Beyond the Race

It’s been more than a month since I crossed the finish line of IM Wisconsin.  I did it.  It’s done.  It went well (by my own expectations) but we’ll get to that later.  I’ve burned more calories in the last nine months than I had any full year previously.  I’ve run more miles, biked more hours, and swum more pool lengths than I had ever imagined I would.  The race is over… and not a day has gone by that I have not thought about it.  As you can tell from that finish line shot, I was a little pumped up listening to Mike Reilly call me in.

So what does that mean now that it’s behind me?  What happened? What did I learn? What’s changed?  What’s next?  What can I share with the world?  Is it worth you reading about?  The answers to all of these questions aren’t fully clear yet…especially the last one.  You’ll just have to find out.  But I’m writing out my thoughts to see where it goes.  This is a longer-than-hoped piece that’s taken longer than hoped to get done, so I’ll give you a few crib notes:

• The race was a blast – A month+ later and I’m still running on a bit of a high that I did it, and did it a bit better than hoped. 12:41 overall. 1:15 Swim, 6:31 bike, 4:36 run.
• I can easily envision 30 – 40 minutes off considering small things I would do differently when the day comes to do it again.
• My family and friends are awesome – their support was essential and pulled me through the whole race.
• It was the hardest thing I’ve done in one day; counting the training, it may well be the hardest thing I’ve done in one year, and the most rewarding I can recall.
• I’ve come away with a deep sense of appreciation to the community, volunteers, and my fellow racers; the human experience was so encouraging and uplifting.
• I am super stoked we raised more than double my initial fundraising goal of $2015 (total of $4,075 raised) in support of “For Pete’s Sake” cancer charity.
• The home-made FPS jersey did its job… so many call outs for FPS during the race… and I got to honor both my step-dad, Frank, and father-in-law, Clem who lost their battles with cancer.  Thinking of them and many others like them during the race was hugely motivating.
• I’m actually still feeling the effects of the race on my body and mind to some extent; life is back to normal, but the physical and psychological effects linger. e.g., It’s downright weird to not be doing so much physical activity on a daily basis.
• Yes, I hope to do another one someday – I can’t imagine not doing another one, but no plans yet… any suggestions on which?  Don’t say Kona:)
• I would encourage everyone who cares about growin in life – whether 15 or 50 – to find a challenge for themselves and set a goal of accomplishing it.  You grow and learn when you do hard things.

Race Day Recap

I didn’t know what to expect when I woke up the morning of the 10th.  At 3:30 a.m. I hit my alarm buzzer and bleary-eyed, downed the first bottle of race fuel before trying to go back to sleep.  No luck.  It’s not like I slept at all that night anyway.  The kids were sick, sniffling and coughing, and I was too worked up to rest.  Nevertheless, I was up and out the door with all the junk I had laid out the night before.

As Matt and I were waiting for the shuttle, I was going through my mental checklist… I was about to get on board when I realized I wasn’t 100% sure where my timing chip was.  Brief panic… breathe.  Think.  I thought it might be in his car.  I split with Matt, run back to the room for the key, race to the car and, nope…not there.  Panic again… calm.  Think.  Check the bag.  Thank God…it’s buried in my gear bag the whole time.  Now I’m hucking it up Johnson St. and then State St. to get to the staging areas on foot.  Great.  Not off to a good start.  Wasting time – wasting energy.  Keep cool…just get onto the next task.

I made it to the transition areas, added the crap I needed to my bags, dropped my special aid bags, and had plenty of time to get water bottles on the bike and head down to swim start.  Phew!  Now I wait.  What’s funny about this is that aside of the hiccup and timing chip scare, I was not nervous. Not one bit. I was ready… I was excited.  Never in my life could I say that about my condition before a race event.  I’ve always had pre-game nerves, but this was different.  I could only speculate as to why.

Down at the swim start everyone looked the same… aside of all the black wetsuits, it was just a bunch of calm, composed athletes ready to get this thing moving.  There was the excitement you would expect from the fans and racers cheering for the initial waves, but I had this sense of calm.  “Just chill,” I told myself.  I had this unexplainable peace.  I knew I needed to conserve energy for the rest of the race – I was thinking about the marathon. It was my only unknown.  Calm and cool and steady. That’s how I wanted to do it the whole thing.  That feeling changed the further I got into the swim.

Swim start wasn’t like I imagined.  It was a rolling start by group instead of the famed mass start.  By the time our group was called, we’d seen four waves leave in advance, including the elites.  It felt like hours sitting in the water, trying to keep my GPS signal active on the watch, ready to hit start.  Floating.  Waiting.  2 mins.  1 min.  Go!  My strategy was to stay out of the fray…swim just along the edge of the pack angling into the first turn.  I settled in quickly with a good pace and as we got closer to the first turn, we started to converge.  “Keep calm, swim steady, swim your own race,” I kept telling myself.  “Don’t let the traffic bother you.”

Turns out, I didn’t mind the chaos. The closer I got into the pack hugging the buoys, the more charged up I became, and I found I could keep pace with, or pass most athletes at that point, at least as far as I could tell.  The constant jockeying, banging around, avoiding feet and elbows while trying to keep rhythm required consistent focus and adaptation.  I didn’t anticipate that.  I liked it and felt comfortable in the melee.  I was thriving there.  That was totally unexpected.

