Little J's Triathlon

Little J had his first triathlon this week. The 8 year old's version of short course consisted of a 100m swim, 5km bike and a 1km run.

The week before the race his procrastination subsided, and he started to get into the zone. "Dad, when can we practice transition!" was the echo heard throughout the house all week. Coming out of the shower "Dad, can I practice getting changed?". Finishing dinner, "Dad, can I go practice a quick transition!?", and then he would lay out his transition gear, and do a quick practice in the living room. After several virtual trials the one thing he decided was what not to do. "No socks! That saved me almost a minute!" While we applauded his effort to practice transitions the one - or rather three - things he did not practice was any actual swimming, biking or running. This meant while his race was bound to be slow, his transitions would likely be blazing fast!

Race day arrived, and he was up and ready to go the fastest we had ever seen him get out of bed and get changed. I was making my breakfast in the kitchen to fuel up for my long day of waiting when he plopped down. "I'm having some cereal for breakfast. Some Vector! Because that is what bikers eat!" The rest of the morning consisted of reminding him to get things ready, as he was so excited he kept forgetting things like "put water in your water bottle!".

The race times were set to have the different age groups go in waves, over a 3 hour period. Little J was excited about this as he was able to get there early and watch some of the older racers do the swim and transition. While we watched the other kids we went through his race plan, where to exit the swim and which way to run to the transition, and the route to get in and out of the transition area. All throughout it he kept asking things that implied he was going to be so lightening fast, people would be in awe. "So dad, what happens when I am riding in first, and I don't know where to go?". All I kept thinking was "I wonder if he'll dropout when he gets passed in the pool in the first lap and realizes he won't be near first place?"


Finally the time to race arrived and I offered him one more piece of advice. "J, before you go to the race do you have to go to the bathroom?" His reply was as anticipated: "Nooooo!" Knowing what was about to happen next, I tried to steer him towards the inevitable and tried to coax him with a "Ok, so go try anyway.". Not surprisingly I was rebuffed and he took off towards the pool deck for the briefing.

The next scene was classic Little J: Imagine a cluster of 20 kids, all getting ready to race and one line disinter realizes he has to depart the crowd and head for the bathroom. "Is that my child?" I think, only to confirm a second later that sure enough, it was. While all 19 kids went one way to line up for their swim, one headed in the opposite direction to the bathroom. It was at that moment I made a mental note to share with him the age old tradition of peeing while racing.

We had rehearsed his race plan a few times, and all of them ending with "Do a swim warmup, but only about 10-20 meters!". I was foolish enough to think he would heed my advice, and we all watched from the stands as he did a 100m warmup, about 2 minutes before the race was set to start.

Right before the race start, I took a mental note of what Little J's mental status was:

I had said to do a 10 meter warmup. He did 100.

He kept asking what would happen if he was in front but didn't know where to go.

He kept forgetting to do fairly important things, like pack his helmet and full water bottle.

He decided to make a break for the bathroom, 5 minutes before the race start.

This was going to be an epic something of a race, with the something to be determined in the next 30 minutes.


The gun went off, and like a shot he pushed off and proceeded to swim the fastest front crawl I had ever seen him do. Unfortunately for Little J his burst of speed only lasted for about 20 meters, then he dropped off and was passed by another racer. He must have decided to mix it up because at that point he floated over and switched to a leisurely backstroke pace for the remaining 80 meters. He finished the swim, and made a quick exit to his transition area, which he had strategically positioned by a tree so he could find it when he came out.

All the practicing of drying off and sitting down to get his shoes on seemed to go out the window, because once he hit transition he just wiggled on his shirt over his wet body, and then stood there while trying to stuff his wet, sockless feet into his shoes. Most of the kids seemed focused on transition, a few even ignoring the overbearing parents yelling instructions, but Jordan had a huge grin on his face as he exited on to the run. Two laps of ring-road gave the same picture: Most kids gunning it with a nice even cadence, tongues hanging out like MJ going for a dunk, and glassy eyes focused on the road ahead. Little J on the other hand was merrily biking along like he was out for a ride to the market.




