Journey to the Finish Line

On pancakes and the start of The Tour

Sunday is my first intermediate distance triathlon, which for simplicity's sake basically doubles the distance of the sprint triathlons I've done.

I'm "racing" to train. The idea is to get my body used to longer distances as I prepare for my goal race -- Muskoka 70.3, a half Ironman.

Since this is not an "A" race, or a priority race, this past week has been a normal base-building week. I am not driving to Evangola on complete fresh legs tomorrow, but that's part of the plan. Today, however, is officially a rest day from training. In fact, my only real triathlon assignment is to practice my race week nutrition, which today means to eat a big breakfast.

Yep, my "workout" today is to have pancakes. Of course then I taper my food intake the rest of the day. But anything that requires me to eat pancakes is a fine plan in my book.

There's a line from the movie "Empire Records" that I often like to twist and make my own.

Today's adaptation: "We can't be sad. Not today. The Tour de France starts today!"

Yes, we cyclists love the month of July filled with hours of the colorful peleton dashing around the French countryside and the sidelines of drama including personality conflicts, power plays within teams and of course, the drama and controversy that doping scandals (or mere accusations) bring.

This year marks the return of Lance Armstrong, seeking his eight title in one of the most grueling sporting events in the world. And while he adds drama and American interest, he's not even the team leader for Astana at today's start -- Alberto Contador is. Contador, a young Spanish rider, won the Tour in 2007. He didn't compete last year as his team, Astana, was banned for doping violations (none of which, by the way, had to do with Contador).

For those still new to the sport of cycling, the Tour de France is very much a team sport. Riders on each team have assigned roles and only one can be the "leader" the one the team is helping to win the race.

Right now, Astana says it's Contador not Armstrong, but that can change.

And that's part of the drama that will make this month interesting to watch.

If you're in need of a bit of a primer on this year's Tour de France, check out the work of New York Times reporter Juliet Macure (who also has a Twitter page).

She gives a breakdown of the top riders.

Here is an explanation of the different jerseys riders can win.

And, she offers, just in case, a story that serves as a doping primer.

My personal pick for the tour win is Contador though I am intensely curious as to how Armstrong will perform.

Oh, to be young

Two women were sitting on a park bench. The evening was shaping up to be nice and cool after the rain had passed through. It looked like they were sitting in relative silence -- perhaps mother and daughter, one in her 70s the other in her 40s.

I passed by them as I trotted through my easy-paced run, rounding the traffic circle they were watching and preparing to head home from my second workout of the day.

I smiled as I went by and offered a "hello."

The older woman smiled back and said, with a laugh, "Oh to be young."

It's not the first time I've heard that sentiment. Running in my neighborhood I pass my fair share of older women, those who have lived two or three lifetimes compared to mine. On days when I feel old and wonder exactly what it is that I've done with, or packed into, my 30-some years of living, I usually come across someone like the woman on the bench. And it gives me plenty to think about.

Her observation (and she stands in for other women like her I've come across) is never bitter. It's never filled with anger that she herself is no longer young. It's a bit wistful. A bit of longing. A bit of wishing she had the energy and the health now that she has the experience and wisdom. It's one of the great ironies of life, isn't it? Like the line in the movie It's a Wonderful Life -- "Youth is wasted on the young."

But it's more than just the energy and health of youth. It's enjoying the newness that each day brings. It's realizing that where I am today is a product of everything -- good, bad, indifferent -- that happened yesterday. We can let yesterday define who we are, or accept that yesterday put us in the place we are today and that we have the ability to change our direction, to find a new place, today.

Perhaps that's the gift of being where I am in life right now. I still have the energy to make things happen with a bit of life experience in my pocket. Might I have been a better athlete if I took my health and exercise seriously in my 20s? Possibly.

But then my races and my training would be void of the experiences I enjoy. I'd have different expectations. Different goals. Different motivations.

I, quite simply, would not longer be me.

So I take my mixture of youth and experience into my first intermediate distance race at Tri in the Buff on Sunday. My goal? To finish. But not in the "I hope I can finish" sort of way. I know I can finish. That's the not the issue.