About half way in, Garmin said I was ahead of my planned pace… “Should I slow down?  No, keep going.  I’m Ok… I feel good.  Push a bit more!  This is race day, don’t hold back.”  A strong finish put me out of the water with a 1:15 swim time, 3 minutes ahead of my stretch goal of 1:18.  Thank you, Lord.  What a blessing…one stage down, two to go.

That was the end to the beginning of a long day.

Transition 1 was Ok…full change was required, so 10 minutes was on par with expectation.  I settled in on the bike and before I knew it, I was down the helix, through the stick and into loop 1 settling into a good pace.  Some guy holding his saddle under his arm rode past me… “Yeah, that would suck,” I thought.  I heard he ended up finishing and doing pretty well. Wow!  Maybe he duct taped it in place… who knows.  However he did it, if it’s true he finished in the timeframe I heard, that guy is a true Ironman!

There were two parts of the bike that are noteworthy.  The first is Barlow…that big ass hill on the northwest side of the course that everyone was dreading.

After my first practice ride I knew that hill was going to suck my energy.  I reduced the size of my front chain rings a week before the race as a result, but didn’t have a chance to ride it with the new gears. One thing I knew, though, is that I was going to attack this hill with everything I had.  I’m not an expert on endurance racing, but what I’ve learned that has always been helpful for me is: “No matter what, keep moving.”  Your mind is often your biggest enemy.  If you didn’t plan to stop there, just keep your legs moving… one foot in front of the other, or pedal after pedal… whatever the activity may be, just keep forward momentum, and keep focused.

When I reached that hill on race day it was as if I became another person… as the incline increased, my adrenaline and energy surged along with it.  So many people, many capable athletes, had already resigned themselves to the idea they weren’t going to ride up this hill.  They dismounted their bikes and walked.  I know I can’t know what those athletes were going through at the time, and I can’t judge amateur athletes from walking this hill…in fact, I heard some veteran racers recommending to walk it, but that just fueled my drive to push even more.

The self-talk I engaged in while going up Barlow is something I can’t really repeat here.  It was hard. It was dark.  I was channeling David Goggins to the best of my ability.  Steadily, with everything I had, heart pumping out of my chest, I surged up that hill. Whether it hurt me for the rest of the ride or the run, I didn’t care.  That hill would be defeated.  It felt like I was pulling a car behind me, but I trudged on.  The crowd fed my fire with their yells and cheers until somewhere in the middle, when they grew quieter for some reason.  “No friggin way,” I thought.  “You’re not going quiet on us. We need you.  These riders need you!”   I spent the rest of that hill screaming and yelling to rouse the crowd.  Frankly, I felt a little puzzled – isn’t that a little backwards?  But man, what a feeling.  I did my part. Maybe I helped someone pull through.  Maybe I helped reignite someone’s fire. Who knows?

When I look back, I was having the time of my life going up that hill.  I truly felt going up that silly hill on a bike in front of all those strangers that I was doing something significant.  I felt like I was encouraging others. It seems so small, but in that moment, it mattered.  I felt like I was helping someone to defeat that negative attitude and the voices in their heads that say, “You can’t do this. Why did you think you could do this?  Just quit…just walk.”  I enjoyed that a lot.  I was just giving what I had to give… and that always feels better than taking.  I have no doubt we are at our best when we’re giving to others.  In the midst of doing this race, which on the face of it seems selfish and self-centered, the most meaningful times, the most meaningful memories are ones helping others.

Once past Barlow, I had to focus on the long haul.  It was a long ride, and Barlow was just the beginning.  There would be no more dragons to slay along the way…except perhaps the clock and my own mind.  I wasn’t bothered by my pace too much until I started to get to the end of the first loop…around 55 miles.  I knew what was left and I realized a 6:30 bike was still possible – that was my original stretch goal, but I would need to stay on the gas.  I wasn’t sure how hard I could push, but as I sped by my family in Verona, I confirmed for myself, “It’s now or never. There is no tomorrow. Tomorrow could be never… get your ass moving!” 

Going against my race plan of letting off a bit in the last third of the bike, I pushed all the way through the stick, with a near all out sprint into the helix – I was close, but just missed 6:30 – I ended up with 6:31 and that felt great.  I was tired, but thanked the Lord for a strong bike leg without injury or calamity.  I don’t think I was passed by too many people in the last 30 miles… I’m sure all of the fast bikers had gone by…so all of these things added to my excitement and desire to hit the last leg of the day.  Transition 2 went alright… nothing remarkable…I didn’t take the chicken soup.  Onto the run.

The run was the big unknown for me.  There was no way to tell how my body would handle this distance.  My longest training run was only 15.6 miles and conversations with more experienced runners and triathletes always included a response of surprise (even incredulity…possibly superiority or arrogance ) when I would inform them I had never run a marathon before.  Going into the last few weeks of training, I felt really underprepared.  I know that’s normal, but I had no accurate way of telling what that meant in the actual race.  Would I “peter” out?  Would I cramp up?  Would I develop insurmountable pain or injury somewhere along the way?

The run revealed the most human components of this race.  Pain, suffering, jubilance, determination, camaraderie, expectation, perseverance…they were all on display in the run.  Right away on my first pass around the capitol, I was met by an old college friend I had not seen in a very long time.  It was a great and unexpected shot in the arm to see him there and know that he cared enough to come out to meet me and cheer me on.  Thanks James – those bonds never break, do they?