He rode by us heading into the bike to run transition, and was out in under a minute, helmet gone but the same little grin attached to his running face. In fact, he was happily jogging along, only to add in a burst of speed when he was about to be passed by another racer. Like the swim, his burst didn't last long and he soon dropped back to his happy pace. We were all there for his finish, which his final time was 27:24. He came in 22nd, and later announced "I like the number 22, so I'm happy with that".



Like any true triathlete, his next stop was the food table where he devoured about four rice crispy squares and two slices of pizza.

He did have some post-race memorable quotes:

While riding home in the car:

"Maybe we should go back. Someone may want my autograph or something."

While eating a second helping of pasta at dinner that night: "Man, being a triathlete makes me hungry!"

Pretty much for the rest of the day: "Whew! My legs hurt!"

When we asked him why he switched to the backstroke he had two good arguments. "Well, first I am fast at the backstroke. And second, when the other racer passed me I knew I wasn't going to win so I just decided to have fun." We couldn't argue with that.



And with that his first triathlon was done, and he's already asking when the next race is.

5 weeks of training = 1 big Screw You

Granted, I was unprepared. But I was fueled by the intrinsic motivation to be able to say both figuratively and literally "Screw you" if I crossed the finish line.

• 5:00 am Marathon Morning. I awoke to the alarm, a distant buzz on the other side of the bedroom which would ensure the actual movement from my bed to silence the noise.
• 5:10 am Breakfast of champions. Bananas and peanut butter. I don't like either, together OR apart. Having to wash it down with a Power Gel? Priceless.
• 6:00 am Time for a hot shower and Motrin. Anything to loosen up the muscles before they get raked over the proverbial coals.
• 6:15 am I headed out the door, leaving a silent and sleeping house behind me. In fact, not even Riley, our dog, wanted to wake up when I slipped out the door.

I arrived downtown around 6:45 and spent the next 1.5 hours contemplating dropping out and just going to hang out and watch the runners.

8:30 am - Race Start. After the gun went off I looked around and realized I actually started at the very back of the 5000+ pack. The entire back. Like where the special needs people start... that means my starting picture is with the Special Olympics of this marathon. Great!
Nowhere to go but up!

From this point onwards, time was not a relative measure. I would experience my day in a measurement of distance....distance ran to be precise.

• 10k Did the first 10k in 58 minutes...which was my goal so far.
• 14k I started to think my training motto of "Hills and Pavement are for race day" may have been misguided. Pavement is HARD and hills are STEEP!
• 16k I thought back to my chiropractors advice on "If your neck siezes up before 15k, then drop out. If not, then you'll maybe be ok". I recall her stressing the 'maybe', which was I am now sure for "like a 5% chance it won't" sort of 'maybe'.
• 16.5k Yep. My neck seized up. Good thing I made it to 15k and no backing down now!
• 20k I arrived with little fanfare, just under the 2 hour even mark. Slow and steady....
• 24k You know they say not to try new food out on race day? Well, I went against that. PowerGel has a new product out that tastes and looks like a Gummy Bear, but with a gel filling. Mmmmm...
• 26k I start to realize I have done about 150k of running in the past month in preparation for this race. That means my race accounts for 25% of my total running in the past 5 weeks. Usually over a 15 week program you ramp up and do about 600km. Whoops.
• 27k I am officially on my longest run since the Marathon last year. I feel it too....
• 28k I could feel the PowerGel Gummy Bear rolling around in my stomach....yes, perhaps it IS true not to try new things on race day...
• 30k At a 3:05 timing I have officially dropped behind any sort of target to set a PR, in particular since I have given up running and have walked the past 2k.
• From about 30-40k I slipped into the cycle of walk 1k and massage out the kinks in my neck, then put up with the pain and run for 2k more. If I could describe the pain, I would have to say it felt like an ice-pick being shoved in between my shoulder blades, then about 1000 acupuncture needles simultaneously piercing my skin from the tops of my shoulders to the tips of my fingers. Fortunately my thumbs were not feeling anything by now, so they were good blunt massaging tools for my neck.
• 36k I arrived at the Harrier Hash Aid Station - which serves up shots of beer for passing
  runners. I fought my previous encounter with drinking beer while running and went for it, dulling the pain as I walked. It was perhaps the best aid station of the day.
• 40k By this time all I could think was "fuck it. I'm sore. Let's just get this done and over with"
• 42.2k Finished!

