Not as long in coming

Oddly, days after I updated you on my swim season and marital status, I did my first triathlon of the season, the Razor City Splash and Dash. Nervously, I watched the weather forecast throughout the week for lovely Gillette, Wyoming, about four-and-a-half hours north and east of here. A guy on the Facebook triathlon group said it snowed for last year's race, and it did snow in the days preceding. By the time I showed up at the Campbell County Aquatic Center it was in the 30s and sunny, and the only snow was in the shadows of the trees.

At any rate, I ended up wearing more clothes for this race than I ever have. We swam in the nice, warm aquatic center, where I covered two Wyoming girls' state swim meets a few years back. It was cool to swim in this pool where I'd seen one of the most exciting sporting events of my 12 years in newspapers. For some reason, the pool was like bath water, not at all conducive to swimming competitively, only recreationally. Yuck.

The pool is Olympic-sized, 50 meters by 25 yards. Though the high school short-course (25-yard) season ended a while back, the pool still was configured for 21 25-yard lanes; the summer club season uses "long course," or the 50-meter configuration. If they'd taken the bulkhead out (a narrow plank, about 18 inches wide and 4 feet deep, separates the eight main competition lanes from the rest of the pool), they'd have had another one. So there was plenty of room for all 70 of us. I swam circles in a lane with two other guys, and they were kind enough to let me go first after watching me turn a couple of warmup laps. I must look intimidating.

The race started after about a 20-minute meeting, during which I heard the following: "There's no snow, so we lucked out on that." Now, the swim was 900 yards, which is as close to a half-mile (880 yards) as you can get in a 25-yard pool. Each competitor was responsible for counting his own laps, all 36 of them, or 18 (down and back equals one) if you prefer, which I do, because it's a lower number. Didn't stop me from miscounting. I do it in my workouts, too, and I end up looking at the clock to try and figure out where I am in a long swim. Saturday was no exception, as I hit the wall at an unacceptably fast time for what I thought was 18 laps. I said out loud, "That can't be right," and did another 50 yards. The time was far more realistic.

In the prerace meeting, the race director recommended putting some clothes on before running outside into the 30-degree chill, wet and semi-naked. So I put on tights and an UnderArmour mock turtleneck while frantically drying myself. To put it in perspective, I spent 3.5 percent of my total time of the race in the first transition, trying to put dry clothes on a damp body, before running outside.

At my bike I added socks, gloves, a skullcap, my helmet, shades, and shoes to the ensemble. I mounted up and headed out for my first ride on my new bike. The 15-mile course was an out-and-back into the countryside north of Gillette, not as far as Montana but I felt like I could see it from there; the Montana-Wyoming border is 51 miles north of Gillette. Now, I knew a bunch of people passed me in transition, but I figured I could get them back when it came down to actually competing. The goal was to not let anyone pass me on the ride, though that didn't get to the turnaround, as one guy passed me. Still, the ride went well save for a balky derailleur that will be dealt with before the next race. It was a rare course that took us downhill on the way out and uphill on the way back, as Gillette sits on a plateau. That's fine with me, as I can spin up hills and still have something left for the run.

Which I did, to a point. I ditched the bike and my tights in transition, as the tights would have cooked me on the run. I set my sights on the lead chick and the guy who passed me on the bike, but I got passed one more time on the run. Those three people were in front of me, in view, the entire 5-kilometer run, but I couldn't muster the jump necessary to catch them. So I pushed as best I could, didn't get passed again beyond the first mile, and even had a small kick at the end.

Lo and behold, I won my age group and finished fifth overall. My time was six minutes behind the overall winner, and the three people I mentioned were within a minute of me, so I could have gotten second overall if I had a little more speed. Alas, that's why I do sprints, to enter a different kind of pain and see what kind of speed I have. Furthermore, my placing was the result of a weak field. Had to be. No way I'm at the top of my age group, even in a small state like Wyoming, and I expect to get stomped at the Cheyenne Sprint later this summer.

In the meantime, it's on to the Boise Half-Ironman (I refuse to call it a 70.3 as the World Triathlon Corporation wishes). I'll swim twice a week and skate on the residual fitness from the season, while hitting the bike and run as hard as I can. I neglected them for too long during swimming (a 22:42 5K is good enough to win my age group, ugh), and I'll have to address those issues before heading up to Idaho.

Long time coming

When last you left your protagonist, he was bitching about a coach yelling at him, and bitching about the weather. Not surprisingly, things haven't changed much in more than two months.

Let's see, since the Loveland Sweetheart Invitational, I took a trip to Portland to see a special lady-friend, who remains very special to me. While there I rode my bike with her three times, got in three really strong runs, and three decent swims (the swims were solo, as getting this chick in the water is like pulling teeth). And we had some fun in the city. So I like the woman, I like the city, and I'm starting to see why there's such turnover in this department. Hmm...

I did learn that I could get faster in the water. Six weeks after the Loveland Sweetheart Invitational, I competed in the Colorado state masters meet, my first time competing in a state meet of any kind. That's because I didn't have to qualify; all I had to do was fill out a form and write a check (my kind of championship). So you see my times below from the Loveland meet. Now compare them with the COMSA state results, bearing in mind that I was shaved and tapered. I was not thrilled to have to skip the 1,650-yard freestyle for a work assignment, but I was thrilled to finish the 400-yard individual medley for the first time. Everything after that was easy, though I got smoked in the age-group standings. A loving, dear friend pointed out the difference between swimming in a triathlon with people who dabble in swimming, and swimming in a masters meet with swimmers who dabble in triathlon. Point taken.

The next task was to address my neglected cycling and running, which has happened all too infrequently since the first of the year. And not much has changed in the four weeks since the state meet. I had another couple weeks of swim practices, but told the coaches I'd be in and out because of my newfound desire to run and bike — at least when the weather allowed it. Seriously, my training plan is at the mercy of the dodgy spring weather here on the high plains, meaning if it's not snowing or unmercifully windy I'm out running or cycling. Bad way to do it, but training here is what it is. And I'm still out of shape.

Last weekend I went to St. George, Utah, to watch the inaugural Ironman St. George. Normally, it's mid-80s and windy there this time of year but race day was cold (mid-60s) and calm. My kind of day! Meagen competed and finished with no problems, despite her prophecies of doom and gloom and truncated training process. Long story short, the course is an absolute bear, which guarantees the Ironman masses will stay away and the marketers who run the WTC won't renew past the initial five years. Nonetheless, I was proud of her and her Phoenix crew for getting it done. Tough day all around.

The day after I attended my second awards luncheon/dinner (the first was Ironman Canada, when I happened to be in town and had nothing to do). First thing I noticed was the number of age-group winners/Kona qualifiers from northern parts of the world — Salt Lake City, Denver, DeForest, Wisconsin; Colchester, Vermont. Either a lot of people have friends in the south for training weekends, or a lot of people are exponentially mentally tougher than I. I'm opting for the latter. I told Meagen that means I have no excuse for not training through the brutal Wyoming winters, and she reminded me of it a few more times before we parted ways.

During the 12-hour drive home (took the scenic route through the Colorado Rockies), I wondered if I really have what it takes to achieve that ludicrous goal of qualifying. I ask this question now as the morning's snow melts and my bike sits on the trainer, waiting for me when I get home. And I'll continue to ask it throughout the year as I come up with more and more excuses not to train.

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.