It was the same for my family and friends.  Two of our closest friends from church made the trip up in surprise support… they spent the day with our two families and helped capture some great memories.  My cousin and her husband were there as well.

I got to see them multiple times on the run, and as I pressed on I found myself thinking a lot about them and what it means to have these relationships.  It’s powerful.  Even though somehow I missed them at one point along the route – God only knows how I managed to miss a screaming woman in orange waving a giant pool noodle – I knew they were there and was greatly encouraged when I was able to connect with them.

The power of having friends and family at the race cheering you on can’t be underestimated.  Somewhere around mile eight I ran passed a young lady who was sobbing quietly as she trudged along.  I couldn’t ignore it.  Turns out she could not find her parents who were supposed to be there somewhere to support her.  She was counting on it.  Just having someone pay attention to her and empathize with her and run with her a while calmed her down and helped her refocus.  Before I knew it she was encouraging me to keep going and push on.  I’m so glad I got so speak with her and share in her journey.  I think we helped encourage one another.   Ultimately, I was able to see her link up with her parents.  What a joy!  The incredible power of human relationships was on display, indeed.

I had the sense that there were dozens upon dozens of stories behind all of the racers there.  Everyone had a reason, everyone was going through something, everyone was challenging themselves in some way that was likely completely unknown to those around them.  I only got a brief glimpse of what Alba, the young woman looking for her parents, was going through in that moment of vulnerability.  I was privileged to hear stories from a few others as well, and I’ll cherish those serendipitous moments.  Maybe not serendipitous…I think things happen for a reason.  They were also a big part of breaking the monotony of repetitive steps and sore tendons for such a long day.

Having never run more than 15.6 miles in one shot, I wasn’t sure where I would hit a wall.  After an unfortunately long bathroom break (they really need more Porto-potties!)  I cooled down a lot.  The wall came shortly thereafter around 13.1 – right at the aid station.  I rounded the half-way point where I got to see the real rock stars running in for the finish and I had one more lap to go.   I knew I needed to keep my spirits up.

Ugh. That was a low point.  I believe it was about 100 yards after this image.  I wasn’t sure what to do when I got to the aid station.  I felt like I needed a bit of a breather, but I didn’t know how much of one.  I didn’t know what I wanted to take from my aid bag either… I didn’t feel like quitting, or anything like that, but I was all out of sorts… was just lost.  Kind of in a stupor.  It took me a few minutes before I could gather my wits and I realized if I was going to rest I should really be resting in motion instead of standing here like a dummy, so I made a call on what to take, ditched the other crap (I brought way too much in the aid bag) and trudged forth.  From there on, the run was just less fun.  I don’t do well with multiple loops, and this was the longest of loops, but the scenery and company were great.  It was sort like I was back in college heading to class along lakeshore path.  Many memories flooded my vision and kept me company along the way.  Daydreaming of catching a touchdown pass at Camp Randall didn’t hurt either.

I did my best to stay up-beat.  Each mile stretched on – I remembered every inch of the course that I ran just a couple hours earlier.  It was a mental exercise…a game…to recall exactly what would come next, to remember the people at the aid stations, to see if I could recall what signs were coming up next along the way, and to figure out a way to stay hydrated and fueled with a combination of sugary Gatorade, water, and gummies. God, I was tired of sweet things.  It all served to keep my mind from dwelling on how many miles were left.

I started experimenting with food and hydration at some point after mile 13… it was just intolerable to have to suck down the same volumes of sugary carbs time and time again…aid station after aid station.  Yet, I was afraid of cramping up.  I was afraid of running out of gas.  My legs felt great, but strangely I had experienced some cramping in my left forearm somewhere around mile 16.  The fuel plan for the run was as good as crumpled up and thrown on the floor, and it was all I could do to sip fluids to both balance the risk of sloshy stomach with the risk of dehydration or cramping.  I tried a number of things – grapes, oranges, pretzels, Powerbars, Coca-Cola, and I think cookies at some point.  Every aid station included an array of choices, but I was experiencing this all for the first time and had to figure it out as I went.

The moment the salty pretzels hit my mouth, I knew I had a winner.  It was strange and welcome relief…another unexpected part of this great race.  I had something to counter the sugary Gatorade that I knew I needed to keep me fueled with carbs and electrolytes.  It was purely a taste thing.  The Go-to recipe quickly became a few good sips of Gatorade, followed by a few pretzels, all chased down with a few sips of water.  The Coca-Cola was pretty good as an alternative to Gatorade, but wasn’t a full replacement.  The strategy of stashing little treats like Jelly Bellies and Mint Chocolate Cliff bars went out the window by the half way point… now I know. Lesson learned.

Before I knew it, I was staring down mile 23.  I hadn’t cramped up, I hadn’t broken down (too much), I was going strong.  It all felt good. I think it was at that point that I found myself hitting about 9 minutes per mile.  Way too fast.  The adrenaline was starting.  It was a struggle to calm myself.  “Calm down.  Not yet.  Relax.” I declared.  Letting the emotion and adrenaline flow too early could really hurt me in the finish.  I had no clue how things were supposed to go at this point in the race.  I didn’t want to go too fast too soon. My body was in a condition I had never experienced.

