Oops, I did it again

I swam too fast. Did that last semester and the coach dialed up my intervals. Despite having taken several weeks sort of off, I was faster in Saturday's team time trials than I was in October.

That includes a 2:23 200 freestyle, 2:37 in the 200 IM, 1:03 for the 100 freestyle, and a 27.1 for the 50 freestyle. If you're not familiar with swimming speed, don't worry. I'm not in the same area code as the Olympians, nor am I as fast as I was in high school. I determined I'd have to give up everything else to be that fast again, and that doesn't appeal to me right now. But both coaches said I'll be doing harder workouts from here on out, for better or worse.

It's fun being a competitive swimmer again.

Start the madness

You'll notice the schedule for 2010 has been posted. That's to signal that I start training officially tomorrow. The training program of my own design starts with a swim-heavy period to accommodate the masters swimming group; including Saturday's time trials I'm doing three meets this winter before the Razor City Splash and Dash in Gillette. That includes the Colorado State Masters Championships, where I plan on doing the 200-yard butterfly, the 400 individual medley, and the 1650 freestyle to earn a cool t-shirt. No one said I wasn't motivated, right?

Oh yeah, there's a t-shirt at stake for August's Rattlesnake Triathlon, the "Crazy Back-to-Back Challenge." I've done an Olympic-distance and a sprint in consecutive weeks, but consecutive days is something new. Probably no different than consecutive big training days. We'll see.

There are three half-Ironmans on the docket, the better to gain some speed and strength before going long again next year. The Boise race might prove to be my undoing if the winter persists beyond April, but I'm hoping to have a good swim and ride there, since those two disciplines are least affected by the weather. Believe it or not, it's easy to get on the trainer when my world remains covered in snow, and since I train in the pool anyway I'll be ready for the first half of the race. The second half is mostly to check off the state of Montana, and what better race than a two-year-old half-Ironman with less than 50 entrants? I did Harvest Moon in 2003 and it remains my fastest half-Ironman overall, and though the course has changed since that's one PR I want to wipe off the record books.

Now, you'll notice I'm doing the Portland Marathon four weeks after the Harvest Moon Triathlon. That will be an interesting balancing trick, to mix training for a fast half-Ironman with training for a decent enough marathon. I said I wanted to go for a PR for the half-Ironman distance but I never said at which race I would attempt it. It might be at the Headwaters triathlon, which will be followed by six weeks of run-heavy tri training before four weeks of really heavy run training. The plan is to do a 15-16-mile run up in the mountains every week starting in May, then an 18-miler the week before Harvest Moon, then a 20-miler the week after, followed by a three-week taper. I'll need to rely on muscle memory from previous marathons, as this won't be an ideal training cycle.

Then again, if I PR in Portland, and manage to push myself in the process, I'll throw everything I know about running out the window and train the same way again for the next marathon. And if I end up sustaining debilitating injuries, well, I heard about an opening in the International Couch Potato Union.

Square One, Part 3,620

One of these days I'll learn I can't take months off at my age. Until then, I'll be content to:

• Crap out on the bike after an hour or so, though doing climbing drills and yanking my rear axle out of the trainer doesn't help matters.

• Barely get three miles done on the treadmill at 8:34 per mile, when a year ago I was knocking down 3 miles at 7:27 pace. Granted, last year I had a bit of a head start with marathon training but it's still tough to know how far behind my pace I am.

• Destroy my elbow ligaments in a 1,900-yard swim workout. Serves me right for really neglecting my swimming during a six-week holiday hiatus. I returned to the masters team tonight and it kicked my ass. I'm supposed to ride the bike again tomorrow but I feel like I need to get two swims in this week no matter what. And if I swim I won't get home until nearly 8 and I damn sure won't feel like waiting another hour for dinner to be ready. Decisions, decisions.

The next decision I make will be writing a training plan that involves no time off after my "A" races in the fall. This crap is ridiculous.

2009 in 30 words

Thanks for the idea, Tiffany!

New job, new life.
Another marathon, another Ironman, both slow.
Wrote a lot.
One wedding, one marriage; there's a difference.
Went to Phoenix, went to Atlanta.
Next year looks promising.

Cold-weather Wuss

Something happened between high school and now. Back then, I headed outside with the track team in the worst of upper midwest winters. We'd have sideways snow and bitter cold, so we layered up with t-shirts, sweatshirts, tights, sweatpants, hats, gloves, whatever else we could find in the mud rooms of our nondescript split-level homes. It was actually kind of fun, and we felt like we were doing something no one else was, notwithstanding our competition being in the same state. So perhaps I overstate a bit.

Now? I wake up hearing my screens shaking in the wind and say, hell no. I look outside at my world awash in a fresh coating of white and figure I'll just hit the treadmill after work. Oh yeah, there's the fact that the sun doesn't rise until 7:15 or 7:20 a.m., which precludes running in the morning, and it sets before 5 p.m., which rules out running after work, to say nothing of the brutal winds coming off the mountains wets of town. The streets barely get plowed and never get salted (Salt doesn't work at high altitude or when the temperature is less than 20 degrees, which it was for much of the past two weeks), so I don't want to take my chances at hitting a patch of ice and hurting myself.

None of this was ever a concern when I was at Apollo High School in St. Cloud, Minn. Of course, I had a coach telling me to get out and run or don't be on the team, and I had teammates telling me to stop being such a wuss. No wonder I'm so anti-coach now.

Some might say I'm just looking for excuses to not work out, but I have been getting in my training, just inside. Tonight I rode my bike for 1:16 on the trainer in front of the 2006 Ironman World Championship, and tomorrow I'm running in the gym for 50 minutes in preparation for 10 days of running outside in decent weather. Then again, the "scenery" in the gym is not to be underestimated, nor is running in shorts and a short-sleeved shirt in the middle of winter.