My chip time was 4:32. A full 30 minutes slower than last year, but with a considerable decrease in training. When I was running I was doing about 5:30minute/km easy pace, and had a few km which were in the 4:30m/km mark. My legs felt great, which was nice, I just couldn't move my neck around to enjoy the scenery of both nature and runners (the latter seemingly improved the faster I moved up the pack of racers).

Things I learned about myself on this race:
1) 150k over 5 weeks in training is too little. Next time I should set the minimum around 200k for sure, or at least 6 weeks.
2) Allocate a little more budget to massage + chiropractor if I don't follow point #2.
3) I shouldn't move my bedroom upstairs the day before I race. Having to navigate stairs so soon after was a little challenging, and resulted in much mockery by my wife.
4) Flying to Europe on a 14 hour flight only 2 days after the race is not a good idea. (On a positive note the free liquor on the long haul fights seemed to dull the pain!)
5) Pain is temporary. Quitting is forever: Never. Say. "Can't". To. Me.

See you next year...just hopefully a little faster and a lot less sore.

How's this for marathon motivation?

She looked at me with a look I can only describe as disdain, but with a professional attitude.

"How's the knee"

"They are a little sore."

She rolled her eyes at mem. "They? Great. Now its both of them. Have I mentioned you are stupid? What's with you guys?"

"I take it your husband is racing on a similar 4 week marathon plan? If I recall last year we both did pretty well with the little training we did."

"He better not be..." She started. "Yeah, because if he does race I'll have a pace bunny with the sign 'Idiots United meet here' out for both of you." And with that she slamed closed her file (as much as she could slam a paper file) and ushered me out the door.

Another marathon on 5 weeks of training? Only 4 runs at 20k? No problem. Why? All this "can't do attitide" around me has fired me up to proove them wrong.

Yeah, how's THAT for motivation? As most guys will confess to, I'll take what I can get.

No Stokie for you!

Opps I did it again. Another bike accident, only this time I only managed to break 2 bones. Last Saturday I left for a short 1 hour ride, but arrived home via the hospital with one broken Radial Head, one cracked rib and one mad wife.

It was a great day for a ride. Sunny, but having just rained it was a little slippy out. I needed to do a errand so had decided to ride the back roads and stay around town. About 40 min into the ride I came across some railroad tracks.... and that is where I went down. One of my wheels must have slipped when I crossed the tracks, which were in my defence, at a 50 degree angle to the road. I remember seeing my wheel jam sideways, my bike instantly turning at a 50 degree angle but abruptly stopping thereafter, and then pure physics taking over and my body continuing to move in a straight line. Only without my bike.


I do recall the feeling of my head rebounding off the pavement at the same time as the rest of the side of my body hit the ground and literally slide to a grinding halt. Thankfully this time my helmet took a 2" crack right on the side. It is times like this when I remember why I wear a helmet.


As I lay there in the middle of the tracks, a car stopped and someone came running up. "Are you ok? Are you hurt?" I heard from up above.

I laid there for a moment, took stock of my injuries.
Feet moving? Check.
Arms moving? Check.
Neck sore? Negative.

Then I unbuckled my helmet and uttered my the first words that came to mind: "Man, my wife is going to be pissed."

And I was right. For the next few days she was answering the phone "Hello! I have 4 bikes for sale, which one do you want?"