Holding everything back seems to have been a good strategy.  The last couple miles of the course were pretty much up hill.  It was slightly passed dusk… so many things went through my head.  Pacing, energy, finding my family and friends, pushing for the best time… what would I do at the finish line?  I wouldn’t know until it was there.

I didn’t accurately imagine what turning the final corner and crossing the finish line would feel like.  I can’t fully put it in words… amazing, enthralling, triumphant, emblazoned, empowered.  Raw feelings of the human spirit that come from deep down.  A glimpse of what warriors and champions feel when they accomplish something great?  Maybe.  Worth the effort?  Yes.  Worth doing again?  Yes.  It changes you.  You know something about yourself and your existence that you didn’t know before.  You have pushed yourself to a new understanding and knowledge of your capabilities.

Perhaps the coolest part of this whole thing was the fact that I did it even though I had so many doubts along the way.  Most of the time while training I was confident I was going to be Ok, but at points I tried to imagine not finishing.  Especially towards the end, real doubts crept in.  I didn’t want to think this way, but I think it was the responsible thing to do to prepare myself for the eventuality that I would not finish for some reason.  Failure WAS an option.  It was always an option, but knowing that helped me push through.  You can’t control everything.  It helped me plan for contingencies, and prepare my mind for what I would do in the event of failure.  That didn’t happen, thankfully, but all of this was a valuable exercise and incredible life lesson.

At any given moment, in the face of any challenge, we have a series of decisions to make and possible paths we can take.  The right decision, the right path is not always the easy one.  Very often it’s the exact opposite.  Your frame of reference will dictate how you see each challenge, each situation.  How you prepare yourself for such a challenge is entirely in your control.  You control your character, your integrity, how much effort you give, your preparation, your training, how you react to others and your surroundings.  I hope that this experience has changed my frame of reference.  What it means for the next challenge, the next major decision in life, I don’t know, but I’m confident I’m better prepared for it now than I was before.

So go do something hard.  Do something that you’ve never done before. Go on an adventure.  It will make you stronger and better equipped to deal with all the trials and challenges life throws at you.

In closing, I want to give thanks to:

• My God – I can do nothing apart from Him.  Every breath I owe to my creator, my Lord and savior, Jesus Christ.
• My family – they supported me all the way, and didn’t falter through my absence and struggles, especially in the last couple months leading up to the race
• My friend Matt – a great friend, a great training partner, a warrior…an Ironman
• The Ironman Madison crew and volunteers – it was a top-notch event and we were well taken care of… all the volunteers lived up to their amazing reputation
• For Pete’s Sake – It was an honor to support such a great organization
• Marty and the folks at Amphibian Multisport, Libertyville, IL – always willing to give advice to a first-timer and never too busy to talk shop
• The real Iron Men and Women who have battled cancer in my life and my friends’ lives – Frank, Clem, my Mom, Paul, Marianna, Crystal, Orhan, Tony, Ahmad, Mike…and so many more.

Final Preparations

The day draws near.  Before dawn, we’ll be at waater’s edge.  A couple days ago I spent some time listening to the IronCowboy James Lawrence interviewed by Marcus Luttrell and David Rutherford on the Team Never Quit podcast. I love listening to people who have done crazy hard things…James’ completion of the 50/50/50 – 50 ironmans in 50 days in 50 states – is just out of this world to me.  The more I hear and read about James, the more I can identify with at least part of his journey, and am so inspired by what he was able to.  

Yesterday, Matt and I checked in, got our tags and bags, and in the evening attended the athlete banquet.  Throughout the day we met amazing people and heard some incredible stories of struggle, failure, hardship, and triumph.  At the banquet, we sat next to a couple who have been doing ironman races for over 10 years together.  Their first was a in Madison – it was 2006 – the infamous year of cold and rain.  Thank you Jeff and Amy for sharing your story with us.  One of the videos highlighted a man who was severely overweight and found triathlon.  Unfortunately, I don’t recall his name right now.  Ironman changed him… maybe saved him.  I think he’s now completed over a half dozen ironman races with weights ranging from 210 to 280… “Anything is possible,” he said in the video.  Turns out he was literally right behind us and we had a chance to shake his hand.

Also in the audience was Andrew Starykowicz.  He found his passion in triathlon after college and quickly rose to prominence because of his awesome bike performance.  Unfortunately, he was involved in a tragic accident where he was hit and dragged by a truck while out on a short training ride just last year.  Amazingly, he bounced back from that event pushing through enough training to win the Steelhead 70.3 this year.  His leg was destroyed and I think he had a broken back, but he didn’t quit. He didn’t give up.

One of the most incredible individuals called out at the banquet was a man named Tom.  He is 80 and the oldest racer at Madison this year.  Tom has done 12 ironmans.  He looks and sounds like he is 55.  When asked how many times he’s done Madison, he said, “Only twice.”  Mike Riley pressed…”Why only twice?”  “Well, I’ve tried to do more,” he replied, “but things kept happening.  One year I broke my femur, another year I was battling cancer, another year some something else… ”  It is amazing to see someone who, like everyone else in life, has battled through potentially debilitating adversity, but came through it.  Many don’t.  He’s a warrior. 