Onward I go, dodging the high-plains cold for the antiseptic indoors, still raising the heart rate and sweating out the demons of a heavier diet and the burgeoning spare tire around my middle.

OT: The Slap Shot Drinking Game

Periodically, I'll transfer some stuff from my MySpace blog, since I don't post there anymore and I want my stuff in one spot. Given that it's hockey season and I've only seen my Wild once, this seemed appropriate. And I didn't want to post it on my Facebook because of the impressionable young'uns (aka my niece and nephew) who have access to my page. Here you go.

A nod to Maxim Magazine...

Odds are, most of us have seen Slap Shot a million times already. And, odds are, we've been drunk at least 451,056 of those times. Regardless, Maxim Online has decided to make your next trip down to Charleston a little more sporting. Slap Shot is the quintessential guy movie, and anyone who hasn't uttered at least one of the endlessly quotable lines from it can no longer call himself a man. So lace 'em up, tape 'em up, put on the foil — we now pay homage to a true classic.

The Rules
We've been over this before. Get alcohol, get friends, get comfy. Break out your well-worn VHS copy, break in your new DVD copy, or find out when it's going to make its inevitable run on TV. Game on!

Take one drink when...
• Denis Lemieux slashes or jabs Jim Carr.
• Each time Hyannisport scores in the first game.
• Nick pees himself.
• Anyone else admits to being shit-faced.
• Joe McGrath offers to sell the bus.
• Anyone uses the word "pussy."
• Each time Joe simulates masturbation.
• Denis uses the wrong English word or phrase.
• Mo Wanchuk describes a sexual experience he once had. (Take an extra drink if the person he's talking to remarks how disgusted they are, or that they're skeptical)
• The song is played. You know, THAT song: "And it's all right/And it's comin' home/We got to get right back/To where we're comin' from/Love is good/Love can be strong..."
• Anyone in a given scene is wearing some puke-inducing article of clothing (A hideous shirt, embarrassing pants, god-awful medallions, etc.).
• Anyone's playing cards.
• Any of your friends remarks that Suzanne Hanrahan's nipples point at odd angles.
• The Hansons seriously abuse someone on the ice.

Take two drinks when...
• The Hansons seriously abuse someone off the ice.
• The fan yells "Frog pussy!" (Take an extra drink if you're watching the TV edit, where she yells "Frog phony!" — Dave)
• Johnny Upton actually flashes the crowd during the fashion show (listen for the screams).
• Lily Braden gets air with the van (the second hill).
• Dickie Dunn says, "I was trying to capture the spirit of the thing."
• Anyone uses the word "dyke."
• Ned Braden asks if the Hansons are brothers.
• The Hansons put on the foil.
• Johnny says, "Fuckin' Chrysler plant, here I come!"
• Reggie Dunlop gets laid.
• Dave "Killer" Carlson mentions Swami Baha (or meditates).
• Anyone uses the word "snatch."
• Jim Carr loses his hairpiece.

Do a shot when...
• The Chiefs score against Hyannisport ("That's what yer paid for, Braden! Now try winning a game for a change!").
• Jeff Hanson gets his quarter back from the pop machine (Yeah, I called it "pop." What? — Dave).
• The first time someone mentions Ogie Ogelthorpe ("Worst goon in hockey today.").
• The first time someone gets bloody in a fight.
• The organ player gets beaned by a slap shot.
• They show the twins (From the booster club).
• The Chiefs win the championship.

Realizes there are some things she'll never understand when...
• Your significant other asks "How can you watch this again?"

Uncoachable

Think about lame coachspeak. What does every coach say about his or her best athletes?

They're "coachable." Doesn't matter what sport it is, every coach says the best athletes are coachable.

And if you can read between the lines, you know what that means.

"He/she's a good little trouper who does whatever I say to do without question or lip, unlike that asshole Dave."

In other words, that's not me. Any of my coaches will tell you that. I wasn't a total nonconformist about it, but I needed a compelling reason to do 20x100 @ 1:30 besides "I said so." Suffice to say, nothing's changed.

The other day in the pool, Karl was putting us through a sprint workout. Naturally, I stroked easily through it, making sure to kick or increase my turnover on the alternating repeats. Karl still told me he wanted me to sprint and go all-out during the main set. Thought: "Go fuck yourself. When in a 1.2- or 2.4-mile swim, other than the first quarter-mile when I'm fresh, will I need to go all-out?"

I don't remember what the set was, but it ended with a sprint 100 meters. The first time through I did it in 1:28 with a finishing heart rate of 192. The second time through I did it in 1:24 with a finishing heart rate of 180. He then said he wants me doing entire workouts at 1:25-1:30 per 100 meters, and all that stirred in my head was middle-aged rebellion.

On another blog I follow, the writer said, "I didn't want to do a 100-mile ride the day after the race, but what (coach) has me doing is working so I don't even question it." Seriously? I wonder if there is a threshold for that person, a point where he/she says, "Forget it! You're going to tire me out unnecessarily/injure me!"

And don't think that anyone can break me. The other day, ROTC was recruiting in the student union, and I thought about what I told military recruiters between my freshmen and sophomore years of college when I met with them. I really have issues with blind obedience, and not even the promise of "being a part of something bigger than [my]self" will quell that streak. No one can break me, not a drill instructor, not a teacher, and certainly not a coach... regardless of how old I am/was. The harder they push, the harder I push back (employers, take note).

So I reached the conclusion that I don't need a coach. When it comes to figuring out what kind of workouts I need to do, I've got it more or less under control. Instead, I need a nutritionist and a psychologist, someone to clear the crap out of my refirgerator and determine hourly caloric intake, and someone to teach me how to nut up when my IT bands tie themselves in knots and I feel like I could go to sleep on the curb.