Here's how my Text Message conversation when with my riding buddy waiting in ER to see the Doctor:

LP: At VGH after crashing my bike. Even got an ambulance ride. Shit
TK: What happened? Call me.
TK: Are you ok?
TK: No, is your bike OK?
TK: Another car? Is your Soloist OK?
TK: Get LP-ette to call me if you are getting turned into the Bionic Man.
LP: No car. It was my Trek.
TK: Whew! What did you do?
LP: Railroad Tracks.
TK: Don't think are are getting out of walking the dog this afternoon.

As you can see the importance of the bike was paramount. A true measure of a riding buddy.

With no riding for almost 2 weeks I have been itching to get out on the bike this week. I was thinking to bundle myself up like Tyler Hamilton in the 2003 Tour de France.


Because if I'm going to break some bones I may as well have an epic story to follow....

How to set a PR at your next Marathon

So after 40 days of not-so-intense training, I did the marathon again today.

I can say with conviction, that less training will actually increase your time. And by less I mean about 70% less than recommended.

Here's how it went:

3km - my neck started to seize up. Usually it starts to seize on my long runs, around 23km. I am 20km early for a blowup. Or a 15km blowup, depending on who you are.

5k - I realize my 6am breakfast is now digested, and I am hungry. Luck me, I have a gel pack on me. Mmmm, vanilla goop for a snack. I also realize that I haven't raced for 3 years, which means I haven't practiced running and grabbing water off a table for 3 years. The grab goes well, the drinking it without spilling 95% onto the ground does not go well.

8k - my knee starts to tighten up and I start to think my Chiropractor may be right. I decide right then and there not to give her the satisfaction of being right. Foolish or Wise? you ask? Only the next 38k will tell....

10k - time = 54 minutes, right on pace for a 4 hour race. I look back and I am about 1/2km ahead of the 4hour pace bunny. Right then and there I decide to see if I can run a sub four hour Marathon. I think the endorphins had a large part in making that decision for me.

18k - the elites pass me (at their 28km mark) and I feel slow. And fat.

21.2k - time = 1:57. Still ahead of the pace bunny. I would have slowed down but he wasn't that cute.

26km - I am officially doing the longest run of the year. Surprisingly my mind has not reach the WTF are you doing to your body point in the race.

30km - time = 2:45. Sweet. I am on pace for a PB, and despite the burning sensation and numbness in my neck and hands. At least this race the burning sensation didn't happen elsewhere (that for another story).

32km - I lose my Motrin somewhere in a portapotty. I was sore, but not sore enough to dive in after it.

34km - I start to walk and get passed by the pace bunny. My blister, which feels larger than my entire foot, has reach boiling point. Pull off my shoe and a grain of sand falls out. Not any grain - a small grain which I suspect was entirely shaped like a pointy star.

I think back to a race I did where I saw a sign "You think 10k is easy? Well, you are in luck - the race just got easy."

I also reach the WTF are you doing to your body point in the race. I pushed it out. It was an epic feeling of mind over matter.


35km - I hear someone yell at me from behind. (full disclosure: I was delirious in pain so I am paraphrasing what I heard, from what was said). "Hey LP, nice post yesterday. Your Chiropractor sounds like a bitch!" I turned around to see my Chiropractor. Boy, can you say Awwkwarrrrrd!

38km - I realize that pain is temporary, but a sub-four hour marathon lasts forever. I pretend I am blocking out a 3 and 5 year old running around on Christmas morning after eating candy in their beds. Yes, the same technique can be used for blocking out physical pain.

39km - This song comes onto my iPod



I guess it is the Eye of the Tiger of the Rap generation. Whatever, it seemed to work.

Then, right at that second my GPS battery died and my Average Pace and Race Countdown. All I can think is Shit, now I have to go oldschool and do pacing math, which will probably reinforce the 'WTF are you doing to your body' thought process.

40km - I realize that yes, pain is temporary, but it is also right here, right now.. Again the Block your Children technique comes in handy and I put my head down and just give 'er.

My final time was a 4:02, a full 13 minutes faster than my PR, of which I did after 13 long weeks of training. Pfft! I think. Next year I wonder if I can do a sub 4 hour marathon if I cut it down to just 30 days of training.