Last night helped me put things in perspective, and charged me with the energy of thousands of athletes, all doing this race for reasons of their own I will never know.  Everyone here has a story and everyone here made some choice to do this race – to swim in 63 degree water, to ride 112 miles with over 4000 vertical feet of climbing, and run 26.2 miles instead of being a victim of whatever is trying to push them down.  That’s empowering. 

It’s a mixed bag of emotions… I’m just trying to take it all in and process all that’s going on this weekend.  To go back to something that James Lawrence talked about, when you are out there alone on long rides, “you take the time to have a long conversation with yourself.”  It’s true.  I’ve had them…maybe none as long as his, but I’m getting there.  

Tomorrow I’m going to get this race done.  Why? Because I told you I would. 

FPS Fundraising Update

I have a quick update on For Pete’s Sake fundraising efforts.  I am so proud to tell you that with your help, we have blown the top off the original funding goal of $2015!  To date, the tally stands at $3,565 – that’s 177% of the goal including a generous $630 match from my company, QuintilesIMS.

To all those who have donated or sent me encouraging letters: you guys are awesome! However, we still have12 days to go until race day and I want to show For Pete’s Sake that just because we met goal, we’re not going to give up… there’s still time to donate!

Please consider a donation even though the original goal has been reached – no amount is too small.

To those of you who have donated, I and my family thank you from the bottom of our hearts.  I am touched by your generosity – touched by the giving of many whom I have not even had the pleasure of meeting yet – touched by those whom I have not seen in a very long time – and of course by the many friends I see so often!

One of my friends told me the other day, “Don’t worry about finishing strong, Mike, you’re going to kick this race in the face.”  Well, I hope I finish well, but I thought that was an interesting way to put it, so what do you say we kick cancer in the face… It’s a great mental picture, isn’t it?  Let the Chuck Norris jokes roll.

I’m Just Trying not to Blow It

English historian Thomas Fuller apparently coined the phrase: “The night is darkest before the dawn.”  There is a reason this statement has stood the test of time.  I’ve come to experience this as a reality of my ironman journey.  The end is in sight, but it’s wearing on me – big time.  It eats and gnaws at every aspect of my life – family, work, friends, you name it.  It is taking much more effort to get out of bed to train. My body hurts.  My mind wanders.  It’s not good.

What do you do when the dark one whispers sweet nothings of failure in your ear?  “You can’t do this; you aren’t good enough.” Or, “You’re not going to be ready; you’re going to let everyone down.”  Or, “You’ve failed on so many other things, what makes you think you could do something so hard?”  It eats away at your resolve, and makes every attempt to scuttle whatever motivation of to continued pursuit you’ve managed to muster the night before.

There are a few things that have helped me during this period – and one or two things that I think will help me get through the race.  Hopefully they’ll be useful to others:

1. Seek advice from those who have gone before you – If you can find others in the community of racers – even on social media, or in your local Triathlon store, or wherever – talk to them.  Ask them how they dealt with similar things and scour the internet for stories of advice through experience.  Youtube is your friend.

2. Lean on the support of friends and family – Your family and close friends are going to support you through this.  At least they should.  Open up to them about what you’re experiencing.  This race is called Ironman, but in reality, sometimes you feel like Jelloman and need the encouragement of those around you to lift you up and help you through.  Just the other day, I was struggling.  On a jog with my wife, I share my feelings with her – my doubts, my fears, and my anxiety –  and the end result is that instead of making me feel ashamed or calling me weak, she encouraged me and supported me.  I would hope and pray that you can find at least one person around you who will support you and lift you up.

3. Find a training partner – Unlike the support of friends and family, a training partner will push you and help keep you accountable to your training and end goals.  I don’t know what I would do if I had to do all of my training solo.  Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy solo runs and rides, and maybe less so on the swims, but it has been an absolute influence to have someone there going through the same thing. You can see each other’s progress, and if you’re really lucky, you’re in the same ballpark on performance so you can do tandem training.  Not only do you get someone lighting a bit of a fire under your butt, you also build deeper relationships.

4. Change your routine – Riding or running the same routes, swimming the same pool or lake, and even always doing those things with the same people for such a long time (8-10 months) can just become rote.  Mix it up – find new routes, explore new places, or find a new group to go out on a run with.  Without fail, I find I can keep inter-activity motivation AND intra-activity motivation much higher with a diverse training regimen. Give your brain new stimuli and you’ll make it through training sessions better.

5. Break the remaining time into manageable chunks – You’re close to the end, so don’t lose sight of the prize. However, the final stage to get there is crazy to think about.  When you think about the race in totality, a Marathon AFTER a 112 mile ride, AFTER a 2.4 mile swim in traffic… that’s a big deal. It seems undoable sometimes.  However, thinking about it step by step, piece by piece – that makes it more manageable in my mind.   The concept applies to any problem – in this case, both the final weeks of training and the actual race.  I’m pretty sure I’ll get through the bike without too much trouble, but I know I am not going to want to run no matter how smart I am about conserving my energy during the ride.  The only way I can fathom getting through the final 26.2 is to break it into “doable” 3 to 6 mile increments.  That leads me to the next item…

6. Develop a system of rewards – Coincident with #4 above, at each stage, I’m going to promise myself something.  This idea is complements of my friend Matt C.  I’m going to allow myself a reward after each segment; it could be a special treat in the aid bag that I can look forward to when I get there, or maybe allowing myself a post-race indulgence on a particular split.  Whatever it is, I want to stack the deck in my favor in anticipation of that last challenge where I know that I’ll be in a dark pit – that darkness before the dawn.  Hopefully at that point, the combination of small rewards and gazillions of cheering spectators will lift me through to the end.