But my life experience tells me setting a time goal right now is wasted energy for me. (Emphasis, by the way, on the for me part. Others love to set high performance goals. It's who they are and I celebrate that with them. However tt is not, I am learning, who I am.)

I want to have fun on Sunday. I want to challenge myself, see what I can do at a longer distance. From a training perspective, I want to get my body acclimated to swimming, biking and running for longer periods of time. I'm working on creating a solid base of endurance and fitness for Muskoka in September.

Most of all, I want to create some more bankable memories for the days when I'm sitting on a park bench.

Steady and consistent

There is strength in numbers.

At least that's what I told myself at Lake Erie for the Buffalo Triathlon Club's group swim.

My concern, again, was the dead fish.

They numbered fewer than the other day when my friend Laurie and I attempted an open water swim but still, there were plenty floating around the pier site to skeeve me out. Never did I claim not to be a wuss when it came to floating objects in the water.

The debris and dead fish would be in the water regardless of the number of people who were swimming, but mentally, there was a comfort zone with others around. Maybe the commotion of the more than 40 swimmers would help push the fish to the end of the inlet and along the sides of the breakwall. If nothing else, I had plenty of people to help point out dead fish to me.

So this swim for me turned into one big sighting drill. Swim a handful of strokes, look up, swim a handful of strokes, look up. I threw in a good amount of breaststroke while I looked for a good, clean line in which to swim. I moved into the middle of the inlet with the hopes that most of the debris and dead fish would congregate near the wall. Most of it did, but I still had to dodge some floaters.

And here's the thing that occurred to me yet again -- where I was last year at this time. Swimming in the middle of the open water, a very good distance from the wall? Never would have happened. This time, it was my pleasure to be out in the open.

The key for me has become rather simple in swimming: remembering that I can swim and that my fitness and endurance levels are high enough where I can swim long distances. It's about being calm and not trying to rush. Those who are aiming for podium positions, they can go out ahead and battle it out. I'm competing against myself, trying to improve my own personal bests and add a bit of challenge with longer distances. 

If I can stay relaxed and calm, I will get where I'm going in time. And probably faster than if I thought out it too much or attempted to actually go fast.

Steady and consistent.

That's what I'm aiming for this week and especially this weekend as I head into my first intermediate distance race at Tri in the Buff.

Meanwhile, I think that I'll be happy to dodge dead fish as opposed to train like this guy in a funny spoof commercial for Clif Bar. Granted, there are probably many friends and family members who wouldn't mind helping me out with this if I asked them to.

Dead fish day

Laurie needed some extra encouragement and so I basically told her just to get her rear end down to the lake.

The "tough love" was offered in jest and she took it that way. Laurie and I have been friends for a year now having met as both were introduced to the sport of triathlon. We both wanted to get in the open water but Laurie was balking at the potential for choppy water since it was a windy day.

"Come to the pier and look then make your decision," I said.

I arrived before she did and immediately parked my car and went to peer into the water. Oh, the lake was bumpy but there really weren't any waves and the chop was minimal. It looked like a pretty decent day to get in about 45 minutes worth of open water practice.

Then I saw the dead fish by the ladder.

And another.

And another.

Not surprising since we had thunderstorms the other day. The lake probably turned over and the debris of the storm was washing away.

They will float to the end, I thought, and stay along the break wall. If we swim toward the middle, we'll be just fine.

The count of dead fish floating by had reached five.

Then I looked out at the water.

More dead fish, floating in the middle.

My count was up to nine and I stopped.

I have swum in water with dead fish before but this was a bit too much.

Laurie pulled up.

"I'm so sorry but I don't think I'm getting in," I told Laurie, feeling a bit guilty that I had teased her about the choppy water and I, in turn, was balking at the dead fish.

"You know, that's OK," she said. "It doesn't matter to me. Let's go to the pool."

And so we went to one of the pools we both belong to -- and that's where the fun started.

Driving over to the pool I realized that I was in triathlon mode, not gym mode. This means my bathing suit was underneath old and ill-fitting clothing (because your clothes will likely get dirty when changing out of the wetsuit at an open water swim). I only had my wet suit bag with me, not a gym bag. Luckily I had a towel, my goggles and my swim cap. Which really was all I needed to swim. But I had nothing to change into afterward and no lock to secure my belongings in the locker room.