Epilogue - It took 20 minutes to walk to my car, even though it was less than a km away. I didn't even make it across the crosswalk while the light was green. My time may have been faster, but my epilogue is going to be much slower this time.

Day 39 of my 40 Days to a Marathon plan.

So in the past 39 days I managed to increase my mileage 130% per week, slightly above the doctor recommended increase of 10%.

I went from:
Drinking beer most of the summer, and generally lounging about on Hornby.

To, starting in the first week of September:
A 5k run (to make sure I could still run)
A 10k run (to make sure I could still do 10k)
A 8k speed run (to make sure I could still run fast)
A bike ride (to the running store to pickup some body-glide)
Then a 16k, 21k, 26k, 10k, 25k, a 20k and then finally, a car ride to the chiropractor for a pre-race checkup.

To say she was not impressed at my 40 day plan was a slight understatement. This was her rant: "You know, both you and my husband, you're crazy. He decided to do the same with only 33 days notice. And you know what?" At this point there was no replying, as I saw her talk with the same fury that LP-ette talks to me in. "Let me tell you what. I have to pick up the pieces of both of you! No sympathy here! None! Don't come to me when you're broken!"

All I could think of was about her husband beating me by one week less of training. Damn. If I was only lazy one more week, I too would be that cool.

Today I found myself in a bind - with a knee problem I couldn't stretch out I needed an emergency chiropractor visit to loosen things up. I am not sure what was worse: My wife's face when I said I was leaving a family function to go to the Chiropractor, or my Chiropractor's face when I showed up in her waiting room.

"Have I told you that you're stupid?" she asked me, as she inflicted a serious amount of pain during her adjustment. "I mean, seriously."

The only reply I had was one of pain. "Holy crap, where you are pushing, that really hurts."

I laid on her table for awhile, while she continued to prod and adjust my knee. "So will my knee hold out?" I asked. "It feels like if it will either blow up by 10k, or loosen up and I'll be good to run."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure your knee will make it to 10k. Don't worry about that, just worry that at 15k something else in your undertrained body will blow up."

So wish me luck tomorrow! With all the motivational talk I've been given, I am sure that the eye of the tiger feeling I have will be the only thing pulling me through!

Day 8 of my 40 day Marathon Training....

It has been 8 days since I decided to see if I can do a Marathon in 40 days. I have managed 4 runs and 1 bike, with my long one at about 16k. Looking at my past marathon schedules I was supposed to be doing a 30k run. I think my legs were happy I did the 16k.

This week I've got 2 short runs, 1 bike (for cross-training) and then shoot for a 20k next weekend.

For my alternate cross-training exercise I put up 550' of moulding in our new addition. As I was cutting and nailing up the moulding, I accidentally cut one too short, and had already nailed it up.

"Awww, Mother f..., I mean shoot!" I exclaimed, as I looked down from the ladder to see Little LP standing under me.

"Dad..." he drawled. "You said a bad word."

"What did I say?"

"You said 'shoot'. And that's bad. Unless you meant to say para-shoot!"

40 days to a Marathon

After another week on Hornby Island, this time with all my inlaws camping on our property, I have multiple posts ready to write. Future topics include:

"How my inlaws put the fun back in dysfunctional"

"How my friend's piece of frozen assturd got me out of spooning with my wife"

"How I got a woodie when making smores"

and my favorite:

"How we put the letter g back into camping"

But before that I have decided to throw the gauntlet down. Apart from a few sporadic 20k jaunts, I haven't really run for the past three years as I've been too tired. Yes, you read that right. I have been tired. For three frickin' years. I go for a run, and come home and need to sleep. I go ride, and come home and need to sleep. I go to work,and come home and need to sleep. Heck, some days I wake up from a sleep and need to go for a nap. This past month I came to the conclusion that, well, fuck it. If I am going to be tired I may as well be tired while actually training for something I can pull off. Something simple like training for a marathon in 40 days.