7. Rediscover the reason(s) you’re racing – Inevitably, along the way I think we all wander a bit from the reasons we had when we decided to sign up.  It’s easy to get into the rhythm of training, easy to let the schedule take over and drown out the joy or passion that drove you in the beginning.  We just lose sight a little bit.  So, spend a bit of time – either during a training run or in the shower or wherever you have time to think – think about why you’re racing.  Recommit.  For me, it’s two things: 1. I wanted to do something incredibly hard as I hit 40, and 2. I wanted to do something good for others.  See my earlier bog posts on Why and the cancer charity I’m supporting called For Pete’s Sake.

I know this isn’t an exhaustive list, and it’s probably not the best list, but these are the things that came off the top of my head through my own experience at this point.  I really look forward to adding more to this list over time, as well as hearing from others on their experiences and suggestions.

At this point, I’m just so thankful for those who have come before me who have chosen to share their understanding with anyone who is looking for help.  Thank you.  Thank you to Marty and Kristin for spending time chatting at Amphibian Multisport.  Thank you to all the racers posting their experience on Facebook and blogs.  Thank you to my awesome family who already thinks of me as an Ironman even though I remind them not to (not yet).  Thank you to all my friends who have donated to For Pete’s Sake charity.  Thank you to my training partner, Matt, and friend Kelly from Kenosha – also running in Madison – who have helped keep me accountable.  Thank you to my colleagues and friends at QuintilesIMS for matching donations to FPS, and my good friend Steve who is also a pastor at Light of Christ in Kenosha for helping me keep everything in perspective.  All of these things have been absolutely necessary in my journey so far, and I hope that these words can help even one more person to get through their own personal challenge, whether that’s Ironman or something else.

As my friend Steve and I were discussing on one afternoon ride this summer, sometimes we’re feeling like we’re hanging on by a thread in life… that we’re “Just trying not to blow it.”  The truth is that the only way we really blow it is if we don’t try, and don’t learn along the way.

With Matt C (right) at the midpoint of our first 113 mi ride in WI.

How I Became a “Runner”

No one ever accused me of being a distance runner.  When I was young, I considered running 3 miles a mild form of torture.  I looked upon the lanky cross-country runners with 2 parts curiosity and 1 part disdain.  I didn’t think running that long was normal.

As time went on, I had less and less time to stay in shape, and running relatively short distances became a way for me to burn off some excess calories.  For some reason I don’t recall, I was wanting to work more distance into my runs and was looking for ways to extend my runs without killing my knees.  High school sports had given me some issues.  This was around 2010, a year after Chris McDougall wrote “Born to Run“… and the barefoot running style was making headlines,  so I thought I would look into it further.

Image Source: http://www.voxy.co.nz/lifestyle/why-barefoot-runners-have-edge-shoe-wearing-rivals/1783/48973

It sounded right and logical.  I saw the pictures comparing the modern “Shoe foot” to Aboriginal feet (see picture at right) and I was convinced enough to try.  Also, if you check out baby’s and kid’s feet and you’ll see a similar shape.

Gradually, and with care, I was inching up my distance and working my way through transition from traditional running when I tore my ACL wake boarding over the 4th of July in 2011.  That was a real wake-up call.  I found out that mobility and all around fitness takes more than some jogging and lifting, but that’s another story.  I had surgery in August – went with a cadaver tendon – I swore I was going to recover stronger than I went in, and this began a journey of pushing my running limits.

With good PT, proper strength training, and stretching, I began 2012 with the goal of running further than I have ever run.  After seeing some friends go through a Warrior Dash, the Tough Mudder became the event to chase that year at the prompting of Matt Cowell, but I had no idea how I would get through 12 miles on uneven terrain.

I had read that transition was important; you couldn’t just jump into barefoot style running.  The risk of injury was high if you went too aggressively because none of the muscles and tendons are typically developed enough in the beginning.  Wearing traditional shoes all of one’s life allows significant apathy of all sorts of lower leg anatomy, so easing in, choosing the right footwear and terrain, and listening to your body are all very important.   When I started to push the limit, I was hearing from my body – a bit of posterior tibial tendonitis and I would back off; a bit of achilles tenderness and I would back off.  I would alternate between shoe styles – ranging from 8mm drop to 4mm drop to zero drop, but all with a large toe box.  I feel the large toe box was key for me.  I always tried to squish my wide foot into shoes that were standard width or even just plain too small because it was the style I wanted.  Shortened my stride, gave up the pace goals in the beginning, and just relearned to run.  The grass path behind my house was a big help here, and youtube videos on foot exercises were also valuable.

Some people say transition should take up to 6 months or so, but I think realistically, I spent the better part of two years transitioning fully.  I ran the Tough Mudder in 2012 with great personal success.  No injuries, no pain.  I was ecstatic… I couldn’t believe it.  It was a pivotal moment that I realized I could actually run at distance successfully and not kill myself, and I was hooked on cross-country and obstacle racing after that.

