that often we get five of us all going out at a (fairly!) conversational pace for the majority of the run. The last mile was a little sprightly, but a great time was had by all...you know the old story. It's the kind of thing you look at & say: 'that doesn't happen often enough nowadays.'
Yep, I definitely miss the old social running days. Most of the old gang have either burned out, rusted up or faded away, to paraphrase the old Neil Young tune. I guess we learn to enjoy sleeping in, or to exercise a little more autonomy in our own running lives rather than willingly be accountable to each other over time.

I'd rather not be the first guy running through the forest trail anyway. Ask Brant Speed in Austin about the Sunday morning runs we used to do out at Flatwoods Park, near Tampa...back in the UTampa days. I think that's why Coach Slaven used to hang back & let the tall guys go through the trees first. Always good for a laugh during the rest of the run...you felt less miserable when laughing at your speedier, taller, spider-webbed teammates.

Following Your Bliss

It's definitely "beer o'clock" here in the P'handle. Been up since four a.m. & in a state (fairly much) of "on-the-go" since five-ish. Not much difference between the wake-up time for participants of a triathlon & the workers & volunteers who make it possible.

There's always (so it seems) some sort of crisis, some kind of "oops, we gotta get this issue worked through" moment...and we had a little bit of it this morning, but it was all right...once we got the solution. While it's tiring, maddening, frustrating, and sometimes even boring, it's also rewarding. I think every race participant should work with a race promoter at least once a year, & I'm not talking about one of those 'two-hour, packet pick-up' cushy, beer-in-one-hand, marker-in-the-other jobs. Ride the back of a rental truck setting up & picking up cones. Hand out water at an aid station of a marathon, or a 70.3. Tear down & put away speakers, tables, & various/sundry supplies.

It makes the thank you of the back-of-the-packer that much more sweet...if you hear it. It definitely warms the heart of the race director, just in case you hadn't figured.

FOLLOW-UP, Monday, Oct 26:

The need - or my need to rant - about volunteerism is as much aimed at myself as the next person. More often than not, people are in the throes of training for a long-distance triathlon are predisposed toward selfishness & self-centeredness. I used to have a t-shirt that summed it up precisely: 'as a matter of fact, the world does revolve around me.' It might still be tucked away in one of my dresser drawers.

I guess last week was either National Volunteer Week, Make A Difference Day, or one of those marketing ploys to get people off their behinds to do something they probably should be doing anyway...helping their fellow man. You'd have thought I'd have caught the message through the weeks' comics. It took until some time around Thursday for me to figure it.

To follow on to the 'marathoning' post from a few days back, someone posted a comment about how much different the triathlon community is from the running community. In many ways I cannot help but agree. Many tri-geeks are personable and approachable...a couple are grade-A type-A...ain't going there right now... But, some are tightly focused on their own training, & can't/won't take time to teach newer tri-geeks some of the tips & tricks which make racing less painful and more fun. In the back of my mind, I think it would solve some of the 'on your left, on your left, oh, $#!+...' moments you hear about, especially on the bike course.

(I can't help but feel grateful to a number of local tri-geeks who I've managed to corner at local shops...they've provided great advice/counsel and helped me get past the intimidation factor of the long-distance event up to this time. Thanks again, dudes & dude-ettes...you know who you are!)

Do I Consider You A Marathoner? Why Not?

Some of my running friends are in a bit of an uproar over this morning's New York Times article.

There are a number of runners who chafe at the thought of slow, plodding penguins having the nerve to call themselves marathoners. They believe slower participants have diluted the challenge of the marathon distance & lessened the cachet of their identity as - gasp - a marathoner.

Once you read the article, you'll realize something seriously missing. There are no 'elite' marathoners quoted in the article. I think in their case a marathon is "another day at the office." To the elite marathoner, slow participants are a non-issue. It's the folks who are slightly more slow & plodding than they - John Bingham calls them "slightly fast runners" - who are kvetching like a bunch of whiny, wounded animals.

While the trend is for marathon finish times to become more slow, as cited by Running USA, that may be more due to the democratization of the marathon than anything else. Remember that concept of selectivity we all learned about in college psychology? That was the same reason more students in graduate school scored no lower than a "C." Grad school was more selective to get in, & the grades reflected that very fact.

So, when Mr. or Ms. Marathon Race Director opened their event to the lumpenproletariat, the great unwashed run/walking masses, they spread out the total range of the bell curve a bit more. Of course, I don't think all of the race directors are pleased with the unintended consequences of larger fields of slightly slower participants...it means more time for the course to be closed off for safety reasons. Some events have taken to instituting cut-off times. Which is all right, in my opinion. If you can't make the cut-off, you'll look for another event where your chances of finishing is better. If I were a penguin looking for a marathon & saw a cut-off faster than my best effort, I'd find another event & say, 'their loss. Sucks to be that RD.'

Frankly, I haven't mastered the marathon yet. My best effort is in the high-threes, my worst in the mid-four range. I marvel at the elites as well as the three-hour folks. I'm not going to think any less of a person who wants to go out & do a marathon. But, what I'd like to see is running programs/coaches work over an extended period of time with their charges.

First, coaches need to be honest with the athlete about the social stigma which exists about plodding/walk-running/penguining...whatever the faster people want to call slow-paced participation.

Then, work with the person; get them off the couch doing 5Ks for six months-to-a year, then 10Ks, then half-marathons. After a couple of years of consistent training and racing shorter distances, then put them on a conservative, mostly run-based training program focusing on a marathon that has entry-level marathoner-friendly conditions...preferably a small one.

I'd personally recommend something as small as the Tallahassee Marathon, (next years' RRCA Southern Region Marathon Championship) which has about 250-300 participants, or Melbourne's Space Coast Marathon, which is on a very flat course. I'm not saying they can't do Chicago, New York, Honolulu, Disney, Marine Corps or any of the big name ones, but I'd rather see them get their first marathon in on a course where they can learn the art of marathoning, rather than be treated like children of a lesser god by wanna-be elites, fairly fast runners, & Runners' World/Slowtwitch/Let's Run.com forum posters, the gatekeepers of marathon/road running purity.