No, instead, I would walk into the building, do directly to the pool, take off my shorts and t-shirt and dive into the water.

This, I thought, felt like a skid row type of swim.

Because not only was I not exactly in proper gym form, but the pool we were swimming in? Well, it was one of the skanky pools -- old with some tiles that will probably never be clean and water that is kept way too warm.

In fact, Laurie and I joked that this particular pool swim was a step up from the lake only in the fact that there were no dead fish in the water.

Heck, I still had my Road ID on my ankle. So did Laurie. This cracked us up.

Not prepared for a pool swim meant I also did have my beloved fins to help me swim faster and glide smoother.

But I didn't think too much about it. Laurie and I were laughing too much at ourselves, at how ridiculous we looked "changing" on the pool deck and deciding to keep wearing our Road IDs.

In the water, I felt good. I felt calm. I felt, well, hot. The water was terribly warm, which sounds nice at first but once you start moving gets a bit uncomfortable. I pushed a few laps then would ease up. My goal was to swim for 45 minutes and I swam for 43:30 with one 20 second break to adjust my goggles. 

And I did it without my pool safety net (my fins) and without any judgement.

Laurie and I continued to laugh afterward as we walked to our cars. Core workout? Sometimes laughter isn't just the best medicine, it's the best exercise.

Any disappointment of not swimming in open water quickly disappeared for us as we made fun of ourselves and the situation. 

And the more I made the situation into something ridiculous, like completely mocking myself for having to throw on my shorts and tee-shirt over my wet swimsuit to walk out of the gym, the more relaxed I became about swimming in general. It led to a good swim, a hard workout, and something good in the memory bank.

Back to base training

Sometimes, life gets in the way.

Things happen at work, with our places of residence or in our relationships that supersede what we want to be doing.

And last week, work too precedence and my training was relegated to a low-intensity recovery week. My coach new my work schedule before planning my training sessions and when I first got my plan I was a bit taken back by just how light the exercise load was.

I mean, I'll be doing my first intermediate triathlon this week and am gearing up for the half Ironman in Muskoka in September. Can I afford to rest?

The question should have been, could I have afforded not to?

My assignment last week, and through the weekend, was to cover the Wegmans LPGA golf tournament in Rochester. And while I wasn't digging ditches, and am grateful for my job, the four days were definitely a marathon and not a sprint. The days were long and the golf was interrupted constantly by rain and the stress levels were moderate.

We all have stretches like that where work (or other aspects of our life) need our full attention.

By the time I hit Saturday I was eternally grateful that my coach had the foresight (no pun intended) to keep me at a light week. I couldn't have pounded out a hard workout if I wanted to, let alone if I was required to.

And so this week we return to base training and a full week of workouts.

Again, a bit odd at face value since I will be racing my first intermediate distance at Tri in the Buff at Evangola on Sunday. Racing on tired legs isn't something you normally do, but this isn't a priority race for me. It's a chance for me to get experience racing a longer distance. It's about using this week as a base-building week and using the race as a boost into full-on Muskoka prep.

Today's installment, back to open water swimming and running, both of which are starting to feel a whole lot better. In addition. I'll be forgetting all about the past week. I can't get that time back and there is no sense in worrying about how that will affect me at Tri in the Buff or at events down the road.

Life happens.

You hold dear the things you enjoy, the people that you care about, and do the best you can.

Then you move forward. And say hello again to old friends.

Playing with the waves

Finally, it was one of those perfect summer days. Warm with a slight breeze and bright, bright blue sky.

And aptly, a swim in Lake Erie with the Buffalo Triathlon Club.

It was my first time in the water with the group this season and probably close to 40 people were in and out of the water.

I found numerous friends to swim with, or chat with once we reached the end of the 300-meter wall. And the entire time I couldn't help but remember these swims from last year. Even on a perfect day like this, I would have been scared. I would have spent the majority of my time bobbing up and down and constantly pulling up. But more often than not, it seemed like we swam on days when the wind was high and the lake was, well, bumpy. The chop would frighten me and my progress was slow but friends were there to make sure I swam, even if it was only 25 meters at a time.