Several Spartan races, Battle Frogs, and local mud runs later, I now find myself looking at 10 to 15 mile runs as good distances that I know I can do with the right preparation, pacing, and mindset.  Barefoot style running made that possible.  Now I’m staring down a marathon distance on top of a big swim and bike in the Ironman, and I’m going to rely on my new run style and some motivation from inspirational folks to help me get it done.  This isn’t just about a change in running style, it’s a whole change in mindset for me.

I don’t actually run barefoot very often now, but all of my running shoes are barefoot style shoes with only one legacy exception.  I do still have my Saucony’s that I use when I feel my lower legs need a break, and they work for shorter runs.  But after I get about 6 miles in those shoes, I can feel the restriction in the toe box.  My latest shoes – the ones I’ll be using for the run portion of Ironman – are the Escalantes by Altra.  Most comfortable running shoe I’ve ever put on.  I’ll post more feedback on this shoe on my Gear page soon.

As part of this journey, I have also noticed that my feet and lower legs have physically changed.  My feet are “bigger” than they used to be.  I am now consistently in 12.5 to 13 size (US) and I need wider every-day shoes.  I used to wear 11.5 to 12.  I also notice that my primary metatarsal and my big toes are now lining up more (almost completely in line) compared to when I started.  My toes spread out much more and I pronate less than before.  Everything in my lower legs are stronger, and I have much better resistance to ankle roll, though I think that is as much a result of running on uneven surfaces (grass, trail) as it is the barefoot style.  But the most significant change is that I can truly say I actually enjoy running!

This transition has given my body new life and I think it is really my only shot at sustaining an already somewhat broken body into old age in an active way.  Some people are truly born to run – they have the genetics, like Dean Karnazes – perfect alignment, great cardiovascular system, etc.  That is not me.  I have to work hard to keep active and mobile, so I want to know any technique that can help me stay on this mobile lifestyle for years to come.  Natural or “barefoot” running has been one of the most important pieces to that puzzle for me.  It may not be for everyone, and there are always risks along with the rewards, but I would encourage anyone who enjoys running or wants to start running, to check it out.  It may be your ticket to the joy of running.

Happy trails!

For some additional references on Barefoot or Natural style running, see below:

• Altra Running Shoes
  
• Natural Running Center
• Barefoot Runners Society
• Barefoot Running Wikipedia
• Voxy – Barefoot Running Edge
• WebMD – Barefoot Running Health Benefits

PS – I’m still working on raising funds for a great charity called “For Pete’s Sake” – please consider any donation now matter how small.  See this post. For QuintilesIMS employees, your contributions are doubled through a match up to the goal amount.  We’re almost there – every bit counts! 

A Challenge to Support the Cancer Fighters

In my initial post, I promised to highlight a charity that I believe deserves your attention.  Today marks the two month point until the race, and I’m inviting you to join me in the battle against cancer by supporting this worthy cause.

Most people I know have been affected by this horrible disease in one way or another.  Family members, friends, loved ones…or they’ve gone mono a mono themselves.  Some victorious; all warriors.

Despite immense progress in the development of innovative new therapies, treatment regimens, and an ever growing list of risky things to stay away from, sometimes it seems like things are going the wrong direction.   My professional life is tied to the medical field, so I catch new advancements often, but when I see articles like this one in the Telegraph, I admit it is a bit disheartening.

• There are more than 200 types and sub-types of cancer
• For men, the lifetime chance of developing some form of cancer is around 1 in 2
• For women, that rate is 1 in 3
• Mortality rates for most common cancers have been declining since the 90’s; progress is being made
• Mortality rates for some rarer forms of cancer have increased
• In children, incidence rates are on the rise, while mortality rates are decreasing

The advances we’ve made are incredible, and I believe within the next 20 or maybe 30 years, we will have a cure for most of the cancers we now confront, but there is another side to the battle that is often overlooked.

When you’re fighting for your life, it takes every ounce of emotion, energy, effort, focus, and usually money.  For some, that is unrelenting and they may never get another chance to take a break, to get away, to enjoy precious rejuvenating moments with family.  That’s where “For Pete’s Sake Cancer Respite Foundation” comes in.

Most cancer charities and fundraising efforts focus on funding cancer research, which is absolutely imperative, but For Pete’s Sake takes a different approach.  They help families to get a break and take their minds off of the day to day struggle… to take time to celebrate their lives and loved ones… to affirm and confirm that cancer is not what defines them.  It might mean sending the family to Disney World, or some other destination, but the goal is always to help strengthen their spirits to carry on the fight.  They’re a small charity based in Pennsylvania and can use our help.

I have personally seen the benefits of taking such a break in my own family’s experience, and have seen first-hand how the moments and experiences provided by For Pete’s Sake have benefited those in the midst of the battle.  A friend and colleague, Kathleen Kulp, is one of them – she’s a survivor!  I urge you to read her short testimony and join me in supporting FPS.

My goal is to raise $2015 by race day, September 10, in honor of my father-in-law, Clem.  He lost his battle in 2015; he was far too young.  That’s just around the corner, so I need your help!

I know I have a wonderfully generous network of friends, family, and colleagues that can help make this small goal a reality.  Your generous gifts will mean the world to a family who needs a break from cancer; it will mean the world to me that we could help make someone’s life a little better together.

You’re Gonna do What?!

I don’t think I ever imagined doing a race like the Ironman.  The question I get asked most is, “Why?”  I’ll do my best to summarize.