LP-ette told me tonight I was crazy. Actually, there was a verb in front of the word crazy (or is it a noun or an action verb?). I kind of agree, but then again I did an Ironman on a drunken bet, so there has to be some crazy in me somewhere. Here is my thory: I estimate in 40 days I can work about 6 to 8 shorter tempo runs, and 4 longer runs in. A few 20k's, a 25k and a 30k. If I can do that I am going for it.

So last week I ramped up with a 5k run, then a 12k around Helliwell Park. As I wound around the parks cliffside trails, enjoying the solo view, I was sold. Mind over matter, for 5 hours tops was all I could think. The next day I even managed a cross training 2 hour mountain bike ride. Who knew I would go to the dark side of biking to train in my 40 day window!

My motto will be "as long as the body holds up, I'll do it."



And if I finish, I can finally give that big black SUV the one fingered salute!

And for all the loving support I got along the way? I'll get my wife this shirt:


... and then I will probably go for a nap...

Check back for updates!

Double entendre

"My first time in 2 years to get some HED and WHAM! I blew my wad before I even got to take her out for a spin."

"No way! Dude, you've been talking about running those sleek set of rims under your frame forever! What happened?"

"Yesterday I didn't use rim tape for protection and WHOOSH! blew my wad all over the room. But once blown, I learned my lesson pretty quickly so last night I slapped some new latex in them and KABOOM - still as hard as a rock today." Then I broke out into a I'm-going-for-a-bike-ride-tomorrow-no-matter-what kind of smile. "Life is good."

He nodded his head in agreement, and chipped in one final piece of advice. "Just make sure to use lots of lube if you blow out again. You know, to make it easier to get it on next time."

I've had my HED's sitting in the same unopened box they were shipped in, almost two years ago. I ordered them in preparation for Ironman Canada, but in the few days before they arrived a big black SUV decided to made sure I wouldn't be racing - let alone riding - that year.

However, with the consistent appearance of sunny skies this month I broke the seal on the box that my HED wheelset arrived in so long ago. Not only was I greeted by the smell of freshly weaved carbon fiber, but it made my bike look fast. Well, at least when I'm standing beside it they give the illusion of me going fast on them. But not tomorrow. For tomorrow I ride. Fast or slow, I don't really care, because I've been saving up my energy all week just to be able to go out for an hour workout.

While I will be all twinkied out to watch the local races this weekend, hopefully next year I will be well enough to race. Until then I will be the triathlete with the sexiest wheelset not racing anywhere fast this weekend. Remember to say 'hi' when you pass me on the Road to the Middle of Nowhere.

I hope I at least drop one person, even if it is an old lady wearing her helmet on backwards.

An Ironman and his Boobies

"Did you do it?" she asked, her eyes tracing across my chest.

I took a second but I manged to pull myself out of my iPod daze, "Uh, pardon?"

"The race," she said as she motioned to my t-shirt, "did you actually do it?". Clothed with one of my "Ironman Finisher" shirts, I had ventured out to the bank to cash a cheque and was being chatted up in line. Too bad I didn't race when I was single, I thought...

I guess I don't look in the best of shape because people are always surprised to find I actually can finish an Ironman distance triathlon, and post a respectable time as well. Another query happened last week too, while at the beach (different finisher T-shirt though). That particular time it came from a Coast Guard Diver who was suiting up to catch some sea life to show to the kids on the beach. Being a strong swimmer himself he looked surprised I could even make the 2.4 mile swim, let alone do a 112 mile bike and 26.2 mile run right after it.

When those sort of things happen, I usually feel pretty good about my ability to accomplish things people say or assume I can't do. After all, like Roger Martin I aspire to beat, not just to satisfy the world. So what if I am not the fittest person out there? At least I start the race and ultimately finish strong. Who cares if I have 15 pounds on the rest of my racing field? Drinking slushees and going to the Olive Garden for double pasta dinners three times the week before my races probably doesn't help, but it makes all the training pain worth it.

However, today I paused to rethink my "feeling good despite what you think" theory. Here's how my 1 year old put it all in perspective:

Yesterday my 1 year old climbed up on my knee, pulled up my shirt and, as she punched her chubby finger into my soft belly, shouted "Boobie! Boobie! Big boobie!"