This day, I was gliding along, swimming the length of the wall continuously. Was I fast? Heck no! But this is where we learn what at true gift perspective is. Because I didn't care that I still can't keep up with my friend Jenny or that my other friend Jen was in and out with her workout before I even noticed she was in the water.

While floating across the water I was able to suspend our human nature to compare ourselves to others and merely enjoy the improvement I had made.

All those fears and tears when crashing against the waves last year? Those served to make me stronger and more confident.

And as perfect a day as it was, the lake wasn't completely calm. At times there were some gentle rolling waves. I remember the advice my friend Colleen gave me about swimming in open water -- to play with the waves, not punch against them.

Because waves will come, at times when you don't expect them and usually when you don't really have the inclination to deal with them. Fighting through them is an option. It will eventually get you to the end of the swim, though you will likely be exhausted.

Or you can ride them. Take the wave as it comes. Feel your body rise with the water or playfully duck down and slip under the surge. Approach the waves and the water with a smile.

The ending point is the same either way, but you get to choose wether the journey is a struggle or an enjoyment.  You always get to choose your approach. And if the one you've chosen isn't working for you, the good news is you get to choose again.

The great swimsuit debate

Sometimes I debate which I love more, my wetsuit or my bike.

My love for my bike is a long-term relationship. We've been together since 2005. We took a trip to Italy together. My bike was my entry into a new world of fitness which spurred my evolution into an athlete.

My wetsuit and I go back a year. But it is like my security blanket. I adore my wetsuit. As much as I detest getting into it and feeling a bit like a sausage and some restriction in my movement, my wetsuit and I are tight. The wetsuit helps me float. It's buoyant. If I do nothing, the wetsuit will keep me bobbing in the water.

Top-flight triathletes use wetsuits to gain an advantage on the swim. The wetsuit, because it's buoyant and helps keep you close to the surface of the water, helps you swim faster. It also decreases drag, which makes you swim faster.

In some circles people feel this is cheating.

Not all races are wetsuit legal. Athletes can wear a wetsuit if the water temperature is 78 degrees or colder. Between 79 and 84 degrees, age group athletes (meaning those who are not "elite" racers) can wear a wetsuit but will not be eligible for awards.

Then there is the personal preference debate about the type of wetsuit that's best -- full sleeved or sleeveless. Personally, I have the full sleeved wetsuit. I figured I need as much buoyancy as I can get. And while the wetsuit does allow me to swim faster, by no means am I shooting the water. The entire field usually wears wetsuits. Sometimes for the mental comfort (like myself), sometimes to keep up with the competition and be in the running for a podium spot and other times just because the water is too darn cold.

While triathletes will debate sleeve or no sleeve and occasionally discuss the merits of swimming with or without a wetsuit, generally the technology is standard and the majority of athletes I've run into merely accept the wetsuit as part of the requisite racing gear.

Welcome to one of the differences between open water and pool swimming.

Because just when you thought the great swimsuit debate had passed us by, it comes to light a month before the World Championships in Rome.

On Monday, FINA (the international governing body of swimming) approved over 100 modified swimsuits

for the upcoming championship.

If you'll recall last summer the Speedo LZR suit caused great controversy in the swimming world. The technology of the swimsuit is believed to have helped break 120 world records in the last 16 months prompting a great debate as to if technology is ruining the sport.

Are swimsuits, which help cut drag and help swimmers float, an unfair advantage? 

There is the issue of availability and expense, a kind of swimming arms race if you will, so that those with the money and access can buy better suits and, possibly then, better times.

But if every single swimmer had the same technology in his or her swimsuit, does that still somehow taint the times? Are world records becoming more and more meaningless?

Finding stillness

Trolling through the web, I stumbled on a blog entry by Chrissie Wellington, the reigning Ironman World Champion. She was discussing a race in Kansas and mentioned meeting women from GOTRIbal.

GOTRIbal? I had to look it up.