When I was younger I wasn’t about this kind of sport.  I’m not even sure if I had heard of it by the time I went to engineering school in Madison, WI.  Interestingly, we were both born in the same year apparently (Ironman Origins).  My path here is probably more typical than I care to acknowledge – or at least I’m not going to assume it’s unique – but it was winding and indirect.

Growing up in a small Midwestern town, I had access to typical school sports – Football, Baseball, Basketball, Wrestling, Track – I dabbled in all of them.  I did Ok in most of them.  And I liked some a lot more than others.  But as I got into High School and then University, I found that my heart tugged more toward non-conventional activities like Downhill Skiing, Mountain Biking, Water Skiing, Climbing, Hiking, etc. etc. – if it was outdoors, I probably wanted to do it.   So what resulted was an experience that spanned across structured team sports and unstructured outdoor “adventure” sports with a progression to the latter.

All of these sports, with a few exceptions, showed me that I was at least somewhat “athletic,” if there is such a thing.  What I put my mind to, I could generally do.  But my work ethic, or to be more specific, my “training ethic,” wasn’t great.    I would bail when it came to going the extra mile.  Start training early at the end of summer for two-a-day football practices come Fall?  “Meh, I’ll jog a bit.”  Hit the weights in the morning before class when there’s a tough practice that night?  “Meh, I don’t think I need it, coach.” My performance in these sports showed me that I didn’t really have to work super hard to be pretty good on the field.  I probably felt like I was working really hard…I was taught to work hard and knew I needed a strong work ethic, but was I really? Looking back, I wish I had tried harder.  I wish I had worked harder.   The results would have been different.

I now reflect on that early developmental time in my life as a mixed bag.  Of course, I took away so many great experiences and lessons from my team mates, coaches, and all the mistakes and successes, but in some ways, my attitude toward achieving in sports in general was actually a disservice to my development as an adult in the real world.   It spilled over to the rest of my life.  Mediocre training, but pretty good performance – and I was sort of Ok with it.  Not “sort of” – I WAS Ok with it.  That carried through college and into my career.  Do enough to do pretty good.  Do enough to end up somewhere in the front-ish of the pack.  Do just so much as is needed to be “good enough,” whatever that meant.  Yes, I won a few things and did some things I am still really proud of, but I’m giving you the honest truth.  I’m giving you my emotion and how I feel about it in hindsight.  The results showed.  And when I look back, those times I did rise to the top only came through really hard work or what seems like dumb luck (a whole other topic).  It just makes me wonder what I could have done.  What if I had cared enough to go the extra mile?  What if I had cared enough to really prioritize my precious time in a better way?

At this point in my life I find myself saying, “I don’t want to wonder what I could have done” anymore.  I want to do it.  I want to push for it.  I’ve learned that the only way you grow is through resistance.  I’m now learning at mid-life what the Harris boys learned by 19.  Doing hard things makes you better and it makes those around you better.

Did you know if you grow tomato plants from seed indoors and then try to put the seedlings outside abruptly, they will likely die?  They’re not “weathered” and can’t take the harsh new environment with wind, wild temperature swings, and hard rain.  They have to be exposed repeatedly to the elements a little at a time so they can withstand the outdoors.

When a blacksmith makes a blade from raw material, it must go through a brutal process to before it will hold an edge and be durable enough for use.  The iron must be turned to steel, and then be pounded and folded over and over before finally being quenched.  This reorients the structure of the steel in just the right way so the edge is hard, but with a backbone that has a bit of flexibility so it is not too brittle.  It takes special care and is an involved process.  The old biblical saying that Iron Sharpens Iron is true, and a lesson that I wish I had taken to heart earlier in life.

As I get older, I want to do harder things.  It’s time to refocus.  It’s time to think more strategically about who I am and what I want to do in this next season of life.  I turn 40 this year and for some reason that is significant to me.  Time is precious.  You can never get it back, so we have to make the most of what we have.  And yet there are many competing priorities including family, health, faith, work, fun and the list goes on.

So why do I say I want to do hard things?  Because life is hard and I want to do life better. Because when you do hard things and accomplish them, they aren’t quite as hard the next time.  Or that next thing, that next mountain, or valley, or barrier that would normally seem literally impossible, doesn’t seem so anymore.  So many times in my life I have taken the attitude of “Na. That’s too hard.”  Or “I can stop now, I’ve done enough.” Or (my wife loves this one), “I’ll do it tomorrow… don’t worry, it will get finished.”  Yeah, it probably will get finished…but when?

I want to do this race because it’s hard.  I want to do this because I know it will shape me and sharpen me.  It will help me change long-held attitudes, and break poor habits.  I want to do it because I will form new and stronger relationships with friends.  It will help me be closer to God, myself, and my family in the long run.  At least I expect it to.  I want to do this to show others that they can get up and take the hard path, do the thing they thought was too tough, even if it is just to get off the couch or get out of bed in the morning.  My friends, you can be better than your excuses.  You can do better than that. You owe yourself better than that.  Yes, it is hard, but I know it is not impossible.

The race is Sept 10 in Madison, WI.  I’ll be making some progress updates from time to time and will also be raising money for a cancer related charity (next post) that’s close to heart and worth some attention.  If you’re interested, you can follow me on this blog or find me on Strava.

Anything is possible.