Yes, I may be an Ironman, but like any child she called it like it really was, all while using 2 of the 13 words she actually knows. That means it is probably time to stop drinking coke and go for a run instead. Caloric output replaces caloric input. I should probably run nowhere in particular, and see if I can loose the boobie.

The Day I Ran to the Middle of Nowhere

Today I found the Middle of Nowhere.

Last week Jason Kottke referenced enRoute Magazine's August issue. Jason said he found his "Middle of Nowhere" during a recent trip to Minneapolis at the Mill City Museum.

Middle of Nowhere isn't a physical location. not anymore. In this era, when we have Google Mapped every corner of the earth (and some other planets), almost no place is so remote it's truly nowhere.

No, we think the Middle of Nowhere is a state of mind. It's the satisfied pleasure-tinged-with-insider's-delight that you feel when you discover something pretty great in a place where you didn't know it thrived. So that when you experience this thing, whether it's in the middle of a major city or a cornfield, you think, This? Is here? I had no idea!

Today I found my Middle of Nowhere.

thump thump. Out for a run I reached my usual return marker, but my body kept moving.
thump thump thump. Pushing up the hill, across the road and down the path.
thump thump. Bursting through the trees and onto the trail I increased my pace.
thump thump thump. Flying around the bird watchers and over the rooted path.
thump thump. Cresting a hill and plunging back down into a valley.
thump thump thump. Accelerating past another marker, plunging deeper into the forest.
thump thump. Reaching my lactic acid threshold, I approached a small clearing and then, a slowing of the pace.

thump. Stopping at the fork in the path, I stood, sheltered from the mid-day sun under the canopy of trees.

thump. I rested and listened, my heart beating loudly. The silence screamed, only shattered by the occasional sound of nature. Birds calling to each other; Soft wind whistling through the tree branches; Scotch Broom plants popping in concert with it all.

I feel like I'm in the middle of nowhere, I thought. I've grown up around here, traveled through these park trails thousands of times but never to this spot. For a moment in time I had that satisfied pleasure-tinged-with-insider's-delight that as I rediscovered a new place I always new existed, but never visited.

thump. With my heart rate lowered I reset my watch and stood for my return trip. Once I got home I checked to see if I could find the distance I went, but the trail wasn't even on Google Maps. My route is safe from the spying eyes of the internet.

I shall run there again somtime soon. And when that time comes, and I have my shoes laced up to head out the door if my anyone asks where I'm going running I'll probably say "Nowhere", because it will be true.

What a difference a second makes

I seem to have fallen into the rhythm of a social commentary or introspective thoughts every 5 or 6 posts.... I suspect that makes it time for one of them.

One second earlier and I would be around to write this post.
One second later and I wouldn't even think to write this post.

All I remember is the grill of the car seemed HUGE as I was catapulted over my bars and onto the ground... I vaguely, through a cloud of pain and cognitive disorientation, recall an off duty fireman and doctor stopping to help. As the sounds of the ambulance siren grew nearer, I heard them both agreeing I seemed to be pretty lucky.

"A second here, a second there..." I heard them say to each other, referring to the difference in timing of the car nicking me and taking me completely out.

This weekend is Ironman Arizona - meaning this time last year I was swimming my way through 2000 other racers in 2.4 miles of murky, windswept waters; biking 112 miles through 30mph headwinds, tailwinds and sidewinds (while avoiding the odd tumbleweed); and running my way over 26.2 miles of hot, cactus sprinkled desert. While I didn't set a personal best or hit my race plan of a 12.5 hour finish time, I still held my own and was able to walk back to the hotel with my gear in had and pack for my flight the next day. A relative success in my books.

As I wrote a few months ago, I am still hanging out with physiotherapists and other rehab specialists a few times a week. However, last week an informal milestone came - they gave me the OK to try and ride my bike again. To say I was totally stoked was an understatement. I unpacked my dust covered gear and headed out the next day for a 25 minute ride on the sunny, scenic roads. With wind sweeping over my body and the ground passing under me with a sub-sonic speed averaging 10kph below my accustomed race pace, I finished completely exhausted, in pain and in need of serious physical therapy ... but for those 25 minutes the worries of life melted away, making it all worthwhile.