Turns out, Wellington is involved with this mix of real and cyber social community on GOTRIbal.com which, on its main page, describes itself as an "organization aimed at empowering women and promoting triathlon around the world."

While groups of women (or "tribes" as they're called) form in different cities around the world to get together for training and support, there also is an online social community that offers advice and support.

On the forum was a topic on anxiety and one athletes quest to battle anxiousness during a race. The topic caught my eye and while not a long thread, I took the time to read it. Many (if not all) of us suffer from being anxious at times and one woman suggested that knowing the anxiety will come before every race regardless of distance or surroundings can be comforting. The anxiety? Normal. And so, you don't necessarily get caught up in the downward spiral and can manage your anxiety.

Another woman went more detailed, giving some suggestions on how to manage anxiety from visualization to relaxation to soothing music and food triggers. All very helpful stuff.

Shortly after, I opened up a book of short, daily meditations and today's entry was on stillness.

Nice synergy universe.

The idea of stillness (or peace, or solitude even) is not about the absence of noise or chaos. It's not about turning off the TV and sitting without movement. Not about going away to a cabin the woods. Not about being calm and centered and spiritual away from the every day world. 

Stillness is a place within you. It's a place you access whether you're alone on the couch on a Monday night or with hundreds of people at the start of a race.

It's a place many of us have to practice finding. But you know when you're there. It's the place where things flow naturally, without much thought or effort.

it's the anti-anxiety place.

And a great thing to practice finding during training so that I can easily find my way back on race day when the anxiety gremlin decides to try and rile me up.

Swimming on empty

LAKE PLACID -- People sometimes ask me the order of a triathlon and wonder why the swim is first. In the minds of many people, they would rather swim last and get the refreshment of the water after pounding out miles on the bike and run.

But yesterday's training session in Lake Placid was a great reason why the swim is always first.

Because if you get tired on the run, you just start walking. If you get tired while biking, you can go into an easy gear or, worst case, walk your bile.

If you get tired when you're swimming, you, um, have no other than to keep swimming or find someone to rescue you.

The morning began with a ride of the Ironman loop -- a 56-mile bike ride that has very little stretches of flat road. The big news of the day -- the descent into Keene, which is long and steep and, for me at least, kinda scary, has been repaved. This will be joyful news to those doing the Ironman Lake Placid race next month as the potholes and poor road conditions are much improved.

The next portion of the ride is my favorite. It's relatively flat along route 9N into Jay and Upper Jay. It's beautiful scenery and almost makes you want to stop and snap some photographs. But there was too much riding left to do to justify that.

Next is the turn back onto Route 86 and the climb into Wilmington. For me, this is the part of the ride I hate the most. It's a short steep climb and then the road just seems to gradually climb -- forever. Eventually you come to the portion of the course known as the out-and-back. This is a right hand turn onto a back road that travels about six miles, then turns around. 

After this portion is complete I stop my watch and head into a gas station. I need to replenish my water bottles. I was careful to sip my water and my sports drink every 15 or 20 minutes. I also went with fig newtons as my fuel and had two each hour.

Then came the final 11 miles which everyone always talks about. The first part is a climb past Whiteface and this is where two of my Train-This teammates bonked. After getting past this area comes the final five rolling hills named Little Cherry, Big Cheery, Mama Bear, Baby Bear and Papa Bear.

Those hills equal what's affectionally known as "granny gear" -- I get into my easiest gears and spin up. If I'm lucky, I'll be going about 8 miles per hour.

I felt pretty good about the quality of my ride. I completed the course in a decent amount of time, used all my gears and worked the hills pretty well (and tried to feather, not slam, on my breaks during the downhills).

An easy 30-minute run followed and after the first 10 minutes my legs started to feel better. I frankly have no idea how fast I was running or how far I went.

It was about feel and quality not quantitative measurements. And I was pretty happy.

After grabbing a sandwich for lunch and lazying around the motel with teammates, I went over to Mirror Lake with two of them -- Eddy and Steve -- to swim a lap of the Mirror Lake course. 

The rest of the gang was going at 4 p.m.

I went early.

Why? I honestly have no idea.

It wasn't my best decision of the day.

Because had I waited until 4 p.m. I would have had other people to swim with and our coach, Mary, was out in a kayak to supervise and look at our swim strokes.

And, had I waited, I would have learned that the course was set up too long. Apparently there is some other (non-swimming) event that the buoys were set up for.

This made a lot of sense.

Because while 1.2 miles is a long way to swim, the buoys on the way out seemed to never end.

I had planned to take it easy and figured if I just went slow I would be fine.

I saw Eddy turn around, He was only planning on swimming for a total of 30 minutes. I lost Steve who was faster than I was.

I looked up and saw ... no one. Not another soul in the water.

At this point, I was getting pretty darn tired. The bike and run took a lot out of me and now I have to swim back. Frustrated that I couldn't make it to the end of the course (which, at this point, I didn't know was far too long) I crossed over the middle the course and started the swim back along the return buoys.

Only I was tired.

And I started to panic a bit. I was out here, all alone. What if something happened?

I bobbed around in my wetsuit. I floated on my back. I even did some backstroke.

Yet, I couldn't calm myself down.

Then I caught a glance of guy on some sort of canoe. It was long and skinny, almost like a kayak, and he was on one knee while padding through the lake. I called him over. At this point, my fatigue and panic were giving me a side cramp so I asked if I could hang on his boat for a minute. He was nice enough to help me out.

With some calm and some rest I was able to start swimming again and made it back to shore just fine -- in a nice steady, slow rhythm.

Initially I was pretty disappointed.

But when I put it all together -- the fatigue of the day, the not-so-smart decision to go out with faster swimmers and the fact that course wasn't marked as the Ironman swim course -- I felt pretty good about my 50-minute swim effort.

I even decided that I had worked hard enough during the day to warrant a cone of premium ice cream.

Saturday, as it turned out, was the celebration of International Olympic Day.

What better time to be in Lake Placid as an athlete, testing yourself to see how far you can and learning, all the time, how to be patient and forgiving with yourself.

Lake Placid Training Camp begins

LAKE PLACID -- This is the third time I've been to Lake Placid and there really is something special about this place. For some, it's the lure of the Ironman race held here annually in July. For some is the beauty of the land and the quaintness of the town. For others, its the Olympic lore and a place where many Olympic dreams are still nurtured.

For me, it's a mixture of all three. There really is something special about this place, particularly if you're an athlete.

This weekend I'm with my coach and my Train-This! teammates for what we call training camp. We bike the 56-mile Ironman course (some do it twice, I do it once), we run and we swim in Mirror Lake.

It's a chance to train, to practice and to be around other people who share your desire to run, bike and swim.

Yesterday was arrival day but already I completed a bike, run and swim. It started with a 90-minute bike ride which consisted of riding the Ironman course backwards as an out-and-back -- 35 minutes out, turn around and climb back into town. Only the climb back didn't take as long as expected (I learned later at dinner we had wind at our back. Oh, that we have that today!) so I continued on Route 86 North toward Saranac Lake for a bit of extra time.

Off the bike it was a quick change and on to a run -- 30 minutes. I ran with a woman named Kim who is recovering from a hamstring injury. This meant I could keep pace with her as we ran the hill from our hotel into town and back again. My easy runs are still challenging weeks after the marathon but I'm told that's normal -- that it can take some time before I feel I have my "running" legs back.

After that, the group drove down to Mirror Lake and the Ironman swim course. I was to swim for 30 minutes, which meant less than one turn around the 1.2-mile course. But alas, I forgot my watch so I ball-parked the time (and ended up swimming only about 20 minutes). Attempting to break in new goggles, the first part of the swim was a challenge as I would swim 10 strokes, then have to empty out my right lens which filled with water. By the time I decided to cut across and turn around, I got the goggles on my face just race and was able to swim continuously back to shore.

Today brings more of the same only a bit longer -- a full loop of the 56-mile bike course, a 30 minute easy run and later in the afternoon a full loop of the 1.2 mile swim course.

And while I want to have a quality workout, it's important for me to keep in mind that training is all about the experience. It's the journey. It's the climb (literally and figuratively). 

It's about enjoying a moment in a town that loves athletes of all kinds.