The culmination of Ironman happening this weekend and my first ride since my accident made me ponder both what a difference a second makes, and what an impact it makes in the direction of one's year. I think if I had have know what was in store at that last Ironman I would have savored the moment a little more. I would have thanked a few extra volunteers. I would have chalked a few extra signs onto the roadways. I would have taken more time to enjoy the SPAM that my friend Chris put in my special needs bag. You know, the little things.

In fact, one year later the SPAM is still sitting in my gear bag.

A second here, a second there.

I think I'll dig the SPAM out and have a celebratory dinner for being on the right side of that second. Then I'm going to go tune up my Cervelo P3 for the coming summer days... Biking and SPAM, who'd ever thought.

Bon Appétit!

No more melancholy moments for you

I was introspective on the bus riding home the other day, so if you want to take the ride with me read on...

Due to a bike accident I was in several months ago, I am still hanging out with physiotherapists, specialists and acupuncturists a few times a week. I unfortunately have to pay them to hang out with them, but it's good company anyways. Every time I go I have to describe how I am and how I have improved since the last visit. Have you ever tried to describe how you are, beyond the usual thinly veiled "how are you" that most people tend to ask? It's frickin' hard! But, the requirement to know has started to help me consciously break my day up and thus, focus on the subtle (or not so subtle) changes in my body. Since my accident I figure I have been asked to describe in detail "how I am" at least 100 times...tedious but necessary.

So I sit and think for a few minutes before each appointment and make my mental list, because I know I''ll be asked. I find that having to answer the question really is like describing a color... you really have to be there to experience it...but with practice you can pick out the visual hues and tones of your emotions and prepare an auditory Picasso for the doctor. How can one do this? Prior to my accident I used to describe the days mood or physical feelings as defined by a few main parts, perhaps morning, afternoon & evening...only a particularly good or bad experience would overshadow the whole day. And people that know will all agree that give me a good coke slurpee and I'd be in a good mood for the day.

But now, forced to actually have to describe "how I am" few times a week to health professionals that really need to know, I've turned to the teachings of my 1 year old daughter to help out. Watching her act in the game of life always provides at least one moment of unbridled laughter at her antics and sounds. She is constantly fluctuating between happy and "pissed off because you took my Arrowroot cookie" moods, both with and equal portion of unabashed wonderment about things like lights in the ceiling, leaves on a tree and dried up pea from last night's dinner stuck in the crack on the floor. To her, almost everything someone does is pure thaumaturgy.

Her aspect of the "perfect day" is segregated into mere minutes (or seconds) as her attention span moves from trying to turn on the nightlight in her room to making a "whoop whoop" sound into a straw that she found somewhere. I've noticed by having such a short attention span an effectively segmenting the day into 1440 minute units (minus 870 for sleep) she is always in a happy mood. I noted the same of our 3 year old, but he is starting to grow out of it as his tolerance for good or bad "experiences" lasts longer in his working memory.

So what's the take-away? What is the 'perfect day' that would keep us all completely ignoring the melancholy moments? It's all in how we narrowly (or broadly) define the segment of time between them.

What makes us respond to "how are you?" in a positive fashion? It's not the perfect bike ride, sunny weather during your lunch break or favorite slurpee but rather the feeling of every experience in the "1 year old child" moment that defines and sets the mood for the rest of the day or week.

Perhaps one should consider (or experiment) on breaking their days up more when considering their experiences. It would be an interesting to see if one found they had more of that unabashed 1 year old happy-about-the-day feeling than the normal stressed out professional worker had. That is, of course, until someone took your Arrowroot cookie. And from a work perspective I wonder of job satisfaction would increase, or managers could use it as more of a motivational tool for your workers. Hmmm, something to try for the staff when I'm back to work....